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The Atlantic monthly. / Volume 44, Issue 261, miscellaneous front pages i-iv

THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY A MAGAZINE OF ~Ltterature, ~cience, art, ~ VOLUME XLIY BOSTON HOUGHTON, OSGOOD AND Z1w ~Iber~itic Pr~, 4ranitiribgg COMPANY 1879 THE ATLANTIC A MAGAZINE OF MONTHLY VOLUME XLIV BOSTON HOUGHTON, OSGOOD AND COMPANY Z~je %~iber~iIic Prt~, 4ranibribgc 1879 C ONTENTh. John Watts Kearny . Richard Grant White . . Henry Van Bra . Henry King . Wilson Flagg. . . F. C. Shairp . . Jennie .1. Young. . Katharine Carrington C. C. Andrews . Richard Grant White Richard Grant White Richard Grant White American Finances from 1789 to 1835, II. Americanisms, Asoorted Art, The Latest Literature of At Kawomouth S tion Birds, Songs and Eccentricities of . Burns and Scotch Song hetore Him Csesars Art of War and of Writing Ceramic Art in America, The . Conductor and Rosamond, The Cuba, Porte Rico, and Mexico, Our Commerce with England, Rural Englioh Manners English Skies Englishwomen in Recent Literature Foreign Trade no Cure f or Hard Times W. G. M. Fossil from the Tertiary, A Edward R. Hate French and German Essays, Recent Thomas Sergeant Perry Gallatin, Albert .T.TMJr Garrison, William Lloyd Lydia Maria Child George Grate, Reminiscences of George Washingto Greene Greatest Novelists Work for Freedom, The Clara Barnes Martin Homme Capable, Un Axel C. J. Gsestafson House of MeVicker, The M. L. Thompson Invention, The Future of W. H. Babcock Irene the Missionary, XIY.XYII., XYIII.XXII., XXIII.- XXVI., XXVII.-XXXI., XXXII.-XXXY Kansas Farmers and Illinois Dairymen Late Books of Travel Life at a Little Court Sidney Hyde Man who was to have assassinated Napoleon, The Massy Spragues Daughter Meyerbeer, Meyerbeer Win. F. Apthorp Military Past and Future Miss Magdalena Peanuts Moral Interregnum, The Prospect of a Mountains in Literature Mysterious Disappearances . National Board of Health, The . Negro Exodus, The Nobility and Gentry . . Novels, Recent Numbers in Society, The Use of People for whom Shakespeare Wrote, The Play-Writing, An Experiment in Preaching President hayes, Two Years of Public Balls in New York . Race, The, and why Yale Lost it Sanitary Drainage, Recent Modifications in Shore Life, A Bit of Sincere Demagogy . . Sister Marys Story Socialism in Germany . Some of Us: A Southwestern Sketch Story-Paper Literature . Tennysonian Retrospect, A Thirty-Seven Hundred and Fifty-Eight Three Interviews with Old John Brown. Venus of Rib, The Windsor, A Day at Phcebe Yates Pember Goldwin Smith. Thomas Scrgea I Perry George R. Waring, Jr.. James B. Runnion - Richard Grant White N. S. Shaler Charles Dudley Warner Joseph Kirkland Walter Allen George E. Waring, Jr. Sarah 0. Jewelt Jane Silsbee. . Willard Brown W. H. Bishop Julius H. Ward W. A. Phillips PACE 339 654 161) 155 349 502 273 588 745 81 241 774 107 611 472 98 230 513 .234 770 761 213 453 137 64, 172, 311, 417, 598 717 649 478 785 1 444 561 288 629 302 622 ~32 222 370 361 . 326 44 149 129 190 A 333 56 200 488 576 521 725 383 356 689 738 435 Richard Grant White . . . 534 iv Contents. POETRY. Ah, Dawn, Delay, Geleste M. A. Winslow 484 Married Bohemians, Edgar Fawcett . 325 Avalanches, H H 106 Morning Hills, The, Maurice Thompson . 80 Cabin, The Deserted, Mrs. B. R. Lee 211 On Latmos, Miss L. W. Bar s . . . 800 Children Out-of-Doors, The, John James Piatt 97 Petite Marie and Benezet, H. H. . 170 Genesis, Ernest Dale Owen . . . 348 Sleep, Katherine Lee Bates . . . 451 Glamour, lVsn. 0. Bates . . . . 34 Vestigia Quinque Retrorsum Olir Wendell ilaroun Al Rasehid, Thomas S. Collier . . 477 Holmes . . . . . . 288 Inland Country, The, Christine Chaplin Brush 147 Wall Between, A . . . . 713 Juno Ludovisi, Hjalmar Hjarth Boyesen . 63 Withered Roses, William Winter . . . 533 Lesson in a Picture, A, Sallie M. B. Pialt . 869 Word to Philosophers, A, Christopher P. Lynn Terrace, On, Thomas Bailey Aldrich 500 Crunch . . . . 381 CONTRIBUTORS CLUB. Archery, Use and Beauty of, 548; Art, Selections in, 670; Beans, 258; Can our Girls take care of Them- selves? 397; Charity-Fair Journals, The Burden of, 800; Cincinnati Ceramics, 543; City Birds, 396; Clergymans Interruptions, A, 796; Clerical Profanities, 794; Color and Sculpture, 800; Conversion- Proof, 802; Cousins, 792; Criticism, Change in, 257; Culture, A Neglected Essential of, 393; Daudet, A Poem by, 795; Disenchantment, 674; English Gentlemen Farmers, 668; Every Man his own Poet, 255; Ghost of a Poem, The, 548; Girl Graduate at Leipzig, A, 788; Goethe, The Selfishness of, 403; Gwen, 402 itardys Strength as a ~iovelist, 672; Harvards Great Men, 254; Itawali, Surf-bathing at Bib, 394; Heroes, 801; high Dutch Idea of Us, A, 255; How one Professional Writer Works, 399; Hydrophobia, An Optimistic View of, 398; Love in Fiction, 400; Mallock on Scientifie Superficiality, 668; Maxim-Mak tug, 802; Mens Women and Womens Women, 117; National American Beggars, 258; Non-Pecuniary Rewards of Literature, 119; Novels, 796; Old Letters, 546; Over-Production and its Remedy, 117; Pina- fore, Missionary Work of, 252; Proof-Readers and Authors, 401; Protest on behalf of the Friends and Relatives of Authors, 118; Robins habits in the South, The, 797; Rosamond, The Authors View of, 791; Schoffs Engraving of Rowees Emerson, 117; Self-Sacrifice, Injurious, 798; Seton, Mrs., 549; Shakesp re on the Circulation of the Blood, 797; Shenandoah Spinster, A, 665; String, 404; Studying from Nature,447; Sublime, From the, to the Ridiculous, 258; Titles, 400; Uncle Sam, Is he a Cheat, 254; Uncle Sam is a Cheat, 550; Unreligion of Recent Novels, 120; Village Question, The, 546; What a Woman would have done; 397; Words of the Period, 671; Wreck of the Grosvenor in Real Life, 258 EDITORIAL. RECENT LITERATURE; Arnolds Mixed Esmys, 675; Auerbachs Landolin von Reutershbfen, 086; Bacons A Life Worth Living, 125 Bartletts From Egypt to Palestine, 121; Bishops Detmold, A Romani, 264; Burrohghss Lotusts audWild Honey, 123; Clara Erskine Clement and Laurence huttons Art- ists of the Nineteenth Century, 414; Coutures Conversations on Art Methods, 679; Do Brogues The Kings Secfet, 807; Didiers The Life and Letters of Madame Bonaparte, 555; Drones A Treatise on the Law of Property in Intellectual Productions in Great Britain and the United States, 269; Emerys Elements of harmony, 807; Vroudes C oar, 405; Goncourts Leo Frhres Zemganno, 809; Greens Ihistory of the English People, 557; hhamilteus Lifeof Alexander Hamilton, 552; Bares The Life and Letters of Frances, Baroness Bunsen, 554; Heusys in Coin do Ia Vie de Mishhe, 685; Hodgsons Memoir of the Rev. Francis Ihodgson, B. D., Scholar, Poet, and Divine, 407; hLumes The History of England, from the Invasion of Julius Ccesar to the Revolution in 1688; 557; hluxleys Hums (English Men of Letters), 558; Ingersolls A History of the War Department of the United States, with Biographical Sketches of the Secretaries, 558; Morleys Burke (English Men of Letters), 806; Motleys The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 123; Napiers Selection from the Correspondence of the late Macvey Napier, Esq., 804; Newtons Essays of To-Day: Religious and Theological, 678; Pauls Mary Wolistonecraft, 124: Pikes The New Puritan: New England Two Hundred Years Ago, 125; Pitons China Painting in America, 683; Poles The Philosophy of Music, 683; Reids Some Newspaper Tendencies, 556; Rogerss The Law of Hotel Life; or; The Wrongs and Rights of Host and Guest, 805; Rogerss The Law of the Road; or, Wrongs and Rights of a T veler, 805; Ruskin on Painting, 680; Schumachers Petrus Mar- tyr~der Geschichtschreiber des Weltmeeres, 413; Seeleys Life and Times of Stein; or, Germany and Prussia in the Napoleonic Age, 411; Sheas The Life and Epoch of Alexander Hamilton, 553; Simons the Government of M. Thiers, from 8th Febrnary, 1871, to 24th May, 1873, 681; Stantons La Gaffs The Life of Louis Adolph Thiers, 682; Stewarts Canada under the Administration of the Earl of Duf- ferin, 269; Symondss The Renaissance in Italy, 260; Tanagra Figurines, 803; Tennysons A Lovers Tale, 268; Theuriets La M5ison des Deux Barbeaux, 685; Thompsons The Witchery of Archery: A Complete Manual of Archery, 269; Trolbopes Thackeray, 267; Websters An American Dictionary of the English Language, 551; Whites Life of Mrs. Eliza A. Seton, Foundress and First Superior of the Sisters or Daughters of Charity in the United States, 265; Whitneys Catalogue of the Spanish Library and of the Portuguese Books bequeathed by George Ticknor to the Boston Public Library, 682; Witches of Henfrewohire, A Ilistory of the, 265 ; Zolas Mes Haines, ~08. EDUCATION. Reports of the Superintendents of Boston Schools, 126; The Education of the Hand in the Public Schools. COMMUNICATIONS. Mr. Kelley on Mr. Linton, 271; The Jennings Sanitary Depot and Colonel George E. Waring, 415.

Massy Sprague's Daughter 1-34

THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY: A ]JIAGAZINE OF LITERA TUBE, SCIENCE, ART, ~ AND POLITICS. VOL. XLIY.JULY, 1879.No. CCLXT. MASSY SPRAGUES DAUGHTER. I. AT the south end of Block Island is a line of grand cliffs from one to two hundred feet high. Some of them are grass-grown to the very beach; hut most of them have a rough surface of clay and sand worn into enormous fur-~ rows by the rain. They are of irregular shape, some spreading out into wide plateaus on the top, others being merely a sharp point of land running out be- tween two broad ravines. At sunset, in summer, the mists from the ocean often gather slowly in these ravines, and curl upward like col& ssal smoke-wreaths from subterranean homes. Gradually they spread over the island, until all road-ways, gates, and fences are obliterated, and men grope their way about by the sense of feeling. A per- son unacquainted with the labyrinthine paths of the island is as helpless in one of these thick mists as in a blinding snow-storm. It was on such a night as this that Massy Spragues daughter, Toinette, was cautiously groping her way home from the cliffs. Toinette had been lying on the cliffs all the afternoon. There is a great fascination in lying flat, face down, on these cliffs, and looking over the edge, where the earth seems to be only an inch thick under your shoulders. Soiiie body said once that these cliffs looked as if they had been broken off from some other side, as a loaf of cake is broken into jagged and unequal parts, with the crust left projecting here and there. Perhaps a giant did it some day, and threw his half of the loaf into the sea. But no such speculations as these had occupied the mind of Toinette this June afternoon, as she had lain with her elbows propped firmly in the knotted grass, and her chin resting on the palms of her hands, looking down on the beach below. White-sailed ships had come and gone in the blue offing, sailing south and sailing noith, but Toinette had tak- en no note of them. Her eyes were riveted on the brown sand one. hundred feet below her. Across this beach Ram- by Karns drove his fathers cows home every night, and Toinette and Ramby had a system of signals carefully ar- ranged and thoroughly understood, by which they communicated with each other at this point upon the shore. It would seem as if two people living on an island only eight miles long and three wide need never be driven to establish- ing signal stations in mid-air, to reach each other. But Rambys father was a fisherman, and lived in a cabin close to the one wharf on the island, on the western side; and Toinettes mother lived in a little house on the highest hill copyright, 18~9, by HOGOIrFON, OSGOOD & co. 2 Miassy Spragi~es Daughter. [July. to the east, close by an old deserted meeting-house, in which no mans voice had been lifted to pray or preach for more than a hundred years. Moreover, Toinettes mother had for- bidden Toinette to speak to Ramby, and this was a more formidable barrier to intercourse than any number of miles would have been. You would not have supposed, to look at old Massy Sprague, that she was an aristocrat. If you bad seen the poor old woman hobbling about, with her fierce bull-dog, Janger, at her side, you would have exclaimed, What an old negro witch! But if you had called Massy a negro to her face, you would have felt Jangers fangs in your throat in a very few seconds. Massy was an East Indians and when you looked closely at her skin you saw in it, spite of the weather-beaten wrinkles, a tinge of yellow which indicated no negro blood. Massy was the last of a band of East Indians who had been in the serv- ice of the captain of the ill-fated Pala- tine. When the crew of the Palatine - mutinied and killed the captain and all the passengers, they spared these East Indians, eight in number, on the ground of their usefulness as workers. Massys mother was said to have been the best cook in all Holland; and her father was equally capable as cook and as barber. The rest were all skilled laborers in one way or another, and were pressed into the, service of the riotous mutineers when they landed on Block Island. It is an odd thing on how slender food the. instinct of aristocratic exclusiveness can thrive and grow strong, and how long it can survive the loss of the last shred of respectability of position. The wick- ed mutineers of the good ship Palatine drank and caroused themselves to death in a few y~ears. Block Island became slowly a thriving little community of farmers and fishermen, and there were several families of industrious and well- to-do negroes in the island, but not one of the East Indians would have anything to do with the blacks. They held them- selves as distinct from them, and as much hi~her as if the blood of Saxon Lings had flowed in their veins Hence the little handful had rapidly dWindled, until at the time of mystory there were left of them only two, this old woman and her daughter Toinette. Toinette was a beautiful creature: her skin was of a pure olive tint; she would have been taken in New Orleans for a quadroon, in Madrid for a Spaniard. In New Orleans she would have had admi- ration and love; in Madrid she might have had even more, for she was rarely beautiful, and had a fine and sensitive nature, which would very easily have r& ceived polish and culture. But in Block Island she was ranked by all the whites as a negro, never called anythin, but Massy Spragues daughter, and left as unconscious of her beauty as if she had been in the wilds of Africa. Toi- nette was a loving, affectionate child, and the isolation in which she and her mother lived was torture to her, all the greater because of the grim delight which her fierce old mother seemed to take in it. Massy lived in the past; she was too young at the time of the mutiny to remember the details of that horror. She had been the favorite plaything of the riotous mutineers in the short-lived days of their feasting and pleasures; and after that was all past, her child- hood had been filled with tales of the riches and splendor of the life of those whom her father and mother had served in Holland. Her contempt for the poor hard-working farmers and fishermen of Block Island knew no bounds. Sons of white beggars! she sneered. I d not put hand to shoe for one of em, not if I died; and though she and Toi- nette were often half starved, and went clothed in rags, she kept her word. By hook or by crook, she managed to raise potatoes and turnips on her bleak hill- side; she had one cow and a few hens; and no rich man on a lordly manor could have had more strongly the feeling of an independent proprietor than did this tattered, shriveled, poverty-stricken old woman. In a cupboard on her wall were ranged chtna cups and saucers and mugs that a king might not have disdained to pos- sess: dainty tea-cups not more than two AIas8y sS~pragues Daughter. inches high, and so transparent that one could see through them; and mugs of fine china, half a foot deep, covered with gay flags of all nations. These had come over in the Palatine, the property of some of the rich Amsterdam burgh- ers who were seekino a new home in the New World. Massy was as proud of them as if they had descended to her by lawful inheritance instead of having been part of the plunder won by a fear- ful crime. Very much did some of the Block Island women covet these tea-cups and mugs. Not unfrequently Massy re- ceived the offer, for a single cup and saucer, of a sum of money which would have put decent gowns both on her back and Toinettes for years; but she re- fused all such offers with a fine, reti- cent scorn which would not condescend to any volubility, and replied concisely that the cups were not for sale. By such exhibitions of pride, and by her still more scornful repelling of all ad- vances from the cQlored inhabitants of the island, old Massy had slowly but surely removed herself and her daughter outsi(le the pale of even ordinary good fellowship. If she had been an outcast for crime or for some loathsome dis- case, she could hardly have been more shunned; and the poor little Toinette shared in the neglect she had done noth- ing to deserve. At the time when our story opens Toinette had but one friend on the island. This was the Ramby Karns for whom she had been watching from the cliffs. Ramby Karns was as black as the ace of spades, and his feat- ures were those of a Guinea negro; but to Toinette his face was beautiful. He had loved Toinette ever since they had been seated at the same desk in the lit- tle unpainted school-house in which the Block Island children all gathered to re- ceive such scanty crumbs of education as Block Island resources could afford. It so happened that for the first term when Ramby and Toinette attended school they were the only colored pupils, and the teacher gave them, therefore, a seat together, although Toinette was only six, and Ramby was twelve years old. He adopted her at once as his es pecial property, and woe to any boy who dared tease or molest the little thing. For two years this comradeship lasted, and then, to Rambys great distress, Toinette was suddenly taken out of school. By a mere accident, old Massy, who never went near the school-house, and had never thought to inquire about Toinettes coinpanjonships there, went down to the village, one day, at noon, to buy a cod-fish. As she was walking home, the thou0ht struck her that it was noon- ing time for the children, and she would look in on Toinette at her luncheon. Toinette and Ramby were sitting in blissful content at their desk, dining out of Rambys pail, poor Toinettes own dinner being of too meagre a sort to re- quire any such formality of putting up. Suddenly on their quiet broke old Mas- sys fierce voice: What are you doing in the seat with that nigger! and Toinette felt herself dragged from her seat and shaken vio- lently. Beginning to sob, she cried, Why the teacher put us here. He s real good ts me, Ramby is. And Ramby stood up wrathfully, exclaiming, I aint any more a nigger than you are yourself, you old blackamoor! But Toinette aint a nigger, if she is your little girl, he added, cliivalrousl5-. Brandishing her cod-fish as if it were a banner, old Massy stalked out of the school-house, leading the bobbing Toi- nette with her, while the other children looked on half-terrified. On the thresh- old they met the teacher, who was as- tonished enough at the sight. Old Massy was as tall as most men, and of a lank and unfeminine figure; her scanty petti- coats always clung to her legs, and re- vealed rather than concealed her angu- lar outline. Still flaunting her cod-fish, with her grizzled locks flying in the wind, the haughty and enraged old wom- an strode past the wondering teacher, saying, 1 11 not send my child to any school where she is put in the seat with nig- gers. The teacher attempted to reply, but old Massys strides fast ca~rie~ her out 1879.] 3 4 lliliassy Spragues Daughter. [July, of reach of his voice, and she did not even look back, or deign to answer him. Poor Toinette cried, Oh, my slate! Let me go back for my slate. But her mothers grasp never relaxed; it was almost more than the childs legs could do to keep up, and her sobs and cries were piteous to hear. Ramby stoo(1 on the steps doubling up his fists and making vain threaten- ings in the air. I 11 pay the old wom- an off yet, he said, as he reluctantly followed the teacher into the house. That night he carried Toinettes slate and all her little belongings home With him: this was on a Thursday. On Sat- urday afternoon, he climbed the hill to Massy Spragues house, and hid him- self behind a stone in the old grave- yard. It seemed an age to him before he caught a sight of Toinette. He dared not go to the house and ask for her. At last the door opened, and Toinette came out. As soon as he saw her he gave a peculiar shrill whistle. Toinette knew it in an instant, and stood still, looking eagerly in all directions. Ram- by whistled again: and in a second more, Toinette came running and scrambling over the grave-mounds and fallen stones. Oh, Ramby, iRamby! is that you? she cried. Yes; and Ive got all your things, he replied, producing her precious slate and pencils and the little writing-book, in which several pages of blurred pot- hooks bore doubtful testimony to Toi- nettes skill in the use of a pen. She wont let me keep em, if she knows you hrought em to me, said Toinette. Rambys black eyes flashed in his black face. Why not? he said. She would nt be so mean as that! She hates black folks, replied Toi- nette, worst kind. She says we aint black; but I dont s& e why. I think we re black as anybody. You aint, Toinette, exclaimed Ramby, admiringly, you aint a bit black. You re the prettiest color of all the folks on this island. There is nt anybody got the color you are: it s the beautifullest yellow; it s prettier than the middle of the pond lilies. Bat she, with a contemptuous gesture of his head over toward the house, she s as black s any of the rest of us. She need nt talk! Main s real good to me, said Toi- nette, apologetically. She s real sorry I cry so about not going to school.. But she 11 never let me go again, she says, not even if the teacher should come and beg her. She does hate black folks, awful. Its queer, aint it, Ramby? I think they re just as good as white folks. Better, said Ramby, a great deal better. After some discussion the children de- cided to hide the slate and pencils and writing-book in the old meeting-house. And II can come up every Saturday and teach you myself, said Ramby, with most commendable care for Toi- nettes education. I-land in hand the two roamed about the old ruin, in search of some safe cor- ner. They clambered up into the pul- pit, which was a sort of unroofed cup- board, reached by a rickety staircase ten steps high. Ramby stumbled over something as soon as he entered. It was a mahogany ballot-box. Good gracious! said he, they keep their ballot-boxes up here. This wont do. What are they for? asked Toi- nette. Oh, to put the votes in on town- meeting days. They have their town- meeting here every month; did nt you know it? We d bet.ter keep our things up gallery. They never go up there, I guess. There aint half men enough here to fill the pews down-stairs. There were but twenty-seven pews in the body of the meeting-house: they were square, high-walled, of Southern pine, all hewn by hand. In and out of them all the childinen ran, merrily trying seat after seat. At last they went up-stairs to the gallery, and in the remotest cor- ner from the & or, under the last seat, they hid their possessions. This 11 be your schoolhouse now, said Ramnby. Massy Spragues Daughter. And you 11 be my teacher, replied innocent Toinette. Far truer words than Toinette ki~w! She was now eight,~ and Ramby was fourteen: from that day he began to teach her to love him. lie taught her a good deal else, that is, dur- ing the first two years; for iRamby was an uncommonly bright boy, and his fa- ther, who had sailed for many years in a man-of-war before he settled down as a Block Island fisherman, bad a great ambition to give his boy what he called advantages; so he kept him steadily at school long past the time at which most Block Island boys had to begin hard work at home. But just as Ram- by had entered on his fifteenth year, his father slipped on the deck of his little fishing-sloop, one icy night, and broke his leg.. He nearly lost his life from the clumsiness with which the leg was treat- ed by the non-professional Block Islam~l doctor, but pulled through finally, and lived on, a nearly helpless cripple. No more school for Ramby now: he must run the fishing-sloop, he must work the little farm. Nothing of it all caine hard to him, except giving up the Saturday afternoons with Toinette in the otd meet- ing-house. It was not every week, now, that he could treat himself to that pleas- ure. The fish must be ready to load on the Block Island sloop which ran up every Monday to Newport; and if it were not the fish, it was sure to be some- thing else which needed to be done on the farm. Saturday after Saturday slipped by without Rambys finding time to climb up that alluring hill to the east- ward. Saturday after Saturday poor Toinette wandered about the old grave- yard, and sat idly on the sunken grave- mounds, vainly watching for the faith- ful, shining black face of her boy lover. Nobody knew what the children were about; in fact, nobody was in the least concerned about either Toinette or Ram- by, except Toinettes mother and Ram bys father; old Massy ga~ve herself no uneasiness about the child so long as she was playing in the old grave-yard, and Rambys father had never once called Ramby to account for any comings or goings since the day that had reversed their relations, making Ramby the pro- tector and provider. Toinette was fifteen and Ramby was twenty-one, and they had been for two years betrothed lovers, before an ill wind blew to them the misfortune of old Mas- sys discovery of their relations. This concealment on the part of Toinette was not the result of any artfulness in the girls nature; it was the simple instinct of her uneducated filial love. She knew her mothers fierce hatred of black peo- ple too well to hope that anything could soften it. Again and again she said to Ramby, We cant ever get married so long as main s alive; shed kill me first. But I 11 love ye always, Ramby, whether we ever get to be married or not; and there aint any use in making her mad at me by tellin her. Besides, I donno but what it would make her go out of her head, she d be so mad. And Ramby, who in his secret heart felt for old Massy a terror which almost amounted to a superstition, acquiesced in all Toinettes decisions, and plotted as cautiously i~ she to keep their love a secret. But as I said, an ill-wind blew to them the mis- fortune of discovery. It was literally a wind which did it, so perverse and triv ial an accident that it seemed like the mockery of a malicious fate; one sum- mer Sunday it happened. Toinette and Ramby were sitting in their wonted cor- ner in the old meeting-house gallery, be- tween two open windows. A sudden breeze blew off Rambys hat, and wafted it gently out of the south windo~v. Toi- nette ran down to get it, saying, I II ~o, Ra~mby. I in always afraid main will see you up here some day. She s got eyes like a hawk. Down the stairs, out of the door, flew the light-footed Toinette, to be confront- ed by her mother, stern, dark-visaged, on the very threshold, holding the luck- less hat in her hand. What mans hat is this? How caihe you in here? Who have you got hid away, you shameful hussy? cried Mas- sy. Toinettes usually gentle spirit was roused, and, standing at bay on the old 1879.] 5 6 Mass~i Spragues Daughter. [July, meeting-house steps, she boldly told her mother the truth. Ramby, hearing voices, came running down-stairs, and old Mas- sy, seeing him, fell in to a rage frightful. to behold. Tearing her gray hair with one hand, she lifted the other high as she could reach, and cursed him in some East Indian dialect. Then, seizing Toi- nette, she literally dragged her by main force down the hill, into their house, shut the door with a loud noise, and bolted it. Ramby was greatly alarmed. The speech, which he did not understand, made his knees shake by its fearful sound. Will she kill her? he gasped; and his first impulse was to fly to the house and beat down the door. But he reflected on Toinettes uniform assur- ances of her mothers goodness to her, and wisely thinking that his presence would only make bad matters worse he went slowly home. For weeks after this Toinette was not permitted to stir from the house alone. If she put on her hat, her mother put on her own, and saying, grimly, If you re going out, -I 11 go along too, walked silent by her side. At last Toi- nette gave up going out at all. Sad and silent she sat in the house, doing noth- ing, growing pale and ill each day. Old Massys inexorable heart was nearly broken. She tried to make Toinette promise never to marry Ramby. Ill never promise that, main, not if you kill me, was Toinettes answer. She tried to make her promise not to see him again. I wont promise ye that neither, said Toinette. I love him, and I dont care who knows i~ and there s nobody else in all the world that cares for me, or ever did, main, and you know that. Oh, child, child! moaned old Mas- sy, haint I cared for ye? Yes, said Toinette, sullenly. I suppose ye could nt help it, being my mother; but you re going to work to kill me now.~~ After this talk, Massy relented so far that she permitted Toinette to go and come alone and untrammeled as before; but whenever the poor child left the house, her mothers last words to her al- ways were, If you see Ramby Karns anywhere, you just remember that every word you speak to him is a-disobeyin of me. That s all. And on Toinettes re- turn the first question was, Did you see him? the second, Did you speak to him? - It was partly in evasion of these in- quiries that Ramby and Toinette had invented their system of signaling to each other over the cliffs; partly, also, because, as Ramby was sure to be on that part of the beach every night, and the cliffs were not far distant from old Massys house, Toinette could see him there on many an evening when there was no chance of their meeting elsewhere. Their system of si,,naling was pathetic in its simplicity: a green bough waved in circles meant All well; lifted up three times in a straight line it meant Will you come to-night? waved hori- zontally it meant No; dropped over the cliff, or thrown in the water, it meant Yes; and spreading the arms at full length, bringing the palms of the hands close together, meant Good- by. The slender figure of Toinette, poised on the edge of the precipice, and relieved against the glowing western sky, as she made these graceful and myste- rious movements, might have been taken for that of some ancient priestess per- forming solemn out-door rites; but there was never a human creature to admire or to wonder at the picture; nobody but Toinette ever walked on the cliffs, and nobody but Ramby ever looked up at them from the beach below. On the evening when we have de- scribed Toinette as groping her way through the mist, she had signaled to Ramby that she would be down that night. Her mother, who had been near- ly helpless from rheumatism for several days, had very reluctantly given her money to buy some groceries of which they were in real need. Usually old Massy made all such purchases herself, never sending Toinette to the stores, where she would be in danger of meet- ing Ramby. But rheumatism and hun- 1879.] ger had combined to break down her precautions for once, and she had in- wardly groaned to see the light-hearted- ness with which Toinette set off on the errand. There is but one public and open road on Block Island. All the rest lead through everybodys yards, shut up by countless strait and narrow gates; and no- body can get anywhere without passing through these gates, and going up and down innumerable low but steep hills. It is difficult to account for the lay of the land on Block Island; lay is hardly the right word to apply to it, how- ever. There is not a level half acre on the island; it must have cooled off very suddenly in midst of a tremendous boil. It is a confusion of bubble-like hills: none of them high; most of them so low that it is a marvel how they contrive to be so steep. With the roads down from the cliffs to the little settlement around the wharf, where the stores were, Toinette was not at all familiar; and as she groped along, literally feeling her way by the fences, she found herself bewildered and lost. At last, opening a particularly heavy and difficult gate, she found herself in 01(1 Hans Ericsons cow - yard. Hans and his two sons were milking, an dtheyeacli had a lantern. As the red beams of the lantern fell upon Toinettes face and figure, in the shiftin mists, she looked n~nreal enou~h to terrify any man. Old Hans dropped his milk - pail, and ex- claimed, Mein Gott, vat ish dat! Only me, Mr. Erieson, said Toi- nette, in a gentle voice. I have lost my way. Mother sent me down after some meal ; but I dont believe I can find my way in the fog. I did nt think I was anywhere near your house. How did you kommen dis vay? said Hans in great perplexity, knowing that Toinettes home was a long way to the north of his. Oh, replied Toinette, I have been up on the cliffs; I did nt come straight from home. So, so, said Hans, dat ish vay. Now you takes mine lantern; you can- not go mitout lantern. It vill pe vorse, ]Uiassy Spragues Daughter. an not petter. You brings back to-mor-- row. Toinette thanked the old man, and very gratefully took the lantern; indeed, without it, she might have groped all night long in the fog. She was now so far from the public road that it was better to keep on from yard to yard, in the line of the cottages nearest the shore, thar~ to try to return to the highway. The surf thundered on the beach ; the wind drove great sheets of the mist, like wet avalanches, over Toinette, as, with head bent down, and her lantern held firm in front of her breast, she toiled along. It was a frightful night; no one but a Block Islander could have believed such a night possible in midsummer. Presently she saw flashing lights Qf lan- terns darting here and there, just before her; heard cries of men and the creak- ing of ropes and masts. She was close upon the quay; in a moment more she was in the centre of a group of men who were watching the coming in of a small boat. One light at its prow rose and sank, and rose and sank, with irregular mo- tions, as the boat was tossed on the rough waves. Toinette pressed eagerly for- war(l. Why, if there aint Massy Spragues gal! said one of the men. Whats she doin down here at this time o night! Toinette shrank back into the gloom, and put her lantern down on the ground. The hubbub increase(l. The men in the boat called to those on shore; and those on shore answered back, and waved their lanterns high. Can we make it? Ay, ay! All right! Bear to the left! Starboard, man, starboard! The hoarse cries seemed half stifled in the heavy fog. At last the boat grated against the little stony quay, and, to the unutterable surprise of the Block Island- ers, there stepped out two ladies. The skipper of the boat, standing with one foot on the gunwale, shouted, Take care of em, will ye! I promised to see em ashore, but I darsent come off. I must get back on the boat. We ye had the devils own. time beating down, from Mass~ Spragues Daughter. Newport; been fourteen hours doin it. Must get back somehow before to-mor- row morning; and he pushed his boat off again, and disappeared in the fog. Will some one be so good as to show us the way to the hotel? said one of the women, in a voice which thrilled on Toinettes ears. I believe it is only a short distance from the landing. I 11 show you! I have a lantern! exclaimed Toinette, springing forward. Let me show you. The men who had stood silent in the first instant of their astonishment, now crowded up, sheepish- ly, with their late offers of assistance; but the lady waved them all back, saying, Thanks ; this girl will show us the way. We need no other help; we can carry our bags; they are not heavy, and she and her companion both turned to Toinette with so resolute an air of dismissal to the others that they all fell back, discomfited and vexed. What in thunder brought that gal down here! exclaimed one. She s as much a witch as her old mother, replied another. That old Massy Sprague d ha been hung twice over, I expect, if she d ha had her rights. Incidents were so rare in the monoto- nous Block Island life that these men actually grudged Toinette the opportu- nity she had snatched of walking up to the hotel with the strangers. And if it were a thing to be coveted by even these coarse fishermen, what was it to poor, lonely, uneducated, groping Toi- nette! In the twinkling of an eye, the girl felt herself lifted into a new world by the chance companionship of these two women, who had come from a sphere so different from all which she had hith- erto known. With eyes which were hungry in their eagerness, she scanned every point in their attire, which she could see by the shifting light of the lan- tern beams; with ears strained and alert, as if listening to music, she hearkened to every word they spoke. Much which had hitherto lain dormant in her nature sprang into sudden life, even in these first few instants of the novel relation in which she found herself. Kitty, said the elder woman; this is more than we bargained for, isnt it? Are you very wet? Yes, as wet and slippery as a seal, replied the cnn, laughing; but it sper- feetly splendid. I would nt have missed it for anything. But I m glad this girl came with us, instead of any of those rough men.! They would nt have hurt ye, any on em, interposed Toinette, eagerly. There aint a man on all the island d harm a woman.~~ Toinettes voice was singularly low and deep; as she spoke, both the women turned surprised glances towards her; but she was holding the lantern very low, so as to light the path, and nothing could be seen of her face underneath her limp and dripping sunbonnet. At this moment rapid steps were heard following them and cries of Toinette! Toinette! Toinette stopped. Thats Ramby, she said, simply. What are you stopping for? said the elder woman sharply. Dont keep us standing here in this rain. Before she had finished her sentence, Ramby came plungin0 headlong up the path; one of the men on the quay had told him that Toinette had gone up to the hotel with two strangers, and the faithful Ramby had followed. This is Ramby, reiterated Toinette,~ still not offering to move, while Ramby stood awkwardly looking at all three. The red lantern beams flickered fantas- tically over his black face, which, being wet with the fog, glistened more than usual. The woman laughed. And who is Ramby? she said, quietly giving him the traveling-bag which he bad stretched out his hand to take, saying curtly, Take your bags, ma~ ~ Ramby is my Toinette stopped short. She did not know any substan- tive which could properly complete her definition, so she added, stammeringly, Ramby. The two women pressed each others arms, in token of the deliciousness of this revelation of the simplicity of the Block Island natives, and the elder said 8 [July, 3lassy Spragues Daughter. kindly, Very well; your Ramby can carry our bags to the hotel, and the sooner we get there the better. Do you often have weather like this in July? Oh, yes, maam, said Toinette and Ramby, simultaneously. It is like this half the time. Then I should not like to live here, rejoined Kitty. No, maam, said Ramby gravely, I dont reckon you would; and they walked on in silence, both Ramby and Toinette full of wonder as to what could have brought these strangers to their island. As they stepped into the dimly lighted hall of the little inn, Toinette threw back her wet sun-bonnet; at sight of her face, the e~lderof the two women uttered an exclamation of surprise at her beauty. Why, Kitty, she said in a low tone, the girl is an Andalusian! I had a maid in Seville who was just like her, only not half so handsome. Hush, Bell! replied Kitty, the man is listening. No word or look which concerned Toi- nette ever escaped Ramby. He had heard the first sentence distinctly, all but the word Andalusian. He stood quietly at one side while the lalies made their arrangements with the landlord; then, thankin Toihette, they pressed upon her a small sum of money, which Toinette refused, Ramby thought, with unnecessary vehemence. Toinette was in haste to be gone; she dreaded the storm, but she still more dreaded her mother. Come, Ramby, come! she said, her eyes all the while lingering hungrily on the two strangers faces. Come; mother 11 scold awful, I m so late. On the threshold Ramby turned back. I ye forgot something, he said. Wait a bit. Returning to the room, he said, hurriedly, Please, maam, what did you say Toinette was? The women looked amazed. Oh, said Bell, recollecting, I s~tid she was an Andalusian. Whats that~, mnam? asked Ram- by respectfully. Bell laughed. Nothino- bad, Pamby, she said; only the name of some people who live in Spain. They are the handsomest people in all Spain. It was a compli- ment to Toinettc, Ramby, that s all. Are they all the color Toinette is? asked Pamby, earnestly. No, some lighter, some darker, answered Mrs. Aitisworth, scrutinizing closely the countenance of the negro who asked these significant questions. Ramby turned to go. Thank ye, maarn, he said; then, hesitating and taking a step backward, he added, in a tone husky with feeling, Any- s dark s me, is there? Yes, I think so, said Mrs. Ains- worth, kindly; and Ramby, with a nod meant to be a bow, (lisappeared. Bell Ainsworth, bow could you tell such a lie! exclaimed her friend; you never saw in all Spain a Spaniard as black as that man. He s a genuine negro. But, Kitty, returned Mrs. Ains- worth, dont you see the whole story? The poor fellow is in love with this beau- tiful creature, who has nt a drop of black blood in her veins. He worships the ground she walks on. How could I say anything but Yes? If I never do any~ thing worse than tell that lie, I shall be lucky. Besides, Othello the Moor was as black as Ramby; he s always painted so, an(l half the Andalusians are Moors. I mean to see if I Cant take that girl away with me, she added. Its a shame for her to be buried here. What to do with her, Bell? asked the practical Kitty, who had before now seen Mrs. Ainsworths schemes melt away in thin air. Do with her! Why, she would make an entrancin,, ladys maid, said Mrs. Ainsworth. Just to see the reflection of her face in the looking-glass, while she was dressing my hair, would he as good as having one of Murillos portraits on the wall. I think she has a faithful nature, replied Kitty, thoughtfully. She has what they call the look of the dog-soul in her eyes. I dont believe she d leave her Pamby. 18T9.] 9 10 Massy Spragues Daughter. [July, Oh, pshaw! said Mrs. Ainsworth. You re a sentimentalist, Kitty, and always will be. Wager me something I wont carry her back to Newport with us day after to-morrow. No, I wont wager you anything, replied Kitty, for if I do you 11 be sure to take the girl, if you have to kidnap her; and I m by no means sure you d do her any kindness to carry her to Newport. Mrs. Ainsworth made no reply, but, compressing her rosy lips into a inischiev- ous pout, took her friend by the shoul- ders, gave her a hearty shake, and then ran out of the room to talk with the landlord. It was an odd freak which had taken Mrs. Bell Ainsworth and her friend, Kitty Strong, from Newport to Block Island. As they were landing at one of the Newport wharves, one day, after a pleasure sail in the harbor, the Block Island schooner was unloading her cargo of fish and vegetables at the same wharf. Two of the Block Island women were sitting on the deck. The old-fashioned and unworldly look of the women caught Mrs. Ainsworths eye. Oh, where did those Rip Van Win- kles come from? she exclaimed. They re Block Islanders, replied one of the sailors. Curus critters, them Block Islanders are. They ic all web-footed. You cant drown one on em no more than you can a Newfound- land dog, not .a mite! All Mrs. Ainsworths gay friends lift- ed up their voices and warned her not to go to Block Island; said that she might be kept there, nobody knew how long; that one year the election returns from Rhode Island were delayed three weeks, because there had been no coin- munication between Block Island and the main-land during that time, and then when the returns came it was found that the Block Islanders had voted on the last years ticket. Moreover, the island was haunted. The phantom of the ship Palatine sailed round and round the isl- and, blazing with phantom fire; only certain persons could see it, arId it was a sure presage of ill luck to them. With each remonstrance Mrs. Ainsworths de- sire to visit the island increased, until she declared at last that she would go alone, if nobody would go with her. Finally, she succeeded in organizing a party of six; but at the last moment two of the party refused to go, and two more refused to land when they saw the rough waters, after actually reaching the island. Only Kitty Strong had had courage to persevere; and she had done so more from love for her capricious and willful friend than from any interest in the ad- venture itself. The next morning, early, they set out for an exploration of the island. The wooden seats of the wagon were but thinly covered by a worn buffalo robe, and at the first few jolts over the stony and uneven roads Kitty cried out, in dismay, Bell, you may shatter your bones in this crazy vehicle if you like; I am going to get out and walk! Very well, Ill walk, then, replied Bell. It cant be a very difficult mat- ter to walk all over the island; and they dismissed the much - discomfited driver, who had had visions of a golden harvest to be reaped from these eccen- tric fashionable ladies who were bent on seeing the whole of Block Island. Walking in the sand was harder than they had supposed, and before long they struck off from the road, and began to climb fences and walk in the fields. No woods anywhere! exclaimed Bell. How horrid! At that moment she caught sight of a gleaming blue lake at the foot of the low hill they had just climbed. It was a beautiful picture: the grass was green to the waters ed0e; in fact, it was green beyond it, for the lake was higher than the usual margin, so that it was surrounded by a low fringe of wav- ing grasses growing in water. Thickly sprinkled among these were great pond- lilies. Nowhere in the world are there such pond-lilies as grow in the strange, hill-locked fresh-water lakes of this little ocean-swept island. They often meas- ure from eight to ten inches in diameter when fully open, and the petals are three or four inches long. Alassy Spragues Daughter. Gracious, Bell! cried Kitty, what are those white flowers? They cant be pond-lilies! But they are! said Mrs. Ains- worth. I m going to wade in and get some. Daintily, tantalizingly, the regal flow- ers floated and swayed in their safe har- bors. Even Bell Ainsworth dared not try to wade out to them. Ill hire a boy to come and pick some for us, she said at last, discon- tentedly turning away, and beginning to climb another hill to the right. When they reached the top they looked over into just such another cup-like hollow, with a blue lake at the bottom, set in a rim of bright green grass, starred with white lilies. A slender figure was slowly coming up the side of the hilt towards them. Mrs. Ainsworth put up her eye- glasses to look at her, and exclaimed, What luck! That s Toinette, I do be- lieve. And she has a basket of lilies! cried Kitty. We 11 buy them of her. How charminc,! Bell~ you always do trail ad- ventures after you wherever you go. When Toinette first saw the ladies standing still and gazing at her, she stopped, flushed all over, and then walked rapidly towards them. Good morning, Toinette, said Mrs. Ainsworth. We were just saying we must hire a boy to come and get some of these beautiful lilies for us. But we would much rather buy them of you. Will you sell them to us? Toinette colored again, a deeper red. Her large dark eyes filled with tears. I got em on purpose for you, ladies, she said, looking bashfully down at her muddy bare feet and legs. I was go- ing to carry em to the hotel to-morrow. I thought you d like em. I shant sell em, though. No, indeed, child, said Mrs. Ains- worth, lightly; iou shall give them to us, and welcome. Come home with us, and show us a new way to go. Toinette shook her head. Main wont let me go to-day. I was down yesterday, she said. Do you live near hore, Toinette? asked Mrs. Ainsworth, with a sudden resolution in her tone. Toinette pointed to a thin curl of smoke creeping over a hill a few rods off. That s our chimney, she said. We 11 walk home with you, and ask your mother, said Mrs. Ainsworth. Toinettes face glowed, but she said nothing as she led The way. Old Massy Sprague was not an invit- ing sight, as she stood in her door-way that noon. She grew darker and darker, and more and ~more grim every month. Her hopeless sorrow and helpless anger over Toinettes love for Ramby were really killing her by inches. Janger, the bull-dog, snarled and sprang viciously out to the full length of his chain, as he saw strangers approaching. Even Toi- nettes presence did not reconcile him to their appearance. Old Massy took her pipe out of her mouth, and, staring at the strangers, said, Still, Janger! Main! main! exclaimed Toinette, here are the ladies I telled ye about, that come last ni,ht. How d ye do, said Massy, with a faint dawn of a smile on her face. Will ye come in and bt~ seated? Thank you, said Mrs. Ainsworth, that is just what we should like, and she followed the old woman in. No sooner had her eye fallen upon the china in the cupboard on the wall than she bounded across the room, exclaiming, Why, where in the world did you get that lovely china? and her eyes spark- led with the delight of a connoisseur. Massy smiled, grimly. Ye knows chany when ye sees it, maam, she said. it gave the old woman pleasure to see her treasures appreciated. There s nobody here knows the difference be- tween them cups and them mugs, only the mugs is the brightest color. The mugs are very pretty, said Mrs. Ainsworth, but the cups! Why, I ye never but once or twice in my life seen such cups. I dessay not, replied Massy. The king of Holland has drunk out of them cups.~~ Do tell me how you got them! asked Mrs. Ainsworth. 1879.] Ii Massy Spragues Daughter. [July, 12 They was brought over in the same ship my mother came over in, replied Massy, evasively. Oh, the Palatine! cried Kitty. Did your mother really come over in that ship? And have you ever seen the phantom of it which they say sails around the island? Lor, yes, lots o times, said Massy; but I haint seen it now for goin on twenty year. They say it s a cruisin now off the south shore. Ramby s seen it, iiiterposed Toi- nette, eagerly. Old Massys face darkened, and she cast a stern look at Toinette, who col- ored and looked distressed. Unconscious Mrs. Ainsworth followed with the unlucky remark, We saw iRamby last night She was going on to say more, when Toinette gasped, Oh, dont, maam! and ran out of the room. What is the matter with the child? asked Mrs. Ainsworth, in bewilderment. Old Massy drew herself up to her full height, and, in spite of her squalor and rags, there was almost a tragic dignity in her figure, as she replied, The mat- ter is, maam, that she s an ungrateful, disobedient gal. She s a-goin with that nigger now these three years, an she knows it s draggin me down into my grave to see it. But I haint got no power to prevent it, an s soon s I in under-ground she 11 marry him. I d rather bury her any day, an she s all I ye got in the world. Why, is he a bad man? asked Kitty, innocently. He s a nigger f thundered old Massy, in a voice one would not have supposed could have come from a wom- ans lips. He s a nigger, an that s enough. Mrs. Ainsworth and her friend looked puzzled. Massy continued in a sneering tone: Perhaps you take me an my daughter for niggers. Polks generally does, an I let em if they want to. But we re East Indians, an my mother and father, an their mother an father before em, tended on them who went to courts all their lives. My moth- er s cooked dinners for the king, and held the kings children on her knees; and if Toinette had any pride she d live an die to herself, as I ye done. But she haint any; she 11 marry that nigger s soons Im under-ground; and tears, too hot to fall, stood in the old womans eyes. Why dont you send her away? asked Mrs. -Ainsworth; she would soon forget him. Kitty looked reproach- fully at her friend. Send her away! said Massy. I look like it, dont I! How d I send her away, I wonder. I haint got ships and folks to go to; we re all that s left of my people, we two. I 11 take her with me, if you 11 let me, said Mrs. Ainsworth, eagerly. Old Massy rose again, walked rapidly across the floor, and, standing so near that her rags brushed against Mrs. Ains- worths dainty garments, scrutinize& her in silence for a moment. Then, Be ye rich? she said, fiercely. Yes, said Mrs. Ainsworth, half cowering under the old womans gaze, 1 am very rich, and I will make Toi- nette comfortable, and take good care of her. To be your child? asked Massy. Mrs. Ainsworth flushed. Oh, no, she said, I had no idea of that. I thought She hesitated, half afraid to suggest the idea of service to this East Indian princess in rags. I thought you might like to have her earn some money. Oh, to wait on ye, ye mean, said Massy, in an altered voice. Yes, said Mrs. Ainsworth, more resolutely, now that Massy herself had phrased her meaning. I saidtomy friend here last night that I would like to take Toinette home with me as my own maid. She would soon learn all that is needed. I would give her good wacres. I dont care nothin about the mon- ey, interrupted Massy. I ye got all I need here. We kin live off the place. But I d like to have the child got off this island, maam. I donno but you was sent here for that; I ye been a-prayin an a-prayin that some way d Massy Spragues Daughter. open. I 11 give ye my answer to-mor- row, inaam, if that 11 suit ye. Ye look real kind and good. Ye d be good to the child, would nt ye, now? she add- ed, bending her head on one side, and studying Mrs. Ainsworths face with an earnestness of gaze which was pathetic. Indeed, I will be good to her; you need not fear, replied Mrs. Ainsworth. Perhaps Toinette will not want to go, interposed Kitty. She wont like to leave you here all alone. She 11 go, fast enough, said Mas- sy, doggedly. She s been out of her head, about, tellin me all ye wore an said, an how ye looked. Ye see the child s never saw a lady in her life till she see you; and she knowed the differ- ence as soon s she set eyes on ye. An that s what Ive always been a-tellin her, hut she would nt believe me; she could nt, I suppose; nobody cant with- out seem for themselves. I ye always told her that she did nt know anything, cooped up here on this island; she d see that that nigger was nt no mate for her, if she ever got a chance to see any- body else. He seems to love her very much, said Kitty, sadly, and he looks good an(l honest. Old Massy flamed. I think it s likely he does love her; she s a gal might hold up her head anywhere in Gods world for looks; and ye know it, ladies, s well s I do. That s what s killin me, to see her goin with a nig ger. He s honest enough, so far s I know. But he s got no right to set so much s his eyes on a gal o mine, and Massy clinched both her fists in impo- tent rage. When old Massy told Toinette of Mrs. Ainswort.hs proposition, the girls face turned white. Her eyes gleamed, and she opened her lips twice without utter- ing a sound. Then she gasped, Did she mean it, main? Did she really mean it, do you think? Then ye d like to go? said Mas- sy, slowly, eying her daughters face keenly. Oh, main, yes! cried Toinette. Could ye spare me? Ye could nt get on alone, could ye, main? I reckon I - had nt ought to go. This was a moment of something near- er happiness than old Massy had known for many months. The thought of Ramby had evidently not crossed Toi- nettes mind. Massy had supposed it would be the first thing she would think of. But even Massy did not know how powerfully Toinette had been wrought upo~s by the presence of thesQ women, these beings from another world. Yes, child, Id get on without ye; at any rate, for a spell. I d like ye to see something o the world; an I ye always told ye, ye had nt no chance here. I d like ye to go; but I 11 go an ask about these folks. T aint right to send ye off with strangers nobody dont know nothin about. I think they re nice folks, thoqgh. She s a real lady, anyhow. Yes, main, that she is,. said Toi- nette, enthusiastically. They re both beautiful, but the young lady has nt got such a nice voice. The other ones voice is jest like the singin at meetin. Mrs. Ainsworth would have consid- ered this comparison but a dubious com- pliment, had she been familiar with the sounds produced by the Block Island choir. They meant music to Toinette, however, and when she first heard Mrs. Ainsworth speak, the resemblance had occurred to her. Toinette felt like one walking in a dream. She went over into the old grave-yard, and sat down on one of the fallen grave-stones to think. It was a sunny day: the sky was clear and blue, and little breezy clouds were hurrying about in different directions on cross- currents. Toinette looked up at them; for the first time in her life, she won- dered where they were going. All things took on new significance to her, since her own life seemed to have a future; all nature seemed to be made up of vistas, now that one had opened be- fore her. Ramby was in her thoughts, also, and she felt a genuine and tender regret at leaving him; but the idea of staying behind on his, account did not occur to her. She pictured herself as 1879.] 13 14 M~.ssy Spragues Daughter. [July, coming back to see him, and bringing him reports of all that had happened to her in the new and wonderful world upon which she would enter when she sailed away from the island. She pict- ured herself as buying little gifts for him and sending them down by the cap- tain of the schooner. She thought pos- sibly Ramby might come up to Newport, some day, to see her, and what a pleas- ure it would be to show him everytliThg. Poor Toinette! she was sixteen years old by the calendar of the days of her life, but her heart was the heart of a little child. Early in the afternoon old Massy put on her antique bonnet and the remains of a scarlet cashmere shawl which bad belonged to the wife of an Amsterdam merchant more than a hundred years before. Looking at herself cynically in the bit of broken looking-glass set up on the top of the cupboard, she said to Toinette, Spect I scare folks, dont I, child? I do look bad, there s no deny- in it. No, indeed, main, said the affec- tionate girl; you always look good if your clothes be ragged, and she kissed her. I shant be home before night, said Massy. I cant walks I used to. What 11 ye do, child? I 11 go down on the cliffs, I reckon, said Toinette , guiltily. Ramby had told her the night before that he would go for the cows very early, so as to have time to climb up into a ra- vine where they often met for a few mo- ments talk; Toinette lowering herself carefully from shrub to shrub, and Ram- by climbing up in the same way on the slope of one of the lowest of the cliffs. I dont see what ye re so fond o the cliffs for, said Massy, as she left the house. Ye 11 be seem the blazin ship one o these days, if ye aint care- ful; always lookin off to sea, as you be. Id like to see it, main, said Toi- nette. Everybody s seen it but me. Better not. It dont bring no good to nobody, said Massy, gravely. Toinette had been lying on the cliffs for an hour before Ramby appeared be- low. The time had seemed short to her, so absorbed had she been in the anticipations of her new life. As soon as she saw Ramby she sprang to her feet, and made such haste down the ra- vine that she met him only a little way from the bottom. Why, Toinette, he exclaimed, ye come down like a wild cat! What s a-hurryin ye so? Oh, Ramby, such news! cried the girl, and she poured out her tale. Rainbys first words, strangely enough, were the same old Massy had used: Then ye d like to go, would ye? and he eyed Toinettes face as keenly as her mother had done. The face and the words told but one tale. Ramby made no opposition to the plan. The love in the heart of this untaught black man was as unselfish as could have been found under the fairest of Saxon skins. I expect it s a great chance for you, he said, slowly. I suppose there s no knowin when you 11 come back. Oh, I shant stay long, said Toi- nette, vaguely, but confidently. I shall come back to see you and main. I m to have wages; so I shall have money enough to come as often s I want to. I dont expect ye.ll want to come very often, said Ramby, quietly. Something in his tone (lampened Toi- nettes gladness. Why, Ramby, she said, ye aint sorry, are ye? Ye would nt have me miss it, now, would ye, Ramby? I wish she wanted us both to cr0. I could nt leave father, anyhow, said Ramby. If it want for that, I d go right up along with ye, and get work to do there, too. I expect there s plen- ty to do to earn a mood livin in New- port. But I 11 make out to run up an see ye, Toinette, that s certain. Ramby missed something in Toi- nettes kiss when they parted that night; he could not have told what. Many a lover has vainly puzzled himself over the same sort of undefinable hurt. The difference between being a human hearts sole interest and being even its chief interest is the differeuce between loves ililias sy Spragues Daughter. absolute happiness and loves contented resignation. One does not complain of the latter; it would be unreasonable; but when one has once known the full- ness of the first, all else and less must seem poor in comparison. Old Massys inquirics in regard to Mrs. Ainsworth were more than satis- factory. The captain of the schooner which ran regularly to Newport was an inquisitive fellow, who amused himself, in the intervals of time which he had on his hands there, by roaming over the town and picking up information about everybody. He knew Mrs. Ainsworth by sight, and gave old Massy an amount of detailed information about her house, horses, way of living, and so forth which it would have astonished that lady to hear circulating on Block Island. After leaving Skipper Ericson, Mas~y went to the hotel, and had a long interview with Mrs. Ainsworth. All was satisfactorily arranged. Mrs. Ainsworth was to set off for Newport at noon the next day, if the wind were favorable, and Massy promised to be on the wharf with Toi- nette at that time. A strong south wind blew fair and free all night, and did not die away at dawn; and at eleven oclock Skipper Ericson was ready to set sail for Newport. Mrs. Ainsworth and her friend were on board about as soon as he, and he was impa- tient to get off. But you said at noon, urged Mrs. Ainsworth; and I told the girl who is going up with us to be here at twelve. We must wait for her; we must go ashore if you will not wait for her. I shall not leave her. Massy Spragues gal?~ said the skipper. Yes, said Mrs. Ainsworth. Do you know her? No, said the skipper; there dont nob6dy know her. Her mother s an old witch. She come off the Palatine; least- ways, her folks did. There was a kind o colony on em that always kept to them- selves, and would nt have nothin to do with the colored folks here. These two is all that s left. The gal s putty for a yellow gal. That fellow there, he s 4 ~oin to marry her, they say, and the skipper pointed to Ramby, who was cut- ting up and cleaning fish in front of his cabin, a few rods off from the wharf. Rambys feet and legs were bare; his trousers rolled up high above his knees, his shirt-sleeves rolled up to his shoul- ders: every muscle of his well-knitted body stood out in relief in the sun; his head was large and well set on his neck, and as he moved swiftly about his work Mrs. Ainsworth whispered to Kitty, If he were white, wouldnt he be a splendid fellow? I think he is as it is, said Kitty, stoutly. He s a noble fellow, and I think you re (loing a cruel thing, taking this child away from him. Why, he cant marry her, said Mrs. Ainsworth. No, but she s safe here, and close to. him, and they are comparatively happy; that old woman cant live long, and then they could be married. And you (lOnt know what 11 happen to the girl in New- port. Pshaw, Kitty! said Mrs. Ainsworth. There you are at your sentimentalizing again. The girl will have a chance to earn money and improve herself, and no harm can come to her in my house, that s certain. Not so certain, thought Kitty Strong to herself, but she said nothing. At this moment, Toinette was seen running breathlessly down the beach, car- rying a small bundle in her hand. Why what s the matter with the child? She s crying hard! eKelaimed Mrs. Ainsworth. And where s the mother? She was to come to see her off. May he she s changed her mind, said the skipper. She s the (levils own dame, old Massy is; and the gal s as afraid of her as death, I ye heard say.~~ Ramby looked up at the sound of Toi- nettes steps, threw down his knife, and bounded towards her. Oh, Toinette, be ye goin? he said. Yes; main made me! sobbed Toi- nette. I did nt want to. Main s real sick in bed; she cant hardly stir, but 1879.] 15 16 Massy Spragues Daughter. [July, she just drove me out. I darsent stay; but I in afraid she 11 die, an there aint nobody to go near her, if I in gone. The two were walking slowly towards the boat, Toinette crying audibly. Mrs. Ainsworth sprang on shore, and met theni. My poor child, what is the mat- ter? she said. Main made me come, said Toi- nette, crying still harder. She s sick. Id go back if I darst, but I darsent. Mrs. Ainsworth looked at Rainby. His face was full of sorrow and perplex- ity. Is there no one who will go to the old woman? said Mrs. Ainsworth. Rainby shook his head. There s plenty ud go, he said, but theyre all afraid of her. Skipper Erieson was growing very im- patient; the south wind is a treacherous promiser, as all sailors know. If this wind dies down, he said to Kitty Strong, we ~ll not make Newport to-night, that s all. Oh, Bell, do hurry! called Kitty. Let the girl stay; she can come up next week. Oh, I darsent stay; I 11 have to go with ye! cried poor Toinette. Main said she would nt let me into the house if I caine back! I expect she 11 die. Mrs. Ainsworth took out her purse, and gave Ramby a sum of money larger than he had ever before held in his hand at once. There! she said, take that, Ramby. You can surely hire somebody to go up to the house and stay. Wait, she added, hastily writing a few lines upon the back of an envelope. There is my address. You write You can write, cant you? Ramby nodded. You write and tell us how Mrs. Sprague is. Come, Toinette, and Mrs. Ains- worth took the girl by the hand. Toi- nette broke from her hold, threw her little bundle of clothes on the ground, and flinging her arms round Rambys neck kissed him over and over, crying, Oh, Ramby, I dont want to leave ye, deed I dont. Rainbys face was convulsed, but he did not shed a tear, and only said, as he kissed her, Dont take on so, Toinette. You 11 be glad when ye get there. Its lots better for ye to go. Dont take on, now, and he gently but firmly led her to the boat. Thank ye, maam, thank ye, he said to Mrs. Ainsworth. I ii send ye an account of the money. I know a wom- an who 11 go for money. Who is it, Ramby? Who is it? called Toinette from the deck. But Rambys answer was lost in the noise of the creaking sails and rattling chains. Skipper Erieson was making all possible hasce to get under way. The boat rocked. Toinette sank helplessly down on a stack of fish, buried her face in her hands, and cried bitterly; and Mrs. Ainsworth looked at Kitty in dismay, and said in a whisper, How disagreeable! What in the world shall I do with the girl if she s going to act like this! Dont be afeard, maam, said the skipper who had overheard the whisper, dont be afeard; she 11 come to di- rectly. T aint no great misfortin to be took away from Block Island, an that gal knows it s well s anybody. She 11 come to. II. Great was the astonishment in Mrs. Ainsworths household when that lady appeared, at eleven oclock that night, accompanied by what her elegant Irish coachman politely characterized as a half-naked, half- drowned nigger. This was rather too severe a description of Toinettes appearance, yet it must be owned it was not wholly undeserved. The girls thin calico gown was drenched with salt-water and clung like a bathin0- dress to her figure. Her little old calico sun-bonnet was also wet, and flapped about her face limp and shapeless. Her eyes were swollen with crying, and her lips pouted like an unhappy childs. She was thoroughly frightened, too, at the newness of all her surroundings, and also at an indefinable change in Mrs. Ains- worths manner towards her. All the Miassy Spragues ]9aughter. beauty, all the grace, of the childs face and bearing seemed suddenly to have disappeared, and Mrs. Ainsworths dis- appointment and perplexity gave to her tone in speaking to her a certain cold- ness which the kindness of her words could not quite do away with. Toinette would have given her right hand to be back again on her lonely island. She glanced about her furtively, like a hunt- ed wild animal. The brilliant lights of the splendidly appointed house dazzled her eyes. The soft carpets made her afraid to step. The snperciliousness in Lhe looks of the finely clothed servants seemed to her like hatred; and when, in reply to a scarcely respectful inquiry from one of them to her mistress as to where this person was to sleep, point- ing to Toinette, Mrs. Ainsworth had re- plied petulantly, Goodness! dont both- er me about that! There are rooms enough in this house. Give her some- thing to eat, and put her to bed some- where; and then, turning to Toinette, had said indifferently, Now ,eat your supper, child, and go to bed; and for Heavens sake dont get up in the morn- ing with such a face as that! poor Toi- nettes cup of misery was full. She could not swallow a morsel of the food set before her, and when she lay down on her bed, though it was softer than she had ever dreamed a bed could be, she tossed and turned and cried for hours. But in the morning all was changed. Mrs. Ainsworth was a kind-hearted wom- an underneath all the sensuousness and love of pleasure which her luxurious life had fostered, and her first thought on waking was, Dear me! I m afraid I was cross to that poor little thin:, last night; I was so cold and tired and sea- sick. Marie, Marie! she called to her maid. Is that poor little Block Isl- ander up yet? The colored girl, maam? asked Marie, with no very pleasant tone. She is nt a colored girl, any more than you are yourself, answered Mrs. Aiusworth emphatically. She s an East Indian; and I m going to keep her, and have her taught to take care of her- self; she s lived like a heathen. iNow VOL. XLIV.NO. 261. 2 you be good to her, Marie. 1 11 give you my black grenadine if you 11 give her that little blue gingham of yours. It will just about fit her. I m sure I cant have her going about in that rag she wore yesterday. I 11 get her some clothes to-day, and have her made de- cent. Marie was all smiles and complaisance immediately, and when she entered Toi- nettes room she had voluntarily added a neat white petticoat and apron to the gift of the blue gingham; also a bit of ruffle for Toinettes neck, and a little knot of black ribbon. Here, she said not unkindly, Mrs. Ainswortli wants you to put on these clothes. They re all mine, but we re about of a size; they 11 do for you till she gets you some others. Toinette was sitting on the floor, her arms crossed on the window-sill ,gazing out to sea. She had been sitting there ever since daybreak, revolving in her mind wild impulses of escape and return to Block Island. At the sight of the pretty blue gown and the dainty whit& apron her eyes li~hted up. Be them for me? she said, for my own? The reverential admiration in the~ childs face pleased Maries vanity. Lor, yes, she said; you may have em and welcome. I ye got more clothes than I know what to do with. Mrs. Ainsworth gives me all her gowns. Aint she beautiful! said Toinette, in an enthusiastic tone. All the darkness had rolled away from her skies; with the instantaneous transi- tion of an infant, she had passed from sorrow and apprehension to joy and de- light. Again tIme alluring vista of the new life stood open before her, and bound- ing to her feet she began slowly to un- dress herself. I m real shamed to undress afore ye, she said, with a shy respectfulness of tone which won on Marie still farther. I haint never had nothing; main and me was awful poor. I reckon ye haint ever been on Block Island have ye? No, thank the Lord! said Marie, undevoutly. Mrs. Ainsworth never 1879.] 17 Massy Spragues Daugider. takes me when she goes to these outland- ish places. My! but you ye got pretty hair, child! Toinettes hair, which had been loose- ly coiled and held by an old broken comb, had tumbled down as she put her head through the narrow opening of the blue gingham gown. Let me do it up for you, said Marie. Mrs. Ainsworth likes to see everybody look pretty about her. I expect that s the reason she likes you, said little Toinette, honestly; and tbese words completed the winning over of Marie. With as much care as she would have dressed her mistresss hair, she arranged Toinettes, brushing it all back securely above her ears, and knot- ting it low behind, leaving a few care- less short curls on the forehead. Then she fastened the little knot of black rib- bon in the right place at her throat, and, tying on the white apron, led her to Mrs. Ainsworths bedside; and smiled as beamingly as Toinette herself when Mrs. Ainsworth, looking up from her newspaper, exclaimed, Why, Marie, you ye made her look like another creature! Now, Toinette, she continued, you are to do just what Marie tells you. She 11 teach you to sew, and let you help her on my clothes; and nobody else in this house is to have anything to do with you; and Mrs. Ainsworth returned to her reading, en- tirely satisfied that she had done the best possible thing for Toinette. Once installed as Maries protegee and pupil, Toinettes comfort was assured; for Marie was almost as great a power in the Ainsworth establishment as even Mrs. Ainsworth herself. And Toinette soon came to divide her allegiance al- most equally between the mistress and the maid. The Frenchwoman was thor- oughly kind and good-humored, and her vivacious stories of life in France, and of her experiences, which had been by no means unvaried, in America, were endlessly fascinating to Toinette. Marie was an excellent dress-maker and mil- liner, and had the true French talent in such work; but Toinette had something better than talent or French training, she had the artists eye and hand~ One day, when Marie was trimming a hat for her mistress, and the placing of the feath- er gave her trouble, Toinette, who was sitting on a low cricket at her feet, said timidly, Marie, would nt it look pretty up there? indicating the spot with her fin- ger. I Think Mrs. Ainsworth always looks prettiest when the things are nod- (ha on her head as if they growed there. It was the unconscious touch of the art- ist. Marie pinned the feather where the little Block Islander had suggested, and all Newport said how ravishing was Mrs. Ainsworths French hat. It was early in June when Mrs. Ains- worth took Toinette from her home. In three months, Toinettes own mother would hardly have known her. Under the combined influence of good food and ease of life the child had grown tall; her figure had developed, and was now even more beautiful than her face. A certain daintiness, which came very near being elegance, always characterized her per- sonal atmosphere, though she wore only the plainest of ginghams and chintzes, and was never seen without a white apron. Marie found her an invaluable as- sistant. Mrs. Ainswortk often laughed, and said, Marie, how did you get on before we had Toinette? You 11 never let her go; and Mrs. Ainsworth was well con- tent that it should be so. Gradually many of Maries duties slipped into Toi- nettes hands. Some things which Marie had always disliked to do were to Toi- nette simply a delight: the accompany- in~ her mistress to the beach, for instance. Many a lounger on the beach, at the bathing hour, wondered admiringly at the beautiful girl in the dress of a serv- ant who sat motionless in the door of one of the bathing-houses, her eyes fixed on the ocean with a look of yearning love. When Mrs. Ainswortk stepped out of the water, Toinette bounded to meet her, and, throwing a white wrap over her shoul- ders, walked by her side as absorbed as a lover. If Mrs. Ainsworth had been a woman of (leep feeling, she would have seen in Toinette the signs of a devotion 18 [July, iJlassy Spragues Daughter. and passion which were dangerous ele- ments in her nature; but Mrs. Ains- worth had never in her life analyzed a character, or thought deeply about life. She was kindly and sensuous, at ease with the world and with herself; and al- ways thought of Toinette, as she spoke of her, as a dear, affectionate little thing, and such a beauty it s a pleas- ure to have her in the house. While days were gliding thus swift- ly, smoothly, and transformingly for Toinette in Newport, on Block Island, only a few hours away, they were drag- ging sadly and monotonously for Toi- nettes mother and lover. Old Massy had recovere(1 from the illness which she had at the time of Toinettes depart- ure; and Ramby had inclosed to Mrs. Ainsworth, in a pathetically labored and ill-spelled letter the unspent balance of the money she had given him to pay the nurse who took care of her. Mas- sys one interest in life now was her weekly walk to the post-office, to get her letter from Toinette. When the mails were delayed, she went daily until the letter came. That Ramby went as regu- larly and patiently as herself, and heard as often from Toinette, old Massy sus- pected, but asked no questions and gave no sign. Like a true Indian, she buried out of sight the rankling hurt from which she could not free herself. Toinettes letters, at first childish and short, grew each month longer and more mature. Under Maries affectionate training she was being rapidly taught in more ways than one, and it was increasingly a pleas- ure to her to write full accounts to her mother of all that happened. Her let- ters to Ramby were less full; but Rain- by did not know this, and found them as satisfying as anything short of the sight of Toinette could be. At last his hun- ger to look on her face once more grew uncontrollable, and having arranged with some one to take care of his father in his absence he went on board the schoon- er, one morning, and set out for New- port. Poor Ramby was but a sorry fig- ure to walk the Newport streets. What was barely respectable on Block Island was grotesque shabbiness in iNewport. As he slowly found his way, from street to street, towards the fashionable part of the town, by asking directions at every corner, people turned and gazed in as- tonishinent at him. He looked like a field-hand escaped from some Southern plantation. When at last he reached Mrs. Ainsworths place, he stood still, in mute wonder. He had never dreamed of anything like this. To his inexperi- ence it looked like a palace. I kin never go in there a ask after her, thought Rainby. I expect they d drive me away from the door; and the poor fellow walked up and down, growing more and more unhappy every moment. The house stood on one of the most beautiful of Newports beauti- ful cliffs; its towers and balconies glis- tened in the sun. The greensward of the lawn looked to IRamby like velvet; he peered closely through the slender iron palings at it, wondering if it could real- ly be grass. The great clumps of trees, the white statues, the marble vases filled with gay flowers, all looked to Ramby even more unreal and bewildering than they had to Toinette, when she first saw them. He leaned against a tree on the opposite side of the road, and watched the house. I might ketch her, perhaps, he thought, if she was to come out for anything. In a few moments, he saw the door open; a ~)arty of ladies and gentlemen came out, and stood under the porte- cochhe, looking off at the water; some of the ladies wore riding-habits. Presently there came dashing up to the door showy carria,, es and several saddle-horses; Mrs. Ainsworth and her friends were setting out for their afternoon pleasure. Ram- by recognized her, and also Miss Strong; but who, oh who, was that slender fig- ure following behind? Her arms were loaded with wraps, which she gave to the grooms and to the gentlemen; then, turn- ing, she ran back into the house, and brought out more. She wore a tiny white cap with a fluted ruffle, a dark blue gown, and a white apron. She was tall- er than Toinette had been, and how much prettier! but it was, yes, it was 1879.] 19 lJiliassy Spragues Daughter. Toinette herself. With eyes made far- seeing by sudden jealous pain, Ramby saw every glance, every smile, every gesture. He saw the gay people in the carriages lean forward and throw some small, bright-colored things at Toinettes head; saw her laugh, and hold up her apron, into which there fell a rain of the pretty colored balls. They were bonbons which the gay people had brought out from lunch, agreeing with one another to pelt the pretty waiting-maid with them. Toinette was a plaything for them all; a pretty picture she made, as, courtesying again and again, she laughed and showed her white teeth, then turned and ran into the house, a very pretty picture, but it stabbed the faithful Ramby to the heart. Toinette! he cried, as she disap- peared; but the sound of his voice hard- ly crossed the road. It was not so much a call as a sob. The carriages and the riders dashed by him, and covered him from head to foot with choking dust. He turned his back to the road, and stood motionless till they had passed; then, without one more look at the house which hid Toinette from his gaze, he turned and walked back to the wharf. He went on board the schooner, and sat down in the same corner where three months before Toinette had sat sobbing when she left him. Suddenly he remem- bered that the skipper might come back, and would wonder to see him there. He did not wish to answer any questions; so he rose slowly, and, walking with uncer- tain steps, like a man feeble from illness or age, went a long way out on the nar- row strip of land leading to Fort Adams. It was a Reception Day ht the fort; the flag floated hi~h on the staff, and the band was playing gay music. All these things Ramby noted with that strange sense, at once dulled and keen, of which men are aware when they find them- selves benumbed by pain. When he returned to the schooner all was ready for her departure, and the skipper stood on the deck, looking out for Ramby. So, there you are, he said. Did ye see Toinette? There had been no secret as to the purpose of Rambys voy age to Newport. Ramby nodded. Is she all right? asked the skipper. Yes, said Ramby. Reckon she s got a first-rate berth up there. Ramby nodded again, and, curling himself up on a coil of rope at the cabin- door, lighted his pipe and began to smoke. Skipper Erieson eyed him without ap- pearing to do so. Reckon the gal s gone back on him, he thought. Don- no sits stran~e, either; and the kind- hearted fellow asked no more questions. When, a few weeks later, Ramby re- ceived a letter from Toinette saying that she was to go with Mrs. Ainswort.h for the winter; that Mrs. Ainsworth had promised to let her come down to Block Island and bid her mother good-by, but at the last moment was too hurried to spare her, Ramby was not newly grieved nor surprised. He had made up his mind now that he should never see Toinette again; and she was not really any farther from him in New York than in Newport. Old Massy took the news more sorely to heart; and the sum of money which Toinette sent her (it was every cent of her wages for the four months) was no consolation to her. She threw the letter down fiercely. Fine words are easy come by to flue ladies! she exclaimed. Mrs. Ains- worth herself had written a note to say how sorry she was not to have been able to let Toinette come home for a few days, but she had been obliged to return to New York sooner than she expected; and so forth and so on, the polite phrases politeness can so easily spin, and keen insight so easily unravel. I dont want their money; I want a sight o my gals face. What if any harm should come to her off there! But presently Massy grew calmer, and wrought herself into a species of content by dwelling on the thoughts of Toinettes good fortune and the speedy return of next summer. She smiled grimly to herself as she read Toinettes entreaties that she would buy for herself warm clothing with the money sent. I aint a-goin to spend the gals money, she said. I 11 keep it 20 [July, iJiassy sSpragues Daughter. for her agin the time she wants it more. It s jest as ~vell she should send it to me to lay up for her. And the old wom- an stinted herself as much as ever, in every way, and kept Toinettes money hid away in an old bead bag in the wall cupboard with the china, always taking it out and putting it in hcr bosom when she left the house or went to bed. Massy was not destined to see the next summer, for which the polite Mrs. Ainsworth had made so many kind promises. It was a bitterly cold winter; for two weeks at a time there was no communication between Block Island and the main-land, and gales of wind and sleet swept over tbe island perpetu- ally. Now and then somebody said, I wonder how old Massy ~ets on! but nobody went to see; nobody but Ramby cared much whether she were alive or dead. At last, Ramby, having learned tbat she had not been seen at the stores for nearly a month, and that two letters were lying at the post-office for her, nerved himself up to go to her house. I suppose she 11 set Janger on me, he said; but I can hold up the letters to her, and then she 11 call him off. This Ramby said to himself, seeking to divert his mind from the strange pre- sentiment he felt that old Massy was dead. He was benumbed with cold, and his face was cut with the driving sleet, before he reached the top of the hill on which the house stood. No smoke came from the chimney. No Janger was in sight. iRamby stood still. A supersti- tious terror withheld him from going farther. At last, the thought of Toi- nette gave him heart to proceed. He knocked timidly at the door, no an- swer! He knocked again; still no an- swer. He lifted the latch; it was fast- ened. He went to the bedroom window and peered in; through a narrow crev- ice between the cnrtain and the wall, he saw dimly that the bed was in con- fusion and empty. lie went to the back door, and shook it violently. The old hinges suddenly gave way; the door fell into the room, and Ramby fell with it. Scrambling to his feet, half blinded by the fall and by his fear, he saw lying on the hearth, almost in the ashes, the dead body of old Massy. With trem- bling hands he lifted one of the arms. It was frozen stiff. As it dropped with a heavy sound to the floor, the bead bag fell out of the opened folds of her night- gown. Ramby picked it up, opened it, saw the money. I expect I d better keep this for Toinette, he said; and he put it in his pocket with Toinettes two letters. Poor little gal,~ he thought, how 11 I ever write and tell her! I dont sup- pose it 11 make any difference now about the old womans being dead; she would n t have me now; and Ramby looked down at the dead body of the only ene- my he had ever had in the world, and wondered vaguely why it had all hap- pened. Nobody wondered very much or cared when Ramby brought the news that he had found old Massy dead in her night- clothes on her kitchen hearth; ahd it was with some difficulty that any one could be hired to go up to the house and prepare the body for burial. The min- ister and Rambv, the old sexton and the women who had atten(led to the last offices for Massy, were the only ones who were present at her funeral; and Ramby and the sexton alone carried her over into the old grave-yard, and buried her in the very corner where Ramby and Toinette had oftenest played when they were children. it was tacitly recognized that Ramby had more right than any one else to take possession of the house and the few things Massy had left. It was supposed by the few who took any inter- est in the matter that Ramby and Tol- nette would some day be married; and Ramby did not confide to any one that his hope of this had gone. So the little Block Island community dismissed all thought of old Massy and her affairs from its mind. Ramby mended the kitchen door, made the rooms as clean as he could, packed the dainty china cups and mugs in a box with the few rags which old Massy had called clothes, nailed boards across the windows, locked the doors, and then xvent home to sit down and send the news to Toinette. 1879.] 21 22 Massy Spragues Daughter. [July, With a delicacy of instinct which he could not have had except for his great love, he wrote to Mrs. Ainsworth in- stead of to Toinette herself. The letter chanced to he handed, with others, to Mrs. Ainsworth when she was surround- ed by a party of her gayest friends, and on reading it she exclaimed, Oh, the poor little thing! and then read the letter aloud. Kitty Strong was in the party; as she listened to Rambys few words, intense from their very simplicity and affection, she cried, Oh, Bell, Bell! What did you ever take that child away from that island for? Nothing will ever happen to her so good as the love of that faithful black man. Black man! exclaimed several of the group. You dont mean to say that it s a black man! What a shame for Toinette to have anything to do with a negro! There! exclaimed Mrs. Ainsworth, triumphantly, that s what I told Kit- ty! Anybody would say so. I think it s a lucky escape for the girl; and now that the old mother s dead there s no reason why she should ever go back to the island at all. I dont believe she cares much about him, now. Toinette s not a white woman, her- self, replied Kitty Strong. No white man would be likely to marry her; and if she had remained on Block Island, and married Ramby, she would never have had any idea of disgrace connected with her black husband. They had loved each other ever since they were babies. It is a thousand pities, and you may live to see it yet, yourself, Bell. Oh, now, Miss Strong, really, you know, you ought to consider, drawled Lawrence Mason, the shallowest and most affected of all the young idlers in Mrs. Ainsworths set. A nigger, you know, is a nigger, say what you will; and really this Toinette, you know, she s something quite out of the common. By Jove, no man need object to making love to her. She s an exquisite creat- ure. Fie, fie, Lawrence! I in ashamed of you, laughed Mrs. Ainsworth. Kitty Strong colored, said nothing, but bent a glance of burning indignation first on the heartless fop, and then on her friend, and left the room. It was an inexplicable thing, the attachment be- tween Kitty Strong and Bell Ainsworth: the one so upright, so clear-sighted; the other so unthinking and facile. Mrs. Ainsworth deputed Marie to break the news to Toinette. She dread- ed the sight of the childs grief. Mrs. Ainsworth avoided all unpleasant things, on principle as well as from instinct. It was hard to make poor Toinette believe that her mother was dead. She read Rambys little letter over and over and over, till it was ragged in the folds from much handling and wetting with tears. Main, oh, main! was her only cry. Why did nt I go home and see her! Oh, main, main! She begged piteously to be allowed to go, even now. I d like to see where they ye buried her, she said. Bell, let the girl go, pleaded Kit- ty Strong. Let her go. It is nt too late now. Let her go. I3ut Mrs. Ainsworth was far too self- willed and obtuse to do any such thing. She comforted Toinette by promises that she should go early in June, as soon as they returned to Newport ; it was now February. She showed her ac- counts in the newspapers of the terrible weather, the fierce gales, the shutting in of Block Island. You could nt even get there at this season, if you were to try, child, she said. You d be drowned. And timid, clinging Toinette shuddered with fear, even while she sobbed out her desire to go. In Rambys letter to Toinette herself, he had made no allusion to her mothers death, except to say, I suppose what s happened wont make any difference now about our being married. I m stayin on here, just the same as I al- ways was, and ye know where to find me; but I want ye to do jest what 11 make ye happiest, Toinette. I aint good enough fur ye, an I was nt never; but I 11 love ye s long s I live, and I wont love nobody else.~ Toinette cried a good many tears over lJiliassy Spragues Daugkter. this letter, too, and showed it to Marie, who, wise Frenchwoman that she was, knew better than to make any direct at- tack on Ramby. He seems to think everything of you, she said. It s a pity he s black. Is he really very black? Is he as black as Miss Griffins coachman? Most, said Toinette, shamedly; and then, a little conscience-stricken, added, Yes, quite. And this one sly question of Maries went more against poor Ramby than whole days of argu- ment could have done. Long before June, Toinette had ceased to talk about going to Block Island, had ceased to weep at the thought of her mother, and was fast learning to think with great coolness of Ramby. The slow poison of the atmosphere in which she lived had changed the whole currents of her being. She was a good girl still, but she was like her mistress, ease-lov- ing, pleasure-loving, sensuous, and vain. Her letters to Ramby grew gradually shorter, colder, and farther apart; each gradation was noted and felt by the faithful fellow, and at last he wrote to her, one day, Ye know ye need nt write any more, if ye dont want to, Toinette. It seems to trouble ye some to do it. Ye 11 always know I m here. I m takin care o the 01(1 house for ye, if ye should ever come to want it. it could be made real comfortable, if ye should ever change your mind an come home again. After this letter Toinette wrote often- er and lcss coldly for a few weeks. The letter smote on her heart, and re- awakened all the old memories of her childhood. But the spell of the new life was stronger, and soon she ceased altogether to write to iRamby. Its kinder not to, the artful Marie had said one day, just at the right mo- ment and in just the right tone. It s kinder not to, because you might be only just keeping him all the tune from think- ing about somebody else; and you wont ever leave such a home s you ye got here to go and live on that heathen island again. I dont think there is anybody else lie d care about, said Toinette, slowly; but I expect it s better not to write. It was about three months after this conversation with Marie, and only a few days after the Ainsworth villa had been opened in Newport, that Toinette elec- trified Mrs. Ainsworth by informing her that she wished to leave her employ. Mrs. Ainsworths astonishment knew no bounds when Toinette went on to say that she proposed to set up for herself as milliner in Newport. Set up for yourself, child? You re crazy? You cant take care of yourself! she cried. Has that Marie been put- ting this nonsense into your head? But Marie was as much astonished as Mrs. Ainsworth; more indignant, too, for she had learned to love Toinette as if she were her child. She rated her soundly. More fool you, she said; you d better have gone back to Block Island and married your nigger. You re no more fit to take care of yourself than a baby. Not but what you re a born milliner, there s no doubt about that; but you d be sure to be cheated every time you bought a bit of ribbon. However, when they found Toinette was immovable in her resolutions, both Mrs. Ainsworth and Marie good-natured- ly did all in their power to help her. They were astonished to find how dis- tinct and matured all her plans were. She had already selected the little house in which she would live: it was an old- fashioned cottage on one of the oldest streets in Newport, a street where the pavements are of unevenly worn round stones, the sidewalks are so narrow two cannot well walk abreast, and queer jut- ting gables and overhanging upper stories make vistas almost like those one sees in Nuremberg. There was a bit of sloping greensward in front of the cottage, and a little sunken pebbly path leading through it. A great bower of lilac bushes crowd- ed up to the two south windows, and an old gnarled apple-tree with a robins nest in it stood at the farther end of the little inclosure. The old house had never been painted, and was now of a delicious leaden-gray color. When Toi- nette moved in, the apple-trees were in 1879.] 23 24 lllassy Spragues Daughter. [July, blossom and the lilacs were leafing out, and the little spot had a beauty of its own which even Mrs. Ainsworth, com- ing from her luxurious and beautiful villa, did not fail to perceive. Child, what a nest you have found for yourself! she said. How did you come to know of it? I saw it one day when I was walk- ing, and I said then I should like to live in it, she replied. What is the rent? asked Mrs. Ainsworth. Toinette colored. It has always rented for three hundred dollars. But goodness, Toinette, cried Mrs. Ainsworth, you cant pay such a rent as that off your work! I have enough to pay it for one year, answered Toinette evasively. I think I can earn more than that. All the ladies say they will give me their work. It became the fashion to drive to Toi- nettes little shop, smell the lilacs, look at her geraniums and apple-tree, and buy her daintily made articles. For the fir~t few weeks money poured in on Toi- nette. When Newport idlers have ca- prices they are sure to be violent ones, and this was no exception; Toinette was the fashion. These were charmed days in her life. How well many of her cus- tomers remembered afterward the beau- tiful glow on the childs cheek, the mer- ry light in her eye. She was certainly a most exquisite creature. If there was in her manner just one touch of vain con- sciousness of her beauty, you forgave it as you would in a little child young enough to be fondled and spoiled by hay- in ~ been always called pretty. Marie was very happy in Toinettes success. Marie was growing old now, and she liked noth- ing better than to sit in Toinettes shop of an afternoon and gossip with the cus- tomers, as they lingered at the counter lost in perplexity between pinks and blues. Very seriously Marie revolved in her mind a scheme for offering herself to Toinette as a partner. With her skill at dress-making added to Toinette s in millinery, there could be no doubt that the firm would have good success, and might come in time to have that thing so dear to every true French heart, an es- tablishment with employees and a regu- lar line of trade. But Marie was much given to ease; she clung to the comforts of her home in Mrs. Ainsworths house. Bah! she said to herself, why should I begin to slave at my age? It is all very wejI for the child, who is young, and will marry and bring up her children in the house; hut for me it is folly. I stay with madame. And so the summer sped on: the lilacs faded, fell; thick-packed clusters of glis- tening brown seeds shone on their stems; rosy apples dotted the old apple-tree boughs; the eraniums were wilted by frost; only a few wine-colored and white chrysanthemums remained in the borders of the little pebbly path leading to Toi- nettes door. In Toinettes window were clusters of scarlet poppies and dark frosted fruits and leaves and deep-tinted satins and ribbons for the fashionable fall hats. The autumn was at hand; the gay people were beginning to shiver in their afternoon drives on the beach, and to talk of going home. Mrs. Ainsworth was going earlier than usual this year, to superintend alterations in her city house, and already the packing up had begun, and all was in confusion in the villa. Coming home from her drive earlier than usual, one evening, Mrs. Ainsworth found Marie standing under the porte-cochbre waiting for her with a face white and rigid. As soon as Mrs. Ainsworth alight- ed from her carriage Marie sprang to- ward her, and said in a husky voice, Madame, madame! Come to your room, I implore you; let me speak to you! Thoroughly alarmed, Mrs. Ainsworth followed Marie rapi(lly, and closing her chamber door exclaimed, Why, Marie, what is the matter? What has happened? Marie had burst into tears the mo- ment the door had closed. Oh, madame, she exclaimed wring- ing her hands, Toinette! Toinette! Is she ill? What has happened? Why dont you tell me 0 cried Mrs. Ainsworth impatiently. Mias sy Spragues Daughter. Maries sobs grew louder. Mon Dieu, such trouble, madame, such trouble! Marie, tell me this moment, I com- mand you, what is the matter with Toi- nette. Dont be so silly! said Mrs. Ainsworth sternly. I am displeased with you. Alas, madame, how can I! cried Marie. How can I! Oh, madame, the child Marie buried her face in her hands, and cried aloud. Mrs. Ains- worth sank into a chair, and looked at Marie with a quick terror. Never, Marie! she cried. It is impossible; you are mistaken. Ah, but she confesses; she has told me. She is an infant; she has no de- ceit, sobbed Marie. It is true. Mrs. Ainsworth sprang to her feet. Who is it? she cried. He shall marry her. I will go to her this minute. But she will never tell, said Marie, in a despairing tone; she has said to me that she will die before she will tell. It is no use. Mrs. Ainsworth was gone. Calling back her carriage in so hasty and imper- alive a manner that she greatly surprised and offended her coachman, she drove at once to Toinettes shop. Without pausing at the door she hurried in. Toi- nette was not in the shop; sounds of cry- ing came from the little bedroom behind it. Mrs. Ainsworth opened the door. There was Toinette on her knees by the bed, her face buried in thepillows, cry- ing hard. Marie had but just left her. At the sound of steps she looked up, and seeing Mrs. Ainsworths face cried out, Oh! and buried her face again. The exclamation was a groan. My poor child, said Mrs. Ains- worth, look up. Marie has told me; I know all about it. Now dont cry; but tell me his name. You must be married at once. I will make him marry you. Toinette shook her head. I cannot tell, she replied. But you must! retorted Mrs. Ains- worth. You shall! I will compel you. You shall have justice. Toinettc lifted her piteous face, ~with the tears streaming down it, and said in a low voice, speaking very slowly, Mrs. Ainsworth, you cannot make me. There is nothing to be done. I cannot tell. To all Mrs. Ainsworths entreaties, commands, arguments, she made but one reply: I cannot tell. At last, angered by the girls obstinacy, Mrs. Ainsworth rose, saying, Very well, Toinette; if you wish to be left to your- self, it is your own fault. I thought bet- ter of you. I could forgive this wrong that you have done, because you are such a child, and have been deceived: but there is no excuse for your obstinacy in not confiding in your friends now. The man could be made to marry you. I do not want him made to marry me, said Toinette, with a calmer tone than she had hitherto used. He said he would, but now he does not want to; I should (lie if he were made to, and she fixed her eyes on Mrs. A.insworths face with a look of unspeakable devo- tion. Dont think any more about me, she continued. I was not good enough for you to be so kind to. I should like to have you forget me. Mrs. Ainsworth was thoroughly melt- e(l. She wept as she bade Toinette good-by. Oh, child, child, she said, why did I ever let you leave my house! It would nt have made any Toinette began; then stopped short, with a look of terror on her face. Mrs. Ainsworth was not acute enough to see the cause of the girls terror. Yes, it would! she exclaimed; no. body could have done you any harm there. Toinette hooked (lown and was silent. Not even by the remotest implication would she give any clue to the discovery of the man who had done her this wrong. The sad news about Toinette spread fast, as such news always does. The different ways in which it was received by different women were simply so many tests and revelations of the women s own characters. I always thought she was no better than she ought to be, said one of the fastest women of Newports fastest sum- 1879.] 25 26 lJiliassy Spragues Daughter. [July, mer set. She was as vain as a pea- cock. Poor child, what will become of her now! I always felt a great fear for her, with that beautiful face, and alone in the world, said a good old Quaker- ess, for whom Toinette had made the daintiest of Quakcr caps, and of whom she had sometimes stood in fear, the se- rene face looked so rigid and unbending. To all Mrs. Ainsxvorths offers of as- sistance, Toinette replied that she had plenty of money, a great deal more than she needed. It was evident that her cruel enemy had been a man of wealth, and that he would not let his victim suffer. That is one comfort, said Mrs. Aimsworth, in talking the affair over with Kitty Strong. She will never suffer. It is plain the man intends to provide for her. Will never suffer! echoed Kitty. How can you use such an expression, Bell! Food and clothing and a roof over ones head dont go far towards keeping one from suffering. The child will never know a happy moment. XVell, well, said Mrs. Ainsworth, petulantly, you need nt take me up so; and there s no use in despising food and clothes and shelter, I can tell you. To be horribly poor would increase Toi- nettes suffering very much. I know that; and, for my part, I am glad she is so well off. She has plenty of money. I am not sure that it would not be better for her in the end if she did not touch a penny of his money, said Kitty. Pshaw, Kitty Strong! exclaimed Mrs. Ainsworth. Dont you go puttin~ any such notions into Toinettes head. I shall get her to come back to me, if she will. I can easily get the child taken care of. I hope she will never allow it to be taken from her, said Kitty, earnestly. It will be her only salvation to keep it with her. You have the queerest ideas, for a girl of your age, I ever heard of, replied Mrs. Ainsworth. You dont seem to think of the disgrace to the girl. I do; hut I see an additional dis- grace in her abandoiiing her child. If she has the courage to keep it and work for its support, she takes the first step, and a very long step, towards winning back the confidence and respect of her friends. I think Toinette will do it. Well, well, you and I never agree about anything, said Mrs. Ainsworth, with a sigh. You are the most im- practicable girl! XVhen (10 you mean to marry Lawrence Mason? Never! cried Kitty, vehemently; nor to permit him to ask me, if I can help it. You cant, replied Mrs. Ainsworth, tersely. The more you rebuff him, the more in love he is. He told me himself that he did nt believe there was anoth- er girl like you in the world. It is very strange, said Kitty, that he should fancy himself in love with me. I utterly despise him, and all men of his sort. They are worthless, unprincipled idlers. I have no patience with them. That is just your charm for him, answered Mrs. Ainsworth, half sadly. He does nt want any of the girls of his set for a wife. He knows you re a thousand times better than any of us. The winter was long and hard for Toinette. Nobody came near her ex- cept Kitty Strong; she went every week, and without ever speaking about Toi- nettes misfortune or approaching trial she bent all her energies to the educat- ing the poor childs moral sense and self - reliance. It was an easier task than Kitty had anticipated. Underly- ing Toinettes gentle and pleasure-lov- ing temperament there was a fund of good common sense and simple honesty of nature. It was not difficult for Kitty to make her perceive that true faith to her child and true loyalty toherself ad- mitted of but one course. Early in the bleak spring the baby came. It was a girl. Oh, I did hope it would be a boy, were Toinettes first words. I think it might have been a boy! Im afraid a girl wont be any better than I have been, and tears rolled down her cheeks. Jllassy Spragues Daugkter. The baby thrived and grew. It could not have been stronger and more beau- tiful had it been the welcomed daughter of a noble house. When Kitty Strong first looked into the little creatures blue eyes, she started. Where had she seen such eyes as those? The resemblance eluded her, but was always recurring and giving her food for conjecture. No word ever passed Toinettes lips which could give a clue to the name of her childs father; and whatever her life might have been in the past, it was now free from mystery. The young mother had no longer anything to conceal. Day by day Toinettes character grew stronger and better; her face gained a new expression which lifted her pret- tiness at once to the place of true beauty. Her manner had lost all its old archness and playfulness; in their place was a qui- et an(l partly appealing reticence which had in it the elements of real dignity. The change was so great that when, on Mrs. Ainsworths return to Newport, she first saw Toinette that fashionable and light-hearted lady found herself act- ually embarrassed in the presence of her former maid. Why, Kitty Strong, she said, in giving her friend an account of the in- terview, I declare I did nt know which way to look. There was the girl with her baby on her arm, and she showed it to me with as much pride as if it were lawfully her own. Kitty Strong had a keen sense of hu- mor; she could not restrain a smile. Well, whose is it, if it is nt her own? she said; hut continued more soberly, You mistook affection for pride, Bell; Toinette cries bitterly over the baby often. Much as she loves it, I think she would rejoice, for its sake, if it were to die. I should think so! exclaimed Mrs. Ainsworth. It s a thousand pities it did nt. Kitty Strongs countenance grew stern. Bell, she said, will you never learn to look below surfaces? Will life always be a play to you? Oh hush, Kitty, replied Mrs. Ains- worth; dont preach. I know the world a great deal better than you do. There is nt the least use in taking everything so seriously. Things would soon come to an end if everybody were like you. They were as far apart as ever, these two women; and it was a blessed thing for Toinette that she had been thrown, at the time of these greatest trials of her character, under Kitty Strongs in- fluence, and not under Mrs. Ainsworths. One day early in July, Kitty Strong, going into Toinettes shop, found it in confusion: boxes on the floor, the goods taken from the shelves, and Toinette busily packing. Why, Toinette! she exclaimed, what does this mean?~ I am going away, Miss Kitty, said Toinette, looking up from the floor. I should have come to tell you, but Baby has been sick, and I could not leave her. I only decided last week. Why do you go? You have been sue- cee(ling well in the shop, said Kitty sternly. Oh, yes, Miss Kitty, replied Toi- nette humbly, and her eyes filled with tears; all the ladies have been very kind to me. I could nt do so well any- where in the world. It is nt that; but I cant stay, Miss Kitty; I must go. You would nt want me to if you knew. Toinettes lip quivered; but she did not cry. Where are you going, Toinette? asked Miss Strong, in a kinder voice. She began to surmise Toinettes motive. I did nt know of but one place where I could go, where Id be safe, said Toinette, meekly. I m going home. There s the house there, and my moth- ers things, what she had; it was nt much, but I can take all this furniture. Its all mine. But how can you earn a living there? asked Miss Strong, her own eyes full of tears. She knew now why Toinette was going. I ye written to Ramby, said Toi- nette; he s a friend of mine there. He says he s kept mothers cow; and he says that there is nt any milliner on the island. I can get something to do, and mother and I used to get plenty of veg 1879.] 27 28 Mass& Spragues baughter. [July, etables out of the garden. I can learn how to take care of it; she always used to; Ramby 11 show me. Dont you re- member iRamby, Miss Kitty? Yes, I remember him very well, replied Miss Strong. lie will be a goo(l friend to you. But, Toinette, you and he were engaged, you know. Yes, said Toinette simply, with no trace of self-consciousness in her man- ner; that was when we were children. But he knows what has happened to me; I wrote him all about it; so of course he would nt ever think ahout marrying me now. But he 11 he kind to me; he s real good; he always was. He says that the people there all know what s happened, so they wont he surprised when they see Baby. Thats what I dreaded most about going home. Mrs. Ainsworth, constrained and al- most overawed by Kitty Strongs en- treaties, offered no opposition to Toi- nettes plan of going back to Block Isl- and. In the bottom of her heart, she thought it quixotic and foolish, and she would have been ready, in her light way, to wager anything that the girl would soon be back again. But for once Mrs. Ainsworth was thoroughly sobered, when Kitty Strong said, in a trembling voice, Bell, for Gods sake dont do Toinette any further harm! You have ruined her life; dont ruin her soul also. Let her go; she 11 never be safe anywhere else. I think you re really cruel, Kitty, replied Mrs. Ainsworth, half crying. I dont know what I could have done for Toinette more than I did. I cant keep my servants under my own eye every minute; and it all happened after she left me. I cant see why you blame me. I m sure there is nt anything in the world I would nt have done to have kept the child from dis~racing herself. On the morning that Toinette was to set out for Block Island, Miss Strong walked down to say good-by to her. Toi- nette was all ready, sitting with her baby in her arms; the little rooms were bare and desolate. Miss Strong walked through them, thinking sadly what mis- ery had happened in the little sunny, sheltered-looking room. The floor be- hind the counter was littered with waste bits of ribbon, lace, cord, all the num- berless things of a milliners shelves and drawers. Mechanically Miss Strong tossed them back and forth with the point of her parasol, as she stood still, ab- sorbed in her reverie. Suddenly, as she moved a bit of ribbon, she saw a photo-. graph which had lain beneath it. She stooped to pick it up, thinking it might be something Toinette had overlooked. She recoiled as if she were stung. Then she stooped again, took the photograph, and put it in her pocket. She knew now who was the father of Toinettes child. When Toinette went on board the Block Island schooner, Skipper Ericson bustled forward to receive her with a cordiality whose very effort to seem un- embarrassed was embarrassing. Let me take the little un, he said, stretch- ing out his hands to the baby; let me take it while you get settled. The child lifted her great blue eyes up to his, and laughed. By jingoes! cried the skipper, what eyes it s got! Is t a boy? No, sir, a girl, replied Toinette, gratefully. But I think I d better not give her to you; she might cry. She is not heavy; I can look after the things just as well with her in my arms, and Toinette walked over to that part of the deck where freight was stored. The skipper followed. Here s all your things, ~ he said, pointing to a high pile of boxes. I had em all piled up together. I guess they re all right. His eyes lingered ad- miringly on Toinette, as she moved slow- ly about, carrying her baby on her left arm. The little fair face, with its yellow curls and blue eyes, nestled against the rich dark glow of Toinettes cheek, made a picture of rarer beauty than Skip- per Ericson knew; but he felt it, and thrilled under it, as any man would. He followed Toinette for a few minutes, like one in a dream, saying to himself all th6 while, Who d ever think this was old Massy Spragues gal! Whats the gal goin to do on the island? I won- der if the women folks 11 go near her. Skipper Ericson was a man well on in 1879.] years; he had daughters near Toinettes age, and he mentally resolved, before Toinette had been half an hour on his schooner, that his girls should be the first to lend the poor girl a hand, now she was in such trouble. It s very easy to see, he thought, that she s no common light-i-the-head girl. It s no badness in her that s brought her to this pass. I d like to serve the villain out for her, that did it. I like the gals grit, a-bringin her baby right home, where she s known. That shows she s all right. While these kindly thoughts were re- volving in Skipper Ericsons mind, his hands were very busy hauling, tighten- ing, and slackening ropes; his orders to his crew, that is, to one boy, came fast and loud and somewhat profane, and he did not appear to be taking any notice of Toinette. She had seated herself very nearly in the same spot where she had sat two years before, crying so bit- terly at leaving her mother. She did not remember this, but the skipper did. Poor little gal! he said. That s jest where she sat afore, crying fit to break her heart; an Ireckon her hearts a good deal nearer broke now than t was then, an she aint goin to shed a tear. Women is curis critters; but this is a good un, if I am any jedge, and I reck- on I ought to be. The wind was fair and strong, and the little schooner scud before it like a bird. 11cr prow dipped into the water at each wave, and sent the salt spray flying over the deck; it sprinkled the babys face and Toinettes; the child crowed and stretched out her hands in pleasure. I vow! said the skipper, that s a Block Island baby, sure enough; most babies d have hollered. Then he add- ed, I. m real glad you re coming back to the island to live, Toinette. I reckon ye 11 get on fust-rate. I ye beam tell on the street, up to Newport, what a smart milliner you was; an our folks do want fixin up, that s sartin. Toinette smiled a grave sort of smile, which seemed to mean little more than Thank you. You are very good, Mr. Ericson, she said. I think I can 29 make a living, if the people will give me what there is to be done in my trade. You can count on that, sure, re- plied the skipper. I ye heard two or three o the women folks speakin about it, aready; saying t would be a comfort to have a milliner on the island, n not send up to Newport for everything. This gave Toinette real pleasure. This was tangible. She had feared that Ram- bys testimony might have been warped by his desire to have her come. Oh, thank you, she said. That encourages me; I have been anxious. But I wanted to come so much that I decided to try it. Ramby was on the wharf long before, even with the briskest wind, the schoon- er could have arrived. When he first saw, far to the north, the little swift- moving white point which he believed to be the vessel bearing Toinette towards him, he clasped both his hands together, and said, aloud, Now the Lord be praised! there she is a-comincr and he walked the shore at a rapid pace, till the schooner rounded in, and he could see the figure of a woman standing on the deck and looking toward the island. Then tears rolled down Rambys cheeks in spite of him. 0 Lord, Lord! lie said, wrestling sternly with himself. I must nt be goin on this way; it 11 jest upset her, sure. I ye got to look s if nothin was the matter! 0 Lord, Lord! what 111 do? and Ramby caught up a handful of salt water, and dashed it furiously in his own face. You dum fool! he said; what do I want to go an whimper for, like a gal! But when he saw Toinette stepping from the (leek to the wharf, holding her baby tight in one arm an(l stretching the other to him, her eyes full of tears and her lips vainly endeavoring to utter a word of greeting, lie cried more than ever, and perhaps did thereby the very best thing for Toinette, for it gave her something to say: Now, please dont cry, Ramby, she said; you dont know how glad I am to get here. Couldnt you hold Baby for me while I see to the things? Skipper Ericson turned his back, and Massy Spragues Daughter. 30 ]Jfass& Spragues Daughter. [July, began to swear hard at his boy, and pull ropes about in a wild fashion, when he saw this scene. If his thoughts had been translated, they would have reduced themselves, I fear, to one comprehen- sive oath. At that moment the skipper wished ill to several people. Ramby had brought, at Toinettes re- quest, a strong wagon; her desire was to go immediately to her home. It did not take long to unload her goods and put them on the wagon; there was but just room for Toinette left. Where will you go? asked Tol- nette of Ramby. Oh, I shall walk, he said. The horses cant draw it any faster than I can walk. And so they set out, Tol- nette and the baby sitting on a roll of mattresses and bedding in the front of the wagon, and Ramby walking in ad- vance by the side of the horses. I expect the house U look pretty mean to ye, Toinette, said Ramby, after what ye ye been used to; but it s tight an whole. I ye mended it up some, an I put a new stove in for ye; the old one was nt good for nothing. Thank you, Ramby, said Toinette. Words came hard to her now. Wont ye be afraid nights, Toi- nette? he continued. I thought may be ye would, an I ye carried up a bull pup; he s as fierce as old Janger, an if ye can jest coax him a little he wont let nobody come nigh ye. Thank you, Ramby, replied Toi- nette. She longed to say more, but she seemed to herself to be paralyzed. She felt no pain, no keen emotion of any kind, as they drew near the house; only a certain sense of being under a spell, which forced her to move on, to go through with the steps necessary for tak- ing possession of her house. The baby began to cry. This was what Toinette needed. In soothing her she regained a more natural feeling; and as she entered the old house she burst into tears. There, there! said Ramby, in his turn the consoler. iDont take on now; cry jest a little, it s good for ye; but dont take on,dont take on. Toinettes first night in her old home was a terrible one. The wind raged; the bull pup, lonely in the new place, howled all night long; the baby, made ill by the rough sea it had sailed over, wailed and moaned; and to Toinettes excited imagination there seemed myr- iads of unexplained sounds about the house. But with the first rays of day- light she regained her courage, and set herself resolutely to work to put her house in order. It was not so desolate as she had feared. The faithful Ram- by had repainted all the wood-work of the interior, and mended every broken window; and when Toinettes belongings were all arranged, the place looked al- most pretty. The front room, which had been their old hivin -room, she convert- ed into her shop and sitting-room; the cupboard built into the wall, which used to hold the old Dutch china, made a very effective niche for the little stock of hats and caps Toinette had brought with her. The china she placed upon hanging shelves on the opposite side of the room, as she had seen dainty china arranged in open cabinets in Mrs. Ains- worths house. She had some pictures and books, and gay chintz curtains; it had been the fashion in Mrs. Ainsworths set to give pretty things to Toinette for her little house, and the ornaments were all of ne~v value now. While there was work to do in put- ting the house in order, Toinette was calm and comparatively cheerful. But when all was done, and she sat down to fold her hands and endure the monot- onous quiet of her new life, she was terrified at the sense of dull misery which settled upon her. She actually dreaded the hours when the baby was asleep; often she waked the little creature up, simply because she could not endure the soundless solitude any longer. She bad forgotten how still, how lonely, how far from any human habitation, her mothers home was. She sat always at the win- dow which looked out on the lane by which any one coming to the house would approach. She strained her eyes for the sight of a human figure, as she might have done if she had been alone Massy Sprague baughter. on a wreck at sea. The old grave-yard and the deserted meeting-house, which had been to her childhood such sources of delight, now seemed only to increase the desolation and loneliness. One day Ramby said to her, 11ev ye been into the old meetin-us yet, Toi- nette? She shuddered, and exclaimed, No, indeed! I would nt go near it for worlds. Ramby looked grieved. We used to have good times there when we was little, he said. Oh, dont, Ramby! Dont say a word about that time, replied Toinette. I dont believe that was me at all. It must have been somebody else; I dont feel as if I ever lived here before. I dont know what possessed me to come back; I think it 11 kill me to stay in this place. Poor Toinette! Her two years of lux- urious living~for it had really heen luxurious even while she was a servant had sadly unfitted her for the hand- to-hand fight with solitude and poverty on which she had entered now. But the baby was her good angel of rescue. Day by day the little thing grew more winning, more absorhing; and one by one the farmers wives, who came at first either out of curiosity or merely to make some small purchase, began to find out that Toinette was sweet and lovable, and could talk in an interesting way; so they would linger and chat with her; and at last they got into the way of occasional- ly taking an early cup of tea with her, when they came up of an afternoon on some errand. Toinette offered this in the first instance very shyly; hut find- ing it well received, she began to make a practice of the hospitality, and enjoyed serving the fragrant drink in her antique Dutch cups as much as any fashionable lady at a kettle-drum in Newport. her tea was her only luxury; she had a chest of such tea as is not sold in shops. It was one of the relics of a past Toinette was trying hard to forget; but the Block Jsland women knew nothing of that, and in fact were not familiar enough with tea to do more than wonder why Toinettes tasted so unlike that they were in the habit of having at home. It must be something in the cups, they thought. The weeks and months sped on, and Toinettes first sense of unendurable wretchedness slowly diminished, and set- tled into a quiet melancholy, which was so calm and so quickly changed into a gentle cheerfulnesa by the presence of any kindly human being to whom she could talk, that nobody realized how sad she really was. Nohody but Ramby. Ramby saw her oftener than any one. Ramby would have gone every day if he had dared, but he feared to displease her. There was a shade of something which could not be defined in Toinettes manner to him, which kept him ill at ease. It was un- conscious in Toinette; it was her instinct that his love was still unchanged. her reason told her better all the time; reason said that no man would continue to love a woman who had disgraced herself by such a sin as hers. It was on this cer- tainty that Toinette had permitted her- self to rest in all her plans for returning to Block Island, and availing herself of Rambys kind help in so many ways. But Rambys eyes were the eyes of un- qualified devotion; iRamhy s voice was the voice of a lover; and his tender sym- pathy in Toinettes sorrow and solitude was touching in its unselfishness. His affection was clearer-sighted than any mere kindliness could be. Everyhody felt that for Toinette. Tier meekness and courtesy, and effort to please, had won the whole island to her. Everybody took an interest in her snaking a living hy the little shop; everybody helped her in some fashion or other; everybody liked her; and everybody said, She seems happy here. She s a good girl, and s bringing up her baby s a woman ought to. But Ramhy knew better. He knew that Toinette was unhappy; he saw that each month she was a little thinner; and if she did not seem each month a little sadder, it was only hecause she grew each day more sweetly resigned to her fate. It was harder for Ramby than for Toinette. Night after night the faithful i8~9.] 31 32 Miassy Spragues Daugkter. [July, fellow walked up and down the shore, trying to think what he could do for this woman he so loved. If she d only be my wife, and let me take care of her, that d he some- thino he said to himself over and over. Then she need nt work so hard. Ilamby was now a well-to-do fellow, measured by the simple standards of Block Island. His father had been dead for some time, and Ramby alone owned the farm and the fishing-schooner, and coul(l have made a fair livino off either. He had put his little cabin in excellent repair, owned cows and horses, and had money in a hank in Newport. T would nt be nothin, he said, after the way she s lived up there; but she could he as comfortable s anybody here. An if she d only let me take care of her, seems s if I could stand it better, he reiter- ated to himself night after night, as lie trod his lonely path. At last, without hope, hut in the courage of despair, lie broached the idea to Toinette. Toinette, he began, could nt yecouldnt ye, now, noways, make up your mind to let me take care of ye? Ye re workin a great deal too hard; ye cant stand it. An ye re a-pinin away here all the time; ye re so lone- some; t aint good for nobody. Now, down to my place it s real lively; there s people a-comm an goin, and the schooners comm in. Ye d like it bet- ter; an it would be a heap better for Baby; and I{amby, after one quick, yearning look into Toinettes face, cast his eyes down to the floor, and waited her answer. Toinette did not speak for some seconds. his fear changed into mortal apprehension. Oh, Toinette, ye aint angry with me, he ye? he cried. Dont ye be; I wont never say such a word again. I know I aint good enough for ye, and want never; hut ye re so lonely, Toinette, I thought may he it would nt be quite so hard for you if ye had anybody, even if t was me. Ramby, replied Toinette, slowly, you re the best man I ever have known in my life, but And she be- gan to cry. Oh, dont now, dont! exclaimed iRamby. I cant bear to see ye cry. I wont never say another word about it. Toinette smiled very sadly, and con- tinued, I dont think it would be right for me to let you marry a woman who had done what I ye done, IRamby. You dont know how folks would talk about it. Rambys eyes flashed. I d like to hear anybody talk about you, Toinette! Oh, my little sweet gal, dont ye ever go to feel so; nobody s ever blamed ye a mite; there aint anybody on this isl- and but what speaks well on ye, Toi- nette. Ye need nt go a-undervallyin verself that way, now, I tell you. They are all very good, said Toi- nette; a great deal better than I de- serve. But, Ramby, dear, supposing I could nt love you s you love me; you would nt want me for your wife, would you? And I could nt, Ramby, I could nt love anybody any more except Baby. Ye need nt say anything about that, Toinette, exclaimed Ramby, his face glowing with hope. If ye 11 only come and hive with me, and let me take care of ye, I aint afeard but what ye 11 love me some! Why, Toinette, ye used to love me once, and there aint any reason why ye should nt again. Oh, say ye 11 come. I know you 11 always be good to Baby, said Toinette, timidly. Dont I love her now s well s if she was mine? asked Ramby, triumph- antly. Aint she yours? Aint that enough for me, dont ye think? It would be useless to deny that when Block island heard that Toinette and Ramby had been married at Parson Plummers house one morning, very early, and that Toinettes shop was now in the north room of Rambys cabin, some ill-natured speeches were made. But Toinettes face disarmed all malice. The new look of solemn purpose on her countenance brought out more clearly the increased spirituality of her feat- ures; and people who had gone with but dubious good-will to see her in her new home went away sobered, saying among themselves, She dont look as if she was long Jifliassy Spragues Daughter. for this world. And she s done it for the childs sake. There aint anybody would have stood by the young one as Pamby will. The people were right. Toinettes nature was formed for sunshine; there was ~othing rugged about her. She could not thrive, she could not even live, in an adverse air and under the weight of sorrow. She had no disease; she simply drooped, very gradually, so gradually that even the watchful and affectionate iRamby was lulled at last into a sense of security, so wonted had he become to her extreme feebleness. He tended her as if she had been his child instcad of his wife, without seem- ing to know that he had labors to per- form. lie did all that was to be done for her and for the child; and was con- tent so long as he saw her sitting in her chair, her slender fingers gracefully em- ployed with the bright ribbons, or on the embroideries which she did so beau- tifully. When at last the day came on which Toinette said in the morning, Ramby, I cant get up to-day. You might as well go for the doctor, dear, he was as 4palled as if she had been strick- en down by some sudden attack of ill- ness. And when the doctor, on feeling her pulse, exclaimed in astonishment, Why, how long has she been in this condition? Ramby replied eagerly, Only just this morning, sir; she was took just before I came for you. She s been real well all summer. Toinette looked up at the doctor and smiled; and when iRamby left the room for a moment she said, still smiling, I did nt tell him anything, doctor. You tell him, will you? Ive known all sum- muer I was a-goin~ pretty fast. Its no use your doing anything for mae, doctor, and it s a great deal better I should die. He 11 take good care of Baby. Toinette sank now very rapidly. Hay- inggiven up the effort at concealment of her weakness, she had no longer a mo- tive for struggling with it; and only one week from the day the doctor had been called to her she was buried in the old grave-yard, hy the side of her mother. The next grave to hers was an old and VOL.XLIV.NO. 261. 3 sunken mound, whose head-stone of slate had fallen, and was half buried in grass. After the funeral, as IRamby sat alone on the ground, the baby on his knees, he idly pulled away the tangled grass, and slowly studied out the inscription on the stone. It told that one Acres Tois had been buried there in the year 1684, aged one hundred and one years.~~ 0 Lord! groaned Pamby, aloud, hey I got, to live so long as that, ~ wonder! 0 Lord! 0 Lord! The baby, wondering at the tone, put up one little hand and touched the black face which had never before looked into hers without a smile. The touch re- called Ramby to himself. It seemed like a voice from Toinette. Kissing the baby over and over, he hugged her tight to his bosom, rose, and walked down the hill. He was not wholly separated from Toinette so long as Toinettes child lay in his arms. From that hour he never left the child for a moment. When the weather was not fair enough for him to take her out to sea in the schooner, he did not fish. When it was too cold or stormy for her to sit in her wagon and watch him, as he worked on the farm, he stayed idle in the house. The child grew strong and beautiful, and by the time she was six years old was as fearless a little sailor as any boy that went out of Block Island harbor. Many a time, strangers, visitino the island, happening to see this golden- haired, blue - eyed little girl standing like a fairy on the bow of a fishing- boat, and waving laughing signals to its black skipper, asked the meaning of the strange sight; and many a one, hearing the touching tale of Tome tte and her baby and the faithful devotion of Ram- by, made excuse to walk down to his cabin and see the child. But she was timid with strangers, and could never be coaxed away from Rambys knee. She answered still to the name of Baby, and was called so all along the shore. Ramby thought when she grew up he should be able to call her by her moth- er s name, but as yet he could not say the word Toinette save in his thouglmts. 1879.] 33 34 lJlassy Spragues Daughter. [July, He wrote to Mrs. Ainsworth, a few weeks after Toinettes death, and told her all that his simple letter-writing could tell about her last days. Mrs. Ainsworth shed a tear or two over the letter, and talked for a few days about going down to Block Island and taking the baby to bring up. But she soon forgot the impulse, or thought better of it, and before long the memory of Toi- nette had died out of her mind; or, if it were recalled in any way, drew from her nothing more than a nonchalant ejaculation of Poor little thing, what a pity she came to such an end! She was a good little soul, and I ye never seen anybody from that day to this that could trim a cap as she could. Kitty Strong had a better memory and a better heart. The face of Toi- nette rose up between her and her fiiend Mrs. Ainsworth many times and in many places; and there was one man, whom she was by peculiar circumstances forced to meet continually, to whom it was well- nigh impossible for her to extend even the most ordinary courtesy. Her cold- ness and distance were all thrown away upon him, however. So far as it was in the capacity of his poor and shallow nat- ure to love, he had been in love wit.h Kitty Strong for years. At last the day came when, in spite of her avoidance, in spite of her evident dislike, he asked her to be his wife. Rendered obtuse by vanity, and probably having an element of cruelty at bottom, he had obstinately resolved that, come what would, cost what it might, sooner or later he would win for his wife this upright, indQmitable girl, who had so scorned him and his money. Looking him stea(lily in the eye, Kit- ty Strong said: You know very well, Mr. Mason, that I have done all in my power to prevent your ever saying such words as these to me. Then, going to her writing-desk, she took from a secret drawer a small photograph, and hold- ing it out to him continued in a sterner tone, This photograph of yours I found among poor Toinettes things. The child never betrayed you. Had you had delicacy enough to respect my evident avoidance of your every atten- tion, I would have spared you the shame of knowing why and how much and how long I have despised you. It was three years since Toinette had fled from Lawrence Mason; even her name and her face had become dim in his hardened mind; but he took the photograph mechanically from Kitty Strongs hand, and, bowing his head, went out silent from her presence. Many years afterward, when he was a cynical, selfish, broken-down old profli- gate, leading a desolate and suffering life in his lonely and luxurious home, people said, What a pity he never married! They say he never could get over his love for Kitty Strong. It might have saved him if he had married her. Into poor Toinettes guileless and lov- ing heart no thought of resentment to- wards Lawrence Mason had ever en- tered; but she was avenged. GLAMOUR. MAY buds and blossoms blushing into June, o summers fullness, come not on so soon; This perfect morning makes regret for noon. Is not hope sweeter than fruition is? Can promise ripen into richer bliss? Good Time, be merciful, we ask but this. Win. 0. Bates.

Wm. O. Bates Bates, Wm. O. Glamour 34-35

34 lJlassy Spragues Daughter. [July, He wrote to Mrs. Ainsworth, a few weeks after Toinettes death, and told her all that his simple letter-writing could tell about her last days. Mrs. Ainsworth shed a tear or two over the letter, and talked for a few days about going down to Block Island and taking the baby to bring up. But she soon forgot the impulse, or thought better of it, and before long the memory of Toi- nette had died out of her mind; or, if it were recalled in any way, drew from her nothing more than a nonchalant ejaculation of Poor little thing, what a pity she came to such an end! She was a good little soul, and I ye never seen anybody from that day to this that could trim a cap as she could. Kitty Strong had a better memory and a better heart. The face of Toi- nette rose up between her and her fiiend Mrs. Ainsworth many times and in many places; and there was one man, whom she was by peculiar circumstances forced to meet continually, to whom it was well- nigh impossible for her to extend even the most ordinary courtesy. Her cold- ness and distance were all thrown away upon him, however. So far as it was in the capacity of his poor and shallow nat- ure to love, he had been in love wit.h Kitty Strong for years. At last the day came when, in spite of her avoidance, in spite of her evident dislike, he asked her to be his wife. Rendered obtuse by vanity, and probably having an element of cruelty at bottom, he had obstinately resolved that, come what would, cost what it might, sooner or later he would win for his wife this upright, indQmitable girl, who had so scorned him and his money. Looking him stea(lily in the eye, Kit- ty Strong said: You know very well, Mr. Mason, that I have done all in my power to prevent your ever saying such words as these to me. Then, going to her writing-desk, she took from a secret drawer a small photograph, and hold- ing it out to him continued in a sterner tone, This photograph of yours I found among poor Toinettes things. The child never betrayed you. Had you had delicacy enough to respect my evident avoidance of your every atten- tion, I would have spared you the shame of knowing why and how much and how long I have despised you. It was three years since Toinette had fled from Lawrence Mason; even her name and her face had become dim in his hardened mind; but he took the photograph mechanically from Kitty Strongs hand, and, bowing his head, went out silent from her presence. Many years afterward, when he was a cynical, selfish, broken-down old profli- gate, leading a desolate and suffering life in his lonely and luxurious home, people said, What a pity he never married! They say he never could get over his love for Kitty Strong. It might have saved him if he had married her. Into poor Toinettes guileless and lov- ing heart no thought of resentment to- wards Lawrence Mason had ever en- tered; but she was avenged. GLAMOUR. MAY buds and blossoms blushing into June, o summers fullness, come not on so soon; This perfect morning makes regret for noon. Is not hope sweeter than fruition is? Can promise ripen into richer bliss? Good Time, be merciful, we ask but this. Win. 0. Bates. 1879.] Pu6lic Balls in New York. PUBLIC BALLS IN NEW YORK. I HAVE often wondered how an ab- solutely unbiased, unprejudiced account of some of our social observances and customs such as I could give myself would, if printed, strike the public. The attempt has been made in other coun- tries, notably by H. A. Tame in En- gland; but the description, however suc- cessful in exciting interest or affordino entertainment, is always apt to raise a doubt in the mind of tbe reader whether there is not some sinister moral motive behind, whether the observer is after all fair and unbiased, or whether he has not taken a critical or satirical attitude which has interfered with the absolute impar- tiality of his impressions. Such a bias would certainly not be strange, as the at- titude of the literary man to the world at large, as engaged in practical work (or play), has from time immemorial been that of a moralist and critic, fix vi ter- mini the observer is not an actor, and therefore he unconsciously sees in the actor, fol the time being, a natural ene- my, and wonders how he can be guilty of taking a part in the general folly of life. Commonly, too, he is impressed with the conviction that the life of other times and countries must have been more amusing and interesting than that which he sees going on about him: if he is an old observer, the (lays of his youth shine out in recollection as better than the present; if he is at home, the life of for- eign countries strikes him as the best; if he is abroad, he sighs for home. These depraved tendencies of the observer and critic always impair his usefulness more or less, and make it necessary to take his reflections with a grain of salt. Even in the case of M. Tame, they have had their effect, as a glance at the works of that hardened spectator ab extra will show. When M. Tame was in London, and engaged in making collections for his entertaining and instructive Notes on England, he made, in his character as observer of English life and manners among other excursions a visit to Ep- som, and afterwards wound up the clay with a nights pleasure at the Cremorne Gardens. Of these festivities he has given a minute and conscientious de- scription. At the entrance he finds, naturally enough, some crowding and jostling; within the crowd is terrible, though one can find breathing space in som- bre recesses. The womens faces are rather faded, and sometimes in the crowd they raise terrible cries, the cries of a screech-owl. They have, he adds, a comical notion which proves their state of excitement, that of pinching people, particularly foreign- ers. One of the party, who is forty years of age, being sharply pinched and otherwise scandalized, leaves the place. Another woman beats a gen- tleman on the back with her fists for having trodden on her foot. At length our critic goes away, and, havin~, seen, reflects; his reflections are not favorable. In the first place, it is so different from France. The spectacle of debauchery here leaves no other impression than one of misery and degradation. There is no brilliancy, dash, and liveliness about it, as in France: when a gentleman wishes to dance, a master of the ceremo- nies, with a badge and a white cravat, ~,oes to find a partner for him; the two often dance together without exchang- ing a word. There is, again, much in- ebriety. A tragical thing is that men and women both drink, and begin by in- toxication; it is the hrutality and desti- tution which first meet together in trav- ersing unreason, imbecility, and stupor. After all, it is better to stay at home. One returns deeply grieved, with a bit- ter and profound feeling of human gross- ness and helplessness; society is a fine edifice, but in the lowest story what a sink of impurity! Civilization polishes man, but how tenacious is the bestial in- 35

Public Balls in New York 35-44

1879.] Pu6lic Balls in New York. PUBLIC BALLS IN NEW YORK. I HAVE often wondered how an ab- solutely unbiased, unprejudiced account of some of our social observances and customs such as I could give myself would, if printed, strike the public. The attempt has been made in other coun- tries, notably by H. A. Tame in En- gland; but the description, however suc- cessful in exciting interest or affordino entertainment, is always apt to raise a doubt in the mind of tbe reader whether there is not some sinister moral motive behind, whether the observer is after all fair and unbiased, or whether he has not taken a critical or satirical attitude which has interfered with the absolute impar- tiality of his impressions. Such a bias would certainly not be strange, as the at- titude of the literary man to the world at large, as engaged in practical work (or play), has from time immemorial been that of a moralist and critic, fix vi ter- mini the observer is not an actor, and therefore he unconsciously sees in the actor, fol the time being, a natural ene- my, and wonders how he can be guilty of taking a part in the general folly of life. Commonly, too, he is impressed with the conviction that the life of other times and countries must have been more amusing and interesting than that which he sees going on about him: if he is an old observer, the (lays of his youth shine out in recollection as better than the present; if he is at home, the life of for- eign countries strikes him as the best; if he is abroad, he sighs for home. These depraved tendencies of the observer and critic always impair his usefulness more or less, and make it necessary to take his reflections with a grain of salt. Even in the case of M. Tame, they have had their effect, as a glance at the works of that hardened spectator ab extra will show. When M. Tame was in London, and engaged in making collections for his entertaining and instructive Notes on England, he made, in his character as observer of English life and manners among other excursions a visit to Ep- som, and afterwards wound up the clay with a nights pleasure at the Cremorne Gardens. Of these festivities he has given a minute and conscientious de- scription. At the entrance he finds, naturally enough, some crowding and jostling; within the crowd is terrible, though one can find breathing space in som- bre recesses. The womens faces are rather faded, and sometimes in the crowd they raise terrible cries, the cries of a screech-owl. They have, he adds, a comical notion which proves their state of excitement, that of pinching people, particularly foreign- ers. One of the party, who is forty years of age, being sharply pinched and otherwise scandalized, leaves the place. Another woman beats a gen- tleman on the back with her fists for having trodden on her foot. At length our critic goes away, and, havin~, seen, reflects; his reflections are not favorable. In the first place, it is so different from France. The spectacle of debauchery here leaves no other impression than one of misery and degradation. There is no brilliancy, dash, and liveliness about it, as in France: when a gentleman wishes to dance, a master of the ceremo- nies, with a badge and a white cravat, ~,oes to find a partner for him; the two often dance together without exchang- ing a word. There is, again, much in- ebriety. A tragical thing is that men and women both drink, and begin by in- toxication; it is the hrutality and desti- tution which first meet together in trav- ersing unreason, imbecility, and stupor. After all, it is better to stay at home. One returns deeply grieved, with a bit- ter and profound feeling of human gross- ness and helplessness; society is a fine edifice, but in the lowest story what a sink of impurity! Civilization polishes man, but how tenacious is the bestial in- 35 36 Public Balls in New York. [July, stinct I It is consoling, after t1~is, to reflect that the light-hearted Gaul man- ages his revels with more delicacy and sobriety. Let us, then, shaking off the mud of England from our fcet and wring- ing its fog out of our clothes, cross the Channel, and see how the gay children of France manage these things. There is no more entertaining or instructive account of French life than the Notes oa Paris contained in the posthumously published volume of the life and opinions of M. Frederic Thomas Graindorge, doc- tor of philosophy at the University of Jena, and special partner in the house of Graindorge & Co., Oils and Salt Pork, Cincinnati, U. S. A. M. Tame was the executor of M. Graindorge, a gentle- man of unusual powers of observation and facility of statement, and after his death gave his papers to the world. In them are to he found shrewd observa- tions and reflections upon almost every phase of Parisian life, among others the Public Ball of Paris. We have seen how English pleasures strike M. Tame. Let us see how the like sort of thing strikes M. Graindorge in France. Let us follow this philosophic observer, at the age of sixty, through his round of noc- turnal adventures. It is eleven oclock at night, and he determiucs to pass a pleasant evening. There is no amusement, he reflccts, outside of Paris, no gaycty hut at Paris balls; ~ at least be was told so in Amcrica. About six hundred per- sons are collected at the Casino, Rue Ca- det. Lct us enter and see what we find. There is a bad smell of gas and to- bacco, the heat and steam of a crowded room. fhere are little nooks for drink- ing, a sort of saloon where people elbow each other ahout, a large dance hall with a chalked and sprinkled floor, here and there shabby velvet sofas, the cast-off furniture of some lodging-house. The women are all used up and daubed with paint. They eat suppers and sit up all night; in the morning plenty of pomatum and cold cream; to this they owe their unique complexion. Their voices are shrill, thin, and sharp, the result of petits verres. Of these ladies Mariette, the Toulousaine, attracts most attention. Her attractions are of two kinds, gymnastic and intellectual: she throws her leg to a level with her head, and touches her foot with her hand; and she converses not without spirit, but what she says cannot be put on pa- per. Only three or four men who have the appearance of gentlemen are to be seen. The rest of the audience is made up of studeimts and clerks, many of them apparently clerks in stores, omnibus con- ductors, barbers boys, and wine mer- chants. The clothes and hats look as though they caine from some peddlers van. The men dance and kick up their heels like the women. Afterwards M. Graindorge visits the Mabille. How oft- en had he heard it spoken of! Youno men dream of it. Foreigners take their wives to see it. Historians will some day speak of it. It is a grand ball night; two francs entrance for men, one franc for women. This is the way that the general appearance of the place strikes M. Graindorge : A grand alley-way variegated with colored glass; diminu- tive groves, round plots of illuminated green. Small blue jets of gas stretch along the ground through th~ flowers. Light and transparent vases are mixed in rings over the grass. There is a faint odor of grease and oil. The trees, wan and dim in the oblique light, look strange and unearthly. The imitation Corinthi- an vases, the scenes painted in deception, to give an appearance of length to the alleys, are simply contemptible. Above this rural arrangement jut out the sharp corners and heavy masonry of an enor- mous building. The rough ground hurts the feet. Decidedly I am not enthusi- astic. And this is the way that the people strike M. Graindorge: The men are sai(l to be hired; the women exhibit themselves gratis, though they feel that they are despised. How odd that peo- ple can take any pleasure in staring at these poor girls, most of them faded, all looking degraded or half-scared, as they dance in their hats atid cloaks and black bottines! One is tempted to give them twenty francs, and send them all to the Public Balls in New York. kitchen to eat a beefsteak and drink a glass of beer. Towards midnight the Mabille be- comes a thorough rout, and M. Graindorge, wishing to see everything, goes on to the Bal Perron at the Barn- ~re du Trous. This is a guinguette, that pretty sounding word so common in the world of the opera comique or of Beranger s songs. The very word, observes M. Graindorge, calls up pret- ty, sly faces, nicely fitting little caps, graceful and flexible figures; all the gay- ety, all the vivacity, so peculiar to France and Paris are there, is it not so? Well, then, let us enter a guinguette and see for ourselves. The chief charac- teristic here is that, with one or two ex- ceptions, all these people are thin and small. SeveraL of them look like chil- dren. There are some women only four feet bigh; all are stunted, dwarfed, pit- iful, badly made. From generation to generation they have drunk bad wine, eaten dog chops, breathed the foul air of Bobino, and worked too bard in order to amuse themselves too much. Here we find the true type of the Parisian workingman, with his transparent van- ity and his low sensuality. The musicians blow away indefatigably. The floor manager hurries about, pushing and coupling the dancers with a speed and activity really wonderful. . . . There are two or three soldiers in the orchestra; one at the drum, another at the cymbals, the latter with spectacles, serious and at- tentive as though he were about to touch off a mine. The cornet-a-piston has taken off his coat, and is blowing away, leaning back in his chair with dripping forehead and red cheeks. The octave flute is a hunchback, a poor dried-up fel- low, with a peaked, charcoal face and eyes which shine like flames. A good, patient old gray-beard is scraping the bass-viol. They make all the noise they can. The company sip their coffee, smoke, gulp down great bumpers of beer, take in the noisy scene with eager eyes and ears. It is their relief from the treadle or the plane. But it is sad to see among them six or eight little work- ing girls, who seem to be respectable, and several families, father, mother, and children, who have come to look on. It is here that they learn that pleasure con- sists of brawling and drunkenness. It is clear that M. Graindorge does not agree with those who think that the pub- lic balls of Paris are the only places for true gayety in the world. On the con- trary, as he leaves this guinguette of the nineteenth century,~ he sadly exclaims. What a difference between the wild fury of this ant swarm and the calm contentment, the quiet enjoyment, of the pleasure gardens in Germany! And so we reach the end of the round. In En- gland the home of true pleasure is France. In France it is Germany. In Germany it may be France again. In every age it is at another period. In every country it is in some other latitude. After all, then, it seems that public balls at Paris and London have a wonderful number of features in common, and that most of them are calculated to inspire the lover of his kind with alarm. They are also calculated to inspire the observer with trepidation; for the descriptions do not to our mind give a very clear or distinct idea of the peculiarities of the things de- scribed. We get at the end of the chapr ter a much better idea of the tempera- ment and turn of mind of the observer at the ball than we do of the exact nat- ure of the ball itself. And yet M. Tame and M. Graindorge are professional ob- servers. It is hard, obviously, to play the spectator pur sang, a fact which has sometimes interfered with the accu- racy even of the pictures of life in this country presented by the correspondents of English newspapers. But surely it is not inherently necessary that observ- ers, surveying mankind, or a particular part of mankind, with extensive view, should fall into this error. With all the progress that we have made in the past eighteen centuries, and especially in the present century, we certainly must have reached a point at which the spectator can detach himself from his traditions and prejudices, moral and sentimental, and simply describe what he sees, with- out false coloring or distortion. In the desperate attempt which we are 1879.] 37 Public Balls in New York. [July, 38 about to make to give an absolutely hn- partial account of public balls in New York, it must not be imagined for an in- stant tbat we confound the institution of public balls in tbe commercial capital of our great and free country with such places of pleasure as Cremorne Gardens or Mabille. We have cited M. Tames description of the plans which he select- ed for his evenings amusement, merely as an illustration of the difficulty of at- taining perfection in tbis sort of work, and in anticipatory apology for any short-comin~s of our own that the lynx- eyed reader may detect. We shall con- duct him only through the most unex- ceptionable scenes, places where re - spectability is guaranteed by a price of admission so bigh that the reader (what- ever view be takes of our description) may well congratulate himself that he has not been obliged to make the tour of inspection in person. MI. Graindorge, it must be observed, died some years since, and when be knew this country public balls had not with us attained a standing which en- titled them to rank as an institution. Within the past ten or a dozen years, however, there has been, at least in New York, a great development of this class of amusements. Just as, since the war, the theatres have improved and devel- oped, and athletic sports have been ele- vated to the rank of a profession, and college endowments have been so mu- nificently increased, so, too, bas there gradually grown up in New York a sort of American carnival season, marked chiefly by its great number of public and masked balls. It was not to be expect- ed, of course, that the carnival in estab- lishing itself in New York would assume the same form or characteristics that it (lid in older countries or warmer cli- mates. There can hardly be out-of- door festivities in forty degrees north lat- itude toward the end of February, and masquerading in broad daylight is under our system of law a penal offense. It was to be expected, too, that there would be something distinctively American about a New York carnival. In our hundred years of existence, though we have per- haps shown no faculty for originating national amusements, we have generally given a peculiar national development to those which we have adopted from oth- er lands. The modest game of round- ers has in our hands become the re- markable national sport known as base- ball; ~in cards we have developed eu- chre~ and the world-renowned poker~ out of two European games originally of small importance; in rowin~ we at one time introduced the extraordinary fash- ion of steering by means of the bow-oars feet; in other branches of athletic sports, while we cannot be said to have invent- cml walkin~ American men have invent- ed what is called long-distance walking, while American women have made them- selves famous the world over as the champions of consecutive-period pe- destrianismn. In what is now called the art of natation, it is an American who was lately employed in swimming, in the middle of winter, from Pittsburgh to the Gulf of Mexico. In the adoption and de- velopment on a gigantic scale of almost any national pastime, we are excelled by no people in the world; and hence it was to be expected that if we seriously gave our minds to the development of an American carnival we would easily distance the slow-going nations who in- vented it or inherited it from their ances- tors. It must be understood, also, that what we are speaking of here is not the carnival as it is alleged to exist in the South. In New Orleans there are French creoles and negroes and a legalized monthly lottery-drawing, and in many respects life is half foreign; besides this, there is a possibility in the early spring of something like ont-of -door enjoyment. For these reasons Mardi Gras and the annual New Orleans masquerade proces- sion may possibly be what they are said by Southern editors to be. A year or two since an attempt was made to introduce this Louisiana carnival into New York, and a procession was got up which prom- enaded through the streets by torch- light, headed by King Carnival, who excited about the same sort of curious but wary attention that might have been attracted by King Cetewayo, had he ap Public Balls in New York. peared in New York. This attempt to imitate the Southern carnival was a ghastly failure, as might have been ex- pected. Any one accustomed to the scientific analysis of the growth of insti- tutions could see that no such carnival as this would ever make a permanent home in such a city as New York. In New York, as has just been said, the weather about the time of carnival is apt to be cold. Therefore it is clear that our carnival must be an indoor carnival. Again, the Anglo-Saxon race has never had any such festival; therefore it is almost certain that so far as any is de- veloped it will be at first in the hands of foreigners. Besides this, there are no such things in a modern American city as public amusements, in the old-fash- ioned sense, that is, amusements in which all the world takes part as a mat- ter of course. Among the liberty-loving people of England and America the pre- vailing practice of taking such liberties as are not prevented by fear of the law has made it necessary in all really popu- lar pastimes to exclude the mass of the people by the exaction of an entrance fee; it being shown by experience that pleasure at so much ~t head is much more decorous and quite as amusing as pleas- ure to which all the world comes. Con- sequently we should expect that our car- nival would be a carnival at so much a head, a carnival for the benefit of such as choose to pay for it; in fact, a carnival by contract. There is, in the nature of things, every reason why the carnival in its modern An~lo-Saxon development should take this form. Sir Henry Maine, in his val- uable work on Ancient Law, has point- ed out that the great difference between ancient and mo(lern society lies in the change from status to contract in all the relations of life. Status, as every law- student knows, denotes those fixed re- lations, founded partly on custom and partly on law, of which primitive man is known to have been so absurdly fond. Marriage was, for instance, originally an instance of status, and so would have doubtless continued, if it had not been discovered by the legislature of Illinois, Connecticut, and other States that it might just as well be a pure matter of bargain, to begin and terminate at the pleasure of the parties. So it is with many other institutions. The celebra- tion of the carnival was originally a pub- lic festivity, the relations of everybody to it having been fixed for generations. The carnival as it now exists in New York is indeed fe~tive in character, but it is provided for those who choose to become ticket - holders in it by enter- prising companies; the provision of car- nival by them being wholly determined by the amount of money paid in, while the amount of money paid in is wholly determined by the success of the com- panies in providing the ticket-holders with the kind of carnival they desire. These balls must, by the way, be care- fully distinguished from a number of others, which have nothing of a mas- querade or carnival character. Though the nights on which these take place are important epochs in the ball season, they are related to the Anon and Liederkranz only remotely. Of these, a word or two may be said in advance. The connection between charity and fashion is an old and established one; why charity should be always fashion- able, and fashion should be in the hands of those who also chiefly support charity, is a question not very difficult to solve. Why does fashion support horse-races, church choirs, walkiu~ matches, the mu- sic of the future, African missions, and so many other excellent but heteroge- neous things? Clearly, because fashion has a great deal of money and time with which it does not know what to do. There is something in the connection be- tween fashion and charity which always affords a capital mark for the shaft of the satirist; but there is really no reason for satirizing it, as the connection is the result of an economical law, as general and universal in its operation as Ri- cardos law of rent is believed to be by all but Pennsylvanians. It must be remembered, however, in order to understand the precise nature of the connection of the annual Charity Ball in New York with fashion, that New 1879.] 39 40 Public Balls in New York. [July, York society is governed by peculiar laws of its own, which are unknown else- where. There are two theories with regard to fashionable life in New York, put forward from time to time by essay- ists, satirists, and observers, which are usually regarded as mutually contradic- tory. One is the plutocratic, the oth- er the exclusive theory. In accordance with one, society in New York is com- posed of a number of rich people, whose wealth constitutes their only title to so- cial position, and of whose breeding and cultivation the less said the better. The other is a theory that, notwithstanding the inroads made by the plutocracy, the new people, there are a certain num- ber of old families, of assured social position and high breeding, who really form the best society, give it its tone, and set the fashion. The truth is, we take it, that both theories ar~ in a meas- ure based upon facts: there are a certain number of old families, people who have the social traditions of several genera- tions behind them; and there are a cer- tain number of uew people, who gradu- ally establish their position in society by means of their wealth, but only grad- ually, and generally in not much more and not much less than thirty years. In fact, the necessity of excluding doubt- ful characters from the pale has to be recognized in New York as everywhere else, or society would soon become a bear-garden. The traditions of social ex- istence must be kept alive, and they are kept alive in New York only by a care- ful attention on the part of that conserv- ative class, the persons who have grand- fathers, to their duties. That they do this for the benefit of the new people, who sooner or later make their way with- in the barriers, is true enough; but their conservatism keeps up a barrier mean- time. Now, society being in this state, it is obvious that if a convenient neutral ground can be found, on which may meet, under a sort of fashionable sanction, those who are passing through the anxious stage which intervenes between complete exclusion from and admission to society, a ground where no one is compromised either by receiving or being received; where ones presence guarantee s~a sort of fashionable publicity, and at the same time entails no subsequent social embar- rassments of any sort, such a place will attract a great crowd; and if the support of charity is also held in view a crowd which will nobly contribute towards that worthy object. Such a place has un- doubtedly been discovered for New York in the Charity Ball. As a public ball it is in no way different from other balls. The floor is covered with dancers the boxes and amphitheatre of seats are filled with fair women and brave men; there are two bands, and a bad and ex- pensive supper in an adjoining hall. But there is a list of managers and patronesses with names fit to make a whole directory of fashion; the ball is opened by the mayor (this is a serious matter, and there are people, particular- ly people who come to such a ball from the country, to whom the opening of the ball by the mayor is a guarantee of so- cial correctness); and last, but not least, there is a full account of the (Iresses, with the names of the persons who appeared in them, in all next mornings papers. If we were writing a guide to New York, we should advise the curious stranger to go by all means to the Charity Ball. If he has been taught to believe the plu- tocratic theory of New York life, he will be confirmed in it by what he sees, and may go home and read the Potiphar Pa- pers with the satisfaction of knowing that he has got to the bottom of New York society; if he holds to the old- family theory, he will be confirmed in it by what he does not see, and may go home and read a chapter from the Book of Snobs, or Vanity Fair, and reflect, as he falls asleep, how very much alike is the folly of mankind all over the world. In either case he will only half under- stand the Charity Ball. The French Cooks Ball is a simpler matter. it is a ball given exclusively for the purpose of exhibiting the culinary art of the chefs of New York. There is no pretense of fashion about it at all. There is little or no pretense of dress- ing. You will recognize the faces of the managers and the guests; they are the Public Balls in New York. same thoughtful and attentive faces to which you have so many times given directions regarding the manner in which you prefer terrapin cooked, or the precise length of time you like an egg boiled. Give no directions to them here, however, for we are all on an equality, cooks, gar~ons, Keliners, boys, waiters, even head waiters, and all. The principal attraction is the supper-room, where, arranged on parallel tables, are multi- tudinous works of rare designs, each pre- sided over by its author and creator. It would be a waste of time to attempt to (lOscribe them; it is enough to say that they are always very wonderful, and look very uneatable; their external ap- pearance suggests the question whether what may be called culinary architect- ure has really reached the point which the French cooks evidently think it has. As we near the end of Lent, the halls get more numerous, and masquera(ling sets in. The two great masked halls of the New York winter are the Lieder- kranz and the Anon. The Liederkranz is given at the Academy of Music; in its general arran,ements it does not differ much from the Charity Ball, but in char- acter it differs essentially. As there are masked balls and masked balls, this may be put down as the fashionable masked ball of the winter, though the difference between the fashionable type and the un- fashionable type, as represented by the Anon, is, according to our experience, rather in size than in moral qualities. Most of what we shall have to say about the Anon applies to the Liederkranz, it being understood that one takes place in an opera-house, the other in a gar- den, and that the price of admission to one is twice that to the other. The character of the crowd at the two places differs perhaps as much as the character of the crowd at a performance of Car- men from the crowd which assembles on the Coney Island piazzas in the midsum- mer evenings to hear the world-renowned Levy play Home, Sweet Home upon his cornet. Let us, then, having paid our visit of duty to the Charity and the French Cooks Ball, revert to the serious husi ness of the carnival season. Let us see for ourselves, as unbiased spectators, precisely what are the masked balls of New York in a carnival ~ prix fixe. Casting aside all national prejudices, we will go simply as strangers, observers, students of human nature and the cus- toms of the newest of all cities, at once new and great. - It is ten oclock, and we are in the principal restaurant of the New World. It is a French caf6, with innumerable little marble-topped tables, and innu- merable attendant or expectant waiters scattered about among them. It is the boast of New York that it posscsses the best French restaurant in the world. On the table in front of us lie the evening papers with the latest news from Wash- in~ ton, side by side with Figaro, the Journal pour Rire, and the Journal Amu- sant. How deceptive are appearances! Are we to infer from this that the people at the tables are half French, or shall we make no inference from it whatever? The latter is much the safer of the two courses to pursue, and without hazard- ing any speculation on the subject let us send for a ticket, and go to the ball. The ticket is easily procured, and its bright and somewhat inharmonious colors tell us, if we do not know it already, that the festivities are in the hands of the great German race. YVre leave the caf~, and find ourselves in a stream of people going in the direction of the garden in which the ball is going on. The garden, so called, is a building of uncertain ar- chitectural character, extending round four si(les of a New York block, cov- ering perhaps two acres of ground. It was formerly a railroad depot; it is now dedicated to all public entertainments which have to be given on a large scale, from a Moody an(1 Sankey revival or an Anon Ball to a dog show. Present- ing its tickets at the main entrance, the crowd suiges into a narrow passage-way on one side, where are at intervals square holes in partitions, through which are visible the faces of the receivers of coats and hats. Everything is very orderly. There is no use in attempting to hurry people. You must take your place in a 1879.] 41 42 Public Balls in New York. [July, long queue, and wait till you reach in your turn the square hole. You may then put your coat and hat through it, and you will receive in return a ticket with a number. As the ball will last until six oclock, and ten or twenty thou- sand people are coming to it, all these details are of importance. While we are waiting our turn, we have plenty of time to examine the gen- tlemen who are in front of us; and we discover them to be, some acquaintances, many evidently foreigners, but many, half probably, Americans, well-to-do- looking men, clearly with means enough to afford an occasional extravagance of this kind. That we have not left Amer- ica by any means is proved by what is to be seen if we turn round, an Ameri- can bar, of length so great that the fact of its having any further end has to be taken on faith. It is really, like every- thing else in this place, of enormous di- mensions, two or three hundred feet pos- sibly; it may even be the longest bar in the world. It should be stated here that the purchaser of a ticket to the Anon is furnished with a printed map of the grounds. This of itself gives some idea of the scale of the entertainment. Having got rid of our coat and hat, we enter the garden through one of the approaches, all of which, on this side of the buildin~, appear to lead through the bar. We leave the clatter of glasses be- hind; we emerge into the full glare of a masquerade ball. The centre of the garden has been floored over for the dancers, while all round the floor is a gigantic promenade, about a quarter of a mile in circumference; outside this, again, are tiers of seats and boxes, rising one above the other to the top of the building. The light is furnished by arches of gas jets inclosed in many-col- ored diminutive glass globes. On either side is a band of music, not perhaps the best in the world, but still a band which may be relied upon to play all night, and to mark the time for waltzing with emphasis. Theoretically, no one is allowed upon the floor without a mask, but this rule is not very strictly enforced. We may venture upon it without much danger of being severely dealt with, and we are now in a position to observe the crowd. Most of the people are in costumes: the women generally merely in dominoes and masks; the men generally in character costumes, some with genuine masks. All our old friends, harlequin, clown, panta- loon, Mephistopheles, monk, and so on, are here. Altogether, with the colored dominoes an(l costumes, and the music and the lights, it is a gay scene. It is necessary, however, to make one obser- vation: that the masks do not, in any proper sense of the word, masquerade. To masquerade, as we have always un- derstood, is not simply to dress in an assumed character, but to act the char- acter. This no one seems to do: per- haps because they do not know how; perhaps because our Northern busy, prac- tical life has extinonished in us those primitive instincts of mimicry which Southern nations still possess. Perhaps but here we are again launched on the sea of speculation. The instinct of dancing, at any rate, has not died out. The masks evidently mean to make a night of it in this way, if in no other. First a round dance, and then a square dance, through the night long that is what you may count upon if you stay till six. If you are in- terested in the art of dancing, and will watch the dancers, you will see many curious things, and be able to make many instructive inferences from what you see. In the first place, as you are of course yourself, amiable reader, accustomed to mix only in the best society, you will want to know whether there are any la- dies here. Among all these women, brought together from every class and rank of life for a single nights pleasure, how will you tell a lady if you see her? There are certain tests which may be applied even at a masked ball, though they are far from infallible. To tell what a woman will and will not do when un- masked is hard enough. To guess what she will do if masked is impossible. Still, there are tests. In the first place, ladies do not, as a general timing, go to masked balls in the United States, and it is fair Public Balls in New York. to assume that they will not go in a cos- tume likely to attract notice. Every woman imagines (what innocent creat- ures they are!) that a masked ball is the most interesting and romantic place in the world; but ladies, as a rule, do not like to have it known that they have been there. Hence you may almost certainly exclude, as not belonging to your monde, all these pretty masks with gay sashes and striped stockings. Sueh~a mask may be a milliner, or a washerwoman, or your wifes maid, but not a lady. Neither are any of your acquaintances probably among these mysterious dom- inoes with voluminous lace curiously twisted about their heads, through which tbeir eves are seen, but which complete- lv hides the whole outline of their faces. No; if you wish to find the women of the society which you know, you must avoid all these, and look among those perfectly blaek and unattractive domi- noes who manage to conceal even the outline of their figures. These, if they do not dance, may be set down as ladies. It may be as well to know this at the outset, for if you have come for pleasure it is better to avoid them. They are not as entertaining as the women with the dominoes of the other sort. Again, if you will watch the dancing, you will see that the dominoes who dance square dances are turned by their partners in a very original manner; the turn tak- ing the form of a wabz interlude in the middle of a lancers or a qua(lrille. Did von ever see Ikey Bullstoek dance in that way with Miss MeGillicuddy, that was? No, not once; and you might wait years, and you would never see it done in New York, exeept at a public ball. The woman thus turned may be the most estimable woman in the world, but she has no standing in society. It is now one oclock, and the time or the procession has arrived. This procession is a grand affair, with lovely women throwing bonbons out of chariots to the crowd, tritons ridincr on a dol- phin, performing acrobats in a cage, and an immense variety of memorable shows, all of which pass round the room in sin- gle file two or three times, and finally disappear. The procession is pre~mi- - nently German, the thoughtful managers not having neglected to provide food for the humorous as well as the serious taste of the crowd; one of the flats represents a dentist pulling teeth with a pair of Brobdignagian tweezers out of the jaw of a living victim, whose face makes the agony of his situation only too real. The crowd appear to enjoy this hu,ely, which proves, gentle reader, that the managers understand wit and humor better than philosophers do. Two oclock. The floor is not quite so crowded, for a couple of thousand of people or so have gone home. This is the hour at which, if you are a dancer, you enjoy yourself, provided you are ca- pable of enjoyment. If you are a phi- losopher, you begin to grow melancholy. It is evidently time for supper. Would it be prudent to invite one or two of these pretty dominoes to take some sup- per? That they will accept the invita- tion with pleasure need not be doubted. If you speak to them, the chances are that they will suggest it themselves. The supper tables are in one of the galleries, a hot and stuffy place, where several hundred people are eating salads and ices, an(l drinking champagne. Now is certainly the time to moralize. What would balls be without champagne? Would there be any balls if there were not any champagne? And is not the result to which we are forced that pleas- ure, as the world at large knows it, is founded upon intoxication? Our com- panion whom we have invited to supper interrupts this train of reflection by in- timating that no suggestion has been Ina(le to her as to what she would prefer to drink. The suggestion being made, she declares that she much prefers cham- pagne. She is a young girl, apparently, with a pleasant voice, and, as well as can be seen, a pretty figure. Her ideas are practical. has she ever been at a masked ball before? Once before, it seems, last year; she had such a good time that she means to come every year after this. Masked balls are such fun! No, there is not much room for dancing, but it is such fun to wear a domino and 1879.] 43 44 The People for whom Shakespeare Wrote. [July, a mask. Have I ever been before? Why does she want to know? Is she suffi- ciently interested in my movements to want to know whether I am coming again? (I have a faint idea that this is the way that people at masked halls talk to one another.) Of course she is. (This is said in a tone of voice which implies distinctly that any one who provides her with a supper and champagne is an ob- ject of deep interest to her.) Four oclock. I have abandoned her. Her conversation was insufferably stu- pid. There is only one thing more stu- pid than a woman who is difficult to talk to, and that is a woman who talks easily. Women have no reflective powers, and their conversation is merely the expres- sio2 of their tastes or feelings; and to a person like myself, of a reflective turn, other peoples tastes and feelings are of little consequence. What is that noise in the remote corner beneath the gal- lery? It appears that there has been a quarrel, and some one has knocked down a drunken man who insulted a mask. Both parties are arreste(l by the police, who always pursue this impartial plan in New York, and the disturbance is over almost before it has begun. Peo- ple who have never been to an Anon ball are given to understand that there is about this time a good deal ~f riot; but there has certainly been no riot to- night. Six oclock, and a ~reat crowd is pour- ing out of the garden, to get its break- fast. Our carnival is over, and Lent has begun. After all, was it worth the while? Did the masqueraders enjoy masquerading? Did the ~valtzers enjoy waltzing? Did the crowd, as it gaped at the procession, really enjoy the tri- tons, and the beautiful distributers of bonbons, and the man having his teeth extracted, and the rest of the show? Or is the whole thing, masquerade, lights, music, dancing, and all, merely a confes- sion of the difficulty that our race finds in getting enjoyment from anything? What sort of a people are we, indeed, with our three centuries of puritanism behind us, our national history devoid of art, of music; we Americans, sav- ages, restless hunters of the almighty dollar, what sort of a people are we to have a carnival? Is it any wonder that it has to be a carnival by contract, got up at so much a head by the industrious foreigners? How cold the air is in New York in February at six oclock in the morning! Shade of M. Graindorge! is it an impossibility to go to a ball without playing the moralist on the way home? THE PEOPLE FOR WHOM SHAKESPEARE WROTE. II. WE now approach perhaps the most important matter in this world, namely, dress. In nothing was the increasing wealth and extravagance of the period more shown than in apparel. And in it we are able to study the origin of the present English taste for the juxtapo- sition of striking and uncomplementary colors. In Coryats Crudities, 1611, we have an Englishmans contrast of the dress of the Venetians and the English. The Venetians adhered, without change, to their decent fashion, a thousand years old, wearing usually black: the slender doublet made close to the body, without much quilting; the long hose plain, the jerkin also black, but all of the most costly stuffs Christendoni can furnish, satins and taffeties , garnished with the best lace. Gravity and good taste char- acterized their apparel. In both these things, says Coryat, they differ much from us Englishmen. For whereas they have but one color, we usc many more

Charles Dudley Warner Warner, Charles Dudley The People for whom Shakespeare Wrote 44-56

44 The People for whom Shakespeare Wrote. [July, a mask. Have I ever been before? Why does she want to know? Is she suffi- ciently interested in my movements to want to know whether I am coming again? (I have a faint idea that this is the way that people at masked halls talk to one another.) Of course she is. (This is said in a tone of voice which implies distinctly that any one who provides her with a supper and champagne is an ob- ject of deep interest to her.) Four oclock. I have abandoned her. Her conversation was insufferably stu- pid. There is only one thing more stu- pid than a woman who is difficult to talk to, and that is a woman who talks easily. Women have no reflective powers, and their conversation is merely the expres- sio2 of their tastes or feelings; and to a person like myself, of a reflective turn, other peoples tastes and feelings are of little consequence. What is that noise in the remote corner beneath the gal- lery? It appears that there has been a quarrel, and some one has knocked down a drunken man who insulted a mask. Both parties are arreste(l by the police, who always pursue this impartial plan in New York, and the disturbance is over almost before it has begun. Peo- ple who have never been to an Anon ball are given to understand that there is about this time a good deal ~f riot; but there has certainly been no riot to- night. Six oclock, and a ~reat crowd is pour- ing out of the garden, to get its break- fast. Our carnival is over, and Lent has begun. After all, was it worth the while? Did the masqueraders enjoy masquerading? Did the ~valtzers enjoy waltzing? Did the crowd, as it gaped at the procession, really enjoy the tri- tons, and the beautiful distributers of bonbons, and the man having his teeth extracted, and the rest of the show? Or is the whole thing, masquerade, lights, music, dancing, and all, merely a confes- sion of the difficulty that our race finds in getting enjoyment from anything? What sort of a people are we, indeed, with our three centuries of puritanism behind us, our national history devoid of art, of music; we Americans, sav- ages, restless hunters of the almighty dollar, what sort of a people are we to have a carnival? Is it any wonder that it has to be a carnival by contract, got up at so much a head by the industrious foreigners? How cold the air is in New York in February at six oclock in the morning! Shade of M. Graindorge! is it an impossibility to go to a ball without playing the moralist on the way home? THE PEOPLE FOR WHOM SHAKESPEARE WROTE. II. WE now approach perhaps the most important matter in this world, namely, dress. In nothing was the increasing wealth and extravagance of the period more shown than in apparel. And in it we are able to study the origin of the present English taste for the juxtapo- sition of striking and uncomplementary colors. In Coryats Crudities, 1611, we have an Englishmans contrast of the dress of the Venetians and the English. The Venetians adhered, without change, to their decent fashion, a thousand years old, wearing usually black: the slender doublet made close to the body, without much quilting; the long hose plain, the jerkin also black, but all of the most costly stuffs Christendoni can furnish, satins and taffeties , garnished with the best lace. Gravity and good taste char- acterized their apparel. In both these things, says Coryat, they differ much from us Englishmen. For whereas they have but one color, we usc many more 1879.] The People for whom Shakespeare Wrote. 45 than are in the rainbow, all the most light, garish, and unseemly colors that are in the world. Also for fashion we are much inferior to them. For we wear more fantastical fashions than any nation under the sun doth, the French only excepted. On festival days, in processions, the senators wore crimson damask gowns, with flaps of crimson velvet cast over their left shoulders; and the Venetian knights differed from the other gentlemen, for under their black damask gowns, with long sleeves, they wore red apparel, red silk stockings, and red pantofles. Andrew Boord, in 1547, attempting to describe the fashions of his countrymen, gave np the effort in sheer despair over the variety and fickleness of costume, and drew a naked man with a pair of shears in one hand and a piece of cloth in the other, to the end that he should shape his apparel as he himself liked; and this he called an Englishman. Even the gentle Harrison, who gives Boord the too harsh character of a lewd popish hypocrite and ungracious priest, admits that he was not void of judgment in this; and he finds it easier to inveigh against the enormity, the fickleness, and the fan- tasticality of the English attire than to describe it. So unstable is the fashion, he says, that to-day the Spanish guise is in favor; to-morrow the French toys are most fine and delectable; then the high German apparel is the go; next the Turkish manner is best liked, the Mo- risco gowns, the Barbary sleeves, and the short French breeches; in a word, except it were a dog in a doublet, you shall not see any so disguised as are my countrymen in England. This fantastical folly was in all de- grees, from the courtier down to the carter. It is a world to see the cost- liness and the curiosity, the excess and the vanity, the pomp and the bravery, the change and the variety, and finally the fickleness and the folly that is in all degrees; insomuch that nothing is more constant in England than inconstancy of attire. So much cost upon the body, so little upon souls; how many suits of ap- parel hath the one, or how little furni ture hath the other! And how men and women worry the poor tailors, with endless fittings and sending back of gar- muents, and trying on! Then must the long seams of our hose be set with a plumb line, then we puff, then we blow, and finally sweat till we drop, that our clothes may stand well upon us. The barbers were as cunnino in van- ety as the tailors. Sometimes the head was polled; sometimes the hair was curled, and then suffered to grow bug like a womans locks, and many times cut off, above or under the ears, round as by a wooden dish. And so with the beards: some shaved from the chin, like the Turks; some cut short, like the beard of the Marquis Otto; some made round, like a rubbing brush; some peaked, others grown long. If a man have a lean face, the Marquis Ottos cut makes it broad~ if it be platter-like, the long, slender beard makes it seem narrow; if he be weasel-beaked, then much hair left on the cheeks will make the owner look big like a howdled hen, and so grim as a goose. Some courageous 0entlemen wore in their ears rings ~f gold and stones, to improve Gods work, which was otherwise set off by monstrous quilted and stuffed dQublets, that puffed out the figure like a barrel. There is some consolation, though I dont know why, in the knowledge that writers have always found fault with womens fashions, as they do to - day. Harrison says that the women do far exceed the lightness of the men; such staring attire as in time past was sup- posed meet for light housewives only is now become an habit for chaste and so- ber matrons. And he knows not what to say of their doublets, with pendant pieces on the breast full of jags and cuts; their galligascons, to make their dresses stand out plumb round; their far- thingales and divers colored stockings. I have met, he says, with some of these trulls in London so disguised that it hath passed my skill to determine whether they were men or women. Of all classes the merchants were most to be commended for rich but sober attire; but the younger sort of their wives, The People for whom Shakespeare Wrote. both in attire and costly housekeeping, cannot tell when and how to make an end, as being women indeed in whom all kind of curiosity is to be found and seen. Elizabeths time, like our own, was distinguished by new fashionable colors, among which are mentioned a queer greenish-yellow, a peas-porridge- tawny, a popinjay of blue, a lusty gal- lant, and the devil in the hedge. These may be favorites still, for aught I know. Mr. Furnivall quotes a description of a costume of the period, from the man- uscript of Orazio Businos Anglipotri- da. Busino was the chaplain of Piero Contarina, the Venetian ambassador to James I., in 1617. The chaplain was one day stunned with grief over the death of the butler of the embassy; and as the Italians sleep away grief, the French sing, the Germans drink, and the English go to plays, to be rid of it, the Venetians, by advice, sought conso- lation at the Fortune theatre; and there a trick was played upon old Busino, by placing him amongst a bevy of young women, while the concealed ambassa- (br and the secretary enjoyed the joke. These theatres, says Busino, are frequented by a number of respectable and handsome ladies, who come free- ly and seat themselves among the men without the slightest hesitation. Scarcely was I seated ere a very elegant dame, but in a mask, came and placed herself beside me. . . . She asked me for my address both in French an(l En- glish; and, on my turning a deaf ear, she determined to honor me by show- ing me some fine diamonds on her fin- gers, repeatedly taking off no fewer than three gloves, which were worn one over the other. . . . This ladys bodice was of yellow satin richly embroidered, her petticoat 1 of gold tissue with stripes, her robe of red velvet with a raised pile, lined with yellow muslin with broad stripes of pure gold. She wore an apron of point lace of various patterns; her head-tire was hi0hly perfumed, and 1 It is a trifle in human progress, perhaps scarcely worth notin~, that the round gown, that is an entire skirt, not open in front and parting to show the collar of white satin beneath the delicately-wrought ruff struck me as ex- ceedingly pretty. It was quite in keep- ing with the manners of the day for a lady of rank to have lent herself to this hoax of the chaplain. Van Meteren, a Netherlander, 1575, speaks also of the astonishin~ change or changeablirness in English fashions, but says the women are well dressed and mod- est, and they go about the streets with- out any covering of mantle, hood, or veil: only the married women wear a hat in the street and in the house; the unmarried m~o without a hat; but ladies of distinc- tion have lately learned to cover their faces with silken masks or vizards, and to wear feathers. The English, he notes, change their fashions every year, and when they go abroad riding or traveling they don their best clothes, contrary to the practice of other nations. Another foreigner, Jacob Rathgeb, 1592, says the English go dressed in exceeding fine clothes, and some will even wear velvet in the street, when they have not at home perhaps apiece of dry bread. The lords and pages of the royal court have a stately, noble air, but dress more after the French fashion, only they wear short cloaks and sometimes Spanish caps.~~ Harrison~ s arraignment of the English fashions of his day may be considered as almost commendative beside the dia- tribes of the old Puritan Philip Stubbes, in The Anatomic of Abuses, 1583. The English language is strained for words hot and rude enough to express his in- dignation, contempt., and fearful expec- tation of speedy judgments. The men escape his hands with scarcely less dam- age than the women. First he wreaks his indignation upon the divers kinds of hats, stuck full of feathers, of various colors, ensigns of vanity, fluttering sails and feathered flags of defiance to virtue; then upon the monstrous ruffs that stand out a quarter of a yard from the neck. As the devil, in the fullness of his malice, first invented these ruffs, so has he found out two stays to bear up the under petticoat, did not come into fashion till near the close of the eighteenth century. 46 [July, 1879.] The People for whom Shakespeare Wrote. 47 this his great kingdom of ruffs: one is a kind of liquid matter they call starch; the other is a device made of wires, for an under-propper. Then there are shirts of cambric, holland, and lawn, wrought with fine needle-work of silk and curious- ly stitched, costing sometimes as much as five pounds. Worse still are the mon- strous doublets, reaching down to the middle of the thighs, so hard quilted, stuffed, bombasted, and sewed that the wearer can hardly stoop down in them. Below these are the gally-hose, of silk, velvet, satin, and damask, reaching be- low the knees. So costly are these that now it is a small matter to bestow twenty nobles, ten pound, twenty pound, fortie pound, yea a hundred pound of one pair of Breeches. (God be merciful unto us!) To these gay hose they add nether-socks, curiously knit with open seams down the leg, with quirks and clocks about the ankles, and sometimes interlaced with gold and silver thread as is wonderful to behohf. Time has been when a man could clothe his whole body for the price of these nether-socks. Satan was further let loose in the laud by rea- son of cork shoes and fine slippers, of all colors, carved, cut, and stitched with silk, and laced on with gold and silver, which went flipping and flapping up and down in the dirt. The jerkins and cloaks are of all colors an(l fashions; some short, reaching to the knee; others (Iragging on the ground; red, white, black, violet, yel- low, guarded, laced, and faced; hanged with points and tassels of gold, silver, and silk. The hilts of daggers, rapiers, and swords are gilt thrice over, and have scabbards of velvet. And all this while the poor lie in London streets upon pal- lets of straw, or else in the mire and dirt, and die like dogs! Stubbes was a stout old Puritan, bent upon hewing his way to heaven through all the allurements of this world, and suspecting a devil in every fair show. I fear that he looked upon woman as only a vain and trifling image, a delusive toy, away from whom a man must set his face. Shakespeare, who was country- bred, when he came up to London, and lived probably on the roystering South Side, near the theatres and bear-gardens, seems to have been impressed with the painted faces of the women. It is prob- able that only town-bred women painted. Stubbes declares that the women of En- gland color their faces with oils, liquors, unguents, and waters made to that end, thinking to make themselves fairer than God made th~m, ~-- a presumptuous au- dacity to make God untrue in his word; and he heaps vehement curses upon the immodest practice. To this follows the trimming and tricking of their heads, the laying out their hair to show, which is curled, crisped, and laid out on wreaths and borders from ear to ear. Lest it should fall down it is under-propped with forks, wires, and what not. On the edges of their bolstered hair (for it standeth crested round about their frontiers, and hanging over their faces like pendices with glass windows on every side) is lai(l great wreaths of gold and silver curious- ly wrought. But this is not the worst nor the tenth part, for no pen is able to describe the wickedness. The women use great ruffs and neckerchers of hol- land, lawn, camerick, and such cloth, as the greatest thread shall not be so big as the least hair that is: then, lest they should fall down, they are smeared and starched in the Devils liquor, I mean Starch; after that dried with great dili- gence, streaked, patted an(l rubbed very nicely, and so applied to their goodly necks, and, withall, under-propped with supportasses, the stately arches of pride; beyond all this they have a further fetch, nothing inferior to the rest; as, namely, three or four degrees of minor ruffs, placed gradatirn, step by step, one be- neath another, and all under the Master devil ruff. The skirts, then, of these great ruffs are long and side every way, pleted and crested full curiously, God wot. Time will not serve us to follow 01(1 Stubbes into his particular inquisition of every article of womans attire, and his hearty damnation of them all and several. He cannot even abide their carrying of nosegays and posies of flowers to smell at, since the palpable odors and fumes of these do enter the brain to degenerate the spirit and allure to vice. They must 48 The People for whom Shakespeare Wrote. [July, needs carry looking-glasses with them; and good reason, says Stubbes sav- agely, for else how could they see the devil in them? for no doubt they are the devils spectacles [these women] to al- lure us to pride and consequently to de- struction forever. And, as if it were not enough to be women and the devils aids, they do also have doublets and jerkins, buttoned up the breast, and made with wings, welts, and pinions on the shoulder points, as mans apparel is, for all the world. We take reluctant leave of this entertaining woman-hater, and only stay to quote from him a fearful Judgment of God, shewed upon a gentle- woman of Antwerp of late, even the 2 7th of May, 1582, which may be as profit- able to read now as it was then: This gentlewoman being a very rich Merchant mans daughter: upon a time was invited to a bridal, or wedding, which was sol- emnized in that Toune, against which day she made great preparation, for the pluming herself in gorgeous array, that as her body was most beautiful, fair, and proper, so her attire in ovcry respect might be correspondent to the same. For the accomplishment whereof she curled her hair, she dyed her locks, and laid them out after the best manner, she col- ored her face with waters and Ointments: But in no case could she get any (so cu- rious and dainty she was) that could starch, and set her Ruffs, and Necker- chers to her mind: wherefore she sent for a couple of Lanndresses, who did the best they could to please her humors, but in any wise they could not. Then fell she to swear and tear, to curse and (lamn, casting the Ruffs under feet, and wish- ing that the Devil might take her, when she wear any of those Neckerchers again. In the mean time (through the suffer- ence of God) the Devil transforming him- self into the form of a young man, as brave, and proper as she in every point of outward appearance, came in, feign- ing himselF to be a wooer or suitor unto her. And seeing her thus agonized, and in such a pelting chase, he demanded of her the cause thereof, who straightway told him (as women can conceal nothing that lieth upon their stomachs) how she was abused in the setting of her Ruffs, which thing being heard of him, he p1~om- ised to please her mind, and thereto took in hand the setting of her Ruffs, which he performed to her great contentation, and liking, in so much as she looking herself in a glass (as the Devil bade her) became greatly enamoured of him. This done, the young man kissed her, in the doing whereof she ~writhe her neck in sunder, so she died miserably, her body being metamorphosed into black and blue colors, most ugglesome to behold, and her face (which before was so amo- rous) became most deformed, and fear- ful to look upon. This being known, preparaunce was made for her burial, a rich coffin was provided, and her fearful body was laid therein, and it covered very sumptuously. Four men immedi- ately assayed to lift u-p the corpse, but could not move it, then six attempted the like, but could not once stir it from the place where it stood. Whereat the standers-by marveling, caused the cof- fin to be opened to see the cause thereof. Where they found the body to be taken away, and a black Cat very lean and de- formed sitting in the coffin, setting of great Ruffs, and frizzling of hair, to the great fear, and wonder of all beholders. Better than this pride which fore- runneth destruction, in the opinion of Stubbes, is the habit of the Brazilian women, who esteem so little of appar- el that they rather choose to go naked than be thought to be proud. As I read the times of Elizabeth, there was then greater prosperity and enjoy- ment of life among the common people than fifty or a hundred years later. Into the question of th& prices of labor and of food, which Mr. Froude considers so fully in the first chapter of his history, I shall not enter any further than to re- mark that the hardness of the laborers lot, who got, mayhap, only twopence a day, is mitigated by the fact that for a penny he could buy a potind of meat which now costs a shilling. In two re- spects England has greatly changed for the traveler, from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century, in its inns and its roads. The People for whom Shakespeare Wrote. In the beginning of Elizabeths reign travelers had no choice but to ride on horseback or to walk. Goods were trans- ported on strings of pack-horses. When Elizabeth rode into the city from her residence at Greenwich, she placed her- self behind her lord chancellor, on a pillion. The first improvement made was in the construction of a rude wagon, a cart without springs, the body resting solidly on the axles. In such a vehicle Elizabeth rode to the opening of her fifth Parliament. In 1583, on a certain day, Sir Harry Sydney entered Shrews- bury in his wagon, with his trompeter blowynge, verey joyfull to behold and see. Even such conveyances fared hard on the execrable roads of the peri od. Down to the end of the seventeenth century, most of the country roads were merely broad ditches, water-worn and strewn with loose stones. In 1640 Queen Henrietta was four weary days dragging over the road from Dover to London, the best in England. Not till the close of the sixteenth century was the wagon used, and then rarely. Fifty years later stage -wagons ran, with some regularity, between London and Liverpool; and be- fore the close of the seventeenth cent- ury the stage-coach, a wonderful inven- tion, which had been used in and about London since 1650, was placed on three principal roads of the kingdom. It aver- aged two to three miles an hour. In the reign of Charles II. a Frenchman who landed at Dover was drawn up to London in a wagon with six horses in a line, one after the other. Our Venetian, Busino, who went to Oxford in the coach with the ambassador in 1617, was six days in going one hundred and fifty miles, as the coach often stuck in the mud, and once broke down. So bad were the main thoroughfares, even, that markets were sometimes inaccessible for months together, and the fruits of the earth rotted in one place, while there was scarcity not many miles distant. But this difficulty of travel and liabil- ity to be detained long on the road were cheered by good inns, such as did not exist in the world elsewhere. All the literature of the period reflects lovingly VOL. XLIV. NO. 261. 4 the home-like delights of these comfort- able houses of entertainment. Every little village boasted an excellent inn, and in the towns on the great thorough- fares were sumptuous houses that would accommodate from two to three hundred guests, with their horses. The land- lords were not tyrants, as on the Conti- nent, but servants of their guests; and it was, says Harrison, a world to see how they did contend for the entertain- ment of their guests: as a bout fineness and change of linen, furniture of bed- ding, beauty of rooms, service at the ta. ble, costliness of plate, strength of drink, variety of wines, or well-using of horses. The gorgeous signs at their doors some- times cost forty pounds. The inns were cheap too, an(l the landlord let no one de- part dissatisfied with his bill. The worst inns were in London, and the tradition has been handed down. But the ostlers, Harrison confesses, did sometimes cheat in the feed, and they with the tapsters and chamberlains were in league (and the landlord was not always above sus- picion) with highwaymen outside, to as- certain if the traveler carried any val- uables; so that when he left the hos- pitable inn he was quite likely to be stopped on the highway and relieved of his money. The highwayman was a conspicuous character. One of the most romantic of these gentry at one time was a woman, named Mary Frith, born in 1585, and known as Mall Cut-Purse. She dressed in male attire, was an adroit fencer, a bold rider, and a staunch royal- ist; she once took two hundred gold jac- obuses from the parliamentary general Fairfax on Hounslow Heath. She is the chief character in Middletons play of the Roaring Girl; and after a varied life as a thief, cut-purse, pickpocket. highwayman, trainer of animals, and keeper of a thieves fence, she died in peace at the age of seventy. To re- turn to the iimns, Fyner Morrison, a trav- eler in 1617, sustains all that Harri- son says of the inns as the best and cheapest in the world, where the guest shall have his own pleasure. No sooner does he arrive than the servants run to him: one takes his horse; another shows 1879.] 49 50 TA e People for whom Shakespeare Wrote. [July, him his chamber and lights his fire; a third pulls off his boots. Then come the host and hostess to inquire what meat he will choose, and he may have their com- pany if be like. He shall be offered music while he eats, and if he be solita- ry the musicians will give him good day with music in the morning. In short, a man cannot more freely command at home, in his own house, than he may do in his inn. The amusements of the age were often rough, but certainly more moral than they were later; and although the thea- tres were denounced by such reformers as Stubbes as seminaries of vice, and dtsapproved by Harrison, they were bet- ter than after the Restoration, when the plays of Shakespeare were out of fash- ion. The Londoners ~vent for amuse- ment to the Bankside, or South Side of the Thames, where were the famous Paris Gardens, much used as a rendez- vous by gallants; and there were the places for bear and bull baiting; and there were the theatres: the Paris Gar- dens, the Swan, the Rose, the Hope, and the Globe. The pleasure-seekers went over usually in boats, of which there were said to be four thousand ply- ing between banks; for there was only one bridge, and that was crowded with houses. All distinguished visitors were taken over to see the gardens and the bears baited by dogs; the queen herself went, and perhaps on Sunday, for Sun- day was the great day, an(l Elizabeth is said to have encouraged Sunday sports, she had been (we read) so much hunted on account of religion! These sports are too brutal to think of; but there are amusing accounts of lion baiting both by bears and dogs, in which the beast who figures so nobly on the escutcheon near- ly always proved himself an arrant cow- ard, and escaped away as soon as he could into his den, with his tail between his legs. The spectators wei~s once much disgusted when a lion and lioness, with the dog that pursued them, all ran into the den, and, like good friends, stood very peaceably together looking out at the people. The famous Globe theatre, which was built in 1599, was burned in 1613, and in the fire it is supposed were consumed Shakespeares manuscripts of his plays. It was of wood (for use in summer only), octagon shaped, with a thatched roof, open in the centre. The daily per- formance here, as in all theatres, was at three oclock in the afternoon, and boys outside held the horses of the gentlemen who went in to the play. When thea- tres were restrained, in 1600, only two were allowed, the Globe and the Fort- une, which was on the north side on Golden Lane. The Fortune was fifty feet square within, and three stories high, with galleries, built of wood on a brick foundation and with a roof of tiles. The stage was forty-three feet wide, and projected into the middle of the yard (as the pit was called), where the ground- lings stood. To one of the galleries ad- mission was only twopence. The young gallants used to go into the yards and spy about the galleries and boxes for their acquaintances. In these theatres there was a drop curtain, but little or no scenery. Spectators had boxes looking on the stage behind the curtain, and they often sat upon the stage with the actors; sometimes the actors all remained upon the stage during the whole play. There seems to have been great famil- iarity between the audience and the act- ors. Fruits in season, apples, pears, and nuts, with wine an(1 beer, were carried about to be sold, and pipes were smoked. There was neither any prudery in the plays or the players, and the audiences in behavior were no better than the plays. The actors were all men. The fe- male parts were taken usually by boys, but frequently by grown men, and when Juliet or Desdemona was announced, a giant would stride upon the stage. There is a story that Kynaston, a hand- some fellow, famous in female charac- ters, and petted by ladies of rank, once kept Charles I. waiting while he was be- ing shaved before appearing as Evadne in The Maids Tragedy. The innova- tion of women on the stage was first in- troduced by a French company in 1629, but the audiences would not tolerate it, 1879.] The People for whom Shakespeare Wrote. and hissed and pelted the actresses off the stage. But thirty years later wom- en took the place they have ever since held; when the populace had once ex- perienced the charm of a female Juliet and Ophelia, they would have no other, and the rage for actresses ran to such excess at one time that it was a fashion for women to take the male parts as well. But that was in the abandoned days of Charles II. Pepys could not control his delight at the appearance of Nell Gwynne, especially when she comes like a young gallant, and hath the mo- tions and carriage of a spark the most that ever I saw any man have. It makes me, I confess, admire her. The act- ing of Shakespeare himself is only a faint tradition. He played the ghost in Ham- let, and Adam in As you Like It. Will- iam Oldys says (Oldys was an antiqua- rian who was pottering about in the first part of the eighteenth century, picking up gossip in coffee-houses, and making memoranda on scraps of paper in book- shops) Shakespeares brother Charles who lived past the middle of the seven- teenth century, was much inquired of by actors about the circumstances of Shake- speares playing. But Charles was so old and weak in mind that he could re- call nothing except the faint impression that he had once seen Will act a part in one of his own comedies, where- in, being to personate a decrepit old man, he wore a long beard, and appeared so weak and drooping and unable to walk that he was forced to be supported and carried by another person to a table, at which he was seated among some com- pany who were eating, and one of them sung a song. And that was Shakespeare! The whole Bankside, with its taverns, play-houses, and worse, its bear pits and gardens, was the scene of roystering and coarse amusement. And it is surprising that plays of such sustained moral great- ness as Shaliespeares should have been welcome. The more private amusements of the great may well be illustrated by an ac- count given by Busino of a masque (it was Ben Jonsons Pleasure reconciled to Virtue) performed at Whitehall on 51 Twelfth Night, 1617. During the play, twelve cavaliers in masks, the central figure of whom was Prince Charles, chose partners, and danced every kind of dance, until they got tired and began to flag; whereupon King James, who is nat- urally choleric, got impatient, and shout- ed aloud, Why dont they dance Y What did you make me come here for? Devil take you all, dance! On hear- ing this, the Marquis of Buckingharn, his majestys most favored minion, im- mediately sprang forward, cutting a score of lofty and very minute capers, with so much grace and agility that he not only appeased the ire of his angry sovereign, but moreover rendered him- self the admiration and delight of every- body. The other masquers, being thus encouraged, continued successively ex- hibiting their powers with various ladies; finishing in like manner with capers, and by lifting their goddesses from the ground. . . . The prince, however, ex- celled them all in bowing, being very exact in making his obeisance both to the king and his partner; nor did we ever see him make one single step out of time, a compliment which can scarcely be paid to his companions. Owing to his youth, he has not much wind as yet, but he nevertheless cut a few capers very gracefully. The prince then went and kissed the hand of his serene parent, who embraced and kissed him tenderly. When such capers were cut at White- hall, we may imagine what the revelry was in the Bankside taverns. The punishments of the age were not more tender than the amusements were refined. Busino saw a lad of fifteen led to execution for stealing a bag of cur- rants. At the end of every month, be- sides special executions, as many as twenty-five people at a time rode through London streets in Tyburn carts, singing ribald songs, and carrying sprigs of rose- mary in their hands. Everywhere in the streets the machines of justice were visible: pillories for the neck and hands, stocks for the feet, and chains to stretch across, in case of need, and stop a mob. In the suburbs were oak cages for noc- turnal offenders. At the church doors 52 The People for whom Shakespeare Wrote. [July, might now and then be seen women en- veloped in sheets, doing penance for their evil deeds. A bridle, something like a bit for a restive horse, was in use for the curbing of scolds; but this was a later invention than the cucking - stool, or ducking-stool. There is an old print of one of these machines standing on the Thamess bank: on a wheeled platform is an upright post with a swinging beam across the top, on one end of which the chair is suspended over the river, while the other is worked up and down by a rope; in it is seated a light sister of the Bankside, being dipped into the unsavory flood. But this was not so hated by the women as a similar discipline, being dragged in the river by a rope after a boat. Hanging was the common punishment for felony, but traitors and many other offenders were drawn, hanged, boweled, and quartered; nobles who were traitors usually escaped with having their heads chopped off only. Torture was not prac- ticed; for, says Harrison, our people de- spise death, yet abhor to be tormented, being of frank and open minds. And this is one cause ,why our condemned persons do go so cheerfully to their deaths, for our nation is free, stout, hearty, and prodigal of life and blood, and cannot in any wise digest to be used as villains and slaves. Felony covered a wide range of petty crimes: breach of prison, hunt- ing by night with painted or masked faces, stealing above forty shillings, steal- ing hawks eggs, conjuring, prophesying upon arms and badges, stealing deer by night, cutting purses, counterfeiting coin, etc. Death was the penalty for all these offenses. For poisoning her husband a woman was burned alive; a man poison- ing another was boiled to death in water or oil; heretics were burned alive; some murderers were hanged in chains; perjur- ers were branded on the forehead with the letter P; rogues were burned through the ears; suicides were buried in a field with a stake driven through their bodies; witches were burned or hanged; in Hal- ifax thieves were beheaded by a machine almost exactly like the modern guillo- tine; scolds were ducked; pirates were hanged on the sea - shore at low-water mark, and left till three tides overwashed them; those who let the sea-walls decay were staked out in the breach of the banks, and left there as parcel of the foundation of the new wall. Of rogues, that is tramps and petty thieves, the gallows devoured three to four hundred annually, in one place or another; and Henry VIII. in his time did hang up as many as seventy-two thousand rogues. Any parish which let a thief escape was fined. Still the supply held out. The legislation against vagabonds, tramps, and sturdy beggars, and their punishment by whipping, branding, etc., are too well known to need comment. But considerable provision was made for the unfortunate and deserving poor: poor-houses were built for them, and col- lectious taken up. Only sixty years be- fore Harrison wrote there were few beg- gars, but in his day he numbers them at ten thousand; and most of them were rogues, who counterfeited sores and wounds, and were mere thieves and cat- erpillars on the commonwealth. He names twenty-three different sorts of vag- abonds known by cant names, such as ruffers, uprightmen, priggers, fraters, palliards, Abrams, dummerers; and of women, de- manders for glimmer or fire, mor- tes, walking mortes, doxes, kinching coves. London was esteemed by its inhabit- ants and by many foreigners as the rich- est and most magnificent city in Chris- tendom. The cities of London and West- minster lay along the north bank in what seemed an endless stretch; on the south side of the Thames the houses were more scattere(l. But the town was most- ly of wood, and its rapid growth was a matter of anxiety. Both Elizabeth and James again and again attempted to re- strict it by forbidding the erection of any new buildings within the town, or for a mile outside; and to this attempt was doubtless due the crowded rookeries in the city. They especially forbade the use of wood in house fronts and windows, both on account of the danger from fire, and because all the timber in the king- The People for whom Shakespeare Wrote. dom, which was needed for shipping and other purposes, was being used up in building. They even ordered the pulling down of new houses in London, West- minster, and for three miles around. ~But all efforts to stop the growth of the city were vain. London, accor(ling to the Venetian Busino, was extremely dirty. He did not admire the wooden architecture; the houses were damp and cold, the stair- cases spiral and inconvenient, the apart- ments sorry and ill connected. The wretched windows, without shutters, he could neither open by day nor close by night. The streets were little better than gutters, and were never put in order ex- cept for some great parade. Hentzner, however, thought the streets handsome and clean. When it rained it must have been otherwise. There was no pro- vision for conducting away the water; it poured off the roofs upon the people be- low, who had not as yet heard of the Oriental umbrella; and the countryman, staring at the sights of the town, knocked about by the carts, and run over by the horsemen, was often surprised by a douche from a conduit down his back. And, besides, people ha(1 a habit of throwing water and slops out of the win- dows, regardless of passers-by. The shops were small, open in front, when the shutters were down, much like those in a Cairo bazaar, and all the goods were in sight. The shop-keepers stood in front and cried their wares, and besought customers. Until 1568 there were but few silk shops in London, and all those were kept by women. It was not till about that time that citizens~ wives ceased to wear white knit woolen caps, and three-square Minever caps with peaks. In the beginning of Elizabeths reign the apprentices (a conspicuous class) wore blue cloaks in winter and blue gowns in summer; unless men were threescore years old, it was not lawful to wear nowns lower than the calves of the legs, but the length of cloaks was not limited. The journeymen and ap- prentices wore long daggers in the day- time at their backs or sides. When the apprentices attended their masters and mistresses in the night they carried lan- terns and candles, and a great long club on the neck. These apprentices were apt to lounge with their clubs about the fronts of the shops, ready to take a hand in any excitement, to run down a witch, or raid an objectionable house, or tear down a tavern of evil repute, or spoil a play-house. The high streets, especially in winter time, were annoyed by hourly frays of sword and buckle, men; but these were suddenly suppresse(l when the more deadly fight with rapier an(l dacro~er came in. The streets were entirely unlighted and dangerous at night, and for this reason the plays at the theatres were given at three in the after- noon. Ahout Shakespeares time many new inventions and luxuries came in: masks, muffs, fans, periwigs, shoe-roses, love- handkerchiefs (tokens given by maids and gentlewomen to their favorites), heath-brooms for hair - brushes, scarfs, garters, waistcoats, flat-caps; also hops, turkeys, apricots, Venice glass, tobacco. In 1524, and for years after, was used this rhyme: Turkeys, carpes, Hops: Piccarel, and beere, c~e into England: all in one year. There were no coffee-houses as yet, for neither tea nor coffee was introduced till about 1661. Tobacco was first made known in England by Sir John Haw- kins in 1565, though not commonly used by men and women till some years after. It was urged as a great medicine for many ills. Harrison says, 1573, In these days the taking in of the smoke of the Indian herb called Tabaco, by an instrument formed like a little ladle, whereby it passeth from the mouth into the head and stomach, is greatly taken up and used in England, against Rewmes and sonic other diseases engendered in the lungs and inward parts, and not with- out effect. Its use spread rapidly, to the disgust of James I. and others, who doubted that it was good for cold, aches, humors, and rheuens. In 1614 it was said that seven thousand houses lived by this trade, and that 399,375 a year were spent in smoke. Tobacco was even taken on the stage. Every base groom 1879.] 53 54 The People for whom Shakespeare Wrote. [July, must have his pipe; it was sold in all inns and ale-houses, and the shops of apothecaries, grocers, and chandlers were almost never, from morning till ni ,,ht, without company still taking of tobacco. There was a saying on the Continent that England is a paradise for wom- en, a prison for servants, and a hell or purgatory for horses. rhe society was very simple compared with the complex conditions of ours, and yet it had more striking contrasts, and was a singular mixture of downrightness and artificial- ity; plainness and rudeness of speech went with the utmost artificiality of dress and manner. It is curious to note the insular, not to say provincial, character of the people even three centuries ago. When the Londoners saw a foreigner very well made or particularly handsome, they were accustomed to say, ~~]t is a pity he is not an ENGLISHMAN. It is pleasant, I say, to trace this certain condescension in the good old times. Jacob Ratligeb (1592) says the English are magnificently dressed, and extremely proud and overbearing; the merchants, who seldom go unto other countries, scoff at foreigners, who are liable to be ill used by street boys and apprentices, who collect in immense crowds and stop the way. Of course Cassandra Stubbes, whose mind was s~t upon a better coun- try, has little good to say of his coun- trymen: As concerning the nature, propertie, and disposition of the people they be desirous of new fangles, praising things past, contemning things present, and coveting after things to come. Am- bitious, proud, light and unstable, ready to be carried away with every blast of wind. The French paid back with scorn the traditional hatred of the En- glish for the French. Perlin (1558) finds the people proud and seditious, with bad consciences and unfaithful to their word, in war unfortunate, in peace unfaithful; and there was a Spanish or Italian proverb: England, good land, bad people. But even Per- lin likes the appearance of the people: The men are handsome, rosy, large, and dexterous, usually, fair skinned; the women are esteemed the most beautiful in the world, white as alabaster, and give place neither to Italian, Flemish, nor German; they are joyous, courteous, and hospitable (de boa recueil). He thinks their manners, however, little civilized: for one thing, they have an unpleasant habit of eructation at the ta- ble (car iceux routent ~ la table sans honte ~ ignomiaie); which recalls Chaucers description of the Trumpington millers wife and daughter: Men might her rowtyng hearen a forlong, The wench~ routeth eek par companye. Another inference as to the table man- ners of the period is found in Coryats Crudities (1611). He saw in Italy gen- erally a curious custom of using a little fork for meat, and whoever should take the meat out of the dish with his fingers would giye offense. And he accounts for this peculiarity quite naturally: The reason of this their curiosity is, because the Italian cannot by any meanes indure to have his dish touched with fingers, seeing all mens fingers are not alike deane. Coryat found the use of the fork nowhere else in Christendom, and when he returned, and, oftentimes in En- gland, imitated the Italian fashion, his exploit was regarded in a humorous light. Busino says that fruits were seldom served at dessert, but that the whole population were munching them in the streets all day long, and in the places of amusement; and it was an amusement to go out into the orchards and eat fruit on the spot, in a sort of competition of gormandize between the city belles and their admirers. And he avers that one young woman devoured twenty pounds of cherries, beating her opponent by two pounds and a half. All foreigners were struck with the English love of music and drink, of ban- queting and good cheer. Perlin notes a pleasant custom at table: (luring the feast you hear more than a hundred times, Drink iou (he loves to air his English), that is to say, Je men vois boyre a toy. You respond, in their language, iplaigiu; that is to say, Je vous plege. If you thank them, they say in their language, God tanque artelay; that is, Je vous reme~cie de hon eceur. The People for whom Shakespeare Wrote. And then, says the artless Frenchman, still improving on his English, you should respond thus: Bigod, sol drink iou agoud oin. At the great and prince- iy banquets, when the pledge went round and the hearts desire of lasting health, says the chronicler, the same was straight wayes knowne, by sound of Drumme and Trumpet, and the cannon s loudest voyce. It was so in Hamlets (lay: And as he drains his draughts of ahenish down, The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out The triumph of his pledge. According to Hentzner (1598), the English are serious, like the Germans, and love show and to be followed by troops of servants wearing the arms of their masters; they excel in music and dancing, for they are lively and active, though thicker of snake than the French; they cut their hair close in the middle of the head, letting it grow on either side; they are good sailors, and bet- ter pyrates, cunning treacher ous, and thievisll; and, he adds, with a touch of satisfaction, above three hundred are said to be hanged annually in Lon- don. They put a good tieal of sugar in their drink; they are vastly fond of great noises, firing of cannon, beating of drums, and rin ding of hells, and when they have a glass in their heads they go up into some belfry, and ring the bells for hours together, for the sake of exercise. Perlins comment is that men are hung for a trifle in England, and that you will not find many lords whose parents have not had their heads chopped off. It is a pleasure to turn to the simple and hearty admiration excited in the breasts of all susceptible foreigners by the English women of the time. Van Meteren, as we said, calls the women beautiful, fair, well dressed, and modest. To be sure, the wives are, their lives only excepted, entirely in the power of their husbands, yet they have great lib- erty; go where they please; are shown the greatest honor at banquets, where they sit at the upper end of the table and are first served; are fond of dress and gossip and of taking it easy; and like to sit before their doors, decked out in fine clothes, in order to see and be seen by the passers-by. Rathgeb also agrees that the women have much more literty than in any other place. When old Busino went to the Masque at Whitehall, his colleagues kept exclaim- ing, Oh, do look at this one oh, do see that! whose wife is this? and that pretty one near her, whose daughter is she? There was some chaff mixed in, he allows, some shriveled skins and devotees of S. Carlo Borromeo, but the beauties greatly predominated. In the great street pageants, it was the beauty and winsomeness of the Lon- don ladies, looking on, that nearly drove the foreigners wild. In 1606, upon the entry of the king of Denmark, the chron- icler celebrates the unimaginable num- ber of gallant ladies, beauteous virgins and other delicate dalnes, filling the win- dows of every house with kind aspect. And in 1638, when Cheapside was all alive with the pageant of the entry of the queen mother, this miserable old queen, as Lilly calls Marie de Medicis (Mr. Furnivall reproduces an old cut of the scene), M. de Ia Serre does not try to restrain his admiration for the pretty women on view: only the most fecund inlagination can represent the content one has in a(lmiring the infinite number of beautiful women, each different from the other, and each distinguished by some sweetness or grace to ravish the heart and take captive ones liberty. No sooner has he determined to yield to one than a new object of admiration makes him repent the precipitation of his judgment. And all the other foreigners were in the like case of goneness. Kiechel, writing in 1585, says, Item, the wom- en there are charming, and by nature so mighty pretty as I have scarcely ever beheld, for they do not falsify, paint, or bedaub themselves as in Italy or other places; yet he confesses (and here is another tradition preserved) they are somewhat awkward in their style of dress. His second item of grati- tude is a Netherland custom that pleased him: whenever a foreigner or an inhabit- ant went to a citizens house on business 1879.] 55 56 Recent Jiliodifications in Sanitary Drainage. [July, or as a guest, he was received by the master, the lady, or the daughter, and welcomed (as it is termed in their language): he has a right to take therh by the arm and to kiss them, which is the custom of the country; and if any one does not do so, it is regarded and imputed as ignorance and ill-breeding on his part. Even the grave Eras- mus, when he visited England, fell easily into this pretty practice, and wrote with untheological fervor of the girls with angel faces, who were so kind and obliging. Wherever you come, he says, you are received with a kiss by all; when you take your leave you are dismissed with kisses; you return, kisses are repeated. They come to visit you, kisses again; they leave you, you kiss them all round. Should they meet you anywhere, kisses in abundance: in fine, wherever you move there is nothing but kisses, a custom, says this reformer, who has not the fear of Stubbes before his eyes, never to be sufficiently com- mended. We shall find no more convenient op- portunity to end this imperfect social study of the age of Shakespeare than with this naive picture of the sex which most adorned it. Some of the details appear trivial; but grave history which concerns itself only with the actions of conspicuous persons, with the manmu- vres of armies, the schemes of politics, the battles of theologies, fails signally to give us the real life of the people by which we judge the character of an age. Gharles Dudley Warner. RECENT MODIFICATIONS IN SANITARY DRAINAGE. IT is only about four years since I pub- lished in these pages a series of papers on The Sanitary Drainage of Houses and Towns. 5o far as possible, I therein stated fairly the condition of the art at that time. Viewed in the light of pres- ent knowledge on the subject, those papers are already, in many respects, quite out of date. Knowledge has in- creased, experience has niultiplied, and invention has been most fertile. The illustrations then given of the arrange- ment of house drainage represented a soil-pipe and drain running in an un- broken course from the sewer in the street, under the basement floor, and up through the roof of the house. Con- nected with it were several water-closets, a sink, and the overflow-pipes of the tank in the attic and of the service cis- terns of the closets. In all cases the different vessels were separated from the soil-pipe only by water-sealed traps, and only the same protection was afford- ed in the case of the main tank. The system thus represented is defective in several particulars. (a.) The water of the tank is liable to dangerous contamination through the overflow-pipe which leads into the soil- pipe, with only the insufficient protection of a water-seal, especially insufficient as it has no certain means of renewal, and may by evaporation give direct ac- cess to the air of the soil-pipe. (b.) The overflow-pipes of the service cisterns may readily become channels for the introduction of drain air to the apartments. (c.) The unprotected traps of the sink and the water-closets are inadequate for the work they are intended to perform, and all of them are susceptible, under certain conditions, of becoming empty by evaporation or by siphoning. (d.) Although the soil-pipe is con- tinued through the roof, full-bore, and is open at the top, it has no provision for the admission of fresh air at its foot, which is now regarded as a matter of imperative necessity. These defects are sufficient, in the opinion of those in- structed in such matters, to condemn this whole arrangement, which only four

George E. Waring, Jr. Waring, George E., Jr. Recent Modifications in Sanitary Drainage 56-63

56 Recent Jiliodifications in Sanitary Drainage. [July, or as a guest, he was received by the master, the lady, or the daughter, and welcomed (as it is termed in their language): he has a right to take therh by the arm and to kiss them, which is the custom of the country; and if any one does not do so, it is regarded and imputed as ignorance and ill-breeding on his part. Even the grave Eras- mus, when he visited England, fell easily into this pretty practice, and wrote with untheological fervor of the girls with angel faces, who were so kind and obliging. Wherever you come, he says, you are received with a kiss by all; when you take your leave you are dismissed with kisses; you return, kisses are repeated. They come to visit you, kisses again; they leave you, you kiss them all round. Should they meet you anywhere, kisses in abundance: in fine, wherever you move there is nothing but kisses, a custom, says this reformer, who has not the fear of Stubbes before his eyes, never to be sufficiently com- mended. We shall find no more convenient op- portunity to end this imperfect social study of the age of Shakespeare than with this naive picture of the sex which most adorned it. Some of the details appear trivial; but grave history which concerns itself only with the actions of conspicuous persons, with the manmu- vres of armies, the schemes of politics, the battles of theologies, fails signally to give us the real life of the people by which we judge the character of an age. Gharles Dudley Warner. RECENT MODIFICATIONS IN SANITARY DRAINAGE. IT is only about four years since I pub- lished in these pages a series of papers on The Sanitary Drainage of Houses and Towns. 5o far as possible, I therein stated fairly the condition of the art at that time. Viewed in the light of pres- ent knowledge on the subject, those papers are already, in many respects, quite out of date. Knowledge has in- creased, experience has niultiplied, and invention has been most fertile. The illustrations then given of the arrange- ment of house drainage represented a soil-pipe and drain running in an un- broken course from the sewer in the street, under the basement floor, and up through the roof of the house. Con- nected with it were several water-closets, a sink, and the overflow-pipes of the tank in the attic and of the service cis- terns of the closets. In all cases the different vessels were separated from the soil-pipe only by water-sealed traps, and only the same protection was afford- ed in the case of the main tank. The system thus represented is defective in several particulars. (a.) The water of the tank is liable to dangerous contamination through the overflow-pipe which leads into the soil- pipe, with only the insufficient protection of a water-seal, especially insufficient as it has no certain means of renewal, and may by evaporation give direct ac- cess to the air of the soil-pipe. (b.) The overflow-pipes of the service cisterns may readily become channels for the introduction of drain air to the apartments. (c.) The unprotected traps of the sink and the water-closets are inadequate for the work they are intended to perform, and all of them are susceptible, under certain conditions, of becoming empty by evaporation or by siphoning. (d.) Although the soil-pipe is con- tinued through the roof, full-bore, and is open at the top, it has no provision for the admission of fresh air at its foot, which is now regarded as a matter of imperative necessity. These defects are sufficient, in the opinion of those in- structed in such matters, to condemn this whole arrangement, which only four 1879.] Recent Modifications in Sanitary Drainage. years ago was regarded as the best yet devised.1 All this indicates that the art under consideration is undergoing rapid (level- opment, and that it is by no means to be assumed that we have yet arrived at ultimate perfection in the matter. Were I called upon to-day to specify the essential features of perfect house drainage, I should include the following items: The establishment of a complete cir- culation in the main line of soil-pipe and drain, allowing a free movement of at- mospheric air throu~,h the whole system from end to end, together with as com- plete a circulation through minor pipes as could conveniently be secured. The complete separation of the over- flow of every tank or cistern deliver- ing water for the general supply of the house from any soil-pipe or drain con- taining a foul atmosphere. The supplementing of every water- trap with a suitable mechanical valve, to prevent the water of the trap from coming in contact with the air of the drain. The reduction of the size of all waste- pipes, and especially of all traps, to the smallest diameter adequate to their work. The abolition of all brick or earthen- ware drains within the walls of the house, using in their stead the best qual- ity of iron pipe, with securely caulked lead joints. The substitution, so far as practicable, of wrought-iron pipes for lead pipes, in the case of all minor wastes. The coating of all iron pipes, both cast and wrought, inside and out, with American enamel, a glossy black coat- ing which withstands in the most com- plete manner the chemical action and changes of temperature to which it is subjected in such use. The iron pipes should be extended so far beyond the foundation of the house as to obviate the opening of joints by settlement, so common where earthen- ware drains are subjected to a slight 1 This illustration was taken from the latest ac- cepted English authority on suck subjects. movement of the foundation, or of the new filling about it. The object to be sought is the pro- vision of a permanent drainage channel for the removal of all wastes, offering little asperity for the adhesion of foul matter, swept from end to end by fresh air, absolutely separated by mechanical obstructions from - tile interior atmos- phere of the house, and literally a sec- tion of out-of-doors brought for conven- ience within the walls of the house, open to receive the contents of the various waste-pipes leading to it, but securely closed against the return of its air. I believe that the next step in advance will be the establishment of means by which the whole length of this drainage channel may be thoroughly flushed with clean water at least once in twenty-four hours. As a prominent detail of house-drain- age work, the long-accepted water-closet is being made the object of important modifications. The stereotyped article, the pan closet, has little to recom- mend it beyond tile fact of its general adoption. It is faulty in principle, in arrangement, and in construction. While it is cleanly to look at, and lends itself readily to ornamental joinery, it has de- fects which should drive it out of ex- istence. Deep down in its dark and hidden recesses, where only the ken of the plumber ever reaches, a large and sluggish trap they call it a cess- pool in Scotland is generally hold- in,:, the filthiest filtll in a state of offen- sive putrefaction. The iron chamber above this is lined with the foulest smear and slime, constantly producing f~tid and dangerous gases. The earthenware bowl which surmounts this is set in put- ty, which yields to corrosion and to the jar of frequent use, until it leaks foul air, often in perceptible quantity. Tile panful of sealing water soon becomes saturated with foul gases, which exhale thence into the house. The whole ap- paratus is incoffined in tight-fitting car- pentry, which shuts in the leakings and- the spatterings and their vapors from the free access of air, boxing up in the interior of the house, an! generally in 57 58 free communication with the spaces be- tween the walls and under the floors, an atmosphere heavy with the products of organic decomposition, and faintly sug- gestive to the unwonted nostril of the mus decumanus defunctus. Some of these defects were recognized and pointed out in my earlier papers. I then believed that the difficulties of the case had been solved in great measure by the Jennings closet. It now seems that this closet and the whole class to which it belongs are seriously defective; and, in the absence of anything better, I am disposed to go back to the simple hopper closet, such as is used in the .~. cheapest work, and to depend on frequent and copious flushing to keep it clean. This closet has the great advantage that its only trap is in sight at the bottom of its pot. There is no The Hopper Closet, inner chamber of hor- rors concealed by a cleanly exterior. I have recently used a number of these closets supplied with various sorts of apparatus for periodical flushing, and I find that wherever a half-gallon flush can be given every ten or fifteen minutes they are kept perfectly clean. I have no doubt that flushing every twenty min- utes, or perhaps at longer intervals, would keep them free from all sanitary objection. This would require a supply of about fifty gallons per diem. Recent invention has been turned in the direction of the provision of me- chanical appliances for separating the trapping water from the air of the soil- ~~ipe or drain. There are several de- vices which accomplish this purpose, one of them my own, and more than one of them constituting a very great im- provement upon, and indeed an absolute step in advance of, anything in use five years ago. Another most important matter of re- cent development is the thorough and through ventilation of soil-pipes. For- merly the soil-pipe invariably stopped at the highest closet of the house. When the danger of pressure came to be un [July, derstood, it was considered imperative in all work of the best class to carry a vent-pipe out through the top of the house. As this I)ipe, from the smallness of its size and from the irregularities of its course, had but limited capacity of discharge, the necessity was quite gen- erally recognized for carrying up the soil-pipe itself, full-bore, through and above the roof. This was the point reached at the time of my earlier writ- ing. It soon became evident that even this large extension of the pipe afforded no real ventilation. A deep mine shaft cannot be ventilated by simply uncov- ering its top. No complete frequent change of air can be effected in a soil- pipe by merely opening its upper end. Air must be introduced at the bottom to take the place of that which is dis- charged at the top. It is now consid- ered imperative in all good work to open the soil-pipe at both ends, or at least to furnish the lower part of the pipe with a sufficient fresh - air inlet to effect a thorough ventilation of the whole chan- nel. We have heard so much of sewer gas that we were in danger of ascrib- ing the production of this foul air only to the sewer and cess-pool. Indeed, the majority of sanitarians to this day seem to believe that if they can effect a thor- ough disconnection between the sewer or drain and the waste-pipes of the house they have gained a sufficient pro- tection against sewer gas. The fact is that that combination of the aseous products of organic decomposition which is known by the generic name of sew- er gas is very largely produced by the contents of the house-pipes themselves. Not only in the traps, where the coarser matters accumulatc, but all along the walls of the smeared l)ipes, where filth has attached itself in its passage, there is a constant decomposition going on which is producing its constant results. The character of this decomposition and the character of the produced gases are greatly influenced by the degree to which access is ~iven to atmospheric air. The more complete the ventilation, the greater the dilution of the gases Recent 1~fodifications in Sanitary Drainage. 1879.] Recent Miodifications in ASfanitary Drainage. 59 formed and the more complete their re- moval, and also the more innocuous their character. Under the most favor- able circumstances, the contained air of a so il-pipe must be offensive, and is like- ly to become dangerous; so that, how- ever thorough the ventilation, we must still adopt every safeguard against its admission into the house. The facility with which foul gases penetrate water and escape from it makes the water-seal trap, which is now our almost universal reliance, an extremely inefficient pro- tection. There can be no real safety short of the adoption of some appliance which shall keep every outlet secure- ly closed against the possible return of (Irain air. Mr. Elliot C. Clarke, the principal as- sistant engineer in charge of the im- proved sewerage work of Boston, in a paper entitled Common Defects in House Drains, contributed to the Tenth Annu- al Report of the Massachusetts State Board of Health, says on the subject of sewer gas: The writer has no wish to be an alarmist. The risk from sewer gas is probably not so great as many suppose; it is a slight risk, but a slight risk of a terrible (langer. If a man thinks there is no need of insuring his house because his father lived in it for fifty years without a confla~ration, he has a right to his opinion. Professor Fleeming Jenkin, in his Healthy Houses, says, Simple sewer gas is little worse than a bad smell. Tainted sewer gas may be so poisonous that a very little introduced into a bedroom so little as to be quite imperceptible to the nose shall certainly give typhoid fever to a person sleeping there. The germ is a spark, the effects of which may be un- limited. We do not content ourselves with excluding the great majority of sparks from a powder magazine; we do our best that not one may enter. While the water seal is very defective in itself, it is a very important adjunct to any mechanical means of separation that may be adopted, and all necessary precautions should be taken to prevent its removal by siphoning, the suck- ing Out of the water by the partial vac uum caused by the flow of water4n the main pipe, to which its outlet leads. To prevent this siphoning action often taxes the ingenuity of the engineer more than any other part of house-draining work; and until special devices are made to meet the exigency this must remain the most difficult and intricate part of the house drainers task. Any one whose attention is given to sanitary work must be more and more struck with that peculiarity of human nature which assures us of the excep- tional excellence of our own belongings. I have rarely been called to examine the drainage of a house without being told that I was sent for merely as a mat- ter of extra precaution. I have never completed a.ny examination without dis- covering serious sanitary defects, not merely such errors of arrangement as were universal until a short time ago, but actual, palpable bad condition, which the owner and his plumber at once ac- knowledged as of a grave character. Leaks in drains under the cellar floor, or in or near the foundation; lead waste- pipes eaten through by rats, and spilling their flow under the house; lead soil- pipes perforated by corrosion; imperfect joints leaking drain air within the par- titions; the accumulation of dirty slop- pings under the bench of the water- closet; and even untrapped connection between some room and the soil-pipe, or the direct pollution of the air over the tank through its overflow-pipe, these are most common faults, and some one of them I have found to exist wherever I have looked for them in a first-class house, where it was naturally supposed that the most perfect conditions pre- vailed. In no department of sanitary work has the progress been more marked than in the improvement foreshadowed in my former paper on House Drainage con- cerning the disposal of the liquid wastes of country houses by the process of sub- surface irrigation. Like all radical im- provements, it has had its share of prej- udice to overcome, and it by no means found the professional public ready to accept it as the demonstrated success 60 Recent Modifications in Sanitary Drainage. [July, which English experience had shown it to be. It is now quite safe to say that, among all engineers and architects who have given attentioli to the matter, it is acknowledged to afford the best solu- tion yet attained of this most difficult problem. I know very many cases of its adoption, often without professional guid- ance and carried out in a rule-or-thumb sort of way, and I have heard of none that is not satisfactory. It does away with that king of nuisances, the cess- pool, and disposes of all manner of liquid waste insensibly, completely, and safely. The credit for this improvement is due primarily to the Rev. Henry Moule, the inventor of the earth-closet, and hardly less to Mr. Rogers Field, C. E., who re- lieved it of its chief embarrassment by adapting to it his automatic flush tank. This system has recently received the unqualified indorsement of that highest American sanitary authority, the Mas- sachusetts State Board of Health, which in a circular issued in April, 1879, says, Chamber slops, and slop water gen- erally, should never be thrown on the ground near houses. They may be used by distribution under the surface of the soil in the manner described on page 334 of the Seventh Annual Report of the State Board of Health, and now introduced in the town of Lenox, Mas- sachusetts. . . . If water-closets are used, an(l there are no sewers, the best disposal of the sewage is by the flush tank and irrigation under the surface of the soil, as described on page 135 of the Eighth Annual Report of the State Board of Health. This system has been in full opera- tion for the entire sewage of the village of Lenox, where it has proved itself an absolute and unquestionable success. The question which seems to arise in every Northern mind when this method is suggested relates to the possible effect of severe frosts. It seems now to be clearly demonstrated that this consider- ation may be left entirely out of the ac- count, no instance having been cited of the least obstruction from this source. This point will be more fully treated fur- ther. The progress made in the matter of town drainage has not been less than that in the twin department of house drainage; but the advance has been thus far at least so far as this country is concerned more a matter of theory than of practical application, and it re- lates more to villages and to what may be called village - cities than to larger places, like New York, Boston, and Phil- adelphia. Sewerage was long confined to large towns, and it reached its development under the direction of engineers trained to foresee all possible contingencies, and to pitch their work on a scale adequate to cope with them. With usually am- ple means at their command, and with the inclination to work after great mod- els, their works have generally been cost- ly and vastly comprehensive. So far as the drainage of great cities is concerned, there is much to be said in favor of their practice. There is much to be said, too, on the other side, and it has been ably said. My present purpose relates chiefly to the sewerage of villages and country towns having a considerable proportion of uncovered and unpaved area. There are hundreds of towns in this country which cannot afford the gigantic and costly pork of introducing such a system of sewers as it is usual to find in a great city. Quite generally, when the ques- tion of their drainage arises, a city sew- erage engineer is consulted, and a plan is prepared which remains unexecuted because of its excessive cost. By far the larger part of this cost is due to the fact that the proposed system contem- plates the drainage of such sub-cellars as are rarely found in country towns, involving a depth that would probably never be needed, and the removal of the storm water, which, after the area shall have become covered and paved, might flow off by the public sewers. It would be better, in the case of all rural towns, to disregard the question of storm water entirely. This may be more safely and much more cheaply removed over the surface. The only reason for admitting it to the sewers would be to prevent in- jury to property, and, under the circum 1879.] Recent Modifications in Sanitary Drainage. stances we are considering, the danger of this is not sufficient to justify the ex- pense, nor is it sufficient, were there no question of expense, to justify the sanitary and econouiical disadvantages of providing for it by a system of large sewers. It is better to keep above ground, and to discharge by the natural means of outflow, all water which may be so (lisposed of without offense or danger to health, that is, all or nearly all rain- fall. The extent to which the first flow over a paved road-way may properly be admitted to the sewers is a question to be decided according to the circum- stances of each case. It is generally wiser to keep such road-ways clean by sweepin~ than to use the rain-fall as a ~cavcnger. What towns of the class under consid- eration need and they need it very im- peratively is a perfect means for the removal of the foul wastes of households, factories, etc., and the draining of the sub-soil, if this is springy or wet. They should only be called upon to spend the money necessary to secure these ends; and if they can learn to limit their de- mands to this absolute requirement, their sanitary improvement need no longer be the bugbear that it now is. The advantages of small-pipe sewers have been sufficiently stated, except, per- haps, with reference to the single matter of ventilation. It is much easier and more simple to secure the needed change of the atmosphere of a small chamber than of a large one, and the usual means, which are but partially effective in the case of a large brick sewer, are ample for the complete ventilation of a small pipe. Hitherto the objection has held, in the case of pipe sewers of less than ten inches in diameter, that when they become obstructed it is a (lifficult and (ostly matter to clear them. But for this objection, there was no reason why six-inch sewers might not be used for all villages or parts of towns having a pop- ulation of not more than one thousand; for a six-inch pipe laid even with a very slight inclination has ample capacity for the discharge of all the household waste of such a population. 61 We have now reached the point where there is no reason whatever to apprehend the obstruction of such a sewer by any- thing that can get into it through proper and properly arranged branch drains. Ro~,ers Fields flush tank, as arranged for the periodic flushing of such sewers, may be confidently relied on to keep them swept clean of everything that may enter them. The accompanying diagram shows the construction of the annular siphon which is the essential feature of this tank. A siphon of this form, four inches in diame- ter, comes into action with certainty under a stream of one tenth of a gallon per minute; so that a tank havino a capacity of one hun- dred and fifty gallons, placed at the head of each branch sewer and fed by a stream which will fill it once in twen- ty-four hours, will ~ive ___________ it a thorough and daily Rogers Fields Annu- flushing, and keep it lar Siphon. clear of all obstructions. No matter how limited the public water supply may be, this small amount can always be K GJ E7~Di Rogere Field s Flush Tank for Sewers. spared for the work. Where there is no public supply and no available ex- trinsic source of flushing water, the sew- age itself from a few of the upper houses along each lateral sewer may be collect- ed in the tank and used for the flush. This simple device has proved itself, both here and in England, to be entirely reliable and effective. It may safely be assumed that it has secured a reduction of the cost of the drainage of small towns to one half of what was formerly neces- sary. 62 Recent Modifications in Sanitary Drainage. [July, It has been held hitherto to be one of the advantages of sewerage that the im- perfect joints or imperfect material of the sewers afford an outlet for supera- bundant soil water, and secure a valuable sub-soil drainage. It is coming to be understood that the same channels which admit soil water to the drain will admit drain water to the soil, robbing the sew- ers of the vehicle needed for the trans- portation of their more solid contents, and causing a dangerous pollution of the ground, of cellars, and of drinking-water wells. The foul - water sewers should be as absolutely tight as the best mate- rial and the best workmanship can make them, and the drainage of the ground should he effected by the use of agricult- ural drain tiles, constituting an entirely separate system, which, while they may for economys sake generally occupy the same trenches with the sewers, should be carefully arranged to prevent sewage matters from entering them. The question of sewage disposal is the great unanswered question of the day. We are familiar with the objec- tions to the methods usual here. Euro- pean conntries, which have been forced by the density of their population to give especial attention to this subject, have as yet hardly got beyond the point of proving that there is no royal road to success, and that whatever theory may say on the subject, sewage not only has no value to the community producing it, but it cannot be got rid of except at con siderable cost. The only method thus far developed which is entitled to consideration here, aside from discharge into the sea or into a running stream, is purification by ap- plication to the soil, with or without the agricultural consideration. Whether by surface irrigation, by the use of sub-sur- face absorption drains, or by intermittent downward filtration, this method of its disposition, properly applied, is absolute- ly complete and satisfactory. The opin- ion has quite naturally prevailed that the severity of our winter climate debarred us from a~vailing ourselves of it. The experience of the past severe winter has fully justified the opinion of those who have maintained that this objection is not a real one. In En0land the sewage- irNgation farms have taken charge of the effluent without interruption throughout a season of almost unexampled severity. At Berlin a like immunity has contin- ued throughout the winter; and even at Dantzic, near the mouth of the Vistula, in a climate nearly as severe as that of St. Petersburg, and where provision was made for a direct discharge into the river during the winter season, the dis- posal by irrigation is said, to the surprise of all, to continue uninterrupted in the coldest weather. At the Nursery and Childs hospital on Staten Island, winter overtook us be- fore our absorption drains could be laid. The flush tank, which holds one days sewage, was ma(le to dischar~e over a low spot near the absorption ground. Even in the coldest weather the entire outflow settled away into the earth be- fore the next flood was delivered. Ev- idently the warmth of the sewage is in all cases sufficient for it to thaw its way into the ground. This is, without doubt, the explanation of the continued work- ing of the shallow drains under my own lawn during nine consecutive winters, although at least once the ground was frozen to a depth of two and a half feet below them. George E. Waring, Jr. 1879.] Juno ]udovi8i. 6~3 JUNO LUDOVISI. I. WHITE, silent goddess, whose divine repose Shames the shrill ecstasies of later creeds, What might is in thy presence, that it breeds This calm and deep delight that neither knows Regret for past nor fear of coming woes! I feel thee like a stately monotone, Whose soundless waves against my spirit thrown Make stron0 and pure. I feel the joy that flows Like mild, unceasing rain upon my sense From Natures myriad fountains. In my soul The lusty pagan wakes, and roams the dense Arcadian shades; and hears the distant roll Of mingling echoes, hears as in a dream The cymbals clash, the wild bacchantes scream. II. Sublime the thought that dwells within this stone Imprisoned, yet immortal in its tomb. Where since the world emerged from chaos womb Was peace so sacred and so perfect known? A spirit from some high, e there~al zone, A spirit pure and passionless and free, Has flushed thy snowy immobility With an intenser life-blood than his own. In thy majestic womanhood more fair Thou art than all the weeping horde of saints Whom men invoke with incense and with prayer. I in thine ear benign would breathe my plaints; Before thy tranquil eyes and in the shade Of thine eternal brow my sorrows fade. III. Come, gentle mother, and resume thy sway! Lift up the mellow splendor of thine eyes. Awake the dumb and callous earth, that lies Steeped in reluctant sleep. Send forth the gay Olympian throng, that, vanquished, fled away When the pale king of sorrow, conquering, came From out the East. Within thy mighty frame New life is kindling for a holier day. For, hark! Methinks within this gurgling stream The naiads silvery voice I faintly hear; Among the leaves I catch the fleeting gleam Of white limbs vanishing; yea, far and near Strange whispers haunt my sense, and tenderly The hamadryads pulse beats in this tree. Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen.

Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen Boyesen, Hjalmar Hjorth Juno Ludovisi 63-64

1879.] Juno ]udovi8i. 6~3 JUNO LUDOVISI. I. WHITE, silent goddess, whose divine repose Shames the shrill ecstasies of later creeds, What might is in thy presence, that it breeds This calm and deep delight that neither knows Regret for past nor fear of coming woes! I feel thee like a stately monotone, Whose soundless waves against my spirit thrown Make stron0 and pure. I feel the joy that flows Like mild, unceasing rain upon my sense From Natures myriad fountains. In my soul The lusty pagan wakes, and roams the dense Arcadian shades; and hears the distant roll Of mingling echoes, hears as in a dream The cymbals clash, the wild bacchantes scream. II. Sublime the thought that dwells within this stone Imprisoned, yet immortal in its tomb. Where since the world emerged from chaos womb Was peace so sacred and so perfect known? A spirit from some high, e there~al zone, A spirit pure and passionless and free, Has flushed thy snowy immobility With an intenser life-blood than his own. In thy majestic womanhood more fair Thou art than all the weeping horde of saints Whom men invoke with incense and with prayer. I in thine ear benign would breathe my plaints; Before thy tranquil eyes and in the shade Of thine eternal brow my sorrows fade. III. Come, gentle mother, and resume thy sway! Lift up the mellow splendor of thine eyes. Awake the dumb and callous earth, that lies Steeped in reluctant sleep. Send forth the gay Olympian throng, that, vanquished, fled away When the pale king of sorrow, conquering, came From out the East. Within thy mighty frame New life is kindling for a holier day. For, hark! Methinks within this gurgling stream The naiads silvery voice I faintly hear; Among the leaves I catch the fleeting gleam Of white limbs vanishing; yea, far and near Strange whispers haunt my sense, and tenderly The hamadryads pulse beats in this tree. Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen. 64 Irene the Missionary. [July, IRENE TIlE MISSIONARY. XIV. I MUST get out of this, was the conclusion which DeYries came to after some fretful meditation over his slight but awkward tiff with Dr. Mackim. I must nt marry this nice little Pu- ritan, he brooded on in a vague way. I think I dont want to marry her, dont want to marry anybody, at least, not yet. And as to flirting wit1~ her, taking advantage of Mr. Paysons hos- pitality, desecrating mission ground with college coquetry, it would nt be the hand- some thing, wont do at all. I must be off. There will be no war in the mountains. I must go and dig up the five cities, and settle the genealogies of the lords of the Philistines. It was such a hypocritical life, too, this Beirut existence of his, he went on. He would defy anybody to guess his real character from his present walk and conversation. He could indulge in none of the amusements which he best liked, and had not a companion to whom he could say his whole honest say. Here he was talking to himself, like an idiot or a misanthrope, for lack of a listener of his own kidney. In a month of this self-repression he would not have a per- sonality, nor so much as a solitary idio- syncrasy. He must put an end to his lounging and masquerading, no matter what became of that sweet little mis- sionary. The doctor must have her, and be hanged to him, the snarling boor! Such at least was the substance of his intelligent and manly meditations as he cantered at random through the pine for- est which successive pashas have plant- ed around Beirut as a barrier against the encroaching sands of the Mediterranean. Well on past noon he rode home and took lunch alone, waited upon willingly by Saada of the brilliant black eyes. He was still reluctant to depart, and it occurred to him that perhaps he could forget Irene, or at least keep himself aloof from her, by flirting a little with a Syrian maiden. Will you go home with me, Snada, when I go? he asked. Ya howaja! exclaimed the girl, her (lark, pale cheek flushing crimson. Oh, do you surely mean it? I think I should like to have you in America. We must think it over. Saada was evidently thinking, and perhaps wishing also, with all her maid- enly might. Her magnificent eyes dwelt upon the tail, blonde young Frank with such an expression of admiration that he thought them more beautiful than ever. You will have to wear your veil there, young lady, he said. You 11 have to wear it from morning till night. I thought ladies in America walked the streets without the veil, stared Sa- ada. Yes, but not with those eyes. There would be too many astronomers after you. They would think they saw stars, and all run with their telescopes. Ya howaja! laughed Saada, per- fectly comprehending a compliment so Eastern in its style~ and blushing joy- ously over it. But you are making merry with me. They are dangerously bright, said DeYries, looking steadily between the long ebony lashes. They are enough to turn a mans head. Ab, dear, I shall have to carry the whole of you to Amer- ica, just to get the eyes. But what will you do with the rest of me, which you dont want, howaja? Well, somebody will marry it, I sup- pose, all but the eyes. I shall keep those. Saada blushed again profusely, and looked very bewitching. Then, hear- ing Mrs. Payson in the next room, she looked a little guilty, and presently slipped away. See here! said DeVries to himself. This may turn out a worse affair than

Irene the Missionary, XIV - XVII 64-80

64 Irene the Missionary. [July, IRENE TIlE MISSIONARY. XIV. I MUST get out of this, was the conclusion which DeYries came to after some fretful meditation over his slight but awkward tiff with Dr. Mackim. I must nt marry this nice little Pu- ritan, he brooded on in a vague way. I think I dont want to marry her, dont want to marry anybody, at least, not yet. And as to flirting wit1~ her, taking advantage of Mr. Paysons hos- pitality, desecrating mission ground with college coquetry, it would nt be the hand- some thing, wont do at all. I must be off. There will be no war in the mountains. I must go and dig up the five cities, and settle the genealogies of the lords of the Philistines. It was such a hypocritical life, too, this Beirut existence of his, he went on. He would defy anybody to guess his real character from his present walk and conversation. He could indulge in none of the amusements which he best liked, and had not a companion to whom he could say his whole honest say. Here he was talking to himself, like an idiot or a misanthrope, for lack of a listener of his own kidney. In a month of this self-repression he would not have a per- sonality, nor so much as a solitary idio- syncrasy. He must put an end to his lounging and masquerading, no matter what became of that sweet little mis- sionary. The doctor must have her, and be hanged to him, the snarling boor! Such at least was the substance of his intelligent and manly meditations as he cantered at random through the pine for- est which successive pashas have plant- ed around Beirut as a barrier against the encroaching sands of the Mediterranean. Well on past noon he rode home and took lunch alone, waited upon willingly by Saada of the brilliant black eyes. He was still reluctant to depart, and it occurred to him that perhaps he could forget Irene, or at least keep himself aloof from her, by flirting a little with a Syrian maiden. Will you go home with me, Snada, when I go? he asked. Ya howaja! exclaimed the girl, her (lark, pale cheek flushing crimson. Oh, do you surely mean it? I think I should like to have you in America. We must think it over. Saada was evidently thinking, and perhaps wishing also, with all her maid- enly might. Her magnificent eyes dwelt upon the tail, blonde young Frank with such an expression of admiration that he thought them more beautiful than ever. You will have to wear your veil there, young lady, he said. You 11 have to wear it from morning till night. I thought ladies in America walked the streets without the veil, stared Sa- ada. Yes, but not with those eyes. There would be too many astronomers after you. They would think they saw stars, and all run with their telescopes. Ya howaja! laughed Saada, per- fectly comprehending a compliment so Eastern in its style~ and blushing joy- ously over it. But you are making merry with me. They are dangerously bright, said DeYries, looking steadily between the long ebony lashes. They are enough to turn a mans head. Ab, dear, I shall have to carry the whole of you to Amer- ica, just to get the eyes. But what will you do with the rest of me, which you dont want, howaja? Well, somebody will marry it, I sup- pose, all but the eyes. I shall keep those. Saada blushed again profusely, and looked very bewitching. Then, hear- ing Mrs. Payson in the next room, she looked a little guilty, and presently slipped away. See here! said DeVries to himself. This may turn out a worse affair than Irene tke 1Jfissionar~y. the other. This girl why, of course she thinks I m a prince and I must nt talk this nonsense to her. The sol- emn, old-bachelor fact is that I must be off, and let this missionary dove-cote alone. At dinner, that evening, he announced his purpose to depart on the morrow. Irene kept her eyes steadfastly on her plate, and made no comment. Mrs. Pay- son murmured a little surprise and re- gret, meanwhile remembering that it was all for the best, meaning for her friend the doctor. Is not this very sudden? asked her husband. I have scarcely seen you. I had many more things to say to you than I have said. It is high time that I started for Philistia, if I mean to accomplish any- thing there. Yes, the winter is your season for digging. It is best, I verily suppose, that you should hasten. May the Mer- ciful One follow and preserve you. Then iDeYries inquired what he could do for the mission, and by dint of close questioning learned that two hundred dollars might be made useful in a cer- tain manner, which sum he handed over in Turkish gold to his doubting and shrinking host. I dont knowI dont know about it, said Payson, shaking his head at the little pile of yellow scales, delicate- ly stamped with wreaths and Arabic letterings, one of the prettiest of coin- ages. It seems like extortion to per- mit it. Will the angels themselves dare to be our guests hereafter? Put it straight into the mission chest and get it off your mind, recommend- ed DeVries. If there should really be a war in Lebanon, you will want a hospital fund badly enough. Next MackIm came in, and learned what this abominable dandy had done, coupled with the fact that the wretch was about to vanish sweetly away. He colored to his hair with surprise, joy, and admiration; his shamefaced grati- tude and penitence were quite pathetic. Ah, you are a happy man! he sighed. A man who has money, and VOL. XUV.NO. 261. 5 a will to give it to the needy, is a man to be envied. I know almost nothing of that luxury. I never had a dollar that I did nt get hardly and need badly. I have been my own pauper.,~ When a man gives his lifes work to others he gives far more than I do, returned iDeVries, with that fluent court- esy of fine society~ which so often does the work and wins the reward of good- ness of heart, and which in reality is no more than the dialect of such goodness carefully committed to memory. The doctor did not hear the compli- ment; he was thinkincr of his sickest patients. I am immensely obliged to you, he decl~red, meanwhile squeezing the hand of beneficence until the owner of it thought of a surgical operation. Our sick and poor will thank you. I wish I could do something for you. It seemed just then to Irene that there never were two nobler and sweeter men than these two, who had that morning nearly fought with each other across her grammar and dictionary. I believe, by the way, that few agreeable things are more touching to a right-hearted spec- tator than a scene of cordial reconcilia- tion. Was it solely the moral elevation and dazzle of this interview which caused our young lady to turn away from it so quickly? Or did she suddenly realize that Hubertsen DeYries was truly about to depart, perhaps never to return? No doubt she remembered that he had been for two weeks a cheering feature in her life, and foresaw that she was going to feel painfully lonesome and lost with- out him. Somewhat of her opinions and emotions on this subject came out that evening, as they two chatted by them- selves in the moonlight of the comanda- loon. I should have left Beirut sooner but for a Delilah, he said, though he knew that it was dangerous jesting. You cant mean me when you say Delilah, she replied. I thought you stayed to look for Punic inscriptions. You are my Punic inscription. I ye found you, but I cant decipher you. 1879.] 65 Irene the Jlissionary. What is it that you want to know? I have always meant to be frank. I want to know whether you are sorry to have me go away.~~ Indeed I am; of course I am, con- fessed Irene, able to be frank because she was merely friendly, or at least so believed. I feel as if I were losing an old acquaintance. An old acquaintance of ten days! Is nt it strange? But I have lived so much in that time! How many wonderful things we have seen to- gether! What a magic voyage that was from Smyrna here! I shall never for- get its smallest circumstances; and you were one of the larger circumstances. I am sorry it is all over, said the young man, ~ratified by the confession of good-will which he had extorted, and wishing for more. I dont know that it is all over. I shall come back here. But not to live, only to pass through. I dont know. Sometimes I think that I want to live here. Oh, if you could! wished Irene, a pleasant future opening before her im- agination, so pleasant that it made her heart beat. Ah, well! sighed DeVries, discov- ering also a vision of Syrian delights, with a Puritan houri in the centre of it. They were in that perilous stage of a t~te-& -t~Ie when words are few and seem to be loaded with meanin~. At any rate, I shall see you again, he went on. I hope ~ And before I go I want to ask one question: What about your going home? Do you ever think of it? I try not to. You dont want to return to Amer- ica? he asked distinctly and gravely. Please dont urge me. I hope you dont want to make me cry again. He rather thought that he did, it was so flattering to have her treat him with the confidence of tears, and so delight- ful to comfort her. But, after a strug- gle with his longings, he decided that he ought to be magnanimous, and that he must be prudent. Well, I will put that off for a while. When we meet in the spring I shall re- commence. Ah, dear! sighed Irene. Then they rose together, for there was a noise of closing shutters, and they knew that it was late. Hubertsen looked at the girl very earnestly as he took her hand and bade her good-night. He had a manly desire to lay a kiss on those rath- er tremulous fingers; but he remembered that he was a gentleman, and merely gave them a decorous pressure. The pressure was not returned, an(l that fact he pondered over a good deal in his own room, deciding on the whole that he was glad of it. I think she likes me, a little, was his private opinion. I think I could make her if I really wanted to accept me. Well, he was certainly half right, and he was probably half wrong. Irene did like him very exceedingly much, bet- ter than she liked any other young man, better than she thought she ought to. But it is not at all positive that she would have accepted his opulent hand at the price of abandoning her mission labors and of yoking her soul to a soul which could not share her inmost and highest life. DeYries spent the next morning in collecting and organizing his little cara- van of men, mules, and donkeys. His plan was to start in the afternoon, en- camp for the night a little south of Bei- rut, traverse by easy marches the love- ly Phcenieian plain, climb into the green highland paradise of Galilee, study Je- rusalem and Judea for a week or so, and then descend, spade in hand, upon Phi- listia. Sites of Philistine battles, includ- ing of course Mount Gilboa, were to be looked up and examined. He must try to settle on which side, whether from the north or the south, those fascinating filibusters attacked Sidon, three thou- sand and odd years ago. The whole pilgrimage would be dotted with oppor- tunities for strategic and tactical study of topography. In short, he proposed to collect materials for an exhaustive History of the Rise and Decline of the Philistines. 66 [July, Irene the Miissionar~y. No wonder that nearly the whole mis- sion gathered to wish a pleasant journey to a charming young man who took such an interest in scriptural subjects, and promised to throw so much light upon the enemies of Gods people. There was hope, Brother Kirkwood smilingly remarked, that he would yet write a Bi- ography of Satan. I dont propose to excavate in his capital, replied DeVries. It is un- derstood to he too populous. Alas! sighed Mr. Payson, it is too true to laugh about. Then DeYries remembered that he did not wear the privileged cloth of a clergyman, and ceased his joking con- cerning matters diabolical. Meantime, the lacing of burdens upon cringing mules and staggering donkeys proceed- ed in the leisurely fashion of the Orient. You had better camp to-night at Nebby Yunas, loudly counseled healthy and hearty Brother Kirkwood. Dont he humbugged by your teuleteers into stopping short of it; they want to make all the days-works they can out of the trip, of course. Put up at the sign of the Prophet Jonas. There is a khan there for the comfort of travelers, and you will he very well off, if you keep out of it. Would nt you advise him to reach Nebby Yunas, Brother Payson? The Lord be with him! returned Payson, in his rapt, apostolic way. The Lord be with our dear young friend! Yes, exactly; but all the same he had better stop at Nebby Yunas. Then there was a quiet mission laugh, for Mr. Kirkwood was looked upon as an original who could not help joking, and who might without sin be humored in it. In fact, the farewell was a light- hearted scene, rather than a solemnity. There is something in brisk movement, even when it separates loving comrades, which tends to rouse the blood and give cheer to the heart. IDeVries himself, thoueh conscious of a slight pang when- ever he glanced at Irene, was mainly in high spirits, and uttered only gay speeches. Mirta, what did you get married for before I reached Syria? he sauci ly demanded, as he shook hands with the lovely brunette. I did nt know you were coming, smiled Mirta, who merely understood that he had wanted to be present at the ceremony. Well, dont do it again,he laughed. No, sir, promised Mirta, looking the while like a Ckopntra, but failing to comprehend this coquettish joking as the Cleopatra of old would have done. Stop that, grinned Brother Kirk- wood, and God bless you. Mr. Payson was in such a rapt mood of prayer for the youngsters prosperity that he forgot to shake hands until he was reminded of it. I have a comfortable confidence that we are to look upon your face once more, he said, holding DeVries by both arms, and gazing at him as if he were a son. If it is ordered otherwise, may it still be for your good. I am going with you for an hour, declared the now loving doctor. I want to make sure that your loads are well slung. We 11 say good-by at least a little later. DeVries wrung Irenes hand with no uncertain pressure, and hers clung to his for a moment all unintentionally, as if it had a longing and a purpose of its own, quite apart from her will. Their eyes met in a grave gaze of mutual in- quiry, as though each asked the other, What do you wish of me? But to that earnest, timorous questioning no response was possible there; and they parted in a silence which each thought of and marveled at for long afterward. xv.. After the departure of the historian of the Philistines, our young lady found mission-life much more tranquil and so- ber in color. Hitherto there had been a hurly-burly of novel sights, of events which at least seemed to her important, and of emo- tions which verged on the uncontrollable. Now, merely because a pleasing young man had ridden out of sight, the magic 1879.] 67 68 Irene the Missionary. [July, of freshne5s and interest faded away from many things recently strange and fascinating. Irene hardly looked upon white turhans as foreign, or upon a kilted Albanian kawass as picturesque. Syria suddenly became, like New En- gland, a place to do steady labor in; and to work she went with a zeal which sim- ulated content and also tended to pro- duce it. She soon found that mere linguistic study palled upon her, as it does upon all who are not born Mezzofantis. She asked for employment in the English de- partment of the mission seminary, and kindly Mr. Kirkwood accorded it with an intelligentsmile,merely saying to himself that she was finding her woman- ly sphere. He was mistaken in suppos- ing that she would soon drop Arabic; there was more staying power and brain force in her than in some pretty girls. But she went into the business of teach- ing English to little maidens from Bei- rut, Mount Lebanon, Tripoli, and Sidon with an interest which wa~ good for her own spirits and health. Who would not, she wrote to her mother, be delighted with such schol- ars? Their faculty for languages as- tonishes me, and gives me a feeling of humiliation. Here is Miss Irene Grant, a graduate of a Female College, wearing the costume of one of the superior races, who finds it hard work to learn Arabic in Arabistan. And here are small misses in tarbooshes and shinlyan (trousers) who never left their native villages before, and never had a lesson in their own tongue, picking up English in Syria as easily as birds learn to sing. This same subject she mentioned to Messrs. Kirkwood and Payson when they visited the school one morning. Are we not mistaken, she asked, in sup- posing that we are the people, and wis- dom will die with us? Wisdom was certainly not born with us, replied Payson. Our ancestors thousands of years ago had reason to thank God that the Hebrews existed be- fore them. A person who has learned Arabic can learn any language, said Kirk- wood. It is a curse to have such a vast speech. They are all instinctively glad to throw it off, as David put off Sauls armor. Our students who go to London or Paris come hack with the ac- cent of Englishmen or Frenchmen, and can hardly talk their own tongue. You must remember that this land gave letters and the germs of civiliza- tion to Europe, added Payson. No doubt the mariners and merchants of Tyre and Sidon knew more or less of all the dialects of the Mediterranean. Perhaps there has been a descent of the linguistic faculty. Yes, they gave letters to our ances- tors, said Irene, her imagination pleas- urably inflamed by the antiquarian fact. And here we are giving letters to them. How the world turns round! It reminds me, observed Payson, of a charmingly simple, broad remark of that wise old infant, Herodotus, Everything may happen in the course of ages. It is a reflection which some of our historical infidels of the present day would do well to bear in mind. The tune will come when your bring- ing letters to Syria will be forgotten or denied, said Kirkwood, smiling at Irene. It will only remain on record in the eternal books, answered Payson. The deeds of men pass away, and are as though they were not. Yet are they written in brass. Moreover, they have their fruits, harvest after harvest, he added, his pale face lighting up. Many a little acorn, of which no man ever heard, lives on in an oak, or in genera- tions of oaks. The thought cheers me to hope on and work on. Let us not weary in planting worthy deeds because they come to naught in our little lives. But this is not instructing our scholars. We preach too much to ourselves. St. Paul preached to the Gentiles. Then, turning to the benches of tar- booshed damsels, he delivered a little speech in Arabic, containin0 very near- ly the thoughts of the above dialogue, and dwelling especially on the vitality of good deeds. A benediction closed the ezercises of the morning, and sent irene the illissionar& i. the young Orientals forth to chatter and play. Do you think that I have done one atom of good? lie murmured sadly to Irene. I never yet spoke to my fellow- creatures without feeling like an archer who shoots an arrow in the dark. If I hit any target I could not perceive it, and it was none of my marksmanship. It is very depressing to work a whole life-time, and not see the kingdom of glory arrive. If I did not believe that the Master would in his own time show his mastery, it seems to me, hy hours, that I should lie down like a coward and die of despair. I am not by nature a combative or an eager man, but in this battle for the faith I do take a strong interest, and I long painfully to discern victory. I have sketched the above scene main- ly to remind the reader once more of the kind of society which surrounded Irene. Very seldom did she hear any conversa- tion which was not suffused, or at least tinged, with sober philanthropy and de- voutness. There was, the worldly read- er will probably observe, a (legree of moral despotism in this environment. Only when alone, and scarcely when alone, could she indulge in the thoughts and desires of ordinary girlhood. As for its speech, its rattling talk about tri- fles and its sentimental talk about love and its serious talk about raiment, she heard it about as frequently as she hc~rd the song of the mermaid. But this solemn spiritual pressure was no hardship, because it was no novelty, and because it coincided with her con- science. From her infancy, all through her life thus far, she had been familiar with just such a grave existence, and unfamiliar with any other. It was in exact accordance with her ideas of what ought to be in all human society. In short, to find a handsome girl better fitted than Irene to become a missionary would have been no easy matter. Mr. Payson, a good judge of such material believed in her with saintly affection, and trusted that she would grow into one of the pillars of the church in Syria. The only obstacle to her perfected pil lardom lay in her own attractiveness. The minions of the world migbt yet strive to withdraw her from the sanctu- ary and use her for the adornment of their palaces. Even devout admirers were liable to address her mostly concerning this exist- ence and its emotions. There was the doctor, for instance, who rarely had any- thin:, to say about the battle of Arma- geddon, and rather produced a feeling that life was largely a matter between her and himself. Now that his rival was gone, and he had Irene measurably in his own hands, he was very consider- ate and tender with her. Had he been a betrothed lover, or a bewitched hus- band, he could hardly have been more confidential and attentive. He went straight to her arms, as it were, and could not be put aside any more than an affectionate child. He told her nil his own history, and catechised out of her the whole of hers, what history there was. There is a magic in intimate inter- course and unreserved communications. The doctor did not know it; he knew nothing about women. He was not in- tentionally artful in his approaches; he simply confided and questioned out of impulsive sympathy, perhaps one had better say, plainly, out of love. All the same he succeeded in making a warm friend of Irene, and, as the phrase goes, in getting her head full of him, though not as full as it could hold. Meantime he sought to be of benefit to her. A missionary, he distinctly per- ceived, must be a blessing to every one whom he might meet, not excepting the object of his worship. He worked hard to disentangle for her the puzzle of Se- mitic grammar, so alien and so seeming- ly irrational to the Indo-European intel- lect. It was owing to his suggestion, also, that she resumed the study of Ital- ian, and gave three evenings a week to conversazioni with Signor Fiorentini, a meagre little martyr of freedom who had found refuge at Beirut. We dont know what we may be, said the doctor, who was a man of imag- ination, and often built strange futures 1879.] 69 70 Irene the Missionary. [July, in the clouds. The time may come when we shall be called to declare the truth in Italy. Besides, Italian is the most common European tongue in the Levant, and will he useful to a mission- ary or a traveler all along these Orient- al coasts. Your readings at your col- lege did nt amount to much, I suppose. College readings in languages seldom do. Learn to speak Italian. Then you and I will commence together on modern Greek. You frighten me, doctor, declared Irene, though at heart she was flattered at seeing how much was hoped of her. Oh, you can do it, he affirmed. Each language makes the next easier. Besides, you have a faculty for tongues: you talk your mother speech fluently, which is a good sign; your accent is neat and true, which is another. There are people who never in all their lives could learn Arahic, and they show their inca- pacity the first time they open their hlun- dering mouths in it. Our consul is a harrowing instance. Then there was a little talk concern- ing the general nature of the consul, who, it seems, had heen instrumental in find- ing the Italian maestro for Irene, and who had heen led thereby into making her a call or two. He is a good-hearted, simple, hon- est fellow, opined the doctor, certainly not a shrewd man at readin0 character. Mr. Brassey himself would probably have denied that he was simple, and perhaps had doubts as to whether he was honest, at least in the game of politics. But he is a dull, commonplace, un- refined creature, added Macklin, after a moments hesitation. I do hope you wont see much of him. It must not he unjustly supposed that he was jealous of the public functionary. But, inasmuch as he worshiped Irene, he was delicately choice of her, and wished her to he approached hy no vul- gar votaries. I suppose I must see him if he asks for me, she said. He has been con- siderate and useful to the mission. We cant he uncivil. I dont admit that he has any right to ask for you, declared the doctor, looking indie,nant. But Mr. Porter Brassey continued to call on the young lady, and inquired for her so pointedly that he could not he evaded. We must remember how ~lread- fully lonesome he was in Syria, and how few chances he had to look upon his own fair countrywomen, or indeed any fair women whatever. There was a small Levantine (European) society in Beirut, hut its speech, aside from Arahic, was either French or Italian, and thus it was unintelligihle to our representative. Moreover, its few young ladies were held in strict tutelage, and he could not have got at them in a social way even had he talked their lingo. Consequently, when he at last discovered that there was a pretty American girl at his hand, he was pathetically overjoyed, and dropped in on her frequently. I quite hope that our worthy consul is beginning to apprehend the impor- tance of spiritual things, said Mr. Pay- son, one evening. lIe has appeared twice of late at the Mission Chapel. Mrs. Payson, who venerated her hus- band, almost wanted to laugh at him, but of course did not. She could not, however, suppress an amused twinkle in her eye, nor keep from glancing un- derstandingly at Irene. That young lady undertook to turn off the matter by remarking that Mr. Brassey looked at Mirta a good deal; and no wonder, for she was lovely. I sometimes think that Mirta ought to be cautioned gently, sai(l Mr. Pay- son. She certainly does attire herself wondrously well. But a daughter of Is- rael should not be a snare to the eye. Then he escaped to his study, for there was a sound of a visitor at the gate, and his evenings were reserved, if possible, to Hebrew. It was the doctor who en- tered, looking more pensive than usual, and also a little pale. I have called to bid you good-by, he said. They have selected me to visit the Hasbeya people. I shall start at daybreak. Shall I call Mr. Payson? asked Irene. Irene the Missionary. No, no, replied Mackiln with a nervous eagerness. Ill just leave a word for him. Dont break up his He- brew. Mrs. Payson meanwhile had a know- ing and rather guilty look upon her face, and was obviously anxious to get out of the room. An acute observer might have guessed that the doctor had some- thing important to say to the younger lady, and that the elder one had prom- ised to afford him an opportunity for the communication. I think Ill go and walk in the gar- den, said Mrs. Payson, which was such an absurd subterfuge that Irene stared at her in amazement. The garden was an arid rectangle of some thirty feet square, jealously inclosed by a stone-wall as if it grew apples of gold, but contain- ing only one & actus plant and one small mulberry-tree. Irene, you know all about me, said MackIln as soon as they were alone. I know a great deal about you, she laughed, in an embarrassed manner. And I have had great pleasure in learning so much of you, so much to be admired, continued the doctor, his voice trembling. Irene was confounded and frightened. This thing was coming upon her, or rather had come upon her, by surprise. Of course she had thought, as all young maidens must do, even when they are very, very good, that some time or other some charming body would fall in love with her and propose to her and win her. But she was far from having settled as to who that person would be. Of the doctor she had not thought in this connection, at least not with any seriousness. He had taught her Arabic, and had often been very gentle with her, and in short had shown her much kind- ness. But he had not, as she understood it, paid her any loving court whatever. He had given her quite as many scold- ings as compliments, and the compli- ments all concerned her progress in Ori- ental studies. Yet here he was, all of a sudden, driv- ing right toward a declaration, unless she entirely misunderstood him, which she fervently hoped was the case. Of- course, a young lady in this surprised, perplexed, and unready state of mind, who, moreover, was not a coquette nor a veteran of society, would be hard up for a suitable remark. The result was that to the doctors expression of joy in her character she made no reply, except by turning a little pal~e and glancing at him timidly. We have a common life to live, he continued, not a little daunted by her silence. We have the same duties to perform. I am going to Hasbeya to- morrow. Yes, said Irene, glad to think of it, and wishing he had gone that morn- in g. I dont know when I shall return, pursued MackIm, as if he were wander- ing in his mind. It is a long and se- vere journey. I may not see you for some time. Just then there was a murmur of voices in the desert of a gnrden, and al- most immediately a scraping of footsteps on the stone stairway. Mrs. Payson, looking red and anxious, entered the little hall, ushering in the consul. There was humble apology, and there was also a glimmer of hope, in the glance which she gave the doctor. Even in that short minute, for aught she knew, .he might have given and received a heart. It had taken Mr. Payson less time to make his proposal and get a favorable answer. But the doctor stared at the public func- tionary with an injured, surly expres- sion; and then the good woman compre- hended with a pang that the interview had miscarried. Fine evening, Miss Grant, said Mr. Brassey. how are you, Hilkim? he added, shaking Mackims hand with a warmth which was not reciprocated. Im learning Arabic, you see, Miss Grant. Took on my third teacher this morning. The two first did nt amount to much. It is pronounced Hake~m, not Hiikim, observed the doctor sulkily. Oh, exactly. These medical men are sensitive about their titles, Miss Grant, smiled the consul affably. Do 1879.] 71 72 Irene tke lhlissionari,. [July, you enjoy your Arabic in these days? And what s the last sensation in Ital- ian? The doctor got up and stalked direct- ly between them with a demeanor which made the public functionary stare. As I was saying, I shall not see you again for some time, he stammered, ad- dressing Irene. So good-by. Going, doctor? asked Mr. Bras- sey, cheerfully. Not home? Oh, to Hasbyer. Well, pleasant journey. Any- thing I can do for you? No, said poor Mackim, suffering himself to be shaken once more by the official hand, and then getting as quick- ly as possible out of the house. Mrs. Payson followed him to the door, and whispered, I tried to keep him in the garden; he would come up. But the perturbed, disappointed doc- tor was ungrateful, as the sharply un- happy often are, and gave her no word of thanks. XVI. MackIms absence put an end, for a time, to the direct pressure of his court- sbip. Erelong, to be sure, Mrs. Payson read Irene a letter from him, in which he spoke with great interest of our dear young lady, and sent her his most cordial remembrances. Moreover, she frequently spoke to the girl of the de- parted one, and endeavored to make him a subject of confidential discourse, as is the way with ladies who have under- taken to bring two hearts together. About this time Mr. Payson received a long epistle from DeYries, giving a very entertaining account of the open- ing of his excavations, expressing a no- ble gratitude and good-will toward the mission, and closing with special regards to Miss Grant. Mrs. Payson longed greatly to suppress this perilous missive, but did not dare to hint the desire to her best beloved. She knew well that he would not countenance artfulness, nor the slightest appearance of it, even for a good end. As for herself, she did not mean to be sly, but she did earnestly long that her bright and attractive young friend should remain in the mission; and with almost equal eagerness she craved that her doc- tor (word dear to the feminine soul) should have his way and be happy. Of Irenes comfort in heart and success in life she somehow thought less. I believe that many women have a feeling that no particular woman should hesitate to sac- rifice herself to manly excellence and devotion. The letter reached Irenes hands, and remained in her charge for some time. She admired it much, and read it aloud to her now frequent visitor, the consul, though mainly to lighten the burden of entertaining him. What she digging at Askelon for? asked Mr. Brassey. He says that he wantb to find some- thing, crusader relics, if not Philis- tine. I d go to Gath, said the official. If a man should turn up the skeleton of Goliath, I dont spose it s any ways likely, but if he should rouse out that old chap, it would be striking ile. 1 d give a smart sum for the bones, myself, for a great moral show. Would nt the Sabbath~schools flock to see it! He had a humorous twinkle in his half-shut eyes; and yet at bottom he was not a little in earnest. He would really have been glad to get possession of the frame-work of Goliath, and put it on ex- hibition before a paying public of Bible readers. It might fill a fellows pockets, and help him work into Congress. For as to the smart sum of which he spoke, that was either a mere conversa- tional phrase, or the figment of an im- agination trained in politics. There might be a good deal picked up at Gath, he continued, his mind al- ready expanding to the idea of an Ana- kim Museum. I 11 suggest it to the government. You must nt take away Mr. De- Vriess chance, said Irene, eagerly. Oh, no, he laughed. Which chance do you mean? He looked very roguish over his re- tort, but she clearly did not understand Irene the lilissionary. and, seeing that, he pushed the harder. Ever think of going home, Miss Grant? I never suffer myself to think of it. I do, returned Mr. Brassey, with real feeling. I wish I was going home to-morrow. Only, Miss Grant, and here he sought to smile pleasingly, I wish we were going in the same ship. It wont he, she answered, color- mo. So you would nt like to he in the same boat with me? he persisted, with an unabashed smile. I should neither like it, nor dislike it, which was a very severe speech for our young lady to make. Indifference is the worst kind of cruelty, commented the consul, with a loud laugh. Irene blushed still deeper, and the ex- perienced politician understood the sign as favorable to himself, and was annoyed that Mrs. Payson should happen into the room just when he was doing so well. Thats a smart young woman, he said to himself, as he rode away. And of course she s got the lead of me just now. But how long will she keep it? His comprehension of Irene was that she was an artful coquette who wanted to trifle with him for the purpose of sub- jugating him, which was about as wild a misjudgment as could be. But I be- lieve that gentlemen frequently miscon- strue ladies, especially when they study them with unusual interest and atten- tion. For a week, now, Mr. Brassey did not call again. He knew that DeYries and the doctor would be away, and that there was no other bachelor in that mission field. His calculation was that if Miss Grant were left without a beau for sev- eral days, and were made to rcalize that the only one at hand could hold himself aloof at pleasure, she would become less tricky and topping than he had hitherto found her. The result of this bit of un- tutored diplomacy was that the young lady nearly forgot his existence, and was quite surprised to see him stalk once more into the Payson leewan. Just dropped in as I was going by, said the consul, persisting in his artful- ness, and believing the while that he was meeting cunning with cunning. How s father Payson? He is quite well; did you wish to see him? responded Irene, eagerly. No, no! he promptly returned, rather put out by such obstinate dissim- ulation and slyness. Oh, I like Pay- son amazingly; he s a gentleman and a scholar,yes, and a saint, too. But I occasionally like to see a young lady quite as well, Miss Grant. I suppose you wonder why, Miss Grant. To tell you the truth, I was nt wondering a bit. I had nt had time to wonder. The consul laughed heartily, although not sure that a joke was intended, and also a little fearful that, in case there was a joke, it was at his expense. But he earnestly desired to conciliate her, and so he affected to appreciate her wit. Irene also smiled very slightly, and merely to keep him in countenance. human intercourse, and especially in- tercourse between the sexes, is cumbered with many such absurd misunderstand- ings. Have you heard from DeVries late- ly? he went on. I in a little anx- ious about that young feller. It s some- thing of a fever hole, they say, that old Philistine country. It is healthy at this season, as- serted Irene, with interest and positive- ness. We have nt heard from him since his first letter. I hope he is nt sick. Do you think he is? Dont know; thought I d (Irop in and ask, said Mr. Brassey, forgetting that he had dropped in because he was going by. Knew you took an interest in him, and corresponded. I? I never saw but one of his let- ters, and that was to Mr. Payson. I was joking, returned the artful gentleman; but he smiled with honest pleasure. He had conceived a suspicion that Miss Grant was indifferent to him- self because of a kindly understanding with the rich young tourist and explorer. Yes, I sometimes joke, lonesome and 1879.] 73 74 Irene the 1JIissionar~,. [July, sad as I am, he continued. You have nt, probably, the smallest idea how abandoned I feel out here, and how low-spirited I git. If you had, I think you d give me a little womanly pity, Miss Grant. It seems so absurd to pity a man who has a position. But, you see, I have nt any compan- ionship. I could be happy enough, I reckon, if I only had a a companion. My dragoman is sorry for me. He want- ed to know, yesterday, why I did nt take a native wife, and hinted at one of the girls in the mission. Irene looked up with interest, a woman s interest in a possible love af- fair, and marveled which one it might be. It turned out to be Saada, your handsomest girl, pursued Mr. Brassey, watching the young lady narrowly, in hope, perhaps, of discovering symptoms of jealousy. Then, after a pause, he added firmly, Says I to him, Abmed, says I, I ye no objection to a wife, but I want one of my own lovely country- women, says I. Irenes countenance fell into indiffer- ence once more; there was no lovely countrywoman for bun, none, at least, that she knew of. The consul studied her with an expression which started with being cunning, but which gradu- ally changed into disappointment and humiliation, smartly flavored with an- noyance. He was upon the point, as he at all events believed, of taking his hat to go, when Mrs. Payson entered the hall in joyous excitement, and an- nounced the approach of Americans. Mr. Brassey was glad too, partly because the coming of countrymen was always to him as the coming of the saints, and partly because he was so angry with Irenes coolness that lie wanted to retal- iate by being gracious to other people. Reckon I know who they are, he said. It must be Mr. Felix A. Brann and family, who came yesterday in a bark from Boston. If you ye no objec- tion, Mrs. Payson, 1 11 stay and shake hands with them, and offer the courte- sies of the post. The strangers entered in single ffle: portly and rosy Mrs. Brann leading, followed by two stout daughters of about thirty; then by two remarkably narrow- shouldered sons of somewhat fewer years; and lastly by a tall, shambling, white-headed gentleman, with an ab- sent-minded smile, who was Mr. Felix A. Brann himself. The features and general style of the visitors indicated that they belonged to the simpler and more rustic class of New England squire- archy. How do you do, Mrs. Payson? broke forth Mrs. Braun, who had the large, flexible mouth and animated man- ner which usually mark a talkative per- son. You dont remember us a bit, I suppose, but we saw you at the meeting of the American Board of Foreign Mis- sions, at Albany, sitting among the saints, and told you, dont you remem- ber, that we hoped to meet you next in Syria a-doing Gods own special work in his selected land; and here we are, Mr. Brann and myself and the four children, all bound for the Holy City, but as glad as we can be to meet you on the way and give you the right hand of fellow- ship. And how is good, scriptural Mr. Payson? And this is dear Miss Grant, I presume. And is this one of the good brethren? This is the consul, replied Mrs. Payson, who was always a little flurried in society, and especially apt to stumble in the formality of an introduction. Mrs. Brann, now for the first time in foreign parts, stared at the official with an air of perplexity, as not knowing but that a consul should be addressed in Lat.in. Mr. Porter Brassey, of West Wol- verine, an American citizen, and glad to see you, Mrs. Brann, said our rep- resentative affably. From West Wolverine? returned Mrs. Brann, her gift of speech suddenly restored in full measure. Why, you dont say that your name is Brassey, and that you come from West Wolver- me! And to think that I once lived a couple of years in East Wolverine, just across the river, though we were all Irene the Missionary,. born in Vermont, and reside there now on the old family homestead; for we only went West while Mr. Brann could sell out his wild lands, and got back as soon as we could to our natal spot. But really, you do interest me now greatly, for I had for neighbor and fellow church member a Mrs. Harrison Stokes, whose maiden name, she told me, was Brassey; and perhaps she was a connection by blood of yours, for it seems to me you favor her a little about the eyes, and the cowlick on your forehead. My own aunt! broke in the con- sul, beaming with joy at meeting some- body who had known his people, and so might be c6nsidered a semi-acquaint- ance. Wasnt she a queer old lady, though? Oh, I recollect her well, and it was impossible to forget her, for there was something very peculiar about her, averred Mrs. Brann, smiling with the same pleasure. Yes, there was some- thing very peculiar about her; she was one of the most composed persons that ever I saw, and her face had no more expression than a sign-board. But she was a powerful good woman, I do verily believe, if there ever was one who never said anything; she loved the sanctuary, and she was good to the poor, and a re- straint upon her husband, and her house was like wax-work. That s her! cried Mr. Brassey, fairly grinning his satisfaction over this portrait. But her husband was nt no ways her equal, I used to think, continued Mrs. Brann, smiling away with extraor- dinary amiability, as though she liked even the inferior Stokes. He was a positive, contradicting, trumpeting sort of a man, who made me think of the stories I ye read about wild elephants; and was mortally opposed to common and Sabbath schools, which, you know, we New Englanders believe in, besides being considerably scrimped, as I used to tell Mr. Brann, in the way of cult- ure. The consul suddenly stopped smiling. It seemed to him th~at this last word savored of Boston conceit, and was a little disrespectfnl to the valley of the - Mississippi and its tributaries. He had heard it before from Down East people, and had always felt it to be an obnox- ious substantive. There s lots of culture in our dis- trict, Mrs. Brann, he stated with firm- ness. Uncle harrison was nt exactly what I call the true Western type. lie came of the North Carlina streak of pilgrims, and Pilgrims, broke in Mrs. Braun, with a genial titter. That reminds me to say just here, before I forget it, that here we are, pilgrims and strangers on the way to the Holy City; and I dont believe you could guess in the least why we re going there, for nobody ever does, and when we tell them they only laugh, as thongh they did nt believe it. But the real fact is that when we finally got shut of our wild lands we all wanted to set eyes on Jerusalem, and, what s more, to dwell in it for a season, not out of vain curiosity, but to see if we could nt lead a more spiritual life there; for it did seem to us that the daily sight of Zions hill and Siloams rill, and so on, would help to uplift us, if anything earth- ly could. And so here we are, bound on a real pilgrimage to Salems courts, with intent to abide there for a season.~~ Mr. Brasseys wooden countenance became unusually serious, lIe had al- ready discovered that religious maniacs sometimes found their way to Palestine, and that the sending of them home was one of the most troublesome features of his duty, involving perhaps the payment of money out of his private pocket. Addressing himself to Mr. Brann, who seemed most likely to understand finan- cial matters, he observed that traveling with such a family must be very expen sive. The old gentleman bowed gra- ciously over his high cravat, and replied, in a tone of elaborate courtesy, Yes, sir, it is somewhat expensive, sir; but we have lightened the burden by taking ship direct to this port, sir. And we might just as well have comae through Europe, put in his wife, only that we were daunted by the di- versity of tongues and the confusion of 1879.] 75 76 Irene the Missionar~y. [July, currencies; besides which, Mr. Brann has been so marvelously prospered of late in his affairs by Providence that it seemed as if some recognition was owing, and we could think of nothing better than coming to the Holy Land first of all, and spending there a goodly portion of the overflowing bounty vouchsafed us.,, The consul was relieved of his fear that he might have these six people on his hands, and glanced at the two daugh- ters to see if their charms equaled their financial expectations. But one look sufficed him, and gave him a low idea of Vermont beauty, and of course a very unjust one. So he let them prattle on to Mrs. Payson, while he patiently list- ened to the interminable outpourings of their mamma, and occasionally sought to exchange a knowing smile with Irene. Meantime, the two narrow-shouldered young men sat in perfect silence, as if their high cheek-bones were unmanage- able, and would not let them open their mouths. Eventually the Branns took their de- parture, and with them wcnt Mr. Porter Brassey, drawn by the charms of Amer- ican conversation. Only, at the bottom of the little court-yard he stopped with a start, and looked back at the house wistfully, much as if he had forgotten his umbrella. By George! I meant to have got something defini out of that girl, he said to himself. But never mind, now; I 11 try her to morrow. So he went on with the Brauns to their hotel and accepted their invit.ation to dinner. XVII. Mr. Porter Brassey~s purpose of call- ing the next day to get something definite out of that girl was not car- ried into effect. He received personal letters from home which required immediate and ju- dicious answer; and as he was not a ready man with his pen the business worried and occupied him for a day or two. The result was that, before .he saw the young lady again, Dr. Macklin re- turned unexpectedly from Hasbeya, and recommenced to absorb her time and mind. The consular attentions, by the way, had been of service to the doctor. By contrast with Mr. Brasseys shag- bark rusticity and unpolishable gnarli- ness of internal fibre, the irritable but unselfish and profoundly tender Macklin seemed a gentleman of the old school, or at least one of natures gentlemen. Moreover, it was delightful to a lone- some young person to find herself greet- ed with a frank, hearty kindliness which reminded her of the tenderness which had followed her through ~ll her girlish years. Ah, my dear young lady ! the doctor had exclaimed, appropriating her at once, as though she had been a sister, or a patient of long standing. In the exuberance of arrival, and while he was not thinking of instant offers of marriage, he could forget that he had ever been fearful in her presence. I am delighted to look upon your face again, he went on. It brings me straight back to civilization and to things of good report. I dont mean to say aught against our dear native breth- ren in Jlasbeya. They are as good and decent as they can be, with their sur- roundings and their history. But cir- cumstances, the blindness of ages, the oppression of ages, poverty, and too often filth, all those are terrible drhw- backs. Their worthiness does nt shine on the surface. An American woman represents the intelligence and the de- corum of seven centuries of Christian prosperity. Well, I 11 stop this; you dont like compliments; you think Im talking like a lunatic. Wait till you have visited the interior, and seen its wretch- edness and rudeness. So Mr. Payson has helped you on in Arabic? I am very glad. And you stick to Italian ? That s good, also. As for me, I have ridden a good deal, and shaken a little. Quinine every day. I have had my ad- ventures, too, as usual. The Moslem population is getting insolent. I tore off one blatant fellows turban for him. Irene the Missionar& i. It was the only part of him that I could reach from my horse. Ab, brother! sighed Payson; do you think he took you for an evangelist of the gospel of peace? I dont think he did, conceded the doctor. But I took him for an impu-. dent blackguard, and treated lAin ac- cordingly. I wont be called a giaour and Iceib to my face. You should have seen how astonished and cowed the scoundrel was. I left him twisting up his turban and spitting on the ground. You ought to have done your mis- sionarying in the time of Richard the Lion-Hearted, laughed Irene, not so much displeased with his pugnacity as one might expect. You are enough to bring on a mountain war. There s no mountain war this time, affirmed Macklin. The mountain wont bring forth a mouse. The Druzes are alarmists because the Maronites are twice as numerous, and might whip them if they should try. As for the story that Druzes are coming from the Hauran, I dont believe a word of it. I rode from Deir el Kamr to Abeih with Sheikh Ahmed of the Abdelmeleks, and he as- sured me positively that there was nt a Hauran IDruze in Lebanon. We did n t use to believe all that Sheikh Abmed chose to say, remarked Payson. Idesire not to be unjust to any man, but it does seem to me that he has ~the wickedest smile I ever looked upon, and that his eyes are inhabited by swarms of lies and perjuries. Besides, what was he doing among the Abune- keds? I dislike the look of it. Oh, well, nobody will believe me, grumbled the doctor. I have been all over the ground, and questioned scores on scores of people. You know that I am naturally fear- ful, was Paysons apology. Even if I had been with you, I might not have been as hopeful. Well, it is months now since the first alarm came, and the sword still remains in its scabbard. It may be that a more than human mercy will keep it there. Aboo Shedood wants a pension of five piastres a day, continued Macklin, with a look of contempt and indigna- tion. What for? For letting the light of his counte- nance shine on the Hasbeyan church. I told him we could better afford twice the money to have him stay away. May the divine pity enlighten and forgive him ! said Payson. Poor Aboo Shedood! The root of the mat- ter is not in him. The rest of the brethren there are admirable. I believe they have joined themselves to us in unselfishness and singleness of heart. Aboo Shedood is the only man who asked me for a par~. He needs their prayers, truly. I should have suggested to the church to make him a special case for supplica- tion. But perhaps your treatment of him is best. Well, we will have a meet- ing of the mission to-night, doctor, and you shall tell us in full what you have seen and heard. It will be a most inter- esting story. You must come, Irene. And to-morrow I resume my work as teacher, added the doctor. I suppose Mr. Payson will give you up. I shall hate to give him up, said Irene, laughingly. He never scolds. It is easy to be patient when one is not troubled, said Payson. You have studied hard, Irene. I suppose I am to remember all this and keep my temper, growled Mack- lin, good-naturedly. By the way, where is DeYries? What is he find- ing? We have had a second letter from him, Payson stated. The lad is not finding any Anakimus, nor any Philistine inscriptions. He has turned up half a dozen millstones and some potsherds which may belong to any one of the last thirty centuries. He begins to suspect that the Philistine cities were built, like the villages in that region now, of sun- dried bricks. It is a very ingenious hypothesis, and I fear it will be his only discovery. I hope not, said frene, warmly. He will be so disappointed, and so shall I. I did so want to have him find a giant with six fingers! 18T9.] 77 Irene the Missionary. Next morning the doctor recommenced his teachings, and showed an unusual and charming patience therein, so de- lighted was he to get his scholar again. XVhile they were raveling away at some tangled mystification of Arabic syntax, Mr. Porter Brassey stalked in, and cheer- fully took a chair at the study table. What! still at it, Miss Grant? he said. I did n t know it took so long to learn a language when a person had a gift for it. We have nt the pentecostal gift nowadays, returned Macklin, staring at the visitor with a lowering brow. No, we aint Parthians an4 Medes and Elamites, observed the consul, pleased to show that he also knew some- what of the Bible. Well, I dont want to interrupt you folks, he added, perceiving that he was not entirely wel- come. I want to see father Payson. Accordingly he was ushered into the bare, whitewashed little study, where the missionary was writing out Arabic mem- oranda for a sermon. Parson, I want a confidential talk, began Mr. Brassey, laying his kossuth hat on the stone floor. Ive got an important little bit of news to commu- nicate, I mean important for me. An old bachelor uncle of mine has just gone cone to a better world, he added, on reflection. Quite an old gentleman; healthy and hearty, though, when I saw him last; was nt thinking that he would be called for. Death is always a surprise, sighed Payson. I give you my sympathy with all my heart. Yes, I suppose it always is a sur- prise, and generally a disa~reeable o~ie, replied the consul. Thank you for your sympathy. I knew I d come to the right place for that. And here he smiled inwardly over the humorous fact of getting condolence when he really had not thought of asking for it. And yet human sympathy avails lit- tle, said Payson. What we really need is the compassion of Him who in- flicts the chastisement. Exactly, admitted Mr. Brassey, growing a little uneasy, for his state of mind was evidently misunderstood. But I dont suppose that I feel this blow as I ought. Alas, we are all alike. I find that I am very hard to touch. You see he was quite an elderly gentleman, urged the consul, who had by this time the air of trying to comfort the clergyman. His time had come. We know not when our time shall be. It is often in the flower of our days. Certainly, conceded Mr. Brassey, twisting on his chair as if he were look- ing around for his hat. Of course. Well, as I was saying, or perhaps 1 did nt say it, the old gentleman left something behind him, left a nice lit- tle pot of money, and left it to me. Mr. Payson stared at him with amaze- ment, wondering if his wits had forsaken him, so absurd did it seem that a mourner should care to spread such unimportant news. Yes, left it to me, repeated the consul, putting his hands in his pockets and thrusting his legs straight out before him, as if to claim more room in the world. I m a better man by at least fifteen thousand dollars than I was when I came to the Holy Land. By this time the missionary had per- ceived that Mr. Brassey was not griev- ing over the loss of his relation, and was rejoicing because he had inherited a lit- tle filthy lucre. Strange as it may seem, in view of his doctrines as to the deprav- ity of the human heart, he had not ex- pected such a display of toughness and egoism. His own unselfishness and his tender charity for other men led him to impute to them the best motives possi- ble; and only when he saw them bring forth evil fruits did he distinctly realize that they were born in sin and shapen in iniquity. It was a picture to see this elect spirit gaze on the hard-favored soul which sat there in his sweet presence. It was ob- vious that be did not regard the consul with anger, nor even with scorn. There was a semi-divine patience and pity on his pale, worn, tranquil, and pensive countenance. There was more there 78 [July, Irene tke Missionary. was an air of profound humility; there was a pathetic recognition of fallen fra- ternity. He was meekly and solemnly saying to himself that but for unmerited grace he would have been as callous and greedy as this hapless brother. What desert was there in him, he asked, that he should have been taken, and the other left? I have generally looked upon money with fear, he said at last. I have felt that if much of it were placed in my hands I should find it a snare to my- self, and perhaps harm others. I dont belieye you would, parson, returned Mr. Brassey, staring nt him with honest admiration, while he mar- veled at his simplicity. Upon my honor, I do believe you would be less hurt by it, and do more good with it, than any other man I ever laid eyes on. Mr. Payson shook his head. He sin- cerely and even severely doubted him- self. He really and seriously thanked God that he had not been set afloat on the ocean of probation with the mill- stone of wealth fastened to his neck. The consul, gazing at him with wide- open eyes, and perfectly convinced of his sincerity, was surprisingly affected. His heart had not been touched by the talk about the loss of his relative and the un- certainty of life. But in the spectacle of humility and of thorough unselfish- ness there is a noble pathos which ele- vates and softens the souls of all men who nre not of the real, hardened wicked. As Mr. Brassey looked into the meek, loving face of the missionary, he felt something like tears about the secret places of his eyes. Parson, I want to do a little good, he broke out. I came here this morn- ing with that notion, and it s grown on me since I got into your sanctum. I can afford it, and I ye got to do it. Suppose, now, I should allow the mission one hun- dred no, three hundred dollars a year, while I hold on here. What could you do with it? It is a very large sum for one person, returned the cler~yman, so startled that he colored. Had you not better reflect well as to whether you can spare it? I can spare it. I dont need to re- flect. Why, look here! My salary is a good, square two thousand, including odds and ends; and this little property, invested up our way on bond and mort- gage, will make fifteen hundred more. There s thirty-five hundred, for a bach- elor. Why, I m ashamed to offer so lit- tle as three hundred, and Id treble it but for some nieces of mine who may want an outfit some day. Now, to come down to business, what could the mis- sion do with three hundred? What particular thing could you start? We could establish a native preach- er at Damascus. We could open a church in that most ancient city, which stoo(l in the time of Abraham. That suits, replied the consul with enthusiasm. That suits me to an iota. I 11 give you a draft to-morrow, parson; and let s have the new meeting-house right away. Porter Brasseys Founda- tion Church in Damascus ! he ex- claimed, with a hearty laugh. I want West Wolverine to get a return from it as quick as possible. Wont the boys stare, though And wont my pious old aunt Stokes be delighted! H ow she will take down her Bible and Josephus, and look up all the texts about Damascus! I can understand, I can imagine it, smiled Payson, remembering with pleasure worthy old souls of his own re- lationship who loved to read the Bible in connection with Josephus. It will greatly interest the good people at home. Damascus is one of the regal and mag- ical names of history. The pubhi9 functiounry remained pen- sive for a few seconds. He was thinking that, if he should go home and run for Congress, the B rassey Church in Damas- cus would be a gOO(l campaign card, an(l might secure him the entire pious vote. Evidently, the project must not only be initiated, but must also be es- tablished on a solid foundation. You need nt be afraid about start- ing, he exhorted. The thing shant slump through, even if I quit here, or quit the world. I 11 make out a little 1879.] 80 The Morning Hills. [July, trust-deed to secure you three hundred a year for five years. That will give the church a good send-off. And now, sixty pounds sterling to-morrow; will the mission do its part at once? It will, promised Payson. We have just the man, a good man, and a scholar in his own tonguc, and he can go immediately. Then the consul shook hands with the missionary, and went away much aston- ished at his own munificence, but also rejoicing in it for more reasons than one. I suppose of course he 11 tell her, he said to himself. I guess it will be a good card every way. By George! it was an inspiration. THE MORNING HILLS. I. HE sits among the morning hills, His face is bright and strong; He scans far heights, but scarcely notes Thee herdsmans idle song. He cannot brook this peaceful life, ~XThile battles trumpet calls; He sees a crown for him who wins, A tear for him who falls. The flowery glens and shady slopes Are hateful to his eyes; Beyond the heights, beyond the storms, The land of promise lies. II. He is so old and sits so still, With face so weak and mild, We know that he remembers naught, Save when he was a child. His fight is fought, his fame is won, Lifes highest peak is past, The laurel crown, the triumphs arch, Are worthless at the last. The frosts of age destroy the bay, The loud applause of men Falls feebly on the palsied ears Of fourscore years and ten. lie does not hear the voice that bears His name around the world;

Maurice Thompson Thompson, Maurice The Morning Hills 80-81

80 The Morning Hills. [July, trust-deed to secure you three hundred a year for five years. That will give the church a good send-off. And now, sixty pounds sterling to-morrow; will the mission do its part at once? It will, promised Payson. We have just the man, a good man, and a scholar in his own tonguc, and he can go immediately. Then the consul shook hands with the missionary, and went away much aston- ished at his own munificence, but also rejoicing in it for more reasons than one. I suppose of course he 11 tell her, he said to himself. I guess it will be a good card every way. By George! it was an inspiration. THE MORNING HILLS. I. HE sits among the morning hills, His face is bright and strong; He scans far heights, but scarcely notes Thee herdsmans idle song. He cannot brook this peaceful life, ~XThile battles trumpet calls; He sees a crown for him who wins, A tear for him who falls. The flowery glens and shady slopes Are hateful to his eyes; Beyond the heights, beyond the storms, The land of promise lies. II. He is so old and sits so still, With face so weak and mild, We know that he remembers naught, Save when he was a child. His fight is fought, his fame is won, Lifes highest peak is past, The laurel crown, the triumphs arch, Are worthless at the last. The frosts of age destroy the bay, The loud applause of men Falls feebly on the palsied ears Of fourscore years and ten. lie does not hear the voice that bears His name around the world; 1879.] Our Commerce with (Juba, Porto Rico, and Mexico. 81 He has no thought of great deeds done Where battle-tempests whirled. But evermore he is looking back, Whilst memory fills and thrills With echoes of the herdmans song, Among the morning hills. Maurice Thompson. OUR COMMERCE WITH CUBA, PORTO RICO, AND MEXICO. THAT eminent liberal Spanish lead- er, Emilio Castelar, in a speech in the Chamber of Deputies, in 1872, in regard to Cuba and Porto Rico, said, How these islands are moving away from the American continent, and drawing near- er to the European! Well, indeed, might he make snch a significant exclamation; for the illiberal commercial policy of Spain, her monopo- lies and tariffs, has been continually re- moving those islands farther and farther away from the United States. Although the magnificent island of Cuba the pearl of the Antillesis almost visible from our own shores, yet for all purposes of export trade with her she is about as distant from our country as the Sand- wich Islands. Indeed, for such purposes she is more distant; for our exports to the Sandwich Islands, proportionately to their population, are about eight times the amount of those to Cuba. The Spanish West Indies, Cuba and Porto Rico together, have a population of a little over two millions. Cuba itself is seven hundred miles long, with an av- erage breadth of eighty miles, and pos. sesses resources which, if they were de- veloped, would sustain a population of twelve millions. Its surface, though for the most part very slightly undulating and covered with dense forests, is fine- ly diversified. A mountain range runs through its whole length near the cen- tre, the highest elevations, naked and rocky, being eight thousand feet above the sea. It. has numerous rivers well VOL. XLIY.NO. 261. 6 stocked with fish, and many beautiful and fertile valleys. One of its cascades is remarkable for beauty. Its hill-sides and defiles are clothed with a variety of hard-wood trees of the evergreen spe- cies, of which the more valuable are the mahogany, which grows there to a huge size, the lignum vitm, and the ebony. The palm, queen of the Cuban for- ests, with its deep green plumage; the giant-leaved and prolific banana and plantain, resembling tall Indian corn; the cocoa, with its Weeping foliage; and the prim orange, are abundant. Two hundred sorts of birds are native to the island. Marble of fine quality is found in the mountains, and there are valuable mines of copper. Coffee has been culti- vated on the lower hill slopes with suc- cess, and its production could be largely extended. The Cuban tobacco has pecul- iar value, and is sought for the world over, the Americans alone being pur- chasers of over two million dollars worth of cigars from there every year. Cubas principal crop, however, is su~ar, which amounts in value to over one hundred million dollars a year. Her advantage in its production over Louisiana, for ex- ample, is that in Cuba there is a space of four or five months, when all the me- chanical work must be done, between the time when enough cane is ripe to justify starting the mills and the time when the cane begins to spoil; whereas in Louisiana this period is only about two months. Though some of Cubas coast lands are subject to overflow, she

C. C. Andrews Andrews, C. C. Our Commerce with Cuba, Porte Rico, and Mexico 81-97

1879.] Our Commerce with (Juba, Porto Rico, and Mexico. 81 He has no thought of great deeds done Where battle-tempests whirled. But evermore he is looking back, Whilst memory fills and thrills With echoes of the herdmans song, Among the morning hills. Maurice Thompson. OUR COMMERCE WITH CUBA, PORTO RICO, AND MEXICO. THAT eminent liberal Spanish lead- er, Emilio Castelar, in a speech in the Chamber of Deputies, in 1872, in regard to Cuba and Porto Rico, said, How these islands are moving away from the American continent, and drawing near- er to the European! Well, indeed, might he make snch a significant exclamation; for the illiberal commercial policy of Spain, her monopo- lies and tariffs, has been continually re- moving those islands farther and farther away from the United States. Although the magnificent island of Cuba the pearl of the Antillesis almost visible from our own shores, yet for all purposes of export trade with her she is about as distant from our country as the Sand- wich Islands. Indeed, for such purposes she is more distant; for our exports to the Sandwich Islands, proportionately to their population, are about eight times the amount of those to Cuba. The Spanish West Indies, Cuba and Porto Rico together, have a population of a little over two millions. Cuba itself is seven hundred miles long, with an av- erage breadth of eighty miles, and pos. sesses resources which, if they were de- veloped, would sustain a population of twelve millions. Its surface, though for the most part very slightly undulating and covered with dense forests, is fine- ly diversified. A mountain range runs through its whole length near the cen- tre, the highest elevations, naked and rocky, being eight thousand feet above the sea. It. has numerous rivers well VOL. XLIY.NO. 261. 6 stocked with fish, and many beautiful and fertile valleys. One of its cascades is remarkable for beauty. Its hill-sides and defiles are clothed with a variety of hard-wood trees of the evergreen spe- cies, of which the more valuable are the mahogany, which grows there to a huge size, the lignum vitm, and the ebony. The palm, queen of the Cuban for- ests, with its deep green plumage; the giant-leaved and prolific banana and plantain, resembling tall Indian corn; the cocoa, with its Weeping foliage; and the prim orange, are abundant. Two hundred sorts of birds are native to the island. Marble of fine quality is found in the mountains, and there are valuable mines of copper. Coffee has been culti- vated on the lower hill slopes with suc- cess, and its production could be largely extended. The Cuban tobacco has pecul- iar value, and is sought for the world over, the Americans alone being pur- chasers of over two million dollars worth of cigars from there every year. Cubas principal crop, however, is su~ar, which amounts in value to over one hundred million dollars a year. Her advantage in its production over Louisiana, for ex- ample, is that in Cuba there is a space of four or five months, when all the me- chanical work must be done, between the time when enough cane is ripe to justify starting the mills and the time when the cane begins to spoil; whereas in Louisiana this period is only about two months. Though some of Cubas coast lands are subject to overflow, she 82 Our Commerce with Cuba, Porto Rico, and Mexico. [July, is uncommonly well supplied with fine harbors. Of her cities, Havana, the capital, has a population of two hundred and thirty - five thousand, Santiago de Cuba forty thousand, and Matanzas thir- ty-seven thousand. The sumptuous mar- ble mansions of its capital, with their lofty porticoes and long colonnades, in- dicate something of its tropical wealth and luxury. Its caf6s and restaurants are said to be but little inferior to those of Paris. The United States annually import from Cuba fifty million dollars worth of brown sugar; and as neither that island nor Porto Rico is able to raise wheat, yet requires large quantities of wheat flour for consumption, the United States ought, by good rights, on account of their nearness and facilities for supplying the article, to export annually to those isl- ands ten million dollars worth of flour. Assuming that the consumption of flour in those islands is the same as in other civilized communities, that is, three quar- ters of a pound of bread per day to each inhabitant, equivalent to one barrel of flour a year to each inhabitant, we find that they would require at least two mill- ion barrels of flour a year, which at six dollars a barrel would amount to twelve million dollars. Owing, however, to the high and virtually prohibitory Spanish duty on flour, the export of that article from this country to Cnba and Porto Rico amounted, for the fiscal year end- ing June 30, 1878, to less than three hundred thousand dollars. That high duty applies to flour of wheat imported into Cuba from foreign ports in foreign vessels; and though it does not expressly, yet it does substan- tially, discriminate against the United States. And it has long, though in vain, been complained of. As long ago as 1792, President Washington communi- cated to Congress a report by his sec- retary of state, Thomas Jefferson, in which the latter, referring to our trade with the Spanish West Indies, stated that the Spanish duty on flour affects us very much, and other nations very little. So one reads, in Niless Reg- ister of June 17, 1820, that two large French ships from Spain had arrived at Havana with cargoes of flour, which were admitted at such low rates of duty as would stop the export of flour from the United States to Cuba if the discrim- ination continued. From time to time for about a century back, our presidents, secretaries of state, envoys, consuls, and political economists have directed attention to the heavy cus- toms duty, or tariff, laid by Spain on American flour imported into her West Indian possessions. Nothing, however, seems ever to have been done towards lessening it, especially in late years; and the duty at the present time on flour of wheat imported into Cuba in any ot.her vessels than Spanish is at the rate of $5.51 per one hundred kilograms, with twenty-five per cent. war subsidy addi- tional. This is at the rate of six dollars and twelve cents duty per barrel, net weight of one hundred and ninety - six pounds, and is essentially prohibitory. The pretended object of the duty is to give a monopoly to a few traders in Spain, and to protect~ agriculture in Spain; whereas the United States consul at Barcelona reports, Farmers are till- ing their lands in the same antiquated style as handed down to them by their ancestors, and cannot be persuaded to use modern American implements. The tax, which of course is highly op- pressive to the Cubans themselves, seems all the more unreasonable, because in modern times the ports of those nations which are the most advanced in civiliza- tion certainly those of Great Britain, Holland, Belgium, Hamburg, and of the Scan(linavian countries admit flour free of duty, since it is an article of food of prime necessity. It is injurious to the American wheat producers, who in them- selves, as a general rule, unite the qual- ities of proprietor and laborer; who even under favorable circumstances seldom clear more than ordinary wages. And it seems peculiarly to affect those who are growing wheat in the Upper Missis- sippi Valley (on the very plains owned by Spain a century and a quarter ago), and who naturally think that some of their products should be shipped down 1879.] Our Commerce with Cuba, Porto Rico, and liliexico. 83 the Mississippi and to the West Indian ports so near its mouth. The tax is felt, too, by American flour manufacturers, whose enterprise and skill of late years have carried their art to great perfec- tion, making it in some localities a pre- dominant industry, and who have to seek markets for their goods in distant countries. Twenty - five thousand bar- rels of flour are now shipped every week from the mills of Minneapolis alone, a greater quantity than was exported from the United States to Cuba during the fiscal year endin0 June 30, 1878. The average cost of shipping flour from Minneapolis or St. Paul to Boston or New York by rail is sixty cents a barrel. From the latter cities to Havana by steamer a voyage of five days the freight is fift.y cents a barrel. The choicest quality of the Minnesota pa- tent flour is now quoted in the New York and Boston markets at eight dol- lars per barrel at wholesale. It may be supposed that the average price of, flour shipped to Havana is now six dollars a barrel, so that when it reaches that city it is met with a custom tax nearly or quite equal to its cost, with freight add- ed. This forcibly illustrates the absurd- ly excessive rate of the duty. There are other goods, such as provis- ions, which the United States, more read- ily than any other country, could furnish to Cuba, but upon which, considering that they are necessaries, the duties are quite high. The duty on lard imported from the United States into Cuba in Ameri- can vessels is six cents per pound; on butter eight cents per pound; on cheese from five to fifteen cents per pound, ac- cording to class and quality. Even in Porto Rico, where the duties have usually been lower than in Cuba, the duty on American pork amounts to $2.50 per barrel. The duty on common cotton prints or calicoes imported into Cuba from the United States in American ves- sels is 34 cents per kilogram, and the twenty. five per cent. war subsidy in ad- dition, which is at the rate of 2~ cents a yard of twenty - four inches in width. On calf-skin boots and shoes for men the duty is $1.20 a pair. The duty on the same goods would be about twenty-five per cent. less when imported from Eu- ropean or other ports in Spanish ves- sels. Naturally, the heavy discrimina- tion which Spain makes against our flour and certain other goods ten(1s to preju- dice our export of cotton manufactures to Cuba. During the year ending June 30, 1878, the total value of the exports of manufactures of cotton from the United States to Cuba and Porto Rico togeth- er was only $95,246. During the year 1877, nearly a corresponding period, Great Britain exported to Cuba and Porto Rico cotton manufactures of the value of 1,184,991, or very nearly six million dollars worth; in fact, sixty times as much as were exported to those isl- ands from the United States. Another class of Americans, besides agriculturists and manufacturers, who are injured by Spanish monopoly in Cuba is that of seamen. To foster our coast- ing trade has always been regarded as a matter of high national importance. Our trade with Cuba lies in the very l)ath from our Atlantic to our Gulf ports. It belongs to the coasting trade. And what is more, a part of it belongs to our coasting sail-shipping, which should al- ways be favored, but which has so de- clined of late that those who a few years ago were masters of good vessels are now glad to take the position of mate! Not only is our trade with Cuba bur- dened by high duties, but it suffers still further obstruction from the irregular and oppressive manner in which the du- ties are estimated and collected. The American flag is in such poor favor at Havana that vessels carrying it have to pay considerably higher tonnage duties than are paid by vessels under other flags, and particularly those of Great Britain and Germany, although such duties purport to apply equally to all countries. This statement would seem incredible, were it not vouched for by the United States consul-general at Ha- vana, an officer who has had ten years experience at his post. In a cominu- nication to the department of state, dated November 2,1877, he illustrates the gross injustice done our shipping 84 Our Commerce with Cuba, Porto Rico, and Mexico. [July, interests by the system of assessing ton- nage duties at Havana. He gives exam- ples of it as it was applied to eighteen fishing vesselsthe humblest of our crafts, and such as, if any, would be like- ly to receive fair treatment out of thirty of these vessels which habitually trade between Key West and Havana. He states, The aggregate of the sums paid by these eighteen vessels to the Havana custom - house for tonnage dues during the year 1876 was $8934.93. The same number of Spanish vessels of the same tonnage, and making an equal or a greater number of voyages to the United States, would have paid there during the same period $190.80, or $1 to $46.83 paid by the American vessels in Cuba. The aggregate register tonnage of these vessels is 635.92 tons. In the ab- sence of a reciprocal arrangement be- tween the United States and Spain, the Spanish admeasurers of Havana, in read- measuring these vessels, augmented their aggregate tonnage 216.42 tons, or about thirty-four per cent. over their American tonnage; a gross inlastice, against which all the remonstrances of this office and of the masters were at that time of no avail. At the same time the vessels of Gcr- many, Great Britain, and other countries whose systems of admeasurements are the same as those of the United States were admitted to entry upon their regis- ters. Thus, had these vessels been under the British or German flag, they would have paid thirty - four per cent. less in tonnage dues than was paid by the American vessels. The consul-general, Mr. Hall, adds: There are many other difficulties un- der which our vessels labor in the ports of Cuba, which have been brought to the notice of the department frequently during the past ten years. In view of the facts just quoted, the secretary of state, Mr. Evarts, on the 13th of Novem- ber, 1877, instructed the United States minister at Madrid that the burden of these excessive and increasing exactions is becoming well-nigh unbearable to our shippers and merchants.~ it appears that the evil of the system of readmeasurement became pkrtially remedied by a royal order, which was adopted provisionally! But, judg- ing from the slight satisfaction which hitherto has been accorded to complaints aoainst the system of fines at Ha- vana, we fear the evil is not remedied. The practice by the revenue officers at Havana of imposing fines or penalties on vessels for slight and technical errors found in the manifests of cargoes is a burden which has long been complained of. These fines have been exacted often in a frivolous, arbitrary, and vexatious manner, and such ns to prove in some cases almost ruinous to shippers. The most trifling mistake or omission, a mere verbal inaccuracy, has exposed them to heavy penalties. For example, a fine would be imposed because hoops were not described in the manifest as wood- en hoops; because nails ~vere not stat- ed to be iron nails; for a failure to express numbers, weights and measures in letters and figures; for the slightest error in converting American weights and measures into Spanish denomina- tions. Fines have been imposed in one Cuban port for stating in a manifest that which in another Cuban port fines were imposed for omitting. This unreasona- ble practice of revenue fines had become so burdensome that in January, 1873, seventy - nine commercial firms of New York and Boston presented a memorial to the government of the United States, asking for its intervention to secure re- lief from the system. The matter was deemed of so much importance by our overnment that it procured the cobp- eration of the British, German, and Swedish-Norwegian governments in sec- onding its efforts for a reform of the abuse. But in spite of all that has been done, the abuse exists to a considerable extent. Our consul-general at Havana, at the close of his before-cited commu- nication of November 2, 1877, states that among the many difficulties which affect our vessels in Cuban ports the principal one, that of fines imposed for trivial and sometimes for mere technical informalities, is still a source of complaint on the part of our ship-masters. 1879.] Our Commerce with Cuba, Porto Rico, and Miexico. One, and perhaps a sufficient, expla- nation of the continuance of such an un- warrantable and injurious system is that the revenue officers of Cuba are not properly remunerated for their services by the Spanish government, and that they resort to this unjustifiable imposi- tion of penalties as a source of compen- sation. Our commerce with Cuba has been prejudiced by still another class of evils. Our shipping has been harassed an(l our flag insulted on repeated occasions by Spanish officials and Spanish cruisers. A more arrogant and wanton proceed- ing than the seizure of the Black Warrior a merchant steamer regularly trad- ing between New York and Mobile, call- ing also at Havana for the delivery of the mail and passengers could hardly be imagined. It was a proceeding cal- culated to turn our shipping away from Cuban ports. The seizure of the Vir- ginius on the high seas was in violation of public law; and the summary execu- tion of fifty-tkree of the persons found on board of her, many of them citizens of the United States, and several of them mere boys, without lawful trial, and thus directly in violation of our treaty with Spain, was a flagrant insult to the authority and the dignity of the United States, as well as an outrage against hu- manity. Spain apologized; but instead of punishing the general who ordered the executions, she in due time promoted him! As full indemnity for the affair the United States received of Spain the sum of eighty thousand dollars, which was at the rate of not exceeding twenty- five hundred dollars to the family of each person executed. The pacific course which our government pursued in the matter sufficiently refutes the statement, frequently heard from Europeans, that the United States are in the habit of bullying and worrying Spain in her management of Cuba. To come down to a still later period: the attention of our government was called to the following three cases of out- rage on American vessels, committed near Cuba by Spanish gnard-boats, in 1877. In May of that year the whaling schooner Ellen Rizpah, of Newburyport, Massa- chusetts, while in the peaceful pursuit of her voyage, was forcibly attacked by an armed Spanish guard-boat, twenty miles distant from Cuba; her captain was de- tained prisoner on board the guard-boat for four days, exposed much of the time to very inclement weather in wet cloth- ing; and when at th~ end of that time a Spanish steamer arrived and his papers were examined, which from the first he frankly offered to exhibit, he was rudely or(lered to go about his business. At- tempting to do so, and while preparing to capture sonic whales then in sight, he was again chased a distance of twenty miles by another but similar armed cruis- er. These acts deterred him from prose- cuting his voyage. On the 23d of the same month, the whaling schooner Rising Sn n, of Prov- incetown, Massachusetts, being off the South Keys of Cuba, ~and three miles from the Keys (which are uninhabited and destitute of vegetation) and about twenty miles from the coast of Cuba, had her two boats out in pursuit of whales. One of the boats was commanded by her captain, the other by the mate. While thus visibly and pi;operly engaged in their calling, and three or four miles distant from the schooner, they were fired at by a Spanish guard-boat with blank car- tridge from a rifled cannon, followed im- mediately by two rounds with solid shot. The captain of the Risiur Sun steered for his vessel, but was fired upon with three volleys from small arms. His steers- man, a Portuguese, heard them declare on the guard-boat that they meant to take the schooner and sink her. The captain, as ordered, went on board the guard-boat, where he was told that he would be detained till a gun-boat should come from Cuba to search his vessel and examine his papers. After some time he was permitted to return to his vessel on condition that his mate came aboard in his place. The mate was de- tained five days without change of cloth- ing, although he came on board the Span- ish vessel in his wet whaling suit. When, on the fifth day, the Spanish gun-boat arrived, an officer from that vessel went 85 86 Our Commerce with Cuba, Porto Rico, and Miexico. [July, on board the Rising Sun, examined her papers, and mustered her crew aft to an- swer to their names. Her captain in- quired why his vessel was detained, and was answered in English: There are a good many scamps in the world, and we dont know whom to trust. During all these proceedings the flag of the United States was flying from the Rising Sun. The detention put an end to her voyage. The other case occurred during the same spring, and was of no less aggra- vated character. The whaling schooner Edward Lee, of Provincetown, Massa- chusetts, having scarcely arrived in the same waters, and while cruising for whales, was chased by a Spanish gun- boat, fired into, at first with solid shot, then with grape, and finally with shell, and by such violence driven from those waters. It may be urged that the existence of an insurrection in Cuba was some ex- cuse for these Spanish armed cruisers takin0 the law into their own hands. Not at all. There could be no pretense but these American vessels were pursu- ing their proper and legitimate calling. And, besides, it was well known that the government of the United States had at pains and expense uniformly and suc- cessfully enforced the neutrality laws, and prevented the fitting out and depart- ure from our ports of vessels intending to aid the insurgents in Cuba. This un- deviating course of our government should have made Spanish officials all the more scrupulous and courteous in their treat- ment of American vessels. And here it may be stated that the great leading principle or rule which the United States have long maintained, and which most other maritime powers now acknowledge, is that a vessel on the high seas, in time of peace, bearing its proper flag, is under the jurisdiction of the coun- try to which it belongs; and therefore any visitation, molestation, or detention of such vessel by force, or by the exhi- bition of force, on the part of a foreign power, is in derogation of the sovereign- ty of that country. Under these circumstances, it is not surprising that the secretary of state of the United States, in his note of -Novem- ber 13, 1877, in regard to the outrages on the three whaling schooners just above mentioned, should use the following ear- nest language: The frequent recurrence, of late, of these unfriendly, and, as they must be considered by this government, clear- ly unwarrantable, visitations from the armed vessels of the Spanish naval force to the unarmed merchant vessels of the United States has nevertheless caused the president much anxiety for the con- sequences which may at any moment, and must sooner or later, if continued, result to the peace of the two nations, unless the most energetic and effective measures are speedily adopted and put in force to prevent a possible recurrence of such incidents as I have, with every feeling but that of pleasure, felt obliged to bring thus plainly to the notice of the Spanish government. The aggregate amount of indemnity which was demand- ed of Spain by our government, on ac- count of damage suffered by the owners and officers and crews of the three ves- sels, Ellen Rizpah, Rising Snn, and Ed- ward Lee, for the breaking up of their voy- ages, etc., was $19,500. It was officially stated that the cases had been examined into with care, and that our government was satisfied that the respective claims for damages were equitable and reasonable. The Spanish government, with reasonable promptitude, offered to pay ten thousand dollars as full satisfac- tion of the claims of the owners and of- ficers of the Ellen Rizpah and Risinc, Sun, leaving the claim of six thousand dollars on account of the Edward Lee for further investigation. The fact that the government of the United States prompt- ly acquiesced in such settlement, on terms so much more favorable than first demanded, ought to satisfy every Span- iard, if further proof were necessary, that the United States do not wish to pick a quarrel in regard to Cuba. The foregoing facts have been stated for two objects: first, to show the hin- drances and injuries our shipping suf- fers from the Spanish administration of Cuba; and, secondly, to show the pa- 1879.] Our Commerce with Cuba, Porto Rico, and Miexico. tience, forbearance, and firm policy of peace which the government of the United States has steadily pursued with reference to that island. There is Cuba, with an area six times greater than. that of Massachusetts, so near to us that by taking a steamer at our own port of Key West after supper we can be landed at flavana the next morning before breakfast, there she is, with splendid resources, and ought to be a most valuable customer for Amer- ican products; yet, owing to Spanish urn- nopoly, an almost prohibitory tariff o~ over six dollars a barrel on flour, ren- dered additionally oppressive by venal administration, American merchants are excluded from the benefits of a mu- tual and fair commerce with her. What, then, is the remedy, if any, for such a state of things? Should our government endeavor to acquire possession of Cuba, and if so, how? Or should it seek to obviate the evils by a commercial treaty and the cul- tivation of more cordial relations with Spain and Cuba? Manifest destiny, said President Bu- chanan, requires that the United States should acquire possession of Cuba. A good deal has been written and said dur- ing the past thirty years in regard to its acquisition. President Fillmore, in a pri- vate letter to Daniel Webster about the time of the Lopez expedition, expressed a decided opinion that it would be against the interest of the United States to ac- quire it. lie naturally apprehended that its acquisition would intensify the slavery question. It was probably a knowledge of his individual views, to- gether with the effect of the Lopez ex- pedition (Lopez, a Cuban, had the year before, in spite of the United States au- thorities, got out of New Orleans and landed at Cuba a military force of sev- eral hundred men, among whom was the ill-fated Crittenden), that led Great Brit- ain and France to propose to the United States, in 1852, to en~,age by treaty to discountenance all attempt to obtain pos- session of the island of Cuba on the part of any power or individual whatever. The British and French ministers at Washington severally urged that Brit- ish and French subjects, as well as the French government, were on (lifferent ac- counts creditors of Spain for large sums of money; that the expense of keeping up an armed force in Cuba of twenty- five thousand men obstructed the govern- inent of Spain in its efforts to fulfill its pecuniary en0ageuients; and that under the existing state of things it could not be expected that Spain would lower her tariff at Havana. Mr. Everett, who had lately succeeded Mr. Webster as secre- tary of state, in his reply of December 1, 1852, pointed out the reasons which led the government of the United States to decline entering into such negotiations. In the first place, he in a polite manner gave those powers to understand that it was a matter which very little concerned them. The president, he stated, consid- ered the condition of Cuba as mainly an American question. That island lay at our (loors, commanded the approach to the Gulf of Mexico, and kept watch at the door-way of our intercourse with Cal- ifornia by the Isthmus route. Territo- rially and commercially, it would in our hands be an extremely valuable posses- sion. Under certain contingencies, it might be almost essential to our safety. Still, for domestic reasons, the president thought that the incorporation of the isl- and into the Union at that time, although effected with the consent of Spain, would be a hazardous measure; and he would consider its acquisition by force, except in a just war with Spain (should an event so greatly to be deprecated take place), as disgraceful. The president had thrown the whole force of his constitu- tional power against all illegal attacks upon the island; and the proposed coin- pact, instea(l of helping to prevent illegal enterprises against it, would give a new and powerful impulse to them. Thus ended that intrusive proposal. In about two years after this was held the Ostend Conference. In October, 1854, James Buchanan, John Y. Mason, and Pierre Souh~, ministers respectively of the United States at London, Paris, and Madrid, acting under instructions of 87 88 Oar Commerce with Caba, Porto Rico, and JJLxico. [July, the Pierce administration, met at Ostend, in Belgium, to consult as to negotiations for the purchase of Cuba. They drew up and signed (October 18th) a joint com- munication to their government, in which they set forth, among other things, that they had arrived at the conclusion, and were thoroughly convinced, that an im- mediate and earnest effort ought to be made by the government of the United States to purchase Cuba from Spain at any price for which it could be obtained, not exceeding the sum of dollars. The maximum sum they thought should be paid was one hundred and twenty million dollars; and they made a strong point in their paper by referring to the benefits that would accrue to Spain by the use of the larger part of such a sum in building railroads and developing her resources. The susceptibilities of Spain, however, were such that the negotiations thus recommended were never ventured upon by our government. Yet at that very time Cuba was, and since has con- tinued to be, a pecuniary burden on the Spanish government, and Spains best bonds were being sold upon her own bourse at about one third of their par value. At that time the duty on Airier- ican flour imported into Cuba in Amer- ican vessels was $9.87 a barrel! and Spain had haughtily refused to treat for the alleviation of our commerce with that island. Mr. Sou1~, in a dispatch of November 10, 1853, to our government, says the Spanish minister of state is averse to let Spain enter into any coni- mercial treaty with us, and makes no se- cret of his stern antipathies in that re- spect. Furthermore, the new captain- general who about that time was sent to Cuba was selected mostly on account of the violent prejudices he was supposed, and with truth, to entertain against us; ~ and went out with increased powers, in case of another Lopez expedition, to put under arrest all Americans residing there, without excepting even the consul. A peaceful termination of our then critical relations with Spain and the ha- provement of our commerce might well have been the leading motives for the Ostend Conference, but the suspicion that the main object of the proposed pur- chase of Cuba was the extension of the slave power threw odium upon it. No very important step towards the acquisition of the island has since been taken. The Thirty Million Bill, with a view to its purchase, was introduced in the senate by Mr. Slidell in 1859, but did not pas~s. While General Prim was regent of Spain, in 1869, a private com- pany, with a view of obtaining Cuba for the Cubans and afterwards repaying it- self at the expense of the island, offered seventy-five million dollars for it; and the proposal was for some time enter- tained by that able soldier and states- man. Probably Spain would now cede Cuba and Porto Rico both to the United States for two hundred million dollars and for no less. Yet assuming that the United States could borrow that sum at four per cent., the annual interest on the amount would be eight million dollars, which would exceed, perhaps, the yearly clear profit of commerce with the islands even with free trade. It would be too much to give, unless there should be dan- ger (which every friend of humanity would deprecate) of our having a war with Spain in consequence of grievances in connection with Cuba, and of our be- ing obliged to acquire it as security for future peace. There has been some little experience in the business in the past, to which it may be useful to advert. Not only has Cuba once been conquered,~but it has been conquered with the help of Americans! Not only so, but Cuba has in its time acte(1 the part of Cartha~e (which in some points it to-day resem- bles) to America. It fitted out in 1 742 an armament of two thousand troops, which embarked at Havana under con- voy of a powerful squadron, and which, after being reinforced by a thousand men at St. Augt~stine, invaded Georgia. This was in the war between England and Spain. Cuba had been threatened the year before by a British fleet under Admiral Vernon. He had been reinforced by three thousand six hundred men, chiefly from time New England colonies; but he lingered, inactive, till his forces inglo 1879.] Our Commerce with Uuba, Porto Rico, and lJfexico. riously melted away by disease. Of the New England recruits scarcely one man in fifty survived, and the calamity, we are told, overspread America with mourn- lnr A successful campaign under Lord Albemarle was made nineteen years later. The expedition consisted of nine- teen ships of the line, eighteen small war vessels, about one hundred and fifty transports, and a force of about ten thou- sand troops. Admiral Pococke, fresh from two naval victories in the East, commanded the naval forces. He passed through the straits of Bahama in eleven days, and early in June (1762) the siege of Fort Moro was commenced. That fortification, guarding Havana, even then was quite strong. Its ditch, cut out of solid rock, was eighty feet deep by forty feet wide. It was defended by fourteen Spanish ships of the line. The besiegers had the assistance of two thousand or more blacks from the neighboring British islands, in fatigue work. The labors and hardships of the whole command were of course severe. At one time five thousand men of the land forces and three tbousand sailors wei~ unfit for duty. Reinforcements of Americans, numbering three or four thousand men, principally from New York and New England, and among whom was the afterwards famous Putnam, of Connect- icut, began to arrive about the 20th of July. The Spaniards made a gallant resistance, but had to yield on the 10th of August, when Fort Moro was taken, and as a consequence the island of Cuba. The splendid victory made a great im- pression at the time; yet in the negotia- tions, which shortly afterwards termi- nated in peace, Spain declared, and was supported by France, that without the restitution of Cuba peace could be of no service to her, and she would rather haz- ard the continuance of war. Cuba was therefore restored to Spain. A century and a quarter has passed since that event; and it would now re- quire more extensive operations and much larger land and naval forces to take Cuba. It should be borne in mind that in such a conflict the sympathy of foreign nations, in itself a great moral support, would not be on the side of the United States, unless the provocation given by Spain were unmistakably suffi- cient to justify our course. Spain has not only extended and strengthened her fortifications there, but she defends them with a respectable naval force. She re- gards the retention of Cuba as a matter of honor, at least pretends to. She is a country of sixteen million inhabitants, ~yith much pride, military experience, and ardor. It may be taken for granted that she would make an obstinate re- sistance to our operations. She might even make some damaging aggressive movements. Indeed, the Spaniards think they could get a few Alabamas, and make us cry quit. Mr. Caleb Cusbing stated, August, 1874, that although the naval force of Spain was nominally formida- ble, yet its available force was relative- ly small. For the defense of Cuba and Porto Rico she keeps a fleet of thirty-five gun-boats, all of the same size, one hun- dred and seven feet long, twenty-two and a half feet beam, eight feet depth of hold; and drawing~ about five feet of water. They are screw steamers, ehch one carry- ing a one-hundred-pounder pivot gun at the bow. We would have to take the fortifications at Havana by as protract- ed a siege as that of Vicksburg. Be- sides, there would have to be, probably, one or two serious naval engagements. When, in the early part of the war of the rebellion, Sherman, as commanding general in Kentucky, declared that two hundred thousand men were required for effective operation, people said he was insane; and such was the popular and official delusion that he was removed from his command! It would require the enlistment of one hundred and fifty thou- sand men perhaps more to conquer Cuba. As the stronger party, it might naturally be supposed that we would ul- timately accomplish our object. Mean- time, Spain would have suffered injury which she could hardly outgrow in a quarter of a century; and our own coun- try, its shipping, and perhaps some of its ports would have suffered a great amount of damage. From ten to twenty 89 90 Our Commerce with Cuba, Porto Rico, and Mexico. [July, thousand of our land and naval forces would have perished by disease, half as many more in battle; and with the ex- pense of transports, of costly ammunition for siege firing, the pay, clothing, and sub- sistence of the forces, and the millions that would eventually have to be paid in ~ the aggregate pecuniary cost of the war, without taking into account the destruction of human life, would possi- bly exceed two hundred million dollars. There are some social objections to incorporating Cuba into the American Union. For a century, said the Lon- don Times six years ago, Cuba has been advancing rapidly in her colored population, in wealth, in enterprise, and in most material respects, with an al- most utter absence of the higher and nobler elements generally supposed nec- essary to consolidation and order. We have regular mails to Havana, said the Times, yet Cuba is like Great Britain in the days of George II. and Rob Roy. The white population there numbers seven hundred and thirty thousand, of whom say one hundred and thirty thou- sand include native Spaniards, who hold the offices, or who have immigrated to get rich in other ways. The other six hundred thousand are native Cubans, called creoles. The native Spaniards, having enjoyed a monopoly of govern- ment, and having exercised their priv- ileges in a haughty, domineering man- ner, are said to be cordially hated by the creoles. It is thought by some that in the event of Cuban independence these Spaniards would quit the island and re- turn home. Both classes, however, share in a common dislike for the home ov- eminent. The free colored population amounts to two hundred and forty thou- sand, the number of slaves, three hun- dred and sixty thousand, for slavery exists, reinforced by the atrocious slave trade, of Asiatics, thirty-four thou- sand. The blacks thrive better there than any other race; and though if left entirely to themselves they would be about as improvident as white men of similar intelligence, yet it is found that even the slaves work as well when stimu lated by a bounty for extra work as when impelled by coercive means. The blacks are employed principally on the sugar estates, of which there are about fifteen hundred, owned by nearly the same num- ber of slave-holders. The slaves are sub- jected to many cruelties, and suicides are frequent among them. Of the slave- holders say twelve hundred realize a clear income of four per cent. on their capital, and the others from six to eight per cent. About three hundred sugar planters are wealthy, of whom one hun- dred and fifty are in very independent circumstances; while say twelve hun- dred are comparatively poor, burdened with debts and mortgages. The planters concede that slavery must be abolished in Cuba, and a few years ago they pro- mulgated a scheme of immediate eman- cipation, with the condition that the slaves should be apprenticed a certain number of years at a certain rate of wages; the planters, meantime, to raise a considerable sum by voluntary subscrip- tion for the importation of additional free labor. It is claimed that this scheme would financially ruin the twelve hun- dred poor planters, who could only pull through by receiving pay for their slaves. By a law of July 4,1870, Spain practi- cally committed herself to the abolition of slavery in Cuba, and her government has repeatedly pledged itself speedily to carry out that measure; but while the slave-holders pretend to be in favor of abolition, they seem to have influence enou~,li at Madrid to prevent its consum- mnation. The Chinese were imported, of course, for work on plantations, but partly from lack of strength they have not proved efficient field hands. More- over, they have been cheated in their contracts, and have been reduced to a condition of quasi-servitude. They have resented the lash with revengeful acts of violence, and as a natural consequence of the general bad treatment they have suf- fered they are a good deal demoralized and scattered over the island. On the whole, the population and so- cial condition of Cuba are hardly such as to make its society a desirable acqui- sition to the United States. This coun 1879.] Our Commerce with Cuba, Porto Rico, and lJlicxico. try has no prestige there, nor do the Cubans appear to sympathize with us. The annexation of Cuba to the United States would of course involve the im- mediate abolition of slavery. And what would be the effect? Some imagine, and the special correspondent of the Lon- don Times among them, that the indus- try of the island would receive a terri- ble shock and set-back, and that there would even be a war of races. A war of races, it was predicted, would occur in the States of the South, as a consequence of freedom and suffrage; yet the good conduct of the blacks has falsified the doleful prophecy, notwithstanding the United States neglected the duty of pro- viding them with instruction. A benefi- cent act like that of emancipation cer- tainly ought not to set people to cutting each others throats. With a represent- ative government justly administered, a moderate property qualification for suf- frage, reasonable precautions against va- grancy, and a reasonable police force to aid in executing the laws, emancipation might take place in a day in Cuba with- out any unusual danger or disorder, whether she remained as a colony of Spain, or was admitted into the Union of the North American States. Possibly there would be for a few years some de- cline in the sugar production; for it is not to be supposed that a free man will work in a hot sugar-mill eighteen hours every day in the week, Sundays includ- ed, without uncommonly good pay; yet the ~eneral prosperity would increase. The opinion is frequently expressed by the Times special correspondent, writing in 1873, that the climate of Cuba is unsuited for white men. One is reluctant to concede that the descend- ants of the Anglo-Saxons cannot prosper in that beautiful island, and perhaps the future will show that they can, with due observance of sanitary precautions. These are matters which even under the best administered governments are too often neglected. In Cuba they are ig- nored. Cubas constitution is a royal order which clothes the captain-gen- eral with the fullest powers. The gov- ernment is, in short, a despotism, and is administered by Spanish officials wh& have come to amass fortunes. They are badly paid, are insubordinate to the home government, and resort to irreg- ular exactions to increase their gains. Even the priests come over to get rich, and are allowed to charge and collect exorbitant fees, such, for example, as seventeen dollars~ a head for baptizing children. It would be absurd to sup- pose that such a government would adopt needful measures for the preser- vation of health. On the contrary, it tolerates evils which aggravate the nat- ural dangers of the climate. The heat has been increased by an indiscriminate cutting of timber over a large area of level land. The Times correspondent found Havana a city of smells and noises. He describes the streets in the older part of the city as crowded and narrow, and flanked on each side by fetid gutters. In the newer part of the city the streets, though wide, are unpaved, and contain disi~al holes and quagmires. The celebrated harbor emits poisonous exha- lations from having for over a century been the reservoir of the city ~1rains. Now, if the sanitary condition of Cuba is so bad, is it not improper to attrib- ute the degeneracy of the whites there to the climate? Mr. R. H. Dana, who visited Cuba in 1859, writes: As to the climate, I have no doubt that in the interior, especially on the red earth, it is healthy and delightful in summer as well as in winter. White people have lived in Cuba for more than a century; and under a good government, with whole- some sanitary institutions rigorously en- forced, and with cheap markets for the purchase of the necessaries of life, it is to be hoped they will live there without degenerating. The natural process for Cuba, wrote Mr. Dana, is an amelioration of her in- stitutions under Spanish auspices. This seems a ~vise view of the matter. Equal- ly sound is the opinion expressed by the London Times in an editorial four years ago, namely: To prevent separation from Spain a large degree of administra- tive and legislative freedom should be granted to Cuba. The United States 91 92 Our Commerce with Cu6a, Porto Rico, and Mexico. [July, will be satisfied if Spain will confer upon Cuba a similar government to that of Canada, but with hardly anything less; and they ought to make suitable efforts to accomplish such an improvement. But public opinion in Spain is such that extraordinary efforts will have to be put forth to obtain such a result in any reasonable time. Half of Spain, General Cushing when United States en- voy at Madrid informed our govern - ment, though not distinctly republi- can, still is liberal; and another half of Spain is hardly less intensely Catholic and monarchical than it was in the time of Philip II. That interesting coun- try has made considerable pro0ress since Mr. Buckle, in his most eloquent sum- ming up, portrayed her as the sole representative now remaining of the feel- ings and knowledge of the Middle ~ But although the views of the Spanish people on administrative and commercial policy are by no means so advanced as those of the people of Northwestern Eu- rope, still it should not be difficult even now to convince them that their best in- terests equally with their honor would be promoted by conferring on their West Indian possessions a government similar to that of Canada. There is no doubt but some of the leading European pow- ers would, if applied to by our govern- ment, sincerely and earnestly exert their influence upon Spain to initiate such a reform; and for the good reason that they are enlightened enough to comprehend that the introduction into Cuba of con- tent, peaceful industry, and freer trade would to some extent benefit their own commercial interests. Exactly the Can- adian system may not be the preferable one. What would probably give con- tent to Cuba would be a government in ehe hands of the intelligent middle class, substantial self-government, free, and moderately conservative. The United States should not neglect, meantime, anything that can properly contribute to their moral influence in the matter. Whije careful not to give cause of offense, it would perhaps be in the in- terest of peace if we were more exacting than we have hitherto been, in case of any future insults to our flag by -Span- ish officials. We need not add a dollar to our naval expenditures on account of Cuba. But as we have a powerful for- tress (Taylor) at Key West, just across from Havana, which cost two million (lollars, where also is a fine harbor ac- cessible to vessels drawing twenty-two feet of water, and a town of nine thou- sand inhabitants, probably it would be advisable for strategetic purposes, since it is entirely practicable, to build a rail- road to connect with it, to remain under control of the government. Such an im- provement would make a strong impres- sion on Spain with reference to her pol- icy in Cuba. What the United States immediately require, besides the abolition of slavery in Cuba, is the abolition of the prohibit- ory duties on flour, and a very consider- able reduction of the duties on produce and other articles which Cuba could most conveniently obtain from this coun- try. In asking these ameliorations of Spain, is there any concession which the United States can offer in return? Un- doubtedly there is. We can reduce our duty on sue,ar imported from Cuba aud Porto Rico. The present customs duty on raw or brown sugar imported into the United States averages two cents and a half per pound. The importation of brown sugar into the United States in 1877 from Cuba was nine hundred and twenty-six million pounds, of the value of fifty-two million dollars; from Porto Rico sixty - two million pounds, of the value of three million dollars; and to- gether nine hundred and eighty-eight million pounds, of the value of fifty-five million dollars. The total duty on that importation amounted to say twenty- three million dollars, a tax which bears about equally on the American consum- er and the West Indian producer. We could reduce this rate, in negotiating for mutual trade, to one cent a pound. If it be urged that the revenue cannot be dis~ pensed with (and indeed our spoils system of administration requires high taxation), then let the deficiency be sup- plied by transferring to coffee the tax taken from sugar. It is unreasonable to 1879.] Our Commerce with Cuba, Porto Rico, and Mexico. tax a necessary like sugar so much, and allow coffee to be imported entirely free of duty, as is now, and for a long time has been, the case. There may be some who will urge that this sugar tax must continue as a protection to the sugar production of Louisiana. One cent per pound, however, should now be a suffi- cient protection. Any additional protec- tion given to the sugar planters of the Sonthern States would be more appro- priate in the shape of improved govern- ment and security of life and property. Let us, then, offer the Spanish West Indies, at our very door, at least half as liberal terms as we gave to the dis- tant Sandwich Islands. By the treaty of June 17, 1876,a treaty well suited to the centennial year, the United States agreed to a(lmit into their ports brown and all other unrefined sugar the product of the Hawaiian Islands (and various other articles)free of duty. Re- ciprocally, the Hawaiian Islands agreed to admit into their ports agricultural im- plements, cotton manufactures, provis- ions, flour, etc., free of duty. If our government will only reduce the tax on brown sugar to one cent a pound, it will be an important inducement for Spain to remove her present exorbitant tax on our wheat flour, and to reduce largely her duties on the various articles of provisions which our markets are so well calculated to furnish to Cuba and Porto Rico. This accomplished, the way would be opened for a favorable increase of our exports of cotton manufactures, ma- chiner~~, and the like to those islands. Such Is one line of policy. In addi- tion, our government should take in- creased pains to cultivate better rela- tions with Spain, and even with Cuba; and this by increasing the influence of its diplomatic representative at Madrid, and of its consul- general at havana. The importance of diplomatic missions varies accQrdin,, to circumstances. Our representative in Great Britain does not need to educate the statesmen in that country up to a liberal commercial policy. Such work would be quite superfluous there. But it is different in Spain. We have those stern antipathies there to overcome. Just at the present time, on account of Cuba, our mission to Spain is the most important of all our diplo- matic posts. Let it be supposed that our representative at Madrid wishes to impress on the leading minds of Spain the mutual benefits that would be de- rived from a freer commercial intercourse between the United States and Cuba. How would he proceed? He would not resort to the columns of the public press, for that is not allowed, and would impair his credit. The only way he could affect public opinion there would be through social intercourse with the most influen- tial people of the country. To do that he should be able to maintain continual hospitality in a manner suited to his official position. It would be altogether more economical to enable a diplomatic agent to accomplish important results than to leave them unachieved, and run the hazard of having to vote an extra four million appropriation to the navy every time a Virginius steamer should be seized. Can it be wise, however, to haggle and huckster over an appro- priation for diplomatic service, and vote fresh millions for the navy (our navy costs eighteen millions a year) on the groundless plea, as Richard Cobden well puts it, of protecting commerce? What has just be9n said applies with equal force to our relations with Mexico. While Congress sparingly sustains diplo- matic service in Mexico, it appropriates thirty - seven million dollars a year for the military establishment, of which about two millions are required to cover the expense of suppressing aggressions on the Mexican frontier that are the re- sult of a spirit of bad neighborhood and generally precarious relations between our country and Mexico. There are a number of things which our government should require of Mexico in the interest of commerce, in the interest of peace, and in the interest of humanity. They should be done promptly, and if the United States were to adopt the policy which experienced and leading Euro- pean states pursue (which sacrifice most on their contiguous or near neighbors) they would send as their representative 93 94 Our Commerce with Cuba, Porto Rico, and 1~Iexico. [July, to Mexico one of their most distinguished citizens, and support him in a very lib- eral manner. In these remarks, not the slightest reflection, of course, is intended to be made on the present United States representative to Mexico, who is un- doubtedly a capable and faithful officer. That officer has lately furnished to his government a full and instructive report published in papers relating to the foreign relations of the United States for 1878, in which he shows the diffi- culties and obstacles with which our trade to Mexico has to contend. The federal tariff duty on some goods exceeds their cost price. There are also municipal and state duties to be paid in addition, when the goods leave the port of entry for the interior. In some states this ad- ditional duty is twelve and one half per cent. of the federal duty; in others as high as twenty-five per cent. It is true, these municipal and state duties are un- lawful, but they are collected neverthe- less, for necessity knows no law. There is no bonded system for the intro- duction of goods, nor anything like the conveniences that obtain in the United States for importation. Another great obstacle there to commerce is the inse- curity of person and property, arising from the revolutionary condition of the country, as shown by illegal seizures, forced loans, and even the frequent murders of American citizens. In the latter cases the perpetrators go unpun- ished. Not a single passenger train leaves the city of Mexico or Vera Cruz, the termini of the only completed rail- road in the country, without being es- corted by a company of soldiers to pro- tect it from assault and robbery. The manufacturers of the city of Mexico who own factories in the valley within sight of it, in sending out money to pay the weekly wages of the operatives, always accompany it with an armed guard. Matters are naturally worse at a distance from the capital. The Belgian consul- general residing in the United States, while traveling in Mexico under orders of his government, was robbed, notwith- standing he had a guard. But for heavy taxes and insecurity the Mexican mines would afford a; profit- able field for American capitalists. Ag- ricultural implements, engines, mining machinery, and tools can be imported into Mexico free of duty, and Mr. Fos- ter, our repres.entative to Mexico, thinks there are good inducements for Ameri- cans to engage in those branches of trade. However, long credits, from eight to twelve months, without interest are com- mon. He states that the Germans have fairly earned their predominance in trade in Mexico by many years of pa- tient study of the country and persistent application to the business. The Ham- burg merchants establish their branches in various parts of Mexico, and send their educated youths out to serve an apprenticeship in the business and after- wards assume the management of the branch houses. They become thorough- ly familiar with the condition and l)rac- tices of the country, and master the in- tricacies of the tariff and interior duties. Revolutions and changes of government do not disturb their equanimity. They become accustomed to forced loans and extraordinary contributions. Not- withstanding the irregularities of the custom-house officials and the embarrass- ments of the contraband trade, they keep the even tenor of their way, and usually (though not always) in middle or advanced life are able to go back to Germany with a competence. There are not exceeding six English trading houses in all of Mexico, but En- glish goods are ordered by German and other merchants. While we are making a good deal of noise in exporting cattle to England, the English are quietly passing our doors with cargoes of man- ufactures to our nearest neighbors. It is a striking fact that Great Britain exports annually three million dollars worth of cotton manufactures to Mexico, while the United States export but one and a half million dollars worth. This is owing partly to the force of habit in trading with England, partly to the fact that British goods are a little cheaper than the American (and after all cheap- ness is the great talisman in commerce), and partly to the fact that freight on 1879.] Our Commerce with Uu6a, Porto Rico, and Me~t~co. steamers from Liverpool to Vera Cruz is relatively lower than on the steamers from New York to Vera Cruz. The total exports of domestic merchandise from the United States to Mexico for the yearendingJune 30, 1878,amounted to $5,811,429. The exports from Great Britain to Mexico are usually larger ia amount. No person, says Mr. Fos- ter, ~ can visit Mexico without being struck with its marvelous natural re- sources, its fertility of soil, its genial cli- mate, and its capacity to sustain a large population and extensive commerce. The motto of its patron saint is a rec- ognition of these gifts and capabilities: The Lord bath not dealt so with any nation. It can produce, he adds, all the coffee consumed in the United States. It has a greater area of sugar- producing lands than Cuba, and of equal fertility. Its capacity for the produc- tion of vegetable textiles is equal to any country in the world. Almost all the tropical fruits of the world can be culti- vated successfully. Its varied climate admits of the growth of all the cereals of all the zones. Its ranges afford the wid- est scope and the best conditions for wool and stock raising. And skillful American mining engineers, who have examined the matter, claim that its min- eral wealth, hid away in the recesses of its mountains, is superior to that of Cali- fornia, Nevada, or Australia. What is it, then, that retards the prog- ress of Mexico? Her chronic revolu- tion s. A government may be perfect on paper; but it will prove worthless unless the people who exercise it have the req- uisite moderation and spirit of compro- mise. A government that permits brig- an(lage, as Mexico does, can hardly be called a government. Mexico has a population of nine millions, of whom two thirds are Indians. As might be sup- posed, industry is in a depressed con- dition. A sort of slavery called peonage ~ill exists. The mass of working peo- ple earn only twelve and a half cents a day. That the exports of a countm-y blessed naturally as Mexico is should amount only to thirty-one million dollars a year seems in itself evidence of a very backward state of civilization, or of a great amount of misgovernment, even after some allowance is made for its great extent of territory. Be that as it may, the fact remains that the United States have an insignificant share of trade with her. This is owing largely to the ex- cessive rates of the Mexican tariff, as a few examples will illustrate. The duty on cotton cloth, unbleached, is eight cents a square yard; ditto, bleached, fourteen cents; calicoes, twelve cents a square yard; cassimeres and similar woolen goods, $1.25 a squareyard; cotton thread, twenty - five cents a pound; furniture, seventy - five per cent.; pianos, twenty cents a pound, gross weight; flour, nine dollars a barrel; hams, eleven cents a pound; butter, eleven cents a pound; canned fruit, twenty-two cents a pound, cans included; clothing, ready made, all kinds, one hundred and thirty-two per cent.; leather boots of calf, twenty-sev- en dollars per dozen; leather shoes, com- mon, for men, seven dollars per dozen. When to these duties are added the in- terior customs tax, previously meferred to, and the various fees and charges in- cident to vicious administration, the cost of goods by the time they reach the cap- ital becomes simply outrageous. From itemized lists of actual charges, fur- nished by experienced importers, it ap- pears that a cask of three hundred pounds of hams, costing in New York thirty-three dollars, costs by the time it arrives in the city of Mexico, $93.19. Ten kegs of nails, costing at New York $22.50, will have cost $141.62 on their arrival in the city of Mexico. A barrel of flour, costing six dollars in New York or Boston, will have cost $29.03 in Mexi- co. An invoice of furniture, costing in New York $121.15, after running the gauntlet of consular fees, freight charges, loss by exchange, federal, municipal, and state tariffs, lighterage, brokerage, commission, etc., and arriving in Mex- ico, will have cost $249.10! Notwithstanding the enormous tariff charges which Mexico imposes, she does not derive sufficient income to enable her to pay the interest on her public debt. She is unable to pay the subsidy 95 96 Our Commerce with Cuba, Porto Rico, and Mexico. of two millions promised to the company which built the railway from Vera Cruz to the capital, said to be a fine piece of engineering, the total ascent being eight thousand feet. She does not even pay the salaries of her judicial officers. The higher tariff duties are, the greater the temptation for smuggling; and there is a good deal of illicit trade. Mexican statesmen ought to see that their coun- try would derive a larger revenue by a more moderate tariff. Again, our trade with Mexico would be promoted if there were better facili- ties of communication. A semi-month- ly steamer runs between New York and Vera Cruz, and one tn-weekly between New Orleans and Vera Crux. Each line receives a subsidy from Mexico. Where a subsidy is granted, there should be strict conditions for securing cheap trans- portation. But this must have been omit- ted as to the railway between Vera Cruz and Mexico, which charges, a distance of two hundred and sixty - three miles, per ton for freight, first class, $76.06, and by passenger trains $97.77, or teR times as much as is charged in this country from the Mississippi River to New York. Inasmuch as Mexico ad- joins the territory of the United States, there should be railroad communication with her. The commercial centres of the United States now have railroad communication as far as San Antonio, Texas, within one hundred and fifty miles of the Mexican boundary. The Californians touch the Mexican frontier with a railroad to the southeast corner of their State, and another line is push- ing southward to that frontier through New Mexico. In return, what is Mexi- co doing to meet us? Absolutely noth- in~. And what is worse, she appears equally indisposed and unable to do any- thing in that direction. Unhappily there is a wide - spread, though perhaps not predominant, feeling among the Mexi- cans that a railroad connection with the United States would prove subversive of their independence and lead to the an- nexation of their country to the United States. Members of the Mexican con- gress are successful in appealing to this sentiment. In opposing a proposed char- ter for a railroad to the frontier of the United States, a prominent member, who has since been elected speaker of the house at a new session, declared that it was a natural law of history that bor- der nations are enemies~ (if that is so, all the more should be done in opening avenues of trade and the like to promote a good understanding), that nations of the north generally invade the nations of the south;~ hence, we should al- ways fear the United States. He closed his speech with the following: You, the deputies of the states, would you ex- change your poor but beautiful liberty of the present for the rich subjection which the railroad could give you? Go and propose to the lion of the desert to ex- change his cave of rocks for a golden cage, and the lion of the desert will an- swer you with a roar of liberty. his rhetoric prevailed. The proposed rail- road charter was defeated by a decided majority. The fact, too, that it was in- ten(led for an American company shows of what account American influence is in Mexico. The United States do not want an inch more of Mexican territory. All that the United States ask of Mexico is that she shall align herself with other civilized nations. They ask that she shall suppress that marauding which on a considerable I)art of their frontier ren- ders life, to use the words of the sec- retary of state, well-nigh insupport- able; and they wish that under gov- ernment justly and humanely adminis- tered she may enjoy the tranquillity in- dispensable to business enterprise and industry, and which will enable her to attain the social and material prosperity that will make her a good neighbor. The United States, having assumed the right to exclude European inter- ference in Mexican affairs, as shown by their influence in causing the French army to withdraw from Mexico, and a~ a consequence insuring the fall of Maxi- milian, are all the more bound to help her along by good example and well- directed efforts. Mere routine is not enough. C. C. Andrews. [July, 1879.] The Children Out-of-Doors. 97 THE CHILDREN OUT-OF-DOORS. I. THEIR wandering cries are in the windy Street; (0 faces wan and sweet!) What ear doth stoop to listen, eye to murk Those footsteps in the dark? In my warm room, full-filled with childish glee, The still thought troubles me: These children I call mine; what parent yours, Ye children out-of-doors? Fatherless, motherless, shelterless, unfed Save crusts of bitter bread! How dare I rest, my lids to sleep resign! Are ye not also mine? Who is it, in the deep-breathed winter night, While snows lie starry-bright, Knocks at my door? (Or did a passing wind Deceive my empty mind?) It is a little child, sore-pinched with cold, Ragged and hunger-bold, Houseless and friendless, goes from door to door, Knocking, as oft before. Arise, and let Him in! a voice is heard, At which my sleep was stirred A little, oh a little, and my heart Beat with a quickening start. Arise, and let Him in!~ a voice, no more. Sleep double-locks the door, And Christ, who, child-like, piteously came, Leaves me to waking shame. II. He born in each of these, the Son of God, Walks, so disguised, abroad; Dwells in mean places, nursed by cold and want, Abused, half-naked, gaunt. He goes, a homeless child, to happy homes, Whence light, with laughter, comes 1 Read at opening of childrens Home Fair, cincinnati, Ohio, April 15, 1879. VOL. XLIV. NO. 261. 7

John James Piatt Piatt, John James The Children Out-of-Doors 97-98

1879.] The Children Out-of-Doors. 97 THE CHILDREN OUT-OF-DOORS. I. THEIR wandering cries are in the windy Street; (0 faces wan and sweet!) What ear doth stoop to listen, eye to murk Those footsteps in the dark? In my warm room, full-filled with childish glee, The still thought troubles me: These children I call mine; what parent yours, Ye children out-of-doors? Fatherless, motherless, shelterless, unfed Save crusts of bitter bread! How dare I rest, my lids to sleep resign! Are ye not also mine? Who is it, in the deep-breathed winter night, While snows lie starry-bright, Knocks at my door? (Or did a passing wind Deceive my empty mind?) It is a little child, sore-pinched with cold, Ragged and hunger-bold, Houseless and friendless, goes from door to door, Knocking, as oft before. Arise, and let Him in! a voice is heard, At which my sleep was stirred A little, oh a little, and my heart Beat with a quickening start. Arise, and let Him in!~ a voice, no more. Sleep double-locks the door, And Christ, who, child-like, piteously came, Leaves me to waking shame. II. He born in each of these, the Son of God, Walks, so disguised, abroad; Dwells in mean places, nursed by cold and want, Abused, half-naked, gaunt. He goes, a homeless child, to happy homes, Whence light, with laughter, comes 1 Read at opening of childrens Home Fair, cincinnati, Ohio, April 15, 1879. VOL. XLIV. NO. 261. 7 98 A Fossil from the Tertiary. [July, From blissful hearths, through many a shining pane. He waits, in frost or rain. Bless~d they are who hearken when He knocks, And open eager locks; Who bid from out-of-doors the stranger come, And give the homeless home. Oh, bless~d they who in his piteous- guise The Wanderer recognize; The Light of the World through conscious doors they win Who rise and let Him in! John James Piatt. A FOSSIL FROM THE TERTIARY. THE name of the society of Phi Beta Kappa is pretty well known, even to school-boys, who have had to speak eloquent extracts from Mr. Everetts Phi Beta Kappa Oration, or Dr. Holmes s Phi Beta Kappa Poem. It is the first of the Greek letter societies of the colleges, some one of which now holds an anni- versary every day, and astonishes the journals with its record. Phi Beta Kappa is more than half a century older tban any of them, and at Cambridge this year it comes to its centennial. The society is one of the queerest things in America. It is indeed one of the very few visible relics of the myth- ical age of our national history; and it is not very visible at that. The myth- ical age is that period extending from the battle of Yorktown, in 1781, to the organization of the national govern- ment, in 1789. This is a period in which, as the book of Judges says, every man did what was right in his own eyes. There was, indeed, no king in Israel any longer, and there was, as yet, nobody to take the place of the king. Of this mythical period nobody now knows any- thing, except a few men of sense, and they do not know much. It was in this prehistoric period, and in the years be- fore it, that the earliest chapters of Phi Beta Kappa, now existing, came into be- ing and worked out their earliest plans. They came into being because every- thing was without form and void, to-hu va bo-hu, as the expressive Hebrew bath it. And, exactly as in some prehistoric tertiary you find the droll skeleton of a three-toed horse who prophesies the existence of the whole-hoofed Smuggler or Parole of to-day, so anybody, who digs in the gravel or other drift of the ten years before the federal constitu- tion, comes across this poor struggling Phi Beta Kappa, with its three toes, as it happens, striving to unite the wise and virtuous of every degree and of whatever country. In particular, it was striving to unite the several States which had just ceased to be colonies. The hardest thing to teach the young American of to-day is that about a hun- dred years ago a Virginian was as much a foreigner to a New Yorker as is a Mex- lean or Chileno to-day. We have been a nation so long now that Young Amer- ica cannot understand that, when the Stamp Act was passed, the idea of the union of the thirteen colonies was even mystical and fantastic. It is only by slow steps that we have worked up to such national feeling as we have. Of those steps the establishment of Phi Beta Kappa was one. It was not an impor- tant one; quite the reverse. As it proved,

Edward E. Hale Hale, Edward E. A Fossil from the Tertiary 98-106

98 A Fossil from the Tertiary. [July, From blissful hearths, through many a shining pane. He waits, in frost or rain. Bless~d they are who hearken when He knocks, And open eager locks; Who bid from out-of-doors the stranger come, And give the homeless home. Oh, bless~d they who in his piteous- guise The Wanderer recognize; The Light of the World through conscious doors they win Who rise and let Him in! John James Piatt. A FOSSIL FROM THE TERTIARY. THE name of the society of Phi Beta Kappa is pretty well known, even to school-boys, who have had to speak eloquent extracts from Mr. Everetts Phi Beta Kappa Oration, or Dr. Holmes s Phi Beta Kappa Poem. It is the first of the Greek letter societies of the colleges, some one of which now holds an anni- versary every day, and astonishes the journals with its record. Phi Beta Kappa is more than half a century older tban any of them, and at Cambridge this year it comes to its centennial. The society is one of the queerest things in America. It is indeed one of the very few visible relics of the myth- ical age of our national history; and it is not very visible at that. The myth- ical age is that period extending from the battle of Yorktown, in 1781, to the organization of the national govern- ment, in 1789. This is a period in which, as the book of Judges says, every man did what was right in his own eyes. There was, indeed, no king in Israel any longer, and there was, as yet, nobody to take the place of the king. Of this mythical period nobody now knows any- thing, except a few men of sense, and they do not know much. It was in this prehistoric period, and in the years be- fore it, that the earliest chapters of Phi Beta Kappa, now existing, came into be- ing and worked out their earliest plans. They came into being because every- thing was without form and void, to-hu va bo-hu, as the expressive Hebrew bath it. And, exactly as in some prehistoric tertiary you find the droll skeleton of a three-toed horse who prophesies the existence of the whole-hoofed Smuggler or Parole of to-day, so anybody, who digs in the gravel or other drift of the ten years before the federal constitu- tion, comes across this poor struggling Phi Beta Kappa, with its three toes, as it happens, striving to unite the wise and virtuous of every degree and of whatever country. In particular, it was striving to unite the several States which had just ceased to be colonies. The hardest thing to teach the young American of to-day is that about a hun- dred years ago a Virginian was as much a foreigner to a New Yorker as is a Mex- lean or Chileno to-day. We have been a nation so long now that Young Amer- ica cannot understand that, when the Stamp Act was passed, the idea of the union of the thirteen colonies was even mystical and fantastic. It is only by slow steps that we have worked up to such national feeling as we have. Of those steps the establishment of Phi Beta Kappa was one. It was not an impor- tant one; quite the reverse. As it proved, A Fossil from the Tertiary. it was unimportant and insignificant. When the great object was obtained, by the adoption, almost by miracle, of the federal constitution, that great success paled all lesser endeavors in the same direction, and matle their fires ineffect- ual. And so, the truth is that the Phi Beta Kappa has been of no great impor- tance for its original purpose since 1789. But this is not because the plans of its founders were bad, but rather because they were good. There is, indeed, on a much larger scale, rather an interesting parallel with their quaint little annals, in the modern history of Germany. For fifty years after the Con~ress of Vienna, the German states, as states, could make no efficient union. There was a plenty of Saxonies and Wiirtemburgs and Ba- dens, but tbere was, alas, no Germany, excepting in language and literature. All through this period, it was the stu- dents of the universities who believed in union. It was they who affiliated to- getl~er in clubs, now public and now pri- vate, of which the great object was the unity of the Fatherland. It is fair enough to say that, out of tbe persistent passion for union fostered thus among the educated men of Germany, the Ger- man empire of to-day has grown. Now the early correspondence of Phi Beta Kappa shows that the young men who formed it had just such dreams of union as those. It was with just such purposes that their union of the wise and virtu- ous of the American colleges was formed. Luckily for this country, every- thing else tended the same way. Com- merce, national honor, even the oyster fishery of the Potomac and protection against the Indians, compelled the union which crystallized so happily in the fed- eral constitution. That union was looked forward to in the tentative efforts, which are fairly pathetic, of the striplings who, in 1779, united William and Mary Col- lege in Virginia, Yale College in New 1 The names of the founders are John heath, Thomas Smith, Richard Booker, Armistead Smith, John Jones, John Stuart, Daniel Fitzhugh, Theo- dore Fitzhugh, John Starke, Is hill, William Short, John Morrison, George Braxton, Henry lull, John Allen, John Nivison, Hartwell cocks, Thomas hail, Samuel Hardy, Archibald Stuart, John Brown, D. C. Brent, Thomas Clements, Thomas W. Ballan Haven, and Harvard College at Cam- - bridge in a society which proposed to go much farther in similar directions, in a close union of the scholars of the coun- try. Be it observed that the same gran- diose habit which now calls a high-school a college, then made these young men call all these colleges universities. We deal with the ~iniversity at Cam- bridge, the university~~ at New I-Ia- yen, and with Dartmouth university at Hanover a little later, in turning over these yellow annals. In the wild excitement of 1776, while the Assembly of Virginia, which met at Williamsburgh, was making the inde- pendence of Virninia a reality, the young men of the college of William and Mary, not caring to be belRnd their fathers and elder brothers, formed the Phi Beta Kappa society. Their original records are unfortunately lost, let us hope not beyond recovery. The formula of organ- ization cannot now, therefore, be cited. But it is clear enough, from the imme- diate practice of the society, that it was intended to form a philosophical club, whose purposes should go far beyond the narrow range of the college studies of those days, and should include not only the wide range of what was then called philosophy, but the consideration, at the same time, of political questions. These, too, were discussed, not in the ab- stract, but in their bearing on the events of the day. Were there no other evi- dence of this, the names of the found- ers would be almost sufficient to show the political sympathies of the society. John Marshalls is the most distinguished name. But the other names, of Stuart, Fitzhugh, Bushrod Washington, Alex- ander Mason, William Short, William Cabell, John Nivison, and others, are the names of men who went right into the political service of the country as soon as they left college, as promptly as ducklings go into water.1 It is true that dine, Richard Booker, John Moore, Spencer Roane, William Stith, W. Stuart, J. J. Beckley, Thomas Savage, John Page, William IJahehl, John Marshall, Bushrod Washington, Thomas Lee, Landon cabell, W. Pierce, Richard B. Lee, William Madison John Swaun, Thomas cocke, Paxton Bowdoin, Alexander Mason. 1879.] 99 A Fossil from the Tertiary. such was the drift of the time. But the early calendar of Phi Beta Kappa in Virginia certainly shows more than an average share of young men interested in the philosophy of politics. In a letter written as late as 1831, Mr. Short, the vice president, said that it was formed by a student, who prided himself on be- ing the best Ilellenist there, to rival- ise another society with Latin initials. In the stress of political discussion in after-times, the charge was freely made that Nr. Jefferson founded this society, and this charge was urged as if a re- proach. Phi Beta Kappa to-day would he very gla(l to hang Mr. Jeffersons por- trait in its hall, and to connect itself with the Declaration of Independence in something more th~ the year of its birth. But, unfortunately, there is not a shadow of a line of evidence to show that Jefferson had anything to do with it. It is true that he was sitting in the legislature of Virginia in Williamsburgh at the time the society was formed. And it is said the society was formed in the Apollo Hall in the old Raleigh tavern, justly celebrated in the local annals of those days. But these two facts are all that the romance-writer can now build upon in connectin~ Jefferson with the society. Another fancy has heen that Phi Beta was invented by the French officers in Rochamheaus army after the pattern of the German Illunminati. But this does not hold water. For the French army did not come to Williamsburgh till five years after Phi Beta Kappa had been founded; and when they caine the college had been dishanded, and Phi Beta Kappa with it. The only good that Phi Beta Kappa got from the French army was that William Short, then the president, who was staying in Williams- burgh, then and there learned French, and thus laid the foundation of the dip- lomatic career in which he afterwards served the country with distinction. In- deed, it is not probable that any of the officers of the French army at that time knew anything of the Illuminati. Read- ers of Consuelo and the Countess of Rudolstadt, who hoped to follow down the lines of those stories through the records of Phi Beta Kappa, must give up that trail as futile. It is, however, a curious coincidence, as the Daily Advertiser would say, that Adam Weisshaupt, who seems to have been very much of a charlatan and hum- bug, hut who made a great deal of noise in his day, founded the Illuminati in this game year, 1776. lIe did it with the ostensible object of perfecting human nature, and with the special object of countermuining the Jesuits. Really, if you only read the charter of Phi Beta and the constitution of the II- luminati, you would say, All this stuff is very much of the same pattern. So it is. But that is hecause Ilngolstadt in Bavaria and Williamusburgh in Virginia were both college towns, and in each town young men were resenting a pres- ent tyranny. The air of the world, also, was full of the Rights of Maw In both l)laces you had the same sort of wool, the same sort of weavers, the same sort of looms, and there came out the same sort of stuff. But it is not probable that anybody in Williamsburgh, in 1776, ever heard of Adam Weisshaupt or the Illumuinati, or, indeed, could read a word of German. Far from bein~ unchristian in its cra- dle, the Phi Beta Kappa owed all that extension which has given it any renown to a young student for the Christian ministry. The St. Paul who carried it from the Zion of its birthplace to the far-off Gentiles of Yale and Harvard was a young graduate of Harvard, named Elisha Parmele. This is the way he spelled his name in his will, which lies hefore me. But, if you choose, you may spell it Parmelee, or Parmelie, or Par- mnely, or Parmarly, or Palmnerly; all of these spellings are in the family. For my part, I believe in blood, and I have no doubt that this holy man was from the race of the Palmers of the crusad- ing times, and was entitled to wear a scallop-shell in his hat. I also advise the curious to read through Palmerin do ~nglaterra, by Francisco de Morreas, the pink and pattern of chivalry; and, if they do not like Portuguese, they can try Robert Southeys abridgment in four 100 [July, A Fossil from the Tertiary. volumes. From a godfather so honora- ble, who had godfathers so noble, do all the existing branches of Phi Beta Kappa derive their names and their early train- incr. Elisha Parmele was born on the 22d of February, 1755, in Goshen, in Con- necticut, best known to travelers, per- haps, by Goshen Falls and the beauti- ful slopes of the Green Mountains. If anybody cares, George Washington was that day twenty-three years 01(1. Elisha Parmele was the fourth son of Abraham Parmele and Mary Stanley. In his youth, as I learn, Elisha Parmele be- came hopefully pious, and, intendino to be a Christian minister, he was fitted for college by Rev. Mr. Robbins, of Nor- folk, Connecticut. This gentleman, by the way, was a chaplain in die army in Canada, and preached in his life-time more than six thousand five hundred sermons, some of which remain to this day. Young Parmele went to Yale Col- lege, as was natural, and remainc(l there till college work was broken up by the war. He then xvent to Harvard, which had got a-going again after a similar stis- pension. In this transfer of his college relations appears the reason why he afterwards established branches of Phi Beta Kappa in both the two great north- ern colleges. He graduated at Cam- bridge in 1778. 1 think there was no public commencement that year; but I have before me what looks as if it had been prepared for an exhibition part, a Syriac oration from his pen. It is an elegant transcript of Pauls speech at Athens in the Syriac character, bet- ter done, I am afraid, than anybody in Cambridge can do it to-day, excepting Dr. Palfrey, Professor Young, Professor Steenstra, and Mr. WahI. The poor fellow was already in delicate health, hem0 constitutionally consumptive. He went at once to Virginia, and engaged himself there as a teacher. I think very likely he was a tutor in William and Mary College. But however that may be, he joined the Phi Beta Kappa. And when he left Williamsburgh for the North the Phi Beta Kappa gave him power to establish an Alpha at Cam- bridge, and an Alpha at New Haven. The document was dated December 4, 1779. It began with these words: The members of the Phi Beta Kap- pa of William and Mary College, Vir- ginia, to their well and truly beloved brother, Elisha Parmele, greeting: Whereas it is repugnant to the lib- eral principles bf Societies that they should be confined to any particular place, men, or description of men; and [whereas it is expedient] that the same should be extended to the wise and vir- tuous of every degree and of whatever country, We the members and Brothers of the @ B K, an Institution founded on liter- ary principles, being willing and desir- ous to propagate the same, have at the instance and petition of our good broth- er, Elisha Parmele, of the University of Cambridge, in the State of Massachu- setts Bay, and from the confidence we repose in the Integrity, Discretion, and good Conduct of our said Brother, unani- anously agreed and resolved to give and delegate, and we do therefore by these our present letters of Party Charter give and delegate by unanimous consent to you the said Elisha Parmele the follow- ing rights, privileges, authority, and power, that is to say, 1st. That at the University of Cam- bridge to establish a Fraternity of the 4 B K to consist of not less than three Persons of Honor, Probity and good demeanor, which shall be denominated the AMPcz of Massachusetts Bay. And as soon as such number of those shall be chosen you shall proceed to hold a meeting to be called your Foundation Meeting, and appoint ye ur officers agree- ably to Law. 2dly. That the form of Initiation and oath of Secrecy shall be, as well in the first, as in every otter instance, those prescribed by Law, and none other. The charter continues in ten articles, which need not here be printed. A similar authority was given to him to establish an Alpha at the University of New Haven. These charters were signed by the following persons: William Short, Jun. Prest., Archibald 1879.] 101 102 A Fossil from the Tertiary. [July, Stuart, V. Prest., Win. Cabell, Treas- urer, John James Beckley, Secy., Theo- dorick Fitzhugh, John Morison, John Allen, John iNivison, Hartwell Cocke, Thomas Hall, Samuel Hardy, John Brown [Ky.], Daniel C. Brent, Thos. W. Ballandine, Spencer Roane, Win. Stith, Win. Stuart, Thomas Littleton Savage, John Page [Fred. Va.]. Of these the president was William Short, who learned French two years after from Rochambeaus officers, and used it in 1784 as Jefferson s secretary of legation in Paris. The first commis- sion signed by Washington as president was to appoint William Short, chargi daffaires at Paris; and, as students of our history know, he was one of the most careful and useful of our early diplo- matists. It is a great pity that we have no good life of him. And the Harvard Alpha of Phi Beta Kappa ought to have his portrait in their dining-hall. Short was a classmate of Judge Marshalls, but Marshall had left college before this time. Archibald Stuart, of Augusta, the vice-president, also lived to play a (us- tinguished and useful part in his coun- trys history. Not long after Elisha Parmele went North, the Earl of Corn- wallis also started North from Charles- ton, South Carolina. To meet him the young Virginians rallied, and among the rest Archibald Stuart, with the seal of Phi Beta Kappa in his pocket. Soon after, they met the English at the battle of Guilford, March 15, 1781. In this bat- tle his father, Major Alexander Stuart, who commanded one of the Virginian regiments, was seriously wounded and taken prisoner. When young Stuart returned home, after the battle, he took the seal from his pocket, put it in a secret drawer in his house near Staunton; and there after his death, it was found in 1832. This in- vasion of Cornwallis was the end of Will- iam and Mary College for some years. Stuart studied law under Thomas ~ef- ferson, and, though a young man, was chosen a member of the General As- sembl~r, and also of the convention of 1787, which ratified the constitution, for which he voted. He afterwards filled im- portant offices in Virginia, and died in July, 1832. There is no finer instance of the loyalty with which old Virginia stood by those who had led well, than that Judge Stuart was the member of seven electoral colleges in succession, and gate the vote of the State in every election from 1800 tod 824 inclusive. He was the father of Hon. Alexander H. H. Stuart, who has kindly sent to me these reminis- cences. Young Parmele returned to the North with these precious authorities, but at what exact period does not appear. He instituted the New Haven chapter in November, 1780. On his arrival at Cambridge he con- ferred with diffcrent under-graduates, and agreed with Artemas Baker, Joseph Bartlett, seth Hastings, and Samuel Kendall, of the class which afterwards graduated in 1782, to receive i~hem into the society. We have the record of the first meeting. It is in these words: Upon Mr. Elisha Parmeles com- municating to Messrs. Baker, Bartlett, Hastings and Kendall a plan of corre- spondence with a society at New Haven in Connecticut and Williamsburg in Vir- ginia by the name of ~ B K for the pur- pose of making Literary Improvement, and by the desire of Messrs. Baker, Bartlett, Hastings and Kendall, having read the several Laws appertaining to the same society, and administering the nec- essary Oath, he then presented a Charter granted to him from the Alpha society in Virginia for establishing a similar so- ciety at Harvard College (N. E.) Com- monwealth of Massachusetts, by virtue whereof Messrs. Baker, Bartlett, Has- tings and Kendall were incorporated into a society forming the ~ B K AX~a of Mas- sachusetts. Accordingly the following officers were chosen by ballot, namely: Messrs. Kendall, President; Hastings, Secretary; Bartlett, Treasurer. The date of this meeting is not known. The first regular meeting was held on the 5th of September, 1781, when five more members of the class of 1782 were chosen to be sounded for admis~ioa in Phi Beta Kappa.~~ From that time to this 1879.] A Fossil from the Tertiary. time the society has been in regular work. It originally held meetings as often as once a week among the under- graduates. Such meetings still continue in all the colleges where branches have been established, now nineteen in num- ber. Of such meetings John Quincy Adams describes several, in passages of his diary which his son cited in a 4) B K oration in 1873. But in every case, as the number of graduate members has come to exceed that of under-graduates the society has proved an agreeable bond of meeting among graduates. For near- ly half a century it was the only society in America which could pretend to be de- voted to literature and philosophy. And it happened, therefore, that, in the in- fant literature of the nation, some note- worthy steps are marked by orations and poems delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa. Such was Paines poem on The Ruling Passion, famous in its day. The young li~erati of the country rejoiced when they heard that for the sale of this poem Paine received twelve hun- dred dollars. For The Invention of Letters, a poem delivered before Wash- ington at commencement, Paine had re- ceived fifteen hundred dollars. Even in our silver age, most Phi Beta poets would consider this pretty good pay. But it is not the object of this article to trace the history of Phi Beta Kappa after its birth. With the adoption of the federal constitution, the great ob- ject of the young Illuminati, a more perfect union amDng the wise and vir- tuous, was secured more solidly than they could secure it. The correspond- ence between the Alphas, somewhat forced at the best, flags after 1787, and indeed amounts at length to little more than statements of regret tiTlat no cat- alogues, letters, or other documents have been received, with hopes and promises for more assiduous correspondence in future. A few passages from a letter of William Short are perhaps worth cit- ing. It is written to Mr. Bishop, and dated January 15, 1782. I have written but once since the re- ceipt of your most agreeable and friend- ly letter of October, 1780, the only one that I have been honored with. Those~ inclosed within it have been sent to the different members to whom they were directed. But as some of them live at the western extremity of the State, it cannot be said with certainty whether they received them. The students of the assembly have not yet reassembled. They have been dispersed now for twelve months. I returned to this city a few weeks past and have taken a chamber for the winter with a view to attain the art of speaking French. My profession will oblige me to go into the country again in t.he spring, the seat of government having been removed from this place. In the meantime I must beg the honor of hearing from you frequently, which may be effected easily by directing your let- ters to Colonel Wadsworth, a gentleman of Connecticut, who is an agent here for the French army, and who has prom- ised to take charge of this and my other letters. I need not tell you how anx- ious I am to have everything respect- ing 4) B K in Connecticut quodfaus- turn sit? Your own feelings, my Dear Brother, will inform you what are the sentiments of every zealous member upon this subject. Such a warm attach- ment to the int*~rests of our dear society runs through your whole letter that I am doubly connected with you. Your name shall ever be remembered by me with pleasure, and your merits shall be disclosed to all the succeeding members of the 4) B K in this state. The short list of members, which you did me the honor to transmit to me, is preserved by us as images of those guardians of our common care in the North whom we hold in the highest estimation. We pant after those who have since been loined to the immortal band. Believe me, my dear sir, as you cannot be too early, so you cannot be too minute in your narration of the proceedings of the 4) B K in your quarter. I hope we shall also hear from that at Cambridge. As yet I unfortunately know not their names, so as to ask for information. Will you be so good, sir, as to commu- nicate to them our ardent wish to hear particularly how they go on? Let them 103 104 A Fossil from t7~e Tertiary. [July, know of this channel which Colonel Wadsworth opens for the conveyance of intelligence. What has become of our very worthy member Mr. E. Parmele? He has been silent as the grave since his return to the northward. Wherever he be, assure him of our sincere regard for him. He has endeared himself to us here, not only by his personal merit, but by his diligence in spreading the ~ B K. Like the great luminary he carries light with him wherever he goes, vivifles all around him, and exhilarates the spirits of whom- soever he pleases to favor. I shall write him by this channel, but with less pleas- ure, as there is less certainty of his be- ing found. Elisha Parmele, thus affectionately spoken of, was even then struggling with the disease which proved his last. Shorts playful but affectionate allusion chimes in well with what we know, from other sources, of this young man. He is to be regarded as the founder of Phi Beta Kappa as we know it, and if any picture of this amiable young minister can be found, it ought to be hung in the new hall of the Phi Beta Kappa at Cam- bridge, opposite that proposed historical picture representing Lord Dufferin in robes of the Garter receiving her Maj- estys permission to establish a branch of Phi Beta at Oxford. In July, 1783, Parmele was ordained as the ministe1~ of the church in Lee, in Berkshire County, Massachusetts; evi- dently he was highly respected for his piety and talents. But his health soon failed; he was suffering from pulmonary consumption, and in May, of the next year, he went to Virginia with his wife. Their intention was to go to Augusta County, known to modern travelers by Weirs Cave, and to soldiers by Stanton, which is its shire town. But before the young couple arrived there, Mr. Par- meles strength completely failed him, and he died at the residence of Colonel Abraham Byrd, in Shenandoah County. The hospitality of the Byrds of Virgin- ia, whether in the Shenandoah Valley or that of James River, was famous through that century, and is to this day. This pathetic end to a short life sug- gests, what I do not know, however, that young Parmeles previous visit to Virginia had been made in the hope of arresting consumption. The date of the commission given to Parmele by the Virginian Society is December 4, 1779. He did not establish the Cambridge Alpha till some time in 1781. That at New Haven was established in Novem- ber, 1780. Unfortunately, the earliest records of the New Haven Alpha are lost, so that the brethren in New Haven cannot give the earliest details of the growth of the precious Scyon thus planted. But perhaps some old diaries may yet be found in Connecticut which may fill that gap. Of young Parmele himself, it is clear enough that when he came to New Haven and to Cambridge he did not think he was carrying French infidelity or German atheism in his pock- et. No; his health was better, and now he thought he could begin to preach the gospel. As a part of his duty in that business he would establish these two chapters of Phi Beta Kappa. Here is a very early note-book of his; I do not know how early, but it belongs very near this time. It begins with a series of definitions, and they savor a little of a young preacher who had already deter- mined to make a true philosophy his nuide in life. I am such a heretic that I do not know whether these definitions are right or not according to the present standards, far less whether they were right according to the standards in 1780. But there are people at Princeton who will know, nay, I hope even at New Haven, at Hartford, and possibly at An- dover; so I print some of them for the benefit of whom it may concern. The first is, (1.) Regeneration = that divine op- eration in the reception of which men first receive the spirit of God. (2.) Repentance the feelings which Christians have unitedly flowing in these views: a view of the beauty of the moral law; a view of our own char- acters in opposition to this law; and a view of present love to God. (3) Faith those feelings of Chris- A Fossil from the Tertiar& . tians in which they are pleased with the character of Christ as he is carrying on the work of redemption in those trans- actions which fall beyond the circle of observation by our senses. (4.) Love = placing the whole flow of our affections on God in every per- ception of objects in the heavens and earth. (5.) Sin placing the whole flow of our affections on objects in the fur- niture of the heavens and earth. That furniture of the heavens and earth is good. As they say in Phila- delphia, where did he get it? Please to observe that these aphorisms do not seem to be copied froiu any common- place book, or written out at one time. The handwriting and the ink varies, and after the 21st of October, 1 782, they are dated. I do not copy them all, but se- lect a few more. (10.) Prayer = those views of Chris- tians in which they desire the existence of such events as in their view relate im- mediately to the glory of God, with a readiness of mind to be corrected in any way divine wisdom shall see fit to grant existence. (15.) Righteousness a disposition to treat all beings according to their real deserts. (21.) Trnth those views of be- ings in which they discove7 the relation they stand in to God and one another, and ascribe to all their proper dnes. (33.) Vexation of spirit those degrading views of fools in which they feel an increase of their own vanity and a decrease of their own profit. (42.) Time equals those views of beings in which they observe variations in existence. (43) Place those views of beings in which they observe the situation of existence.~~ (44) Space those views of beings in which they observe between extremes the intermediate existence. (45.) Distance those views of be- ings in which they observe between two extremes the intermediate existence. Such is the young man who brings with 1dm the charter of Phi Beta Kappa to Cambridge and New Haven. He is ordained to the Christian ministry at Lee, in Massachnsetts, by the ministers of Berkshire County, after some opposi- tion from a minority of his parish. His orthodoxy, however, was indorsed by the moderator and the council, and his ministry seems to have conciliated his parish. It lasted, however, as has been said but ten nmonths. In July, 1784, he asked permission to go to Virginia for his health, and (lied in the hospitable home of Colonel Byrd. Of the two Scyons which he l)lanted, that at Cambridge maintains an active and pros- perous existence. The annual oration is wise, the annual poemu is sometimes poetical, and the dinner is always the jolliest occasion of the Cambridge year. The original society at William and Mary had died in 1787. It was revive(l in 1855, to die again, however, in the civil war. The old records cannot now be found, but probably exist in some Virgin- ian archives. When they shall appear they will give some additional illustra- tions of the early yearning for national union. Half a century after this union of the wise and virtuous of the Amen- can colle0es, XVilliam Morgan was killed, in 1826, and his body thrown into the river at Niagara. You would say, at first, that this had nothing to do with Phi Beta Kappa.. But that is your mis- take. The storm of indignation which Morgans death aroused created the anti-masonic party and~ the general cru- sa(le against secret societies. Poor Phi Beta Kappa was called on to give up such secrets as she had, and did so. After a series of exciting meetings held in Boston, under the eager pressure of John Quincy Adams, from whose diary most of the history of the transaction can be learned, the Harvard Alpha voted to remit all obligations of secrecy. Since that time, July, 1831, anybody who has chosen to know has known what the let- ters ~ B K mean; and there are even those who say they know what S. P. on the medal means. If it were not for this vote, gentle readers, I could not have copied for you these letters about the Scyons and the Sophimores. 1879.] 105 106 Avalanches. Of which vote I know only one other consequence. It is to he Observed that the moment Phi Beta Kappa laid down her veil of secrecy, other societies took it up. I might say they tore it into ten thousand pieces, all of which cover as many secrets as the original, possibly no more- But, quien sabe? It is to he no- ticed, for instance, that the society of Alpha Delta Phi was formed in 1832, in the midst of that same wave of indigna- tion against secrecy, and the society of Psi Upsilon in the next year. I do not know if the young men in colleges then read the disclaimers of old graduates of Harvard, and thought it wise to try what their seniors discarded. But it looks a little like that. I do not know, but gentlemen who do know the early rituals of these societies can tell whether there were in them anything like the following formulas, which are copied from the early ritual of initiation into Phi Beta Kappa: The president shall rise and say: Gentlemen, it is in consequence of our good opinion of you that we have admitted you thus far; and we hope you will render yourselves yet more accept- able by answering to these questions: First. If upon hearing the princi [July, ples of this institution you should.dislike them, and withdraw, do you engage on the honor of gentlemen to keep them secret? Second. Is it of your own free choice that you offer to become members of this society? Third. Will you approve yourselves worthy members of it by encouraging friendship, morality, and literature? Fourth. Will you regard the mem- bers of this society as your brethren? Fifth. Will you kindly assist them if you should ever see any of them in distress? There was once a Beta (second state chapter) of ~ B K at Hampden-Sidney, Va. It is now extinct, and, on the spot, forgotten. The Dartmouth branch was established in 1787, and in 1790 a charter was refused to Brown, simply on the ground that the Providence college had admitted as Sophimores~ persons who would not rank as Freshmen at Cam- bridge. Sophimores is the New Ha- ven, and perhaps the Cambridge spelling of that day. After this, charters were granted to Bowdoin and Brown in 1829, and at the present moment there are nineteen chapters, connected with as many leading colleges in the Union. Edward E. Hale. AVALANCHES. O HEART that on Loves sunny heights dost dwell, And joy unquestioning, by day, by night, Serene in trust because the ~kies are bright, Listen to what all Alpirre records tell Of days on which the avalanches fell: Not days of storm, when .men were pale with fright, And watched the hills with anxious, straiping sight, And heard in every sound a note of knell, But when ~n heavens still and blue and clear The sun rode high! Those were the hours to fear. And so the monks of San Bernard to-day, May the Lord count their souls and hold them dear, When skies are cloudless, in their convent stay, And for the souls of lost and dying pray! H.H.

H. H. H., H. Avalanches 106-107

106 Avalanches. Of which vote I know only one other consequence. It is to he Observed that the moment Phi Beta Kappa laid down her veil of secrecy, other societies took it up. I might say they tore it into ten thousand pieces, all of which cover as many secrets as the original, possibly no more- But, quien sabe? It is to he no- ticed, for instance, that the society of Alpha Delta Phi was formed in 1832, in the midst of that same wave of indigna- tion against secrecy, and the society of Psi Upsilon in the next year. I do not know if the young men in colleges then read the disclaimers of old graduates of Harvard, and thought it wise to try what their seniors discarded. But it looks a little like that. I do not know, but gentlemen who do know the early rituals of these societies can tell whether there were in them anything like the following formulas, which are copied from the early ritual of initiation into Phi Beta Kappa: The president shall rise and say: Gentlemen, it is in consequence of our good opinion of you that we have admitted you thus far; and we hope you will render yourselves yet more accept- able by answering to these questions: First. If upon hearing the princi [July, ples of this institution you should.dislike them, and withdraw, do you engage on the honor of gentlemen to keep them secret? Second. Is it of your own free choice that you offer to become members of this society? Third. Will you approve yourselves worthy members of it by encouraging friendship, morality, and literature? Fourth. Will you regard the mem- bers of this society as your brethren? Fifth. Will you kindly assist them if you should ever see any of them in distress? There was once a Beta (second state chapter) of ~ B K at Hampden-Sidney, Va. It is now extinct, and, on the spot, forgotten. The Dartmouth branch was established in 1787, and in 1790 a charter was refused to Brown, simply on the ground that the Providence college had admitted as Sophimores~ persons who would not rank as Freshmen at Cam- bridge. Sophimores is the New Ha- ven, and perhaps the Cambridge spelling of that day. After this, charters were granted to Bowdoin and Brown in 1829, and at the present moment there are nineteen chapters, connected with as many leading colleges in the Union. Edward E. Hale. AVALANCHES. O HEART that on Loves sunny heights dost dwell, And joy unquestioning, by day, by night, Serene in trust because the ~kies are bright, Listen to what all Alpirre records tell Of days on which the avalanches fell: Not days of storm, when .men were pale with fright, And watched the hills with anxious, straiping sight, And heard in every sound a note of knell, But when ~n heavens still and blue and clear The sun rode high! Those were the hours to fear. And so the monks of San Bernard to-day, May the Lord count their souls and hold them dear, When skies are cloudless, in their convent stay, And for the souls of lost and dying pray! H.H. 1879.] English Skies. ENGLISH SKIES. WHEN Horace wrote that they who cross the sea change their skies, hut not their natures, he uttered a truth the full meaning and force of which is too little regarded by those who are ready to find men of the same race differing essen- tially because they live in different coun- tries. True, the sea that Horace meant was but the Adriatic, or at the most the Mediterranean. For it should always be remembered that to the ancients lakes were seas, and that the sea was the Mediterranean; a voyage upon which to Greece, mostly within sight of laud, was probably the poets only knowledge of those terrors of navigation, which, with denunciations of its inventor, he ut- tered in his ode on the departure of Vir- gil for Athens. The exclamation of the Psalmist, The floods have lifted up their voice; the floods lift up their waves. The Lord on high is mightier than the noise of many waters, yea, than the mighty waves of the sea, had probably its inspiration in a squall upon the shores of the Levant, or in a tempest in the tea-pot of Gennesareth. So little can we measure the occasion by the expres- sion which it receives from a poet. He tells us not what the thing was, but what it seemed to him, what feeling it awoke in him; and what is really incas- ured is his capacity of emotion and of its utterance, and even that is ganged by our capacity of apprehension and of sympathy. But what was true of a mi- gration across the Adriatic, or the ge- an, or the Mediterranean, is equally true of one across the vast, storm-vexed At- lantic. Englishmen remain Er~glish, Frenchmen French, Germans German, and Irishmen Irish, even unto the third and the fourth generation. It is not lightly that I say this; not without long and careful consideration of the subject; not without knowledge of opinions re- ceived, too readily, to the contrary. That emigrants to this country or to any other find, in many cases, that a change in climate and in habits of life produces such changes in habit of body as may attract the attention, if not require the aid, of a physician may be true enough. This is not to the point in question. Let those of my Yankee readers who are really observant upon such subjects con- sider their acquaintances of French, of Highland Scotch, or of Dutch descent, or those of Irish and German descent, if they have any, and see whether to this (lay they do not show, both mentally and bodily, the distinctive traits of race, even if their blood has been under the influ- ence of American skies for eight gener- ations, whether at this day there is in them any greater modification of race characteristics than might be reasonably expected if each one of these persons had been brought to this country in his own early youth. The change of sky I refer now to the visible heavens, and what is grandly called meteorology made by passing from Old England to New England was very great. As, on my outward voyage, we neared land, and were on the look- out for the first sight of it, my attention was immediately attracted by the sky. Without the evidence of the ships log, it seemed to me that I should have had no doubt that near by us there was an- other land than that from which I had come: certainly, above us there was an- other heaven. It was in the afternoon of a fine summer day, and the outlook over the calm water was beautiful, with a radiance softly bright; but those were not the clouds of the skies that I had left behind me. There were three lay- ers of them, and well there might have been; for the lowest were so low that it seemed as if our masts must tear them asun(ler if we should pass beneath them. But they were not heavy; on the con- trary, they seemed to be of the lightest texture; and they stretched far away in long, low lines that could not yet be called bars, not only were they so large, 107

Richard Grant White White, Richard Grant English Skies 107-117

1879.] English Skies. ENGLISH SKIES. WHEN Horace wrote that they who cross the sea change their skies, hut not their natures, he uttered a truth the full meaning and force of which is too little regarded by those who are ready to find men of the same race differing essen- tially because they live in different coun- tries. True, the sea that Horace meant was but the Adriatic, or at the most the Mediterranean. For it should always be remembered that to the ancients lakes were seas, and that the sea was the Mediterranean; a voyage upon which to Greece, mostly within sight of laud, was probably the poets only knowledge of those terrors of navigation, which, with denunciations of its inventor, he ut- tered in his ode on the departure of Vir- gil for Athens. The exclamation of the Psalmist, The floods have lifted up their voice; the floods lift up their waves. The Lord on high is mightier than the noise of many waters, yea, than the mighty waves of the sea, had probably its inspiration in a squall upon the shores of the Levant, or in a tempest in the tea-pot of Gennesareth. So little can we measure the occasion by the expres- sion which it receives from a poet. He tells us not what the thing was, but what it seemed to him, what feeling it awoke in him; and what is really incas- ured is his capacity of emotion and of its utterance, and even that is ganged by our capacity of apprehension and of sympathy. But what was true of a mi- gration across the Adriatic, or the ge- an, or the Mediterranean, is equally true of one across the vast, storm-vexed At- lantic. Englishmen remain Er~glish, Frenchmen French, Germans German, and Irishmen Irish, even unto the third and the fourth generation. It is not lightly that I say this; not without long and careful consideration of the subject; not without knowledge of opinions re- ceived, too readily, to the contrary. That emigrants to this country or to any other find, in many cases, that a change in climate and in habits of life produces such changes in habit of body as may attract the attention, if not require the aid, of a physician may be true enough. This is not to the point in question. Let those of my Yankee readers who are really observant upon such subjects con- sider their acquaintances of French, of Highland Scotch, or of Dutch descent, or those of Irish and German descent, if they have any, and see whether to this (lay they do not show, both mentally and bodily, the distinctive traits of race, even if their blood has been under the influ- ence of American skies for eight gener- ations, whether at this day there is in them any greater modification of race characteristics than might be reasonably expected if each one of these persons had been brought to this country in his own early youth. The change of sky I refer now to the visible heavens, and what is grandly called meteorology made by passing from Old England to New England was very great. As, on my outward voyage, we neared land, and were on the look- out for the first sight of it, my attention was immediately attracted by the sky. Without the evidence of the ships log, it seemed to me that I should have had no doubt that near by us there was an- other land than that from which I had come: certainly, above us there was an- other heaven. It was in the afternoon of a fine summer day, and the outlook over the calm water was beautiful, with a radiance softly bright; but those were not the clouds of the skies that I had left behind me. There were three lay- ers of them, and well there might have been; for the lowest were so low that it seemed as if our masts must tear them asun(ler if we should pass beneath them. But they were not heavy; on the con- trary, they seemed to be of the lightest texture; and they stretched far away in long, low lines that could not yet be called bars, not only were they so large, 107 English Skies. but their outlines were so soft and unde- fined. Clouds so formed clouds which a meteorologist would probably pro- nounce to be of the same kind I had seen above the bay of New York, and over the shores of Lon0 Island anti New England; but they were high, so high that distance made them small; their forms were sharply defined; and when the sun was above the horizon, as it was now, or sinking gradually below it, they blazed in red and gold, whereas these were softly lit with a mellow, grayish light. They seemed too unsubstantial to reflect the rays that fell upon them, and to need, and to absorb and retain as for their own use, all the light that the sun bestowed upon them. Far above these soared others, bright- er, silvery, and fleecy; and yet above the latter, but not apparently so far, were others, shaped in radiating curves. These layers, indeed, I had seen in American skies, sometimes moving in contrary motion; but the effect was not at all like that which now attracted my admiring attention. The difference ap- peared to be caused first by the lowness of the first layer, then by the great dis- tance between this layer and the one next above it, and finally by the very perceptible and almost palpable nature of that vast intervening space. It was not mere space, mere distance. My sight seemed to pass through something that enabled me to measure this vast interval, and the (listance appeared al- most as easily definable as if the two layers of clouds had been scenes in a theatre. And indeed so it was; for even at that great height the atmos- phere was filled with a continuous val)or, which, although so thin as to be imper- ceptible, was yet of consistence enough to modify the light from the setting sun as the rays passed through its immen- sity. ~The skyey intervals were not so impalpable, so colorless, and therefore so immeasurable as they are in America. As we neared the land great head- lands came to meet us, stepping out into the sea, and bearing sometimes these long, low clouds upon their fronts. The day was smiling, and it seemed a gigan tic sort of welcome that undes~ lowering skies might have been a more gigantic defiance. And then at once I felt as I never before had felt the significance of the first lines of that splendid stanza in the most splendid of modern lyrics, Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep. With my glass, I saw upon the Irish side one or two little buildings, which proved to be lookouts and places for beacons, built at the time of the expected Span- ish invasion, and one of those round towers which are of such remote antiq- uity and mysterious purpose that the most learned and sagacious antiquaries have failed to evolve an accepted theory as to their origin. Thus, even long be- fore I touched the shore, was I made to feel the difference which the powers of nature and the art of man had made be- tween the land which I had left and the land to which I had come. As the steamer went on, and we came within easy eye-sight of the land, the rocky height of the Irish coast impressed me, and the bright rich green of the sur- face of the country, as it stretched off into the distance. It seemed as if the island were a great stone set in the ocean, the top of which had been covered with a thln coating of green enamel. And soon we were near enough to see the waves dashing against the sides of these cliffs, which were so high that the ocean swell seemed but to plash playfully about their feet. And then I felt as I had nev- er felt before the meaning of the lines, an(l saw as I had never seen before the scene of the lines, Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, 0 sea. The position of the speaker I had imag- med before, upon a height looking down upon the sea; but here it was be- fore me; those, or such, were the heights and crags, and there hesow was the bay. When, after leaving Queenstown, we were well up the Channel, we were at times near enough to the eastern shore to see the surpassing beauty of the country: green field and darker wood, villages, farmsteads, country-seats, churches, cas- tIes, so unintentionally disposed by the 108 [July, English Skies. hands of man and of nature working to- gether that what was chosen for conven- ience or made for us~ blended into a pict- ure of enchanting variety. And here I saw constantly something, a little thing, that delighted my eye, and I may almost say gladdened my heart, windmills. There was a gentle hreeze blowing, and these faithful servants of man for aces past were working away with that cheer- ful diligence which always marks their labors, and has always made me respect and like and almost love them, and feel a kind of sympathy with the poor dumb, willing things when a calm reduced them to idleness, which yet after all was well- earned rest. In my hoyhood, there were two in sight from the Battery, on the Long Island side of the hay, and they were not far from my fathers house; but the places where they stood are now covered by a howling wilderness of bricks and mortar, and the windmill seems to have disappeared from the land. At least, I have not seen one anywhere for twenty years and more; and with them the tidemill seems to have gone also. In England, although it is the country of coal and ir& n and the steam-engine, I found theus more or less wherever I went, giving life to the landscape, and standing, like a link of development, between man and unmitigated nature.1 Off Auglesca I made my first acquaint- ance with that limited knowledee of man- ifest things on the part of the Philistine Englishman of Great Britain to which I have referred before, and which seems to me one of his distinctive traits of char- acter. My fellow-passengers were almost wholly Britons, and they had assumed as a matter of course that I was one of them. But there was one difference be- tween us: they had all been travelers, and had crossed the ocean more than once, some of them many times, while this was my first approach to the shores to which they had often returned. As a know of us stood looking over the lar- lsoard quarter, I saw a somewhat impos- ing structure set far out into the water. I waited to hear what would he said about it. Presently one of my compan- ions observed it, and asked what it was. Then there was a little discussion; and to my surprise, I may say to my amaze- ment, no one knew, or seemed able to conjecture, at what we were looking. After a little reserve, I said that it was Holyhead, a suggestion which was re- ceived with favor, and then with acqui- escence. Now my knowledge was due to no sagacity or study; but to the fact that before the days of the electric telegraph and of fleets of commercial steamers, my fathers counting-house was in South Street, where the steep-roofed old build- ing still stands, and that on Saturdays I was a frequent and not unwelcome visitor on board the ships that lay at the wharves before his windows. Over the compan- ion-ways into the cabins I saw painted rows of little flags, with the legend Liolyhead signals; and with a boys inquisitiveness I asked a captain what that meant. his answer I need hardly give. Those were the signals which each ship hoisted when she came in sight of Holyhead light-house and lookout sta- tion, whence the vessel was announced, by semaphore telegraph, in Liverpool. Therefore, knowing where I was in the Channel, it went without saying that that was ilolyhead. But there was a little crowd of my British cousins, trav- elers and commercial persons, who had passed the place again and again, and who did not know what it was! I held my tongue; but, like a wiser animal than I am, I kept up a great thinking. When I landetl, one of the very few differences that I observed between the people whom I had left and those among whom I had come was a calmer and se- rener expression of countenance. This in the descending scale of intelligence became a stolid look, the outward sign of mental sluggishness. But, higher or lower, in degree or in kind, there it was, placidity instead of a look of intent- ness and anxiety. Now, to suppose that this difference is caused by less thought- fulness, less real anxiety, less laborious- ness, on the part of the Englishman is to I find again and agatn among my brief notes rily; windretits, windmills, all over, gotng like such as these: Windusills, windmills, gotng mer- mad, to my huge dettght. 18~9.] 109 110 English Skies. [July, draw a conclusion directly in face of the facts. The toil and struggle of li~ is harder in England than it is here: poor men are more driven by necessity; rich men think more; among all classes, ex- cept the frivolous part of the aristocracy (not a large class), there is more men- tal strain, more real anxiety, than there is here, where all the material conditions of life are easier, and where there is less care for political and so~ial matters. Why, then, this difference of look? I am inclined to think that it is due, in a great measure, to difference of climate, not to such effect of climate UI)Ofl or- ganization as makes a difference in the physical man, hut to a result of climate which is almost mechanical, and which operates directly upon each individual. Briefly, I think that an expression of anx- iety is given to the American~~ face by an effort to resist the irritating effect of our sun and wind. Watch the people as they pass you on a bright, windy day, and you will see that their brows are con- tracted, their eyes half closed, and their faces set to resist the glare of the sun and the flare of the wind; and besides, in winter they are stung with the cold, in summer scorched with the heat. For about three hundred days out of the three hundred and sixty-five they undergo this irritation, and brace themselves to meet it. Now, a scowling brow, half-closed eyes, and a set face unite to make an anxious, disturbed, struggling expression of countenance, whether the man is real- ly anxious, disturbed, and struggling, or not. By the experience of years this look becomes more or less fixed in the majority of American faces. In England, on the contrary, there is comparatively no glare of the sun, and little wind. The former assertion will be received without question by those who have been in both countries; but the latter may be doubted, and may be re- garded as strange, coming from a man who before he had been on English land forty-eight hours was almost blown bod- ily off Chester walls, and came near be- ing wrecked in the Mersey. In fact, there are not unfrequently in England wind storms of a severity which, if not unknown, is of the greatest rarity in the United States or in Canada. We have records of such storms in England in the past; we read announcements of them at the present day. I had experience of one there more severe than any that I remember here, and heard little or noth- ing said about it. But in England, when a storm ~s over, the wind goes down. Here, on the contrary, our clearing up after a storm is effected by the setting in of a northwest wind, against which it is at first toilsome to walk, and which con- tinues to blow out of a cloudless sky for days, with a virulence quite diabolical. Because it does not rain or snow, people call the weather fine, and delude them- selves with the notion that the wind is bracing; but nevertheless they go about with scowling brows, watery eyes, and set faces, as they brace themselces up to endure it. On my return this wind met me nearly two hundred miles at sea. It was something the like of which I had not felt once while out of reach of American shores. The air was as clear as a diamond; the sky was as blue as sapphire and as hard as steel; the moon, about fifty thousand miles higher than it was in England blazed with a cold, cheer- less light; life seemed made up of bright points; and the wind blew from the north- west, not tempestuously or in gusts, but with a steady, overbearing persistence for which nothing in nature affords any simile: it is itself alone. I knew that I was near home. There is nothing of this kind in England. Not only did I not find it in my brief experience, but I never heard of it, nor of it is there any record. The absence of it there and the presence of it here may, I think, be reasonably regarded as a very important influence in the fashioning the facial habit of the people of the two countries. All the more does this seem probable because I have observed that Americans who reside in England for a fcw years gen- erally lose, in a great measure, if not entirely, the look in question, and on their return to their own shores soon ac- quire it again. Of course there are an- merous exceptions to these remarks in both countries. English Skies. To speak of the difference between the climate of England and the climate of the United States is as reascnable as it would be to speak of any difference between England, on the one hand, and Europe, Asia, or Africa, on the other. England is an isolated territory, half an island, and is about as large as the State of Virginia, or as the States of New York and New Jersey together; while the United States cover the greater third of a continent, and stretch from ocean to ocean, and almost from the arc- tic regions to the tropics. England may be properly compared only with such several parts of the United States as are homogeneous in soil and climate. The difference between the climates, or rather the atmospheric conditions, of Old En- gland and of New England, for example, or of the Middle States, is of course due, very largely, to the greater dampness of the former. As we all know, there is very much more rain in England than there is in Massachusetts or in New York. Careful records of observations, extend- ing through twenty - three years, show that rain falls in the valley of the Thames, on an average, one hundred and seventy- eight days in the year; that is, on nearly one half of three hundred and sixty - five days. Contrary to general supposition, the wettest month is July; and the wet- test season is autumn, and not winter, as is generally believed. Spring is the least wet, winter comes next in rainfall and fog, summer next, and autumn stands highest. In this respect, autumn is to winter as 7.4 to 5.8. But I found rain in England to be a very different thing from rain in New England or in New York. With us it rarely rains but it pours; and excepting a few light showers in May, all our rain-falls are more or less floods from the sky, and are accompanied by storms, storms of thunder and wind in sum- mer, violent winds from the northeast in autumn and winter. This is so much the case that loose speakers among us, who are largely in the majority, say that it is, storming, or that it is going to storm, when they mean merely that it is raining, or that it is going to rain; applying storm to a May shower as to a November gale. This is a marked Americanism in speech, and entirely unjustifiable. Now in En- gland rain is a much milder dispensation of moisture. It will rain there steadily for hours together, a fine, softly-dropping rain, without wind enough to shake a rose-bush. Such rain is almost unknown in America. I have again and again ob- served our rains for- purposes of compar- ison, and find that about five minutes is the longest duration of such fine, light rain as I have seen continue in England for five hours, without either much in- crease or much diminution, and without any appreciable wind. It was not until I observed this, and saw that it was com- mon, that I fully appreciated Portias simile of mercy that It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place heneath. We in America have no such rain as Shakespeare had in mind when he wrote those lines. Although the rain falls thus gently, the heavens are very black. The earth is darkened by a murky canopy. It is gloomier than it is with us even when we have one of our three days north- casters, or one of our blackest thunder- storms. The clouds are of a dirty, grimy black, and seem not to be mere condens- ing vapor. Looking at them, you would suppose that they would foul the houses, the streets, and the fields, instead of washing them. They made me feel as I never before had felt the propriety of Mirandas description The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch. Fully to understand what that means, one must wake up, as Shakespeare often had waked, to an autumn rain in London. The reason of this seemed to me that the clouds lie so low. With us, the clouds, even in a copious rain, are so high that the drops strike smartly as they come down, and we can look up to the vapory level from which they fall. But in En- gland the rain comes only from a little distance above the tops of the trees and the houses. (I am speaking not only of showers, but of steady rains.) Even when it did not rain and was not foggy I have seen the tops of the not lofty pin- 1879.] 111 [July, 112 IJnglisk Skies. nacles of Westminster Abbey hidden in mist, and from the Thames have seen a gold-lined cloud descend upon the Par- liament houses, as if to cast a royal robe around the Victoria Tower. The changes of the sky, too, are sud- den, aitboogh without violence. You will wake to find a steadily falling rain. The heavens will be of an impenetrable slun color; or rather, there will be no heavens, the very earth seeming to be wrapped around with a cloud of thick (larkness, distilling water. You will nat- urally think that such a thick and settled mass can be dispersed and changed only by some great commotion of the elements. As you look out no pleasant occupa- tion at long intervals, your judgment is confirmed. There is the same steady distillation of water out of the same darkness. Something, a book, or a news- paper, or a thought of faces far away, ab- sorbs your attention, and suddenly there is a gleam of light. You look up, and the clouds are breaking away, and before you can change your dress and get out the day is a beauty smiling through tears, and all the earth seems glad again. But you cannot count upon the continuance of this even for an hour. With us, if the wind changes and the clouds break, they are scattered, driven out of sight for days. Not so in England. Your bright sky there may be obscured in five minutes, and in less than five minutes more, if you are sensitive to dampness, you will need your umbrella. This is what is meant in English literature by the changeability of the climate; not such sudden passages from hot to cold and from cold to hot as those which we have to undergo. And this variability of the heavens brought up to me again, and made me understand as I had not under- stood before, a passage of Shakespeares, where, in King Henry VIII., the doomed Buckingham says, My life is spannd already: I am the shadow of poor Buckingham, Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on, By darkening my clear sun. The passage at best is marred with the effects of the manifestly hasty composi- tion of this play; but the instant cloud darkening the clear sun is a simile yet not a simile, for it is the glory of Shakespeares style that he rarely wrote in similes that has an illustrative power in England which is given to it by no corresponding phenomenon in America. My readers may possibly suppose that these passages which I have mentioned as being brounht to mind by the chang- ing skies of England are after-thoughts with me, perhaps curiously sought out for the purpose of giving interest to my descriptions. Not so. The fitness of thing to thought was so exact and inci- sive that the latter came to me instant- ly as I was observing the phenomenon which, without doubt, had as instantly suggested them to Shakespeare. Rain is not looked upon in England, as it is with us, as a barrier to the open air, unless, as an Irishman might say, the open air is taken in a close carriage. In- deed, were it so looked upon, the English people more than any other would live an indoor life, instead of being the most open - air loving of all nations. For the extravagant joke about the English weather, that on a fine day it is like look- ing up a chimney, and on a foul day like looking down, is more than set off by the truth of Charles II.s sober saying, that the climate of England tempts a man more into the open air than any other. It is very rarely, I should think, that the weather in England is for many hours to- gether so forbidding that a healthy man, not too dainty as to his dress, would be kept indoors, and lose by it invigorating exercise. It is not too warm in summer, nor too cold in winter; it is never too hot and dry, and, notwithstanding the frequent rains, it is very rarely too wet. The mean temperature of the year is about fifty degrees; the mean temper- ature of the hottest month, July, only sixty-three degrees; and it is only on very exceptional days, in very exceptional years, that the mercury rises nbove eighty degrees, or falls below twenty degrees, the mean temperature of the coldest month, January, being thirty-five de- grees.1 A comparison of these temper- 1 These figures as to temperature and rain-fall are taken from Weajes London, 1851, where authori English Skies. atures with those which we are called upon to bear in our long summers and in our longer winters shows the advan- tage which the people of England have over us in respect to out-door exercise. We cannot walk, or ride, or hunt, or shoot as they do. During no small part of our year physical exertion in the open air is painful rather than pleasurable, injurious rather than beneficial. It is only in autumn that we can find health and enjoyment out-of-doors. Between the middle of September and the mid- (Ile of December we may enjoy a mellow air and what is left of the verdure in our parched landscape; but then we strangely leave the country, whither we go in the blinding, blazing summer, when walking or (Irivin g, except in the even- ing, and often not then, is a fitting di- version only for salamanders. It is not, however, only the men in En- gland who are not kept within doors by rain from their business, or their pleas- ure, or their mere daily exercise. En- glish ladies, as is generally known, take open-air exercise much more freely and regularly than women in the same con- dition of life in most other countries. But it is not so well known, I believe, how ready they are to brave the rain, or rath- er to take it quietly, without braving, as a little inconvenience not to be thought of within certain bounds. At first, I was surprised to see, both in London and in the country, women who were evi- dently persons at least of education and refinement walking about in rain, com- ing out into rain, which would have caused an American~~ woman to house herself, or if caught in it, and not kept out by sheer necessity, t.o make for shel- ter and for home. And not. unfrequently I saw them doing thus umbrellaless. In England umbrellas would seem to be a necessity of daily life; but, according to my observation, they are much more gen- erally carried by men than by women. In walking through the Crescent in Re- gent Street on a wet morning, I have met ties and very exact details are given. The scaie is of course Fahrenheit. I omit fractions of degrees and other trifles. I am not writing scientificaily, or for scientific readers. VOL. XLIV.~O. 261. 8 half a dozen women, lady-like in appear- ance, exposing themselves, and what is more their bonnets, without protection to the fine, drizzling rain with an air of the utmost unconcern. I walked, one morning, from Canterbury to the neigh- boring village of llarbledown, some three miles, in a rain that, notwithstanding my umbrella, wet me pretty well from the hips down. On my way I met, or over- took, men, women, and children, but only one of them had an umbrella, and that one was of all creatures a butcher boy! Just at the edge of Canterbury I cannot say the outskirts, for the towns in England do not have such ragged, draggled things as outskirts I stopped at a little house to get a glass of milk (and good, rich milk it was, price one penny), led thereto by a sense of empti- ness (for I was yet breakfastless), and by a small placard in the window announc- ing the sale of %at fluid. It was sold to me by a middle-aged woman, lean, slab- sided, sharp-nosed, with a nasal, whin- ing voice, who, looking out the window past her business card, said, by way of making herself agreeable, as I quaffed her liquid ware, Seems suthin like rain, sir! It was pouring so steadily, although not violently, that I had thought of turning back, and giving up Jlarble- down for that day; but this determined me, and put me on my mettle. If a poor wisp of womanhood like that could see in such a down-pour only something like rain, flinching would be a shame to my beard and my inches. I was struck, too, by the thorough Yankeeness of her phrase: it might have been uttered on the outskirts of Boston. This likeness, however, struck me among the country folk in Kent on other occasions, to which I shall refer hereafter. In Kent I rare- ly heard an h dropped, and never one superfluously added. At a great house where I was visiting in Essex, it was agreed at luncheon Phat we should have a walk in the park that afternoon, because it was fine, and we had had a drive the day before, and were to have lawn-tennis the day after. Now the phrase it s fine in England means merely that it is not actually raining at 1879.] 113 114 English Skies. [July, the time of speaking; but when the hour of our walk came the rain came also with it. Our party was composed of two ladies and three gentlemen, and I expected that it would be broken up, of course. Not at all. With the most matter-of-course air, the ladies, neither of them at all ro- bust in figure or apparently in health, donned light water proof cloaks, and, tak- ing each of us an umbrella, we soberly waded forth to our watery English walk. I hope the ladies enjoyed it, for they eQused me to do so; and we saw some noble trees and pretty views in the park and from it. We met a small flock of geese, who did not hiss, but looking ear- nestly seemed to recognize us, and to be ready to extend to us the web-foot of fellowship. I observed that even the ladies did not put on overshoes, but trusted merely to stout, serviceable walk- ing shoes; and although we walked over grass I found that my fe~ were not wet. I had made a similar observation on my walk to Harbledown. Then my feet be- came damp, of course; but although there was neither a plank nor an asphaltum path by the roadside (one of which is commonly found in the more thickly in- habited rural districts in England), my strong walking shoes were not soiled above the sole. This I found to be the case again and again, so firm are the tightly graveled roads in England. The harmlessness of wet grass was a puzzle to me. I walked all over the lawns at Hampton Court one morning after a rain, led to do so by a companion who knew how things should be done (you always walk on grass in England, if you like to do so), and I neither felt nor saw upon my shoes any evidence of water. Under similar circumstances in the Unit- ed States, they would have been wet through in five minutes. It need hardly be said, however, that even when there is not a storm or an unusual rain the usual fall on alternate days is often too heavy to admit of parties of pleasure. Our lawn-tennis had to be given up as an out-of-doors performance, although the lawn had been specially mowed for the occasion. But my hostess was not to be balked. We went into one of the drawing-rooms, and ourselves rolling the furniture out into the great hall, we stretched a rope across the room, hung copies of the Times over it to make a barrier, and had our game out; in which, by the way, the most points were scored by my lady herself and by a Fellow of St. Johns College, Oxford. In the gardens of such houses, or sometimes upon the walls, it is common to find sun-dials, relics of the past. Those upon the walls are very large, some of them being ten or twelve feet in diam- eter. They seem to have been as com- mon as clocks, and to have been set up as a matter of course long after clocks were no rarities. But if, according to the pretty legend upon one of them, Hcras non numero nisi serenas, they were useless unless the sun shone, they must have been mere ornaments for much more than half the days in the year. For even when it does not rain in England the days are comparative1)- few in which the sun casts a shadow strong enough to mark the hour upon a dial. The noon- mark on the kitchen window-sill of old New England farm-houses was almost always, once a day, a serviceable sign of the time; but a sun-dial in England must have always been little more use- ful than a chair to a cherub. The low temperature of the country enables the people to bear the dampness, and even to find it conducive to health and enjoyment of life. Let it be cold, said an Englishman to me, as we walked from his villa to the train through a chilling drizzle, and I care little so long as it is damp. And I found the combination, on the whole, wholesome and not unpleasant. But if England, with its damp atmosphere, were subject to our extremes of heat and cold, it would be almost uninhabitable: it would be as unhealthy in winter as Labrador, in sum- mer as India. I was surprised to see the freedom with which (lo~rs were left. open for the entrance of the chill, damp air, and by the unconsciousness of pos- sible harm with which women of the lower classes in the country went about in cold mist, or even in rain, without bonnets or shawls. For as to myself, English Skies. at times 1 found this chilly fog pierce to the very marrow of my hones, and make me long for the fire which was not always attainable. And when I did have it the comfort that it gave me was not so great as I expected it would be. Fire does not seem to be very warm in England. I never saw a really hot one. It is this combination of cold and damp that makes the Englishman so ca- pable of food and drink. Nothing is more impressive about him than his dili- gen ce in this respect. He never neg- lects an opportunity. A hearty break- fast at nine oclock; a luncheon at half past one or two, at which there is a hot joint and cold bird l)ies, with wine and beer; at five oclock tea, generally deli- cious souchong, with thin bread and but- ter; dinner at eight, serious business; sherry and biscuit or sandwiches at elev- en, as you take your bedroom candle. At home it would have killed me in a month; there I throve upon it mightily, and laid pounds avoirdupois upon my ribs, which I lost within a year after my return to the air of America, which so often makes one feel like desiccated cod- fish. There is no shirking whatever of this matter of eating and drinking. It is not regarded as in the least indelicate, or, in the old-fashioned phrase, ungen- teel, even for a lady to eat and drink anywhere at any time. I remarked this at a morning concert of the great trien- nial Birmingham musical festival. The concert began at eleven oclock, and as the price of tickets was a pound (five dol- lars) it is to be supposed that every per- son of the thousands present in that great hall had breakfasted well about eight or nine oclock; but yet when the first part was over, around me and everywhere within sight, even in the seats roped off for the nobility, luncheon bags were pro- duced, and flasks; and men and wom- en began to eat sandwiches and other wiches, and to drink sherry and water, or something else and water (but never the water without the something else), as if they feared that they would be fam- ished before they could get home again. And very careful in this respect are they of the stranger within their gates. The last words that I heard from a very elegant woman, as I parted from her to take a railway journey of three or four hours, were a charge to the butler to see that I had some sandwiches. Needless caution! They had been prepared, and were produccd to me in a faultless pack- age, and put into my bag with gravity and unction. In due time I ate them, and with appetite, saying grace to my fair providence. One effect of the climate of England (it must, I think, be the climate) is the mellowing of all sights, and particularly of all sounds. Life there seems softer, richer, sweeter, than it is with us. Bells do not clang so sharp and harsh upon the car. True, they are not rung so much as they are with us. Even in Lon- don on Sunday their sound is not obtru- sive. Indeed, the only bell sound in the great city of which I have a distinct memory is Big Bens delicious, mellow boom. In country walks on Sunday the distant chimes from the little antique spires or towers float to you like silver voices heard through the still air. Your own voice is hushed by them if you are with a companion, and you walk on in sweet and silent sadness. I shall never forget the gentle, soothing charm of the Bolney chime in Sussex, which, as the sun was leaving the weald to that long, delicious twilight through which day lapses into night in England, I heard in company with one whose sagacious lips, then hushed for a moment, are now si- lent forever. These English country chimes are very different from those that stun our ears from Broadway steeples. They are simple, and yet are not form- less jangle; but the performers do not un- dertake to play opera airs affetuoso and con expressione with ropes and iron ham- mers upon hollow tons of metal. At the Birmingham musical festival, I first remarked the effect of the climate upon sound. There was a large instru- mental band, and a good one; and that it was well conducted need hardly be said, for the conductor was Sir Michael Costa. But in precision of attack, in perfection of crescendo and diminuendo, in the finish and the phrasing of the va 1879.] 115 116 English Skies. [July, rious salient passages as they were suc- cessively taken up by the different in- struments, and in sonority I found the performance not at all equal to that of Mr. Thomass band, the drill of which was very superior. A dozen bars, how- ever, had not been played b4ore I was conscious of a sweet, rich quality of tone, particularly in the string band, which contrasted with the clear, hard brillian- cy of the Thomas orchestra. This im- pressed me more and more as the per- formance went on, although my enjoy- ment was marred by the organ being not perfectly in tune with the band. Another superiority in Costas band at- tracted my attention: they accompanied much better than Thomass; with more feeling, sympathy, and intelligence. The singers could trust them and lean upon them. This was doubtless due in great part to Costas long experience as an operatic conductor, while, on the other hand, Thomas has always worked in in- strumental music pure and simple; but I cannot doubt that it was due in part also to the feeling of the individual per- formers. As to the difference in the quality of the tone, I can find no other cause for that than the climate. Pos- sibly, however, the English orchestras tune to the normal pitch (although it did not seem to me to be so),in which case some superiority in quality of tone would be accounted for; the high, so called and absurdly called, Philharmon- ic pitch being destructive of quality, which is sacrificed to a sharp sonority. One little performance of Costas on this occasion was very interesting. My seat, although not too near, happened to be in such a position that I could see all his motions, and even his face. In a l)iece by Beethoven there was a little fugue, the rhythm and the intonation of which were both somewhat difficult. As the tenors entered with the subject they were unsteady, and speedily went into confusion. Ruin was imminent. But turning to Costa I saw him, little dis- turbed, merely increase the emphasis of his beat, while he himself took up the subject, and, looking eagerly at the ten- ors, sang it right out at them. They were soon whipped in, and the perform- ance was not only saved, but was so good that its repetition was demanded by the pre~sident, the Marquis of Hert- ford (no applause being allowed); and on the repeat the tenors behaved hand- somely in the presence of the enemy. Whether I was favored by the En- glish climate I do not know, but in ad- dition to this soft, sweet charm which the air seemed to give to everything that was to be seen or heard, I found late autumn there as verdant and as va- riously beautiful as early summer is with us, and without the heat from which we suffer. In Sussex the gardens were all abloom, wild flowers in the woods, black- berries ripening in the hedges, the birds singing, and everything was fresh and fragrant. Among the birds, I observed the thrush and the robin-redbreast; the latter not that tawny-breasted variety of the singing thrush which is here called a robin, but a little bird about half as large, with a thin, pointed bill, a breast of crim- son, and a note which is like a loud and prolonged chirrup. It would be charm- ing if we could have this man-trusting little feathered fellow with us; but I fear that he could not bear our winters. In Warwickshire, I found roses blooming, blooming in great masses half-way up the sides of a two-story cottage on the road from Stratford-on-Avon to Kenil- worth; and this was in the very last days of October. True, I had only a few days before shivered through a rainy morning drive in Essex, when the chill dampness seemed to strike into my very heart; but on the whole I found myself under English skies healthy, happy, and the enjoyer of a succession of new de- lights, which yet seemed to me mine by birthright. Richard Grant White. 1879.] The Contributors Club. THE CONTRIBUTORS CLUB. A PATHETIC word has been repeated by the newspapers, purporting to be Emersons complaint that old age has come upon him with a rush; he who sang so cheerfully and courageously It is time to be old To take in sail, now confesses the tremor of age. It was but a few years before Terminus was published that Emerson sat to Rowse for his portrait, and this crayon has al- ways bcen regarded as a very satisfac- tory likeness of the poet; perhaps we are justified in placing Emersons prime be- fore he thought to say, as in this poem, As the bird trims her to the gale, I trim myself to the storm of time; I man the rudder, reef the sail, Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime. At any rate, Rowses picture conveys to one, whether familiar or not with Emer- sons presence, a most clear and satis- fying impression of the poet, and it is a rare good fortune which has now made the picture the possible possession of many besides the generous owner; for it has been engraved in a masterly man- ner by Mr. S. A. Schoff, one of the very few who keep alive in America the tra- ditions of line engraving. Mr. Rowse bears testimony to the faitbfulness and value of the engraving, and certainly no American writer has been so admirably presented in portrait to his countrymen. It seems to me an exceptionally good opportunity for those who honor our lit- erature in its highest, most enduring forms, at once to have before them the likeness of the poet who is eminently American, and eminently more than American, and to recognize the ambi- tion of an engraver to do worthily what was so well worth doing. Mr. Schoff may have the consciousness of devoting his art to noble purpose; he ought also to have the pleasure of knowing that his work has been appreciated. It would be a happy result if there should be so general a recognition of his labor of love as to encourage him to give us also an engraving of Rowses portrait of Haw- thorne. The portrait of Emerson is more than a satisfactory likeness of the poet; it is more than a thorough piece of engrav- ing; because it is both of these, it has a personal power which might well make one desirous of its silent presence in his study. It calls to mind those fine lines in Astrina: vet shine forever virgin minds, Loved by stars and purest winds, Which, oer passion throned sedate, Have not hazarded their state; Disconcert the searching spy, Rendering to a curious eye The durance of a granite ledge To those who gaze from the seas edge It is there for benefit; It is there for purging light; There for purifying storms; And its depths reflect all forms It cannot parley with the mean, Pure by impure is not seen. Is a mans ideal of what woman should be higher than her own? This question was suggested after reading the story entitled Rosamond and the Con- ductor, in the March number of this macrazlne. Out of curiosity, as the vote for presi- dent is sometimes taken on a train, I put to all my friends who had likewise read the story the question, Did Ros- amond shock you? Tile women uni- versally defended her, finding her wom- anly and modest, and all the condem- nation and disapproval came from the other sex. One nlasculine critic de- nounced her as obnoxious; another fervently hoped there were not many girls running loose in real life who gave rein to their imagination as she did. I wondered if a fellow-feeling made her sisters wondrous kind toward the hero- ine; or whether they had a nice discrim- ination that enabled them to judge her more intelligently; or whether, after all, they demanded less of a woman. Will somne one who understands human nat- ure better than I do please rise and ex- plain? The article on Over-Production in 117

Contributor's Club Contributor's Club 117-121

1879.] The Contributors Club. THE CONTRIBUTORS CLUB. A PATHETIC word has been repeated by the newspapers, purporting to be Emersons complaint that old age has come upon him with a rush; he who sang so cheerfully and courageously It is time to be old To take in sail, now confesses the tremor of age. It was but a few years before Terminus was published that Emerson sat to Rowse for his portrait, and this crayon has al- ways bcen regarded as a very satisfac- tory likeness of the poet; perhaps we are justified in placing Emersons prime be- fore he thought to say, as in this poem, As the bird trims her to the gale, I trim myself to the storm of time; I man the rudder, reef the sail, Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime. At any rate, Rowses picture conveys to one, whether familiar or not with Emer- sons presence, a most clear and satis- fying impression of the poet, and it is a rare good fortune which has now made the picture the possible possession of many besides the generous owner; for it has been engraved in a masterly man- ner by Mr. S. A. Schoff, one of the very few who keep alive in America the tra- ditions of line engraving. Mr. Rowse bears testimony to the faitbfulness and value of the engraving, and certainly no American writer has been so admirably presented in portrait to his countrymen. It seems to me an exceptionally good opportunity for those who honor our lit- erature in its highest, most enduring forms, at once to have before them the likeness of the poet who is eminently American, and eminently more than American, and to recognize the ambi- tion of an engraver to do worthily what was so well worth doing. Mr. Schoff may have the consciousness of devoting his art to noble purpose; he ought also to have the pleasure of knowing that his work has been appreciated. It would be a happy result if there should be so general a recognition of his labor of love as to encourage him to give us also an engraving of Rowses portrait of Haw- thorne. The portrait of Emerson is more than a satisfactory likeness of the poet; it is more than a thorough piece of engrav- ing; because it is both of these, it has a personal power which might well make one desirous of its silent presence in his study. It calls to mind those fine lines in Astrina: vet shine forever virgin minds, Loved by stars and purest winds, Which, oer passion throned sedate, Have not hazarded their state; Disconcert the searching spy, Rendering to a curious eye The durance of a granite ledge To those who gaze from the seas edge It is there for benefit; It is there for purging light; There for purifying storms; And its depths reflect all forms It cannot parley with the mean, Pure by impure is not seen. Is a mans ideal of what woman should be higher than her own? This question was suggested after reading the story entitled Rosamond and the Con- ductor, in the March number of this macrazlne. Out of curiosity, as the vote for presi- dent is sometimes taken on a train, I put to all my friends who had likewise read the story the question, Did Ros- amond shock you? Tile women uni- versally defended her, finding her wom- anly and modest, and all the condem- nation and disapproval came from the other sex. One nlasculine critic de- nounced her as obnoxious; another fervently hoped there were not many girls running loose in real life who gave rein to their imagination as she did. I wondered if a fellow-feeling made her sisters wondrous kind toward the hero- ine; or whether they had a nice discrim- ination that enabled them to judge her more intelligently; or whether, after all, they demanded less of a woman. Will somne one who understands human nat- ure better than I do please rise and ex- plain? The article on Over-Production in 117 118 The Contributors Club. [July, the April Atlantic is, if really written by a workingman, decidedly one of the best and clearest papers that has yet been produced by that class; and will, I hope, receive a careful reading by all who are giving any attention to this most press- ing of economic questions. Recognizing the false economy of a people simply striving to keep down their expenditure, regardless of its being possibly both pro- (luctive and profitable, Mr. Richards points ont the best course as lying in the direction of a wisely regulated con- sumption and continually elevated stand- ard of life and of necessaries as the only corrective of an over - production. Of course, this implies an ability to con- sume, and a potential demand; so that, to follow his reasoning, the effort should be to advance the laboring class, and instead of trying to teach them a lower habit of life, with its fewer necessities and smaller consumption, to educate them to a higher plane of living and de- sires, and at the same time place them in a position to obtain the new necessa- ries created by their higher standard. Where the difference between the rich and poor is very great, and the latter are compelled to adapt themselves to a mode of living with few wants and small ex- penditure, over-production is inevitable; for the rich, in whose hands alone are the means to purchase those articles pro- duced, are too few in number to consume the surplus. In no way can the equa- tion between consumption and produc- tion be maintained except by making the laborer a consumer whose demand is potential through his having both desire and means. While it is to be regretted that the discussion of this subject is not conduct- ed more judicially, Mr. Richards should remember that the counsels for both sides must present their case with testi- mony and argument before the judge can even charge the jury, far less decide the case. Lx parte (liscussion is the only way to arrive at the merits of a thing, as it is the only way in which enough in- terest can be excited to insure all the facts being hunted up and thought over. Even questions of abstract science are not always debated with perfect coolness and freedom from bias, so how can we expect more in those in which the get- ting of bread and butter is involved? I should like to enter a protest on behalf of the friends and relatives of authors. Why, in order to exalt the pri- vate virtues of a man or woman who has pleased us, must those near and dear to them in this life be sacrificed upon their tomb-stones? Better not to have been Achilles dog than to have been burnt upon his funeral pyre. For instance, I have just laid down Lord Macaulays Life, having been behind the age in read- ing it; why should I henceforth be in- oculated by all the uncharitable passing thoughts Macaulay ever conceived of his acquaintances? Why should Zachary Macaulay, who has hitherto been to me a staid, hard - working religionist and philanthropist of the Wilberforce and Simeon school, henceforward live chiefly in my memory as an old gentleman of such fussy philoprogenitiveness and nar- row sympathies that when he did deign to turn his attention on his family he was a thorn in the side of his illustrious son? Why must I see through a thin veil of dashes and initials that Tom s youngest brother was a scamp, and that his second was a spendthrift and a beg- gar? How would Macaulay have been ashamed of his own words could he have known that Christopher North, who left his dying bed to record his vote for him at his last election, would be handed down to posterity, on his authority, as a grog-drinking, cock-fighting, cudgel- playing professor of moral philosophy! Above all, why should we all know con- cerning poor P that the lad is such a fool he would disgrace any recommen- dation; that he had better be ap- prenticed to some hatter or tailor, where he might come to make good coats, for he will never write good dispatches? Better for Phad Zachary Macaulay never recognized the relationship, or at- tempted to influence in the lads favor his impracticable son. In Miss Martineans Life, our sympa- thy is claimed for her at her mothers ex- pense. If that poor lady had not borne The Contributors Club. a literary daughter, her disaoTeeable pe- culiarities woul(l have been interr~d with her bones. how often must Mr. Bront~ have wished that an instinct of self-preservation had prompted him to suppress the writing propensities of Char- Lotte! Must not the late Mrs. Robertson have felt that she paid too high a price for her connection with the fame of her first husband in being known to us as a wife who did not make him happy? But the most flagrant case of cruel exposure to the public is that of Miss Mitfords father. The old gentleman was a Tur- veydrop of the worst kind, selfish and good for nothing; his daughters life was a long sacrifice to his exactions, his egotisins, and his carelessness about money. This she bore nobly, undergoing martyrdom to hide his errors, acting towards him the part of an Antigone, giving herself for his sake, and piously protecting him almost till she (lied. No sooner was she gone than her biography was written, making forever useless all the ungrudging sacrifices of forty years. The object of Miss Mitfords life had been to screen from her friends eyes the character of her father; now we all know him and despise him. Think what tears of bitterness this woman would have wept could she have known that it was her own literary reputation which had dealt this stab at the old man towards whom she had been ever the devoted (laughter! It seems to me that a literary life has no right to be made a weapon of offense to the friends, relatives, and acquaintances of those whom biographers may delight to honor. Miss Edgeworth earnestly forbade the publication of her Life; so (lid Thackeray. Some persons protect the reputation of their friends by leav- ing autobiographies. In reading such works we are by no means expected to accept the authors views. We are apt even to take part against him in his quarrels with others. Pepyss abuse does not tell much against his acquaintances. When Benvenuto Cellini flies out against his traveling companion, who broke through a bridge on horseback, with an exclamation that it is only because the Lord is ofttimes merciful to fools that questa bestia and that other bestia, his horse, were not drowned, we laugh, but the laugh goes against the irascible gold- smith, who never could let slip the op- portunity of making himself an enemy. Occasionally, but very rarely, biogra- phies are so generously and judiciously written that (like Mr. Ticknor s Life of Prescott, and his own life by his widow and daughter) no r~putation is compro- mised, no feelings ruffled, no wholesome reserves indelicately broken through. Literary people are supposed, more than others, to possess culture; but if this means something positive as w~l1 as negative, power to produce, to think, as well as ability to receive and to under- stand, then their culture, as a class, makes, in my opinion, but a poor show. Suppose, for instance, that we consider their ideas on the alleged inadequate remuneration of literary labor. As many people are never able to conceive of wealth as taking any other form than that of money, so literary persons tacitly ignore any other rewards than those which take the shape of cash. But it is one of the maxims of the theory of wages that services receive a high or a low rec- ompense in proportion as they are agree- able or disagreeable; or, in technical lan- guage, honorable or the opposite. Now, we dont hear of people in easy circumn- stances setting up as shoemakers, or bankers, or physicians, from pure love of the thing; while the number of per- sons who write poems and histories and novels for this reason, and nothing else, is by no means small. The non-pecun- iary rewards of law, etc., are not only difficult of attainment, but are very few at that, while the slightest poem or es- say brings its stay-at-home or traveling young lady author much honor and rep- utation with the only public she cares for. Thus literature is not only the most honorable of all trades, but it is that in which, from other causes, the labor of the artisan must always be the worst paid, for in no other can unskilled labor be used to such advantage. La literature, says Beranger, doit ~tre une canne ~ la main, jamnais une guille. 1879.] 119 120 I suppose observant readers of all creeds, and no creeds, have noticed the almost total absence of religious tone in both authors and characters of recent fiction. And some, perhaps, may yet be found who would rather condone the villainous pages of the earlier English novelists for the sake of the leaf or two of robustious moral sop thrown them by the hero, as he confesses his blackguard- ism, thanks Providence for the good fortune it had brought him, and makes his exit from the stage, than trust the modern authors negative virtues, or his self-repressed heroes and heroines, who go through all the tragic agonies without a prayer on their lips. That the mass of readers should be disturbed by this latter trait is not to be wondered at; but even the reviewers are now waxing religious over the non- religion of the two strongest recent stories, Blacks Macleod of Dare and Hardys Return of the Native. Of the former, one critic marvels that any one should undertake to portray conflicts of passion and emotion, to give what are designed to be faithful delineations of life, and yet eliminate currents of thought and motives of action which en- ter into and color all phases of human existence and human experience. But do currents of religious thought and motives of action enter into and color all phases of human life? Would it, for instance, be true to life or her nature to make Miss White feel aught of remorse at the havoc she had wrought in Macleods life; or, as she saw the catastrophe approaching, to have her fall on her knees and call on divine aid? It does, however, seem a little off color to allow so much human and so little religious emotion to Mac- Icods mother; a good deal of Christian resignation would not come amiss in toning down the strong current of pagan fatalism which sweeps and moans around Castle Dare. As to Macleod himself, it is hardly fair to subject him to mod- ern criticism, since the author plainly intended to show us an ancient Kelt, [July, projected by some freak of nature into the present, and then places him amidst all the shallows and subtleties of modern life. And, despite all carping, I think the authors venture is worth while. There is an immense fascination in watching this strong, simple, primitive natures belief in the might of its own truth against all conventional obstacles. And what a relief to the reader from the slow-paced, calculating, world-weary lover, who is such a favorite with pres- ent novelists! But to those who believe in every human life being swayed by religious thought and emotion, Hardy must stand out as a greater sinner than Black, for his good people are so by nature, with- out a touch of awakening grace. Mrs. Yeobright does her duty without the aid of a Christian sentiment; neither does the patient, devoted Thomasin give ver- bal proof of having ever profited by the like; while Clement, who foregoes all personal ambition in the weaving of a plan for the good of his fellow-creatures, does it in the same mood of nature which might have actuated an ancient philoso- pher. As for the common people, their curious mixture of religious awe and su- perstitious dread reveals more glimpses of Druidical darkness than of Christian light. And yet, the strangest thing about it all is the absolute certainty with which an unbiased reader must accept it as fact. We are all more or less familiar with that commingling of paganism and Christianity which runs through the more common human im- portations from the British Isles; but most of us, perhaps, imagine it to be peculiar to adherents of the mother church. Hardy, by taking us into the remote interior of England, convinces us that it is neither a matter of Roman- ism nor Protestantism, but a subtile in- heritance from a remote pagan ancestry. Would it be too curious an inquiry to question how much of the high-bred pa- ganism of our day may be derived from the same source? since it is clearly a thing of nature, not of choice. The Contributors Club. 1879.] Recent Literature. RECENT LITERATURE. A JOURNEY from Egypt to Palestine by the way of the Sinaitic peninsula has been converted by Doctor Bartlett into a study of the exodus and wandering of the Israel- ites. As a record of careful personal ex- amination of geography and topography, and of painstaking reading and collection of the multitudinous labors of previous stu- dents, the volume is an unusual honor to American literature, and worthy of even grateful admiration. It is a weighty book, a book calling for serious attention, for nothing less, and nothing beside. There is no humor, no rhetoric or poetry or sen- timent, atid no etitertainment for the light- minded reader. The style, always simple and sometimes careless, makes claints to nothing beyond clearness and abundance of statement; hut one finds this a positive merit in a work which was obviously intended to give as much important information as pos- sible in a moderate space. On this subject of biblical history, and indeed on all sub- jects treated by American writers, we have had only too many rhetoiical exercises. The publishers part of the volume is in its way as commendable as the authors. The en- gravings and the maps are alike admirably wrought, judiciously selected, and full of information. The book is orthodox. It accepts in full the time-honored, natural understanding of the scriptural narrative. Doctor Bartlett knows perfectly the theories of Brugsch, Mariette, De Lesseps, Colenso, and others, who would remove the supernatural of the exodus by diminishing, for instance, the nambers of the flying Hebrews, and by lead. ing them through easier passages than that of the Red Sea. But, although he is re- speetfol and courteous to these innovators, he declines to accept their su~gestions. He has no doubts as to the ma2nitude and marvelousness of the flight. He is not in- terested in explaining away the plagues. He can almost hear the choking voice~ with which Pharaoh pleads, And bless me also! 1-fe sees the hosts converging from all Goshen to Rameses, and the vast march setting forth on the day established. He is sure that if you believe in the wondrous story at all you must believe in it as a prod- igy; and, as to the question of nitusbers, he observes with perfect truth that one million is as unmanageable as two. All this he holds firmly and states candidly, meanwhile indulging in no condemnation of those who plead for an interpretation founded on nat- ural causes, and honoring himself by a fair and urbane consideration of their sugges- tions. Ottly when he teaches the shore of the Red Sea does a rationalistic spirit ~vin par- tial possession of him, and lead hita to argue for shoal passages temporarily laid bare by the action of a strong east wind and the receding of the tide. It seems to us a de- fect in an otherwise logical chain of state- ment and reasoning. Doctor Bartlett has here recoiled from the Philistines, and en- tatugled himself between the sea and the Egyptians. In this whole drama of the exodus, in the gathering and the flight an(l the wauderitug, we must believe in the miraculous, or we cannot believe all, if at all. How could two milliotus of peo- ple dwell in the little land of Goshen, un- less they were densely settled agticulturists, and even to some extent citizens of large towns? How could a population of bus- baudmen and burghers suddenly become nomads, fitted to struggle with the problem of life in a desert? As for the pa~sage of the Red Sea, abbreviate the transit as much as you will, sweep the broken and winding miles of bottom with wind and ebb as dry as you please, how can you lead more than two millions of souls, with very much cat- tle, from shore to shore in tbe watches of a morning? Experience proves that a hun- dred thousand disciplined soldiers would find it difficult, if not impossible, to pass such a defile in so brief a time. In all these matters rationalism is a failure; the only candid and tenable explanation is miracle; you must cling to that, or you must deny. Unless, indeed, one is willing to admit that the flight took form in successive migra. tions; tribe following tribe at considerable intervals of time, possibly of months or years; the final horde alone being harassed by the bated wrath and pursuit of a totter- From flgypt to Pelestiae. Through Sinai, the and latety Professor in the Chicago Theological Wilderness, and the South Country. By S. C. DART- Seminary. New York Harper and Brothers. 1879. unT, U. I)., LL. U., President of Dartmouth College, 121

Editorial Editorial 121

1879.] Recent Literature. RECENT LITERATURE. A JOURNEY from Egypt to Palestine by the way of the Sinaitic peninsula has been converted by Doctor Bartlett into a study of the exodus and wandering of the Israel- ites. As a record of careful personal ex- amination of geography and topography, and of painstaking reading and collection of the multitudinous labors of previous stu- dents, the volume is an unusual honor to American literature, and worthy of even grateful admiration. It is a weighty book, a book calling for serious attention, for nothing less, and nothing beside. There is no humor, no rhetoric or poetry or sen- timent, atid no etitertainment for the light- minded reader. The style, always simple and sometimes careless, makes claints to nothing beyond clearness and abundance of statement; hut one finds this a positive merit in a work which was obviously intended to give as much important information as pos- sible in a moderate space. On this subject of biblical history, and indeed on all sub- jects treated by American writers, we have had only too many rhetoiical exercises. The publishers part of the volume is in its way as commendable as the authors. The en- gravings and the maps are alike admirably wrought, judiciously selected, and full of information. The book is orthodox. It accepts in full the time-honored, natural understanding of the scriptural narrative. Doctor Bartlett knows perfectly the theories of Brugsch, Mariette, De Lesseps, Colenso, and others, who would remove the supernatural of the exodus by diminishing, for instance, the nambers of the flying Hebrews, and by lead. ing them through easier passages than that of the Red Sea. But, although he is re- speetfol and courteous to these innovators, he declines to accept their su~gestions. He has no doubts as to the ma2nitude and marvelousness of the flight. He is not in- terested in explaining away the plagues. He can almost hear the choking voice~ with which Pharaoh pleads, And bless me also! 1-fe sees the hosts converging from all Goshen to Rameses, and the vast march setting forth on the day established. He is sure that if you believe in the wondrous story at all you must believe in it as a prod- igy; and, as to the question of nitusbers, he observes with perfect truth that one million is as unmanageable as two. All this he holds firmly and states candidly, meanwhile indulging in no condemnation of those who plead for an interpretation founded on nat- ural causes, and honoring himself by a fair and urbane consideration of their sugges- tions. Ottly when he teaches the shore of the Red Sea does a rationalistic spirit ~vin par- tial possession of him, and lead hita to argue for shoal passages temporarily laid bare by the action of a strong east wind and the receding of the tide. It seems to us a de- fect in an otherwise logical chain of state- ment and reasoning. Doctor Bartlett has here recoiled from the Philistines, and en- tatugled himself between the sea and the Egyptians. In this whole drama of the exodus, in the gathering and the flight an(l the wauderitug, we must believe in the miraculous, or we cannot believe all, if at all. How could two milliotus of peo- ple dwell in the little land of Goshen, un- less they were densely settled agticulturists, and even to some extent citizens of large towns? How could a population of bus- baudmen and burghers suddenly become nomads, fitted to struggle with the problem of life in a desert? As for the pa~sage of the Red Sea, abbreviate the transit as much as you will, sweep the broken and winding miles of bottom with wind and ebb as dry as you please, how can you lead more than two millions of souls, with very much cat- tle, from shore to shore in tbe watches of a morning? Experience proves that a hun- dred thousand disciplined soldiers would find it difficult, if not impossible, to pass such a defile in so brief a time. In all these matters rationalism is a failure; the only candid and tenable explanation is miracle; you must cling to that, or you must deny. Unless, indeed, one is willing to admit that the flight took form in successive migra. tions; tribe following tribe at considerable intervals of time, possibly of months or years; the final horde alone being harassed by the bated wrath and pursuit of a totter- From flgypt to Pelestiae. Through Sinai, the and latety Professor in the Chicago Theological Wilderness, and the South Country. By S. C. DART- Seminary. New York Harper and Brothers. 1879. unT, U. I)., LL. U., President of Dartmouth College, 121

Bartlett's From Egypt to Palestine Recent Literature 121-123

1879.] Recent Literature. RECENT LITERATURE. A JOURNEY from Egypt to Palestine by the way of the Sinaitic peninsula has been converted by Doctor Bartlett into a study of the exodus and wandering of the Israel- ites. As a record of careful personal ex- amination of geography and topography, and of painstaking reading and collection of the multitudinous labors of previous stu- dents, the volume is an unusual honor to American literature, and worthy of even grateful admiration. It is a weighty book, a book calling for serious attention, for nothing less, and nothing beside. There is no humor, no rhetoric or poetry or sen- timent, atid no etitertainment for the light- minded reader. The style, always simple and sometimes careless, makes claints to nothing beyond clearness and abundance of statement; hut one finds this a positive merit in a work which was obviously intended to give as much important information as pos- sible in a moderate space. On this subject of biblical history, and indeed on all sub- jects treated by American writers, we have had only too many rhetoiical exercises. The publishers part of the volume is in its way as commendable as the authors. The en- gravings and the maps are alike admirably wrought, judiciously selected, and full of information. The book is orthodox. It accepts in full the time-honored, natural understanding of the scriptural narrative. Doctor Bartlett knows perfectly the theories of Brugsch, Mariette, De Lesseps, Colenso, and others, who would remove the supernatural of the exodus by diminishing, for instance, the nambers of the flying Hebrews, and by lead. ing them through easier passages than that of the Red Sea. But, although he is re- speetfol and courteous to these innovators, he declines to accept their su~gestions. He has no doubts as to the ma2nitude and marvelousness of the flight. He is not in- terested in explaining away the plagues. He can almost hear the choking voice~ with which Pharaoh pleads, And bless me also! 1-fe sees the hosts converging from all Goshen to Rameses, and the vast march setting forth on the day established. He is sure that if you believe in the wondrous story at all you must believe in it as a prod- igy; and, as to the question of nitusbers, he observes with perfect truth that one million is as unmanageable as two. All this he holds firmly and states candidly, meanwhile indulging in no condemnation of those who plead for an interpretation founded on nat- ural causes, and honoring himself by a fair and urbane consideration of their sugges- tions. Ottly when he teaches the shore of the Red Sea does a rationalistic spirit ~vin par- tial possession of him, and lead hita to argue for shoal passages temporarily laid bare by the action of a strong east wind and the receding of the tide. It seems to us a de- fect in an otherwise logical chain of state- ment and reasoning. Doctor Bartlett has here recoiled from the Philistines, and en- tatugled himself between the sea and the Egyptians. In this whole drama of the exodus, in the gathering and the flight an(l the wauderitug, we must believe in the miraculous, or we cannot believe all, if at all. How could two milliotus of peo- ple dwell in the little land of Goshen, un- less they were densely settled agticulturists, and even to some extent citizens of large towns? How could a population of bus- baudmen and burghers suddenly become nomads, fitted to struggle with the problem of life in a desert? As for the pa~sage of the Red Sea, abbreviate the transit as much as you will, sweep the broken and winding miles of bottom with wind and ebb as dry as you please, how can you lead more than two millions of souls, with very much cat- tle, from shore to shore in tbe watches of a morning? Experience proves that a hun- dred thousand disciplined soldiers would find it difficult, if not impossible, to pass such a defile in so brief a time. In all these matters rationalism is a failure; the only candid and tenable explanation is miracle; you must cling to that, or you must deny. Unless, indeed, one is willing to admit that the flight took form in successive migra. tions; tribe following tribe at considerable intervals of time, possibly of months or years; the final horde alone being harassed by the bated wrath and pursuit of a totter- From flgypt to Pelestiae. Through Sinai, the and latety Professor in the Chicago Theological Wilderness, and the South Country. By S. C. DART- Seminary. New York Harper and Brothers. 1879. unT, U. I)., LL. U., President of Dartmouth College, 121 122 Recent Literature. [July, ing monarchy; and then the whole drama condensed into one picturesque scene by a narrative careless of particulars. In this hypothesis, especially if one may also sup- pose clerical errors in the enumeration, there is something which really satisfies the ra- tionalistic spirit. Short of it, or of some oth- er theory as hold, there is nothing for thnt spirit but revolt. This plea for natural causes at the Suez crossing is the only logical error of Doctor Bartlett in his commentary. Every- where else he has the judicial candor and clearness to say, You cannot pass with- out miracle. IRitters once popular theory that the exudations of the tamarisk wete the manna of the wilderness he rejects with civil positiveness, observing that the He- brews needed at least one thousand tons of this food daily, while the present annual product of the peninsula in tamarisk marina is never above six hundred pounds. It is evidently a matter of interest to him that the desert abounds in quails; but he wise- ly forbears to dwell upon it as a point of practical importance, flow, indeed, should any supposable natural flights of birds avail toward the feeding of two millions of He- brews, besides a mixed multitude l The question of water whence obtained in sufficient quantity he does not discuss; and, with his reliance upon the supernat- ural, he has no need so to do. If he were a commentator of the rationalistic sort, it would be one of his most serious difficulties. The present water supply of that arid land is obviously insufficient to carry through it an ordinary caravan. Here and there a wady shows a rivulet, and from the flanks of the mountains burst occasional copious springs, but the mass of the desert is a re- gion of thirst. Bitter wells and sandy de- posits of rain-water are ohjects of anxious search to even the well-equipped tourist. The dryness of the Sinaitic peninsula calls for little less of faith in miraculous interpo- sition than its barrenness. The main interest of the book resides in its character as an itinerary of the exodus. Of course there is little of either topography or geography which is absolutely new to the veteran biblical student. Too many zealous and learned travelers had preceded the au- thor to leave him much chance for discovery. He is too thoroughly versed, also, in the lit- erature of his subject to give us, as findings of his own, the facts which had been noted. by others. Indeed, his~chiefest service is as a compendiast, comparer, and judge. He has read everything, assimilated everything, and produced an important digest. It should be said, moreover, that his good sense and cool- ness of temper have given us as much cause for gratitude as his industry. As he has no audacities of doubt, so he has none of cre- dulity. Of the men with Asiatic faces (tomb No. 35 at Thebes) who are making bricks under anE~yptian task-master, he says, It is unnecessary to regard these men as He- brews to get the force of the illustration. Of the famine mentioned in the tomb of Baha, and identified by Brugsch with the seven lean years, be simply remarks, I leave it on his authority. Near Wady He- beibeh he comes upon tha curious, or per- haps not so very curious, remains noted by Palmer and Drake. Here, extending over miles of desert, are small circles of stone, with abundance of charcoal and other traces of fire, indicating temporary dwellings of an unknown antiquity; here, too, are num- hers of small mounds, unexamined as yet, but which bear the appearance of burial- places. Arab tradition relates that these are the mementoes of a great caravan of pilgrims, who, while seeking the waters of Sin Hudherah, got lost in the desert of Tih, and were never heard of again. The topo- graphical definiteness of the story and the fragile nature of the relics would seem to indicate a modern catastrophe, if, indeed. there was a catastrophe at all, and not merely a transitory presence of charcoal burners. The enthusiastic Palmer leaps to the inference that here he has found an en- campment of the Israelites, and the graves of the lustful victims of Kihroth Hattavah. Doctor Bartletts biblical feeling leads him to admit that these suggestions certainly deserve most respectful consideration; but his cool temper, and judicial brain force him to add, The conclusion must probably await further inquiries. No doubt of it, and it seems a commonplace thing enough to say; and yet from these simple words many a scriptural expositor might derive a valuable lesson, not to mention a few secular historians ethnolooists, and philol- ogists. One of the greatest of truths is that a very large percentage of ~vhat ordi- narily passes for truth needs further in- quirses. The hook does not end with the Wilder- ness. It goes on through the south coun- try, that half-desert region on the southern border of Canaan, where the Hebrews dwelt for thirty - seven years, and whence they eventually moved eastward to compass Recent Literature. Mount Seir and advance upon the prom- ised land through the Hauran and the valley of the Jordan. The author does not follow them in this route, hut pushes northward from Beersheba to hilly Judea, pausing long, of course, in Jerusalem. Then comes a trip to Jericho and the Dead Sea; then a brief personal study of the line of Joshuas march; then an examination of some of the many battle-fields of Palestine. T he con- cludin~ chapters treat of Nazareth, Gen- r~esaret, the Sea of Galilee, the coast of Tyre, l3eijroot, and Constantinople, with a paragraph or two, less than one could de- sire, concerning the American missionaries and their beautiful labors. Such is an im- perfect summary, and a perhaps still more unsatisfactory jud~ment, of a laborious, reasonable, and truly valuable volume. It reminds one of the renowned work of Doc- tor Robinson, far inferior to it, no doubt, as an original study of topography, but equal, if not sometimes superior, as an ex- amination and digest of written authority. In fine, it is a book of high aim and solid merit, which will be accepted with satisfac- tion by all who share its literal understand- ing of the biblical narrative, while it will win the respect of every fair-minded oppo- nent. Protest, indeed, there will be, and protest neither ignorant nor witless. The scholars who hold that Hebrew history should be subjected to the same rules of evidence and interpretation as other histo- ry will marvel that a keen reasoner could read so widely in the surmises and infer- ences of German and French inquirers with so little result. They will be reminded, per- chance, of the quatrain of Omar Khay- yam: Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and saint, and held great argument About it and about, but evermore Came out by the same hole wherein I went. But the critic will admit that this persist- ent return to the time-honored view is a ne- cessity for one who i-ules to believe in in- spiration ; and his protest will be measured, fair-minded, and courteous, or it will be very unlike the work from which he is impelled to dissent. We think that hardly a pleasanter book will be given to the public this summer than Mr. Burroughss Locusts and Wild Honey,1 nor any that will more immediately 1 Locusts and Wild Honey. By JOHN Buaaoueas Author of Wake Robin, Winter Sunshine, and Birds and l?oets. Boston: lioughton, Osgood & Co. 1879. associate itself with the aspects of nature in the readers mind. It is from nature, directly, and is wisely compact of observa- tion and comment not too literary in tone. Is it going to Rain l and Birds and Birds are the two essays in which we fancy the author has had his say most nearly in ac- cordance with his own ideal; but all the j~pers are charming, simple in manner, very honest in matter, and of wholesome and happy mood. The first essay, on Bees, rests a little more on alien knowledge than the others; that called Sharp Eyes, which treats of the quick senses of the wild things, the least so. In Birds and Birds, Mr. Bur- roughs turns his sympathetic reading of other poetic naturalists to constant advan- tage in the comparison of our own birds with those of Europe. Speckled Trout, A Bed of Boughs, and The Halcyon in Cana- da have more the interest of woodsy advent- ure, and are less characteristic without being less original: indeed, this writer rarely fails to widen and deepen, from sources of his own, your acquaintance with whatever sub- ject he treats. XVe have not read anything better in its way than the paper on Straw- berries. In this, again, Mr. Burroughs is at his very best, and as you read, the perfume and flavor of the fruit he celebrates with such honest delight are in your senses. The little book is a udcrocosm of out- doors, and is a benefaction equally to those who can go into the country and to those to whom it will bring the country. It is a book, too, that the mature lover of good literature will find his children glad to share with him, a fact which ought always to be mentioned, for the sake of the book and the sake of the children; its matter and its ro- bust and healthful spirit are something with which they can thoroughly sympathize. The Harpers have republished, uniform with their elegant new edition of Macaulays England, the history 2 on which Motleys brilliant fame was founded, and we have now in convenient and very attractive shape a work which had hitherto wanted the charm of agreeable paper, print, and bind- ing. It is a work which no student of his- tory, no one with the modest ambition to be generally well read, can yet afford to he without. It is the destiny of histories to be superseded, but we may be sure that the heroic annals of a simple, patient, and in- 2 The Rise of the Dutch Republic. A history. By JoaN Lornaos MOTLEY, B. C. L., LL. D. In three volumes. New York: Harper and Brothers. 1879. 1879.] 128

Burrough's Locusts and Wild Honey Recent Literature 123

Recent Literature. Mount Seir and advance upon the prom- ised land through the Hauran and the valley of the Jordan. The author does not follow them in this route, hut pushes northward from Beersheba to hilly Judea, pausing long, of course, in Jerusalem. Then comes a trip to Jericho and the Dead Sea; then a brief personal study of the line of Joshuas march; then an examination of some of the many battle-fields of Palestine. T he con- cludin~ chapters treat of Nazareth, Gen- r~esaret, the Sea of Galilee, the coast of Tyre, l3eijroot, and Constantinople, with a paragraph or two, less than one could de- sire, concerning the American missionaries and their beautiful labors. Such is an im- perfect summary, and a perhaps still more unsatisfactory jud~ment, of a laborious, reasonable, and truly valuable volume. It reminds one of the renowned work of Doc- tor Robinson, far inferior to it, no doubt, as an original study of topography, but equal, if not sometimes superior, as an ex- amination and digest of written authority. In fine, it is a book of high aim and solid merit, which will be accepted with satisfac- tion by all who share its literal understand- ing of the biblical narrative, while it will win the respect of every fair-minded oppo- nent. Protest, indeed, there will be, and protest neither ignorant nor witless. The scholars who hold that Hebrew history should be subjected to the same rules of evidence and interpretation as other histo- ry will marvel that a keen reasoner could read so widely in the surmises and infer- ences of German and French inquirers with so little result. They will be reminded, per- chance, of the quatrain of Omar Khay- yam: Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and saint, and held great argument About it and about, but evermore Came out by the same hole wherein I went. But the critic will admit that this persist- ent return to the time-honored view is a ne- cessity for one who i-ules to believe in in- spiration ; and his protest will be measured, fair-minded, and courteous, or it will be very unlike the work from which he is impelled to dissent. We think that hardly a pleasanter book will be given to the public this summer than Mr. Burroughss Locusts and Wild Honey,1 nor any that will more immediately 1 Locusts and Wild Honey. By JOHN Buaaoueas Author of Wake Robin, Winter Sunshine, and Birds and l?oets. Boston: lioughton, Osgood & Co. 1879. associate itself with the aspects of nature in the readers mind. It is from nature, directly, and is wisely compact of observa- tion and comment not too literary in tone. Is it going to Rain l and Birds and Birds are the two essays in which we fancy the author has had his say most nearly in ac- cordance with his own ideal; but all the j~pers are charming, simple in manner, very honest in matter, and of wholesome and happy mood. The first essay, on Bees, rests a little more on alien knowledge than the others; that called Sharp Eyes, which treats of the quick senses of the wild things, the least so. In Birds and Birds, Mr. Bur- roughs turns his sympathetic reading of other poetic naturalists to constant advan- tage in the comparison of our own birds with those of Europe. Speckled Trout, A Bed of Boughs, and The Halcyon in Cana- da have more the interest of woodsy advent- ure, and are less characteristic without being less original: indeed, this writer rarely fails to widen and deepen, from sources of his own, your acquaintance with whatever sub- ject he treats. XVe have not read anything better in its way than the paper on Straw- berries. In this, again, Mr. Burroughs is at his very best, and as you read, the perfume and flavor of the fruit he celebrates with such honest delight are in your senses. The little book is a udcrocosm of out- doors, and is a benefaction equally to those who can go into the country and to those to whom it will bring the country. It is a book, too, that the mature lover of good literature will find his children glad to share with him, a fact which ought always to be mentioned, for the sake of the book and the sake of the children; its matter and its ro- bust and healthful spirit are something with which they can thoroughly sympathize. The Harpers have republished, uniform with their elegant new edition of Macaulays England, the history 2 on which Motleys brilliant fame was founded, and we have now in convenient and very attractive shape a work which had hitherto wanted the charm of agreeable paper, print, and bind- ing. It is a work which no student of his- tory, no one with the modest ambition to be generally well read, can yet afford to he without. It is the destiny of histories to be superseded, but we may be sure that the heroic annals of a simple, patient, and in- 2 The Rise of the Dutch Republic. A history. By JoaN Lornaos MOTLEY, B. C. L., LL. D. In three volumes. New York: Harper and Brothers. 1879. 1879.] 128

Motley's The Rise of the Dutch Republic Recent Literature 123-124

Recent Literature. Mount Seir and advance upon the prom- ised land through the Hauran and the valley of the Jordan. The author does not follow them in this route, hut pushes northward from Beersheba to hilly Judea, pausing long, of course, in Jerusalem. Then comes a trip to Jericho and the Dead Sea; then a brief personal study of the line of Joshuas march; then an examination of some of the many battle-fields of Palestine. T he con- cludin~ chapters treat of Nazareth, Gen- r~esaret, the Sea of Galilee, the coast of Tyre, l3eijroot, and Constantinople, with a paragraph or two, less than one could de- sire, concerning the American missionaries and their beautiful labors. Such is an im- perfect summary, and a perhaps still more unsatisfactory jud~ment, of a laborious, reasonable, and truly valuable volume. It reminds one of the renowned work of Doc- tor Robinson, far inferior to it, no doubt, as an original study of topography, but equal, if not sometimes superior, as an ex- amination and digest of written authority. In fine, it is a book of high aim and solid merit, which will be accepted with satisfac- tion by all who share its literal understand- ing of the biblical narrative, while it will win the respect of every fair-minded oppo- nent. Protest, indeed, there will be, and protest neither ignorant nor witless. The scholars who hold that Hebrew history should be subjected to the same rules of evidence and interpretation as other histo- ry will marvel that a keen reasoner could read so widely in the surmises and infer- ences of German and French inquirers with so little result. They will be reminded, per- chance, of the quatrain of Omar Khay- yam: Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and saint, and held great argument About it and about, but evermore Came out by the same hole wherein I went. But the critic will admit that this persist- ent return to the time-honored view is a ne- cessity for one who i-ules to believe in in- spiration ; and his protest will be measured, fair-minded, and courteous, or it will be very unlike the work from which he is impelled to dissent. We think that hardly a pleasanter book will be given to the public this summer than Mr. Burroughss Locusts and Wild Honey,1 nor any that will more immediately 1 Locusts and Wild Honey. By JOHN Buaaoueas Author of Wake Robin, Winter Sunshine, and Birds and l?oets. Boston: lioughton, Osgood & Co. 1879. associate itself with the aspects of nature in the readers mind. It is from nature, directly, and is wisely compact of observa- tion and comment not too literary in tone. Is it going to Rain l and Birds and Birds are the two essays in which we fancy the author has had his say most nearly in ac- cordance with his own ideal; but all the j~pers are charming, simple in manner, very honest in matter, and of wholesome and happy mood. The first essay, on Bees, rests a little more on alien knowledge than the others; that called Sharp Eyes, which treats of the quick senses of the wild things, the least so. In Birds and Birds, Mr. Bur- roughs turns his sympathetic reading of other poetic naturalists to constant advan- tage in the comparison of our own birds with those of Europe. Speckled Trout, A Bed of Boughs, and The Halcyon in Cana- da have more the interest of woodsy advent- ure, and are less characteristic without being less original: indeed, this writer rarely fails to widen and deepen, from sources of his own, your acquaintance with whatever sub- ject he treats. XVe have not read anything better in its way than the paper on Straw- berries. In this, again, Mr. Burroughs is at his very best, and as you read, the perfume and flavor of the fruit he celebrates with such honest delight are in your senses. The little book is a udcrocosm of out- doors, and is a benefaction equally to those who can go into the country and to those to whom it will bring the country. It is a book, too, that the mature lover of good literature will find his children glad to share with him, a fact which ought always to be mentioned, for the sake of the book and the sake of the children; its matter and its ro- bust and healthful spirit are something with which they can thoroughly sympathize. The Harpers have republished, uniform with their elegant new edition of Macaulays England, the history 2 on which Motleys brilliant fame was founded, and we have now in convenient and very attractive shape a work which had hitherto wanted the charm of agreeable paper, print, and bind- ing. It is a work which no student of his- tory, no one with the modest ambition to be generally well read, can yet afford to he without. It is the destiny of histories to be superseded, but we may be sure that the heroic annals of a simple, patient, and in- 2 The Rise of the Dutch Republic. A history. By JoaN Lornaos MOTLEY, B. C. L., LL. D. In three volumes. New York: Harper and Brothers. 1879. 1879.] 128 Recent Literature. domitable people will never be rewritten with more generous ardor, more hearty and magnetic sympathy. Motley recognized that it was a people whom he was celebrat- ing, and if he had been content to keep this fact constantly in view, and had labored less upon the figure of William the Silent, he would not have fatigued himself and his reader as he now sometimes does. In the end he does not make you feel that Will iam expressed more or less than the av- erage national qualities. He was endur- in ~, devoted, unfortunate, and prosperous through disaster, as his countrymen all were; and if he encouraged them in defeat, they equally encouraged him, and paid with their persons for his bad luck in battle. Motleys faults are never so conspicuous as when he struggles to shape into something statuesque and dramatic the plain, some- what dull and unimpressive masses of Will- iam s constancy and goodness. Motley was of the historians who paint history rather than philosophize it; he thought justly rather than subtly, and he felt even better than he thought. But he rescued from forgetfulness the struggles and sorrows of a people by whose martyr- dom the whole world profited, and even when his books are no longer read his name will remain connected with that thrilling and touching story. He hated oppression and cruelty and bigotry; and we are glad to have his indignation instead of the analytic calm, which may be all very well when there is no longer any tyranny in the world. We have seldom read a more touching story than that which presents itself in these letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Jmlay.l In their passionate tenderness and passion- ate appeal to the man whose answers are unknown, they have the effect of the mod- ern dramatic monologue, in which one per- son, occupying the stage, transacts the af- fair with people off the scene who are never seen or heard. It is a tragic monologue, bcginuin~ with a rapturous faith in the lover, whom Mary Wollstonecrafts ideals forbade her to make her husband, and fall- ing, through fear and doubt of his constancy, to the heroic despair with which she at last confronts the fact that he has abandoned her. It follows his wandering about over Europe wherever Imlays erratic fortunes led him; and the letters are now written from Paris, in the first separation after their 1 Mary Wollstoaecraft. Letters to Imlay. With Prefatory Memeir by C. KEGAN PAUL. Leaden: C Kegan Paul & Co. Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1879 union; now from Havre, where- they have been briefly reunited; now from places in England, on her way to or from London, whither she goes to join him; now from Norway and Sweden, whither she has fol- lowed him. They are the letters of a wife, though she was not Imlays wife, and they concern themselves little with the great public events of that stormy time, though they are-mostly written during the height of the Terror; they are simply the expres- sion of a loving heart and a generous soul lavishing themselves in vain on an unstable and unworthy object. She reproaches him, and blames herself for reproaching him; she loses her trust in him, and struggles with self-upbraiding to regain it. But all the same she breaks her heart, and suffers for her mistaken theory of faithful love without marriage. One cannot blame her, but one cannot regret that her suffering was signal, for she had tried to make her- self a law against the law that holds society together. In the interesting memoir with which the letters are introduced her enmity to mar- riage is accounted for by her knowledge of many unhappy marriages; and in her strong but ill - regulated mind it was not necessary that the preference for concubi- nage should be logical. The editor strives to show that perhaps marriage was not pos- sible to her and Imlay in France, at that disordered time, and that Imlay, in speak- ing of her as his wife, legally recognized her as such; but there is no pretension to marriage in her letters; she herself knew her relation to Imlay, and that she had in vain given herself to him, without the sanction of law. Of Imlay little is told that was not already known. He was an American, who had served as captain during our Revolution, and then had gone to France upon one of those mercantile enterprises in which his ad- venturous and not very prosperous life was spent. He must have been a man of uncom- mon qualities to attract a mature woman like Mary Wollstonecraft (she was thirty -five when they met), but he seems to have been of a restless and fickle nature, ill fitted to bear the stress of her exacting and sometimes censorious devotion; and when he deserted her it was for another and unworthier love. He promised to provide for their daughter, but he never did so, and Fannie Imlay died in her young girlhood, without having known any fathers care except that of her mothers husband, Godwin. Mary Woll 124 [July,

Paul's Mary Wollstonecraft Recent Literature 124-125

Recent Literature. domitable people will never be rewritten with more generous ardor, more hearty and magnetic sympathy. Motley recognized that it was a people whom he was celebrat- ing, and if he had been content to keep this fact constantly in view, and had labored less upon the figure of William the Silent, he would not have fatigued himself and his reader as he now sometimes does. In the end he does not make you feel that Will iam expressed more or less than the av- erage national qualities. He was endur- in ~, devoted, unfortunate, and prosperous through disaster, as his countrymen all were; and if he encouraged them in defeat, they equally encouraged him, and paid with their persons for his bad luck in battle. Motleys faults are never so conspicuous as when he struggles to shape into something statuesque and dramatic the plain, some- what dull and unimpressive masses of Will- iam s constancy and goodness. Motley was of the historians who paint history rather than philosophize it; he thought justly rather than subtly, and he felt even better than he thought. But he rescued from forgetfulness the struggles and sorrows of a people by whose martyr- dom the whole world profited, and even when his books are no longer read his name will remain connected with that thrilling and touching story. He hated oppression and cruelty and bigotry; and we are glad to have his indignation instead of the analytic calm, which may be all very well when there is no longer any tyranny in the world. We have seldom read a more touching story than that which presents itself in these letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Jmlay.l In their passionate tenderness and passion- ate appeal to the man whose answers are unknown, they have the effect of the mod- ern dramatic monologue, in which one per- son, occupying the stage, transacts the af- fair with people off the scene who are never seen or heard. It is a tragic monologue, bcginuin~ with a rapturous faith in the lover, whom Mary Wollstonecrafts ideals forbade her to make her husband, and fall- ing, through fear and doubt of his constancy, to the heroic despair with which she at last confronts the fact that he has abandoned her. It follows his wandering about over Europe wherever Imlays erratic fortunes led him; and the letters are now written from Paris, in the first separation after their 1 Mary Wollstoaecraft. Letters to Imlay. With Prefatory Memeir by C. KEGAN PAUL. Leaden: C Kegan Paul & Co. Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1879 union; now from Havre, where- they have been briefly reunited; now from places in England, on her way to or from London, whither she goes to join him; now from Norway and Sweden, whither she has fol- lowed him. They are the letters of a wife, though she was not Imlays wife, and they concern themselves little with the great public events of that stormy time, though they are-mostly written during the height of the Terror; they are simply the expres- sion of a loving heart and a generous soul lavishing themselves in vain on an unstable and unworthy object. She reproaches him, and blames herself for reproaching him; she loses her trust in him, and struggles with self-upbraiding to regain it. But all the same she breaks her heart, and suffers for her mistaken theory of faithful love without marriage. One cannot blame her, but one cannot regret that her suffering was signal, for she had tried to make her- self a law against the law that holds society together. In the interesting memoir with which the letters are introduced her enmity to mar- riage is accounted for by her knowledge of many unhappy marriages; and in her strong but ill - regulated mind it was not necessary that the preference for concubi- nage should be logical. The editor strives to show that perhaps marriage was not pos- sible to her and Imlay in France, at that disordered time, and that Imlay, in speak- ing of her as his wife, legally recognized her as such; but there is no pretension to marriage in her letters; she herself knew her relation to Imlay, and that she had in vain given herself to him, without the sanction of law. Of Imlay little is told that was not already known. He was an American, who had served as captain during our Revolution, and then had gone to France upon one of those mercantile enterprises in which his ad- venturous and not very prosperous life was spent. He must have been a man of uncom- mon qualities to attract a mature woman like Mary Wollstonecraft (she was thirty -five when they met), but he seems to have been of a restless and fickle nature, ill fitted to bear the stress of her exacting and sometimes censorious devotion; and when he deserted her it was for another and unworthier love. He promised to provide for their daughter, but he never did so, and Fannie Imlay died in her young girlhood, without having known any fathers care except that of her mothers husband, Godwin. Mary Woll 124 [July, Recent Literature. stonecrafts marriage was not announced for some time after the fact, and marriage was apparently regarded as an idle conven- tion by Godwin and herself. However the trnth is glossed or blinked, it is certain that their daughter, Mary Godwin, eloped with Shelley, whose deserted wife was living, and that she was ready to live with him as her mother had lived with Imlay. In this volnme there are two lovely and in- teresting portraits of Mary Wollstonecraft: one a pensive and tender young face, and the other the beautiful older face into which it ripened. The fascination of their looks is a light on the letters, and adds a charm as of personal presence to their simple pas- sion and pathos, none the less simple be- cause touched here and there a little with the artificial rhetoric of a very rhetorical time. One feels that Mary Wollstonecraft is sincere in spite of the rhetoric, as one feels that she was pure in spite of her error. Mr. Bacon has mainly allowed the life of Mrs. Gould 1 to tell itself in passa~es from her letters, diaries, and printed writings; and in these passages a charming surprise awaits those who know her name only in connec- tion with the noble charity to which she gave all that she had and all that she was. She had not only a great and tender heart, and a mind vise to plan and perform good works, but a spirit quick to every impression of novelty, a lively sense of humor, an intense syml)athy with the beautiful, and that gift of appreciation which is a qnality of refined American women in such degree as to seem almost exclusively theirs. She made Italy her own at once; she knew it and felt it in- stantly and intimately; and though almost from the moment she set foot on Italian soil, in the tragic valleys of the Vaudois, she felt her dedication to a purpose of be- neficence and reform in Italy, she never took it too seriously to be won by the loveliness with which that gifted land entreats all gentle strangers. Without this tenderness for Italian character we doubt if she could have successfully carried out the work in which she died, but which she lived long enough to see fairly and prosperously be- gun. She had the courage, the inspiration, during the existence of the political power of the papacy at Rome to found her school for the American and Protestant education 1 A Life Worth Living. Memorials of Emily Bliss Gould, of Rome. By LEONARD WooLsEy BA- CON. New York: Anson D. F. Randolph & Co. 1879. 2 The New Puritan: New Eagtand Two Hundred of the children of the poor; and she had the heroism to defend it against prejudice and authority, till she had based it on its present footing, where indeed it still appeals to the charity of the Protestant world for help, but where its usefulness and success are evident in the lives of the little ones reclaimed from superstition, poverty, and idleness. She wore her generous, ardent life out in the cause; she literally died for it: The touching and heroic story of toil and self-sacrifice is sim- ply told here, and its consolations and com- pensations are not forgotten; she had love and gratitude in unstinted measure for her labors. It is a story which every one will be the better for reading, and we heartily commend it to those who despair of indi- vidual effort, and would know how much one will and one life may accomplish for good. The author of The New Puritan,2 when he offers his book primarily to the descend- ants of its subject, takes the ed~e off the only criticism one feels inelined to make; for family veneration may justify the claims made for Robert Pike that his position in the community of his day was isolated and in advance of the age in which he lived. The materials for a life were too scanty to permit a personal biography, and the author has accordingly projected the character of his ancestor mainly from the events in which he bore a part. The very meagreness of de- tail respecting Pike leads us to think that we have in him an illustration of many men of his day, Puritans who had been educated in the close school of frontier life, and met the exigencies of life in the same resolute, common-sense, and independent way. In the altercation with Wheelwright, Pike had cer- tainly the advantage of opposing a conten- tious and restless man, and the decision of the commission appointed to adjust the diffi- culties between them, as well as Wheel- wrights acquiescence in the decision, justify us, in the absence of full details, in accord- ing some measure of blame to Pike, some measure of praise to Wheelwright. In one instance, and that the most impor- tant, Robert Pike deserves all the credit which his biographer gives him. Not only was his attitude regarding the persecutions for witchcraft manly and courageous, but his paper, which Upham had already printed, Years Ago. Some Account of the Life of Robert Pike, the Puritan, who defended the Quakers, resisted Clerical Domination, and opposed the Witchcmtt Persecution. By JAMES S. PIKE. New York: Harper and Brothers. 1879. 18T9.] 12.5

Bacon's A Life Worth Living Recent Literature 125

Recent Literature. stonecrafts marriage was not announced for some time after the fact, and marriage was apparently regarded as an idle conven- tion by Godwin and herself. However the trnth is glossed or blinked, it is certain that their daughter, Mary Godwin, eloped with Shelley, whose deserted wife was living, and that she was ready to live with him as her mother had lived with Imlay. In this volnme there are two lovely and in- teresting portraits of Mary Wollstonecraft: one a pensive and tender young face, and the other the beautiful older face into which it ripened. The fascination of their looks is a light on the letters, and adds a charm as of personal presence to their simple pas- sion and pathos, none the less simple be- cause touched here and there a little with the artificial rhetoric of a very rhetorical time. One feels that Mary Wollstonecraft is sincere in spite of the rhetoric, as one feels that she was pure in spite of her error. Mr. Bacon has mainly allowed the life of Mrs. Gould 1 to tell itself in passa~es from her letters, diaries, and printed writings; and in these passages a charming surprise awaits those who know her name only in connec- tion with the noble charity to which she gave all that she had and all that she was. She had not only a great and tender heart, and a mind vise to plan and perform good works, but a spirit quick to every impression of novelty, a lively sense of humor, an intense syml)athy with the beautiful, and that gift of appreciation which is a qnality of refined American women in such degree as to seem almost exclusively theirs. She made Italy her own at once; she knew it and felt it in- stantly and intimately; and though almost from the moment she set foot on Italian soil, in the tragic valleys of the Vaudois, she felt her dedication to a purpose of be- neficence and reform in Italy, she never took it too seriously to be won by the loveliness with which that gifted land entreats all gentle strangers. Without this tenderness for Italian character we doubt if she could have successfully carried out the work in which she died, but which she lived long enough to see fairly and prosperously be- gun. She had the courage, the inspiration, during the existence of the political power of the papacy at Rome to found her school for the American and Protestant education 1 A Life Worth Living. Memorials of Emily Bliss Gould, of Rome. By LEONARD WooLsEy BA- CON. New York: Anson D. F. Randolph & Co. 1879. 2 The New Puritan: New Eagtand Two Hundred of the children of the poor; and she had the heroism to defend it against prejudice and authority, till she had based it on its present footing, where indeed it still appeals to the charity of the Protestant world for help, but where its usefulness and success are evident in the lives of the little ones reclaimed from superstition, poverty, and idleness. She wore her generous, ardent life out in the cause; she literally died for it: The touching and heroic story of toil and self-sacrifice is sim- ply told here, and its consolations and com- pensations are not forgotten; she had love and gratitude in unstinted measure for her labors. It is a story which every one will be the better for reading, and we heartily commend it to those who despair of indi- vidual effort, and would know how much one will and one life may accomplish for good. The author of The New Puritan,2 when he offers his book primarily to the descend- ants of its subject, takes the ed~e off the only criticism one feels inelined to make; for family veneration may justify the claims made for Robert Pike that his position in the community of his day was isolated and in advance of the age in which he lived. The materials for a life were too scanty to permit a personal biography, and the author has accordingly projected the character of his ancestor mainly from the events in which he bore a part. The very meagreness of de- tail respecting Pike leads us to think that we have in him an illustration of many men of his day, Puritans who had been educated in the close school of frontier life, and met the exigencies of life in the same resolute, common-sense, and independent way. In the altercation with Wheelwright, Pike had cer- tainly the advantage of opposing a conten- tious and restless man, and the decision of the commission appointed to adjust the diffi- culties between them, as well as Wheel- wrights acquiescence in the decision, justify us, in the absence of full details, in accord- ing some measure of blame to Pike, some measure of praise to Wheelwright. In one instance, and that the most impor- tant, Robert Pike deserves all the credit which his biographer gives him. Not only was his attitude regarding the persecutions for witchcraft manly and courageous, but his paper, which Upham had already printed, Years Ago. Some Account of the Life of Robert Pike, the Puritan, who defended the Quakers, resisted Clerical Domination, and opposed the Witchcmtt Persecution. By JAMES S. PIKE. New York: Harper and Brothers. 1879. 18T9.] 12.5

Pike's The New Puritan: New England Two Hundred Years Ago Recent Literature 125-128

Recent Literature. stonecrafts marriage was not announced for some time after the fact, and marriage was apparently regarded as an idle conven- tion by Godwin and herself. However the trnth is glossed or blinked, it is certain that their daughter, Mary Godwin, eloped with Shelley, whose deserted wife was living, and that she was ready to live with him as her mother had lived with Imlay. In this volnme there are two lovely and in- teresting portraits of Mary Wollstonecraft: one a pensive and tender young face, and the other the beautiful older face into which it ripened. The fascination of their looks is a light on the letters, and adds a charm as of personal presence to their simple pas- sion and pathos, none the less simple be- cause touched here and there a little with the artificial rhetoric of a very rhetorical time. One feels that Mary Wollstonecraft is sincere in spite of the rhetoric, as one feels that she was pure in spite of her error. Mr. Bacon has mainly allowed the life of Mrs. Gould 1 to tell itself in passa~es from her letters, diaries, and printed writings; and in these passages a charming surprise awaits those who know her name only in connec- tion with the noble charity to which she gave all that she had and all that she was. She had not only a great and tender heart, and a mind vise to plan and perform good works, but a spirit quick to every impression of novelty, a lively sense of humor, an intense syml)athy with the beautiful, and that gift of appreciation which is a qnality of refined American women in such degree as to seem almost exclusively theirs. She made Italy her own at once; she knew it and felt it in- stantly and intimately; and though almost from the moment she set foot on Italian soil, in the tragic valleys of the Vaudois, she felt her dedication to a purpose of be- neficence and reform in Italy, she never took it too seriously to be won by the loveliness with which that gifted land entreats all gentle strangers. Without this tenderness for Italian character we doubt if she could have successfully carried out the work in which she died, but which she lived long enough to see fairly and prosperously be- gun. She had the courage, the inspiration, during the existence of the political power of the papacy at Rome to found her school for the American and Protestant education 1 A Life Worth Living. Memorials of Emily Bliss Gould, of Rome. By LEONARD WooLsEy BA- CON. New York: Anson D. F. Randolph & Co. 1879. 2 The New Puritan: New Eagtand Two Hundred of the children of the poor; and she had the heroism to defend it against prejudice and authority, till she had based it on its present footing, where indeed it still appeals to the charity of the Protestant world for help, but where its usefulness and success are evident in the lives of the little ones reclaimed from superstition, poverty, and idleness. She wore her generous, ardent life out in the cause; she literally died for it: The touching and heroic story of toil and self-sacrifice is sim- ply told here, and its consolations and com- pensations are not forgotten; she had love and gratitude in unstinted measure for her labors. It is a story which every one will be the better for reading, and we heartily commend it to those who despair of indi- vidual effort, and would know how much one will and one life may accomplish for good. The author of The New Puritan,2 when he offers his book primarily to the descend- ants of its subject, takes the ed~e off the only criticism one feels inelined to make; for family veneration may justify the claims made for Robert Pike that his position in the community of his day was isolated and in advance of the age in which he lived. The materials for a life were too scanty to permit a personal biography, and the author has accordingly projected the character of his ancestor mainly from the events in which he bore a part. The very meagreness of de- tail respecting Pike leads us to think that we have in him an illustration of many men of his day, Puritans who had been educated in the close school of frontier life, and met the exigencies of life in the same resolute, common-sense, and independent way. In the altercation with Wheelwright, Pike had cer- tainly the advantage of opposing a conten- tious and restless man, and the decision of the commission appointed to adjust the diffi- culties between them, as well as Wheel- wrights acquiescence in the decision, justify us, in the absence of full details, in accord- ing some measure of blame to Pike, some measure of praise to Wheelwright. In one instance, and that the most impor- tant, Robert Pike deserves all the credit which his biographer gives him. Not only was his attitude regarding the persecutions for witchcraft manly and courageous, but his paper, which Upham had already printed, Years Ago. Some Account of the Life of Robert Pike, the Puritan, who defended the Quakers, resisted Clerical Domination, and opposed the Witchcmtt Persecution. By JAMES S. PIKE. New York: Harper and Brothers. 1879. 18T9.] 12.5 126 Education. arguing against the persecutions, is a re- markable document, which ought to have pricked the bubble at the time. We won- der much if Judge Sewall had sight of it. It seems impossible that this conscientious judge should have seen it and not have been convinced by its cogent reasoning. Pike admitted the existence of witchcraft, but presented a close chain of logic to prove the inimense danger of prosecuting persous for witchcraft. his argument, although less learned, covers much the same ground as Sir George Mackenzies A Treatise on Witchcraft, reprinted in The Witches of Renfrewshire,2 and is more compact and forcible. Altogether, while this hook con- taius no new contribution to i~istory, and possibly exaggerates the solitariness of Robert Pikes position, it is of value for its grouping of events in the life of a sturdy New Englander, who belonged to the rank and file of the colony, and represented tend- encies often in opposition to the govern- ment, but in the line of Puritan thought. EDUCATION. THE first two reports2 of Dr. Eliot, the successor to Mr. Philbrick as superin- tendent of the Boston public schools, em- bracing as they do the results of a years observation and work, may well be taken up together. The former, issued last Sep- tember, was a comprehensive survey of the system; the latter, dated in March, is a spe- cial inquiry into parts of the system. The survey of the schools, made by a man who was conversant in general with their work- ings, had himself been a conspicuous teach- ci in them, but now first looked at them in the light of his own special responsibility, could not fail to disclose their strength, and the weakness as well as the dominant prin- ciple of the superintendent. In his state- ment of what constitutes the end of public- school education, and in his suggestions as to the means fittest to that end, Dr. Eliot at once discloses his strength, and intimates, however unconsciously, the opposition which he is sure to encounter. No one can frank- ly set about reforming our public schools without inviting antagonism, and when the reform points to ideal ends it is sure to be misunderstood. I)r. Eliot shows true wis- dom in accepting the existing order and making practicable reforms his immediate aim, but he has the courage and candor to confess his devotion to higher principles than people generally like to see positive- ly at work in public affairs; and there will 1 A History of the Witches of Renfrewshire. A new Edition, with an Introduction, embodying Ex- tracts hitherto unpublished from the Records of the Presbytery of Paisley. Paisley: Alex. Gardner. 1877. be a dislike, more or less openly expressed at first, to a man who makes his convic- tions in religion furnish him not only with phrases, but actually with pi-actical sugges- tions. The report must be taken openly for what it professes to be, the judgment, honor- ably expressed, of a man who believes in the higher utility; who holds not only that to be useful in education which increases hu- man power in material things, but that which aims directly at character, and does not stop short of a recognition of the divine end. It is in the public schools, he writes, that the great body of the nation is to receive its intellectual training, and, I venture to add, its moral training. No other sources of in- struction are so open, none flow so freely, none so helpfully; and it is not their fault so much as ours, in dra~ving from them, if they fall short of our wants. What we most want must be clear enough by this time. Character, says Mr. Emeison, gives splendor to youth. He might say it gives other things, and among them the power to profit by the opportunities which education offers. Discipliiie is essential to tone, and tone to learning. The child who behaves ill, who has no manners, perhaps no piinciples, certainly no apparent ideals, may have the best literary or scientific instruction ever given, but in vain; he comes to it in indif- ference, and leaves it in ignorance. Moral Thirty-Fourth and Thirty-Fifth Semi-Annual Report of the Superintendent of Puistic Schools. September, 1878; March, 1879. Boston: Rockwell and Churchill, City Printers. 1879.] Education. training is at the heart of all training. To it, as to the object for which no effort or sacrifice was too great, our scbools were de- voted by their founders, and we who come after can fiusd no better. Again, his practi- cal suggestions, all inspired by this element- ary truth, end with the earnest plea for a restoration of the practice of repeating the Lords Prayer at the morning session. Cannot the Lords Prayer again be re- peated, as it used to be, and the opening of the morning session become once more de- votional l I am sure that if either teachers or pupils were consulted, not one who had ever felt his daily studies lightened by ask- in~ a blessing upon them but would plead for being permitted once more to arise and go unto our Father. Schools can never be wholly secular. Prayer, or common prayer, can be hushed in them, and all their imme- diate lessons can be drawn in from the in- visible to the visible. But their ultimate teaching leads on beyond all bounds of sight or time, and carries, or aids in carrying, back the soul to Hun who gave it. In the same spirit is the general concep- tion of what constitutes successful teaching. Dr. Eliot never loses sight, in the midst of the complex mechanism of our schools, of the fundamental importance of a living teacher. Treat the children as children, the teachers as teachers, is the demand he makes. Recognize the power of personal- ity, and liberate both children and teachers from the bondage of text books and of an unyielding system. More air rather than more light is his cry, and he would have the air come as a breath from heaven. The encouraging frankness and the high ideals of the report which presented a gen- eral survey are not forgotten when, with a years experience, the superintendent specifies in detail the improvements which he sees possible and desirable. lie begins with the most important schools, the pri- mary, and gives fullest consideration to their needs: The great thing to do for our primary pupils is to keep them as fresh and impressionable as when they came to us. If thin~s come before names, if they come singly and come as wholes, it is plain that we have not been wont to begin with chil- dren as would be best; . . . our names have come before things. Text-books have seized upon the little child, like the ogres of old, and devoured his thoughts. ~ One of the excellences too often absent from our pri- mary classes is sweetness of voice. A teach- er forgets it~ in her eagerness to teach; 127 scholars forget it in their eagerness to learn. It never ought to be forgotten. In dealing with the grammar schools, sim- ilar wise and kind suggestions are made: It is for their good, as for that of the school and that of the city, to retain the grammar scholars to the end; . . . a good deal can be done by moderating the de- mands upon them, and letting them breathe more freely. He ads~ises again the free use of supplementary reading: Few chil- dren can read Hawthornes Tales or Tom Browns School Days without some sort of animation, an animation which they real- ly feel, and therefore can express. The in- terest they take in reading such hooks will inspire them to read others like them; and thus their out-of-school hours will be better occupied. He objects, on the broad ground that it impairs self-respect and true inde- pendence, to the assuml)tion by the city of the cost of school - books and stationery. The new course of study in the primary and grammar schools, initiated at the be- ginning of his superintendeticy, is approved because of the freedom which it gives the teacher. Freedom in teaching means per- sonality in teaching. It means also, though Dr. Eliot does not say it, greater intensity of applicatioti, and our only fear for this new mode is that while saving the children it will exhaust the teachers. It is proba- ble, however, that the greatest strain comes at the time of transition from the old to the new mode. Certainly it will compel a class of teachers to whom the old foot-rule meas- urement cannot be applied. He dissuades from corporal punishment; he calls for a simplification of the high-school course; he repeats his conviction that the children in the upper classes may be taught what and how to read, including the use of the Public Library; lie advises a simplification also of work in the Latin schools; he would have the normal school in full sympathy with the new, free education; he regards the Kindergarten as a private charity rather than a public school, and thinks that the evening schools demand a thorough over- hauling. We think it will be found in Bos- ton as elsewhere that the inviting theory of evening schools has blinded people to the impracticability of making them part of the public-school system. Throughout this second report tIme same spirit breathes that animated the first. The end is never lost sight of; the details of means are considered only as provisions for the end. It is this combination of high Publications Received. ideals with practical sagacity which ought to give fresh courage to all who value our public schools. There is a confidence iu the mind of this public servant which gen- erates confidence in others. Whatever may obstruct them (the schools)., he says, with an elastic courage, at the end of his report, whatever mistakes in instruction, administration, or organization may be made, they yield to a steadfast ideal. PUBLICATIONS RECEIVED. Henry unit & Co., New York: The First Vio- lin. By Jessie Fothergill. The Life of Samnel Johnson, LL. B. Including the Tonr to the Iteb- rides. By James Boswell. The original text re- lieved from passages of obsolete interest. Astron- omy. By C. S. Ball, LL. B., F. It. S. Specially revised for America hy Simon Newcomb, LL. B. A Century of American Lite ture. 17761876. Ed- ited hy henry A. Beers, Assistant Professor of En- glish Literature in Yale College. Life and Faith. Sonnets by George MeKuight. Hathercourt. By Mrs. Molesworth (Ennis Graham). Play-Bay Poems. Collected and edited by Itossiter Johnson. Maid Ellice. By Thee. Gift. Gaddings with a Primitive People. By W. A. Baillie Grohman. Plays for Private Acting. Translated from the French and Italian by Memhers of the Betlevue Dramatic Club of Newport. The French Revolu- tion. By Hippolyte Adoiphe Tame B. C. L. Trans- lated by John Durand. Vol. I. A Domestic Cy- clopedia of Practical Information. Edited by Todd S. Goodholme. Illustrated. Johnsons Chief Lives of the Poets. With a Preface by Matthew Arnold. To which are appended Macaulays and Carlyles Essays on Boswells Life of Johnson. Zolilogy of the Vertebrate Animals. By Alex. Mac- Alister, M. B. Specially revised for American Stu- dents by A.5. Packard,Jr., M. B. Principles of Political Economy. By William Itoscher. Trans- lated by John J. Lalor, A. M. Vols. I. and It. Zodlogy of the Invertebrate Animals. By Alex. MacAlister, M. B. Specially revised for America by A. S. Packards Jr., M. B. English Actors from Shakespeare to Macready. By Itenry Barton Baker. In two volumes. John Heywood, Manchester; Simpkin, Marshall & Co., London: A Kronikle of a King. By Elijer Goff. iloughton, Osgood & Co., Boston: Turner. Fra Angetico. Conscience. With Preludes on Current Events. By Joseph Cook. Landseer. Life of Ma- dame de la Rochefoucauld, Duchess of Doudeauville, Founder of the Society of Nazareth. Translated from the French. Guido Reni. A Primer of American Literature. By Charles F. Richardson. how to Learn Russian. A Manual for Stu- dents of Russian. By Itenry Riola, Teacher of the Russian Language. With a Preface by W. R. S. Ralston, M. A. Key to the Exercises of the Man- nat for Students of Russian. By henry Riola. A Candid Examination of Theism. By Physicus. Texts from the Bnddhist Canon, commonly known as Bhammapada, with accompanying narratives. Translated from the Chinese by Samuel Beat (B. A. Trin. Colt. Camb.), Professor of Chinese, Univer- sity College, London. The Political Economy of Great Britain, the Ihuited States, and France in the Use of Money. A New Science of Production and Exchange. By J. B. Howe. Monetary and Industrial Fallacies. A Dialogue. By J. B. Howe. Poems of Places. Asia. Edited by henry W. Longfellow. Fortune of the Republic. Lecture delivered at the Old South Church, March 30, 1878. By Ralph Waldo Emerson. Van Dyck. Boston Illustrated. Uncle Toms Cabin; or, Life among the Lowly.. By harriet Beecher Stows. New Edi- tion, with Illustrations, and a Bibliography of the Work, by George Butlen, Esq., F. S. A. With an Introductory Account of the Work. Poems sf Ihouse and home. By John James Piatt. Atiston. John Lothrop Motley. A Memoir. By Oliver Wendell holmes. Poems of Places. Edited by theory W. Longfellow. New England. Vote. 1 and 2. Boston Monday Lectures. heredity. With Pre- indes on Cnrrent Events. By Joseph Cook. The Lady of the Aroostook. By W. B. Itowells. Poems of Places. Middle States. Edited by Henry W. Longfellow. Poems of Places. Southern States. Edited by henry W. Longfellow. Artists of the Nineteenth Century and their Works. By Clara Erskine Clement and Lawrence Hutton. In two volumes. Lee and Shepard, Boston: Mother Goose Rhymes. With Silhouette Illustrations. By J. F. Goodridge. A Womans Word: and how she Kept it. By Virginia F. Townsend. Flaxie Frizzle Stories. Select Poems. By harvey Rice. Edwin Booths Prompt-Books of Macbeth, Richard the Second, Bru~as, and Othello. Edited by William Winter. The Salary Grab. By W. S. Robinson ( War- rington ). Tracts for the People. No. 11. Meg, a Pastoral, and other Poems. By Mrs. Zadet Barnes Gustafoon. Daisies. By Wittiam Buruton. Spir itual Manifestations. By Charles Beecher. Re- surgit: A Collection of Hymns and Songs of the Resurrection. Edited, with Notes, by Frank Fox- croft. With an Introduction, by Andrew Preston Peabody, B. B. J. B. Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia: The Play- mate. A Picture and Story Book for Boys and Girls. Edited by Uncle Ilerbert. My Picture Story-Book in Prose and Poetry for the Little Ones. Edited by Uncle tharry. Annotated Poems of Standard English Authors. Edited by the Rev. E. T. Stevens and the Rev. B. Morris. Grays Elegy. Goldsmiths Deserted Village. Scotts Lady of the Lake. Gotdsmiths Traveller. Goethe. Foreign Classics for English Readers. Edited by Mrs. Oliphant. Guatemozin. A Drama. By Malcolm Macdonald. Angelo, the Circus Boy. By Frank Sewall. Iris : The Romance of an Opal Ring. By 51. B. H. Toland. Genevieve of Brabant. A Legend in Verse. By Mrs. Charles Willing. Change the Whisper of the Sphinx. By William Leighton. Esthetics. By Eugdne Vdron. Translated by W. hi. Armstrong, B. A. Modern Rhymes. By William Entriken Baily. Philosophy, Ihistorical and Critical. By Andrd Le- f~vre. Translated, with an Introduction, by A. H. Keane, B. A. Pindar. By the Rev. F. B. Morice, M. A. Annotated Poems of English Authors. Edited by the Rev. E. T. Stevens, M. A., and Rev. B. Morris, B. A. Tbe Task. By William Cowper. Molihre. By Mrs. Oliphant and F. Tarver, M. A. Airy Fairy Lilian. A Novel. By the Author of Phyllis. 128 [July.

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The Atlantic monthly. / Volume 44, Issue 262 Galaxy, Atlantic Atlantic Monthly Co. Boston August 1879 0044 262
Preaching 129-137

THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY: A ]J1A~AZINE OF .LITERA TUB JJ, SCIENCE, ART, AND POLITICS. VOL. XLIV.AUGUST, 1879.No. CCLXII. 4- PREACHING. IT is to be observed that preaching is something in which perfection is not at- tainable. The highest excellence in tbis work is but an approximation. The ob- ject of preaching, expressed in the larg- est way, is the formation, culture, and d~velopment of human character, and the guidance of conduct or life, in ac- cordance with the laws, requirements, and obligations of our moral nature or being. With this in view as the end, preaching employs, as an instrument or means, the presentation of religious truth and thought, especially in Christian teaching the truths and doctrines of Christianity; the chief source whence these are to be drawn being the Script- ures of the New Testament, with illustra- tions and helps from the Hebrew sacred books, and from the religious history and experience of mankind. The essential or fundamental princi- ples and truths of Christianity are not presented or expressed in the New Tes- tament in the form of exact, definite, direct propositions, so as to be appre- hended with equal readiness, success, and perfection by minds of every char- acter; but these principles belong to a class of ideas which in some measure depend for their apprehension upon mor- al and mental conditions, upon states of the will, the heart, or the moral char- acter. In the phrase of the New Testa ment, they are spiritual truths or prin- ciples, and must be spiritually discerned or understood. These principles of Christianity are in this respect like most of the ideas which are conveyed in poe- try and by the forms of other kinds of art; that is, for their adequate reception a certain preparation in the quality or attitude of the mind, and in the char- acter of the person, is necessary. Ideas and truths connected with al- most all subjects of serious human inter- est may be appropriately employed in preaching. Innumerable facts of science in all its great departments may be right- ly used in sermons, when such facts and truths are dominated and subordinat- ed by a spiritual or religious purpose. Anything which can be made to serve a spiritual end may be of use, but all the elements and materials employed in preaching should be fused by a central, controlling, religious idea and motive. This spiritual or religious idea is of course complex. On one side it has, of necessity, an intellectual character; that is, in so far as it consists of thought, or is expressed in the form and by the terms of thought. But preaching, when rightly considered and performed, is not chiefly intellectual, but religious or spir- itual; that is, it concerns itself prima- rily and principally with those faculties of mans being which find expression in Copyright, 1879, by HOUGHTON, Osoooo & Co. 130 Preaching. [August, reverence, trust, and obedience. Preach- ing deals with the will, and with action or conduct, and it addresses the intel- lectual faculties for the sake of these objects. But mans being or nature is a unit, and if the culture of the intel- lect is neglected, the religious character becomes ill balanced, morbid, and un- wholesome. The evils and dangers re- sulting from excessive development of the emotional element in religion, though less portentous now than in other ages, still require examination, and render necessary whatever safeguards knowl- ed~e and foresight can supply. Let us endeavor to see clearly some of the characteristics of the spiritual or religious idea. One of its essential qual- ities is that it always transcends the sphere of the transient, special, or par- ticular, and passcs into the region of the permanent and universal. All teach- ing which is truly spiritual or religiou~ maintains a constant and direct relation with a moral order which is universal and eternal. This order is always rec- ognized, or the bclicf in its existence is necessarily implied. The end, object, or purpose of all preachin0 or religious teaching is the production, develop- inent, or cultivation of obedience to the requirements of this moral order, of trust in its sovereign adequacy, and of harmony and (onformity with it. The personality or character of man as a moral being stands within this moral or- der, and is related to it. This order ex- isted before he began to be, and he is in some sense produced by it, and is a part of it. It is a peculiarity of mans being and of his relations to this order that he learns progressively of its existence, nature, and requirements; that he can never know or comprehend it perfectly, or attain to a complete or finished liar- mony or unity with it. His nature pos- sesses or includes the capability of end- less approximation or advance toward a perfection of vital harmony and oneness with this order, which is never to be completely attained, but which consti- tutes, in every stage of his progress, a most powerful incentive, inspiration, and ideal. The preachers faculties being finite, and their work necessarily imperfect, it constantly results that he does. not ad- equately distinguish between what is special, transient, and subordinate, and what is universal, permanent, and su- preme. His work is here so much a matter of relative or comparative em- phasis, its quality depends so largely upon the character, insight, and genius of the man himself, that no adequate rules or directions for its right perform- ance can be given. Some men have minds so mechanical and unspiritual that it is impossible for them ever to learn to preach usefully, and it may be conceded that sonic representatives of this class have in almost every age found their way into the pulpit. One of the chief dangers or dekcts of preaching in our time, in this country at least, is its tendency to become predom- inantly intellectual, to deal wit.h all its materials by intellectual methods. The facts, truths, principles, and ideas ems- ployed and illustrated in American preaching to-day belong, in great part, to the domain of the intellect, and are of a nature to stimulate chiefly the intel- lectual faculties, and to be apprehended by them. They are not marshaled by a spiritual purpose to spiritual ends, are not fused or assimilated by any power of adequate spiritual vitality. Preach- ing of this intellectual kind consists largely of argument and discussion, and it therefore necessarily produces and cultivates chiefly activity of the intel- lectual faculties; that is, a mental condi- tion or attitude of a critical or question- ing character, a spirit of doubt. The religious spirit is essentially the spirit of trust and of obedience. The special tendencies and developments of thought which characterize our own age have been, in too great measure, reproduced in the preaching of the time. We have had too much of preaching for the times;~~ that is, the preaching has dealt too largely with timings which are recent and transient, with the superficial and particular rather than with the vital, per- manent, and universal. The deepest and highest powers of 1879.] Preaching. the nature of man respond only to spir- itual or universal influences and ideas. Nothing is potent or vital enough to summon his faculties to their highest and hest a& ivity except a perception or revelation of his relations to the uni- versal order, and of the duties proceed- ing from and depending upon these re- lations. It is wholesome and good for man it feeds the very sources of his life to stand awed before the majesty and heauty of the moral order of the universe and the strength of its eternal laws. It is not possible that his nature should he so expanded, stimulated, and purified, or raised to such perfection of vitality and action, by any other influ- ence. To produce and develop this per- ception is one of the most important ob- jects of preaching; hut it is not attained by the method of treating religion chief- ly as a matter of knowledge, as some- thing to he exylained and understood, a theory or system of thought, to he de- fended by argument and sustained hy refuting ohjections. There is much preaching in this coun- try wbich is a potent and valuable means of intellectual culture, but which has little of the religious or spiritual quali- ty which should characterize Christian preaching. Many of the most intelli- gent, active, and influential ministers have for several years devoted much at- tention to the peculiar literature of mod- ern science; and they have reported to their hearers the speculations and theo- ries of the men who write about science for the magazines and reviews, regard- ing subjects which are most closely and vitally connected with the religious and theological beliefs belonging to Chris- tianity, and with the principles, laws, sanctions, and obli,ations of Christian practice and character. The dissolving or disintegrating tendencies of modern scientific thought have thus been to a great extent combined with the preach- ing of the time, and so conveyed into the minds of the people who make up the churches of this country. Multitudes have in this way been made acquainted with the skeptical elements and tenden- cies of the thought of the age, and have 131 been brought to feel the force of the ob- - jections which materialism has recently urged against the doctrines of Christian- ity. In many cases the scientific, skep- tical, and critical ideas thus presented have had more force with the hearers than the answers or refutations brought forward by the preacher. Many of these scientific objections to the doctrines of Christianity have re- ceived far more attention than is right- ly their due on any ground of intrin- sic weight, value, or respectability; and many of the ministers of the country have thus assisted in the propagation of skeptical notions to an extent which has noticeably influenced the thought of the people. Many persons have been affect- ed by negative and disintegrating ideas with which they would have had little acquaintance but for the carefulness and iteration with which these opinions have been presented in the preaching of the time. It is possible to have too much discussion in preaching. hearers are convinced and confirmed, strengthened and established, rather by the thorough- ness and strength of the ministers own beliefs, by their perception of the confi- dence and certainty which he feels, than by his presentation of arguihents against skepticism. It is always necessary to distinguish between what is superficial and of slight significance in the thought of the time, and what belongs to the class of forces and ideas which work deeply and wide- ly in the mind of an age, gradually pro- ducing important changes in opinion, and so, at len eth~ modifying the struct- ure of society and the civilization of nations or races. I suppose we must say that this power of distinguishing be- tween the superficial and insictnificant manifestations of popular caprice and the real spirit, thought, and voice of the age is something which cannot be taught, communicated, or learned in its entirety; but all real culture assists the development of this discriminating judg- ment or estimate of the comparative val- ue of the different products and tend- encies of human thought. It is also im- portant to observe that the study of his- 132 Preaching. [August, tory and acquaintance with the worlds best literature are specially adapted to assist the formation of the intellectual character which is the basis of such judgment and the ple(lge of its value. Christianity properly changes front from time to time, to meet new forms of evil and error; and its continued exist- ence depends upon this necessary flexi- bility. What changes of relative em- phasis in Christian teaching and prac- tice are required by the new conditions of human life and its environment in our age is an important question, the most vital and momentous, indeed, which can now engage the thought of Americans in connection with religious subjects. This is at once the real issue and the common ground between the conserva- tive and the modern parties in the Chris- tian church. One party emphasizes the value of what has been tried and has done good service in the past; the other emphasizes the need of new weapons, and the advantages of a partial change of front. Neither party has clearly de- fined its own ground or aims, nor have the leaders on either side thought it nec- essary to understand the position of those from whom they differ. Nobody seems prepared, as yet, for any thorough examination or discussion of the subject. It is especially easy, in a time when thought upon religious subjects is becom- ing less vital and spiritual, for men to imagine that there is great value in the use of terms and phrases which have lost their primary significance and vitality, even for those who utter them. The truths, facts, experiences, and forms of thought and expression which furnish the most varied, adequate, and valuable illustrations of the relations between man and the universal order, or Supreme Will, which are anywhere accessible to the preacher are to be found in the He- brew and Christian Scriptures. But the forms of expression used in these books have no magical value. They cannot be successfully used as charms or spells. Their mechanical repetition or pronun- ciation by the human voice does not nec- essarily, or in itself, benefit those who hear. The use of phrases drawn from these high sources is helpful arid tends to edification only if they are employed appropriately, and in connections or re lations in which they have actual mean- 1n~, truth, and efficiency. Many preach- ers with whom I am acquainted, even among those of most pronounced ration- alistic tendencies, often appear to think there is great value in the mere repeti- tion of Old Testament phrases and fig- ures of speech. But in our time even church members read the Bible so little that such expressions are often unintelli- gible, and tend to obscure the thought of the preacher instead of illustrating it. The preacher always rlcals most suc- cessfully with the special sins, dangers, temptations, and evils of any time by using, as the chief substance and text- ure of his teaching, the great funda- mental, permanent, and universal princi- pies and truths of the moral nature and life of man, as they are illustratej in human experience and in ~he moral as- pects of the history of mankind. He may safely trust to the universal nature which is in man and over him to make nearly all necessary special applications of general moral principles and univer- sal truths. It is rarely best to give very elaborate treatment to such themes as form the staple of the newspaper writing of the time, or the prevalent gossip of the community. Yet the necessary dis- tinction here does not consist so much in the difference of the subjects present- ed as in the spirit and manner of their treatment. Many tlrin~s can be profit- ably used as incidental illustrations which could not properly be employed as the chief topics or substance of a sermon. A minister of my acquaintance was once preaching on the subject of truthfulness, and after various illustrations of its im- portance in practice, and of the tempta- tions to unveracity in modern life, he said, It is not open to a member of this church to evade the payment of the tax on dogs by any falsehood or equivo- cation whatever.~ He passed at once to other topics, but this sentence pro- duced important changes in the practice of the citizens of that community, and in the amount of the revenues of the 1879.] Preaching. town. It is not likely that the effect would have been so salutary if my friend had delivered a lecture on dogs, with interesting facts and illustrations from. history and literature, though such a lecture would not have been greatly un- like some modern sermons. One of the special dangers and defects of preaching in this country is connected with the popular liking for oratory in the pulpit, the demand for what is called eloquent preaching. The common Amer- ican idea of pulpit eloquence is low and sensational. It means chiefly a rapid and emphatic utterance of sonorous sen- tences, with something extreme, para- doxical, and violent in the thought pre- sente(l thouTh not much thought is re- quired. People demand of the preacher that he shall arouse and excite them, and they enjoy with a kind of voluptuous- ness the temporary stimulus and thrill of emotion which the preaching causes. It results from the laws of mental action that preaching of this kind does not in- spire conscientiousness, nor tend to prac- tical moral activity. It necessarily pro- duces and fosters mental conditions which are extremely unfavorable to spir- ituality of character and life. This appetite for eloquence, working with other tendencies of the age, has helped to make the preaching in this country dramatic and entertaining, but, in large measure, unspiritual. This, I think, can be rightly retarded only as a calamity, a tendency opposed to the in- terests of religion, adapted to weaken and subvert it, and to lead the people who are influenced by it into a region where religion will be impossible or re- garded as unnecessary. This is one of the most important among the unfavor- able tendencies of the age. It has made preaching more interesting and attract- ive to the masses, but this has been accomplished by sacrificing much that is essential in religion itself. There is a peculiar peril in oratory or eloquence for the orator himself, and few of the idols of popular taste have escaped it. This is the temptation to say things which will arouse and excite people, and so give them the emotional thrill which 133 they require the orator to produce, rather than the things that are true, and that would tend to acquaintance, on the part of the hearers, with their own needs and duties, and to a more rigid subjection of their practice to the laws of Christian morality. The preachers own taste for truth is dulled, and his power of per- ceiving an(l distiucruishino it is gradual- ly lost. Seriousness declines, and the most solemn and sacred doctrines and facts of Christianity come to be regard- ed merely as materials for oratorical dis- play. An enormous egotism disorders all the preachers perceptions of fitness and relation, subverts reverence, and emancipates him from moral obligation. His hearers, on their part, make the emotional enjoyment which they ex- perience in hearing eloquent preaching a substitute for Christian conduct and character. Exceptional instances of this kind are chiefly interesting and signifi- cant as indications of general tenden- cies. The requirements of the people re- garding the social lute and occupations of the minister form a serious hindrance to the spirituality and usefulness of his work. His work demands, more than almost any other, except, perhaps, that of poets and artists, periods of solitude, of silent thought and waiting, of recep- tive communion with the universal and eternal within him an(l around him. It needs, in a peculiar degree, a free, un- fettered condition of his faculties. This is indispensable for the best perform- ance of his work, for the production of the higher qualities in his preaching. Many men have been able to enjoy this disengagement of their faculties, this freedom for (levotion and allegiance to the Highest, in the midst of affairs, con- ditions, and circumstances which, to most observers, appear to have been highly unfavorable to such concentration of faculty. But only the man himself can ascertain and decide what are the nec- essary conditions for the most successful performance of his work. Yet there are very few persons in the churches of this country who appear to have any under- standing or appreciation of this law of. 134 Preaching. [August, the ministers work. The people with whom the preacher lives in closest rela- tions usually think they know much bet- ter than lie how he should arrange and employ his time durin~ the week; and the popular judgment decides that most of his time should be (levoted to drink- ing tea with his parishioners, to what is called going about among the peo- 1de, and making himself at home with them. The history of Christianity shows that the ministry has never possessed great power or authority, or the church a high degree of spiritual vitality, at any time when ministers were accustomed to pass a great portion of their time among their people in ordinary social intercourse with them. It is one of the features of the life of our time that pastoral visitin~, that is, short calls devoted to conversa- tion upon religious subjects, has given place to ordinary social visiting and in- tercourse between the minister and his people. This change is closely connect- ed with important features and tenden- cies of the religion of the age. It has had a great effect upon preachin~ in this country. The modern l)ractice has made impossible, in great measure, the habit of solitary study, and has thus shorn the preaching of the time of the peculiar au- thority and impressiveness which belon0 to utterances which come from lonely heights of thought and experience. As things are at present, the minis- ters hearers are to a considerable extent already familiar with his thou0ht before they meet him at the church. He has been with them durin~ most of the week, and has thus had little time for thoughts arising from beyond the circle of pleas- ant, worldly conversation. I concede willingly all that may be claimed for the influence of the clergyman in thus pro- motin~ culture and refinenient among his people, and so aiding the develop- ment of a higher civilization; but I wish to point out the fact that the minister has in this way lost much of power and authority for his work as a preacher, and it is this work which we are now consid- ering. It is not visiting among the poor or sick that injures a mans power as a preacher, but the modern expectation that he shall spend most of his time among the agreeable people of his par- ish, who live comfortably and like to be entertained. The preaching of the time in this coun- try is as good as the people are willing to hear. Neither in the church nor out of it is there any considerable demand for better preachin~. Where there is most intelligence or culture the chief de- sire in regard to preaching is that it shall be entertaining, and thus suited to attract many hearers who will help to pay the expenses of the church. Under the voluntary systemn,~ as it is called, which prevails here, it would be very difficult to give the people any kind of preaching which they do not want. The persons who need to be taught, guided, and instructed thus fix the standard and determine almost wholly the character of the teaching which they are to re- ceive. This is an incidental effect of the dominion of the masses, of our uni- versal-suffrage arrangement of society. In very few of the churches or congre- gations in this country can there be any continuous or habitual religious teaching which the people do not approve. The standard, or ideal, as to preaching is usually higher among ministers than among their hearers, and many clergy- men maintain a constant strug~le against the injurious tendencies of the popular taste, and try to create in the minds of their hearers an appetite for the higher and more spiritual qualities in religious teaching. But the preaching of the coun- try, like nearly everything else in our national life, is likely to become more and more completely representative of the culture, taste, morality, and entire character of the people who compose the churches. If this is the tendency, the character of the preaching will not there- by be elevated or improved. At last, everythingamong us must de- pend upon the average or aggregate cult- mire, character, and will of the people. They are the real source of everything in our national life, of whatever .good we can hope to keep or establish here, and of all the evils which injure or threat- 1879.] Preaching. 135 en us. Their sovereignty has been com- monly regarded as having its sphere and operation in political affairs. The ballot is esteemed its proper symbol and ex- pression. It is time for us to recognize the fact that under this sovereignty of the people everything in the life and character of our nation, its institutions, religion, morality, culture, and ci~iliza- tion, are dependent upon the character, development, and will of the people. Our people are not yet prepared or disposed to permit or sustain such preaching as is needed for the purification and guid- ance of our national life, and the growth of a higher civilization. The church is still a valuable conserv- ative and vital agency in our national life, but it exhibits only such spirituality, moral illumination, and earnestness as are possesse(l by the people who com- pose it; and it is marked by all that is defective in their culture and character. Under the voluntary system, preach- ing in this country is, in fact and of necessity, almost exactly what the peo- ple who have money wish it to be. Most of the preaching needs improvement. Some influences which our national in- terests most imperatively require should naturally come from this source. They are not now supplied by any agency whatever. But the preaching of the country can be improved, so as to make it more valuable to the nation, only by elevating the popular taste through an a(lvance in the culture of the more in- telligent classes of our people. No ade- (juate instrumentalities for effecting such in advance are yet in existence. The preachers of the country could do much to prepare the way for a better state of things if they would give earnest atten- tion to the facts, conditions, and tend- encies of our national life, but the pop- ular optimism is averse to such study of the facts of the time. The teaching of the Bible in regard to preaching, espe- cially its marked emphasis of the idea that it is the business of the preacher to proclaim the will of God, to deliver a message from Him, to teach the truth, whether men wish to hear it or not; that he is to utter whatever his ultimate con- victions of (luty require him to speak, accepting whatever of suffering or loss may be the result, this has great in- fluence upon all manly and sincere young men in the ministry. It inspires them with something of heroic feeling, and still, even in our time, gives to this pro- fession an element of solemnity, an ideal quality, and a culture in elevated senti- ments not found in equal degree in other professions or occupations, except per- haps among artists. But it soon comes to seem impossible, under the conditions of our modern life, to obey these prin- cij)les, or to maintain an attitude in any wise heroic, except in personal self-de- nial on the part of the minister for the sake of his work, and in the endurance of life-lone pain and regret on account of the difficulty of keeping the Bible es- timate of his work in sight even as an ideal. It would soon increase the vital- ity of religion among us in a marked de- gree, and greatly improve our national life, if the more influential clergymen would unite and cobperate in developing and disseminating scriptural ideas of the moral authority of the pulpit, and its rightful freedom from popular control. The dangers to religion in our time, as well as to the moral interests of our country, are very grave; but it is for the present nearly impossible to interest Americans in anything which depends upon the operation of general and com- plex influences, or far-reaching tenden- cies. Optimism discourages effort for improvement. It is a great maker of 1)hrases, and delights in announcing that truth and right must triumph in the end. It refuses to regard anything that may occur in the mean time as wor- thy of serious attention. Many are anx- ious, but comfort themselves with the hope that things will remain about as they are in our time, and that those who come after us may be wise enough to deal with the increasing difficulties of the next age. Nothing seems very im- portant to our people unless it is of the nature of a catastrophe; nothing arouses them to serious interest but the belief in the near approach of a terrible crisis. There is little love of excellence for its 136 Preaching. [August, own sake among us atpresent, and we are generally not only indisposed to ear- nest, steady devotion to high ideals, but we are almost destitute of respect, ven- eration, and enthusiasm for those who have, in other times, lived in high and noble ways. One chief reason why the heart of the age is not more potently moved by the central personage of the New Testament story is the fact that men have, to a great extent, lost the power to recognize greatness and hero- ism in human character, as they have lost the faculty of reverence for moral grandeur. We have reached a state of things, a stage in the evolution of thought, when a partial change of front on the part of Christianity is necessary to meet the forms of error and evil which have been developed under the new conditions of society in modern times. The enthrone- ment of the masses, and the extension of mans acquaintance with the physical universe, democracy and science, these have been the principal agents in the production of a new environment for religion in modern life. Some consid- erable changes in relative emphasis in Christian teaching are imperatively re- quired by the conditions that have been developed in society since the revival of learnin0. That such changes will some time be made appears to me, for various reasons, probable. But such changes are never wrought by Almighty power operating directly and without human agency. Neither are they produced by the resistless influence of the laws of progress. They have hitherto been brought about very slowly, as the result of mauy small movements and efforts on the part of religious teachers, and of oth- er persons interested in religion and in human welfare. Other-world sanctions have to a treat extent lost their force in Christian teach- ing, and in the thought both of Chris- tians and of the people outside of the church. The influence of what are called the miraculous or supernatural facts of Christian history has also less potency in human thought than ever before. Neither the distant past nor the distant future awes, inspires, or restrains men now as heretofore. The church will be obliged to recognize these changes. The chief line or method of advance is by an increased emphasis upon the sanctions, obligations, and activities belonging to this world and to the moral life of the present time. Heaven can wait. It is not necessary to think much about it while we have strength and time for labor here. But this world ought to be puri- fied, and life here developed, organized, and directed in obedience to the require- ments of order and justice. And for us for Americans this world means our own country. We have no real oppor- tunity or relation with humanity in gen- eral. As they are usually set forth in the phrases of sentimentalists, the broth- erhood of mankind and our duty to hu- Inanity are abstractions without vital meaning or practical value. We have most vital relations, we have boundless opportunity, with the people of our own country. We need the influence of the strongest emphasis that religion can give to our duties as citizens, as members of the national family. Religion should translate the idea of the brotherhood of man into the idea and fact of the fra- ternity of the people of our country. Righteousness, justice, order, patriotism, these are the principles which relig- ion should henceforth emphasize in this country. If Christianity should come to mean this and do this, it would regain its lost vitality and sovereignty; it would be again a light to guide and a law to govern mankind. But all the experience of the past makes it probable that such a change of front and shifting of relative emphasis on the part of Christianity will not be accomplished without enormous loss, in- jury, and moral disintegration. I do not know how much of this might be pre- vented if a few of our teachers and lead- ers were wise enough to begin at once to act upon the lessons which time is sure to teach; but there are few signs of such wisdom among us. The old be- liefs are losing their power, but no new sanctions of equal or adequate vitality are taking the place of the convictions 1879.] The Future of Invention. 137 which are thus perishing. No human power can prevent this decay of the old beliefs, and no wise man could wish to hasten it. We need now insight and impulse for the development of the new methods and forms of thought and teach- ing, and the new ideas of life, which are to house and clothe, feed and guide, the emancipated but untaught multi- tudes, who, if left to themselves, are the helpless, predestined prey of the delu- sions always ready to ravage and deso- late the life of a race or generation which has not inherited a vital and adequate religion. Probably the most groundless and ir- rational of the teaching of our time is that of the liberal or rationalistic optimists, who insist that there is no loss of moral vitality, or decay of religion it- self, in this wide-spread breaking down of the old beliefs. The history of times of transition in the past and the known laws of mental action and social change should lead us to expect a long period of intellectual bewilderment, of religious and moral disintegration and political debasement. We shall probably try many wasteful and hazardous experi- ments; the optimists will still prophesy triumphantly; and the people who live after us may learn, if we do not, that new agencies for the education of the people are indispensable, and a new con- secration to the interests and objects of our national life. A few men will think of the flag with something of the pas- sionate devotion with which men former- ly. thought of the cross, and will trans- mit their high ideal to their children as a holy trust, to be guarded and enshrined by each succeeding generation. After measureless toil and suffering, it may be found that Christianity has made a par- tial change of front, that men in this land have again a religion, and that civ- ilization has moved forward to higher grounds. THE FUTURE OF INVENTION. IN our recent national phenomena ticre is no other fact so significant, so start- ling, as the prodigious increase of in- ventions, both in their number and in their influence over business and daily life. Within the past ten years far more patents have been issued than during all our previous history, although the for- mer period is more than half made up of our most prolonged and serious commer- cial crisis, while the latter includes near- ly every prosperous season that we have ever known. Could the hard times ma- teri~lly soften, we might expect such a rush of new improvements as would re- semble the bursting of a torrent through an ice gor,, e. But even as matters are, with an a~gregate of more than two hun- dred thousand patents (mostly recent) and a weekly issue filling a ponderous printed volume, we cannot but feel our- selves in the presence of a growing force, which is not to be estimated, and which is assuredly the greatest factor of mod- ern life. Already nearly all other interests have begun to cluster around invention. It is a matter of common remark that most of the capital of the country is somehow bound up in patents, or drifting toward union with them. They raise or lower the value of farm lands and city lots. The great railroad arteries pulsate under their pressure from end to end. The manufacturer who ignores them invites speedy ruin. The merchant sells under them. Time farmer, the mechanic, the miner, all work for them or by their au- thority. They constitute the most lu- crative branch of. legal practice. Vast sums are continually changing hands in the litigation upon them. They have probably made and unmade more fort- unes than all other agencies combined.

W. H. Babcock Babcock, W. H. The Future of Invention 137-147

1879.] The Future of Invention. 137 which are thus perishing. No human power can prevent this decay of the old beliefs, and no wise man could wish to hasten it. We need now insight and impulse for the development of the new methods and forms of thought and teach- ing, and the new ideas of life, which are to house and clothe, feed and guide, the emancipated but untaught multi- tudes, who, if left to themselves, are the helpless, predestined prey of the delu- sions always ready to ravage and deso- late the life of a race or generation which has not inherited a vital and adequate religion. Probably the most groundless and ir- rational of the teaching of our time is that of the liberal or rationalistic optimists, who insist that there is no loss of moral vitality, or decay of religion it- self, in this wide-spread breaking down of the old beliefs. The history of times of transition in the past and the known laws of mental action and social change should lead us to expect a long period of intellectual bewilderment, of religious and moral disintegration and political debasement. We shall probably try many wasteful and hazardous experi- ments; the optimists will still prophesy triumphantly; and the people who live after us may learn, if we do not, that new agencies for the education of the people are indispensable, and a new con- secration to the interests and objects of our national life. A few men will think of the flag with something of the pas- sionate devotion with which men former- ly. thought of the cross, and will trans- mit their high ideal to their children as a holy trust, to be guarded and enshrined by each succeeding generation. After measureless toil and suffering, it may be found that Christianity has made a par- tial change of front, that men in this land have again a religion, and that civ- ilization has moved forward to higher grounds. THE FUTURE OF INVENTION. IN our recent national phenomena ticre is no other fact so significant, so start- ling, as the prodigious increase of in- ventions, both in their number and in their influence over business and daily life. Within the past ten years far more patents have been issued than during all our previous history, although the for- mer period is more than half made up of our most prolonged and serious commer- cial crisis, while the latter includes near- ly every prosperous season that we have ever known. Could the hard times ma- teri~lly soften, we might expect such a rush of new improvements as would re- semble the bursting of a torrent through an ice gor,, e. But even as matters are, with an a~gregate of more than two hun- dred thousand patents (mostly recent) and a weekly issue filling a ponderous printed volume, we cannot but feel our- selves in the presence of a growing force, which is not to be estimated, and which is assuredly the greatest factor of mod- ern life. Already nearly all other interests have begun to cluster around invention. It is a matter of common remark that most of the capital of the country is somehow bound up in patents, or drifting toward union with them. They raise or lower the value of farm lands and city lots. The great railroad arteries pulsate under their pressure from end to end. The manufacturer who ignores them invites speedy ruin. The merchant sells under them. Time farmer, the mechanic, the miner, all work for them or by their au- thority. They constitute the most lu- crative branch of. legal practice. Vast sums are continually changing hands in the litigation upon them. They have probably made and unmade more fort- unes than all other agencies combined. 138 The Puture of Invention. [August, Even in our seven greatest grain-grow- ing States of the Northwest, from Ohio to Minnesota, the aggregate value of the manufacturing interest was shown by the last census to exceed the aggregate value of the agricultural interest by about sev- enty-six millions of dollars; and nearly all of the former sum is said to be in- vested in or employed under recent pat- ents. No doubt the excess would be much more at the present day. A com- petent witness recently declared that it would require a population of nine mill- ions, without machinery, to do what the State of Massachusetts is doing to-day, this, when factories have lain idle for three years and more at Amesbury, and all over the State only a small propor- tion of them have been working full force and full time! Perhaps we cannot better realize the situation than by con- sidering for a moment the effect of a sudden abolition of this complex artifi- cial system which we have built about us. The confiscation of half the real estate of the country would scarcely be a more staggering blow to vested inter- ests an(l settled order. It is plain that we have evoked very literally a genius, which for good or evil will mold us to its will. We have al- ready lost power over it, and can only ask, What will it do to us and with us? XVhat changes may we expect from it in our great national life and the yet greater life of the world outside? If anything can be worth considering, this surely is; for it refers to a future which intimately concerns us all, and which will not long delay its coming. Let us begin by considering the nature of this force, and its past history and results. A little thought will show that all inventions have their origin either in the desire to get something new, or in the desire to get something more cheaply. The former class would of course pre- ponderate at first, since the tendency to acquire is generally greater than the tendency to save; and primitive man feels first of all the instinctive impulse to expand his powers. There is, at all stages, something very fascinating to the imagination in the advances of our race as a whole toward the subjugation of nature and the application of her laws and powers to mans benefit. But with the growing needs of a developing civ- ilization, we should naturally expect to see that class of inventions come into view which looks first of all ~o economy in production. Especially is this true of such as tead to lessen the need for prime movers, such as human hands, the sup- ply of which increases but slightly. These expectations have been fulfilled. Until the last two or three centuries, most inventions had for their object the bringing of some new field under human control, the enabling men to have or to do what they could not have or do be- fore. The mariners compass, gunpow- der, printing, and at earlier periods glass, iron-working, bronze, the bow, and the production of fire, may be cited as a few familiar instances of them. They came at wide, though decreasing, inter- vals; partly because of the dense, yet diminishing, ignorance of the world in physical matters, and partly because the laws of mental action make radical dis- coveries an(l vast acquisitions compara- tively infrequent even in the most en- lightened times. But they engrossed pretty nearly all the iuventive power then manifest. The world was generally too crude and fragmentary to offer much encouragement to wholesale manufact- ure, and human labor was almost every- where a drug. Moreover, a ready remedy for any special need of the kind was found in a raid over the borders of some neighboring state and the enslavement of a portion of its people. Even after these practices ceased, an unsettled and warlike feeling remained, which despised the useful arts, and tended to discourage economy as compared with the acquisi- tion and manifestation of power. Un- fortunately, this spirit is not quite dead even yet. But at leno-th the growing standard of comfort and the increasing love of peace had created, or stimulated, in certain countries a demand for articles of use and wear, which spread from class to class. Rapid, cheap, and multitudinous production became more and more es The Future of Invention. sential; for it was necessary to supply with profit the many who were not rich. The first stumbling-block was soon found in the multitude of artisans needed, machines which demanded the most ex- pensive of fuel, and at best could work only at a slow rate. It ivas imperative to substitute as far as possible something which should be vastly less costly and more efficient. Thus the spinning-jenny, the power-loom, and a legion of improve- ments came into being, each stimulating the others, and all urging forward the production of textile fabrics. Concur- rent with these were advances or tenta- tive efforts in most of the other arts, each having the same general object. Invention had entered on a new era. It is worthy of remark that at this point the force of which we treat en- countered for the first time a vehement opposition, which did not proceed from mere theological bigotry or hatred of in- novation. It has been the fashion of late years to berate as blind and ungrate- ful fools the weavers who persistently thwarted Cartwright and mobbed Jac- quard; but it may be questioned wheth- er a good (leal could not be advanced in favor of their intelligent appreciation of what was to come. The average human intellect is unfortunately too apt to con- sider class interests and personal inter- ests rather than the grand advance of the race, and the dread of the (liscoinforts of a transitional period, through which we and our immediate descendants must certainly pass, finds very little allevia- tion in the thought of a possible milIeu- niuin beyond. As men, these resisters of progress were doubtless wrong, but as weavers, they were (in some sense) right. At least they acted, however ha- potently, in the line of the interests of their class. They had made the ac- quaintance of the labor-saving machine, and they realized, in spite of specious ar- guments, that it was the enemy of the mechanic, as a mechanic. As we draw nearer and nearer to our own times, we find the cheapening de- vices gaining ground more and more in number and prominence. We meet in brilliant succession, it is true, with the steam-engine, the steamboat, the tel- egraph, vulcanized rubber, the ice ma- chine, Bessemer steel, the sand-blast, the telephone, and a number of others which constitute real advances; but they are only a handful in comparison with the multitude of inventions which have cheapness for their chief object. At first, outlets for superfluous work- men were readily found. The new dis- coveries opened new fields for demand, and wants of all sorts were stimulated. The man who had been crowded out of weaving in his youth might learn to make horseshoe nails, or pins, in middle life, and at worst he could handle a sickle in the harvest field till old age came on. Moreover, telescopes and microscopes, steam-engines and cotton-gins, all re- quired workmen for their manufacture. The very labor-saving machines them- selves were in the last analysis the work of the mechanics hands. Back of all this lay the great need of the raw ma- terials, such as grain, cotton, wool, wood, gold, silver, iroh, and coal, all of which, in some way, had to be won from the earth by the effort of human strength. At first sight it might seem as if the compensation would be permanently ade- quate; and indeed it has generally been so regarded. But there are strong rea- sons for believing that in this the polit- ical economists (or some of them) have been wrong, and the uninstructed but interest-sharpened instincts of the work- ingman right. The outlets and compensations men- tioned obviously have their limits. Rail- roads, telegraphs, and steamboat lines, ranking among the greatest of them, can- not be infinitely extended. The earth itself is bounded, and we cannot cover it all with tracks. Already this country is blessed with a number of railways which are more likely to be abandoned than completed. Moreover, a railway once constructed has fulfilled the great- er measure of its utility in this regard. It employs few men beside those needed for repairs, protection of property, and management of its rolling stock. It di- minishes, their number by the use of la- bor-saving machines in its shops and on 1879.] 139 140 The Future of Invention. [August, its trains. It has, and often uses, every advantage of the market over those who remain. The same applies to steamboats and telegraphs, thbugh in less degree. The greatest compensation is perhaps to be found in the increased demand for raw material and for the production of food on a larger scale. At the base of nearly all our manufactures, except such as are worked by elemental power, lie the coal beds; and the more multifarious the forms of improvement the greater will be the demand for fuel. But then a single man can quarry in a few hours the condensed and conserved, power of many men for many days. Experience shows that this receptacle for overflow is itself generally overflowing. The same is true of gold mining, iron mining, and all allied industries. Everywhere the workingman is superseded by machinery, or he works to such advantage that one can supply what many may need. Agriculture underwent a decided rev- olution with the rise of the manufactur- ing interest. From a means of provid- ing the household it became a field for speculation, or a medium for supplying the multitudes who had left their normal position as the pro(lucers of their own food. It retains this wholesale and half- speculative character yet, and might, in this aspect, seem to offer a refuge. But here again the labor-saving machine in- terposes at every turn, and warns the machine of flesh and blood off the prem- ises. The reaper has driven him main- ly from the harvest field, the thresher from the threshing-floor. The cultiva- tor is half a dozen hoes in one, and the horse-rake a dozen rakes. The binder takes the place of four or five addition- al laborers. Improvements crowd fast upon one another, and each means a few more men out of the way. Nor can the workiugman profitably farm (as a rule) on his own account, for the sup- ply of the market. The above-men- tioned cheapening devices have made the production of breadstuffs so excessive that they will generally bring but a very low price, not nearly enough to pay ex- penses and interest on borrowed capital. Many writers have assumed that the stimulated demand for familia& articles (partly arising from the greater activity of desire and the enlargement of hope due to our material advances, and part- ly caused by the improved quality of the goods manufactured by machinery) will always counterbalance the enormously increased supply pro(luced by an un- changed, or but slightly changed, aggre- gate of hands working with the aid of continually improving machinery. But a little thought will show that this ex- pectation is fallacious. The necessaries of life can never be required in more than certain quantities, and this is meas- urably true even of its luxuries as well. If hats become very cheap, a man may get a new one every month, instead of two or three a year; but no man can pos- sibly need, or will buy, many more than the former number. The same is true of shoes and clothing. The cheapness of glass has caused it to be introduced into nearly every house outside of the backwoods; but after all, a dwelling cannot be entirely window-panes. Lu- cifer matches, pins, brooms, and other perishable articles may be used as waste- fully as their reduced cost suggests, but nevertheless the bounds are easily reached. The number of horseshoes and horseshoe nails required is necessa- rily determined by the number of horses in use, and this cannot be multiplied at will. Newspapers and periodicals are numerous enough to make the world stare; but publishers have already dis- covered that it is possible to overload the reading public. If more tools be produced than can be used by the car- penter, the blacksmith, the gardener, or some other of the mechanical fraternity, they will lie unbought; and a great part of the work of these men either is not affected by the improvement of machin- ery or is superseded by it. A given num- ber of persons can dispose of but a given maxinium of prepared food or medicine, even if they have at their command all the cheapening and multiplying mecha- nism of which the human mind can con- ceive. Nor does the numerical increase of the race from generation to ,,eneration bear an~ considerable proportion to its The Future of Invention. growing facilities for producing the ar- ticles which it needs. Of course, with the advance of civil- ization new articles of luxury are re- quired, and here there is a real, though inadequate, compensation. It is inade- quate, because with all of us the novel- ties of life bear but a small proportion to the things which have been long and familiarly used; because under our pres- ent social system the great majority of the people cannot afford many luxuries; and because ingenuity is less readily ex- erted in discovery than in improvement. It is far easier to shorten or expedite travel than to find a new country; it is far easier to simplify the manufacture of old things than to devise radically new ones. Moreover, as soon as any great demand grows up in this field, the labor- saving machine appears again, reduc- ing the number of laborers who are thus relieved. It must be remembered, also, that labor-saving devices, and indeed inven- tions of all kinds, often absolutely lessen demand instead of increasing it. Sup- pose, for example, that the many at- tempts at producing a satisfactory trac- tion engine should result in success; is it not evident that the number of horses in use would be greatly diminished? This wQuld similarly reduce the demand for horseshoes, horseshoe nails, curry- combs, and harness of all sorts, every one of which now forms the centre of extensive manufacturing interests, em- ploying many men. Again, the vast im- provements in machinery for metal-work- ing, wood-working, leather-working, and the like, Qf necessity tend to lessen the need for the tools required to labor at those trades by hand. Every simplifica- tion (and most real improvements are siinplifications) of a process does away not only with some of the men former- ly employed upon it, hut also with the tools or ingredients which those men used in working, and which other men pre- pared elsewhere. This deduction must be made in every department. One may almost say that every labor-saving de- vice is also a material - saving device. Its effect in stimulating demand for the articles which it produces and for those which are used in it is largely off-set by its effect in destroying demand for other articles. The remaiuing increase of de- mand will not at all compensate for the enormous increase of supply which most of these improvements afford. The achievements of some of these latter - day inventions read almost like fairy tales. They have been so fre- quently published of late that 4t seems needless to present an array of figures here. We find the same phenomena in every one of the useful arts. The re- cent Congress called out some interest- ing facts with regard to one of the least familiar of them. A report having been circulated that a certain bureau of the government was injudiciously using pat- ented machinery instead of human labor in a part of its work, a resolution of in- quiry was passed, which led to the dis- covery that the change had resulted in a saving of about seventy-five per cent. of the expense. This represented the salaries or wages of nearly the whole force previously employed for the same service. Almost the only compensation for this permanent diminution of the de- mand for human labor is to be found in the small amount of such labor tempo- rarily required to construct the machines, and to replace them, in whole or in part, as they wear out after long use. The same result must have followed wherever the same machines were introduced. The most astonishing results of this sort, however, are found in the manu- facture of small articles of ordinary use. Formerly, horseshoes were made one at a time by hand. The amount of labor and time required to transform a large, thick bar of metal into something so dif- ferent as a heap of nails may be readily imagined. With all possible skill and exertion, only a comparatively small number could be produced in a given period. Now we have machines which will take bar after bar of metal as fast as it can be supplied, cut it into suit- able lengths, compress it to any diam- eter in cross section, turn, shape, feed, point, cut, polish, and finally deliver into any receptacle, without human interven 1879.] 141 142 The Future of Invention. [August, tion at any stage of the process. The bars go in at one end, and the nails come out at the other, in a continuous stream. It is obvious that a machine of this kind, with its attendant, will take the place of a nuniber of hand laborers not easily to be computed; and this in a market which is not capable of any very great expan- sion. In such a case, there is hardly any compensation beyond the slight tem- porary ones above noticed. The same may be sai(l, with scarcely diminished force, of the manufacture of pins and other small articles. Of pins and nee- dles in particular, we are told that the chief labor in their manufacture is now the sticking them into the paper. Yet it is not so very long since they were made by a slow and laborious succession of some half a dozen han(I processes. In fact, there is hardly any one minor arti- cle of metal which cannot be produced by some existing machine nearly or quite as fast as a man can count. Even the more complicated operations, such as the manufacture of brooms, are performed automatically and rapidly by a single machine, with very little human aid. Every stage of wood-working has under- gone a similar transformation, from the sawino and planing of huge masses of lumber to the shapin~ and throating of spokes, and the turning of irregular forms for childrens toys. The list might be very considerably ex- tended. Everywhere we meet with the same state of facts. The labor-saving machine is entering every field, and its entrance is to the workman an irresist- ible command to go. We are brought face to face with a problem which is es- sentially new. To the contemporaries of Watt or of Arkwright the present quandary was what the future exhaust- ion of the coal fields is to us, a great fact looming in the distance, full of changes for the race, but without imme- diate application. It was more than this, only to the extent that it compelled many persons to change their methods of earning a livelihood, a serious in- convenience, no doubt, but not ruinous so long as only a few departments were occupied by machinery. But this is no longer true. Every-day experiefice and observation show that men are frequent- ly thrown out of employment, and are re- duced to great straits by their inability to get work elsewhere. Where is the field in which the supply is not greater than the demand? Who can show any reasonable hope that this will be re- versed? The country swarms with the unemployed wandering from place to place. For years we have been growing accustomed to the growlings of labor in all our cities. The disease has contin- ued so long that it unmistakably indi- cates a deep-seated and permanent cause, which can be cured only by a radical change of conditions in the great body of the people. The crisis is delayed by the natural conservatism of mankind. If we were now practically using all the labor-sav- ing appliances at command, the number of laborers employed would be much less than it actually is. In point of fact, many manufacturers, producers, and users on a large scale cling, through force of habit, to old, slow ways, and resist or distrust innovations. There are large and fertile agricultural districts where the self-hinder is just making its way, and the sulky-plow and wheel corn-plant- er are almost unknown. The great ma- jority of brick-makers do not use brick niachines of any sort. Very many per- sons, through prejudice, decline to buy machine - made shoes or clothing. A good deal of house carpentry is still done by hand, which could be (lone more ex- peditiously and as well by existing ma- chines. Most railroads as yet prefer a full complement of brakemen to the air- brake, and only a few have substituted for human hands any one of the fifteen hundred patented ear-couplers now on record and accessible to the public. Doubtless many other instances might be cited, but they serve only to postpone for a little the hour which must come. Conservatism is giving way every day before the demonstration of increased utility, convenience, and cheapness; and this is accelerated by the great efforts made by the owners of most of these in- ventions to secure their general adop Tb e Future of Invention. tion. Every improvement in their effi- ciency commends them more and more to the attention of all who need of them. The first effect of the flood of inven- tions now pouring in, when most of those already existing have been generally brou,,ht into use, will be to throw out of employment by far the greater number of persons now working on wages, and to make it impossible for them to get similar employment elsewhere. This will be brought about gradually as a re- sult of tbe causes and limitations herein- before stated, but (in the absence of war, or any great property-destroying or la- bor-employing agent) it will have reached a point before many years which will be simply intolerable. This distress will not check invention, for the prevailing lowness of prices will stimulate manu- facturers to use every possible means for still further reducing expenses, and the demand of the people for the necessa- ries of life cannot be greatly changed. But some outlet for the workingman will become a necessity, and fortunately such an outlet exists. If our civilization rests on the coal beds, it is none the less true that our hu- manity rests on the soil. Our normal condition is that of the infant drawing its sustenance from its mothers breast. All our other arrangements are essen- tially artificial. We have built up on our primitive foundation an elaborate piece of architecture, which will soon topple (Iowa by its own ~veight, its frag- ments forming a stronger basis for the simpler structure which will follow. The support of man by man is the exception; the support of man directly by mother earth is the general law of the race. Our recent history is the only wide-spread attempt at overturning that law which the world can show; and it is not so much a designed effort at subversion as an inevitable, though in some sense ab- normal, transition state. For the first time we have comparatively few men who are simply producing what they eat and use. The remainder comprise a minority of producers, and a great majority of remolders, traffickers, and consumers. The minority provide the majority with food, and both the majority and the mi- nority are divided into numerous groups of varying size, each consisting of work- ingmen governed in some sense by a pro- prietor or proprietors. This leaves the great mass of mankind dependent on the will or the misfortune of the few; it is unfavorable to independence of thought and action; it perpetuates needless class distinctions; and it insures a vast amount of distress among those who do the hard work of the world. The natural escape from all this is the return of the masses to their normal and healthful existence as tillers of the soil, not for the sake of speculation or considerable sale, but for the means of living. There is no one of our States which does not offer abundant space for settle- ment and cultivation. The practical dif- ficulties would very speedily dwindle if they were seized by determined hands. Everywhere along the Atlantic slope there are waste lands which are quite beyond the reach of agricultural ma- chines, and these tracts are genarally very cheap. Only a small amount of land is necessary for subsistence, if plen- ty of labor be expended; an(l it would not be difficult to procure a locality where the water and the woods might add a variety of food. An independent, even if isolated, life of this sort would soon be found more satisfactory than a subordinate and precarious existence on wages, and would certainly be infinitely preferable to the hopeless hanging about after a job. Under the pressure of which I speak, the workiugmen would soon feel the necessity of aiding one another to make the change of life suggested; those who had prospered .in it would gladly urge and assist others to do like- wise; and the manufacturer and capital- ist, desirous of securing stability for his property, would see the wisdom of lend- ing a helping hand. The remedy will doubtless come as gradually as the need, and not until after the latter has been long and sorely felt. But when there is an imperative necessity for relief, and only one possible method of escape, it is idle to suppose that any such obstacles as exist can permanently bar the way. 1879.] 1I 144 The Future of Invention. [August, It must not be thought that I am pre- a return to barbarism by any part of the population. A self-support- ing life of this kind, begun by persons of fair , could be made a very different thin0 to-day from what it would have been a century ago. It is not at all necessary to set up the old-fashioned spinning-wheel and loom, which give us the words spinster and wife, and which still hold their ground in the less access- ible parts of the Appalachian chain. Clothing is likely at all times to be very cheap, and for this, as well as for other necessaries not easily producible, many things could be exchanged, either direct- ly or through the medium of sale. There are a large number of commodities which from their very nature are ill adapted to be produced by the aid of machinery, and which are proportionally more prof- itable when grown in a small way than on a large scale. These could always be disposed of. An industrious, thrifty family, after having surmounted the first difficulties and hardships, would soon be able to supply themselves with many conveniences beside what their own soil might afford. The workingman would then once more be in league with inven- tion. The labor-saving device would become his friend. It must be remembered that labor-sav- ing devices are of two kinds: those which are designed for accelerating and cheapening wholesale work, and of which we have heretofore spoken, and those which are intended chiefly for household or private use. We hear less about the latter, but they are destined to play a great part in smoothing the road of life and lightening the daily routine of the weaker members of the family. Inven- tion has already been largely directed toward this class of subjects, and under the changed conditions of the future would be still more largely attracted thither. The increase in the number of isolated families would largely increase the demand for many of those articles. Of course their introduction would re- quire time; but improvements make their way finally even to the most seemingly unlikely places. About a year ago an in- stance of this came to my notice.- Rid- ing through a dense piece of woodlands in one of the more sequestered counties of Maryland, I came on a cluster of ne- gro cabins, and in the first one of them that I looked at was a sewing-machine. The four or five thousand patents al- ready issued for washing-machines at- test the need that has been felt to lighten the task of cleansing clothing as now generally performed. It is highly prob- able that among these there are a num- ber which will eventually come into gen- eral use, even in small families. Stoves have been so greatly improved as to make the labor of cooking, in a well- ordered household, comparatively light, and to insure good heating in winter. In districts remote from water, or where the climate is too mild for a cer- tain ice crop, refrigeration is often a troublesome problem. Invention in this direction has reached a point, however, whence we may confidently look forward to an ice-machine of the near future which shall be as manageable and as cheap as an ordinary cooking stove. It will in time be as common to make ones ice for the day or week as to prepare a baking of bread. Unfortunately, no one has as yet de- vised a satisfactory machine for automat- ically sweeping and scrubbing floors, and it is likely that these labors will be gen- erally performed by hand to the end of the chapter. But the toil has been light- ened by improvements in the implements used for such purposes, and there will undoubtedly be further advances in that direction~ The number of patented mop wringers, for instance, is very consider- able, and rotary floor sweepers, like street sweepers, are already in use. Human ingenuity has not yet invent- ed a dining table which will automatic- ally dress and set itself, but tables have been patented which obviate all need of passing things about by hand, or em- ploying a waiter. They are arranged to rotate so as to bring the dishes around when slightly pulled, leaving a stationary platform or rim for holding the plates. There are moreover simple fanning and fly-brushing devices run by chck-work, The Future of Invention. which will keep the household free from annoyance during meals. There is not even any necessity for lifting the coffee- pot and tea - pot, very neat and secure tilting frames being procurable, which reduce the effort to a minimum. These things are all practicable, and obtaina- ble at no great cost. When the patents run out, almost any mechanic can make them for himself. The improvements in churns have made the operation of churning much less onerous than it formerly was. There have been divers efforts to do away with nearly the whole of the remaining toil, by utilizing the ordinary motions of the body for that purpose. In one of the most notable of these, an attachment was made between a ladys rocking- chair and a strong coiled spring, where- by her leisurely oscillation while con- versing or nove1-reading would store up sufficient power to do the mornings churning, or to rock the babys cradle through half the night. This scheme has been considered as carrying the util- ization of waste force almost to the verge of laziness. There are, however, prac- ticable churn powers driven by weights or springs, which need only a little winding up to do all the work required. The watch-dog, too, or a good sturdy setter, can be readily trained to add a little churning to the rest of his duties. A large Newfoundland for a long time manufactured most of the butter in a dairy not far from my office. Something like an ordinary horse-power, of the kind worked by treading, was the me- dium throngh which he operated. Bee-hives, like churns, have formed the subject for a multitude of patents. A good many of them agree in being provided with easily removable drawers or boxes, in which the bees make their combs and leave their honey, ready packed for shipment or storing. By the use of these, all risk of stinging is avoid- ed, and no labor worth mentioning is required. Simple, satisfactory, and cheap milking machines and knitting machines are de- siderata with which we shall doubtless in good time be supplied. The atten VOL. XLIV. so. 262. 10 tion of inventors has long been more or less directed to both subjects, and some- thing is sure to come of it. Already there are devices for both purposes which answer pretty well. In short, there is no branch of domes- tic economy into which invention has not benevolently forced its way; and this is but an indication of what the future will give us. It is apparent that a household taking advanta~e of these improvements would not only be enabled to live in considerable comfort and mod- erate luxury, but would also easily find leisure for a fair share of mental culture and recreation. The degree of civilization attained would depend, naturally, upon the ener- gy and capacity of its members, but it mi0ht well be much higher than that of the average workingman of our cities. It is true that the life which I have sketched does not open a very tempting road to wealth, but then even under the present system we are learning that we cannot all become rich; and there are some already who would prefer a certain independent subsistence, and no more, to the possibility of riches, balanced by dependence and insecurity. As I have elsewhere said, the number will increase perforce by and by. Of course there are many things which an isolated family, such as I have sup- posed, could not ordinarily manufacture in a profitable and desirable manner. No man is likely to set up a nail machine in his kitchen, or a match factory in his parlor. Under any probable state of future affairs it would seem wiser to pick a few berries, or dio a bushel of pota- toes, or trap a rabbit or two, and ex- change them at the nearest roadside store for the needed nails and matches. So, on a larger scale, of iron ware, tin ware, boots, hats, and clothing. Some of these things may doubtless be made satisfactorily at home; but in general the required labor can be better ex- pended in other ways. Nor will inven- tion probably change this. It is more likely to cheapen articles like the above, and thus aid the man who wishes to ob- tain them. 1879.] 145 146 The Future of Invention. [August, A very small farmer raising grain or hay can never work his place as easily as a large farmer. There is practically nothing between a man and a horse in our industry. The reaper is the sim- plest effective machine that a horse can use, and the scythe and cradle are the most considerable and effective that a man can handle. Animal force and physical conditions of resistance deter- mine the matter. And what can a man substitute for a thresher? The poor man of whom I write would do well not to attempt raising wheat. Here he comes into competition again with the labor-saving machine. In his corn patch (for home use) he is relieved from that conflict, and may even turn his old enemy to some account. Prob- ably the machine best adapted to his use in out-door work, and least likely to do any injury, is the combined culti- vator an dpotatodigger. Its little sharp- edged rotary wheels are available for all his root crops, as well as wherever soil is to be loosened or lightened. Invention has not as yet very greatly aided in the picking of small fruits, or the cultivation of leaf crops like tobacco. But under the changed conditions of which I speak, the demand for assistance in expediting such work would be very likely to call forth a suitable supply of devices. For tree fruits there are al- ready numerous well-known forms of gatherers, provided with cutting knives for severing the peach or pear, and bags like inverted liberty caps for receiving them when severed and lowering them uninjured. Still, in almost every prod- uct suitable to cultivation on a small scale, invention finds as yet a promising but almost unoccupied field. The great question, however, for the poor man is, or shortly will be, that of escape from competition with labor-sav- ing machinery by occupying small tracts of land, particularly of such rough wood- land as cannot be successfully invaded by machinery of less flexibility and adapta- bility than the human body. Here flesh and blood have the advantage, and he can live. Making his work easier is a less consideration, but by lightening the labor at home he obtains more assistance from his family in his out-door duties. The time saved from washing and churn- ing may go to weeding and chopping; sewing is convertible into sowing. Thus the certainty of a living and of a fair ex- changeable surplus becomes established. It is a life which can be made a success, and which will be one day the rule rath- er than the exception. This change will of course strengthen all our institutions, by broadening the base of our national life and multiplying the number of those who have a direct property interest in public prosperity. It will not stop the growth of cities, which will still be needed as great dis- tributing centres; nor will it lessen the number of inventions of a different sort from those last referred to. All that is needed now will be needed then, and there will be more people in a position to obtain what they want. The chief revolution will be the general substitu- tion of unintelligent matter for human bodies in nearly all subordinate work, and the greater liberation of the human min(l and will. Concurrent with this will be the more thorough development of the agricultural resources of the coun- try, and the occupancy of its many places now lying waste. All this is not so far away as it may seem. Other changes lie beyond, but they are too remote to be more than guessed at. In time, of course, this country will be absolutely full of inhabitants; so will the entire world at a later date. Be- fore or after this (who can tell which?) the coal fields will give out, and all pos- sible substitutes will follow. As our present civilization rests almost wholly upon coal, and as our social phenomena have thus far been largely caused by the law of the vacuum, we can hardly form a conception of the condition of our re- mote descendants. But the probabili- ties seem to indicate a more placid state than our own, in which personal desire shall play an unimportant part, and in- vention shall appear chiefly as the hand- maid of scientific discovery. Possibly, like the early Christians, the people of that date may have all things in common. W. H. Babcock. The Inland Country. 147 THE INLAND COUNTRY. DOIIOTIIY, draw the curtains, and make the window tight, And cover up the embers, and quench the candle-light; For sometimes folks see clearer without the help of sight. Now, in the pleasant darkness, how plainly I can see The dear, dear inland country, where I used to be! T is morning, and the meadows are glittering like the rills, The tinkling sheep are climbing to pasture on the hills; Ah, fair the apple-orchards, for they are all ablow With blossoms sweet as honey, and blossoms white as snow, Far as the eye can follow, like white tents, row on row; The winds are freshly breathing the sweetness of the May, The grain seems climbing, climbing the hill-side all the day. Beyond the apple-orchard, above the maple-trees, I hear the far-off voices, and tinkling on the breeze; And now against the evenings pale yellow and deep gold I see dim figures turning dim flocks of sheep to fold, Where they will count them over, till the least lamb is told. The cattle in the twilight stand lowing at the bars, And the neighbors talk together under the far, still stars; The harvest moon is rising, the days long work is done, In sound which is next to silence fall dewdrops one by one. All were content to stay there; no one went but me Away from the inland country, where I used to be. The little song-birds, even, build here on rocks and sand, And only sea-grass glitters upon this barren land; Here little red-lipped blossoms the doleful storms foretell, And in bleak nests the sea-birds never in safety dwell; There, from the elm-tree hanging, swingeth the fire-birds nest, But crowds oC pale pink peach-blows the blue-bird loves the best. High slopes of fair green mountains shut in that peaceful land, It always seemed like living in the hollow of Gods hand. I never thought of fearing to feel the fresh wind blow, I was not always thinking, Is t the right wind, or no? There was a great lake lying, all calm and blue and wide, White water-lilies drifted like snow along the side; The neighbors never fretted, nor thought about a tide. I m always fretting, thinking, and watching by the sea, Not in the inland country, where I used to be. There, if a woman s wakened a wild and windy night, Her heart would not be beating with terror and aifright. She d reach out for the children, and smooth them with her haad 1879.]

Christine Chaplin Brush Brush, Christine Chaplin The Inland Country 147-149

The Inland Country. 147 THE INLAND COUNTRY. DOIIOTIIY, draw the curtains, and make the window tight, And cover up the embers, and quench the candle-light; For sometimes folks see clearer without the help of sight. Now, in the pleasant darkness, how plainly I can see The dear, dear inland country, where I used to be! T is morning, and the meadows are glittering like the rills, The tinkling sheep are climbing to pasture on the hills; Ah, fair the apple-orchards, for they are all ablow With blossoms sweet as honey, and blossoms white as snow, Far as the eye can follow, like white tents, row on row; The winds are freshly breathing the sweetness of the May, The grain seems climbing, climbing the hill-side all the day. Beyond the apple-orchard, above the maple-trees, I hear the far-off voices, and tinkling on the breeze; And now against the evenings pale yellow and deep gold I see dim figures turning dim flocks of sheep to fold, Where they will count them over, till the least lamb is told. The cattle in the twilight stand lowing at the bars, And the neighbors talk together under the far, still stars; The harvest moon is rising, the days long work is done, In sound which is next to silence fall dewdrops one by one. All were content to stay there; no one went but me Away from the inland country, where I used to be. The little song-birds, even, build here on rocks and sand, And only sea-grass glitters upon this barren land; Here little red-lipped blossoms the doleful storms foretell, And in bleak nests the sea-birds never in safety dwell; There, from the elm-tree hanging, swingeth the fire-birds nest, But crowds oC pale pink peach-blows the blue-bird loves the best. High slopes of fair green mountains shut in that peaceful land, It always seemed like living in the hollow of Gods hand. I never thought of fearing to feel the fresh wind blow, I was not always thinking, Is t the right wind, or no? There was a great lake lying, all calm and blue and wide, White water-lilies drifted like snow along the side; The neighbors never fretted, nor thought about a tide. I m always fretting, thinking, and watching by the sea, Not in the inland country, where I used to be. There, if a woman s wakened a wild and windy night, Her heart would not be beating with terror and aifright. She d reach out for the children, and smooth them with her haad 1879.] The Inland Country. [August, (Her own ones, sleeping sweetly in that contented land); Without a breath of praying for sailors on the deep, She d turn herself in comfort, and fall away to sleep. Her man and boys are living upon the homestead farm, On green and level pastures, secure and safe from harm! A woman s always wakeful wben her man is on the sea; Not in the inland country, where I used to be! There, if her dears were lying forever still and dead, Though they could never answer one loving word she said, Yet every Sabbath morning she d know that she could pass Their dear graves in the church-yard, all green and fresh with grass. T would seem as if they surely could hear the church-bell ringing, And hear the neighbors voices join in the sweet psalm-singing; And she could sit in the church-yard, beside the gray head-stone, And lay her hand on the dear graves, and sing in tender tone As they were still the children who feared to sleep alone. My man and boys are lying in a strange and far-off sea, Away from the inland country, where I used to be. Dorothy, other women lie by the ones they love, Under the self-same cover, with daisy blooms above; When from my grave I waken, I 11 be alone, you see, My neighbors all together, but none of mine by me. And still I see through the curtain the light-house lantern turn ; Now stir the fire, Dorothy, and let the candle burn. There was no wild sea sounding, no hidden rocks like these, But lights from homestead windows shining through the trees, Beyond sweet-smelling meadows, the grass above your knees; There you could hear the beating of the calm heart of night, And you could hear the pine-trees sweet breathing, low and light, With the soft darkness seeming to heal your tired sight. You cannot understand me, born here beside the sea, And not in the inland country, where I used to be. 0, Dorothy, dear Dorothy, I hear the sad buoy-bell A-moaning and lamenting, as the black waves ebb and swell; Ah me, how weary, dreary, the stories it could tell! I cannot see the flashing from the light-house any more, I cannot see the shadows a-wrestling on the floor; I cannot hear the buoy-bell, nor the waves upon the shore! The holy book bring hither, and read, read plain to me Of that fair inland country, where there is no more sea; Of valleys and still waters, fresh pastures and white sheep; For Dorothy, dear Dorothy, I am too tired to sleep. And draw the clothes about me; this sea-air seems to me More chilling than the coldest of inland winds could be. Oh, look! oh, look and listen! With mine own eyes I see My man and boys a-waiting; I hear them call to me From mine own inland country, where I used to be. 148 An Experiment in Play Writing. 149 Dorothy drew the covers about the quiet breast, And softly stepped aud silently, though none might break that rest, The sleep supreme, unbroken, Gods holiest gift and best. And through the little window the gray, pale dawn looked in: No sea, no sky, but everywhere the mist hung drear and thin; No sea-birds cry, no grating of a boat upon the shore; Oh, nothing, nothing, but the sea with ceaseless rush and roar, And now and then the warning, the calling from aTar, The buoy-bells solemn tolling beyond the harbor bar. Christine Chaplin Brush. AN EXPERIMENT IN PLAY WRITING. SIDONIE is a bright novel. They say the translation is selling by thou- sands. Why dont you dramatize it? Such were the heedless words an ex- perienced dramatist addressed to a non- professional writer one evening, after dinner, of course. Earlier in the day he would not have been so indiscreet. Will you help me with it? Certainly I will. (The dinner must have been a very good one in- deed.) And so the experiment began. My evenings for many a week were thus thoughtlessly mortgaged; and now that the matter is past and gone, the pro- ceeds of the venture having been prin- cipally a mass o~ unsalable. experience, those proceeds may as well be given to the inexperienced public. But Sidonie, my dear fellow, you know in the novel she is a little off color Oh, to be sure. Well, you must tame her down for our market. Let her break all the commandments but one, and bruise that one black and blue, but not break it. How would it do to make her a woman not a bit too good, but very far too shrewd, to be led astray? Capital! A new character in dra- matic fiction, a married flirt! A character not quite unknown in real life. Well, Ive heard so. Perhaps our play might teach a great moral lesson. Oh, ah! You think of depositing the MS. in a leaden box to be placed in some corner-stone? (Sarcasm.) No. I think of having the drama played on the stage. Well, then, draw your married flirt as realistically as les convenances will al- low, and let the great moral lesson take care of itself. Mark Twain say~ that when he wrote a play the manager who presented it began cutting out and rejectii~g portions oE it according to his own taste; and the more he cut it, the better it grew; and that finally he, the author, rather thought that if the managers strength had only held out until he had erased the whole it would have been the very best drama he ever saw in all his life. This probably corresponds very near- ly with the experience of every non- professional writer who ventures on a dramatic experiment under proper pro- fessional guidance. Put yourself in his place, and let me forecast your horo- scope. First, you read and re-read your foun- dation novel (in the French, of course), and then you shut it up, not to be looked at again forever. The more the play re- sembles the novel, the more certain it is 1879.]

Joseph Kirkland Kirkland, Joseph An Experiment in Play-Writing 149-155

An Experiment in Play Writing. 149 Dorothy drew the covers about the quiet breast, And softly stepped aud silently, though none might break that rest, The sleep supreme, unbroken, Gods holiest gift and best. And through the little window the gray, pale dawn looked in: No sea, no sky, but everywhere the mist hung drear and thin; No sea-birds cry, no grating of a boat upon the shore; Oh, nothing, nothing, but the sea with ceaseless rush and roar, And now and then the warning, the calling from aTar, The buoy-bells solemn tolling beyond the harbor bar. Christine Chaplin Brush. AN EXPERIMENT IN PLAY WRITING. SIDONIE is a bright novel. They say the translation is selling by thou- sands. Why dont you dramatize it? Such were the heedless words an ex- perienced dramatist addressed to a non- professional writer one evening, after dinner, of course. Earlier in the day he would not have been so indiscreet. Will you help me with it? Certainly I will. (The dinner must have been a very good one in- deed.) And so the experiment began. My evenings for many a week were thus thoughtlessly mortgaged; and now that the matter is past and gone, the pro- ceeds of the venture having been prin- cipally a mass o~ unsalable. experience, those proceeds may as well be given to the inexperienced public. But Sidonie, my dear fellow, you know in the novel she is a little off color Oh, to be sure. Well, you must tame her down for our market. Let her break all the commandments but one, and bruise that one black and blue, but not break it. How would it do to make her a woman not a bit too good, but very far too shrewd, to be led astray? Capital! A new character in dra- matic fiction, a married flirt! A character not quite unknown in real life. Well, Ive heard so. Perhaps our play might teach a great moral lesson. Oh, ah! You think of depositing the MS. in a leaden box to be placed in some corner-stone? (Sarcasm.) No. I think of having the drama played on the stage. Well, then, draw your married flirt as realistically as les convenances will al- low, and let the great moral lesson take care of itself. Mark Twain say~ that when he wrote a play the manager who presented it began cutting out and rejectii~g portions oE it according to his own taste; and the more he cut it, the better it grew; and that finally he, the author, rather thought that if the managers strength had only held out until he had erased the whole it would have been the very best drama he ever saw in all his life. This probably corresponds very near- ly with the experience of every non- professional writer who ventures on a dramatic experiment under proper pro- fessional guidance. Put yourself in his place, and let me forecast your horo- scope. First, you read and re-read your foun- dation novel (in the French, of course), and then you shut it up, not to be looked at again forever. The more the play re- sembles the novel, the more certain it is 1879.] 150 An Experiment in Play Writing. [August, to be worthless. One does nt plant mel- ons and squashes together unless he wants his squash to taste like boiled melon, and his melon like raw squash. You write your drama, wasting over it the inexpensive midnight kerosene for some weeks. You are secretly a little proud of your work. You think it reads well, and you have not yet learned that this is a fatal characteristic for a drama. You think highly of it. You read it over to your wife, and she thinks pretty well of it, at least of as much of it as she caught as long as she could keep awake. You carry it to your profession- al friend, leave it in his hands with af- fected diffidence and real confidence, and call next day only to learn that as it stands it is utterly worthless. It is talky. If you are a man of sense, which is possible, or if you are driven by stress of hunger for money and fame, which is probable, you swallow your mortification, and, combating with more or less suc- cess the conviction that the professional theatre-man is a phenomenal idiot, you listen to his criticism, see gleams of truth in it, lug your long manuscript back to your study, and, with a deep sigh, start to rewrite the whole. At your next visit, your experienced friend (thou~h obviously surprised and a little bored by your perseverance) is rather more encouraging. After a days inspection he says, You have decidedly improved it It is not so talky, oh, not half so talky as before. But still too talky, far too talky. Here, I ye gone over it with a pencil, and marked out where talk can be spared, and marked in stage direc- tions, positions, business, etc. (A pencil! a dozen a score a gross of pencils! you mentally ejacu- late, as you glance over your once fair pages.) And then see the length of these speeches! It s declamation, not dia- logue! No character should say more than two words consecutively, if it can be avoided. Break it up, cut every speech in two or three, and then throw away a third, or two thirds, or three thirds of it, and fill in with action, action, action. Am I writing a pantomime? Call it what you like; it must be saved, if it is saved, by what is done on the stage, not what is said. Rewrite it? Whew! XVell, this only means another long series of evenings under the lamp. The hardest thing is to begin again; once under way you find compensations. You find that you have become acquainted with your characters. They are no longer puppets, dressed up in your own old clothes. They have in- dividuality; you can fit words to their ac- tions and actions to their words, attribut- ing to them their own thoughts, impulses, deeds, not yours. You see them moving before you; not walking about the world, as you might if you were writing a nov- el, but strutting their brief hour on the stage, coming and going behind its foot- lights, fettered by its narrow grooves. They work out the plot with an impetus of their own. They say and do things for you that surprise you, althou0h you are their creator, just as our own chil- dren at home so often show traits we nev- er possessed, exhibit characteristics which we know are spontaneous and not inherited, at least directly. So clear does your mental eye-sight become that you grow to be suspicious of anything you especially like and ap- preciate in the writing. The thought at once occurs to you, That must be the author talking, not the character. Perhaps you let the written words re- main over night, though you feel sure that you will cut them to-morrow. The professional playwright probably never makes these slips of the pen. He doubtless erases his pet ideas if he has any before he writes them down. His mind travels steadily on the iron rails of conventionality, and does not run off the track and have to be lifted on again with the jack-screws of criti- cism. (!) Another visit dare you hope it is to be the last? to your mentor and tor- ment. Urn ah yes, this is better. Some of the dialogue is quite passable. An Experiment in Play W~iting. (That is the part which consists entire- ly of interjectionary fragments.) The stage directions, position, and business are all very good, very good indeed. (These are what you had followed his directions about, to the letter.) But here, look at the ending of these acts, especially the last! There is the true ending; all of these pages that follow are weary waste. Cut them, and finish up there. But my good sir, folks wont under- stand; these closing paragraphs are nec- essary to polish off, explain, round out everything, and dispose of the charac- ters. My dear fellow, if the people dont know what you are driving at by that time, you d better give them their money back anl let them go home. Once more into the breach. Great gaps are cut in the serried ranks of your toilsome pages; the fortunes of war lay low whole platoons of good things, friends to bury whom grieves your fond heart. When all is done, you begin to per- ceive that you have finally a drama. Good or bad, it is a truly dramatic en- tity, something you could never have really appreciated without having elabo- rated it and brought it forth with trav- ail. Play-writing, you conclude from your short experience (generalizing, like a tyro as you are, from the narrowest possible premises to the broadest possible conclu- sions), play-writing differs from most other literary achievement in this: that it is best effected by patient and pains- taking elaboration. Scene-painting by the stage-artist may be done with a white- wash brush, but scene-painting by the dramatist must be done with a fine, hard, sharp pencil. The two extremes of the literary spectrum seem to be the essay and the drama. The first is a bronze statue, a mass of homogeneous metal poured hot from an ample melting-pot into a mould previously well prepared to shape it. The drama is a mosaic, a solid though picturesque surface made up of an infinite number of van-colored frag- ments. The best essay is probably writ- ten at one effort; or even perhaps never written at all, but given out from a mind fully charged with its subject, by an orator who can think on his feet. But the best drama may he the one which, other things being equal, is most faithfully studied out in its details. Oh, you mean that your play, as you first wrote k, was like a mass of butter fresh from the churn, needs a lot of working over to get the water out and the salt in. Well, what about Sidonie? Oh, the work has merit. But I doubt if you find any manager willing to undertake it. The chances are a hundred to one against it. Why, what s the matter with it? Oh, nothing. Can we not interest good society in it? Bother good society! Good society does not support the theatre. What does, then? The rest of the world. Well, why cannot the rest of the world be interested in Sidonie? I 11 tell you. This naughty beauty needs a star to play her, a woman young and handsome and a fine actress. But such an actress will not take a part wherein she cannot have the sympathy of the audience. And Sidonie as she is cannot. If you had either reformed her or killed her she might have done so., But that would not be so true to nature and the probabilities. Such wom- en never reform and rarely die. Oh, bother nature and the probabil- ities! What has the stage to do with them? Sidonie goes on in the play as she does in real life. All right. Put her into the leaden box in some corner-stone. Then we have taught a great moral lesson, after all. Im afraid so. Nevertheless, by some marvelous ac- cident or other (the professional member of the firm being the wonder-worker), our play achieved the glory of represen 1879.] 151 152 An Experiment in Play Writing. [August, tation. Let us detail some of the sur- prises attending the production of a drama. The first surprise is that any play should ever see day-light, or rather foot-light. That it should prove to be such an exccption among its kind is lit- tle short of a mir~cle. The number of dramas that are written compared to those which succeed is as the acorns that pave the forest in autumn compared to those which germinate. A few acorns the swine eat, and a few plays the critics chew up, but the great majority rot where they fall. Lope de Vega, they say, wrote three hundred plays; being, as he himself sententiously estimates, an average of five folios of MS. for every day of his life. Yet how many among us know the name of one of theta? And our own Boucicault (if any one coun- try may claim him who claims all lands as his for ,razing purposes) is said to have written more than a hundred. Where are the ninety and nine? Sidonie is announced. The actors have learned their lines and got up their business. The scene-painters have done their part one scene having cost, you are told, five hundred dollars. The property-man has done his l)art, one little adjunct to one scene having cost him two weeks of labor. The play is well cast, well mounted, and well billed, to use the technical jargon of the trade, and the first night arrives. In Paris, where there is a real critical dramatic public, the first night is a test of the work. But in America, where there is no such public, where .the mass of peo- ple take all their views at second or third hand, nobody usually goes to first nights save those who have free tickets; and consequently such occasions have come to be regarded rather as final dress re- hearsals than anything else. The question of free tickets has been previously well discussed. Whether to paper the house, as it is amusingly called, that is, fill it with friends on com- plimentary admissions, or not, has re- ceived anxious consideration. You man- fully determine to do nothing of the kind; you have more than a thousand ac- quaintances, you will ascertain if you have any friends. Then let the play stand or fall on its merits. (A dramatist in New York took a friend with her to the first night of her play. He, looking at the beggarly ac - count of empty places, said, Oh, this is too bad! You ought to have papered the house. To which she ruefully re- plied, It is papered!) The successful playwright must be the happiest of creators. The novel-writer, at the end of his romance, has to bid farewell to his characters, with a sigh of regret. It is never given to the sculptor to see his finished statue step down from its pe(lestal; or to the painter to wel- come his Madonna or his Venus advanc- ing from the canvas, instinct with warm life. If it were so given, then those art- ists might appreciate the pleasure vouch-. safed the playwright when he first sees his incidents enacted and his words ut- tered by trained actors in costume and character, when his bodily senses are made acquainted with the creatures of his brain. The pleasure I have described is one he has without reference to the audience. The effect he observes, later, on the spectators, is another and separate de- light. Some men are familiar with the strange joy it is to a-n orator to see a responsive thrill in the sea of upturned faces intent on the words that fall from his lips. Near akin to this is tIme feeling of the playwright when he hears a roar of laughter go up from an audience at some comicality which he has elaborated for their amusement; or, better still, when he glances back where hundreds of bright eyes are dimmed with tears at the fictitious sorrows of his heroine. Then he probably remembers the evening when his own eyes filled, as he allotted to her the griefs and trials which the (lemands of dramatic light and shade made nec- essary. The breath of popular favor is an in- toxicating ether. It never paIls. How tame seem all other dissipations after the taste is once vitiated by its flavor! Who can maintain an illustrious public An Experiment in Play Writing. career and a happy domestic life? As Mr. Dickens said, after one of his tri- uinphant appearances as an amateur act- or: It is glorious to see an audience rise to you! Nothing like it! Avaunt the Domestic Hearth, let us play all over the world, forever! And we know something abont the domestic hearth in his case, and in the cases of other pub- lie men an(l women. To retura to Sidonie. The authors next surprise is at seeing how marvel- ously well the professional theatre-coin- pany does its work. To appreciate what this means, you need to have had some- thing to do with amateur theatricals, and to have yourself tried the learning, re- hearsing. dressing, and acting a part. No offense to you, my dear sir or madam, hut, frankly, how poorly we did it! We cannot but admit it; and, after doing so, agree to the truth of the saying, attrib- uted to Mr. Dickens, himself the best of amateur actors, that the poorest band of professionals ranting to rustics in a barn does better than the most re- fined and cultivated club of amateurs. It is not so much that the amateurs do their work so poorly, but that the pro- fessionals do theirs so marvelously well. To put an extreme case, let us suppose any man, educated, well-read, having good taste in many matters, the drama among the rest let us suppose such a man taking up the few absurd lines as- signed to the part of the Crushed Trage- dian, reading over that mass of folly and nothingness, and then trying to divine, to ima~ine, to invent, some way in which it could be made amusing to an audience! Vain effort! He may cudgel his brain for a year or a life-time; he can make nothing of it but a dull lot of balderdash hung on a stick, after all. He would starve long before any of us would give a penny to hear him repeat it. But Sothern, with the experience, traditions, inspirations, of an actor, born and bred, looks over the lines once or twice, sets them into his memory merely as pig- mnents on a pallet from which a picture is to be drawn, and lo, the great, the original, the inimitable Fitz Altamont walks the boards, and we look and laugh and wonder, and remember this new creation for years. Yes, the masters of the trade and mys- tery of histrionics do their work well. They clothe your words with human meanings you scarcely dreamed of when you were writing them down in cold black and white. How do they do it? Their first secret is ~work, and the sec- ond is work, and the third is work. I know no trade or profession which makes so heavy a draught on human endurance as that of a stock actor or actress, espe- cially the latter. Gay butterflies of fash- ion and frivolity while on the stage, they are patient grubs of toil when off. Their favorite air of elegant leisure in public is only a part acted for a purpose. They cannot wash all the paint off every night. Under the broad li0ht of day, they ap- pear a little like near-sighted eyes de- nuded of their accustomed glasses. They have a tender, morbid look when sepa- rated from the spectacles where they be- long. Call on a leading lady~~ (stock, not star) at her apartment. It is euphuist- ically called apartments, though there be only one. What are you likely to see? The fine lady of the fashionable drama sewing for dear life, while a sis- ter actress is giving her her cues and hearing her lines. What is the chief ornament of her room? A sewing-ma- chine. What is the occupation of her life? Stitch, stitch, stitch. What is the sweetest sound in her ears? A re- call by the audience when she has tried to make a point. What is the best news she can hear? That the play is to run another week, so that she need not force her tired mind and body to do all her task over again instantly. What is her hope? To become a star, so that she can play fewer parts, and play them bet- ter, in better dresses, for higher pay. What is her fear? That she may not secure an engagement next season, even as a stock actress. What anguish of anxiety there is to her in these hopes and fears! Her own respectable maintenance depends on the outcome of them; perhaps the support of a mother; perhaps that of a child 1879.] 153 154 An Experiment in Pla~, Writing. [Auguist, whose father is dead, or worse than dead to her. Who can wonder that in this wild life of hers, trying to gain favor with every- body because the bread of her mouth and the breath of her life depend upon it, surrounded by so many temptations and so few supports, she so often strays from the right path! The true womans hour of light and life and dominion is the evening at home. But the actress has no evening at home. This alone is enough to separate her from her sex, and make her almost belong to ours. A personal friend of the writer once wrote in a newspaper, thoughtlessly but truthfully, about a wretched actor, He has mistaken his vocation. A day or two afterward, a man whom he did not remember ever to have seen before, called on him, showed him the article, and said, I hope you are satisfied with your work. The manager to-day told me he supposed you were right, and discharged me. iNow my wife and children must starve. (The fact that the fellow was a sot as well as a stick had no wife or children would never starve so long as free lunches exist interferes with the illustration but not with the principle.) Poor things! poor things! dependent on accident and the fickle breath of pop- ular favor, theirs is a hard lot. As you begin to know them a little, it is to pity rather than to blame their follies and short-comings. Never thereafter can you look even at the grossest failure in their line without the impulse to condone it to make the most of every bit of value, and hide every sign of ridicule or con- tempt as being wanton cruelty to the helpless. For no other reason, any one should be glad to have been the hero, or the victim, of a single play-writing experi- ment, if it has given him, incidentally, a slight acquaintance with that strange, half-known country of Bohemia which is bounded by a row of foot-lights in front and a dirty alley in the rear: a land whose thunder is of sheet-iron and whose rain and hail are of dried peas, and yet which is infested with fearfukstorms; a land where everything is turned topsy- turvy, where the very light shines from below upwards instead of from above downwards; a country whose crown is of tinsel and whose ermine is cotton-bat- ting, and yet which is governed by some laws as immutable as those of the Medes and Persians. But to return once more to Sidonie. (It must be that the subject is becoming distasteful, it is so easy to wander away into generalities.) Other surprises await the amateur playwright. He is surprised, first, to find how good the play is in his own eyes and in the eyes of his friends; second, how little the public cares whether it is good or bad. His most prized critics and judges are most complimentary. One says she cried her eyes red over the pa- thos; another, that he laughed himself hoarse over the fun; a third, that it is the only play he has seen in a long while that he cared to see a second time. The actors like it. The manager says it is the best American play that has appeared for years. The newspapers the less said about them the better. Some speak well of it, while some say things that come like a buffet in the face, and make one ask ones self if he can be really awake, or if it is not a horrid dream. In short, the people whose judgment is best approve it heartily, and there it stops. The houses improve during the first week and fall off during the second, and then the work is quietly shelved. The long agony is over; the poor lit- tle bantling is relegated to the shades, the limbo already so crowded with the ghosts of its myriad predecessors. Since that I am so quickly done for, I wonder what I was begun for. The amateur dramatist takes leave of his first and last play, and turns to the serious business of life, amused, instruct- ed, disappointed, but far from regretful. By the help of his professional collab- orator (without whom the work would not have been worth the paper it was written on) he has received perhaps a dollar an evening for the time it cost him, or twenty-five cents an hour. In experience he has gained more than could well be represented in money. At Kawsmouth Station. My dear professional collaborator, why did not our play draw? Not enough of the blister about it, I suppose.~~ The manager and the actors liked it. They dont support the theatre, the theatre supports them. My friends, God bless them, turned out, bought tickets, and brought their families. That would fill the house about once. Good society liked it. That filled the house part full the other thirteen times.~~ Where was the theatre-going pub- lic? At the minstrel show, or off seeing a woman walk a million quarters of a yard in a million quarters of a month. How can they be drawn in? They cannot be drawn in; they can only be taken in. How to do that? Don short skirts and go to walk- mo I must decline. So must the drama. Was there no way in which we might have made our play succeed? Perhaps; by going somewhere else to produce it and then bringing it here when it had been quite played out there. What should a man (10 who has any.. thing sensible to say? Oh, put it in a corner-stone. But if he wants to be heard and quoted all over the world? Then he d better write Whoa, Em- ma. Will nothing better succeed? Never! What, never.1 Well, hardly ever! And with this latest, most popular, and most tiresome of gags, we have dropped the subject, for good. Joseph Kirkland. AT KAWSMOUTH STATION. FROM Indiana, did you say? My dear sir, you have my warmest sympa- thy. He grasped my friends hand with a cordial gripe, and there was a persuasive, proselyting look in his face as he con- tinued: 1 used to live in Hoosierdom, and I know how it is myself, so to speak. You re going to Kansas, of course. Cor- rect, sir, correct. Let me congratulate you. That s Kansas, just across the river there. We were at the Kawsmouth railway station, waiting for a train to Topeka, and this chance acquaintance was like a whiff of fresh air to us, in the sultry strangeness of the place. He had an assuring countenance, slightly abated by an equivocal little twitching at the cor- ners of the mouth; his bearing was easily familiar without being offensive; and his voice had in it something of the sparkle of the April sunshine that was making gold of the cracked and dingy station windows. Moreover, he was quite in- telligent in his way, and uniquely orig- inal at times; and if he presumed upon our credulity, as I fear he did to some extent, it was done so adroitly and so graciously that no chance was left for detection. Youll like Kansas, he went on; it s the very perfection of a prairie country, ~- not fiat, nor boggy, but gen- tly swelling, with rich valleys, and slop- ing everywhere. Eden sloped, you re- member, beautiful as the gardens of the angels upon the slopes in Eden. And the climate is simply celestial, if I may be allowed the word. Do you know, the average temperature of Kansas at 1879.] 155

Henry King King, Henry At Kawsmouth Station 155-160

At Kawsmouth Station. My dear professional collaborator, why did not our play draw? Not enough of the blister about it, I suppose.~~ The manager and the actors liked it. They dont support the theatre, the theatre supports them. My friends, God bless them, turned out, bought tickets, and brought their families. That would fill the house about once. Good society liked it. That filled the house part full the other thirteen times.~~ Where was the theatre-going pub- lic? At the minstrel show, or off seeing a woman walk a million quarters of a yard in a million quarters of a month. How can they be drawn in? They cannot be drawn in; they can only be taken in. How to do that? Don short skirts and go to walk- mo I must decline. So must the drama. Was there no way in which we might have made our play succeed? Perhaps; by going somewhere else to produce it and then bringing it here when it had been quite played out there. What should a man (10 who has any.. thing sensible to say? Oh, put it in a corner-stone. But if he wants to be heard and quoted all over the world? Then he d better write Whoa, Em- ma. Will nothing better succeed? Never! What, never.1 Well, hardly ever! And with this latest, most popular, and most tiresome of gags, we have dropped the subject, for good. Joseph Kirkland. AT KAWSMOUTH STATION. FROM Indiana, did you say? My dear sir, you have my warmest sympa- thy. He grasped my friends hand with a cordial gripe, and there was a persuasive, proselyting look in his face as he con- tinued: 1 used to live in Hoosierdom, and I know how it is myself, so to speak. You re going to Kansas, of course. Cor- rect, sir, correct. Let me congratulate you. That s Kansas, just across the river there. We were at the Kawsmouth railway station, waiting for a train to Topeka, and this chance acquaintance was like a whiff of fresh air to us, in the sultry strangeness of the place. He had an assuring countenance, slightly abated by an equivocal little twitching at the cor- ners of the mouth; his bearing was easily familiar without being offensive; and his voice had in it something of the sparkle of the April sunshine that was making gold of the cracked and dingy station windows. Moreover, he was quite in- telligent in his way, and uniquely orig- inal at times; and if he presumed upon our credulity, as I fear he did to some extent, it was done so adroitly and so graciously that no chance was left for detection. Youll like Kansas, he went on; it s the very perfection of a prairie country, ~- not fiat, nor boggy, but gen- tly swelling, with rich valleys, and slop- ing everywhere. Eden sloped, you re- member, beautiful as the gardens of the angels upon the slopes in Eden. And the climate is simply celestial, if I may be allowed the word. Do you know, the average temperature of Kansas at 1879.] 155 156 At Kawsmouth Station. [August, the present day is very nearly the same that Greece enjoyed when she was at the pinnacle of her greatness? Fact, gentlemen, sure s my name s Mark- Icy. So saying, he took from his pocket a roll of papers, some printed and some written; and, leaving my friend to the study of what I took to be unassailable proofs of the glory that was Greece in the weather of Kansas, I turned my own attention to the young man who had been furtively passing back and forth in front of us as we talked, and who now stood gazing out through the dusty east window, a few steps away, with his elbow against the wall and his hand to his. cheek, silent, listening, and ab- sorbed. He was a wholesome, honest-looking fellow, this young man, with frank blue eyes and the limbs of a gladiator. Evi- dently he was unused to the glossy black clothes he wore, for he wriggled about in them now and then as if with a haunting sense of their illogicalness; and in various noticeable ways he be- trayed that confessing flutter of the heart which marks a man at once for a lover thinking of his mistress, or a criminal apprehensive of pursuing officers, it is often hard to tell which, the two are so much alike. But he did not leave me long in doubt on this point, for as I walked near him he faced about, and said, pleasantly, in answer to a question concerning his destination, 1 m not going anywhere, that is, on the cars. I m waiting for a young woman. She s to be here this morning, and I m mightily afraid she s got left at St. Louis. She had to change cars there, coming from Macoupin County, Illinois. One train s in from St. Louis, you know, the one you came on, and she was nt on that. There s another one due at 10.30 though. I reckon she 11 be on that; but I dont feel easy about it at all. He went to the door, and looked eager- ly out along the railroad track eastward; and then, returning, he added, We re to be married to-night, that s the truth of it; and we ye fifteen miles to ride into the country after she comes. It would be too bad if we did nt get there in time, with the license bought, and the preacher all ready, and the folks waitino~ and notioning about us. It would take us down so, you know. Is it much trouble for a woman to change cars by herself at St. Louis? Not much, I assured him. No doubt her ticket was over the other road, and she 11 be here, all right, when the train gets in. Yes, he replied, in a dubious tone, if she did nt get left, or if there has nt been an accident on the way. It s foolish, I suppose, but do you know I cant help being shaky about it? And the nearer the time comes for the train, the shakier I feel; I do, really. Things are so uncertain, you know, specially railroads; and he tried to laugh, but it was a hollow mockery. Glancing towards the man Markley, I saw that he had spread out before him various documents, full of queer parallel lines and plentifully sprinkled with fig- ures, from which he was interpreting to my friend, Mr. Wabash, as he had named him, the marvelous growth of Kansas, a growth which nobody would credit, he remarked, were it not for the records, which I have here in black and white. The population of Kansas, he went on to say, grew from one hundred thousand in 1860 to over three hundred and sixty thousand in 1870, a gain of nearly two hundred and forty per cent. in ten years, against an average increase of less than twenty-two per cent. in the whole country; and more than four fifths of it caine during the latter five of those ten years. It (hoes nt seem possible, does it? And now, in 1878, the popu- lation is certainly three fourths of a mill- ion, at least. More than doubled, you see, since 1870. He paused a minute, in an exultant way; and then, adjusting his documents, resumed: There are now over five million acres of cultivated land in the State. More than three million of it was raw prairie eight years ago; and in 1860 At Kawsmoutk Station. less than half a million acres had been broken. And then, you must remem- ber, the war had to be fought meantime, and Kansas was in the red-hot of it all the while. You may have forgotten that at one time she had twenty thousand men in the army out of a voting popu- lation of less than twenty-two thousand, and she actually gave more lives to the Union, in proportion to the number of troops engaged, than any other State. These were indeed striking figures, we readily agreed; and I sought, with the best intentions in the world, to win the young man waiting for his sweetheart to an interested notice of them. But the effort was provokingly futile. He was not looking for land. He had a home, in Kansas, too. He was tell- ing the pale little lady in black alpaca, who sat near him, all about it: how he had prei~inpted it five years before, and paid for it with two years crops, and built a snug house of three rooms and a beauty of a buttery; and how the front yard was sodded, and evergreens put out, and wisterias planted by the south porch. He was telling her, also, of the young woman who was to be queen of all this, and who was coming that morning to claim her crown, if she had n t got left, or the cars did nt run off the track, or something else did nt hap- pen to her. May be you saw her at St. Louis. Did you notice a youn~ woman there in a drab gown cut goring, and a sleeve- less jacket, and a brown hat with two red roses and a bunch of wheat-heads on it, artificial, you know? That s the way she wrote me she was going to dress. A smallish young woman, with large hazel eyes? asked the little lady in alpaca. Yes, yes, he replied, quickly and fondly. I did see such a person looking among the baggage, returned the little lady in alpaca. I remarked her, I re- member, on account of her elegant little feet. Are your young womans feet very small and trim, about twos, I should say? He dropped his head, blushing, and said in a kind of hesitating under-tone, the big, bashful, simple-thoughted fel- low, I never noticed Claras feet. No, indeed. For aught he knew, or cared, her drapery might have concealed the finny wonder of a mermaid. He worshiped her, that he knew; and she was unspeakably sacred to him; and of course he had never noticed her feet. She gave some one a letter to mail for her Yes~ ~ he interrupted, that was for me. No, it could nt have been for me, either; she would nt have sent me a letter when she was coming right on herself. No, it was nt for me, and he appeared lost in a puzzle of thought. Then, directly, he looked up again, and remarked, with quiet earnestness, I dont think that was Clara. But to drop generalities, and come down to details, I heard Markley say- ing, in these six counties with the red marks around them there were in 1870 only about a hundred settlers, and there was little of anything raised but the hair of casual immi~rants who fell into the hands of the Indians. Now there are more than thirty-five thousand peo- ple living there, and they have in cul- tivation over three hundred thousand acres of land, and own good houses, with books and pianos in them and the wom- en folks wear pull-backs, and all that sort of thing. Just here, a jaded, pinched, and calico-clad old woman came in wit.h a basket of apples, and this af- forded Markley an excuse briefly to com- mend the rare advantages of Kansas as a fruit country. You know we have al- ready taken several first-class premiums in the pomological line; and I m sure you saw our fruit display at the Cen- tennial Exhibition, everybody saw it. And we have nt hardly begun yet. Wait a few years, and we 11 astound you; it s a mere question of time. Then he purchased a half dozen of the old womans apples, carefully choos- ing the larger ones, I could see, and divided them among his auditors; and he said to her very kindly, ss she made change for him, My good woman, you 1879.] 157 158 At Kawsmoutk Station. [August, ought to go out into Kansas, to a high- er, drier latitude; you look aguish. Thank you, she answered, 1 m as well as common. It s kind o warm, and 1 ma little down-hearted like; thats all, I guess. Speaking of ague, Markley went on, without further notice of the shrink- ing old apple-woman, speaking of ague, I dont see how anybody can stay where it is, when it s so easy to go to Kansas. But you have ague in Kansas, the same as in every other new country, dont you? inquired Mr. Wabash. Only as it is brought in, tempora- rily, from other States, Markley polite- ly responded. It is not indigenous. We have no malaria. Our atmosphere is rich in ozone; and ozone is natures own purifier. Homer mentions it in the Odyssey, you recollect, where he speaks of the atmosphere being quite full of sulphurous odor. That s ozone. I presume the atmosphere of the in- fernal regions is also quite full of sul- phurous odor, or ozone, said Mr. Wabash, with a chuckle. Yes, I suppose so, Markley retort- ed, promptly; put there, no doubt, to tantalize the fellows with suggestions of Kansas. Sorrows crown of sorrow, you know, is remembering happier things. But as I was about to say, ozone dispels malaria, and keeps the cli- mate free from bilious conditions. Be- sides, the ague is really a matter of mor- als rather than of physics, you under- stand. But we did not so understand it, and he therefore graciously proceed- ed to enlarge upon the statement for our benefit. The ague always hovers about low, flat lands, where the soil is thin and jaundiced-looking, and where the inhabitants go on voting for General Jackson for president. Take those qui- nine river-bottoms in some of the West- ern States, I shant call names, where the men gather at the saw-mill every Sunday to pitch horseshoes and shoot at a mark; there s where you 11 find ague every time. Then move out on the high, open lands, where they have Sabbath-schools and debating societies and collars to their shirts, and you 11 see very little of it, usually none at all; the sickness there, when they have any, runs in the nervous way. Mr. Wabash laughed good-humoredly, and ventured some light remark about finding out more the longer we live; but Markley kept on in a solemn and impressive man- ner, as if charged with a special mission on the ague question: It s consider- ably due to our school system, our free press, and our numerous churches, I tell you, added to the abundant ozone, that we are so little bothered with the thing in Kansas. We have four million dollars worth of school - houses, and nearly two hundred newspapers, and churches till you cant rest. There s no foot-hold for the ague among such things, and a sky full of ozone hang- ing over them. It s very much a mat- ter of civilization, this ague business. It s the difference between the sallow squirrel hunter, with his rifle on his shoulder and a gaunt hound at his heels, and the clear-complexioned, grammar- respecting man of the new era, with books and papers on the table and a canary- bird swinging in the window. They had no ague in Athens, you may be sure; they have none in Boston to speak of. These notions were so novel, and pre- sented so earnestly, that everybody in the room was obliged to listen. Even the young man waiting for his sweet- heart forgot himself a few moments, and gave surprised heed. Only for a few moments, however. Then he took up his dropped conversation again with the little lady in alpaca, who seemed to be humoring his worship of the coming wife as if it had been a religion, and who shall say it was not? This is Clara s profile, he said, timidly, reaching out a little morocco picture-case. I dont want to brag about her, but, honestly, I think she s awful nice. It s a real sweet face, remarked the little lady in alpaca. I 11 never quit wondering how it came about, he continued. I have nt the least idea what makes her like At Kawsmouth Station. me; I know I aint good enough for her. She does like me, though. Her leaving a good home and coming so far, all alone, to marry me is enough itself to make that certain. I d ought to have gone after her, I know; and I offered to, but she said it was nt any use to go to that expense. I do wish I had gone as far as St. Louis to meet her, though. But I reckon she 11 surely be here on the other train. One train s in from St. Louis, and she did nt come on that. I suppose it s silly to borrow trouble over it, but I cant help feeling shaky about her, to save my life. If anything should have happened to her Perhaps she s given you the grand bounce, Markley suggested, with a teasing pretense of alarm. The young man drew himself up as if his very existence had been challenged. The color came and went in his cheeks, and his lips were set in a rigid scorn. Bounce nothin!~~ he said, haughti- ly, and walked away. You 11 notice, Markley made haste to urge, that the average yield of coin per acre in Kansas last year exceeded that of any other State. But we dont want to make Kansas a corn State. We have a higher ambition. Our bright, particular thing is wheat. Last year we raised more of it to the acre than any State between us and the Allegha- nies. And we ye only just started. When we get to working to our full ca- pacity, making wheat our main crop and corn a mere side issue, Kansas will be the rainbow of the Union. Wabash and I both laughed, in spite of ourselves; and Markley himself let his face relax into a broad smile as he proceeded: You dont see the point, do you? Very well, recovering his earnestness of manner; what constitutes a State? Men, high - minded, tough - sinewed men. And what makes such men? Wheat bread, gentlemen, wheat bread. Corn does for roughness, so to speak, hogs thrive on it, but it takes wheat to win in the long run. Now, I have no doubt that the North finally triumphed in the rel?ellion because her soldiers lived on wheat bread. The soldiers of the South were brave enough, but they were loose- jointed, and lacking in that finer, con- quering strength of muscle and brain that comes from wheat: they lived on corn bread, sometimes on the raw corn, you see. Granting all other things to have been equal, this difference in diet alone was sufficient to turn the scale. Mind what I tell you: there s destiny in wheat. And look what an abundance of it we 11 be able to produce a few years from now! There are over forty-seven million acres of land yet unused in Kansas, first-class wheat land, all of it. A per- fect empire! Now, taking the present average, about fifteen bushels to the acre, look how many bushels this land will yield in the aggregate every year, when it all comes to be cultivated. He sharpened his pencil to make the calculation; but, much to his chagrin, he had to defer it, for a locomotive whistle uttered its warning scream down under the river-bluff, and a quivering, widen- ing belt of steam, glittering in the sun- light, shot up like a comets tail among the branches of the trees. The station waiting-room was vacated with a rush. The ~t. Louis train was coming. It was curious to watch the young man waiting for his sweetheart. He stood apart from the rest of us, at the extreme eastern end of the station platform, ob- livious of everything but the slowly-ap- proaching locomotive. Very likely the world stood still, in his tense thoughts, while that great puffing, hoarse-throated thing drew itself towards him over the creaking rails; for was not she coming with it, to make life a long, glad song to him? It was not strictly a happy look he had, however. It seemed rather to indicate that sharp sense of joy which has a touch of fear in it, and so becomes in part a pain. And when, at length, the train reached the platform and stopped, we noticed that he did not hasten to the cars, as we had supposed he would, but walked doubtfully along the outer edge of the crowd of alighting passengers, with a strange stare in his countenance. At last, though, she stepped out of the rear coach, and stood there with her head 1879.] 159 160 The Late8t Literature of Art. [August, slightly inclined, and smiling. We all knew her at a glance. And the next moment he was by her side, an(l she had put her hand in his, and they were both blushing to their very ears. Why, Seth! she said. How d y do, Clara! That was all there was of it; and it was disappointing, to the spectators, I mean. No doubt the parties in interest were satisfied with it, however; and how could we know what warmer greetings they would exchange in the shade of their road through yonder forest? They had a little whispered consulta- tion that we did not hear, but we could surmise that it related to her trunk; for presently they sought it out and claimed it, an(l she opencd it and took from it certain neatly - folded and mysterious articles, which she put together in a lit- tle bundle and pinned what looked to be an apron around them. Then the trunk was handed over to the station-agent, apparently to be kept until sent for, and they walked briskly across the zigzag complexity of railway tracks to where the horses were impatiently waiting to carry them to the wedding. We stood gazing after them from the station, as they mounted their horses and rode up the green and inviting val- ley, he on the high-stepping bay with the flowing mane, and she on the brisk, sidling chestnut sorrel, that wor~ the new saddle, and the bridle gaudy with blue and white ribbons. Behind them and about them was the bland April sun- shine; in front of them, just over the river, in the shadow of the bluff, glowed the pink miracle of the peach-blossoms. Somehow the scene recalled to my mind Scotts young Lochinvar from out of the west, and the fair Ellen of Neth- erby Hall; and I found myself repeat- ing, under my breath, They ii have fleet steeds that follow, quoth young Lochinvar. A vein of similar fancy must have reached the heart of my friend Wabash, too; for as the happy couple crossed the river-bridge, and sped past the pink orchard, and cantered up the bluff and in among the concealing foliage, he ob- served, with an admirable smile, It looks like the last chapter of some old romance! Heaven bless em! said Markley. Then the bell sounded, and we has- tened aboard the train. A few minutes later we had turned our backs on Kaws- mouth, and set; our expectant faces to- wards the land of ozone and wheat, the verdurous, agueless slopes and the odors that Homer sang, the land where the sun is in league with fate, and the fruits of the soil are for the healing of the nation. Henry King. THE LATEST LITERATURE OF ART. THE discipline of the Academy of Fine Arts in France, by the cultivation of a certain range of traditiofis more or less restricted, and by the enforcement of certain technical methods through more than two centuries, has created most of the characteristics of French art, and has established a local atmos- phere especially favorable to the devel- opment of the artistic instinct. The re- cent demonstrations of revolt by French artists and writers against this discipline are significant of the interest which the modern practice of art has awakened in all intelligent minds. To this spirit of discussion we are indebted for tile most eager and searching investigations into the theories of art which have yet been made in literature. M. Viollet-le-Duc, the most illustrious of the apostates against the consecrated dogmas of the ]~cole des Beaux Arts, was the first to

Henry Van Brunt Van Brunt, Henry The Latest Literature of Art 160-170

160 The Late8t Literature of Art. [August, slightly inclined, and smiling. We all knew her at a glance. And the next moment he was by her side, an(l she had put her hand in his, and they were both blushing to their very ears. Why, Seth! she said. How d y do, Clara! That was all there was of it; and it was disappointing, to the spectators, I mean. No doubt the parties in interest were satisfied with it, however; and how could we know what warmer greetings they would exchange in the shade of their road through yonder forest? They had a little whispered consulta- tion that we did not hear, but we could surmise that it related to her trunk; for presently they sought it out and claimed it, an(l she opencd it and took from it certain neatly - folded and mysterious articles, which she put together in a lit- tle bundle and pinned what looked to be an apron around them. Then the trunk was handed over to the station-agent, apparently to be kept until sent for, and they walked briskly across the zigzag complexity of railway tracks to where the horses were impatiently waiting to carry them to the wedding. We stood gazing after them from the station, as they mounted their horses and rode up the green and inviting val- ley, he on the high-stepping bay with the flowing mane, and she on the brisk, sidling chestnut sorrel, that wor~ the new saddle, and the bridle gaudy with blue and white ribbons. Behind them and about them was the bland April sun- shine; in front of them, just over the river, in the shadow of the bluff, glowed the pink miracle of the peach-blossoms. Somehow the scene recalled to my mind Scotts young Lochinvar from out of the west, and the fair Ellen of Neth- erby Hall; and I found myself repeat- ing, under my breath, They ii have fleet steeds that follow, quoth young Lochinvar. A vein of similar fancy must have reached the heart of my friend Wabash, too; for as the happy couple crossed the river-bridge, and sped past the pink orchard, and cantered up the bluff and in among the concealing foliage, he ob- served, with an admirable smile, It looks like the last chapter of some old romance! Heaven bless em! said Markley. Then the bell sounded, and we has- tened aboard the train. A few minutes later we had turned our backs on Kaws- mouth, and set; our expectant faces to- wards the land of ozone and wheat, the verdurous, agueless slopes and the odors that Homer sang, the land where the sun is in league with fate, and the fruits of the soil are for the healing of the nation. Henry King. THE LATEST LITERATURE OF ART. THE discipline of the Academy of Fine Arts in France, by the cultivation of a certain range of traditiofis more or less restricted, and by the enforcement of certain technical methods through more than two centuries, has created most of the characteristics of French art, and has established a local atmos- phere especially favorable to the devel- opment of the artistic instinct. The re- cent demonstrations of revolt by French artists and writers against this discipline are significant of the interest which the modern practice of art has awakened in all intelligent minds. To this spirit of discussion we are indebted for tile most eager and searching investigations into the theories of art which have yet been made in literature. M. Viollet-le-Duc, the most illustrious of the apostates against the consecrated dogmas of the ]~cole des Beaux Arts, was the first to The Latest Literature of Art. give us an idea of the scope and charac- ter of this most interesting of peaceful rebellions. In his Dictionnaire Raisonn~ and in his Entretiens sur lArchitecture, of which the latter alone has received die honor of translation and publication in this country, he has furnished a basis of liberal principles in art, set forth with pr~eminent clearness, learning, and closeness of logical deduction. The lat- est echo of this excellent warfare comes to us in a work on }Esthetics, by M. Eug~ne V~ron, a disciple of Viollet-le- Duc, and, as editor of the journal LArt, one of the most conspicuous of modern French philosophical writers. Although much of this work relates to local conditions of practice in art, its in- terest for the foreign reader is rather enhanced than diminished thereby. The expression of opinions is none the less valuable from having been elicited by a spirit of active controversy; rather more so, indeed, because this spirit compels the writer to sustain his arguments with a thoroughness and animation which would be hardly possible in an atmos- phere less highly charged. Moreover, our own manifestations of art in all its branches owe so much to imitation or de- velopment of French characteristics that the specifications of the polemic for the most part lead us into regions not en- tirely unfamiliar. The fundamental idea of this book is a plea for sincerity in art, by the spontaneous manifestation of the personality of the artist as opposed to the artificial stimulus giyen by academ- ical discipline. It is claimed that the renewal of the spirit of originality is the only thing which can rescue art from the oppression so long exercised by over- zealous admirers of Greek sculpture and of the works of the Italian Renaissance. It is charged that the official arty of the Institute is based upon traditions which, in the very beginning of his ca- reer, deprive the artist of his most pre- cious possession, his individuality, and leads him into comparatively barren fields, where the only inspirations are from types furnished by the Greeks or I ~stheties. By EUGdNE ~JIlaON. Translated by W. H. ARMSTRONG, B. A. Oxon. London: chap- VOL. XLIV. NO. 262. 11 the Italians, and formulated in the yen- erable traditions of the French school. The form of the argument is scientific, and its development embraces the whole field of msthetics, beginning with pre- historic conditions, and tracing the grad- ual development of all the forms of art, from language and poetry to architect- ure, sculpture, painting, and the dance. The chapter which relates to the source and characteristics of iesthetic pleasure deals largely with physiological condi- tions, and attempts to prove that the simultaneous or rhythmic vibration of the innumerable sensitive filaments in the organ of hearing, or of those con- nected with the optic nerve, produces a sensation of pleasure to the ear or eye in proportion to the number of filaments excited by combination of sounds or col- ors, and that the unequal vibration of these filaments, in respect to duration or intensity, arouses a contrary feeling, such as is produced by mere noise, or by dis- cord of sounds or colors. The analysis of lines and of their effect upon the mind is also very curious, and leads logically to the consideration of the importance and significance of variety, contrast, and harmony, and finally to that of move- ment and life and the phenomena of ex- pression in art. We have, in successive chapters, definitions of taste, genius, art, and msthetics, then of the essential con- trast between decorative and expressive art, and finally of style. This closes the first part of the book. The discussion of these subjects is remarkable for great vivacity of manner and for fullness of il- lustration, largely taken from contempo- rary art and criticism; and although the argument is close and logical, and al- though the (levelopment of the theme is, as we have said, eminently scientific, it is easy to follow it, and the reader finds himself, before he is aware, drawn into the full tide of discussion without any sense of fatigue. Of the fundamental idea of the prei~minent importance of personal as opposed to academical art the author never loses sight. The latter half of the book is devoted man and Hall. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & co. 1879. 1879.] 161 162 The Latest Literature of Art. [August, to the illustration of ~sthetical principles in architecture, sculpture, painting, the dance, music, and poetry. In respect to architecture and its origins, M. Y~ron very sensibly rejects the fantastic theo- ries, common to literature, which attrib- ute to mystic symbolism and to the de- sire to imitate nature the characteristic aspects of the earlier forms of temples and cathedrals, and accepts the more philosophical explanations of Viollet-le- iDuc, which are based upon a practical familiarity with means and methods of construction, and which prefer to devel- op the hieratic forms from those of the habitations which were fashioned to sat- isfy human wants in the most direct and simple manner, or from the most natural and economical use of the materials at hand. We can never cease to be grate- ful to this illustrious master for having rescued the theory of architecture from the control of doctrinaires and dogma- tists, and it is agreeable to see the litte- rateur at last frankly substituting for the poetic dreams of his predecessors the reasonable deductions of exl)erience and practice. The story of the development of the architectural theories of the Greeks and Romans, of the Byzantine, Arabian, Romanesque, and Medireval styles, is given in a comprehensive summary which is unusually free from error, and which includes the results of the most advanced studies of the subject. The strictures upon modern architecrurQ are based en- tirely upon those of M. Viollet-le-Duc, and attribute its alleged failures mainly to the prevalence of a spirit of eclecti- cism, and to the influence of academic traditions. The mstbetics of sculpture and paint- ing are considered in the same philo- sophical manner and with great fullness of illustration. The modern artist is re- ferred more to life and to nature, and less to precedent and example, for the ex- pressions in best accord with the require- ments of modern art. The theory of color and of chiaroscuro is explained at great length, the principles developed by M. Chevreul formin~ the basis of the dis- cussion; but the theories of Young, Lau- gel, Landolt, Charcot, Galezowski, and Bert are duly considered, and the final result of their researches is embodied in the text. Perhaps the most original part of the dissertation on color is that relating to its capacity for expression in a moral sense, and the illustrative analy- sis of the works of Rubens, Veronese, and Delacroix in this respect is very in- genious arid subtle. The use of char- oscuro by Rembrandt as a means of ex- pression is made the subject of study, an(l in all cases the testimony of the weightiest writers upon these points is largely quoted, giving to the reader, on the whole, an excellent idea of the char- acter of the best modern criticism in France. The msthetic significance of drawing is also considered in aim animat- ed chapter full of the spirit of dispute; anil the rival methods of the draughts- manship of line and the draughtsman- ship of movement, or multiplex attitude, as it is called, are set upon the stage, and represented, on the one hand, by the works of the designers of absolute form, or immobility, like L. David, Ingres, and other masters, taught and teaching according to academical prin- ciples, and on the other by those of Ru- hens, Delacroix, and some of the Ital- ian masters, who have proved them- selves in this respect superior to for- mulas and dogmas of art. The subject is pursued into the details of composition, perspective, methods of execution, hand- ling, as an evidence of artistic personal- ity, and monumental painting; the last division in especial is set forth with a logical exactness and a degree of critic- al acumen which, fortified by the testi- mony of the most advanced authorities, leave little to be a(l(led to complete the subject as a practical exposition of the arts of higher decoration. We have not space to give, even in outline, M. V6ron~s method of treating the other main divisions of the subject, and we would gladly refer more in de- tail to such questions as the effect of characteristics of touch or handling upon the sentiment of pictures, especially in their capacity to convey to the canvas the individuality and presence of the art- ist. The examples discussed through- 1879.] out belong to the French, Italian, and Flemish schools, ancient and modern; the English works, to which hitherto our pop- ular iesthetic studies have been almost entirely confined, are not referred to, so that the English reader finds in this book a freshness which comes not only from its combination of scientific method with the enthusiasm of strong convictions, but also from the discussion of names and methods hitherto comparatively unfamil- iar. His practical conclusion is that art, like all the other developments of hu- manity, is unceasingly and indefinably perfectible, but that it cannot advance so long as we are content to confine our- selves to imitation of old masters and of old forms; that the revolution in general intelligence, which has already effected a healthy change in fiction and the drama, and made reality instead of ideality the governing motive of composition, must presently effect a corresponding trans- mutation in art. He conceives that in sculpture the audacious Carpeaux, whose famous group of the Dance in front of the New Opera House created so great a clamor a few years since, instead of reproducing attitudes in the old man- ner, has become dramatic and express- ive, and thus opened the way for a new era in his branch of art; that the com- bination of troth as to facts with the per- sonality of the artist is the only way by which the tyranny of imitation and ar- chmology can be overcome. The Greek statuettes excavated from tombs in Tanagra, some of which have been purchased by Mr. T. G. Appleton for the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, furnish to us a very curious and timely illustration of M. Wrons statement that the still, pure, and passionless ideal of the Greeks belonged only to their relig- ious art; that examples of it have been preserved in the temples for the admi- ration of mankind, while those of what may be called their secular art, having been less securely enshrined, have until very lately been completely unknown. Thus the scope of Greek art really in- cluded not only the idea of immobility and repose, but the idea of life, anima 163 tion, and facial expression; but as the former was the first and most conspic- uous in its representations to modern times, it has become the only type rec- ognized in the academical system, On the other hand, the little terra-cotta fig- ures, eight or ten inches high, rescued from the Bmotian tombs, represent men and women in the every - day Greek dress of the fourth century B. C., and with all that variety of expression and individuality which we are accustomed to attribute only, to the genre work of to-day. Whether these are or are not contemporaneous with the art of Phidias and Praxiteles, as is claimed for them, they furnish sufficient evidence that our type has been too restricted, and that such work as that of M. Carpeaux in modern times, which hitherto has been supposed by susthetic writers to be out of the proper range of J)lastic art, is jus- tified even from the arebteological point of view. A dispassionate Englishman or Amer- ican, in looking over this warm and gen- erous polemic, cannot but reflect that, notwithstanding the hitherto almost un- disputed dominion of academic princi- ples in France, French art has long main- tained the first place; and a suspicion arises in his mind that there may be another side to this question, and that there may be virtues in the dogmas and methods of the Institute which, if they have not created, have been sufficient at least to encourage the growth of a race of brilliant artists. Doubtless a living, progressive art has existed side by side with the Academy, and, though of late its greatest expressions have been in the direction of landscape art, exam- ples of high achievement not retro- gressive are not wanting in monument- al art with figures and human action. But however this may be, M. V~rons sthetics is full of life, abounding in truth, and, to any one interested in the progress of art in theory or practice, it must prove in the highest degree inter- esting and suggestive. M. V~ron considers that the manifes- tation of the personality of the artist in The Latest Literature of Art. 164 The Latest Literature of Art. [August, his work, the substitution, in fact, of the artist for nature, is the solid basis of all testhetics. (Part I., chap. vi.) Although Turner is regarded by his greatest admirer as the first of the pre- Raphaelites whose dogmas of course are in exact opposition to those of MM. Ve~ron, Fromentin, Burger, and all the greatest critics in France in respect to the imitation of nature, yet the proposi- tion of M. V6ron as above quoted could not have a more complete justification and a commentary more apt than in the genius of Turner, according to Philip Gilbert llamerton.1 The result is that in Hamertons Turner we seem to have a man indeed. But the English critics, unwilling to surrender a possession so precious as Ruskins Turner ( the greatest painter of all time, a man with whose supremacy of power no intellect of past ages can be put in comparison for a moment), when confronted with this new image of the man, not made of gold and ivory, but modeled honestly in human clay, if they do not denounce the new biographer as a wicked icono- clast, at least take pleasure in pointin~ out that he has done less than justice to the genius which created the chrysele- pliantine marvel. If it is claimed that Hamerton is an artist writing of an art- ist, and in that capacity submits his sub- ject to a cool, critical analysis, more searching, temperate, and truthful than seems possible at any other hands, the critics cry, But is not Ruskin also an artist? Has he not given sufficient evi- dence of his capacity as such in his del- icate observations of the phenomena of nature, in his study of means and meth- ods of artistic expression, and in his own drawings and works in color? And if he is an artist, is his testimony regard- ing another artist not to be accepted in the same spirit as that of Hamerton? The answer to these questions is given by Hamerton himself in his fifteenth chapter, after having presented in the previous chapters the narrative of Tur- ners life, with a running commentary on 1 The Life of T. M. W. Turner, R. A. By PHILIP GILBERT HAMERTON. With nine Illustrations. Bos- ton: Roberts Brothers. 1879. his work, so arranged as to give a clear and succinct impression of the develop- ment and characteristics of his genius. In this chapter, after recalling the fort- unate circumstances which attended this remarkable career, the following pas- sages occur: The sneers of a portion of the pub- lic and th~ sarcasms of the newspapers brought a champion into the field who worshiped Turner with a devotion such as no other artist ever excited in his admirers, and who expressed his feel- ings with an energy and an ability far surpassing the powers of all previous writers upon art. No painter since the world began ever had such an advocate before, and there are excellent reasons for believing that no painter will ever have such an advocate in the future. The basis of Ruskins panegyric of Turner was a burning enthusiasm such as could exist only in the first freshness of national perception about art. In France such enthusiasm would be im- possible, for the field there is preoccu- pied by discussion; and now even the English mind, having been developed in the direction of art by a copious lit- erature, would no longer be hospitable to such expressions as those of Ruskin on Turner. But when Ruskin first wrote, he was fortunate enough to ob- tain an immediate and respectful hear- ing, because at the moment the English public was quite ready to accept instruc- tion in art, and because this plea for Turner was based upon the theory that this painter was the most truthful art- ist who ever lived. Previous writers upon art, Mr. ilamerton says, had dwelt much less on truth than on style, and on those artifices of arrangement which the ordinary Englishman feels strongly inclined to despise as tricks of trade, about which no one but the art- ist and his ape need trouble himself. This appeal, therefore, to the English love of truth, enforced as it was by defi- nitions of truth in nature such as had never before appeared in elegant litera- ture, and by frequent and impassioned assertions that Turner was always loyal The Latest Literature of Art. to this truth in nature, met with great acceptance. It is not upon the point of Turners enormous knowledge of natural phenomena, which is undisputed, but upon that of his absolute veracity in set- ting forth such phenomena, that the present biographer takes issue with Rus- kin. No principle is more frequently asserted in this book and more frequent- lv illustrated by reference to Turners own works than the fact that truth to nature is not art; that art is indeed strangely independent both of science and veracity, and refuses to submit either to scientific or even to intellectual tests. It is nourished by nature, but inspired by imagination; it is nature hu- manized. In fact, this principle is set forth in the motto upon the title-page, quoted from Fromentin, and it is in this intelligent spirit that the works of Tur- ner are explained, and so far as T)ossible justified. This manner of treating the genius of a great painter is in accord- ance with the advanced position now as- sumed by the Anglo-Saxon civilization in matters of art. Since the publica- tion of the first volume of Modern Paint- ers, in 1843, the great exposition of 1851 in Hyde Park, and the others in Paris, Vienna, and Philadelphia, have served to develop the artistic instincts of the English people in such wise that no Daniel can ever come to judgment for them again unquestioned. The quality of Mr. Hamertons work of biography has not been surpassed. The nature of previous biographies seems to have compelled him to give to the present work the character of a psy- chological study. It is not therefore to a catalogue of successive pictures, but to the development of an extraordinary genius, that the attention of the reader is directed from the beginning. Per- haps the most ingenious and original part of the book is the attempt to recon- cile the sordid, homely, and vulgar per- sonal characteristics of the man, for the knowledge of which we are perhaps mainly indebted to the industrious re- searches of Thornbury, with those di- vine and creative qualities which he ex- pressed in his works, and which were so superbly magnified by Ruskin, qual- ities which, Mr. Hamerton repeatedly remarks, assimilated him with Shelley. The rare combination of sound common sense with high artistic instincts and knowledge of artistic methods which is evident in the authorship of this book serves to throw upon this singular dual existence a flood of- cool, colorless light, which, if it deprives the subject of some- what of its fascination of mystery and dethrones a god , gives to us a man whose standard of perfections is far more ac- cessible, and as such far more useful and truthful as a mark of progress in art. Iconoclasm as a business has been much cultivated in modern literature, and one by one we have seen ancient and mod- ern idols fall in pieces before the spirit of pitiless analysis; but in disclosing to us, in this instance, the feet of clay upon which stood the wonderful fabric of the imagination of the Oxford scholar, the iconoclast whose work we are now con- templating has not been fanatic or bru- tal. He has left to us not a wreck, but a consistent human figure: I should say, then, to sum up, that Turner was a landscape painter of ex- traordinary, yet by no means unlimited genius; a subtle and delicate, but un- faithful draughtsman; a learned and re- fined, but often fallacious chiaroscurist; a splendid and brilliant, but rarely nat- ural colorist; a man gifted with wonder- ful fertility of imagination and strength of memory (though this last is less easy to determine, because he altered every- thing); a student of nature whose range was vast indeed, for it included mount- ains, lakes, lowland, rivers, and the sea, besides all kinds of human works that can affect the appearance of a landscape, yet not universal, for he never adequate- ly illustrated the familiar forest trees, and had not the sentiment of the forest, neither had he the rustic sentiment in its perfection. I should say that Tur- ner was distinguished by his knowledge, but still more distinguished by his ex- quisite taste, and by the singular charm which it gave to most of his works, though not to all of them; that he was technically a wonderful, but imperfect 1879.] 165 The Latest Literature of Art. [August, 166 and irregular painter in oil, unsafe and unsound in his processes, though at the same time both strong and delicate in handling; that he stands apart and alone in water-color, which in his hands is like a new art; that he was an excellent line etcher in preparation for mezzotint, and a good engraver in mezzotint, besides; and that with all these gifts and acquire- ments he was a very great and illustri- ous artist, but not the greatest of artists. I believe that his fame will last. In these days of decorative art ap- plied to all the uses of life, high and low, in which it has been discovered that walls and furniture are capable of con- veying to the human mind a set of ideas and emotions quite different from those of mere comfort, protection, or conven- ience, it is an easy and natural transi- tion from the study of the higher ins- thetics to those of household art. They are concerned with the same principles of taste and style and individuality of effect, and can traverse regions of thought quite as rarefied in discussing the decorative treatment of a common wall surface, if not of a chair or a cabi- net, as in criticising a historical paint- ing. The literature of domestic art is already copious, and the latest accession to it is in many respects worthy of es- pecial note. Mr. Charles C. Perkins, in his pref- ace to the American edition of Dr. Falkes work on Art in the House, late- ly published by L. Prang & Co., of Bos- ton, claims for this work that for clearness of plan and soundness of criti- cism, and for the lucid setting forth of the excellences and defects of ancient and modern systems of house building and decoration in an interesting and im- pressive manner, it has perhaps no rival among books of its kind. Doubtless the present editors learned notes, to- gether with the quality and profuseness of the illustrations with which the Amer- ican edition has been enriched, have done somewhat to substantiate this claim. Art in the House. Historical, critical, and Bs- theti I Studies on the Decoration and Furnishing of the Dwelling. By JACOB VON FALKE, Vice-Direct- or of the Austrian Museum of Art and Industry at The mechanic arts of the printer and paper-maker have responded sumptuous- ly to the demand to do honor to this new manifestation of doctrine, which needs must possess some very solid qual- ities of excellence to justify an equip- ment so noble and a prologue so prom- ising. The serious way in which the modern Englishman has set about the task of erecting a standard of taste commensu- rate with his civilization, since, at the first great exposition in Hyde Park, he discovered his inferiority in this respect, and the measure of success which has crowned his efforts, form a spectacle doubtless without parallel in the history of art. It is a strange revolution, based upon a sense of duty and inspired by a profuse literature which seems to have given to the whole movement a certain moral and intellectual tone. The whole body of this literature has found its way to this country, and has had a percept- ible effect upon the practice of all the arts of decoration. Now, to this docile and thoughtful condition of national pupilage comes a foreign master, with, it may be presumed, new historical illustrations, new argu- ments, and new inspirations. Does the character of our English training seem provincial and narrow in the new light thrown upon it from the lamp of this German doctor? Does he open new vis- tas of thought, new possibilities of art, new theories, new applications of prec- edent which have not already been at- tempted by the English masters? The curiosity to see and study his book in its English dress is a proof that at least the American disciples of the new dis- pensation are open to conviction, and not loath to he turned from error by any new revelation which may come to them. To the illustrations of the German edition, some of which may be new to English students, as they give us the re- sults of foreign thought and workman- ship, the American editor has evident- ly made considerable additions, so that Vienna. Anthonys American Edition, translated from the third German Edition. Edited with notes by CHARLES (I. PERKINs, M. A. Illustrated. Boston L. Prang & Co. 1879. 1879.] now we have reproductions, by various mechanical processes, from Viollet-le- Duc, Gruner, Mazois, Semper, Kugler, Jacquemart, Le Pautre, Lacroix, and Niccolini; from Shaw, Nash, and Pugin; from contemporary French and German periodicals of art; from Dutch etchings; and even from nodern American work. The collection is heterogeneous in style and irregular in quality; and not a few of the prints suffer in the transfer; but it is of undoubted value as presenting in an accessible form an unusually large array of examples from various sources. As the first impression made by such a book as this is obtained from the pict- ures, and as the great majority of the public will not go fartber than these, it is well to acknowledge in the outset that we have here presented to us an inter- esting, instructive, and compact library of examples of decorative art, which tell their own story with a certain directness and are indicative of the cosmopolitan character of the work. The historical statement occupies about one half of the volume, and treats in suc- cessive pages of the Gramco-Roman house, the rnedimval house, and the houses of the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eight- eenth centuries; to these the editor has prefixed a scholarly preface relating to the domestic establishments of the Egyp- tians and Assyrians. The historical view is distinctly European, and not English; but if the narrative is wanting in detail of English eras and styles, it gives us, naturally enough, the German develop- ments, which are less familiar to us, and thus sensibly enlarges the scope of our vision in this direction. Dr. Falke pre- sents a fair summary of the evidence of the best authorities as to mediamval do- mestic art, but is much more sympathet- ic with that of the Italian and French Renaissance, to which he devotes the largest and best part of his historical es- say. He considers that furniture, which in Gothic times was either too heavy, archaic, and rude in the beginning, or too overloaded with imitations of archi- tectural ornament in the end, and al- ways uncomfortable, was rapidly devel- oped in the Renaissance period in the 167 direction of greater ease, elegance, and fitness, and was far better suited to the conditions of a more complicated civili- zation. The intellectual and imagina- tive element introduced into arabesque ornament by Raphael and his pupils, as instanced especially in the painting and stucco of the Villa Madama, was pro- lific in its immediate effect upon Italian and French decorations both in respect to form and color, and gave a distinctive character of elegance to the Italian in- teriors, until corrupted by the Baroque excesses introduced by Alessandro Vit- toria, notably in the ceiling of the library of St. Marks. These excesses, together with the misuse of the cartouche by rea- son of the facility of its adaptations, were hardly less prolific. The influence of the characteristics of the French Re- naissance kings upon the decorations of their several eras, from Francis I. to Louis XIV., XV., and XVI., especially in the last three reigns, is a very re- markable l)hase of the history of domes- tic art. The Italian examples, under these social conditions, were subjected to changes so significant and astonishing that the walls, ceilings, chairs, and ta- bles of these eras are elevated to the dignity of historical documents and in- scriptions. Dr. Falkes work does not define these changes with such elegance an(I directness as Mrs. Spofford in her excellent little work, Art Decoration ap- plied to Furniture, nor with such spe- cial and technical information as is to be found, for example, in Pollens Hand- book of Artistic Woodwork in the South Kensington Museum; indeed, he hardly refers to the early French Renaissance, and he passes over the reign of Louis Quinze in absolute silence; but his work perhaps is more complete in other di- rections, especially as regards color and stucco. The effect of the discovery of Pompeii upon the art of Louis Seize, and the prompt acceptance of a new senti- ment of form and color in harmony with the characteristics of the time; the re- vival. of the pseudo-antique in the eras of the Revolution and the empire; the quick return to the vulgarities of the Rococo with the Restoration, and the The Latest Literature of Art. The Latest Literature of Art. effect of modern culture and ~sthetics in refining these forms are all duly set forth. It must be admitted that Dr. Falkes treatment of the Italian Renaissance of the sixteenth century, the pure source of all the subsequent French, English, and German inspirations in domestic art, is, considering the scope of the work, in the main adequate. He gives to it the preeminence which belongs to it. Other popular writers have failed to rec- ognize in the same degree the enormous importance of this phase of household art, which contained the fruitful germs of the greatest artistic revolution in his- tory. The geographical stand-point of I)r. Falke in Vienna perhaps enables him to see the developments of the Re- naissance in the nations of Europe in a truer perspective an(1 with a less preju- diced eye than the Englishman, who nat- urally gives to the eccentric phenomena of his Elizabethan style and to the pro- vincial characteristics of his Jacobean an undue importance in the historical summary. While the Englishmans fore- ground is occupied with such local in- cidents as these, the other essential de- tails of the historical picture seem to lose somewhat of their due relative values. It is worthy of note, however, that the corresponding modifications of Italian types in the German states are by no means so marked in their characteristics as are those of Queen Elizabeth or Queen Anne in England. The history of the German Renaissance in domestic art seems nothing more than a pale reflec- tion of France. Such is the testimony of Dr. Falke, who should be good au- thority. But as regards the Nether- lands, at least, and Denmark, which are not referred to in this volume, the evi- dence of M. Felix Narjoux, in his Jour- nal of an Architect in the Northwest of Europe, is ample to secure to those re- gions the credit of a domestic style as marked as that of Queen Anne, and not unlike it in sentiment and form. Since the advent of Ruskin and Pu- gin, the whole strength of English ins- thetic writing on household art has been concentrated on the advocacy of Gothic principles of design, and for many years, until the recent characteristic revolt of young English designers, which as yet has not enjoyed the advantage of a lit- erary exposition, we have recognized no virtue in any furniture unless it bore the marks of mediinval sincerity and inno cence. We are scarcely yet free from the curioue fascination exercised by the notched and chamfered edges, the stunt- ed or attenuated shafts, the visible joints and articulations, the semi - puritanic straightness and the semi-barbaric mas- siveness, and the cusps and billet-mold- ings, which have been considered the only expressions of which truly moral and honest furniture is capable. On the other hand, with regard to color and wall treatment, we have enjoyed, under the vigorous direction of Burne Jones, Morris, Simpson, and the English de- signers and manufacturers generally, a much more generous an(I catholic r~ime, (Irawing inspiration from all sources which could contribute anything to ef- fects of decoration, and relieve us from the dominion of the pale, cold tints which we inherited from the salon of the Marquise de Rambonillet and from the French era of white and gold in the eighteenth century. The advantages which have come to the spirit of modern design in England and America from the study of the medimeval virtues are ours, let us hope, for all time. It has made a race of conscientious designers, who cannot be corrupted by the pagan wiles of any learned German, unconvert- ed by the gospel of art according to Pu- gin, Eastlake, and Viollet-le-Duc, but who are no longer willing to be confined in the strait-jacket of mediinvalism, and are ready to welcome to our service all beautiful ideas, whether Christian or pa- gan. It is pleasant, therefore, after hav- ing been so long preoccupied with the picturesqueness, naivete, and naturalism of the monkish and lay builders, to be restored to the rest of our inheritance. This book has its uses in opening once more to our view the familiar and spa- cious domains from which we English- speaking people have been so long ex- cluded. 168 [August, The Latest Literature of Art. In the portion of the book relating to the theory and practice of household art, Mr. Perkinss instructive notes sud- denly desert us. Possibly, he modestly considered that his function as a com- mentator could not properly extend over a department in which the explanation, extenuation, enlargement, or correction of thc text required special knowledge and experience. However this may be, this practical and theoretical part of the book is the less successful. It includes chapters upon Style and Harmony, Mu- ral Painting, The Floor and the Wall, Movable Wall Ornaments, The Ceil- ing, The Decoration of the Table, etc. The author very properly argues against any attempt to carry out uniformity of style throughout the interior fittings of a house, that is, uniformity in the sense of arebmological loyalty to the spirit of any historical epoch, and does not find it difficult to maintain, in general terms, that it is possible so to arrange the hete- rogeneous collections of furniture, deco- rations, and bricabrac which find their way from all climes into every house- hold, as to obtain a result of harmony. He claims that this harmony is obtained rather from color than from form, and proceeds to draw from that inexhaustible fountain of artistic knowledge, the Die- tiounaire Raisonn6 of Viollet-le-Duc, a few general observations upon the value and uses of color as a decorative agent. We regret to say, however, that the source of these observations is not ac- knowledged; nor does he admit his in- debtedness, not as regards ideas alone, but even in respect to words and phrases, to the Frenchmans invaluable article, Peinture, in his remarks on the limita- tions of mural painting. The basis of Dr. Falkes specific in- structions on household taste is in the main sound and philosophical, but in his application of rules to examples, al- though he expatiates elegantly, he is wanting in directness. His instructions upon the artistic treatment of walls, floors, and ceilings, with our present light upon this subject, are common- place and very general in their charac- ter throughout. He errs, however, not so much in what he says, as in what he omits to say, and his directions are rather those of an amateur than of a practitioner. Thus, in treating of floors, he says what all other intelligent writ- ers have said upon the subject, and no more: he objects, of course, to light prevailing tones, to naturalistic treat- ment of forms in the patterns of parquet- ry, floor-mosaic, or carpeting, to the imitation of figures in relief, to high colors and large patterns; he specifies where carpeting with central feature and borders may be admitted, where the former should not be used, and how the best effect may be got from the latter, and so on. He pursues the same safe course with respect to walls and ceil- ings, rarely committino himself to the expression of an opinion which is not justified by the obvious proprieties of (Ic- sign, but never incisive, original, or sug- gestive. The fundamental point on which we need instruction is the relative treatment of the floors, walls, and ceilings of a room, and the relative treatment of ad- joining rooms in a suite, to the end that an effect of artistic unity may be se- cured where all the innumerable acci- dents of form and color in modern furni- ture and fittings, if left to themselves without a guiding hand, will inevitably result in confusion, if not discord. The fundamental question is, By what device are we to obtain a satisfactory coup d~il in any given case? We seek in vain in these elegant and for the most part un- objectionable pages for any evidence of mastery as to this all-important point. There is an obvious difficulty in laying down general principles which can serve as practical guides applicable to all the exceedingly complex and various condi- tions of modern interiors, but however complex and various are these factors, the arrangement and adjustment of them according to general principles of unity and fitness are possible, and these prin- ciples are capable of intelligent defini- tion. Yet such definitions cannot be evolved from learning and from theory alone; unless developed from practical experience also, they must, from the 1879.] 169 170 Petite lIIarie and Benezet. [August, nature of the case, be incomplete and inoperative. In short, the book, so far as the prac- tical part of it is concerned, is not so much a guide to the decorator and the cabinet-maker as an illustrated resume of general and accepted principles, which it is important to have set forth in de- liberate and scholarly language, and which in this shape will perhaps cain access to minds not otherwise hospita- ble to the msthetics of common life. If the portion devoted to the exposition of principles had been annotated by a capable and practiced hand, and sup- plemented by a really practical com- mentary, as the historical part has been annotated and supplemented by Mr. Per- kins, the work would have gaIned im- measurably in value, not only to the specialist, but to the layman. The op- portunity ~eeins too good to be lost, and we trust that the publishers may be en- couraged in a subsequent edition to com- plete their work in this essential direc- tion. Henry Van Brunt. PETITE MARIE AND BENEZET. THREE hundred bells in Avignon Rang in the day, rang out the night: The Popes and sovereigns took their way, No odds if it were wrong or right; And through the right, and through the wrong, The merry bells of Avignon, Three hundred bells, rang on and on. Come now with me, Petite Marie, My sweet Sweetheart, said Benezet, And we will journey to Beaucaire. The yellow madder blooms are set, To-morrow is the opening fair. Three hundred bells rang on and on, The merry bells of Avignon. High waved the banners in the air, The iron hoofs of horses rang; Past twenty arches on the bridge, With silver trumpets peal and clang, Drowning the bells of Avignon, The gay procession crowded on. Petite Marie and Benezet, One half in pleasure, half in fear, Climbed to a frescoed shrine that shone Above the blue waves of the Rhone. Saint Martha! ~ cried Petite Marie, They crush me, but t is fair to see! Alas, the child! Her golden tone Fell on foul ears that should not hear; Bold eyes met bers in evil stare,

H. H. H., H. Petite Marie and Benezet 170-172

170 Petite lIIarie and Benezet. [August, nature of the case, be incomplete and inoperative. In short, the book, so far as the prac- tical part of it is concerned, is not so much a guide to the decorator and the cabinet-maker as an illustrated resume of general and accepted principles, which it is important to have set forth in de- liberate and scholarly language, and which in this shape will perhaps cain access to minds not otherwise hospita- ble to the msthetics of common life. If the portion devoted to the exposition of principles had been annotated by a capable and practiced hand, and sup- plemented by a really practical com- mentary, as the historical part has been annotated and supplemented by Mr. Per- kins, the work would have gaIned im- measurably in value, not only to the specialist, but to the layman. The op- portunity ~eeins too good to be lost, and we trust that the publishers may be en- couraged in a subsequent edition to com- plete their work in this essential direc- tion. Henry Van Brunt. PETITE MARIE AND BENEZET. THREE hundred bells in Avignon Rang in the day, rang out the night: The Popes and sovereigns took their way, No odds if it were wrong or right; And through the right, and through the wrong, The merry bells of Avignon, Three hundred bells, rang on and on. Come now with me, Petite Marie, My sweet Sweetheart, said Benezet, And we will journey to Beaucaire. The yellow madder blooms are set, To-morrow is the opening fair. Three hundred bells rang on and on, The merry bells of Avignon. High waved the banners in the air, The iron hoofs of horses rang; Past twenty arches on the bridge, With silver trumpets peal and clang, Drowning the bells of Avignon, The gay procession crowded on. Petite Marie and Benezet, One half in pleasure, half in fear, Climbed to a frescoed shrine that shone Above the blue waves of the Rhone. Saint Martha! ~ cried Petite Marie, They crush me, but t is fair to see! Alas, the child! Her golden tone Fell on foul ears that should not hear; Bold eyes met bers in evil stare, 1879.] Petite Marie and Benezet. 171 Bold eyes too wicked to forget. Cold at the heart of Benezet His blood to ice with terror turned; His cheeks with shame and anger burned. Three hundred bells in Avignon Rang in the day, rang out the night, And kings and Popes their pleasure took, And knew no odds of wrong or right. Ah, never in gay Avignon Petite Marie was seen again. Alone, returning from Beaucaire, Went Benezet with reeling brain; And at the Popes great palace gate, In beggar s clothes by night, by day, With haggard eyes to watch and wait, Long weeks and months of weeks he lay. The merry bells of Avignon, Three hundred bells, rang on and on. Bring out your dead Room for the dead! The cry rang loud,the cry rang hoarse; Piled with the blackened bodies high, The death-cart went its dreadful course. Black Death from gate to gate did ride, And slew and slew; in three short days, They say, full fourteen hundred died. The belfry ropes ran slackened ways; In feeble hands in Avignon The funeral bells tolled on and on. The beggar at the palace gate, Death passed him by, and left him late With haggard eyes at last to see, Tossed careless like the others down Though decked in lace and satin gown, The body of Petite Marie. Then, filmy, glazed, his eyes were set. Here is one more! they cried, and threw The faithful, dying Benezet By side of his Petite Marie. He s well nigh gone! We 11 take him, too! Slowly the bells of Avignon In feeble hands tolled on and on. Five hundred years ago they died, Petite Marie and Benezet; No longer now to gay Beaucaire Go lovers for the summer fair. Of twenty arches stand but three, Where Popes and kings did dazzling ride, And bold, bad eyes looked back to see 172 Irene the Missionary. [August, The beauty of Petite Marie. But July sees the madder set Its yellow blooms as thickly yet, And slowly still the same blue Rhone Rolls past the walls of Avignon, Where merry bells ring on and on. IRENE TIlE MISSIONARY. XVIII. MR. PAYSON saw Mr. Brassey to the gate of his little court-yard, and then re- appeared before the grammatical couple in the hall, his face elate and his hands clasped as if in thanksgiving. God has been very gracious to our worthy consul, he said. He has in- spired him with a desire to do good to the souls of his fellow-men. You would hardly guess the object of his visit to me this morning. He came of his own ac- cord to pledge three hundred dollars a year toward the support of a church in Damascus. You dont say so! exclaimed the doctor. Why did nt I know it be- fore? Here was I, afraid he would sit down upon us, and letting him go off without a word. Why did nt you tell us before he went out? Dear me, I forgot it! sighed Pay- son. The truth is that I was think- ing of the new mission, and not of the man who has made it possible. What absent-minded, ungrateful noodles we are! I II ride down to his office and apol- ogize for my neglect, declared Mack- un, springing up, in his impulsive way. No, I wont either, he added, sitting down again. He might think I had come for the money. We must show him some special mark of thanks, said Payson. We must invite him to our weekly concert of prayer. Perhaps he would rather be invited to tea, suggested Miss Grant, with a smile. Well, Irene, there is an exchange- able value in tea, admitted Mr. Pay- son, who also could not help smiling. Provender has always been consid- ered an element of hospitality, even in entertaining angels. Mrs. Payson shall give the consul a tea, or, if it pleases her best, a dinner. So, three days later, Mr. Brassey sat at the festive board with a select circle of missionaries, all sincerely thankful to him for his generous contribution to the good cause, and anxious to accord him the choicest of their grave courtesy. The meal was largely in Syrian style, which was a whim of Mrs. Paysons to gratify the functionary, he having been heard to say that he should like to see a real Arab banquet. The bill of fare opened with a thick soup of lentils, called mejeddara, some- what resembling pea soup, or rather pea porridge. Ah! said Mr. Kirkwood, smacking his lips over it; consul, this is said to be the very pottage with which Jacob bought out Esau! I should say, replied Mr. Brassey, after due tasting, that Esau must have been every bit as hungry as the good book makes him out to be. But we will give at once the entire menu of the dinner. After Esans pot- tage came a breast of lamb stuffed with chestnuts and raisins, and supported by ~ a huge pilau of rice dotted with the yel- low seeds of pine-tree cones. Then fob 11.11.

Irene the Missionary, XVIII - XXII 172-190

172 Irene the Missionary. [August, The beauty of Petite Marie. But July sees the madder set Its yellow blooms as thickly yet, And slowly still the same blue Rhone Rolls past the walls of Avignon, Where merry bells ring on and on. IRENE TIlE MISSIONARY. XVIII. MR. PAYSON saw Mr. Brassey to the gate of his little court-yard, and then re- appeared before the grammatical couple in the hall, his face elate and his hands clasped as if in thanksgiving. God has been very gracious to our worthy consul, he said. He has in- spired him with a desire to do good to the souls of his fellow-men. You would hardly guess the object of his visit to me this morning. He came of his own ac- cord to pledge three hundred dollars a year toward the support of a church in Damascus. You dont say so! exclaimed the doctor. Why did nt I know it be- fore? Here was I, afraid he would sit down upon us, and letting him go off without a word. Why did nt you tell us before he went out? Dear me, I forgot it! sighed Pay- son. The truth is that I was think- ing of the new mission, and not of the man who has made it possible. What absent-minded, ungrateful noodles we are! I II ride down to his office and apol- ogize for my neglect, declared Mack- un, springing up, in his impulsive way. No, I wont either, he added, sitting down again. He might think I had come for the money. We must show him some special mark of thanks, said Payson. We must invite him to our weekly concert of prayer. Perhaps he would rather be invited to tea, suggested Miss Grant, with a smile. Well, Irene, there is an exchange- able value in tea, admitted Mr. Pay- son, who also could not help smiling. Provender has always been consid- ered an element of hospitality, even in entertaining angels. Mrs. Payson shall give the consul a tea, or, if it pleases her best, a dinner. So, three days later, Mr. Brassey sat at the festive board with a select circle of missionaries, all sincerely thankful to him for his generous contribution to the good cause, and anxious to accord him the choicest of their grave courtesy. The meal was largely in Syrian style, which was a whim of Mrs. Paysons to gratify the functionary, he having been heard to say that he should like to see a real Arab banquet. The bill of fare opened with a thick soup of lentils, called mejeddara, some- what resembling pea soup, or rather pea porridge. Ah! said Mr. Kirkwood, smacking his lips over it; consul, this is said to be the very pottage with which Jacob bought out Esau! I should say, replied Mr. Brassey, after due tasting, that Esau must have been every bit as hungry as the good book makes him out to be. But we will give at once the entire menu of the dinner. After Esans pot- tage came a breast of lamb stuffed with chestnuts and raisins, and supported by ~ a huge pilau of rice dotted with the yel- low seeds of pine-tree cones. Then fob 11.11. Irene the Missionary. lowed, in separate courses, sliced cab- bage fried in liquid butter, tender green gourds crammed with highly seasoned stuffing, and young grape leaves enfold- ing the same sort of nourishment. Next came a broad, flat platter of icibbe, a kind of pie made of roast lamb pounded up with boiled wheat, and powerfully flavored with onions. The dessert was, first, buichiawy, a mixture of pastry and fruit, reminding one of a recklessly rich mince pie; and, lastly, rohotlicoom, known in America as fig-paste, a very pleas- ant compound of flour, white sugar, and rose-water. Black coffee closed the re- past, and a chibouk for the consul. And so this is the correct thing in this country? ~ queried Mr. Brassey. Lacking some twenty dishes, re- plied Mr. Kirkwood. A Syrian is generally an abstemious creature. But when he does feast he devours the land 1)efore him, and leaves it a waste behind him. And that s what kibbe is ! the guest had said, when they were over the Syrian national dish. Seems to me it might be a good diet to give jail-birds; if they escaped, you could track em by the scent. I do believe that in a Chris- tian country like ours the mere perfume of that delicacy would disperse a blood- thirsty mob. Mrs. Payson, who was not accustomed to such hyperbolical joking, made a sign as if to order the removal of the dish. Oh, dont send it away on my ac- count, maam, said the consul, smilin~,. To tell the honest truth, I have smelt onions before. My own cook flavors me with em quite frequently. As this subject seemed to have been sufficiently treated, Mr. Payson changed the conversation to the Damascus mis- sion, and remarks were made of course complimentary to Mr. Brassey. Then he had a temptation: he wanted to rise in his place and make a ringing speech concerning the new enterprise; perhaps if there had been wine on the table he would have astonished his hosts with a specimen of platform oratory. But his better genius aided him to keep his seat, and to leavethe topic mainly to the mis- sionaries. The result was a long mission talk, firstly concerning the Damascus station, and then concerning the other distant stations, to all which the consul listened civilly, and with a show of in- terest. It was obvious that he had a high respect for his table companions, and desired to treat their solemnities with deference. Irene had never seen him behave so well before, and began to think him quite an agreeable gentleman. The meal ended with the rohotlicoom, and the guests had their coffee about the room, seated on chairs an(l on the mukaad. The consul took his place be side Irene, and for the first time began to talk with full freedom, indulging in a good deal of West Wolverine humor. I call this mixing drinks, he said, when the servant handed him a glass of water antI a cup of Turkish coffee. Do you often drink as heavy as this? It s been a serious dinner, was another of his asides. I consider that meal equivalent to partaking of the pass- over. Irene marveled a little at his critical liberty, but strove to smile at every one of his flashes of wit. As to jokes on biblical subjects, she had been used to them from childhood, as is the case with most children of clergymen. Our jest- ings, if we jest at all, are apt to spring from familiar earth. Mr. Brassey of course supposed that he was making himself agreeable to the young lady. He knew that women al- ways titter over a mans joke, and he inferred that they are fond of humor, and can be won by it, which is probably a great mistake. Furthermore, he pre- sumed that his outfit of a church in Damascus had filled Irene with grati- tude toward him, and with a high opin- ion of his character. Thus he felt strong with her, and able to venture a great deal, not only in jest but in seri- ousness. I think, he said to himself, I think I had better strike while the iron is hot. Circumstances seemed to favor him: the Kirkwoods and Dr. Macklin went home early only the Paysons remained. 1879.] 173 174 Irene the Missionary. [August, Mr. Brassey rose, beckoned his host aside, and murmured, A word with you in private, parson. They left the little whitewashed par- lor, and walked into the hall, the usual sitting place of the family. I want a confidential word or two with Miss Grant, pursued the consul. Could nt it be brought around in some quiet, genial way? There is no evil news, I trust, for her, said Mr. Payson, looking upanx- iously. Not very bad, smiled Mr. Brassey. She s got my very best good opinion; that s about the worst of it. The clergyman continued to gaze in silence into the public functionarys in- comprehensible face. I admit, of course, that she s under your care, pursued the consul, and I 11 put the thing exactly as if you was her father. My proposition is, plainly and squarely and honorably, to obtain her hand in marriage. Mr. Payson was profoundly aston- ished, and little less than horror-stricken. But he was not the man to ponder long over his own feelings, or to think it worth while to utter a word concernin them. After a moment of grave meditation he replied, calmly, She is of age; ask her. I have the ri~ht, I believe, neither to help nor hinder. But I see no reason why you should not speak, nor why she should not listen. Exactly, nodded Mr. Brassey. Non-committal, but fair and gentle- manly. Just what I expected of you, sir. And now, if you can beckon Mrs. Payson in here, I can step back to the parlor and interview Miss Grant. Payson carried out this suggestion with such tranquillity and dignity that even in that anxious moment the consul admired him, and thought that he had in him the making of a first-class manager of men. Irene, who was sitting on the long, low sofa which formed nearly the entire furniture of the parlor, looked up from a bit of embroidery with some surprise when she found that she was alone with Mr. Porter Brassey, and that he was gazing at her with a peculiar steadfast- ness. I thought you had gone, she said, with one of those vague smiles which are so common in human intercourse. Could nt (10 it yet awhile, replied the consul, trying to be light-hearted and confident, and succeeding fairly well. lie-was accustomed to asking fa- vors, and to asking them of all sorts of people. A great part of his life had been passed in urging his fellow-creat- ures to do something for Porter Brassey. Probably he had applied for at least a score of offices, and for thousands of sig- natures to applications. He had sought out and pleaded with and argued with more political and other miscellaneous notabilities than the ordinary citizen reads of in the newspapers. He had learned, in a long course of place-hunt- ing, to be bold and cool and persevering, and, if advisable, importunate and hec- toring. Denial could not discomfit him, nor contempt abash him. On the pres- ent delicate occasion, steeled to firmness by so many interviewing experiences, he was more self-possessed and hopeful than any ordinary lover could imagine. I have the permission of Mr. Pay- son, he began, cunningly making the most of that fact, I have your guardians permission, Miss Irene, to say a word to you in private. Irene started as if about to rise, and then slowly subsided again into position, all in silence. I have formed a very high opinion of you, continued Mr. Brassey, taking a chair and seating himself near her. I suppose you have noticed it. A very high opinion, indeed! My conviction is that, if I should look the whole earth over, I would nt find another lady that I should consider your match. lit was strong, and he had meant to make it strong, believing habitually that lukewarm talk is wasted talk. At this point he paused, and gazed at her fixedly for a moment, amixious to discover what impression he had produced. Irene had the air of being utterly con- founded and extremely distressed. With an expression which was partly implor Irene the Afi8szonar~y. ing and partly shrinking, she just glanced at him, and no more. Then she dropped her eyes to her embroidery, and remained as still as if she were paralyzed. That introduction as to permission obtained from Mr. Payson had had its intended effect; it had given her a belief that the mission desired her to listen favorably to Mr. Porter Brassey. In short Miss Grant I love you, continued the consul, beginning to stammer a little. I want you for my wife, his voice shaking in a way which was a credit to him. Thats what I want, Miss Grant Irene! What do you say? Whats to be mymy fate? A throb of annoyance, amounting to painful aversion, ran through the girl and restored her nervous power. She rose slowly to her feet, and slowly turned away from him while she answered, Oh, Mr. Brassey, what did you say this for? Why did they let you? They ought to have known better. But, Miss Irene began the con- sul, who had also risen. No, no! she interrupted, moving gently away from him and toward the door. Please dont! I dont want to pain you. But I cant, I cant. Dont talk to me any more about it. 1 am so sorry! Please dont care. But I must care, and Mr. Brasseys voice was quite agonized now. I cant help caring. You are so handsome and so goodand I love you sowith all my heart. Oh, I wish you did nt I wish you wouldnt! begged Irene. I cant care for you in return. I would if I could. But I cant, and I never shall. Never before, in all his many suits for favor, had the consul been so shaken and troubled. It was humiliating to be beaten, and it was torture to have his love refused. He would have known better what to do with her if she had not shown a purpose to get out of the room. He tried to take her hand, but she evaded him with unconscious adroit- ness, so much like the impulsive dodging of a child that it was humorous, only there was no one present who could be amused by it, or by anything. In his despair and confusion, Mr. Brassey fell back upon an argument which he would have scorned to use a minute before, although he had hoped that it would have a silent influence for his benefit. I thought, he pleaded, slowly fol- lowing as she slowly moved away, you know I ye done sQinething for the mis- sion, I thought it might be considered in my favor. I did it partly on your ac- count. I did, truly. I cant help it, was the doleful an- swer. It was very good of you. But I did nt ask you to do it. Oh, Mr. Brassey, do excuse me and let me go. Is it because I m a Western man? asked the consul, now quite desperate. 1 know Eastern ladies dont like to move West. Well, I m rich enough to settle at the East. Payson told you about my legacy, I suppose. No. He told me nothing. Its all a surprise, and a very painful one. Did nt tell you! exclaimed Bras- sey, indignantly. I told him a-purpose to have him mention it. Fifteen thou- sand dollars, and there s my salary, too. I can live here like a prince.~~ Mr. Brassey, it does nt make any difference, answered Irene, gathering a little spirit. I can not talk with you any further on this subject. Wont you kindly leave me? Yes, I will, groaned the consul his voice failing him. I in disap- pointed, heart-broken. I wish I d never seen you. But if you dont want me, that s the end of it, and I 11 go. I wish you every kindness, Mr. Brassey, said Irene, sorrowfully. Except one. And that s the only kindness I ask of anybody in the whole world. Good-night, Miss Grant. You wont think hard of me? No, never, promised Irene, panting to have him depart, yet all the while most piteous. Good-night. XIX. Mr. Payson divined, from the troubled countenance of Irene when she appeared 1879.] 175 176 Irene the Missionary. [August, in the comandaloon, that the offer of mar- riage had resulted disastrously. With a relieved heart, but without ut- tering a word concerning this greatest adventure of the evening, he went off to his stated wrestle with the knotty pas- sages of the Hebrew Bible, and in five minutes had forgotten all about the loves of Mr. Brassey. Mrs. Payson, who had guessed at l~ast as much as her husband, but who had not his composure of nerves and scorn of gossip, could not let a matrimonial proposal pass entirely without remark. After waiting a proper time for the girl to speak, and after studyin~ her face as if she meant to take her portrait, she said, with a sly smile, I hope you are not going to leave us, Irene. No, indeed, replied Irene, coloring violently, and looking just a little of- fended. Mrs. Payson giggled, as much as to say that Mr. Brassey was a comical lover; and not another syllable concerning his courtship was uttered for days in this se- date household. As for the consul, although he sadly needed the solace of a confidant, he could not of course pour his heart sor- rows into the bosom of a dragoman; and so he had to pass the evening in dumb melancholy, except when he addressed violent remarks to articles of furniture. He wrote out three letters of resigna- tion, and destroyed them one after the other. [suspect that nowhere does hope alternate with despair more rapidly than in the bosom of a rejected lover. I wonder if she aint sorry by this time Mr. Brassey would mutter to himself. I wonder how she would feel toward me if I should drop in again to- morrow! 1 will drop in. No, by George, I wont. I never 11 enter that house again, never. She meant it, meant every word. How in thunder could I be such a fool as to try to bring her in by a surprise! I ought to have courted her a long time before I said anything positive. Women dont understand business. They aint politicians. Then, in his anger and sense of in- jury, he queried whether he should now pay that three hundred per anni~m. His first feeling was that it would be the ri,,ht thing to let the church in Damascus go to Apollyon. But after some business- like reflection he decided that such a move~~ would not do. He had said too much about his plan to go back on it. If he should return home, and should judge it ~yise to run for Congress, he might sadly need the pious vote of his district. Moreover, there was some magnanimity in this poker-playing vet- eran of politics, and by moments he truly desired to return good for evil and to do the handsome thing. Finally, he still had wild hopes of winning Irene, an(l (lid not want to blast them by earn- ing her scorn. I guess Ill pony up on that church, he decided, and see if it wont bring her to her senses. If it should turn out a good, lively church, I think it would move her. Oh, dear, I wish I was one of her sort, and she knew it. After which he bowed his head under a sense of utter humiliation and helpless- ness, and wept with a hearty, honest grief to which he might properly have pointe(l with pride. As for Irene, although she said but two words concerning the consuls offer, an(l those only on compulsion, she could not help thinking much of it. She was sorry for him; she hoped that he was not very angry with her; she did not want to be a cause of grief or hate to any one. But take him? Oh, no! never! How could the rough, worldly man, so differ- ent every way from the men to whom she had been used, how could he have im- agined that she could love him! As for pleasure or pride in her conquest, she was not coquette enough to entertain those emotions, and would have thought them wicked. There was not a desire in her to hang up the consular scalp and dance around it. Does any one think that all this is a pity, and that she would have been a finer girl if she could have enjoyed her victory? Well, it may be so; I do not maintain that women should not exult in their successes; I even concede that Irene K would have been a more entertaining per- Irene the Missionary. sonage had she been something of a flirt. But what coquettish piquancy can one expect of a ministers daughter, who, in the, full flush of youth and beauty, longs to enlighten the Gentiles? Would a young lady gifted with the flirtatious faculties and brilliancies be very likely to hury them in mission ground? As Irene did not love to meditate upon Mr. Brasseys addresses, she was natu- rally glad of anything which might with- draw her therefrom. It was a great piece of luck for her that just at this time a long letter arrived from DeYries, de- tailing his explorations and other advent- ures in the neighborhood of Askelon. It was directed to Mr. Payson, but it con- tained pleasant references to herself, and she seized upon it with a happy sense of ownership. I am digging away after the corpse of the past like a ghoul, the young an- tiquarian wrote. And I am digging up some of my hopes by the roots at every stroke of the spade. Nothing comes to light but sand, loam, millstones, a few rude foundations, and scraps of pottery which might have been made in the last century. It was a hlunder, I very much fear, to excavate in the suburbs of an in- habited city which has never ceased, I believe, to be inhabited. One generation has devoured another to its very bones, and the sarcophagi which contained them. The Arabs, crusaders, Saracens, Enmans, Greeks, Assyrians, and Egyp- tians have eaten up each other and what- ever remained of the Philistines. I should have done better to spy out for- gotten Gath, or plow up desolate Ekron. But I have begun here: have a horde of loafers shoveling; have cut two long trenches and sunk thirteen deep pits; and I hate to leave without carrying away some results. Moreover, I am constantly entertained with my work, and am hard- ly aware of the lapse of weeks. It is an everlasting adventure to rouse out four- score modern Philistines every morning, and keep them grubbing all day after their ancestors with some decent imi- tation of industry. The laziness and shirking bad faith of the rapseallions would be insupportable, if one did not VOL. XLIV. NO. 262. 12 remember that they are the underfed sur- vivors of countless centuries of devasta- tion and evil government, and also the probahle representatives of those dear old heathen who enslaved Israel. Be- sides, why should they take any interest in my spadin~, except so far as it fur- nishes them with a profitable job, which of course should be made to last as long as possihle? They dont know that they are sprung from the Cherethites and the Pelethites. Curiosity abounds, however, if sym- pathy does not. It has been published in the streets of Askelon that a mad Frank has come among them to search for the treasures of his ancestors; and the entire sunburnt, sallow, ragged pop- ulation strolls out daily to stare at my excavations and babble with my work- men. Tell Miss Grant that the daugh- ters of the Philistines are not as beauti- ful as one hopes they were when they went forth with songs and dances to ~reet the victors of Mount Gilboa. I have found nobody here one quarter as lovely as Mirta, or Saada, or the lady of the Beit Keneasy. But the men, let me tell you that the men are really worth making a note of ; let me say seriously that they re- mind me of the stories about the Ana- kims. I dont so much mean here as in the neighborhood of Jaffa and near the probable site of Gath. You know that the Syrians are generally of small stat- ure, and that a grenadier among theni is a most rare monster. But in Philistia, if my imagination does not deceive my very foot-rule, there are plenty of tall fellows, who of course look all the more gigantic because of their loose costume. I have met numbers of men over six feet in height; a ndldefy you to find one such in all Lebanon or Galilee. Were the Anakims really giants? I have been used to consider that statement a Hebrew figure of speech, meaning that they were of old time a redoubtable people, and especially that they builded in massive masonry. But in that case why are there no remains of cyclopean walls in their ancient seats of Gath and Hebron? On the other hand, here are these strapping 1879.] 177 178 Irene the Missionary,. [August, fellows, who, geographically speaking, should be their descendants. Miss Grant will be delighted to hear that I am re- considering my rationalistic doubts as to the stature of the Anakims, though I am sorry to say that skepticism still troubles me as to their being six-toed and six-fingered. By the way, please ask our consul if I shall slaughter a contemporary giant, and forward him the skeleton for transmittal to the Patent Office Museum. You see that I am trying to be fun- ny. Dont be shocked; it is not light- mindedness; it is pure despair, which you like better. [Mr. Payson laughed here, and observed, The lad makes sport of my gloomy temperament.] I am all the more annoye(l at not finding a sin(fle Philistine sarcophagus because I want to put the governor of Askelon into one. The old rogue has got it into his stupid head that I have already found a treasure, and he is inventing every kind of obstruction and annoyance to make me divide with him. Yesterday he stopped my water-carriers and ordered my spademen away, and would not stop his yelling until my Arnaout drew a bead on his turban. This morning he sent for me to his rattle-bang palace, and asked me confidentially to show him all my gold. My reply was that I was only digging for lead, and that I threw away the other metals. Thereupon he threat- ened to write about me to the pasha, and I gave him permission to send three let- ters a week, but no more. My Italian steward, Giovanni, is in such constant ecs sies of terror that I sometinjes 0o to bed amused and happy. The other night a gang of jackals gave tonme in our nei~hborhood and he rushed into my tent declaring that the Philistines were upon us. The Arnaout, (who has a lovely disposition, of the tiger- cat sort) took him by one ear and led him back to his quarters, a circumstance which has brought on a series of misun- derstandings over the question of Ama- out rations. My impression is that Gio- vanni will get his ears pulled again before long, unless he takes to wearing a helmet. It is impossible to help liking those kilt- ed mountaineers for their courage, their combativeness, and their fldelity I dont wonder that the phalanx of Pyrrhus gave the Romans a lot of trouble, and that the latter eventually avenged themselves by selling the Epirots into slavery. Please inquire of Miss Grant whether, in view of this last circumstance, she does not approve of my letting an Epirot pull a Romans ear. Notwithstanding my failure to make any archicological discoveries connected with my subject, it still interests me in- cessantly and intensely. All the more because I have lately had a chance to discuss it with an intelligent traveler, an officer of our army on leave of absence, who had the goodness to listen for an hour or so to my guesses about Philistine history, and then made a few profession- al reflections which seemed to me worth a golden talent apiece. He figured up the superficies of Philistia at seven hun- dred square miles, and estimated the pos- sible population at two hundred and ten thousand, or three hundred per square mile. Assuming that one person in eight would be fit for field duty in an age of shields, cuirasses, etc., he found that the total arms-bearing strength would be twenty-six thousand two hundred and fifty men. his inference was that the Philistine armies must always have been small, and the largest of them not likely to exceed five or six thousand soldiers. And yet they conquered one half of the laud of Israel, a territory at least ten times as considerable as their own. It was much the same, observes my tacti- cian, as if Rhode Island should over- run Connecticut and Massachusetts, or as if Wales should subdue the southern half of England. Nothing can account for such a performance except some great superiority of arms and military quali- ties. Do you see what follows? One is almost forced to admit that my most no- ble heathen, or at least the ruling and warrior class among them, the lords of the Philistines, were sprung from one of the fighting broods of Europe, most prob- aimly brazen - armed Achaians min0led with strong-bowed Cretans. From the race which fought against Troy were drawn the little bands which overran Irene the JUiissionary. Simeon, Judah, Benjamin, and Epliraim, which established garrisons from Bethle- hem to Shunem, triumphed on Mount Gilboa, and passed the Jordan. You will tell me, of course, that the Bible speaks of vast Philistine armies, thirty thousand chariots, footmen as the sands of the sea, and so on. But surely there must be some error of copyists there, or some merely figurative phrase- ology. How could a territory of sqvea hnndred square miles raise more war chariots than the whole empire of Persia ever did? The probability is that in these passages the Hebrew historians undertook to represent strength, the power of good discipline and superior arms, hy loose phrases of number, just as a man who had been chased by five elephants would be apt to say that there were fifty of them. Finally (you see I want to make a pervert of you), please to remember that these are the commentaries of a military specialist, of a man who has studied and practiced warfare from his youth up, and who reasons upon it with a disciplined readiness and solidity which reminds one of the advance and combinations of vet- eran battalions. For my own part, I humbly feel that I cannot set too high a value upon his opinions, as upon the judgment of experts generally. Well, I must stop. I have nt time now to fight the Philistine battles over again; I have nt time to show why their bronze pha- lanxes would necessarily brush away the darts of Judah and the slings of Benja- min. I must go to jackal-soothed slum- hers, and prepare myself for the excavat- ing morrow. Favor me hy expressing to the mis- sionaries my kindest remcmbrances of them all, and my wishes for their health and success. Tell Miss Grant that if I ever do dig up a lord of the Philistines I will send her his crown and bracelet by a special Amalekite. I inclose an order on my banker for ten pounds sterling, which I respectfully beg her to expend in presents for her scholars, not forgetting Mirta, Rufka, and Saada. Very cordially yours, HUBERTSEN DEYRIRS. xx. There is reason to believe that Irene quite admired Hubertsens letter, and was considerably gratified by the repeat- ed references in it to herself. She discussed the epistle more than once with the Paysons, maintaining that there was nothing in it contrary to a ra- tional understanding of Scripture, and expressing a fervent hope that the writ- er would yet find treasures of skeletons and epitaphs, in all which no one con- tradicted her. But who knew that he was so witty! she laughed, a laugh of reminiscence, the jokes rising again on her happy memory. He very seldom said down- right funny things when he was here. I presume that the prevailing grav- ity of our occupations and discourse so- bered him somewhat, opined the cler- gyman. My suspicion is that he is a youth of social and sympathetic nature, and disposed to takh the tone of those about him. It may be that I oppressed him a little. I sometimes think that I am a rather dark cloud, and fail to show enough of the silver lining. You are not a cloud at all, to good people, declared Irene. I dont be- lieve that Mr. DeVries ever found you oppressive. Thats as much as to say that he is one of the good people, inferred Mrs. Payson, with her nervous little laugh. Irene, who was easily upset, hardly knew what to do with this comment for a moment. I think it was very good of him to think of presents for the scholars, was her happy thought. We must take Mirta and Rufka and Saada with us, Mrs. Payson, when we go to the bazaar to pick out the things. Of course you 11 go, wont you? I should like to, immensely, con- fessed Mrs. Payson, who had not en- tirely put away the love of shopping. Then she glanced toward her husband, and was glad that he did not smile at her weakness, which was a thing that he had not thought of doing. 1879.] 179 180 Irene the Missionary. [August, Tell Mr. DeVries, said Irene, whose mind seemed to revert frequently to the letter, tell him that I dont think Epirots should pull Roman ears, unless the Romaus request it. I wish he would send on his Amalekite. How well he knows the Bible! It was an Amale,kite, dont you remember? who brought Sauls crown and bracelet to David. Tell him to take sketches of all the finest-looking people there, and especially of the wom- en. I want a face for my ideal of a daughter of the Philistines. You 11 be sure to remember all my foolish mes- sages, Mr. Payson? Would nt you like to write the let- ter yourself? giggled Mrs. Payson, who, as a partisan of Dr. Macklin, did not fancy this interest in the DeVries correspondence. The clergyman thought he discovered reproof in his wifes tone, and came in his gentlest way to the young ladys res- cue. 1 think that Irene may properly an- swer our friends messages~ he smiled. And perhaps she would do well to read the letter to Mirta, Rufka, and Saada, all but the compliment to their poor tran- sitory graces. They admire the young man greatly, I believe, and I should like to do them a pleasure. There was no objection and no criti- cism. Mere goodness and sweetness had made this man entire master in his own house. Among all intimate souls he ruled easily, and in spite of his own wishes to the contrary. Because he desired to be the least among them, they insisted in- stinctively upon making him their chief. Such loving autocrats are found, I sus- pect, among men of all civilized races, no matter what their religion. Do they exist among animals? Doubted. I ques- tion whether a pacific and affection- ate dog, for instance, is respected and a(lored by his canine brethren. Sure- ly there is something fine in the moral nature of man, even as compared with that of the worthiest of his fellow-creat- ures. Irene read the DeYries letter to Mirta, Saada, and Rufka, barring, of course, the compliment to the two former. They were more pleased with it than you would easily imagine of young ladies who wore trousers, girdles, and tarbooshes. I think it is more interesting than Irvings Life of Columbus, said Mirta, who had lately waded through that model of English composition. It is much funnier.~~ He seems to laugh a great deal at the Arabs, remarked Saada, a patriotic Syrian. Are there no queer people in America? There are plenty of them, said Irene. But Mr. DeYries is not now in America. He laughs at what he sees where he is. He laughs at his Frank steward, too, Saada, added Mirta. Besides, I sup- pose they are wild people around Asca- laan, and all Misleinein. Dont you like the letter, Saada? I like it very much. I like him, also. I wish he would come back and live in Beirut all his life, and wear our costume. He would look so splendid in Syrian costume! He means to get an Arnaout dress, stated Irene, who had heard the young man say so. Why does he praise the Arnaout? objected Rufka. All Arnaouts are cruel and wicked. If I see him in Ar- naout costume, I shall be afraid of him, and hide. We should all come out again when he spoke, laughed Saada. Like the birds when the sun rises. He is just like the sun, added Mir- ta. His smile shines. I also wish that he would come here and live. Will you tell Mr. Payson to give him our message, ya Sitty Irene? I should think you too would like him here. Indeed I would, confessed the Lady Irene, to the profound and meek grati- fication of her hearers, so innocent were they of all love-making schemes. So DeYries had an admiration society in Beirut which did not hesitate to ex- press and transmit its sentiments of dis- tin,,uished consideration. The girls were delighted with the letter, Irene joyfully informed Mr. Pay- son. Of course they were pleased to irene the JUiissionary. be remembered, but I think they quite worship him for himself. So far as he preserves the image of his Creator he is worshipful, replied the clergyman. There is nothing no- bler on earth than a worthy man, un- less it be a good woman, he added, re- membering his wife, and perhaps Irene. Have you put in my messages to him? asked this good young woman, who had been thinking while Mr. Pay- son was sermonizing. I have nt written the letter yet, he smiled. How eager youth is to see everything done at once! It occurred to me to let the answer wait until I could tell him what you have bought with his money, and what the girls say to their presents. The reader may guess that the shop- ping or, as one might call it in Syria, the bazaaring was attended to that very afternoon. Mrs. Payson and Irene, followed by Mirta, Rufka, and Snada in their ghostly veils, and by Habeeb with a huge wicker basket slung over his shoulders, waded down a winding, sandy lane to the dark, dirty cubby-hole of a city, and visited some two dozen of the sombre alcoves which are the magazines of its merchant princes. There was not much to dazzle a buyer; the bareness of the market was really painful to a lot of women who had money to spend; the only pretty articles were silks from Trip- oli, slippers from Damascus, and embroid- eries of silk and gold from Lebanon. The shawls of Beirut were out of the question, as being too expensive, though of course the ladies did not neglect the duty of examining a few of them. From the shawls they passed to the silks. But why are you looking at these, ya Sitty? inquired Mirta. Is there money enough to give every girl a dress? Of course there is nt, Mirta, said Irene. How absurd we are! If you should ever tell Mr. iDeYries, he would laugh at us. You must never tell him, Mirta, urged Snada; and Mirta gravely prom- ised to be discreet. We shall have to take up with slip- pers and tarbooshes, said Mrs. Pay- son, after some mental ciphering. I do dreadfully want to buy some of those Treblous purses. But the girls never have anything to put in them. So a considerable number of yellow slippers and crimson tarbooshes was pur- chased. Then the party went to a shop kept by an Italian,and laid in a store of thread, scissors, and thimbles. Finally, a remaining hundred of piastres was laid out in rohotlicoom and other simple sweetmeats. It was a day of small things, surely, but it was an unusual entertain- ment for these ladies, and they enjoyed it amazingly. What a pleasant afternoon we have had! said Saada, as they trudged back over the uneven pavement, stepping from time to time across the dirty rivu- let which gur,,led down the middle of the street, and which was the sewer of Beirut. I wish there had been more things to buy and more piastres. I think I have known girls very much like you in America, laughed Irene. But we must tell Mr. DeVries that there was plenty of money, and that everybody was delighted. I shall tell him there was too much money, and we were encumbered with his goodness, said the oriental dam- sel. And I shall knit him a purse of Treblous silk. Irene glanced at Saadas dark and wonderfully brilliant eyes, and for a mo- ment became somewhat pensive. Can I not knit him a purse, ya Sit- ty? asked the girl. Is it contrary to Frangistan custom? Of course you may, said Irene. Make it as pretty as you can. We ought all of us to be very grateful to him. ~~~Thcn is he to return? inquired Snada. I wish he might return to- morrow, though the purse would not be ready. Did you understand what Mirta just sai(l of him in Arabic? She said he was too handsome for a man. There! why did you tell of that? protested Mirta, drawing her veil more closely over her face, as if to hide a blush. If I said it, who thought it? 1879.] 181 182 Irene the Missionary. [August, Perhaps the Sitty thought it, gig- gled Saada roguishly. I was think- ing something else. I was merely think- ing, Will the purse he done when he comes? What a deal of talk about one young man! put in Mrs. Payson, but not with severe disapprobation. If he is~ good, why not? argued Saada. Who should talk of him but the people who are obliged to him? Let the others keep silence. I wish all my friends to speak of me, and not my en- emies. Speech is more becoming to love than to hate. Saada, you are saying Arab say- ings, and it sounds like teaching, ob- served Mirta. Our language is full of proverbs, ya Sitty Irene. When an Arab talks it into English it seems as if he were Solonion the Wise. How hot it is, all of a sudden! gasped Mrs. Payson, a stoutly-built lit- tle lady, not fitted for high temperatures. Or is it because we are wading through this sand? A sirocco has arisen, said Rufka, and we are going tobeveryhot,and to have our mouths full of dust. Do you see that the air is red with sand? I wish I was on the mountain. It comes from the south, observed Irene. I suppose it is worse where Mr. DeYries is. May it have an end, and return no more! said Saada fervently. I wish him to think well of our Syrian climate. At last they were at home, and grin- ning Habeeb poured out the huge basket of purchases before Mr. Payson, who smiled in his kindly, absent-minded way, an(l said repeatedly, It is well, it is all well. To-morrow we will have a grand distribution at the school-room, prom- bed Irene. I shall rejoice to be there, said the clergyman. I want to hear what the young people say to their treasures. Then I will write to the youth that we are all greatly his debtors. Tell him exactly whatthe girls say, urged Irene. Translate their speeches literally. It will amuse him. He shall be amused, promised Pay- son, and thanked. Let us not for- get to thank also the Being who made him and sent him to us. I think, remarked Saada, that we could be more thankful if more such were sent. Mrs. Payson, Irene, and Mirta, after one anxious glance at the head of the house, burst into a spasm of laughter. Ah, Saada! said Payson, shaking his head and trying to be grave; but he could not help smiling, and so he went hastily out of the room. In the midst of this discreet merri- ment Dr. Macklin entered, and of course must be informed of Saadas audacious speech. I shall have to give that child some senna, he said, to take the taste of such words out of her mouth. Mrs. Payson became serious, for she saw that be had on his petulant expres- sion, and guessed that he was not pleased with so much commendatory talk of Dc- Yries. He has given all the girls a pres- ent, she explained, and they are in good humor about it. Oh, of course; women like pret- ty things, grumbled the jealous man. Has he given Miss Grant a present? She looks as gay as the rest. The usually good-tempered Irene was for once indignant, and allowed herself to retaliate by a nmystification. I have nothing yet, she said. My present is to come. The sulky doctor would make no in- quiries, but Mirta and Saada eagerly demanded, What is it, ya Sitty? I wont tell, declared Irene. You two ought to know as well as I do. As for the doctor, he never could guess. The pair of pretty Syrians sat staring at her, a smile of curiosity on their small mouths, and their superb dark eyes sparkling with interest. Macklin would not look at them, nor at Irene; lie went on poking over the pile of slippers and tarbooshes with his cane; he was ob- viously very anxious and unhappy. Our heroine repented that she had annoyed him, and brought forth her terrific secret. Irene the ~issionctry. I am to have the crown and brace- let of a lord 6f the Philistines, she laughed. They are to be sent me by an Amalekite. Ya Sit ty! exclaimed Mirta. I thought you were in earnest. I thought there was something in the let- ter which you had not read to us. Sure- ly, you skipped one place. What nonsense ~ growle dthe doc- tor, not a little relieved, and yet angry at having been mystified. Mr. Dc- Yries is rnejnoon [mad]. Doctor, you will have to take senna, also, said Saada. The taste of those words is not good. Mackim gave the pretty, laughing thing a glance of indignation, and walked out of the room, followed by his fast friend, Mrs. Payson. XXI. That girl Saada needs a lecture, said the doctor to Mrs. Payson. Some- body has been flattering her, I suppose, about her pretty face, or her wit. I should nt wonder if DeVries used to talk nonsense to her. She has got very pert of late, and says whatever she pleases, and I dont approve of it. I will speak to Saada, promised the good lady. I really dont think she means to be pert, she added, for her girls were dear to her, and she hated to scold them. But she is rather un- commonly bright, you know, and cant help coming out with a joke now and then. Perhaps we have indulged her too much. I will caution her. Oh, not on my account, returned Macklin, who already began to feel ashamed of his pettishness. I dont want a fuss on my account. I can bear it. But but dont you think there is a little too much talk among these young women concerning DeYries? They fill one anothers heads full of him. He has just sent them presents, you know. Girls like presents. (The doctor stared here; he had never heard so before.) We could nt very well refuse the money. I wish you could have refused it. This is nt a fashionable boarding-school for the education of Flora McFlimseys; it is a place for the rearing of Christian teachers and Christian wives for Syria. However, I am making too much of the matter. I wont grumble. You could nt help yourself. Mr. Payson saw no objection to tak- ing the money, said Mrs. Payson; and so that point was defir~itely settled, even for Macklin. I wish I could give presents, if female hearts are to be won that way, he muttered. I have a little money to spare just now. Do you think Miss Grant would accept something from me? And what shall it be? I wish you would buy it for me. I am as ignorant as a camel in such matters. I dont know. She is very sensi- tive. Why not ask her yourself? It might lead to offering something more than a shawl, concluded the lady, with an anxious smile, meant to be encourag- ing. Oh, if I could! gasped the doctor, coloring to his forehead. 1 have been on the point of speakin~ to her a dozen times. I left you alone with her once, sai(l Mrs. Payson, almost reproachfully. I know, I remember. And yet I dont feel sure that I could have spoken, even if that consul had nt blundered in. Then I thought of writing her from Hasbeya, and could nt. And since I returned I have grown more and more nervous about it. If I should speak to her, and she should refuse, I could nt stay here, no, I could nt. It would be the end of my usefulness and career in Syria. So I have been waiting and watching, watching for some sign of liking on her part, some indication which could lead me to hope, to feel tolerably sure of success. Waitiug for her to speak first? giggled Mrs. Payson. She could not look upon it as a hazardous or terrible thing to make an offer of marriage. Her simple belief was that most women were glad to get them, and exceedingly likely to accept them. She herself had had 1879.] 183 184 Irene the lJIis~ionar~. [August, but one, and had received it with a throb of great gladness, and had not hesitated a moment to say yes. Of course J am not such a goose as to expect that, returned the doctor, reddening. I believe I have a mans ideas on the subject. No manly man looks for a woman to make the ad- vances. Well? If it is a mans business to make the advances? queried Mrs. Payson. Do you think she has ever thought of such matters, at all? the doctor wanted to know. Mrs. Payson tittered outright. Was not Irene a woman? But the excellent lady respected the secret of her sex. She has had one offer, was her answer. Whose? stared the surprised and alarmed MackIm. Did nt you know? Oh, you must never tell. Did nt you know that the consul What! that low brute? howled the doctor. Hush! for pitys sake, hush! Yes. But she refused him. You must nt speak of it. What would he think of the mission? Mr. Payson says Oh, of course, interrupted Mack- lin. I can see the propriety of silence as well as Mr. Payson. So she refused him? I am so glad! What an imperti- nent boor! How dared he come to her with his coarse courtship, how could he dare! And I worship the very floors where she has walked! Oh, dont worship so mucb, urged Mrs. Payson. I hate to see a man make a perfect Diana of the Ephesians out of a fellow-creature because she wears muslin instead of broadcloth. Of course, I want you to love and respect Irene. But you have a right to speak to her as an equal. And you wish me to make this of- fer? I want to see you happy, and her, also, returned Mrs. Payson, trembling and almost ready to whimper, for her af- fections were really involved, and more- over it was such a crisis! And I want to keep her in the mission. She is the brightest of all us womeii. I think Mr. Payson and Mr. Kirkwood would be ex- ceedingly grieved to lose her. How lose her? DeVries? whis- pered the doctor. I dont know. She talks a good deal about him. But there are other chances. You know how many travelers pass through here. Is she alone now? asked the lov- er, in a sepulchral voice. I think so. The girls went up- stairs a minute ago. I think you will find her with her grammars. She is al- ways at them. Rising slowly, the doctor slowly sought the study room, meanwhile meditating the fateful scene to come. He had to- tally forgotten that not ten minutes be- fore he had slurred at Irene, and given her cause of offense. It was a surprise to him, therefore, when she looked up with a grave and worried air, like one who expects a disagreeable interview. Irene, I am sorry that you are not glad to see me, he began. I am very deeply grieved. Are you still vexed? she asked, wearily. There were some signs of phys- ical malaise in her face; there were heavy circles about her eyes, and a gen- eral air of languor; at any other time the doctor would have taken note, but not now. It was such a trifle, she continued. We were all laughing together. Vexed,vexed with you? he in- quired. Oh, I remember. If I was vexed, I was a fool. I wish you would forget that. Of course I will. It was nothing. But I did nt mean to give you any an- noyance. I know you did nt. You are as good and patient as a human being can be. I know your good qualities, Irene. And you dont even guess how much I admire them. Oh, doctor, why do you flatter? I dont want any compliments, she re- plied, as if already fearful of what was coming. Ah, I am too serious to flatter, he Irene the 1Jili8sionar~,,. sighed. I am as serious as man can be. She had been trying to laugh, but the show of merriment passed away now, and she gazed at him anxiously. I have loved you ever since I saw you, Irene, were the next words. Miss Grant turned as pale as though she were really and very seriously ill. I shall love you all my life, Mack- un went on. Iwishoh,I wish Oh, doctor, stop! Irene suddenly burst out in a sort of scream, while one foot came down upon the floor with a spasmodic stamp. Oh, do stop till I can think till I can speak. I thought you were my friend. I wanted you for my best friend. It cant be, declared Macklin, star- ing at her wildly. I cant be only your friend. What do you mean? Noth- ing but your friend? N~ver anything dearer than a friend? Oh, yes, that s it. My truest and dearest friend. Irene was in such trouble, so confused in mind and shaken in body, that she could not think very rationally, and hardly talked intelligibly. Nevertheless, what she had been able to say sounded wofully decisive to the man who heard it, though all the while he had seemed to hear it in a dream. Is it all over? he asked, like a pa- tient who wakes out of a chloroformed sleep, and cannot believe that his limb is really off. Have you refused me? You did nt offer, was the ~irls feeble evasion. Oh, doctor, dont do it! The doctor sat for a moment in si- lence, gazing at her with a countenance of despair. Irene, I cant take this for an an- swer, he at last said, still hoping a lit- tle. You must tell me Of a sudden, and probably without a conscious purpose, her face assumed a Delilah-like expression of coaxing, and she leaned toward him with a pleading, caressing movement, all strangely unlike herself. Dont dont please dont, she smiled. Do try to please me. Let it all go. I am going to forget every word that you have said. Wont you forget it, too, my dear, good friend? It seemed so unnatural, the request and the manner of it, that Macklin re- volted. Never! he declared, almost in anger. What an idea! How can I forget it? Oh, it is too bad! moaned Irene, throwing herself back in her chair, and clasping her hands across her eyes. It is too bad! Here I have come to mission ground to meet more of this than I ever saw at home. It was a singular speech for this young lady to make; she was torturing another, and yet thinking solely of herself. As the doctor stared at her with his piti- fully cowed and anxious eyes, he felt, and very naturally, that she was either inhuman or silly. But at last an inspi- ration of his art came to enlighten him, and he said to himself, This is a case of hysteria. The thought made him calmer; it forced him to rule himself. As an inva~ lid he knew how to treat her, how to concede to her exceeding patience. He said nothing for a minute or more, and he was entirely wise in so doing. Event- ually Irene withdrew her hands from her face, and looked up at him with a smile. It seemed that, like a child in a fit of illness, she was conscious only of her own feelings. The smile simply meant, lam better. I am very fond of you, she said, slowly, and in a low, wearied voice. I looked upon you as my best friend in the world except Mr. Payson. I dont want to vex you. I want you to be hap- py. But but and here she shook her head repeatedly I dont want to be married. No, I dont. I am not go- ing to be married. Please believe me, doctor, and let this be forgotten. TIe drew a long, shuddering sigh over this crushing of his hopes. As yet there was a strong desire in him to protest against the decision, and to plead for his own happiness. But he noted the tired voice and the languor of reaction in her face. She was his patient at this moment, and he must be unweariably 1879.] 185 186 Irene the Missionary. [August, gentle with her, as became a good physi- cian. Irene, we will say no more about it now, he promised, in a tone of suf- fering pity. I will bear and forget, if I can. Now go and rest yourself. Thank you, she sobbed, gently, for the condolence moved her deeply. how good you are! I hope you will be very happy all your life. The doctor went out, joined Mrs. Pay- son in the parlor, and suddenly lay down upon the sofa, shaking from head. to foot with a chill. What is it ? asked the excited lady. Has she made you sick? Oh, the ungrateful creature! Dont, said iMlacklin. Not a word to her. You see what a husband I would make. Probably she is right. But I shall leave Syria, now. I never shall be a man again never shall be of any more use to mortal while I stay here. Oh, doctor! groaned Mrs. Payson, gazing at his shaking hands and the sud- den blanching of his face, all Irenes work, of course. I am so mad with her! Not a word to her, if you care for my wishes, said the poor fellow, stag- gering to his feet. I will go home now, and shiver it out. It is a small matter, the ague is., Wait for some red-pepper tea, begged Mrs. Payson. No. My man can make it. If she is ill, send for me. She! exclaimed the indignant lady, actually wishing that Irene might be sick, at least a little. She is not strong. I never noticed it before. Has she been out in the sun to-day? Why, she went to the bazaars to buy those things. We all went. How could you let her? And a si- rocco blowing! exclaimed the doctor, with the unreasonableness of a lover. Mrs. Payson made no reply; this last unjust buffet was too much; she was so hurt that she could not speak. It may be the first touch of mala- ria, continued Macklin. If she com plains, or looks in the least ailing, send for me at once. Mrs. Payson of course promised, and then the doctor tottered away. XXII. Dr. Macklin could not believe that his love was quite hopeless, and therefore did not decide to remove to some other missionary field. But two days after his refusal, finding that Irene showed no return of hysteria, and also finding the scenery of Beirut ut- terly insupportable to a man in his state of mind, he went off to his summer home in the lofty village of Abeih, where he could seek consolation in the green ter- races of Lebanon, sweeping three thou- sand feet downward to the sea, and at evening could distinguish the serrated high lands of Cyprus, one hundred and thirty miles distant, painted dark on the flaming canvas of the sunset. A few days later came the usual spring flight of the mission families from the hot coast region to the breezy altitudes of the mountain. Most of them went to Abeib, which had lon~ been a regular station, boasting three comfortable mission resi- dences, one of which contained a room large enough for a chapel. The Paysons alone migrated to Bhamdun, a village some twelve miles farther to the north, and a thousand feet nearer the heavens. We go to and fro like storks, said Saada to Irene. Only we dont go north and south. In the spring we fly up, and in the autumn we fly down. And we make as much clamor over our pilgrimages as the jackals, smiled Mr. Payson, looking out upon the noisy muleteers and servants who were packing the family valuables. The Arab language is made to be spoken, and the English language is made to be muttered, returned the pa- triotic young Syrian. And both of them are made for prayer, Saada. One has to regret that they are so seldom used in that duty. After a time the huge packs were all strapped an(l roped on to the cringing Irene the lllissionary. mules, and the members of the family mounted their various steeds and hybrids an(l donkeys. Mr. and Mrs. Payson and Irene each had a horse of the cheap and common breed called icadeesh. Saada and Rufka and old Yusef, the cook, were stacked on mounds of luggage. The muleteers walked, or took turns at the donkeys. I am so sorry that we are to lose Mirta, said Irene. She does better, replied Saada. Abeih is prettier than Bhamdun. To Abeili I wish we could all go. Why should Howaja Payson be sent alone to Bhamdun? Even the hakeem has left it this summer, though he needs the cool- est air. Concerning this last-mentioned fact Irene could make no comment. Sbe was thinking what an unlucky girl she was thus to turn the mission upside down, and deprive her good friend Macklin of the climate which he specially required: She would be sent home, she said to herself, if people did nt stop proposing to her. What would the Commissioners of the Board think of her if they knew that she had had two offers inside of a month? Meantime, they were moving on, at a quiet foot-pace, over tbe sandy ways. The prickly-pear hedges, abundant greenery and flowers, and square stone houses of the gardens were left behind in fifteen or twenty minutes. Then came wide flats of young pines, and then a sweep of roll- ing open country, very sandy on the right hand, but bordered on the left by a for- est of venerable olives, whose grayish verdure stretched five or six miles along a shallow valley at the base of the foot- hills. There were no villages on the road4 no isolated houses, no inhabitants. The two or three horsemen whom they met were heavily armed, and probably be- longed to the mounted police, called how- aleeyeh. Occasionally a duo or trio of muleteers, their animals loaded with wool, or perhaps only with fagots, passed them toward the city. A few light- built, swift-stepping fellows on foot were recognizable by their alert, bold air as itiountaineers. Every one saluted, touch- ing the hand to the breast and then to the forehead, usually with a pleasant smile. The Moslems uttered a brief Sellim, and the Christians a cheery Sub hac bel khiar. The deep-toned, (lignified Naharkum saieed of the iDruzes was very striking. The first slopes the yellowish, rocky, and nearly barren sJopes of the foot- hills were reached in about an hour. Here ended all semblance of a road, ex- cept a mere sinuous cattle path, stony, steep, and difficult. After a panting, tottering, and seemingly perilous climb of thirty minutes, they reached a bald, breezy crest, only to descend into a mountain wady, or ravine, and then re- peat the ascent. Erelong they began to discover the fruits of that comparative freedom from Turkish misrule which Lebanon accords to her two hundred thousand children. The country became populous and plenteous. Villages stood forth on giant spurs, or peered through the foliage of valleys. The enormous si(les of the crests were ,terraced from top to bottom, in stairways of a thousand feet descent, all green with grain, vines, fig-trees, and mulberries. Deep ravines were paved with the dark, cool verdure of orange and lemon groves. The spec- tacles which opened to right and left were not merely picturesque and noble; they were also so gentle and lovely as to de- serve the most gracious of epithets. If one desired to add sublimity to the view, he had but to turn and gaze down upon the plain, the far and faint gardens, the dwindling city, and the illimitable gleam- ing of the sea. It is a most beautiful earth, said Payson. But in all the earth there is nothing to my eyes so beautiful as Leb- anon and its prospects. I cant talk about it, answered Irene, all her soul in her eyes. And you do well, he declared. I feel as if my praises were like the idle whisperings of children in the back seats of the sanctuary. This is one of the temples of the Lord, and there is solemn service going on. I think I had better stop my noise. They halted to lunch on an open, 1879.] 187 188 Irene the Missionary. [August, windy ridge, along which ran a rude lit- tie aqueduct, brimming with dark, clear water. Then they mounted again and resumed the wild journey; now down terraced hill-sides into deep wadys, and then up still loftier acclivities; the sea now hidden for many minutes, and then anew revealing its broad glory. There had been four hours of this, when they looked across a ravine of unusual depth and beheld Bhamdun perched on the op- posite spur, at the summit of a wide and lofty stairway of vines and mulberries. It was a clump of some two hundred houses, all roughly but stoutly built of the yellow limestone of Lebanon, and topped with the flat roofs of the Orient. It seemed but a little way distant; they could hear the shouting of children. Yet half an hour elapsed ere the travel- ers, barely clinging to their saddles, sur- mounted the final ascent and entered the narrow, crooked alleys of the village. A pack of (lirty, bare-leg~ ed, red- capped urchins saluted them with Orient- al gravity and courtesy. Men and wom- en touched their breasts and foreheads, and uttered the customary resonant sal- utation. A white-bearded senior in a red jacket and blue trousers exchanged copious congratulations with Payson, kissing hands to him at every salaam, and smiling as if he were welcoming a long- lost brother. Then they were at the door of a one-storied, solid dwelling of rudely hewn stone, their home for the coining summer. There was a gay unpacking of huge bundles and of roomy leathern hampers. Heavy mattings were unrolled, camp- bedsteads set up, a few cushions dis- posed here and there, and the house- keeping arrangements were completed. Irene had never before seen so rustic a home, and yet it was abundantly spacious and comfortable. A long hall, open to- ward the west, and faced there with horseshoe arches, formed the nucleus of the building. On two sides and a part of the fourth it was inclosed by rooms, four in number and of respectable di- mensions. At the southern end of the hall, the leewan looked out through its comandaloon upon the narrow court-yard of a humbler dwelling, and upon sheets of flat roofs further down the slope. Exteriorly the edifice was very rude, and yet not entirely bare of graces. The stones were roughly chipped and set in a cement of mud, but they were of goodly size and laid in regular courses. The flat severity of the rectangular front was lightened ~by the three broad Saracenic arches which opened the hall toward the sunset. The comandaloon had a double window, also arched and pointed. It was a massively constructed hovel, which had somewhat the air of a barbaric palace. Within there was no finish whatever, except a little clumsy wood-carving and a few figures traced on the doors with a red-hot iron. The rolling prairies of flooring were made of mud, tamped hard, rubbed smooth with a polished pebble, and varnished with a wash of red clay. The irregularities of the stones in the walls could be seen through the coating of whitewashed clay which served for plaster. The ceilings were naked, nfl- hewn beams of pine, supporting short transverse slats of the same wood, on which rested eighteen inches of cemented rubble, the flat roof of the dwelling. Several swallows had built their nests amid the rafters, and fluttered in and out with noisy confidence. A clamor of stamping horses, too, came up from the stable under the northern room. Circu- lar holes near the bottom of two of the doors seemed to indicate that the former proprietor had been thoughtful of cats, or had had theories concerning ventila- tion. At the top of the rude stairway which led into the stony court-yard stood three earthen jars, almost as big as bar- rels, full of sweet water from the village spring, their porous surfaces beaded with a cool perspiration. Below, in a little one-storied wing, could be heard the clatter of old Yusefs brazen saucepans and burnished iron kettles. The north room will be the study and parlor, said Mrs. Payson, who was in a flurry of housekeeping glee. Mr. Payson does nt mind the stamping and nei~hing. The west room will be our bedroom. It looks selfish to take the only rooms with glass windows; but w~ Irene the lJlissionary. are the old people, you know. Irene will have the great room on the street side. She can get light enough, perhaps, from the open hall; I wish it was lighter. The girls must put up with the dark room. We can see to sleep all the better in the dark, observed Saada. Cant we, O Rufka? I think we shall all he middling comfortable, continued Mrs. Payson. Only as for cosiness, that s clean out of the question. Visitors will have to sleep in the parlor. I m so sorry about the horses; but it cant be helped. It does nt smell so very much like a sta- ble, do you think it does, Irene? What a barbarous notion to have animals kick- in and squealing right under one s com- pany! Oh, dear! said Irene, thinking, perhaps, that Mr. DeYries might be a guest. Well, it cant be helped, and that ends it. The divine Man was horn in a sta- ble, observed Mr. Payson, looking up from the unpacking of his books. I think J shall like to work in that room. In the evening came visitors, va- rious elders and doctors of Bhamdun; also an invalid or two seeking medicines. The notables seated themselves coinpos- edly on the cushioned mukaad, while the younger or humbler persons squatted on their heels against the wall. Every man brought his chibouk, two or three feet long usually, and smoked in small, rare whiffs. Chief among the great ones was Aboo Daood, the white-bearded senior of the red jacket, remarkable for the pure Semitic type of his high features and for the hoarse wheeze of his utter- ance. I lost my voice calling to my sheep across the wadys, he explained. But all the same I praise God with it. We should return thanks for whatever be- falls us. He had a false smile and an uneasy, cunning gray eye, both indicative of an over-canny gift at bargaining, the source of his rustic riches. No hermit could be more indefatigably devout in conversa- tion than this wily, huckstering ohi ego- tist. What with his sanctimonious talk and his fraudful practices, he was the despair of Mr. Payson. It must be un- derstood that he was not one of the con- verts to Protestantism, and merely called out of general civility and love of much conversation. Another visitor of mark was the vil- lage school-master, Aboo Mekhiel, a lit- tle, wilted, ruddy-faced man of forty, whose blue eyes showed honesty and in- telligence. He was not ~ capitalist, like Aboo Daood, but he could write Arabic grammatically and compose in verse, which made him a wonder of scholarship in Lebanon. The poverty of the liter- ary class appeared in the pathetic fact that Aboo Mekhiel did not smoke unless some one lent him a pipe. In religion he was a neutral, not holding positively with either the missionaries or the Greek church, but taking a middle way toward the celestial city. Then there was one of the Brodestans (Protestants), the respectable and gen- tle-mannered Khaled, famed for upright- ness and generosity of dealing, and with a fine expression of sweetness on his thin features. There were others, too, a very few thus far, we must confess, of the same belief. The majority of Bham- dunees still held fast to their Greek crc- deuces. Aboo Daood had brought with him his grandson, a lovely youth of sixteen, with a delicate aquiline face, rosy cheeks, and poetical, hazel eyes. His granddaught~r, a blue-eyed, auburn-haired girl of twelve, very handsome, also, in mere color and modeliug of face, lurked shyly near the door-way, with her baby brother astride - behind, and stared with parted lips at the ladies. Other children, most of them ragged, and very, very few of them pretty, looked in humbly from the street. Meantime the talk of the elders pro- ceeded. I think that it was a somewhat thin and vapid conversation, made up very largely of salutations and compli- ments. Mr. Payson sought to give the interview a tone of grace, but the vil- lagers could be as fluent in devout phrases as himself, and meant no more by them than by smoking. There was some little speech about the vines, the yield of mul 1879.] 189 190 Two Years of President Hayes. [August, berry leaves, and the chances of the sea- son for silk-worms. There were inquir- ies as to the likelihood of Englands seiz- ing the country an(l driving the Druzes out of Lebanon. But this last topic was treated in a whisper, for Bhamdun was subject to the great house of Abdelmelek, and murmuring against them was a kind of treason not devoid of peril. One after one the visitors roser saluted with the ready Syrian smile, walked bare- foot to the door, shuffled into their heavy slippers, and departed. With all this reception the women of the household had naught to do, but, as women should in the East, confined themselves to their own business and quarters. - TWO YEARS OF PRESIDENT HAYES. THE record for two years of Presi- dent Hayess administration is made up. What judgment the historian, regarding these years as part of a distant period, and perceiving, as it is impossible for us to perceive, the just relation of their events to things before and after, may pass upon this administration cannot be anticipated with certainty. But we who live now are compelled for our own guidance to form such opinions as we can on current affairs. The cardinal and controlling incident of recent politics is the war of the re- bellion. For fourteen years our task has been to adapt ourselves to the changed conditions of national life, and it is yet unaccomplished, because two reactionary powers constantly baffle progress: one the political traditions in which a gener- ation still surviving and participating in public affairs was educated; the other the unquenched passion engendered by the war itself. President Andrew Johnson, always a democrat, although elected to office by the republican party, sought his own party as soon as it was reunited after the war, and insisted that the Southern States should be restored to their former place and power in the Union without proba- tion, without reconstruction, and without guarantees. In the effort to carry out his policy, Congress dissenting, he used the executive patronage scandalously to strengthen the political influence of the administration. When Mr. Pendleton, aspiring to the democratic nomination for presi(lent, proclaimed that the public debt should be paid in ,,reenbacks, and enough greenbacks should be printed to pay it, Johnson, seeking the same prize, pro- claimed that whenever the sum of the interest payments should equal the prin- cipal the debt would have been paid in full. Thus the three leading issues of our politics since the war the South- ern question, the prostitution of the civil service to personal and party ends, and the heresies of inflation and repudiation were all before the country at the end of Johnsons term. Then came the administration of Gen- eral Grant, lasting eight years. An obli- gation of gratitude made him president. The Union party, which Johnson had disappointed, turned with confidence to Grant, believin he would be true to the new national idea and rather careless of what he might be besides. The glory of the conqueror of Lee will be safe with posterity; but the ~,eneration which suf- fers on account of what he did, what he tolerated, and what he neglected while chief magistrate cannot overlook his errors. The military protectorates he maintained in the Southern States after their rehabilitation were repugnant to the spirit and the forms of constitutional liberty in America. Moreover, their failure condemned them. Beginning with right general notions of the nations

Walter Allen Allen, Walter Two Years of President Hayes 190-200

190 Two Years of President Hayes. [August, berry leaves, and the chances of the sea- son for silk-worms. There were inquir- ies as to the likelihood of Englands seiz- ing the country an(l driving the Druzes out of Lebanon. But this last topic was treated in a whisper, for Bhamdun was subject to the great house of Abdelmelek, and murmuring against them was a kind of treason not devoid of peril. One after one the visitors roser saluted with the ready Syrian smile, walked bare- foot to the door, shuffled into their heavy slippers, and departed. With all this reception the women of the household had naught to do, but, as women should in the East, confined themselves to their own business and quarters. - TWO YEARS OF PRESIDENT HAYES. THE record for two years of Presi- dent Hayess administration is made up. What judgment the historian, regarding these years as part of a distant period, and perceiving, as it is impossible for us to perceive, the just relation of their events to things before and after, may pass upon this administration cannot be anticipated with certainty. But we who live now are compelled for our own guidance to form such opinions as we can on current affairs. The cardinal and controlling incident of recent politics is the war of the re- bellion. For fourteen years our task has been to adapt ourselves to the changed conditions of national life, and it is yet unaccomplished, because two reactionary powers constantly baffle progress: one the political traditions in which a gener- ation still surviving and participating in public affairs was educated; the other the unquenched passion engendered by the war itself. President Andrew Johnson, always a democrat, although elected to office by the republican party, sought his own party as soon as it was reunited after the war, and insisted that the Southern States should be restored to their former place and power in the Union without proba- tion, without reconstruction, and without guarantees. In the effort to carry out his policy, Congress dissenting, he used the executive patronage scandalously to strengthen the political influence of the administration. When Mr. Pendleton, aspiring to the democratic nomination for presi(lent, proclaimed that the public debt should be paid in ,,reenbacks, and enough greenbacks should be printed to pay it, Johnson, seeking the same prize, pro- claimed that whenever the sum of the interest payments should equal the prin- cipal the debt would have been paid in full. Thus the three leading issues of our politics since the war the South- ern question, the prostitution of the civil service to personal and party ends, and the heresies of inflation and repudiation were all before the country at the end of Johnsons term. Then came the administration of Gen- eral Grant, lasting eight years. An obli- gation of gratitude made him president. The Union party, which Johnson had disappointed, turned with confidence to Grant, believin he would be true to the new national idea and rather careless of what he might be besides. The glory of the conqueror of Lee will be safe with posterity; but the ~,eneration which suf- fers on account of what he did, what he tolerated, and what he neglected while chief magistrate cannot overlook his errors. The military protectorates he maintained in the Southern States after their rehabilitation were repugnant to the spirit and the forms of constitutional liberty in America. Moreover, their failure condemned them. Beginning with right general notions of the nations Two Years of President Hayes. financial duties, his unintelligent waver- ing gave inflation a foothold in the repub- lican party. The conduct of the treas- ury department, until neni the end of his term, wanted firmness, consistency, and largeness of purpose. In the effort to impose his San Domingo policy on the country, he resorted to means as repre- hensible and essentially of the same nat- ure as those by which his predecessor attempted to impose a personal policy. He was re6lected, not because it was judged that he had done well, but be- cause the alternative presented was even more unsatisfactory. The demoraliza- tion of the party which had to bear the responsibility and the odium of his course was accelerated, and in the middle of his second term the republicans could elect but few more than one third of the house of representatives. The meas- ures, the methods, the tone, the associa- tions, of the administration were so of- fensive that even the democratic party could raise the cry of reform in 1876 without seeming altogether shameless to sober and reflecting men. This was the situation when the re- publican party nominated for president Governor Hayes. Compared with oth- er candidates for the nomination, he had no recor(l in national politics. Ohio had honored him in many ways, and the year before had chosen him governor for the third time, after a campaign in which the chief issue was resumption or inflation. What he thought about other urgent is- sues nobody could say. The party plat- form contained some well-worded reso- lutions, but party platforms mean no more than the men elected by the party interpret them to mean. The country waited for his letter of acceptance, but did not wait long. it is sufficient to say that it bettered the best professions of the platform. It shirked no question about which his opinion was desired. It did not palter in a double sense. It re- vealed a man clear in his purposes and courageous in his avowal of them. That letter of acceptance, and not Blames rhetoric, confusing the issues, nor Mr. Secretary Chandlers levies upon office- holders, n.or Conklings eulogium of the republican party, secured the support o~ a majority of those republicans who were bent on making an end of Grantism, and without whose support there was no question of democratic success. But there were some who, while ap- proving the principles he had proclaimed, and admitting that an administration faithful to them wpuld be honorable and beneficent, had little confidence in his sincerity, and none at all in his grit. The public letters of Parke Godwin and Professor Sumner, and the essay of Charles Francis Adams, Jr., in the North American Review, are not forgotten. Undoubtedly they expressed the senti- ment of many and the fears of more. Was Hayes, men argued, a person of stronger will than Grant? or had he a greater personal popularity to make him less dependent on the favor of the party leaders? But Grant talked reform once as fairly, and probably as sincerely, as Hayes does now, and how long did he hold out against the machine politicians? How long did he retain Judge Hoar and Governor Cox in his cabinet? Did not Don Cameron give Hayes his nomination by the timely transfer of Pennsylvanias vote? Is not Chandler managing the campaign for him, raising the funds from the office-holders? Was not Blame the favorite of nearly half the delegates to Cincinnati? In conformity to a usage which no president could safely ignore the counsels of these men must be de- ferred to. They know it, and they make no profession of respect for his reform notions. Schurz may have all the confi- dence in Hayes he pretends to have, but he will find that he has been duped, and so will Evarts, and all the reformers who expect that Hayes will dare consort with their kind, even if he wishes to, after he becomes president. The other set have every advantage, and it is practically impossible that any president in the cir- cumstances that will environ Haves, if he is elected, can go counter to their (he- termination. How artfully and cogently that line of argument was pressed, and how difficult it was for anybody to make a conclusive reply to it, or one that would quiet his own misgivings! 1879.] 191 192 Two Years of President Hayes. [August, rrhe election was held; the long-doubt- ful issue of it was at last authoritatively declared, and the whole nation waited for the presidents inaugural address with deep and eager interest. Next to the curiosity to discover how he was affected by the unprecedented circumstances at- tending the counting of the electoral vote was the curiosity to learn whether he had yielded any of the principles he proclaimed when a candidate. The rep- resentatives of the old regime had been conspicuous in the strenuous conflict in- tervening. On their theory of politics they had accumulated new claims to his personal favor, and put him under fresh obligation to recognize and defer to their political importance. The number of those who now believed he would refuse to order his administration by the coun- sels of the machine politicians was fewer than before the election. But the in- augural address reaffirmed in all thcir breadth and positiveness the principles of th.e letter of acceptance calmly, as if they were self-evident propositions of politics; confidently, as if he anticipated no serious antagonism. Those who hated reform notions smiled ironically at his simplicity, not yet doubting that he would be manageable. Those who wanted re- form would hardly trust themselves yet to believe that a president had been elected who had no disposition to repu- diate or explain away the significance of pledges made when a candidate. When the nominations for the cabinet were communicated to the senate, there was no more ironical smiling, but downright and unconcealed exasperation in the senatorial group. The liberal republic- ans would have been very well contented with one representative in the cabinet, and one was more than the other kind were willin~ to have there, if his name was Schurz. But Evarts for secretary of state instead of Blame or any friend of Blame, and Schurz for secretary of the interior instead of Chandler, and a democrat, an ex-Confederate at that, for postmaster - general, and Cameron supplanted in the war department, and Conkling without a representative, and not a relic of the old Grant rin0 any- where! The politicians discovered, with cl~agrin, that when they consented to nominate Hayes to get rid of Bristow they blundered. But the announcement of that cabinet seemed to the country at large a rescue of the republican par- ty from the moral quagmire in which it had been helplessly floundering for eight years, and so it was. Between the old administration and the new there was the difference between disease and health. The body politic began to thrill with con- valescence. With such good faith and earnestness the president began his a(lministration. The occasion for a fresh test of his met- tle did not delay. The Southern question in its most difficult and perplexing shape pressed for immediate decision. For months two hostile executives and legisla- tures had been maintaining rival govern- ments in South Carolina and Louisiana. General Grant had declined to decide between them, but detachments of the army were stationed in Columbia and New Orleans, with instructions to keep the peace and not suffer the republicans to be dispossessed by violence. Four years before he had summarily deter- mined a similar situation in Louisiana by military intervention in behalf of the republicans. He had grown wiser since, and when Governor Ames, of Mississip- pi, who had a much better claim than Kellogg, who had in fact been in undis- puted possession of his office for a good part of his term, got into difficulty and called on the president for military sup- port, General Grant refused it, for the specified reason that it was not wise for the general government to maintain in office state administrations which could not command the support of the l)eople of the State. What he did in these new cases was to maintain the status quo with- out prejudice to either claimant, and leave the responsibility of action to his successor. This duty devolved upon Pres- ident Hayes under peculiarly embarrass- ing circumstances. The courage and firmness of the republicans of the South had prevented the triumph of the bull- dozing~ and shot-gun~electioneering methods of the democracy. But for their Two Years of President Hayes. resolution and fortitude the party would not have secured the national adminis- tration, and therefore, it was reasoned, the president could not do less than recognize their claims and defend them. The beleaguered governors anti legisla- tures had the sympathy of the republi- can party of the country, but they want- ed more: they wanted the administration to espouse their cause as its own, and order its battalions to disperse their ad- versaries. A lar& ~e majority of the in- fluential leaders of the party and per- haps a majority of the whole party thought the president ought to do just that. The president thought the time had come to make an end of a policy which had not borne good fruit in the past~, and which had to be completely relinquished before another policy could he undertaken. He withdrew the army which was keeping the peace in South Carolina and Louisiana, on assurances that the peace would not be broken; and it was not broken. The republicans in these States abandoned a contest they could not maintain alone, and the dem- ocratic state governments established themselves and became solely responsible for the conduct of affairs. It does not follow, because the presi- dent removed the troops and left the ri- val governments to stand or fall, as might be, without military intervention, that he did not himself believe the repub- licans had a clear title de jure. It is probable, indeed, that his convictions and his sympathies were entirely on their side. But whatever his personal opinion may have been, he did not con- si(ler it to be his duty, as president of the United States, to compel States at the point of the bayonet to accept it. His action would not seem less patriotic or honorable to right-minded men if it were known that he was painfully conscious the immediate consequence would be a victory of injustice. Certain smart politicians have fancied that they con- victed the president of dishonor in this proceeding by constructing a dilemma like t~ime following: If Hayes was elected Packard was elected, and if Packard was not elected Hayes was not elected. VOL. XLIV.{O. 262. 13 Now this may be true in the very terms state(l, but what bearing has it in de- termining the presidents official duty in the premises? I-Ic may be as firmly persuaded as Senator Blame or General Butler that Packard is entitled to be governor of Louisiana; but neither by the constitution of Louisiana nor the con- stitution of the United States is he made the official judge of that matter, any more than he is made the ju(lge of his own election. Certainly, the constitu- tion of the United States does say, The United States shall guarantee to every State in this Union a republican form of government; but it does not say, the presi(lent shall guarantee to every State a just decision of contested elections. If it is difficult to hold that a State where the rightful officers are not per- mitted to perform their duties has a re- publican form of government, it is also difficult to suppose that would be a re- publican form of government, witl~in the meaning of the constitution, which was not sustaine(1 by the people of the State, but to which submission was enforced by an army not of their raising nor respon- sible to them. If the hopeful expectations that were entertained concerning the results of leaving these States without military guardianship have not been fully real- ized; if the Southern leaders have not made good their assurances of preserv- ing order, doing justice, and respecting the rights of all classes; if oppression and outrages of the blacks by the whites are not wholly prevented or justly pun- ished; if the democratic party still re- sorts to intimidation and fraud to carry elections, it is but saying that the things which eight years of military occupation did not suppress, two years of home rule have not cured. There is no rea- son in past experience to suppose that the same evils would not exist in at least an equal degree if the republican state governments had been in authority, with the army at their beck. On the con- trary, the condition of the garrisoned States would probably have been worse than it is. There might have been more negroes in politics, but neither negroes 1879.] 193 194 Two Years of President Hayes. [August, nor white republicans, as a class, would have been more secure. Will any one at- tempt to gainsay the statement that dur- ing the past two years the Southern States have been more peaceful, more prosper- ous, and on the whole more tolerant in spirit than for any other two years since the war? During these two years the South has gone its own way, unawed and unvexed by the national administration. If the condition is not actually worse than before, it is essentially better. It may appear to some that the occurrences in Congress this spring do not support the view taken; but, in fact, they confirm it. The democratic party, having a ma- jority in Congress, demanded the repeal of certain statutes authorizin~ the use of the army to keep the peace, and provid- ing for a supervision of elections of mem- bers of Congress by special officers ap- pointed by the courts, to guard against fraudulent registration, voting, and counting; and its leaders threatened that unless the president assented to this de- mand they would leave the government without means of supporting either the army or the executive, legislative, and judicial departments, which was a threat of bringing the government to an end. Is it not apparent that the democratic party, having this bullying temper, would have had a far greater advantage if able to allege, as a pretext for extreme meas- ures, so plausible a grievance as the sub- jection of States to governments which could not stand an hour but for the mili- tary protectorate maintained by the pres- ident? If it was not a sagacious stroke of statesmanship, it was certainly a fort- unate one, that put the republican party in a commanding and impregnable posi- tion to meet the assault that came and was to have been expected. With sur- prising promptness, time and events are vindicating the president from the asper- sions of the short-sighted and too zealous partisans, whose lead, if it had been fol- lowed, would have lost for the repub- licans and given to the democracy the sympathy of the conservative, thought- ful, and independent class, whose favor is the augury of success. The late vetoes, able and reasonable as they are, derive the largest measure oF their effectiveness from the action of the president in 1877. The record of this administration in financial and currency matters is so con- spicuously honorable that it needs only the briefest comment. The supporters of Governor Tilden, those of them who were not inflationists, never tired of vaunting his superior wisdom in political economy~ and public finance. They did not conceal their contempt for the repub- lican candidate, and for all who thought the national pledge to resume specie pay- ments on the 1st day of January, 1879, could be kept. The repeal of the resump- tion act because it was an obstacle to re- sumption was the demand of the demo- cratic platform, and Governor Tilden took the same view. When that had been done, wise measures of prepara- tion for resumption at some far-off day, which it would not be safe to fix in ad- vance, might be undertaken cautiously. President Hayes believed that the na- tions pledge could be kept, and that it should be kept. Without additional leg- islation, with less than the anticipated hardship to business interests, and with no shock, specie payments were resumed at the date previously fixed by law. It is demonstrated that the indefinite post- ponement recommended by Governor Tilden was unnecessary, and would have been a blunder. The refunding at four per cent. interest of the whole interest- bearing debt which the government can now call in has been accomplished in a manner worthy of high praise, and is a signal testimony to the ability and energy of the conduct of the treasury depart- ment. The veto of the Bland silver bill, carried through Congress by overwhelm- ing majorities, was a protest which no president who held his principles as con- veniences rather than convictions, or was infirm in courage, would have made. But besides exercising a zealous care for the national honor and the national inter- ests in his official capacity, the presi- dent has exerted a consistent, enlight- ening, and powerful influence upon pub- lic sentiment in behalf of a right under- stan(ling of the conditions of financial soundness. To his stalwart faith in Two Years of President Hayes. absolute national integrity it is largely due that the republican party all over the land is becoming more and more solid in its hostility to every heresy of finance, while the democratic party is becoming more and more identified with the clamorers for inflation, depreciation, and repudiation. It remains to be considered what the president has accomplished in the first half of his term for civil-service reform. Unfortunately, the most obtrusive trait of many earnest reformers is their impa- tience. Because we have not yet trav- eled all the way from Grants admin- istration to the millennium, they are dis- couraged. In petulant moods they assert that nothing has been done, that nothing will be done. Some of them who gave their votes to Tilden complacently add, As I expected. Listening to their fretful criticism, an unsophisticated per- son might suppose that if one of their kind had been president of the United States, in place of Hayes, all the hoary abuses which have grown strong in the civil service during fifty years of toler- ation would have been reformed before sundown of inauguration day, and from the next morning the nation would have moved on in an ecstasy of perfect and satisfying performance. It must be confessed that the presi- dent has effected no such prompt and radical revolution. But he has done a good work, which will be mentioned to his honor when his captious critics have ceased from their labors and are at rest. He has wrought a great improvement in the quality of the service, and confined it, to an extent not known before for two generations, to its proper business. True, no laws have been enacted to make the reforms permanent. But how can he be blamed for that? He is not re- sponsible for the neglect. Neither the republican senate nor the democratic house would heed his recommendations, and he could not discharge them and appoint a new Congress. Sometimes complaint is made that the president has not conciliated congressmen and won them to support his reform policy. By what means could he have done it with- out yielding the object itself? General Grant secured a strong support for ad- ministrative measures in Congress; but what became of civil-service reform? It is not less, but more praiseworthy that in default of law, with nineteen twen- tieths of Congress hostile and the rest not earnest, with so many who ought to have been allies and helpers preferring the safer rOle of critics, he has persist- ed in the ways open to him to redeem his pledges. The case with regard to any actual measures of reform is much as it was with regard to actual measures for the resumption of specie payments. Those who agree that the end is desira- ble cannot agree upon the means to com- pass it. As soon as any one suggests a scheme the rest set about showing that it will prove inadequate. Each has a plan of his own, which he is bound to maintain is the only sovereign panacea. But the man in authority who makes an attempt to correct abuses is a more meritorious reformer in his failures than all those who waste the time discussing schemes which cannot be tried. Probably there are many ways of attaining the object, or of making advances toward it, and it is something to be glad of when anybody makes a beginning of doing. General Grant waited for Congress, and supposed that there was great virtue in commis- sions to formulate rules. President Hayes has begun the work without waiting for others. He will not complete it; he will not establish what he does beyond peril of overthrow by the next president; but he has done some arduous fighting for the cause, and achieved some handsome re- sults, notwithstanding scoffing foes, ex- acting friends, and his own mistakes. Already reference has been made to his selection of the cabinet, and to the shock his action gave to the hummer element of the party; but the cabinet officers, one and all, have recommended themselves to the approval of the coun- try by their fidelity and success in man- aging the public business, and by their refusal to use the civil service as a party machine in the interest of the adminis- tration. They have their vanities, their idiosyncrasies, their ambitions; but they 1879.] 195 196 Two Years of President Hayes. [August, have not presumed to obstruct freedom of action in the party, or to suppress freedom of criticism. If any of them are not in full sympathy with the pres- idents purposes affecting the civil serv- ice, they have given no encouragement to the bitter and violent course of sena- tors, nor attempted in their own depart- ments to thwart his reforms. Early in his administration the presi- dent issued an order with the purpose of putting an end to the practice of coin- pelling subordinates in the civil service to serve the political aims of their su- periors as might he required. The storm of protest was furious and defiant. Those who believed the people would certainly go wrong, unless cv cry man under gov- ernment pay understood that the con- dition of keeping his place was unques- tioning obedience to the will of his pa- tron in all political contests, were out- raged by this edict of emancipation, and bluntly condemned the administration as a failure and an offense. Ingenuity was exhausted to make it appear that the order said what it did not say, or did not mean what it said, to get it res cindetl, or amended, or explained away, but in vain. Sundry officials of high degree, who imagined that their senator was stronger than the president, an(l that under his protection they could safely disobey the regulation, have had cause to revise their judgment. The promul- gation and enforcement of that order would give this administration an honor- able distinction, if it had done nothing else to improve the civil service. It is not the whole gospel of reform, but it is one of the commandments, and it ac- complishes for the time being one of the chief objects of an organic amendment of the method of appointments. The New York custom-house has long afforded a heinous example of all that is vicious and scandalous in a partisan civil service. Having a controlling in- fluence in the machine politics of New York, and, it was believed, a control- ling influence in Congress, gained and held by appointment favors to senators and members, it defied the president. Collector Arthur and naval officer Cor nell cared for nobodys approval but Sen- ator Conklings, and they were confident that so long as in their mana~cment they served his political interests suc- cessfully, it made little difference how they served the government or the peo- ple. The enemies of reform boasted that whatever outworks the administra- tion might force to succumb, this central bulwark of the 01(1 system was impreg- nable, and would continue to flaunt the banner inscribed with the motto, To the victors the spoils. Nothin~ accom- plished elsewhere counted for success while the New York stronghold held out. The demand of many zealous reform- ers that this headquarters of rebellion against the authority of the government should be assailed and reduced at the outset was like the On-to-Richmond enthusiasm in 1861. Some of the same men who called for the immediate capt- ure of Richmond were afterwards ready, as may be remembered, to make a peace without capturing it at all. So the zeal of not a few once gushing reformers ran dry before this Richmond fell. They gave up the cause as lost, and made terms with the mighty senator. But in the fullness of time (a Bull Run inter- vening) the hour of its downfall struck, and the ensign of the spoilsmen went down. For months the interest of no senator, or congressman, or other poli- tician, has availed to secure removals or appointments as before. Reforms in the efhiciency and economy of transacting the public business, long demanded in vain, have been made. Employment in the government service there, which for ten years had been practically condi- tioned upon fidelity to Senator Conkling, and upon no other qualification, has been opened to competition with reference solely to the best conduct of the proper business of a custom-house. These examples from the record fur- nish clear and ample testimony to the earnestness of the presidents purpose, and the firmness of his execution of it. The purging of the Boston custom-house is another case in point, and the coun- try is full of similar ones. There is no room to doubt that as a whole the civil 1879.] Two Years of President Ha~yes. 197 service is in better condition than under any administration for a long time before this one. There is great gain in devo- tion to the nations work, and conspicu- ous and welcome forebearance to do the partys work. The tone of the public service through all grades, from chief magistrate to tide-waiter, has been ele- vated. The rings, the corruptions, the scandals, the official interferences with the political action of the people, are no longer the grievances they hut lately were. A change has been wrought in the right direction, so manifest that those who would deny it impeach their own candor. It is certain that appointments have been ma(le in every department of the service which are not ideal appointments, and some which the general judgment pronounces unworthy. There have been removals which seem to offend against the true principles of a reform policy, hut they are exceptional; and l)erhaps if all the circumstances were as well known to the whole people as they are to those having the responsibility, luany of them would no longer appear to be exceptions. It should not be hastily inferred, because no cause for removal is publicly stated, that the removal is not for cause, and for good cause. As to appointments, a pres- ident must always labor under some dis- advantages, and is liable to he imposed upon by interested parties whose mo- tives are not quite unselfish. It is very clear, however, that in this particular things are not worse, but better, than when appointments were made by advice of the person most interested, the con- gressman from the district. There is, however, one charge against the presidents integrity in this particu- lar which challenges attention. lIe has appointe(l to office several of the politi- cians who were officially or voluntarily active in the (letermination of the elect- oral votes of Florida, South Carolina, and Louisiana, and the substance of the charge, stated plainly, is that these ap- pointments were made in compensation for corrupt political services by which he profited, and in pursuance of a bargain. The.charge assails the presidents honor as a man, as well as his course as a mag- istrate. It comes in this bold shape from the disappointed partisans of Governor Tilden, who acknowledge no irregulari- ties in the election, except in the pro- ceedings by which the fraud and intim- idation controlling the suffrage were balked. These proceedings they have denounced as fraud. They have been desperately anxious to fix responsibility for them upon the president, because his just and patriotic course toward the Southern States left the democracy with- out a substantial grievance. Their ef- forts to establish by convincing proof the fact of fraud, and to involve in the guilt the president and his advisers, have been singularly unsuccessful. It is still a malicious presumption and nothing morel and a presumption without force except among those who have an inter- est in asserting it. One of their argu- ments is of this sort: A president who had obtained his of- fice by fraud would reward the perpetra- tors of the fraud. Hayes obtained his office by fraud. Therefore it is as a reward for perpe- trating the fraud that he has appointed members of the returning boards to of- fice. Sometimes the argument takes another shape, as follows: A president who had obtained his of- fice by fraud would reward the perpe- trators of the fraud. President Hayes has appointed to office members of the returning boards whose official action resulted in his becoming president. Therefore he has appointed them as a reward for perpetrating fraud, and the appointment is an a(lmission that they did commit fraud, an(l a confession that his title to the presidency is fraudulent. Refutation of such reasoning is but a waste of time. Merely stripping it of the rhetoric with which it is common- ly confused reveals how rickety it is. Only one thing would be more satisfac- tory to the democracy, and they blame the president for not giving them that advantage. If he had refused to ap- point any of these persons to office on 198 Two Years of President Hayes. [August, the ground that they were scoundrels who h~d done a great wrong, he would have given himself bound hand and foot into their power, and it would not be necessary for them to denounce him on a presumption that they cannot establish. So that, whether he appointed them or did not appoint them, he could not have avoided judgment from that quarter, it being a party necessity to represent him as dishonest. But if it be granted that the presi- dent may believe himself to have been le- gally and rightfully entitled to the electo- ral votes of the disputed States, and that no wrong was (lone by the decision of the returning boards, then the question concerning these appointments is not dif- ferent from that concerning others. If he thinks, as he well may, that t~e re- publicans of the disputed States are vic- tims of~gross political injustice, it is not unnatural that he should desire to make their misfortune as tolerable as may be. The principles of a reformed civil serv- ice have suffered a strain in some of these appointments; but it ought to be taken into consideration that it is not easy to find in the Southern States al- together satisfactory men to take office under a republican administration. The party there does not abound in first-class material. The experiments made in ap- pointing democrats have not been encour- aging in the way of securing unpartisan and faithful devotion to the interests of the national government. The presi- dents duty in this particular has been difficult and embarrassing, and it is not at all likely that he would himself defend his course in every detail on any other ground than that he had done what at the time, and with the information then available, appeared to be the best thing practicable. What, then (to sum up), has been ac- complished in the first half of President Hayess administration? The practice of determining the issue of state elec- tions by the authority of the national ad- ministration, and enforcing that deter- mination by the army of the United States, has been definitely abandoned. It was high time. The practice was es sentially unrepublican, was destructive of the rightful independence and dignity of States, was subversive of liberty, and was potentially, if not in experience, a wrong worse than that it was invoked to correct. The honor of the nation in respect of financial obligations has been vindicated in every point dependent on the action of the executive, a great bur- den of taxation has been lifted, the credit of the United States is as good as that of any nation in the world, and an era of sound prosperity has dawned. The civil service has been purified and invigorat- ed. The executive has resumed the pre- rogative and responsibility which had been relinquished to enable party leaders to strengthen their personal influence. More than at any other time for two gen- erations past, character, intelligence, and fitness for doing well the governments work are the qualifications regarded in appointments, rather than zeal in party service. The people are delivered from the domination of office-holdin~ agents of the administration in the conduct of their political affairs. The business of the gov- ernment, whether affecting our foreign relations or our domestic peace and pros- perity, is efficiently managed, with su- preme regard to the commnnwealth, and not with supreme regard for the political fortunes of those in power. But already the presidents aphorism, He serves his party best who serves his country best, is verified. In the congressional elections of 1878 the party in power held its own as the party in power is seldom able to do in an off year, and was more suc- cessful than there is any ground in rea- son or experience to suppose it could have been if the old grievances had not been removed. Had the presi(lent failed to do the things for doing which he is so rancorously blamed in some quarters, the republican party in this Congress might not be stronger than it was in the forty-fourth Congress. The party is in a better position either for attack or de- fense than it was in two years ado. The change in the republican position has compelled the democracy to unmask its purposes, and to take ground where it is terribly exposed. For this incalculable Two Years of President Hayes. advantage on the lines of party conflict, as well as for the obvious improvement of all national concerns, the administra- tion of President Hayes more than Con- gres s, and the president more than any other republican, is entitled to praise and gratitude. This administration wants something of the contemporary eclat which is more apt to pursue self-assertion, daring am- bition, or carefully devised clap-trap than sincere and modest performance of duty. The party claque has been engaged by those who more need the stimulation of immediate applause. The president wants a personal quality, sometimes de- fined as magnetism, which interests and captures mens sympathies even ir~ spite of their judgment, enabling a wise and patriotic man to prosecute his work with approbation and glory, and often ena- bling a charlatan to do infinite mischief with the substantial support of men who ought to know better. But the presi- dent has qualities which in a chief magis- trate are more useful and safer, pa- triotism, integrity, and firmness. Some politicians, who would like to have it thought they are the truly and exclu- sively stalwart, have insinuated that the president wants firmness and cour- age. Tbey talk about doing this and that to stiffen his backbone. The action of the president for which these men af- fect to think him weak showed a more stalwart courage and a stiffer upright- ness than the record of most of his crit- ics can match. his firmness is of a kind few politicians understand, and still few- er exhibit. It is nobler than that which nerves a man to stand up in the senate to arraign the other party and gibe its representatives. It is loftier than that which depends, as General Grants fa- mous obstinacy so plainly did, on the support of a vindictive impulse. It is not the sort of firmness which would compromise a fundamental principle of our national life to court the favor of men who have a prejudice. It is that superior and admirable trait which en- ables a man to obey his conviction of duty when he knows that those with whom he has acted hitherto, and whose confidence he desires, will impugn his motive, forsake him, and thwart him if they can, and knows also, what is quite as disagreeable to an honest man, that those with whom he can have little sym- pathy and with whom he cannot ally him- self will scandalize him by their praises. When General Garfield, in the house of representatives, described the presi- dent as an optimist, he was probably ri0ht. The president takes the hopeful view, and trusts largely to the operation of the better motives of mens hearts. He thinks what ought to be will be, if not immediately, then after a while, when the right will more clearly appear to be also the expedient. He pursues the course he has marked out for himself openly, steadfastly, and confidently, but not as if he regarded himself as the only or the chief apostle of political righteousness in America. He seems to be a man striving to do well an onerous duty, not courting the immediate applause so much as the ultimate justice of his country- men. When the nation has outgrown and is ashamed of the fierce sectional temper which now deforms patriotism, hinders perfect union, and vexes liberty; when industry and commerce, nourished by an honest currency, again spread con- tentruent through all our borders; when the public service has ceased, as some time it must cease, to be the spoil of parties, a delivered people will refer with honor and gratitude to the administra- tion of President Hayes as the beginning of the republics better day. Walter Allen. 1879.] 199 9 200 A Bit of Shore Life. A BIT OF SHORE LIFE. I OFTEN think of a boy with whom I made friends last summer, during some idle, pleasant days that I spent by the sea. I was almost always omit-of-doors, and I used to watch the boats go out and come in; and I had a hearty liking for the good-natured fishermen, who were lazy an(l busy by turns, who waited for the wind to change and waited for the tide to turn and waited for the fish to bite, and were always ready to gossip about the weather and the fish and the wonderful events that had befallen them and their friends. Georgie was the only boy of whom I ever saw much at the shore. The few young people there were all went to school through the hot summer days at a little weather-beaten school-house a mile or two inland. There were few houses to be seen, at any rate, and Geor- gies house was the only one so close to the water. He looked already nothing but a fisherman; his clothes were cov- ered with an oil-skin suit, which had evi- dently been awkwardly cut down for him from one of his fathers, of whom he was a curious little likeness. I could hardly believe that he was twelve years old, he was so stunted and small; yet he was a strong Ettle fellow; his hands were horny and hard from handling the clumsy oars, and his face was so brown and dry from the hot sun and chilly spray that he looked even older when one came close to him. The first time I saw him was one evening just at night fall. I was sitting on the pebbles, and he came down from the fish-house with some lobster- nets, an(1 a bucket with some pieces of fish in it for bait, and put them into the stern of one of the boats which lay just at the edge of the risin~ tide. He looked at the clouds over the sea and at the opemi sky overhead in an old, wise way, and then, as if satisfied with the weather, began to push off his boat. It (Iragged on the pebbles; it was a heavy thing, and he could not get it far enough out to be floated by the low waves, so I went down to help him. He looked amazed that a girl should have thought of it, and as if he wished to ask me what good I supposed I could do, though 1 was twice his size. But the boat grated and slid down toward the sand, and I gave her a last push as the boy perched with one knee on her gunwale and let the other foot drag in the water for a minute. He was afloat after all, and he took the oars and pulled manfully out toward the moor- ings, where the whale-boats and a sail- boat or two were swaying about in the wind, which was rising a little since the sun had set. He did not say a word to me, or I to him. I watched him go out into the twilight, such a little fellow, between those two great oars! But the boat could not sway nor loiter with his steady stroke, and out he went, until I could only see the boat at last, lifting and sinking on the waves beyond the reef outside the moorings. I asked one of the fishermen whom I knew very well, Who is that little fellow? Ought he to be out by himself? It is groxvin~ dark so fast. Why, that s Georgie ! said my friend, with his grim smile. Bless ye! he s like a duck; ye cant drown him. He wont be in until ten oclock, like s not. He 11 go way out to the far ledges when the tide covers them too deep where he is now. Lobsters he s after. Whose boy is he? said I. Why, Andrers, up here to the fish-house. She s dead, and him and the boy get along together somehow or nother. They ye both got something saved up, and Andrer s a clever fellow; took it very hard losing of his wife. I was telling of him the other day: An- drer, says I, ye ought to look up some- body or nother, and not live this way. There s plenty o smart, stirring women that would mend ye up and cook for ye, and do well by ye. No, says he, I ye hed my wife, and I ye lost her. Well, [August,

Sarah O. Jewett Jewett, Sarah O. A Bit of Shore Life 200-211

200 A Bit of Shore Life. A BIT OF SHORE LIFE. I OFTEN think of a boy with whom I made friends last summer, during some idle, pleasant days that I spent by the sea. I was almost always omit-of-doors, and I used to watch the boats go out and come in; and I had a hearty liking for the good-natured fishermen, who were lazy an(l busy by turns, who waited for the wind to change and waited for the tide to turn and waited for the fish to bite, and were always ready to gossip about the weather and the fish and the wonderful events that had befallen them and their friends. Georgie was the only boy of whom I ever saw much at the shore. The few young people there were all went to school through the hot summer days at a little weather-beaten school-house a mile or two inland. There were few houses to be seen, at any rate, and Geor- gies house was the only one so close to the water. He looked already nothing but a fisherman; his clothes were cov- ered with an oil-skin suit, which had evi- dently been awkwardly cut down for him from one of his fathers, of whom he was a curious little likeness. I could hardly believe that he was twelve years old, he was so stunted and small; yet he was a strong Ettle fellow; his hands were horny and hard from handling the clumsy oars, and his face was so brown and dry from the hot sun and chilly spray that he looked even older when one came close to him. The first time I saw him was one evening just at night fall. I was sitting on the pebbles, and he came down from the fish-house with some lobster- nets, an(1 a bucket with some pieces of fish in it for bait, and put them into the stern of one of the boats which lay just at the edge of the risin~ tide. He looked at the clouds over the sea and at the opemi sky overhead in an old, wise way, and then, as if satisfied with the weather, began to push off his boat. It (Iragged on the pebbles; it was a heavy thing, and he could not get it far enough out to be floated by the low waves, so I went down to help him. He looked amazed that a girl should have thought of it, and as if he wished to ask me what good I supposed I could do, though 1 was twice his size. But the boat grated and slid down toward the sand, and I gave her a last push as the boy perched with one knee on her gunwale and let the other foot drag in the water for a minute. He was afloat after all, and he took the oars and pulled manfully out toward the moor- ings, where the whale-boats and a sail- boat or two were swaying about in the wind, which was rising a little since the sun had set. He did not say a word to me, or I to him. I watched him go out into the twilight, such a little fellow, between those two great oars! But the boat could not sway nor loiter with his steady stroke, and out he went, until I could only see the boat at last, lifting and sinking on the waves beyond the reef outside the moorings. I asked one of the fishermen whom I knew very well, Who is that little fellow? Ought he to be out by himself? It is groxvin~ dark so fast. Why, that s Georgie ! said my friend, with his grim smile. Bless ye! he s like a duck; ye cant drown him. He wont be in until ten oclock, like s not. He 11 go way out to the far ledges when the tide covers them too deep where he is now. Lobsters he s after. Whose boy is he? said I. Why, Andrers, up here to the fish-house. She s dead, and him and the boy get along together somehow or nother. They ye both got something saved up, and Andrer s a clever fellow; took it very hard losing of his wife. I was telling of him the other day: An- drer, says I, ye ought to look up some- body or nother, and not live this way. There s plenty o smart, stirring women that would mend ye up and cook for ye, and do well by ye. No, says he, I ye hed my wife, and I ye lost her. Well, [August, A Bit of Shore L?fe. now, says 1, ye ye shown respect, and there s the boy a-growin up, and if either of you was took sick, why here ye be. Yes, says he, here I be, sore enough, and he drawed a long breath, S if he felt bad; so that s all I said. But it s no way for a man to ~et along, and he ought to think of the boy. lie owned a good house about half a mile up the road, but he moved right down here after she died, and his cousin took it, au(l it burnt up in the winter. Four year ago that was; I was down to the Georges Banks. Some other men came down toward the water, and took a boat that was waiting, already fitted out with a trawl coiled in two tubs, and some hand-lines and bait for rock-cod and haddock, and my friend joined theni; they were going out for a nights fishing. I watched them hoist the little sprit-sail and drift a little until they caught the wind, and then I looked again for Georgie, whose boat was like a black spot on the water. I knew him better soon after that. I used to go out with him for lobsters or to catch eunners, and it was strange that he never had any cronies, and would hardly speak to the other children. He was very shy, but he had put all his heart into his work, a mans hard work, which he had taken from choice. His father was kind to him, but he had a sorry home and no mother, the brave, fearless, steady little soul. He looked forward to going one day (I hope that day has already dawned) to see the shipyards at a large sea-port some twenty miles away. His face lit up when he told me of it, as some other childs would who had been promised a day in fairy-land. And he confided to me that he thought he should go to the Banks that coming winter. But its so cold ! said I; should you really like it? Cold! said Georgie. Ho! rest of the men never froze. That was it, the rest of the men; and he would work until he dropped, or tend a line until his fingers froze, for the sake of that likeness, the grave, slow little man, who has so much business with the sea, and who trusts himself with touch- ing confidence to its treacherous keeping and favor. Andrew West, Georgies father, was almost as silent as his son at first, but it was not long before we were very good friends, anml I went out with him at four oclock, one morning, to see him set his trawl. I remember there was a thin mist over the sea and the air was almost chilly, but as the sun came up it cbanged the color of everything to the most exquisite pink, the smooth, slow waves, and the mist that blew over them as if it were a cloud that had fallen down out of the sky. The world just then was like the hollow of a great pink sea-shell, and we could only hear the dull sound of the waves among the outer ledges. We ha.d to drift about for an hour or two when the trawl was set, and after a while the fog shut down again gray and close, so we could not see either the sun or the shore. We were a little more than four miles out, and we had put out more than half a mile of lines. It is very in- teresting to see the different fish that come up on the hooks: worthless sculpin an(l dog-fish, and good rock-cod and had- dock, and curious stray creatures which often even the fishermen do not know. We had capital good luck that morning, and Georgie and Andrew and I were all pleased. I had a hand-line, and was fishing part of the time, and Georgie thought very well of me when he found I was not afraid of a b fish; and be- sides that, I had taken the oars while he tended the sail, though there was hardly wind enough to make it worth his while. It was about eight oclock when we came in, and there was a horse and wagon standing near the landing, and we saw a woman come out of Andrews little house. There s your aunt Hannah aready, said he to Georgie, and pres- ently she came down the pebbles to meet the boat, looking at me with much won- der as I jumped ashore. I shd think you might a cleaned up your boat, Andrer, if you was going to take ladies out, said she graciously. And the fisherman rejoined that perhaps she would have thought it looked better when it went out than it did then; he 18T9.] 201 202 A Bit of Shore Life. [August, never had got a better fare o fish unless the trawis had been set over night. There certainly had been a good haul; and when Andrew carefully put those I had caught with the hand-line by them- selves, I asked his sister to take them, if she liked. Bless you! said she, much pleased, we could nt eat one o them big rock-cod in a week. I 11 take a little hadick, if Andrer 11 pick me one out. She was a tall, large woman, who had a direct, business-like manner, what the country people would call a master smart woman, or a regular driver, and 1 liked her. She said something to her brother about some clothes she had been making for him or for Geor~,ie, and I went off to the house where I was board- in~ for my breakfast. I was hungry enough, since I had had only a hurried lunch a good while before sunrise. I came back late in the morning, and found that Georgies aunt was just going away. I think my friends must bave spoken well of me, for she came out to meet me as I nodded in going by, and said, I suppose ye drive about some? We should be pleased to have ye come up to see us. We live right mongst the woods; it aint much of a place to ask anybody to. And she added that she might have done a good deal better for herself to have stayed off. But there! they had the place, and she supposed she and Cyn- thy had done as well there as anywhere. Cynthy well, she was nt one of your pushing kind, but I should have some flowers, and perhaps it would be a change for me. I thanked her, and said I should be delighted to go. Georgie and I would make her a call together some after- noon when he was nt busy; and Georgie actually smiled when I looked at him, and said All right, and then hurried off down the shore. Aint he an odd boy? said Miss Hannah West, with a shadow of disapproval in her face. But he s just like his father and grandfather before him; you would nt think they had no gratitude nor feelin, but I spose they have. They used to say my father never d for~it a friend or forgive an en- emy. Well, Im much obliged to you, I m sure, for taking an interest in the boy. I said I liked him; I only wished I could do something for him. And then she said good-day, and drove off. I felt as if we were already good friends. I m much obliged for the fish, she turned round to say to me again, as she went away. One morning, not very long afterward, I askod Georgie if he could possibly leave his business that afternoon, and he grave- ly answered me that he could get away just as well as not, for the tide would not be right for lobsters until after supper. I should like to go up and see your aunt, said I. You know she asked me to come the other day when she was here. Id like to go, said Georgie, se- dately. Father was going up this week, but the mackerel struck in, and we could nt leave. But it s better n six miles up there. Thats not far, said I. Im going to have Capn Dounells horse and wag- on; and Georgie looked much inter- ested. I wondered if he would wear his oil- skin suit; but I was much amazed, and my heart was touched, at seeing how hard he had tried to put himself in trim for the visit. He had on his best jacket and trousers, which might have been most boys worst, and a clean calico shirt; and he had scrubbed his freckled, honest little face and his hard little hands until they were as clean as possi- ble, and either he or his father had cut his hair. I should think it had been done with a knife, and it looked as if a rat had gnawed it. He had such a holi- day air, he really looked very well; but still if I were to have a picture of Georgie it should be in the oil-skin fish- ing suit. He had gone out to his box, which was anchored a little way out in the cove, and had chosen two fine lob- sters which he had tied together with a hit of fish-line. They were lazily mov- ing their claws and feelers, and his fa- ther, who had come in with his boat not long before, added from his fare of fish three plump mackerel. They re always glad to get new A Bit of Shore Nfe. fish, said he. The girls cant abide a fish that s corned, and I have nt had a chance to send em up any mackerel before. Ye see, they live on a cross- road, and the fish-carts dont go by. And I tol(l him I was very glad to carry them, or anything else he would like to send. Mind your manners, now, Geor- gie, sai(l he, and dont be forrard. You might split up some kindlins for yr aunts, and do whatever they want of ye. Boys aint made just to look at, so ye be handy, will ye? And Georgie nodded solemnly. They seemed very fond of each other, and I looked back some time afterward to see the fisherman still standing there to watch his boy. He was used to his being out at sea alone for hours, but this might be a great risk to let him go off inland to stay all the afternoon. The road crossed the salt marshes for the first mile, and when we had struck the higher land we soon entered the pine woods, which cover a great part of that country. It had been raining in the morning for a little while, and the trunks of the trees were still damp, and the underbrush was shining wet~, and sent out a sweet, fresh smell. I spoke of it, and Georgie told me that some- times this fragrance blew far out to sea, and then you knew the wind was north- west. There s the big pine you sight Min- isters Ledge by, said he, when that comes in range over the white school- house, about two miles out. The lobsters were clashing their pegged claws together in the back of the wagon, and Georgie sometimes looked over at them to he sure they were all right. Of course 1 had given him the reins when we first started, and he was delighted because we saw some squirrels, and even a rabbit, which scurried across the road as if I had been a fiery dragon, and Georgie something worse. We presently caine in sight of a house close by the road, an old-looking place, with a ledgy, forlorn field stretching out hehind it toward some low woods. There were high white birch poles holding up thick tangles of hop-vines, and at the side there were sunflowers straggling about as if they had come up from seed scattered by the wind. Sonic of them were close together, as if they were whispering to each other, and their big yellow faces were all turned toward the front of the house, where people were already collect- ed together as if there were a funeral. It s the auction, said Georgie, with great satisfaction. I heard em talk- ing about it down at the shore this morn- inc. There s Lisha Downs, now; he started off just before we did. That s his fish-cart over by the well. What is going to be sold? said I. All the stuff, said Georgie, as if he were much pleased. She s going off up to Boston with her son. I think we had better stop, said I, for I saw Mrs. Lisha Downs, who was one of my acquaintances at the shore, and I wished to see what was going on, besides giving Georgie a chance at the festivitie~. So we tied the horse and went toward the house, and I found sev- eral people whom I knew a little. Mrs. Downs shook hands with me as formally as if we had not talked for some time as I went by her house to the shore, just after breakfast. She presented me to several of her friends with whom she had been talking as I came up. Let me make you acquainted, she said, and every time I bowed she bowed too, un- consciously, and seemed a little ill at ease and embarrassed, but luckily the ceremony was soon over. I thought I would stop for a few minutes, said I, by way of apology. I did nt know why the people were here until Georgie told me. She s going to move up to Boston long of her son, said one of the wom- en, who looked very pleasant and very tired. I think myself it s a bad plan to pull old folks up by the roots. There s a niece o hers that would have been glad to stop with her, and do for the old lady; but John, he s very high- handed, and wants it his way, and he says his mother shant live in no such a place as this. He makes a sight o money. He s got out a patent, and they say he s just bought a new house 1879.] 203 204 A Bit of Shore Lfe. [August, that cost him eleven thousand dollars. But old Mis Wallis, she s wonted here, and she was telling of me yesterday she was only going to please John. He says he wants her up there where she 11 be more comfortable and see something. He means well, said another wom- an, whom I did not know; but folks about here never thought no great of his judgment. lie s put up some splendid stones in the buryin~lot to his father and his sister Miranda that died. I used to go to school long of Miranda. She d have been pleased to go to Boston; she was that kind. But there! mother was saying last night what if his business took a turn, and he lost everything! Mother s took it dreadfully to heart; she and Mis Wallis was ah~ays mates as lon~ ago, as they can recollect. It was evident that the old widow was both pitied and envied by her friends on account of her bettered fortunes, and they caine up to speak to her ~itli more or less seriousness, as befitted the occa- sion. She looked at me with great cu- riosity, but Mrs. Downs told her who I was, and I had a sudden instinct to say how sorry I was for her, but I was afraid it might appear intrusive on so short an acquaintance. She was a thin old soul, who looked as if she had had a good deal of trouble in her day, and as if she had been very poor and very anxious. Yes, said she to some one who had come from a distance, it (hoes come hard to go off. Home is home, and I seem to hate to sell off my things, but I suppose they woUl(1 look queer up to Boston. John says I wont have no idea of the house until I see it, and she looked proud and important for a min- ute; but as some one brought an old chair out at the door her face fell again: Oh, dear, said she, I should like to keep that! It belonged to my mother. It s most wore out, any way. I guess I 11 let somebody keep it for me! and she hurried off despairingly to find her son, while we went into the house. There is so little to interest the people who live on those quiet, secluded farms that an event of this kind gives great pleasure. 1 know they have not done talking yet ahout the sale, of th~ bar- gains that were made, or the goods that brought more than they were worth. And then the women had the chance of going all about the house, an(l commit- ting every detail of its furnishings to their tenacious memories. It is a curi- osity one grows more an(l more willin~ to pardon, for there is so little to amuse them in every-day life. I wonder if any one has not often been struck, as I have, by the sadness and hopelessness which seems to overshadow most of the people who live on the lonely farms in the out- skirts of small New England villages. It is most noticeable among the elderly women: their talk is very cheerless, and they have a morbid interest in sicknesses and deaths; they tell each other lone stories about such things; they are very forlorn; they dwell persistently upon any troubles which they have, and their petty disputes with each other have a tragic hold upon their thoughts, some- times being handed down from one gen- eration to the next. Is it because their world is so small and life affords so lit- tle amusement and pleasure, and is a~ best such a dreary roun(l of the dullest housekeeping? There is a lack of real merriment, and the fun is an odd, rough way of joking; it is a stupid, heavy sort of fun, though there is much of a certain quaint humor, and once in a while a flash of wit. I came upon a short, stout old sister, in one room, making all the effort she possibly could to see what was on the upper shelves of a closet. We were the only persons there, and she looked lon& ingly at a convenient chair, and I know she wished I would go away; but my heart suddenly went out toward an 01(1 dark green Delft bowl which I saw, and I asked her if she would be kind enough to let me see it, as if I thought she were there for the purpose. I 11 bring you a chair, said I; and she said, Cer- tain, (lear. And I helped her up, and I m sure she had the good look she had coveted, while I took the bowl to the window. It was badly cracked and had been mnen(led with putty, but the rich, dull color of it was exquisite. One often A Bit of Slwre L?fe. comes across a beautiful old stray bit of china in such a place as this, and I im- agined it filled with apple-blossoms or wild roses. Mrs. Wallis wished to give it to me; she said it was nt good for anything, and, finding she did not care for it, I bought it, arid now it is perched on my book-case, with the cracks dis- erectly turned to the ~vall. Seems to me she never had thrown away noth- ing, said my friend, whom I found still stan(ling on the chair when I caine back. Here s some pieces of a pitcher; I wonder when she broke it! I ye heard her say it was one her grandmother give her, though. The old lady bought it to a vandoo down at 01(1 Mis Walton Pe- terss after she died, so Mis Wallis said. I guess I 11 speak to her and see if she wants everything sold that s here. There was a very great pathos to me about this old home. It must have been a hard place to get a livincr in, both for men and women, with its wretched farm- ing land, and the house itself so cold and thin and worn out. I could un(lerstand that the son was in a hurry to get his mother away from it. I was sure that the boyhood he had spent there must have been uncomfortable, and that he did not look back to it with much pleas- ure. There is an immense contrast be- tween even a moderately comfortable city house and such a place as this. No wonder that he remembered the bitter cold mornings, the frost and chill, and the dark, and the hard work, and wished his mother to leave them all behind, as he had done! lie (lid not care for the few plain bits of furniture; why should be? and lie had been away so long that he had lost his interest in the neighbors. Perhaps this might come back to him acrain as he grew older, but now he niove(l about among them, in his hand- some but somewhat flashy clothes, with a look that told me he felt conscious of his superior station in life. I did not altogether like his looks, though some- body said arlmiringly, as he went by, They say he s worth as munch as thirty thousand dollars aready. He s smart as a whip! But while I did not wonder at the sons wishing his mother to go away, I also did not wonder at her being unwill- ing to leave the (lull little house where she had spent so much of her life. I was afraid no other house in the world would ever seem like home to her: she was a part of the old place; she had worn the doors smooth by the touch of her hands, and she had scrubbed the floors an(l walked over them until the knots stood up high in the pine boards. The old clock had been unscrewed from the wall and stood on a table, and when I heard its loud an(l anxious tck my first thou~ht was one of pity for the poor thing, for fear it might be homesick, like its mistress. When I went out again I was very sorry for old Mrs. Wallis: she looked so worried and excited, an(1 as if this new turn of affairs in her life was too strange and unnatural; it bewildered her, and she could not understand it; she only knew everything was going to be differ~nt. George was by hiniself, as usual, look- ing grave and intent. He had gone aloft on the wheel of a clumsy great ox-cart, in which some of the men had come to the auction, and he was looking over peoples heads and seeing everything that was sold. I saw he was not ready to come away, so I was not in a hurry. I heard Mrs. Wallis say to one of her friends, You just go in and take that rug with the flowers on t, and go and put it in your wagon. It s right beside my dust that s packed rea(ly to go. ~fohin told me to give away anything I had a min(1 to. He dont care nothing about the money. I hooked that rug four year ago; it s most new; the red of the roses was made out of a dress of Mirandas. I kept it a good while after she died, but it was no use to let it lay. Ive given a good deal to my sister Stiles; she was over here helping me yester(lay. There! it s all come upon me so sudden! I spose I shall wish after I get away that I had (lone thimigs different; but after I knew the farm was goin to be sold I did nt seem to realize I was goin to break up, until John came, day before yesterday. She was very friendly with me, when 1879.] 205 206 A Bit of Slzore Life. [August, I said I should think she would be sorry to go away; but she seemed glad to find I had been in Boston a great deal, and that I was not at all unhappy there. But 1 suppose you have folks there, said she, though I never supposed they was so sociable as they be here, and I aint one that s easy to make acquaint- ance. It s different with young folks; and then in case o sickness I should hate to have strange folks roun(l me. It seems as if I never set so much by the old place as I do now I m goin away. I used to wish he would sell and move over to the Port, it was such hard work getting along when the childn was small. And there s one of my boys that run away to sea and never was heard from. I ye always thought he might come back, though everybody give him up years ago. I cant help thinking what if he should come back and find I want here! There! I m clad to please John; he sets everything by me, and I spose he thinks he s going to make a spry young woman of me. Well, it s natural. Everything looks fair to him, and he thinks he can have the world just as he wants it; but I know it s a world o change, a world o change and loss. An(l then, you see, I shall have to go to a strange meetin up there. Why, Mis Sands! I am pleased to see you. How did you get word? and then Mrs. Wallis made another careful apology for moving away. She seemed to be so afraid some one would think she had not been satisfied with the neighborhood. The auctioneer was a disagreeable- lookin:, man, with a most unpleasant voice, which gave me a sense of discom- fort; the little 01(1 house and its surround- ings seemed so grave and silent and lonely. It was like having all the noise an(1 confusion on a Sunday, and the house was so shut in by the trees that the only outlook to the world beyond was a narrow gap in the pines, through which one could see the seat bright blue and warm with sunshine, that summer day. There was something wistful about the place, as there must have been about the people who had lived there; yet hungry and unsatisfied as her life might have been in many ways, the poor old woman dreaded the change. It seemed very doleful that every- body should look on the dark side of the XVidow Walliss flitting, and I tried to suggest to her some of the pleasures and advantages of it, once when I had a chance. And indeed she was proud enough to be going away with her rich son; it was not like selling her goods be- cause she was too poor to keep the old home any longer. I hoped the son would always be prosperous, and that the sons wife would always be kind, and not be ashamed of her, or think she was in the way. But I am afraid it may be a some- what uneasy idleness, and that there will not be much beside her knitting-work to remin(l her of the old routine. She will even miss going back and forward from the old well in storm and sunshine; she will miss looking after the chickens, and her slow walks about the little place, or out to a neighbors for a bit of gossip, with the old brown checked handker- chief over her head; and when the few homely, faithful 01(1 flowers come up next year by the door-step, there will he no- body to care anything about them. I said good-by and got into the wagon, and Georgie clambered in after me with a look of great importance, and we drove away. He was very talkative; the un- usual excitement of the day was not with- out its effect. He had a good deal to tell me about the people I had seen, though I had to ask a good many ques- tions. Who was the thin old fellow, with the black coat faded yellow-green on the shoulders, who was talking to Skipper Downs about the dogfish? Thats old Capn Abiah Lane, said Georgie; lives over toward Little Beach, him that was cast away in the fog in a dory down to the Banks, once; like to have starved to death before he got picked up. I ye heard him tell all about it. Dont look as if he d ever had enough to eat sin~e! said the boy, grimly. lie used to come over a good deal last winter, and go out after cod long o father and me. His boats all went adrift in the big storm in November, A Bit of Shore Life. and he never heard nothing about em; guess they got stove against the rocks. We had still more than three miles to drive over a lonely part of the road, where there was hardly a house, and where the woods had been cut off more or less, so there was nothing to be seen but the un- even grounds which was not fit for even a pasture yet. But it was not without a beauty of its own; for the little hills and hollows were covered thick with brakes and ferns and bushes, and in the swamps the cat - tails and all the rushes were growing in stiff and stately ranks, so green and tall, while the birds flew up or skimmed across them as we went by. It was like a town of birds, there were so many. It is strange how one is always coming upon families and neigh- borhoods of wild creatures in the unset- tled country places; it is so much like ones going on longer journeys about the world, and finding town after town with its own interests, each so sufficient for itself. We struck the edge of the farming land again, after a while, and I saw three gre at pines that had been born to good luck in this world, since they had sprout- ed in goo(l soil, and had been left to grow as fast as they pleased. They lifted their heads proudly against the blue sky, these rich pines, and I admired them as much as they could have expected. They must have been a landmark for many miles to the ~vestwar(l, for they grew on high land, and they could pity from a distance any number of their poor rela- tions who were just able to keep body and soul together, and had grown up thin and hungry in crowded woods. But though their lower branches might snap and crackle at a touch, their tops were brave and green, and they kept up ap- pearances, at any rate. Georgie pointed out his aunts house to me, after a while. It was not half so forlorn looking as the others, for there were so many flowers in bloom about it of the gayest kind, and a little yellow and white doe, came down the road to bark at us; but his manner was such that it seemed like an unusually cordial welcome rather than an indignant re pulse. I noticed four jolly old apple- trees near by, which looked as if they might be the last of a once-flourishing orchard. They were standing in a row, in exactly the same position, with their heads thrown gayly back, as if they were all dancing in an old-fashioned reel; and after the forward and back one might expect them to turn partners gallantly. I laughed aloud when I caught sight of them; there was something very funny in their look, so jovial and whole-hearted, with a sober, cheerful pleasure, as if they gave their whole minds to it. It was like some 01(1 gentlemen and ladies who catch the spirit of the thing, and dance witl~ the rest at a Christmas party. Miss Hannah West first looked out of the window, and then came to meet us, looking as if she were glad to see us. Geor~ie had nothing whatever to say, but after I had followed his aunt into the house he began to work like a beaver at once, as if it were anything but a friendly visit that could be given up to such trifles as conversation, or as if he were anything but a boy. He brought the fish and lobsters into the outer kitch- en, though I was afraid our loitering at the auction must have cost them their first freshness; and then he carried the axe to the wood-pile, and began to chop up the small white pine sticks and brush which form the summer fire-wood at the farm-houses, crow-sticks and under- brush, a good deal of it; but it makes a hot little blaze while it lasts. I had not seen Miss Cynthia West, the younger sister, before, and I found the two women very unlike. Miss Han. nah was evidently the capable business member of the household, and she had a loud voice and went about as if she were in a hurry. Poor Cynthia! I saw at first that she was one of the faded-look- ing country women who have a hard time, an(l who, if they had grown up in the midst of a more luxurious way of liv- ing, would have been frail and delicate anmi refined, and entirely lady-like. But as it was she was somewhat in the shad- ow of her sister, and felt as if she were not of very much use or consequence in the world, I have no doubt. She showed 1879.] 207 A Bit of Shore Lafe. me some pretty picture-frames she had made out of pine cones and hemlock cones and alder burs; but her chief glory an(l pride was a silly little model of a house in perforated card-board, which she had cut and worked after a pattern that caine in a magazine. It must have cost her a great deal of work, but it partly satisfied her great longing for pretty things, and for the daintiness and art that she had an instinct toward and never had known. It stoO(l on the best- room table, with a few books, which I suppose she had read over and over again; and in the room, beside, were green paper curtains with a landscape on the ontsidc, and some chairs ranged stiffly against the walls, some shells and a whales tooth with a ship on it on the mantel-shelf, and ever so many rugs on the floor, of most ambitious designs, which they had made in winter. I know the making of them had been a great pleasure to Miss Cynthia, and I was sure it was she who had taken care of the garden and was always at much pains to get seeds and slips in the spring. She told me how much they had wished that Georgie had come to live with them, after his mother died. it would have been very handy for them to have him in winter, too; but it was no use trying to get him away from his father, and nei- ther of them were contented if they were out of sight of the sea. He s a dread- ful O(ld boy, and so old for his years. Hannah, she says lie s older now than I be, and she blushed a little as she looked up at me; while for a moment the tears came into my eyes, as I thought of this poor, plain woman who had such a capacity for enjoyment, and whose life had been so dull and far apart from the pleasures and satisfactions which had made so much of my own life. It seemed to me as if I had had a great deal more than I deserved, while this poor soul was almost beggared. I seemed to know all about her life in a flash, and pitied her from the bottom of my heart. Yet I suppose she would not have changed places with me for anything, or with anybody else, for that matter. Miss Cynthia had a good deal to say about her mother, who had been a school- mate of Mrs. Walliss, I had been tell- ing them what I could about the auction. She told me that she had (lied the spring before, and said how much they missed her; and Hannah broke in upon her re- grets in her brusque, downright way: I should have liked to kep her if she d lived to be a hundred, but I dont wish her back. She d had considerable many strokes, and she could nt help herself much of any; she d got to be rising eighty; and her mind was a good deal broke, she added conclusively, after a short silence, while Cynthia looked sor- rowfully out of the window, and we heard the sound of Georgies axe at the other si(le of the house, and the wild, sweet whistle of a bird that flew overhead. I suppose one of the sisters was just as sorry as the other, in reality. Now I want you and Georgie to stop and have some tea. I II get it good and early, said hannah, starting suddenly from her chair, and beginning to bustle about again after she had asked me about some people at home whom she knew. Cynthy! Perhaps she d like to walk roun(l out-doors a spell. It s breezing up, and it 11 be cooler than it is in the house. No, you need nt think I shall be put out by your stopping, but you 11 have to take us just as we be. Georgie al- ways calculates to stop when he comes up. I guess he s made off for the woods. I see him go across the lot a few minutes ago. So Cynthia put on a (liscouraged-look- ing gingham sun-bonnet, whieh drooped over her face and gave her a more ap- pealing look than ever, and we went over to the pine woods, which were beautiful that day. She showed me a little water- fall made by a brook that came over a high ledge of rock covered with moss, and here and there tufts of fresh green ferns. It grew late in the afternoon, and it was pleasant there in the shade, with the noise of the brook and the wind in the pines that sounded like the sea. The wood-thrushes began to sing, and who could have better music? Miss Cynthia told me that it always 208 [August, A Bit of Shore Life. made her think of once when she was a little girl to hear the thrushes. She had run away and fallen into the mash, and her mother had sent her to bed quick as she got home, though it was only four oclock. And she was so ashamed, be- cause there was company there, some of her fathers folks from over to Eliot; and then she heard the thrushes begin to call after a ~hile, and she thought they were talking about her and they knew she had been whipped and sent to bed. I d been gone all day since morning. I had a great way of strayin~ off in the woods, said she. I suppose mother was put to it when she see me coining in, all bog mud, right before the company. We came by my friends, the apple- trees, on our return, and I saw a row of old-fashioned square bee-hives near them, which I had not noticed before. Miss Cynthia told me that the bee money was always hers, but she lost a good many swarms on account of the woods being so near, and they had a trick of swarm- ing Sundays, after she d gone to meet- ing; and besides, the miller bugs spoilt em, and some years they did nt make enough honey to live on, so she did nt get any at all. I saw some bits of black cloth fluttering over the little doors where the bees went in and out, and the sight touched me strangely. I did not know tha.t the old custom still lingered of put- ting the hives in mourning, and telling the bees when there had been a death in the family, so they would not fly away. I said, half to myself, a line or two from Whittiers poem, which I always thought one of the loveliest in the world, and this seemed almost the realization of it. Miss Cynthia asked me, wistfully, Is that in a book? I told her yes, and that she should have it next time I came up or had a chance of sending it. I ye seen a good many pieces of poetry that Mr. Whittier wrote, said she. I ye got some that I cut out of the paper a good while ago. I think everything of em. I put the black on the hives myself, said she. It was for mother, you know. She (lid it when father died, but when my brother was lost, we did nt, because we never knew just when it was; the schoon VOL. XLIY.NO. 262. 14 er was missing, and it was a good while - before they give her up. I wish we had some neighbors in sight, said she once. Id like to see a light when I look out, after (lark. Now at my aunts, over to Eliot, the house stands high, and when it s comm0 dark you can see all the folks lighting up. It seems real sociable. We lingered a little while under the apple-trees, an(l watched the wise little bees go and come, and Miss Cynthia told me how much Georgie was like his grand- father, who was so steady and quiet and always right after his business. He never was ugly to us as I know of, sai(l she, but I was always sort of fraid of father. Hannah, she used to talk to him free s she would to me, and lie thought s long s Hannah did anything it was all right. I always held by my mother the most, and when father was took sick that was in the winter I sent right off for Hannah to come home. I used to be scared to death when he d want any- thing done, for fear I should nt do it right. Mother, she d had a fall, and could nt 0et about very well. hannah had good advantages: she went off keep- ing school when she was nt but seven- teen, and she saved up some money, and boarded over to the Port after a while and learned the tailoress trade. She was al- ways called very smart, you see she s got ways different from me, and she was over to the Port several winters. She never said a word about it, but there was a young man over there that wanted to keep company with her; lie was going out first mate of a new ship that was building. But when she got word from me about father she come right home, and that was the end of it. It seenied to be a pity. I used to think perhaps he d come and see her some time, between voyages, and that lie d get to be capn, and they d go off and take nie with cm. I always wanted to see something of the world. I never have been but dreadful little ways from home. I used to wish I could keep school, and once my uncle was agent for his district, and he said I could have a chance;but the folks laughed to think o inc keeping school, and I 1879.] 209 210 A Bit of Shore Life. [August, never said anything more about it. But you see it might a led to something. I always wished I could go to Boston. I suppose you ye been there? There I coul(1 nt live out o si~ht o the woods, I dont believe. I can understand that, said I, and half with a wish to sbow her I had some troubles, though I had so many pleas- ures that she did not, I told her that the woods I loved best had all been cut down the winter before. I had played under the great pines when I was a child, and I had spent many a long afternoon under them since. There never will be such trees for me any more in the world. I knew where the flowers grew under them, and where the ferns were greenest, and it was as much home to me as my own house. They grew on the side of a hill, and the sun always shone through the tops of the trees as it went down, while below it was all in shadow, and I had been there with so many dear friends who have died, or who are very far away. I told Miss Cynthia what I never had told anybody else: that I loved those trees so much that I went over the hill on the frozen snow to see them, one sunny winter afternoon, to say good-by, as if I were sure they could hear me; and looked back again and again, as I came away, to be sure I should remember how they looked. And it seemed as if they knew as well as I that it was the last time and they were going to be cut down. It was a Sunday afternoon, and I was all alone, an(l the farewell was a reality and a sad thing to me; it was saying good-by to a great deal besides the pines themselves. We stopped a while in the little garden, where Miss Cynthia gave me some mao- nificent big marigolds to put away for seed, and was much pleased because I was so delighted with her flowers. It was a gor~eous little garden to look at, with its red poppies and blue larkspur and yellow marigolds and 01(1-fashioned sweet, straying things, all growing to- gether in a tangle of which my friend seemed ashamed. She told me that it looked as ordered mis could be, until the things begun to grow so fast she could nt do anything with em. She was very proud of one little pink and white ver- bena which somebody had given her. It was not growing very well, but it had not disappointed her about blooming. Georgie had come hack from his ram- ble some time before. He had cracked the lobster which Miss Hannah had promptly put on to boil, and I saw the old gray cat having a capital lunch off the shells; while the horse looked meeker than ever, with his headstall thrown back on his shoulders, eating his supper of hay b)- the fence; for Miss Hannah was a hospitable soul. She was tramping about in the house, getting supper, and we went in to find the table already pulled out into the floor; so Miss Cynthia hastened to set it. I could see she was very much ashamed of having been gone so long; neither of us knew it was so late; but Miss Hannah said it did at make a mite o difference, there was next to nothing to do, and looked at me with a little smile which said, You see how it is; Im the one who has faculty, and I favor her. I was very hungry, and though it was not yet six it seemed a whole day since dinner-time. Miss Hannah made many apologies, and said if I had only set a day she would have had things as they ought to he; but it was a very good supper, and she knew it! She did nt know but I was tired o lobsters; and when I had eaten two of the big round biscuit and begun an attack on the hot gingerbread, she said humbly that she did nt know when she had had such bad luck, thou~h Georgie and 1 were both satisfied. He did not speak more than once or twice during the meal. I do not think he was afraid of me, for we had had many a lunch together when he had taken me out fishing; but this was an occasion, and there was at first the least possible restraint over all the coin- pany, though I m glad to say it soon van- ished. We had two kinds of preserycs and some honey beside, and there was a pie with a pale, smooth crust and three cuts in the top. It looked like a very good pie, of its kind, but one cant eat everything, though one does ones best! And we had big cups of tea, and though 1879.] The Deserted Ca6in. 211 Miss Hannah supposed I had never eaten with anything but silver forks before, it happcned luckily that I had, and we were very merry indeed. Miss Hannah told us several stories of the time she kept school, and gave us some remi- niscences of her life at the Port; and Miss Cynthia looked at me as if she had heard them before, and wished to say, I know she s having a good time. I think Miss Cynthia felt, after we were out in the woods, as if I were her com- pany and she was responsible for me. I thanked them heartily when I came away, for I had had such a pleasant time. Miss Cynthia picked me a huge nosegay of her flowers, and whispered that she hoped I would nt forget about lending her the book. Poor woman! she was so young, only a girl yet, in spite of her having lived more than fifty years in that plain, dull home of hers, in spite of her faded face and her grayish hair. We came away in the rattling wagon; Georgie sat up in his place with a steady hand on the reins, and keeping a careful lookout ahead, as if he were steering a boat through a rough sea. We passed the house where the auction had been, and it was all shut up. The cat sat on the door-step waiting patiently, and I felt very sorry for her; hut Georgie said there were neighbors not far off, and she was a master hand for squirrels. I was glad to get sight of the sea again, and to smell the first stray whiff of salt air that blew in to meet us as we crossed the marshes. I think the life in me must be next of kin to the life of the sea, for it is drawn toward it strangely, as a lit- tle drop of quicksilver grows uneasy just out of reach of a greater one. Good-night, Georgie! said I; and he nodded his head a little as he drove away to take the horse home. Much obliged to you for my ride, said he, and I knew in a minute that his father or one of the aunts had cautioned him not to forget to make his acknowledgments. He had told me on the way down that he had baited his nets all ready to set that evening. I knew he was in a hurry to go out, and it was not long before I saw his boat pushing off. It was after eight oclock, and the moon was coming up pale and white out of the sea, while the west was still bright after the clear sunset. I have a little model of a fishing dory that Georgie made for me, with its sprit- sail and killick and painter and oars and gaff all cleverly cut with the clum- siest of jackknives. I care a great deal for the little boat, and I gave him a bet- ter knife before I came away, to remem- ber me by; but I am afraid its shininess and trig shape may have seemed a trifle unmanly to him. His fathers had been sharpened on the beach stones to clean many a fish, and it was notched and dingy, but this would cut; there was no doubt about that. I hope Georgie was sorry when we said good-by. I m sure I was! Sarah 0. Jewett. THE DESERTED CABIN. THICK across the threshold lies the viuc; High above the casement nods the rose, Wild and sweet. I know the ancient sign: Nature claims what unman hands resign; So above our dead her ivy grows. Trodden by no foot that walks with life, Only by the stealthy tread of Time,

Mrs. E. R. Lee Lee, E. R., Mrs. The Deserted Cabin 211-213

1879.] The Deserted Ca6in. 211 Miss Hannah supposed I had never eaten with anything but silver forks before, it happcned luckily that I had, and we were very merry indeed. Miss Hannah told us several stories of the time she kept school, and gave us some remi- niscences of her life at the Port; and Miss Cynthia looked at me as if she had heard them before, and wished to say, I know she s having a good time. I think Miss Cynthia felt, after we were out in the woods, as if I were her com- pany and she was responsible for me. I thanked them heartily when I came away, for I had had such a pleasant time. Miss Cynthia picked me a huge nosegay of her flowers, and whispered that she hoped I would nt forget about lending her the book. Poor woman! she was so young, only a girl yet, in spite of her having lived more than fifty years in that plain, dull home of hers, in spite of her faded face and her grayish hair. We came away in the rattling wagon; Georgie sat up in his place with a steady hand on the reins, and keeping a careful lookout ahead, as if he were steering a boat through a rough sea. We passed the house where the auction had been, and it was all shut up. The cat sat on the door-step waiting patiently, and I felt very sorry for her; hut Georgie said there were neighbors not far off, and she was a master hand for squirrels. I was glad to get sight of the sea again, and to smell the first stray whiff of salt air that blew in to meet us as we crossed the marshes. I think the life in me must be next of kin to the life of the sea, for it is drawn toward it strangely, as a lit- tle drop of quicksilver grows uneasy just out of reach of a greater one. Good-night, Georgie! said I; and he nodded his head a little as he drove away to take the horse home. Much obliged to you for my ride, said he, and I knew in a minute that his father or one of the aunts had cautioned him not to forget to make his acknowledgments. He had told me on the way down that he had baited his nets all ready to set that evening. I knew he was in a hurry to go out, and it was not long before I saw his boat pushing off. It was after eight oclock, and the moon was coming up pale and white out of the sea, while the west was still bright after the clear sunset. I have a little model of a fishing dory that Georgie made for me, with its sprit- sail and killick and painter and oars and gaff all cleverly cut with the clum- siest of jackknives. I care a great deal for the little boat, and I gave him a bet- ter knife before I came away, to remem- ber me by; but I am afraid its shininess and trig shape may have seemed a trifle unmanly to him. His fathers had been sharpened on the beach stones to clean many a fish, and it was notched and dingy, but this would cut; there was no doubt about that. I hope Georgie was sorry when we said good-by. I m sure I was! Sarah 0. Jewett. THE DESERTED CABIN. THICK across the threshold lies the viuc; High above the casement nods the rose, Wild and sweet. I know the ancient sign: Nature claims what unman hands resign; So above our dead her ivy grows. Trodden by no foot that walks with life, Only by the stealthy tread of Time, 212 The Deserted Cabin. [August, Is the little porch where once they sate Who dwelt here (as now we sit), elate With the freshness of this mountain clime. Now the spider spinning in the weed, And the torrent chiding as it flows, And the mountain cattle as they feed, Treading down the sweet grass and the reed, These are all of life the valley knows. Could they love and leave a place so fair? Look above, and see a thing divine: Miles of mellow, yellow, sunset air, Bleaching cliffs that hang all seamed and bare, Black against the blue the mountain pine. Southward, melting purple into gray, Pale the ranges rise and rise afar; Glorious in the saffron sunset ray, See the valleys widen far away, Lovely as a landscape in a star. Yes, they left it. Did their footsteps stray To the alien land that knew their birth? Stung by want, or lured by hope, were they? In some happier country far away Did they light anew this household hearth? Yes, perchance they turned their willing feet To the lowlands long beloved by men, Valleys slanting southward into heat, Thick with vine and rose and gray with wheat, And forgot their little mountain glen. Oh, not quite forgot! Sometimes must rise To their dreaming eyes this mountain wall, Bronze and gold against the evening skies, When the dews drop and the cricket cries, And the whippoorwill hegins to call. And the ear will miss at dead of night This sweet fretting of the mountain stream, Falling, calling, from its forest height; Nevermore will come this lost delight, Only moans this music in a dream. Come away! Forget this silence sweet, Black-green forest slope and sunny rocks; Leave the wild rose smiling in the heat, By the broken threshold at our feet, Leave all to the brown hawk and the fox. Mrs. E. 1?. Lee. 1879.] Un Homme Capa6le. UN HOMME CAPABLE. WHILE all Europe was reading in the ghastly rubric of the flames of Moscow the story of Russias brave and desper- ate resistance to the invading armies of Napoleon Bonaparte, a little light which was destined to spread in brightness over the future fate of Russia was burning hidden in the breast of a quiet, mod- est young stu(lent of the Zarskoe-Selo Lyceum (an institution founded by the Empress Catherine for the fashionable education of young Russian noblemen). The extreme views inculcated by its professors of the French encyclopa3- dist school did not carry him away, and together with his genial friend, the afterward unfortunate but beloved na- tional poet, Pushkine, the young Gort- schakoff kept his moral reputation un- tarnished. On leaving Zarskoe - Selo, he at once entered the diplomatic serv- ice, and in 1822 attended, as attache of Count Nesselrode (Russias foreign min- ister during the reigns of Alexander II. and Nicholas I.) the Holy Alliance Con- ferences at Laybach and Verona. In 1824 he acted as secretary to Prince Lieven, the Russian ambassador in Lon- don, who pronounced the young Gort- schakoff un homme capable. He be- came charge daffaires at Florence in 1826, and in 1832 councilor of the Vi- enna legation, where the sickness and death of Count Stackelberg, the Rus- sian ambassador, gave him an oppor- tunity, though brief, to exercise his dip- lomatic gifts. Still he received r~o of- ficial distinction earlier than 1842, when he was appointed minister and extraor- dinary envoy to Stuttgart. Successful match-making between roy- al houses has generally been the surest and shortest road for the aspirant to a ministerial portfolio; while, on the other hand, failure in this field has often proved an equally effective barrier to diplomatic promotion. Prince Gortschakoffs chief mission to Stuttgart was to obtain King Wilhelms consent to the marriage of Prince Karl, heir apparent to the throne of Wiirtemberg, and the Grand Duchess Olga, his august masters youngest, brightest, and most beloved daughter. The choice of Prince Gortschakoff for a task of such delicacy and exceeding dif- ficulty indicated the Czars unbounded faith in his capacity. The aged king of Wiirtembcrg, bear- ing the reputation of being the most ob- stinate of all the stiff-necked members of the notoriously self - willed house of Suabia, had set his heart against a Rus- sian marriage, and was supported in this by the general opinion in Wiirtemberg. To complicate matters, his harsh treat- ment of the amiable Catherine Pan- lowna had alienated the feelings of the Czar and of St. Petersburg society. Notwithstanding all these obstacles, this was the only alliance worthy of consid- eration, and Prince Gortschakoffs suc- cessful negotiation of it earned for him the lasting gratitude of the Czar, the imperial house, and all Russia. Although Prince Gortschakoff might then have naturally looked for promo- tion to the ambassadorship of Vienna or London, the goals of Russian diplo- matic ambition at that time, he stifled his passionate longing for a larger field of action, and promised the anxious em- press mother that he would remain at Stuttgart until the grand duchess should become accustomed to the difficulties of her new position. For nine years he stayed at Stuttgart, the confidant of all the annoyances to which the opinionated King Wilhehn and the pretentious narrow court eti- quette subjected the proud Olga, so used to the grandeur and easy tone of the Winter Palace. 1 During the event- ful years of 184750, Prince Gortschakoff closely watched the advance of the turbu- lent democratic wave which rolled over Europe, and his thoughtful and temper- ate utterances won the recognition of 1 See La Societe Russe, par un Russe. 213

Axel C. J. Gustafson Gustafson, Axel C. J. "Un Homme Capable" 213-222

1879.] Un Homme Capa6le. UN HOMME CAPABLE. WHILE all Europe was reading in the ghastly rubric of the flames of Moscow the story of Russias brave and desper- ate resistance to the invading armies of Napoleon Bonaparte, a little light which was destined to spread in brightness over the future fate of Russia was burning hidden in the breast of a quiet, mod- est young stu(lent of the Zarskoe-Selo Lyceum (an institution founded by the Empress Catherine for the fashionable education of young Russian noblemen). The extreme views inculcated by its professors of the French encyclopa3- dist school did not carry him away, and together with his genial friend, the afterward unfortunate but beloved na- tional poet, Pushkine, the young Gort- schakoff kept his moral reputation un- tarnished. On leaving Zarskoe - Selo, he at once entered the diplomatic serv- ice, and in 1822 attended, as attache of Count Nesselrode (Russias foreign min- ister during the reigns of Alexander II. and Nicholas I.) the Holy Alliance Con- ferences at Laybach and Verona. In 1824 he acted as secretary to Prince Lieven, the Russian ambassador in Lon- don, who pronounced the young Gort- schakoff un homme capable. He be- came charge daffaires at Florence in 1826, and in 1832 councilor of the Vi- enna legation, where the sickness and death of Count Stackelberg, the Rus- sian ambassador, gave him an oppor- tunity, though brief, to exercise his dip- lomatic gifts. Still he received r~o of- ficial distinction earlier than 1842, when he was appointed minister and extraor- dinary envoy to Stuttgart. Successful match-making between roy- al houses has generally been the surest and shortest road for the aspirant to a ministerial portfolio; while, on the other hand, failure in this field has often proved an equally effective barrier to diplomatic promotion. Prince Gortschakoffs chief mission to Stuttgart was to obtain King Wilhelms consent to the marriage of Prince Karl, heir apparent to the throne of Wiirtemberg, and the Grand Duchess Olga, his august masters youngest, brightest, and most beloved daughter. The choice of Prince Gortschakoff for a task of such delicacy and exceeding dif- ficulty indicated the Czars unbounded faith in his capacity. The aged king of Wiirtembcrg, bear- ing the reputation of being the most ob- stinate of all the stiff-necked members of the notoriously self - willed house of Suabia, had set his heart against a Rus- sian marriage, and was supported in this by the general opinion in Wiirtemberg. To complicate matters, his harsh treat- ment of the amiable Catherine Pan- lowna had alienated the feelings of the Czar and of St. Petersburg society. Notwithstanding all these obstacles, this was the only alliance worthy of consid- eration, and Prince Gortschakoffs suc- cessful negotiation of it earned for him the lasting gratitude of the Czar, the imperial house, and all Russia. Although Prince Gortschakoff might then have naturally looked for promo- tion to the ambassadorship of Vienna or London, the goals of Russian diplo- matic ambition at that time, he stifled his passionate longing for a larger field of action, and promised the anxious em- press mother that he would remain at Stuttgart until the grand duchess should become accustomed to the difficulties of her new position. For nine years he stayed at Stuttgart, the confidant of all the annoyances to which the opinionated King Wilhehn and the pretentious narrow court eti- quette subjected the proud Olga, so used to the grandeur and easy tone of the Winter Palace. 1 During the event- ful years of 184750, Prince Gortschakoff closely watched the advance of the turbu- lent democratic wave which rolled over Europe, and his thoughtful and temper- ate utterances won the recognition of 1 See La Societe Russe, par un Russe. 213 214 Un flomme Capable. [August, every European cabinet; and especially were his words powerful at Frankfurt, the seat of the United Diet. After the restoration of the old German Diet in 1850, Prince Gortschakoff was ap- pointed ambassador to Frankfurt, wIdth- er, a few months later, came Herr Otto von Bismarck, then a young Landwekr lieutenant, as first secretary of the Prus- sian legation. Herr Bismarcks scath- ing criticism of the German constitution of 1847, his impassioned and fearless de- fense of the legal rights of the Prussian crown against the very despair of hope, as it were, had at the time deeply im- pressed Prince Gortschakoff, and the in- timate association into which these two staunch defenders of all crown preroga- tives were now thrown ripene(l their mut- ual respect an(l admiration into personal friendship, and, as far as the interests of Russia and Germany would permit, into a political friendship, which a conjunc- tion of events contributed to strengthen. In 1854 Prince Gortschakoff obtained the so long and well deserved position of ambassador at Vienna, but at that period Schwezer-Hof, with its magnifi- cence and festivities, was anything but a paradise to a Russian ambassador. At this difficult post Prince Gortschakoff fulfilled his duties with signal success, more than once thwarting the Austrian foreign ministers machinations for unit- in~ the Austrian arms with those of the Crimean allies. During the conferences at Vienna, pending the siege of Sebasto- pol, Prince Gortschakoffs patient mod- eration half won over France to Russia, and the work thus begun at Vienna was carried forward by Alexel Orloff at Paris, where a basis was laid for a fuller un- derstanding between the two countries, and also for the resumption of diplomatic relations between Russia and Piedmont. When, in the spring of 1856, Prince Gortschakoff then nearly sixty years old succeeded Count Nesselrode as Russias minister of foreign affairs, he had a task of appalling magnitude before him. The country was financially ex- hausted; a new and fundamental depart- 1 It was in one of these conferenres that count Buol Schanenstein nude demands so preposterous nrc had already been made by the Czar in the internal organization of Russias administration, and an equally impor- tant change of front was required in her foreign affairs. The Holy Alliance had been broken, through Austrias apathy and duplicity before and during the Cri- mean war, and by her almost hostility to Russia in the conferences of Vienna and Paris. The Treaty of Paris had stopped the effusion of blood in the Crimea, but the germs of discontent and dissension re- mained active, and Europe was diplomat- ically divided into two camps. Austria anti England insisted upon the most rig- orous and literal interpretation of the Paris treaty, but Prince Gortschakoff had foreseen this, and had prepared for it when so carefully promoting such an un- derstanding between France and Pied- mont as inclined them to allow Russia to put the most favorable construction on its stipulations. By means of this triple alliance was the question of Belgrade compromised and the creation of Rou- mania recognized, in spite of Count Buols ominous declaration that Aus- tria had quite eeough with one Sardinia at the foot of the Alps, without having another at the foot of the Carpathians. It is true that as far as physica.l force is concerned the conspirator of Forli broke Austrian aggression, but Count Cavour himself declares that while Louis Napoleon vacillated Prince Gortscha- koffs firmness held back Austria, and gave him courage to brave Lord Palm- erston. Prince Gortschakoff, the representa- tive of despotic Russia, a year after the day at Tchernaya, was supporting the liberal Piedmont; while free En- gland, owing so much to the bravery of La Marmoras little corps, an(1 whose constitution Piedmont had taken as her guide, had no other comfort to offer than a censure for Piedmonts rupture with Austria and an advice to submis- sion! Not until war between Austria and Piedmont appeareti imminent did England awake to the danger, but then that count cavour exclaimed, Austria speaks as if she had taken Sebastopol! Un Homme Capahie. only to find her mediation everywhere unwelcome. At Vienna she was ad- vised to counsel the court at Turin; at Turin she was informed that Austria, and not Piedmont, was threatening to disturb the peace. Germany expressed sorrow over the turn of affairs, and Prince Gortschakoff plainly stated that Russia desired peace, was upon terms of close cordiality with France, but opposed to Austria, who had behaved disgracefully in return for Russias serv- ices; that Russia refrained from counseling anybody; but, said he, frankly, if the peace of Europe be dis- turbed, I do not tell you on which side you will find the Russian arms. Prince Gortschakoffs answer throirs a subtle light on his famous expression, La Russie ne boude pas; elle se reeneille, with which he opened his administra- hon. When England concentrated her ef- forts on detaching France from Pied- mont, Prince Gortschakoff, through his celebrated circular dispatch of May, 1859, proposing a European congress, blasted Lord Derbys sanguine expectations. At this period Herr Bismarek was ap- pointed ambassador to St. Petersburg. The manly friendship and political sym- pathy between the Junker and Prince Gortschakoff were now cemented, an(l in the most critical moment, as their com- bined efforts were barely sufficient to withhold the Bend from joining Aus- tria against Piedmont and France. Na- poleon was quick to profit by the hesi- tation of Germany, and before reflection could change the German policy the Austrians were beaten at Montebello, Magenta, and Solferino, and that strange let-live Villa-Franca peace had been put on record in the red, green, and yellow archives. Lombardy was restored to Italy, but Venetia remained under the heel of Austria. When Piedmont at- tacked the independent kingdom of Na- ples, Prince Gortschakoff opposed it, and broke off diplomatic relations whh Turin, which were not renewed for many months. But after peace was re- stored, and Italy had justified her claims to recognition as a nation, Russia was the first power to acknowledge the Ital- ian kingdom (July, 1862). In 1860, the diplomatic negotiations for a positive improvement of the situ- ation of the Christians in Turkey were regularly opened by the May dispatch of Prince Gortschakoff to the signataries of the Paris treaty. It desired that a com mon understanding~with the Porte might be reached, in order to engage it to adopt the necessary organic measures for bringin,~ about, in its relations with the Christian populations of the empire, a real, serious, and durable ameliora- tion. The understanding, said Prince Gortschakoff, which we wish to see established between the great powers and the Turkish government must be to the Christians a proof that their fate is taken into consideration, and that we are seriously occupied in amel- iorating it. At the same time it will be to the Porte a sure pledge of the friend- ly intentions of the powers which have placed the conservation of the Ottoman em- pire among the essential conditions of the European equilibrium. . . . We trust these views are shared by all cabinets; but we are also convinced that the time for illusion is past, and that any hesita- tion, any adjournment, will have grave consequences. In uniting all our efforts to place the Ottoman government in a course which may meet these eventuali- ties, we believe that we are giving proof of our solicit,4de, while at the same time we fulfill a duty of humaniLy. England temporized, and the Syrian massacres took place. England and France now saw no alternative but to interfere, and Lord Russell coolly ignored the Portes plea based on the ninth clause in the Treaty of Paris of inde- pendence in the internal administration of Turkey. Syria was occupie(l by En- glish and French troops, and the Porte informed that~until the Lebanon consti- tution (the work of Lord Dufferin, late- ly governor-general in Canada) was ac- cepted, Syria would remain occupied. Prince Gortschakoff not only approved of this intervention, which had not, as Russias proposition, been deemed fea- sible, and her right to a voice in which 1879.] 215 216 Un Homme Uapable. [August, was now ignored, but supplemented it with commands to the Russian squadron in Syrian waters to take orders from the British admiral! Between 1862 and 1864, Prince Gort- schakoff won the fairest laurels for his wise and humane policy towards the re- bellious Polish nobility, and by his re- fusal to join France and England in an intervention in the civil war raging in the United States. Though the Polish insurrection pushed itself forward by every foul and treacherous means of which it was able to avail itself, and after the rout and flight of Langewicz s corps, t.he only organized Polish army with which the Russians had to deal, and when it was apparent to the thought- ful that the strength of the insurrection was hopelessly broken, the Czar issued an amnesty (in 1863) evincing motives and sentiments of the utmost magna- nimity. This noble amnesty was scorn- fully rejected by the Red Tribunal at Warsaw, whose machinations had by this time so stirred up Europe that in England, France, Austria, Prussia, Italy, Spain, Portugal, Sweden, and Denmark the press rang with indignation, and de- manded war on the inhuman Musco- vite. But the Poles sought more than even European sympathy would have secured to them; they would hear nothing of the provisions of 1815; they demanded noth- ing less than independence, the restora- tion of the Poland of 1772. Prince Gortschakoffs position, before so difficult, became critical. He had been chiefly the means of the emancipa- tion decree of the 19th of February, 1861, and with rare skill had neutralized the revolutionary designs of the nobles in St. Petersburg and Moscow; defeat- ing their revenge-scheme for a constitu- tion and for the convocation of a gen- eral Durna. He had displeased the fa- natical orthodox nationals by his lenient course towards Poland, and by staunchly supporting the great reforms introduced 1 The Duma (from dumati, to think, or to delib- erate) was an ancient form of council convened around and presided over by the grand dukes, its members being chosen exclusively from the higher nobility. by his friend Waluieff, minister. of the interior.2 When, therefore, France and England began officially to interfere in favor of the Poles, the sons of the battle com- rades of Bonaparte, Prince Gortscha- koff was pushed to the foreground. He had either to submit to an interference in Russias internal affairs, certainly det- rimental, if not ultimately fatal, to her greatness and prestige; or, by allowing tlse national party a certain influence in tile case of Poland, be enabled to pre- sent a united front to foreign aggression; or, lastly, to risk a forced resignation, with dubitable results for Russia. Prince Gortschakoff (then vice-chancellor) de- cided to unite, provisionally, Russias policy with the claims of the national party which then ruled public opinion. This decision was the deliberate accept- ance of the most self-sacrificing ordeal by Prince Gortschakbff. It forced him, a genuine aristocrat, cultivated, refined, and naturally averse to violent and sum- mary measures, not only to disappoint his tried friends, the well-known Kon- stantinowzin triumvirate (Waluieff, Golowin, and Reutern), but to meet the heavy censure of the Philo-Franks and liberal parties ; while his own strongest sympathies were being wrenched in polit- ical association with such men as Tscher- kassky and Katkoff, the terrible Mura- vieff and the ruthless brothers Milutine, one minister of war, the other secretary of state. He sought also, at this time, to conciliate England by seconding Lord Palmerstons unexpected choice of the Danish Prince George for the disputed throne of Greece, notwithstanding the Czars personal preference of his nephew, the Prince of Leuchtenberg. To thwart Austrian machinations, dis- courage Polish hopes of either French or Austrian intervention, and allay Ger- manys apprehension of a possible future Franco-Polish alliance, Prince Gortscha- koff entered into a military convention with Prussia, limited to the mutual ren- 2 The most capable, best-informed, and most prudent minister of the interior whom modern Ilus- sia has possessed. (La Socidtd Russe, par no liusse.) Un Homme Capable. dition of political refugees and deserters, although absolutely forbidding either open or clandestine pursuit of fugitives into each others territory. He secured the pardon of the Old Believers of the Byelocrinitz 1 hierocracy (a religio- political conspiracy, plotting in great numbers for over thirty years against the Russian government), and reopened educational institutions to them. This masterly combination of measures rallied the nation, and enabled Prince Gortschakoff firmly to pursue a steadfast line of action, and pointedly to decline all foreign meddling. His long and elaborate dispatches are diplomatic c1s~fs-d~uvre, and for their historical erudition, insight, precision, clearness, perspicuity, and cogency, and for their spirit of justice, candor, moder- ation, and moral honor and dignity, res- olutely merging personal feeling in the broadest human considerations, fore - shadow the ideal which good men hold of the high mission of diplomacy. His dispatches tc France, England, and Aus- tria breathe throughout a fixed deter- mination to maintain the honor and in- tegrity of Russia. Never does he shirk or circumvent an issue, never belittle or evade a point, but with pitiless severity does he expose trickery and falsehood, and anatomize the faithless character of past diplomacy. The last show of lTfe vanished from the revolution, leaving Poland, as a con- quered enemy, in the position of a Rus- sian province whose separate nationality must eventually disappear, and leaving England and France wiser regarding Russias power and the character and scope of her chancellors intellect. It was during the previous year that Prince Gortschakoff did the United States of North America that service which should forever be held in remembrance. The Union blockade of the Southern ports and the destructive advance of the Northern armies into the heart of the cotton districts of the South had drawn 1 The Starovertzi ( Old Believers ) by the gov- ernment styled Raskolniki, or heretics, because of their belief that Petcr the Great was Antichrist and his reforms unrighteous, for which doctrine they have been persecuted by the government as many a threatening dispatch from France and England, yet neither of these pow- ers were ready to risk the consequences of an intervention without Russias sup- port. M. Drouyn de Lhuys, the French foreign minister, invited Russia to an en- tente with France and England, to pro- pose to the United States a six mont/is armistice and reopening of the Southern ports. The year 1862 was one of the most agitated in Prince Gortschakoffs illustrious career; when the nobles were in a state of excitement bordering on revolution over the emancipation of the serfs, the press was fierce and refract- ory, and St. Petersburg in danger of a state of siege, especially when the mys- terious May conflagrations commenced Poland and Lithuania were already in revolt, and the judicial and provincial administration decrees of reform added greatly to the confusion. By even a merely passive reply he might have se- cured the good-will of France and En- gland in the settlement of the difficult Polish affairs; to have joined in the pro- posed intervention could scarcely have involved any serious results for Russia; but Prince Gortsehakoff sent this dis- patch to M. dOubril, then Russias charg6 daffaires at Paris: In reply to the overture of M. iDrouyn de Lhuys I reminded the French amh~issador of the solicitude which our august master has never ceased to feel in the American conflict from its very outset, a solici- tude caused by the amicable relations existing between the two countries, of which the imperial cabinet has given proofs. I have assured him that nothing could better respond to our wishes than to see approach the termination of a struggle which we deplore, and that to this effect our minister at Washington has instructions to seize every favoiable opportunity to recommend moderation and conciliation, so as to appease con- flicting passions and lead to a wise set- tlemnent of the interests at stake. I ad- mitted that such counsels would certainly rebels, are in character national and communistic, and lead a well-ordered active life, though hold- ing in many of their sects absurd tenets. The for- midable Pugatecheff belonged to them. 1879.] 217 218 Un Ilomme Capcthle. [August, have greater weight if presented sitnul- taneously and in a friendly manner by the great powers who take an interest in the issue of this conflict. But I added that in our opinion what ought to be spe- cially avoided was the appearance of any pressure whatsoever of a nature to wound public feeling in the United States and to excite susceptibilities very easily aroosed at the bare idea of foreign intervention. Now, according to the information we have hitherto received, we are inclined to believe that a combined step between France, England, and Russia, no mat- ter how conciliatory and how cautiously made, if it were taken with an official character, would run the risk of causing precisely the very opposite of the object of pacfcation, which is the aim of the three courts. In 1864, Prince Gortschakoff sought to prevent the Prusso-Austrian war on Denmark, hut Lord Russells absurd four constitutions and the death of King Fred- erick VII., above all Denmarks viola- tions of the treaty of London (1852), had made it impossible for Prince Gortscha- koff to do more for Denmark than re- muonstrate against the occupation of the duchies. Some writers have made Prince Gortscbakoff s early statement that the Deutsche Bund was a confederation purely and exclusively defensive a ba- sis for charging him with inconsistency, duplicity, and incapacity, by asserting that notwithstanding this profession he sold both Austria and France, as well as the future of Russia, to the man of blood and iron. As a fact, whatever Prince Gortschakoff may have Mt per- sonally on receiving the news of the bat- tle of Sadowa, it is certain that he was officially far from willing to permit Prus- sia to settle single-handed with her ad- versarv. He at once proposed that the reorganization of Germany should be made the subject of common delibera- tion at a European congress. Count Bis- marck peremptorily refused to renounce the conquerors right to reap the legiti- mate fruits of his victory, and his decla- ration, in an address delivered shortly after the conclusion of peace, that there was not one power in Europe which had not witnessed the growth of the Prussian monarchy with envy and ill- will hardly indicates the existence of such a bargain. There is indeed little doubt that Prince Gortschakoff would at that time have employed more effective means than re- monstrances but for the strong personal ties between the Czar and his revered un- cle the German emperor. Prince Gort- schakoff energetically protested against the annexation of the North German states. The attitude of the Polish Catholic clergy during the rebellion, and the con- sequent religious agitation, led Gortscha- koff to forbid, under heavy penalties, all connection between Rome and Poland without the governments sanction. The Turkish bombardment of Belgrade in the midst of peace, and the strength de- veloped by the Cretan insurgents, once more drew attention to the East. Aus- tria, excluded from German aspirations, saw in the East a possibility of compen- sation, an(l Count Von Beust, the Aus- trian premier, declared that she wished to promote among the Christians of Tur- key the establishment of a system of autonomy. Prince Gortschakoff was in sympathy with Austrias desire, but declined to act except in concurrence with the signatary powers of the Treaty of Paris. The antagonismA hetween Prussia and France made both of these powers anx- ious for Russias good-will; Italy present- ed no objections, but England, as usual, evaded and temporized. In a dispatch of September 12, 1866, to Baron Brun- now, Prince Gortschakoff says: The task of those governments desirous of forestalling sudden change by real, gen- uine, albeit gradual improvement, is get- ting incomparably more difficult than it was. But in our opinion this should not cause them to relinquish their task al- together. The English ministers are acquainted with Russian tra(hitions; we have never concealed them, nor shall we disavow them now. We do not want I repeat it any new acquisitions, nor have we any desire to add to our author- ity or importance at any others cost. Un Homme Capable. But we never have been, nor are we now, indifferent to the sufferings of our co-re- ligio nists. The sympathy we experience for our co-religionists has been frequent- ly misrepresented, and made a pretext for charging us with secret designs. We maintain that the falsehood of these ac- cusations has been prove(l by events, and that as the chronicles of history are en- riched by experience, the nations of man- kind, the views of the cabinets, and the character of their mutual relations must be gradually altered. Notwithstanding Englands apathy in regard to active measures for obtaining actual reforms for the Turkish Chris- tians, Prince Gortschakoff induced Aus- tria, France, and Prussia to recommend the Sultan to cede Crete. The increas- ing antagonism between France and Prussia, thereafter the publication of the offensive and defensive alliance betweesi North and South Germany, then the Luxembourg question, and finally the Spanish throne succession made united action in the East impossible. Ih 1867, Prince Gortschakoff felt the burden of state too heavy, and resigned, but at the Czars request soon resumed the direc- tion of Russias foreign affairs. Through- out the long, complicated negotiations he actively sought to prevent the Frauco- Prussian war, by discountenancing ex- orbitant demands on either side, and by cautioning Austria against an alliance with France. Austrias fear of a Russo- Prussian or Russo-French alliance led Count von Beust spontaneously to offer Russia a revision of the treaty of 1856 as early as January, 1857, which Prince Gortschakoff had left unanswered. In June, 1867, P~ince Gortschakoff and Counts Shouvaloff and Dolgoroukoff accompanied the Czar to Berlin and Paris, to which latter city King Wilhelm, with Counts Von Bismarek and Von Moltke also proceeded. Napoleon made Prince Gortschakoff the most tempting offers for absolute neutrality in case of a war between France and Prussia, hut Prince Gortschakoff demanded as a sine qua non that Prussia should not be hurt. Napoleon then withdrew both his and Austrias support of Russia in the East, and advocated Polands cause. Prince Gortschakoff desired autonomy for the Turkish Christians; France asked for reforms of a nature to lead to a fusion between Mohammedans and Christians. England had confidence in the Sultan, and actively assisted him in the con- struction of railrdads and military high- ways, with engineers, tacticians, and iron-dads, and in November, 1867, Sir Henry Elliot, the fanatic philo-Turk, succeeded Lord Lyons as ambassador at Constantinople. England, France, and Austria were agreed that Constantino- ple would be best defended at Warsaw. The Eastern question was thus siInmere(l down to an inquiry commission of the six powers, and it ended with the acceptance of a Turkish constitution for Crete. Prince Gortschakoff made an effort to secure Prussias support in the East, but ineffectually. Again Napoleon made overtures to Russia, but, Prince Gorts- chakoff insisting upon his original con- ditions, without result. In 1868, the haughty attitude of Turkey, which re- lied on the internal dissensions of Eu- rope for having, as usual, her own way, an(l the murders and outrages upon Bul- garians and Servians had fired with in- dignation the great orthodox national party. The Russian minister of war, M. Milutine, and General Ignatieff crie(l, Now, or never! Austria, they said, was threatened by Italy, and too weak to offer any resistance; France and Ger- many were mutually checking each oth- er; England was neither ready nor will- ing to enter on a single-handed contest with Russia. Prince Gortschakoff refused to make such use of the situation, and demonstrat- ed that it was unfavorable for any un- dertaking in that (lirection. In Septem- ber, 1868, it became known that French and Austrian emissaries were stirring up the Bulgarians and forming bands, while Austrian troops were massing in Galli- cia; at the same time the Roumanian government and press were inflamed against Russia. The papal question 1 So far did Austria go in demonstrations against Russia that count Goluchowski, Austrian governor of Gallicia, was allowed to say unchallenged in the 1879.] 219 220 Un Ilomme Capable. [August, and the spread of the Spanish insurrec- tion tied Napoleons hands, and com- pelled Austria to adopt a more wary policy, and the Polish agitation became paralyzed. Napoleon, relying upon Aus- tria, vented his spleen against Prussia, while Austria sought, though in vain, by assuming a bold front, to intimidate Russia. At the close of 1869 the re- lations between Russia and Prussia had become exceedingly intimate, and Na- poleon saw that a diplomatic rapproche- men~ between France and Russia was then further off than ever. The strong philo-Frank party in St. Petersburg dis- countenanced the affection manifested for Prussia, and the Gobs, the national party organ, commenced a severe cam- paign against a Russo-Prussian alliance, and even went so far as to charge men in high stations in Prussia with secret designs upon the Russian Baltic prov- inces; and, with very few exceptions, the entire Russian press declared the con- viction that Prussia must be thrown over, and France admitted to fellowship. But Prince Gortschakoff remained firm, prob- ably convinced that no reliance could be placed on the Louis Napoleon govern- ment, which would one day go to war for an idea, and on another would, with- out compunction, break the most solemn promise. Finally, Austrias hostile at- titude left Russia no alternative but to befriend Prussia, and Austria received a warning not to interfere in a Franco- Prussian war. Immediately upon the Prussian victory at Metz, Prince Gortschakoff opened the famous diplomatic contest for the abro- gation of the Black Sea clause of the Paris treaty. It had taken the combined action of the six powers to force this clause upon the Czar, and he now con- sidered that he was strong enough to force the six powers to take it back. The initiative was wholly due to the Czars personal instigation, and the an- nouncement was no surprise to Europe; Gallician parliament, We Poles have displayed too little perseverance in our previous risings let us be more consistent this time to secure the con- tinuance of Austrias favor. ~ Noni~ensts ovgam ntYs~rst sasl tnat Th~ki~ce Gun- schakoff s note has created a most threatening Austria had offered her support for a re- vision of the Paris treaty in 1867, on condition of an alliance against Prussia, and France had made similar offers in 1869 and 1870. The manner in which and the means whereby Prince Gort- schakoff obtained the sanction of the abolishment of the Black Sea clause present his statesmanship in distinct and grand proportions.1 The English press expressed warlike sentiments, and Lord Granville severely denounced Russias proceedings. Prince Gortschakoffs frankness and firmness, his irresistible logic, and yet his entire willingness to lay Russias grievances before a congress of the signataries of 1856, soon disarmed opposition, and at the instigation of Count Bismarek a con- ference was convoked at London, where the objectionable clause was abolished, ~nd Russia regained the right to keep naval establishments on the Black Sea coast and a fleet in its waters. He de- clined English overtures for imposing an armistice on Prussia, and from 1872 to 1875 devoted his energies chiefly to Rus- sia s Asiatic and internal affairs, and to restraining the arrogance of the German nobility in the Baltic provinces. The conquests made in Bokhara and K1~iva Khokand were forced on Russia just as those of the Punjaub and Scinde were forced on the British in India. In 1873, an insurrection broke out in Bosnia, which was allayed by Austrian interces- sion at the Porte. In 1874, Herzego- vina rebelled, and the infection spread so rapidly and irresistibly that the great powers took alarm. The troubled state of Croatia and Dalmatia forced Austria to advocate the insurgents cause. The convocation of the Brussels con- ference, for fixing the bases of new laws of nations in time of war, gave the chan- cellor a merited opportunity, through his profound erudition and statesmanship, to impress the younger generation of am- bitious dipbomatists with his own and position, and it will induce the siguatary powers of the Treaty of Paris to uphold with firmness and energy the public right thus menaced. The signa- taries of the treaty of 1856 have cvery reason to egnec to a. cOt~XttOW cnuxse of action in order to re- sist the designs of Russia. Un flomme Capable. the Czars humanitarian views. Prince Gortschakoff s independence was again signally shown when he refused to ac- knowledge, as Germany had done, Mar- shal Serranos government in Spain. Marshal Serrano soon became merely a Bourbon intriguer. A detailed and adequate account of Prince Gortschakoffs attitude for the last three years in the Eastern ques- tion would transcend the limits of the present paper; but from careful and im- partial study of the best informed and least prejudiced writers, I am led to conclusions which I have endeavored to set in concise formula, as follows: First, that Turkish barbarities and misgov- ernment, together with the Omladina fomentation, and not Russian emis- saries, brought about the continued insurrection which ended in Russias armed intervention in 1877. Second, that, as Professor Goldwin Smith says, in an article on The Slave Owner and the Turk, it seems that the war was made by the nation; that the autocrat yielded to the national impulse; . . . that Russia had, by European law, as clear a right to succor the Christians in Turkey as the Union had to succor the negro. Third, that Prince Gortschakoff had ex- hausted all means for arriving at a com- mon understanding with the European powers before going to war. Fourth, that the acceptance by the powers of the Andrassy note admitted substantially that the refusal of one or~ more of the powers to give it practical application ought not to paralyze the action of the others, as long as their action remained defined by those limits of interest to the principle of which Europe had given col- lective sanction. Fifth, that the Treaty of Paris, in order to be sanely interpret- ed, ought to be considered as a complete instrument, whose every clause condi- tions and complements the rest and the whole. Sixth, that Prince Gortscha- koff kept the spirit and letter of every pledge he made, and sought with ear- 1 A secret and powerful organization, with the object of establishing a republican Panslavic con- federation on the ruins of the Austrian and Otto- man empires. 2 Rurik was the Swede who, with his brothers, nestness and candor to put an end to hostilities at the earliest moment consist- ent with his promises and with Russias honor. Seventh, that by the failure of the powers to agree and Russias de- claring war on her own responsibility there were, according to international law, only belligerents and neutrals; that therefore no mediation could be offered, unless asked for by both belligerents and upon similar terms; that peace should be established by and between only those powers who broke it; and that the neu- trality conditions could no more justly be violated in the peace treaty than during the war. Eighth, that the San Stefano treaty was calculated to promote the general interests of peace, humanity, and civilization, the collective and material interests of Europe, the interests of bel- ligerents and non-belligerents, far more fully than is the Treaty of Berlin, which is in point of fact another Villa-Franca treaty. Ninth, that the couclusiou of the Treaty of Berlin is crowning evi- dence of the sincerity of Prince Gort- schakoffs so often and ardently ex- pressed desire for peace. The house of Gortschakoff, which un- til 1871 had been merely honorable~ (sijetelsiwenne), and then became most serene (swetleisclui), claims to be able to trace its descent from Rurik,2 and during the last two centuries the name of Gortschakoff is conspicuous in the proudest pages of Russian annals. Sev- eral of Russias greatest generals sprang from the house of Gortschakoff, and it was a Gortschakoff who conducted the peace negotiations of 1829. Another Gortsehakoff won the brilliant laurels of Eski- Stamboul, carried Ostrolenka, and later, as generalissimo of the Crimean forces, immortalized his name by his heroic and skillful defense of Sebastopol, especially through saving the Russian army from capture after the fall of the Malakoff; for which high service the Emperor Alexander hailed him the saviour of his country. in answer to the fervent invitation of the Slave who were worn with ceaseless dissensions, came to Russia in 862, and founded the Russian nation. In 1862 Russia celebrated her millennial anniversary but strictly as a Slavonic evcnt. 1879.] 221 The Negro Exodus. Prince Alexander Michaelowitch Gort- schakoff was born in Moscow in 1 798. He is a Protestant, and was married to a Princess Ourousoff, who bore him two sons. The eldest, Michel, who assisted his father in the late Berlin congress, was born in 1840, and is at present min- ister of Russia in Dresden, was secre- tary of legation at London in 1872; the younger, Constantine, born in 1842, and who was attached to the ministry of for- eign affairs at St. Petersburg at the same time, is equerry of the Czar. The features of Prince Gortschakoff seem to be a delicate and strong combi- nation of those of M. Thiers and Count Cavour; his mouth, especially, is exqui- sitely chiseled, expressive of his agree- able voice and the gentleness of his usual mood and manner. Prince Gortschakoff thoroughly knows Russia, her history, needs, prejudices, and weakness as well as strength. He has been utterly loyal to the throne, but without servility, all his acts bcarino the stamp of Prince Gortschakoff, not of the Czar. Without a parliament, he has ruled Russia with Russias express wish and consent. He has been a staunch defender of the sanctity of treaties, and no treaty to which Russia has been a party has failed of the fullest and most honorable interpretation and support, both active and passive, by Prince Gort- schakoff. Frankness, dignity, morality, and the most exhaustive knowledge per- vade all his official transactions, and he has throughout proved himself a sincere patriot, the unselfish friend of Russia~ s welfare and fame. In the beginning of his foreign ministry Prince Gortschakoff seemed inclined for a French alliance, but Napoleons vacillations, and espe- cially his hostile attitude during the Po- lish revolution, rendered it impractica- ble, and with masterly skill Prince Gort- schakoff has maintained Russias com- plete freedom from all formal engage- ments and alliances, though he has used temporary unions for intermediate ends. A man of unfathomable resources, imper- sonal as a public functionary, he has evinced inexhaustible patience and a concessive spirit on all secondary points, but an immovable firmness where real issues were at stake. Prince Gortscha- koff has never allowed foreign politics to cripple internal interests, as did near- ly every one of his predecessors. Like Cavour, he believes in liberty, in the liberty of a regular system of public guarantees impartially applied and patiently worked out, as free from subterfuge as from violence. Though Prince Gortschakoff has not had an opportunity to display his skill for parliamentary leadership, his numer- ous dispatches possess such a grasp of knowledge, such a quick and keen per- ception of the pith of any question, at once elevating and simplifying its an- swers, without breaking the order of ideas; such subtle reasoning, and occa- sionally such incisive sarcasms, that it is clear that had the routine of parliament- ary practice been his he would have stood in parliamentary leadership as he now stands among statesmen, as the dip- lomatic mentor of the nineteenth cent- ury, whose career splendidly illuminates Prince Lievens simple text, Un Homme Capable! Axel C. J. Gustafson. THE NEGRO EXODUS. A RECENT sojourn in the South for a emigration of blacks to Kansas began few weeks, chiefly in Louisiana and early in the sprin,, of this year. For a Mississippi, cave the writer an opportu- time there was a stampede from two or nity to inquire into what has been so three of the river parishes in Louisiana aptly called the negro exodus. The and as many counties opposite in Mis- 222 [August,

James B. Runnion Runnion, James B. The Negro Exodus 222-230

The Negro Exodus. Prince Alexander Michaelowitch Gort- schakoff was born in Moscow in 1 798. He is a Protestant, and was married to a Princess Ourousoff, who bore him two sons. The eldest, Michel, who assisted his father in the late Berlin congress, was born in 1840, and is at present min- ister of Russia in Dresden, was secre- tary of legation at London in 1872; the younger, Constantine, born in 1842, and who was attached to the ministry of for- eign affairs at St. Petersburg at the same time, is equerry of the Czar. The features of Prince Gortschakoff seem to be a delicate and strong combi- nation of those of M. Thiers and Count Cavour; his mouth, especially, is exqui- sitely chiseled, expressive of his agree- able voice and the gentleness of his usual mood and manner. Prince Gortschakoff thoroughly knows Russia, her history, needs, prejudices, and weakness as well as strength. He has been utterly loyal to the throne, but without servility, all his acts bcarino the stamp of Prince Gortschakoff, not of the Czar. Without a parliament, he has ruled Russia with Russias express wish and consent. He has been a staunch defender of the sanctity of treaties, and no treaty to which Russia has been a party has failed of the fullest and most honorable interpretation and support, both active and passive, by Prince Gort- schakoff. Frankness, dignity, morality, and the most exhaustive knowledge per- vade all his official transactions, and he has throughout proved himself a sincere patriot, the unselfish friend of Russia~ s welfare and fame. In the beginning of his foreign ministry Prince Gortschakoff seemed inclined for a French alliance, but Napoleons vacillations, and espe- cially his hostile attitude during the Po- lish revolution, rendered it impractica- ble, and with masterly skill Prince Gort- schakoff has maintained Russias com- plete freedom from all formal engage- ments and alliances, though he has used temporary unions for intermediate ends. A man of unfathomable resources, imper- sonal as a public functionary, he has evinced inexhaustible patience and a concessive spirit on all secondary points, but an immovable firmness where real issues were at stake. Prince Gortscha- koff has never allowed foreign politics to cripple internal interests, as did near- ly every one of his predecessors. Like Cavour, he believes in liberty, in the liberty of a regular system of public guarantees impartially applied and patiently worked out, as free from subterfuge as from violence. Though Prince Gortschakoff has not had an opportunity to display his skill for parliamentary leadership, his numer- ous dispatches possess such a grasp of knowledge, such a quick and keen per- ception of the pith of any question, at once elevating and simplifying its an- swers, without breaking the order of ideas; such subtle reasoning, and occa- sionally such incisive sarcasms, that it is clear that had the routine of parliament- ary practice been his he would have stood in parliamentary leadership as he now stands among statesmen, as the dip- lomatic mentor of the nineteenth cent- ury, whose career splendidly illuminates Prince Lievens simple text, Un Homme Capable! Axel C. J. Gustafson. THE NEGRO EXODUS. A RECENT sojourn in the South for a emigration of blacks to Kansas began few weeks, chiefly in Louisiana and early in the sprin,, of this year. For a Mississippi, cave the writer an opportu- time there was a stampede from two or nity to inquire into what has been so three of the river parishes in Louisiana aptly called the negro exodus. The and as many counties opposite in Mis- 222 [August, 1879.] sissippi. Several thousand negroes (cer- tainly not fewer than five thousand, and variously estimated as high as ten thou- sand) had left their cabins before the rush could be stayed or the excitement lulled. Early in May most of the ne- groes who had quit work for the purpose of emigrating, but had not succeeded in getting off, were persuaded to return to the plantations, and from that time on there have been only straggling families and groups that have watched for and seized the first opportunity for transpor- tation to the North. There is no (loubt, however, that there is still a consuming desire among the negroes of the cotton districts in these two States to seek new homes, and there are the best reasons for believing that the exodus will take a new start next spring, after the gath- ering and conversion of the growing crop. Hundreds of negroes who returned from the river-banks for lack of transporta- lion, and thousands of others infected with the ruling discontent~ are working harder in the fields this summer, and practicing more economy and self-denial than ever before, in order to have the means next winter and spring to pay their way to the promised land. ATe ye been working for fourteen long years, said an intelligent negro, in reply to a question as to the cause of the prevailing discontent, and we aint no better off than we was when we com- menced. That is the negro version of the trouble, which is elaborated on oc- casion into a harrowing story of oppres- sion and plunder. I tell you it s all owing to the rad- ical politicians at the North, explained a representative of the type known as the Bourbons; they ye had their emis- saries (Iowa here, and deluded the nio-- gers into a very fever of emigration, with the purpose of reducing our basis of representation in Congress and in- creasing that of the Northern States. These are the two extremes of opinion at the South. The first is certainly the more reasonable and truthful, though it implies that all the blame rests upon the whites, which is not the case; the sec- ond, preposterous as it will appear to 22~ Northern readers, is religiously believed - by large numbers of the unreconciled. Between these two extremes there is an infinite variety of theories, all more or less governed by the political faction to which the various theorizers belong; there are at least a dozen of these fac- tions, such as the Bourbons, the con- servatives, the natiye white republicans, the carpet - bag republicans, the negro republicans, etc. There is a political tinge in almost everything in the extreme Southern States. The fact seems to be that the emigration movement among the blacks was spontaneous to the extent that they were ready and anxious to go. The immediate notion of going may have been inculcated by such circulars, issued by railroads and land companies, as are common enough at emigrant centres in the North and West, and the exaggera- tion characteristic of such literature may have stimulated the imagination of the negroes far beyond anythin~ they are likely to realize in their new homes. Kansas was naturally the favorite goal of the negro eoiigre, for it was associated in his mind with the names of Jim Lane and John Brown, which are hallowed to him. The timi(l learned that they could escape what they have come to regard as a second bondage, and they flocked together to gain the moral support which comes from numbers. Diligent inquiry among representative men, of all classes and from all parts of Louisiana, who were in attendance at the constitutional convention in New Orleans, and careful observation along the river among the land owners and field hands in both Louisiana and Mis- sissippi, left a vivid impression of some material and political conditions which fully account for the negro exodus. I have dropped the social conditions out of the consideration, because I became convinced that the race troubles at the South can be solved to the satisfaction of both whites and blacks without cultivat- ing any closer social relations than those which now prevail. The material con- ditions I have in mind are less familiar than the political conditions; they are mainly the land-tenure and credit sys The Negro Exodus. 224 The Negro jgxoclus. [August, tems, and mere modifications (scarcely for the better) of the peculiar plantation system of slavery days. The cotton lands at the Sbuth are owned now, as they were before the war, in large tracts. The land was about all that most of the Southern whites had left to them after the war, and they kept it when they could, at the first, in the hope that it would yield them a living through the labor of the blacks; of late years they have not been able to sell their plantations at any fair price, if they desired to do so. The white men with capital who went to the South from the North after the war seemed to ac- quire the true Southern ambition to be large land owners and planters; and when the ante-bellum owners lost their plan- tations the land usually went in bulk to the city factors who had made them ad- vances from year to year, and had taken mortgages on their crops and broad acres. As a consequence, the land has never been distributed among the people who inhabit and cultivate it, and agricultural labor in the Southern States approaches the condition of the factory labor in En- gland and the Eastern States more near- ly than it does the farm labor of the North and West. Nearly every agricult- ural laborer north of Mason and Dixon~ s line, if not the actual possessor of the land he plows, looks forward to owning a farm some time; at the South suck an ambition is rare, and small ownership still more an exception. The practice of paying day wages was first tried after the war; this practice is still in vogue in the sugar and rice districts, where laborers are paid from fifty to seventy cents per day, with quarters furnished and living guaranteed them at nine or ten cents a day. In sections where the wages system prevails, and where there have been no political disturbances, the negroes seem to be perfectly contented; at all events, the emigration fever has not spread among them. But it was found impracticable to maintain the wages system in the cotton districts. The negroes themselves fought against it, be- cause it reminded them too much of the slave-gang, driven out at daybreak and home at sundown. In many cases the planters were forced to abandon it, be- cause they had not the means to carry on such huge farming, and they could not secure the same liberal advances from capitalists as when they were able to mortgage a growing cropofnig- gers. Then the system of working on shares was tried. This xvas reasonably fair, and the negro laborers were satis- fied as long as it lasted. The owners of the land, under this system, would fur- nish the indispensable mule and the farm- ing implements, and take one half the product. The planters themselves relin- quished this system. Some of them con- tend that the laziness and indifference of the negro made the partnership unde- sirable; many others admit that they were not able to advance the negro ten- ant his supplies pending the growth of the years crop, as it was necessary they should do under the sharing system. Now the renting system is almost universal. It yields the land owner a certainty, en- dangered only by the death, sickness, or desertion of the negro tennat; hut it throws the latter upon his own responsi- bility, and frequently makes him the vic- tim of his own ignorance and the rapac- ity of the white man. The rent of land, on a money basis, varies from six to ten dollars an acre per year, while the same land can be bought in large quantities all the way from fifteen to thirty dollars per acre, according to location, clearing, improvement, richness, etc. When paid in product, the rent varies from eighty to one hundred pounds of lint cotton per acre for land that produces from two hun- dred to four hundred pounds of cotton per acre; the tenant undertakes to pay from one quarter to one half perhaps an average of one third of his crop for the use of tiic land, without stock, tools, or assistance of any kind. The land owners usually claim that they make no money even at these exorbitant figures. If they do not, it is because only a por- tion of their vast possessions is under cultivation, because they do no work themselves, and in some cases because the negroes do not cultivate and gather as large a crop as they could and ought The Negro Exodus. to harvest. It is very certain that the negro tenants, as a class, make no mon- ey; if they are out of