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The Atlantic monthly. / Volume 56, Note on Digital Production 0056 000
The Atlantic monthly. / Volume 56, Note on Digital Production A-B

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The Atlantic monthly. / Volume 56, Issue 333, miscellaneous front pages i-iv

THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY A MAGAZINE OF ~f4terature, ~cteuce, ~2rt, an~ ~j3oittu~ VOLUME LVI. BOSTON AND NEW YORK IIOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY fiiber~e ~ rnbrzb~e. 1885 COPmIGHT, 1886, Dr IJOUGITTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY. RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE ELECTROTYPED AN~D PRINTED DY H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. CONTENTS. Ancient and Modern Greek Bit of Bird-Life, A Central Asia Chat in the Saddle, A Childhood in English Literature and Art Childhood in Mediteval Art Childhood in Modern Literature and Art China Speaks for Ilerseif Congo Free State, The . . Country Gentleman, A Be Foe, Daniel, and Thomas Shepard Diplomatic Episode, A England, Russia, and India Fiction, Recent American First Ahbd Galant, The Garihaldis Ideas Gordon, General, at Kartoum Hunting Trips of a Ranchman Idea of God, The Illustrated Books, Recent ingelow, Miss, and Mrs. Walford Interlude, An . Kansas, Southwestern, eeen with Eastern Eyes Laureate of Death, The Life in St. Petershurg Literary London Louis Agassiz Marine the Epicurean McMasters Second Volume Mexican Vacation Week, A Mining for a Mastodon . Mondamin New Portfolio, The Ogre of ha Ha Bay, The Old-Time Grievance On Horsehack Ormshys Don Quixote Paradise Found Poetic Element in the Mediceval Drama, The Port Royal of Mi~re Angilique, The Princess Casamassima, The Principles of Criticism Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains, The . Sarcey. Francisque Shakespeares Fellows Should a College Educate Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker, The Some Testimony in the Case Southern Colleges and Schools Stepulak and Russia Story of San Tezon, The Stranger in the City, A Thackeray as an Art-Critic Trickey Spirit, A Two English Men of Letters Two Halves of a Life Upon the Tree-Top - William Cranslon Lawtose PAGE Olive Thorne Miller 70 422 182 - Horace E. Scudder 869, 471 - Horace B. Seledder 24 Horace B. Scudder 751 74 565 - 111. 0. W. Otiphant 54,177, 824, 484, 609, 769 Edward Everett Hale 85 - SfBa ows 889 . . . . 116 554 459 - W. L. Alden . 108 415 568 John Fiske 642, 791 707 Harriet Waters Preston 280 M. H. Leonard - . . - W. D. Howells - Edmund Noble . Sylvester Baxter. Angelina Teal - - - - Edith AT. Thomas - Oliver Wendell Holmes 1, Octave Thanet Edward Stasswood. Charles Dudley Warner Davida Coit . . - Mona Ellery MacKaye Henry Tames B R. Sill Charles Eghert Craddock E. R. Sill .Tohse Wilkinson . . - Rebecca Harding Davis - Charles Forster Smith Wang Chin Faa . . - P. Deming Ephraim Young Olive Thorne Miller - R. Machray Olive Thorne Miller - 227 101 811 825 - . . . - 277 848 278 419 45 881 - . . . . 864 145, 858, 522, 694, 886 505 627 88, 194, 288, 540 265 126 407 157 289, 488, 577, 721 665 81,244 184 851 - 207 18 602 788 269 256 217 685 676 120 806 588 iv Content8. POETRY. Bacchus, Fran/c IJempster Sherman 44 Beneath the Veil, James Lane Allen 398 Constant Friend, The, Kathleen Wright . . 242 Corydon to Thyrsis, Samuel V. (ole 750 First Guest, The, Helen Gray Cone 504 Ilermione, Andrew Hedbroolce 215 How Glooskap brought the Summer, Frances L. Mace 661 Loves Dread, Paul Hermes 707 Lowell, James Russell, To, Oliver Wendell Holmes 263 Nocturn, A, Edith Al Thomas . . . 192 Quatrains by Different Hands: I. Milton; The Shadow, John B. TabS. II. The Night-Bloom. lug Cereus, Charlotle Fiske Bates. IlL Disap- pointment; Time, Thomas S. Collier. IV. The Bust of Kronos, William H. Hayne . 768 Roses, Nora Perry 115 Tacita, James B. Kenyon 470 Taunt, A, Maurice Thosnpson 322 Tempted, Andrew Hedbrooke 69 To the Poets who only Listen, Oliver Wendell Holmes 265 To SO. J., Edith M. Thomas . 505 Two ~lizabeths, The, John Greenleaf Whittier. 22 When Lesser Loves, Jalia C. R. Dorr 380 Words, Words, Words, Andrew Hedlsrooke . 626 BOOK REVIEWS Agassiz, Louis, his Life and Correspondence Byrons Childe Ilarolds Pilgrimage . . Craddodks Prophet of the Great Smoky Moon- talus ., . .. .. , Crawfords Zoroaste~ ., Dodges Patroclus audPenelope Gordons Journals at Rartoum holmeSs Last Leaf. Illustrated Howards Aulney Tower Ilowellss Rise of Silas Lapham Ho~ttons Literary Landmarks of London Jewetts.A Jdarsh Island. Lansdehls Russian Central Asia Marlo~ve, Christopher, The Works of . . . - Marvins The Russians at the Gates of Herat McMrsters Ilistory of the People of the United S tes. Vol. II Mitidleton, Thomas, The Works of . . . 848 Ormsbys Translation of Saavedras Don Quixote. 265 712 Parliamentary Papers: Central Russia . . . . 424 Paters Marius the Epicurean 273 556 Pattisons Memoirs . . . . . 121 561 Rodenboughs Afghanistan and the Anglo-Russian 132 Dispute 119 415 Roosevelts Hunting Trips of a Ranchman . . . 563 713 Sarceys Souvenirs do Jeunesse 134 558 Sermon on the Mount. Illustrated 707 554 Stanleys The Congo, and the Founding of its Free 278 State 561 Taylors, Henry, Autobiography 124 422 Towles England and Russia in Asia 118 851 Waltords Greater London. . 279 116 Warrens Paradise Found 126 Westahls Translation of Stepulaks Russia under 420 the Tzars 269 853 Whittiers Poems of Nature. Illustrated . . 710 CONTIUBuTORs CLUB. Americau Pantheon, An, 714; Baizac at Thirty, 854.; Cha No Yu, or JEsthetic Tea in Japanese, The, 281; Chan- tilly4 4~9; Criticism of a Critic, 138; Great Losses sndSmall Gains, 573; holiday for Inanimate Things, 285; L1o~ aud lJna, The, 572; Literary Style, 427; M. M., The, 280; Measurement of Time, 856; On Changing the Mintl, 139; On . Talking Shop, 136; Personal Influence, 140; Plea for Insight, A, 571; Provincial Infl~euae in Literature, 715; Secrets of Authorship, The, 716; Some Queer. Southerners, 572; Temptations of Medion. rity, The, 428; Tl~istle, 857; Trausmigrations of a Fever Patient, 858. BooKs OF THE MONTH 141,286,482, 674, 717, 86~

Oliver Wendell Holmes Holmes, Oliver Wendell The New Portfolio 1-13

THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY: S~ %Erngapne of ~Literature, ~c~en~e, art, an~ 1~olitic0. VOL. LVI. JULY, 1885. No. CCCXXXIV 4-- THE NEW PORTFOLIO. XI. THE INTERVIEWER ATTACKS THE SPHINX. WHEN Miss Euthymia Tower sent her oar off in flashing splinters, as she pulled her last stroke in the boat-race, she did not know what a strain she was putting upon it. She did know that she was doing her best, but how great the force of her best was she was not aware until she saw its effects. Unconscious- ness belonged to her robust nature, in all its manifestritions. She did not pride herself on her knowledge, nor reproach herself for her ignorance. In every way she formed a striking contrast to her friend, Miss Vincent. Every word they spoke betrayed the difference be- tween them: the sharp tones of Luridas head-voice, penetrative, aggressive, some- times irritating, revealed the correspond- ing traits of mental and moral charac- ter; the quiet, conversational contralto of Euthymia was the index of a nature restful and sympathetic. The friendships of young girls pre- figure the closer relations which will one day come in and dissolve their ear- her intimacies. The dependence of two young friends may be mutual, but one will always lean more heavily than the other; the masculine and feminine elements will be as sure to assert them- selves as if the friends were of different sexes. On all common occasions Euthymia looked up to her friend as her superior. She fully appreciated all her varied gifts and knowledge, arid deferred to her opin- ion in every-day matters, not exactly as an oracle, but as wiser than herself or any of her other companions. It was a different thing, however, when the grav- er questions of life came up. Lurida was full of suggestions, plans, projects, which were too liable to run into whims before she knew where they were tending. She would lay out her ideas before Euthymia so fluently and elo- quently that she could not help believ- ing them herself, and feeling as if her friend must accept them with an enthu- siasm like her own. Then Euthymia would take them up with her sweet, deliberate accents, and bring her calmer judgment to bear on them. Lurida was in an excited condition, in the midst of all her new interests and occupations. She was constantly on the lookout for papers to be read at the meetings of her Society, for she made it her own in great measure, by her zeal and enthusiasm, and in the mean time she was reading in various books which Dr. Butts selected for her, all bearing on the profession to which, at least as a possibility, she was looking forward. Privately and in a very still way, she Copyright, 1885, by HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & Co. 2 The New Portfolio. [July, was occupying herself with the problem of the young stranger, the subject of some delusion, or disease, or obliquity of unknown nature, to which the vague name of antipathy had been attached. Euthymia kept an eye upon her, partly in the fear that over-excitement would produce some mental injury, and partly from anxiety lest she should compromise her womanly dignity in her desire to get at the truth of a very puzzling ques- tion. How do you like the books I see you reading? said Euthymia to Luri- da, one day, as they met at the Library. Better than all the novels I ever read, she answered. I have been read- ing about the nervous system, and it seems to me I have come nearer the springs of life than ever before in all my studies. I feel just as if I were a telegraph operator. I was sure that I had a battery in my head, for I know my brain works like one; but I did not know how many centres of energy there are, and how they are played upon by all sorts of influences, external and in- ternal. Do you know, I believe I could solve the riddle of the Arrowhead Village Sphinx, as the paper called him, if he would only stay here long enough? What paper has had anything about it, Lurida? I have not seen or heard of its being mentioned in any of the papers.~~ You know that rather queer-looking young man who has been about here for some time, the same one who gave the account of his interview with a cele- brated author? Well, he has handed me a copy of a paper in which he writes, The Peoples Perennial and Household Inquisitor. He talks about this village in a very free and easy way. He says there is a Sphinx here, who has mystified u8 all. And you have been chatting with that fellow! Dont you know that he 11 have you and all of us in his paper? Dont you know that nothing is safe where one of those fellows gets in with his note-book and pencil? Oh, Lurida, Lurida, do be careful! What with this mysterious young man and this very questionable newspaper-paragraph writ- er, you will be talked about, if you dont mind, before you know it. You had better let the riddle of the Sphinx alone. If you must deal with such dangerous people, the safest way is to set one of them to find out the other. I wonder if we cant get this new man to inter- view the visitor you have so much curi- osity about. That might be managed easily enough without your having any- thing to do with it. Let me alone, and I will arrange it. But mind, now, you must not meddle; if you do, you will spoil everything, and get your name in the Household Inquisitor in a way you wont like. Dont be frightened about me, Eu- thymia. I dont mean to give him a chance to work me into his paper, if I can help it. But if you can get him to try his skill upon this interesting person- age and his antipathy, so much the bet- ter. I am very curious about it, and therefore about him. I want to know what has produced this strange state of feeling in a young man who ought to have all the common instincts of a so- cial being. I believe there are unex- plained facts in the region of sympa- thies and antipathies which will repay study with a deeper insight into the mysteries of life than we have dreamed of hitherto. I often wonder whether there are not heart-waves and soul- waves as well as brain-waves, which some have already recognized. Euthymia wondered, as well she might, to hear this young woman talking the language of science like an adept. The truth is, Lurida was one of those persons who never are young, and who, by way of compensation, will never be old. They are found in both sexes. Two well-known graduates of one of our 1885.] The New Portfolio. 8 great universities are living examples of this precocious but enduring intel- lectual development. If the readers of this paper cannot pick them out, they need not expect the writer of it to help them. If they guess rightly who they are, they will recognize the fact that just such exceptional individuals as the young woman we are dealing with are met with from time to time in families where intelligence has been cumulative for two or three generations. Euthymia was very willing that the questioning and questionable visitor should learn all that was known in the village about the nebulous individual whose misty environment all the eyes in the village were trying to penetrate, but that he should learn it from some other informant than Lurida. The next morning, as the Interviewer took his seat on a bench outside his door, to smoke his after-breakfast cigar, a bright - looking and handsome youth, whose features recalled those of Euthy- mia so strikingly that one might feel pretty sure he was her brother, took a seat by his side. Presently the two were engaged in conversation. The In- terviewer asked all sorts of questions about everybody in the village. When he came to inquire about Maurice, the youth showed a remarkable interest re- garding him. The greatest curiosity, he said, existed with reference to this personage. Everybody was trying to find out what his story was, for a story, and a strange one, he must surely have, and nobody had succeeded. The Interviewer began to be unusual- ly attentive. The young man told him the various antipathy stories, about the evil-eye hypothesis, about his horse- taming exploits, his rescuing the student whose boat was overturned, and every occurrence he could recall which would help out the effect of his narrative. The Interviewer was becoming ex- cited. Cant find out anything about him, you said, did nt you? How do you know there s anything to find? Do you want to know what I think he is? I 11 tell you. I think he is an ac- tor, a fellow from one of the city theatres. Those fellows go off in their summer vacation, and like to puzzle the country folks. They are the very same chaps, like as not, the visitors have seen in plays at the city theatres; but of course they dont know em in plaiu clothes. Kings and Emperors look pret- ty shabby off the stage sometimes, I can tell you. The young man followed the Inter- viewers lead. I should nt wonder if you were right, he said. I remember seeing a young fellow in Romeo that looked a good deal like this one. But I never met the Sphinx, as they call him, face to face. He is as shy as a woodchuck. I believe there are people here that would give a hundred dollars to find out who lie is, and where he came from, and what he is here for, and why he does nt act like other folks. I won- der why some of those newspaper men dont come up here and get hold of this story. It would be just the thing for a sensational writer. To all this the Interviewer listened with true professional interest. Always on the lookout for something to make up a paragraph or a column about; driven oftentimes to the stalest of repe- titions, to the biggest pumpkin story, the tall cornstalk, the fat ox, the live frog from the human stomach story, the third set of teeth and reading with- out spectacles at ninety story, and the rest of the marvellous commonplaces which are kept in type with e o y or e 6 m (every other year or every six months) at the foot; always in want of a fresh incident, a new story, an un- described character, an unexplained mys- tery, it is no wonder that the Interviewer fastened eagerly upon this most tempting subject for an inventive and emotional correspondent. He had seen Paolo several times, and 4 knew that he was Maurices confidential servant, but had never, spoken to him. So he said to himself that he must make Paolos acquaintance, to begin with. In the summer season many kinds of small traffic were always carried on in Arrow- head Village. Among the rest, th~ sellers of fruit, oranges, bananas, and others, according to the season, did an active business. The Interviewer watched one of these fruit-sellers, and saw that his hand-cart stopped opposite the house where, as he knew, Maurice Kirkwood was living. Presently Paolo came out of the door, and began examining the fruit in the hand-cart. The Interviewer saw his opportunity. Here was an in- troduction to the man, and the man must introduce him to the master. He knew very well how to ingratiate himself with the man, there was no difficulty about that. He had learned his name, and that he was an Italian whom Maurice had brought to this coun- try with him. Good morning, Mr. Paul, he said. how do you like the look of these or- anges? They pretty fair, said Paolo: no so good as them las week; no sweet as them was. Why, how do you know without tasting them? said the Interviewer. I know by his look, I know by his smell, he no good yaller he no smell ripe, I know orange ever since my head no bigger than he is, and Paolo laughed at his own comparison. The Interviewer laughed louder than Paolo. Good! said he, first-rate! Of course you know all about em. Why cant you pick me out a couple of what you think are the best of em? I shall be greatly obliged to you. I have a sick friend, and I want to get two nice sweet ones for him. Paolo was pleased. His skill and judgment were recognized. He felt grateful to the stranger, who had given him an opportunity of conferring a fa The New Portfolio. [July, vor. He selected two, after careful ex- amination and grave deliberation. The Interviewer had sense and tact enough not to offer him an orange, and so shift the balance of obligation. How is Mr. Kirkwood, to-day? he asked. Ii Signor? He very well. He al- ways well. Why you ask? Anybody tell you he sick? No, nobody said he was sick. I have nt seen him going about for a day or two, and I thought he might have something the matter with him. Is he in the house now? No: he off riding. He take long, long rides, sometime gone all day. Sometime he go on lake, paddle, pad- dle in the morning, very, very early, in night when the moon shine; some- time stay in house, and read, and study, and write, he great scholar, Misser Kirkwood. A good many books, has nt he? He got whole shelfs full of books. Great books, little books, old books, new books, all sorts of books. He great scholar, I tell you. Has nt he some curiosities, old figures, old jewelry, old coins, or things of that sort ? Paolo looked at the young man cau- tiously, almost suspiciously. He dont keep no jewels nor no money in his chamber. He got some old things, old jugs, old brass figgers, old money, such as they used to have in old times: she dont pass now. Paolos genders were apt to be somewhat indiscrimi- nately distributed. A lucky thought struck the Inter- viewer. I wonder if he would exam- ine some old coins of mine? said he, in a modestly tentative manner. I think he like to see anything curious. When he come home I ask him. Who will I tell him wants to ask him about old coin? Tell him a gentleman visiting Ar- rowhead Village would like to call and 1885.] The New Portfolio. 5 show him some old pieces of money, said to be Roman ones. The Interviewer had just remem- bered that he had two or three old bat- tered bits of copper which he liad picked up at a tolimans, where they had been passed off for cents. He had bought them as curiosities. One had the name of Gallienus upon it, tolerably distinct, a common little Roman penny; but it would serve his purpose of asking a question, as would two or three others with less legible legends. Paolo told him that if he came the next morning he would stand a fair chance of seeing Mr. Kirkwood. At any rate, he would speak to his master. The Interviewer presented himself the next morning, after finishing his breakfast and his cigar, feeling reason- ably sure of finding Mr. Kirkwood at home, as he proved to be. He had told Paolo to show the stranger up to his library, or study, as he modestly called it. It was a pleasant room enough, with a lookout on the lake in one direction, and the wooded hill in another. The tenant had fitted it up in scholarly fash- ion. The books Paolo spoke of were conspicuous, many of them, by their white vellum binding and tasteful gild- ing, showing that probably they had been bound in Rome, or some other Italian city. With these were older volumes in their dark original leather, and recent ones in cloth or paper. As the Interviewer ran his eye over them, he found that he could make very little out of what their backs taught him. Some of the paper-covered books, some of the cloth-covered ones, had names which he knew; but those on the backs of many of the others were strange to his eyes. The classics of Greek and Latin and Italian literature were there; and he saw enough to feel convinced that he had better not attempt to dis- play his erudition in the company of this young scholar. The first thing the Interviewer had to do was to account for his visiting a person who had not asked to make his acquaintance, and who was living as a recluse. His took out his battered cop- pers, and showed them to Maurice. I understood that you were very skilful in antiquities, and had a good many yourself. So I took the liberty of calling upon you, hoping that you could tell me something about some ancient coins I have had for a good while. So saying, he pointed to the copper with the name of Gallienus. Is this very rare and valuable? I have heard that great prices have been paid for some of these ancient coins, ever so many guineas, sometimes. I suppose this is as much as a thousand years old. More than a thousand years old, said Maurice. And worth a great deal of money? asked the Interviewer. No, not a great deal of money, an- swered Maurice. How much, should you say? said the Interviewer. Maurice smiled. A little more than the value of its weight in copper, I am afraid not much more. There are a good many of these coins of Gal- lienus knocking about. The peddlers and the shopkeepers take such pieces oc- casionally, and sell them, sometimes for five or ten cents, to young collectors. No, it is not very precious in money value, but as a relic, any piece of money that was passed from hand to hand a thousand or fifteen hundred years ago is interesting. The value of such relics is a good deal a matter of imagination. And what do you say to these others? asked the Interviewer. Poor old worn-out things they were, with a letter or two only, and some faint trace of a figure on one or two of them. Very interesting, always, if they carry your imagination back to the times when you may suppose they were 6 Tke New Portfolio. current. Perhaps Horace tossed one of them to a beggar. Perhaps one of these was the coin that was brought when One said to those about Him, Bring me a penny, that I may see it. But the market price is a different mat- ter. That depends on the beauty and preservation, and above all the rarity, of the specimen. Here is a coin, now, he opened a small cabinet, and took one from it. Here is a Syracusan decadrachm with the head of Per- sephone, which is at once rare, well preserved, and beautiful. I am afraid to tell what I paid for it. The Interviewer was not an expert in numismatics. He cared very little more for an old coin than he did for an old button, but he had thought his pur- chase at the toilmans might prove a good speculation. No matter about the battered old pieces: he had found out, at any rate, that Maurice must have money and could be extravagant, or what he himself considered so; also that he was familiar with ancient coins. That would do for a beginning. May I ask where you picked up the coin you are showing me? he said. That is a question which provokes a negative answer. One does not pick up first-class coins or paintings, very often, in these times. I bought this of a great dealer in Rome.~~ Lived in Rome once? said the Interviewer. For some years. Perhaps you have teen there yourself? The Interviewer said he had never been there yet, but he hoped he should go there, one of these years. I sup- pose you studied art and antiquities while you were there? he continued. Everybody who goes to Rome must learn something of art and antiquities. Before you go there I advise you to review Roman history and the classic authors. You had better make a study of ancient and modern art, and not have everything to learn while you are going about among ruins, and churches, and galleries. You know your Horace and Virgil well, I take it for granted? The Interviewer hesitated. The names sounded as if he had heard them. Not so well as I mean to before going to Rome, he answered. May I ask how long you lived in Rome? Long enough to know something of what is to be seen in it. No one should go there without careful preparation be- forehand. You are familiar with Vasari, of course? The Interviewer felt a slight moisture on his forehead. He took out his hand kerchief. It is a warm day, he said. I have not had time to read all the works I mean to. I have had too much writing to do, myself, to find all the time for reading and study I could have wished. In what literary occupation have you been engaged, if you will pardon my inquiry? said Maurice. I am connected with the press. I understood that you were a man of let- ters, and I hoped I might have the priv- ilege of hearing from your own lips some account of your literary experi- ences. Perhaps that might be interesting, but I think I shall reserve it for my au- t~biography. You said you were con- nected with the press. Do I under- stand that you are an author. By this time the Interviewer had come to the conclusion that it was a ver~q warm day. He did not seem to be getting hold of his pitcher by the right handle, somehow. But he could not help answering Maurices very simple question. If writing for a newspaper gives one a right to be called an author, I may call myself tue. I write for the Peoples Perennial and Household In- quisitor. Are you -the literary critic of that well-known journal, or do you manage the political column? 1885.] The New Portfolio. 7 I am a correspondent from differ- ent places and on various matters of interest. Places you have been to, and peo- ple you have known? Well, yes, generally, that is. Sometimes I have to compile my arti- cles. Did you write the letter from Rome, published a few weeks ago? The Interviewer was in what he would call a tight place. However, he had found that his man was too much for him, and saw that the best thing he could do was to submit to be inter- viewed himself. He thought that he should be able to pick up something or other which he could work into his re- port of his visit. Well, I prepared that article for our columns. You know one does not have to see everything he describes. You found it accurate, I hope, in its descriptions? Yes, Murray is generally accurate. Sometimes he makes~ mistakes, but I cant say how far you have copied them. You got the Ponte Molle the old Mil- vian bridge a good deal too far down the stream, if I remember. I hap- pened to notice that, but I did not read the article carefully. May I ask whether you propose to do me the honor of reporting this visit and the conversation we have had, for the col- umns of the newspaper with which you are connected? The Interviewer thought he saw an opening. If you have no objections, he said, I should like very much to ask a few questions. He was recovering his professional audacity. You can ask as many questions as you consider proper and discreet after you have answered one or two of mine: Who commissioned you to submit me to examination? The curiosity of the public wishes to be gratified, and I am the humble agent of its investigations. What has the public to do with my private affairs? I suppose it is a question of major- ity and minority. That settles every- thing in this country. You are a mi- nority of one opposed to a large number of curious people that form a majority against you. That is the way I ye heard the chief put it. Maurice could not help smiling at the quiet assumption of the American citizen. The Interviewer smiled, too, and thought he had his man, sure, at last. Maurice calmly answered, There is nothing left for minorities, then, but the right of rebellion. I dont care about being made the subject of an article for your paper. I am here for my pleas- ure, minding my own business, and content with that occupation. I rebel against your system of forced publicity. Whenever I am ready I shall tell the public all it has any right to know about me. In the mean time I shall request to be spared reading my biography while I am living. I wish you a good- morning. The Interviewer had not taken out his note-book and pencil. In his next communication from Arrowhead Vil- lage he contented himself with a brief mention of the distinguished and ac- complished gentleman now visiting the place, whose library and cabinet of coins he had had the privilege of examining and whose courtesy was equalled only by the modesty that shunned the public notoriety which the organs of popular intelligence would otherwise confer upon him. The Interviewer had attempted the riddle of the Sphinx, and had failed to get the first hint of its solution. The many tongues of the village and its visitors could not remain idle. The whole subject of antipathies had been talked over, and the various cases record- ed had become more or less familiar to the conversational circles which met 8 The New Portfolio. [July, every evening in the different centres of social life. The prevalent hypothesis for the moment was that Maurice had a con- genital aversion to some color, the ef- fects of which upon him were so pain- ful or disagreeable that he habitually avoided exposure to it. It was known, and it has already been mentioned in this paper, that such cases were on record. There had been a great deal of discus- sion, of late, with reference to a fact long known to a few individuals, but only re- cently made a matter of careful scien- tific observation and brought to the no- tice of the public. This was the now well-known phenomenon of color-blind- ness. It did not seem very strange that if one person in every score or two could not tell red from green there might be other curious individual pecu- liarities relating to color. A case has already been referred to where the sub- ject of observation fainted at the sight of any red object. What if this were the trouble with Maurice Kirkwood? It will be seen at once how such a con- genital antipathy would tend to isolate the person who was its unfortunate vic- tim. It was an hypothesis not difficult to test, but it was a rather delicate busi- ness to be experimenting on an inoffen- sive stranger. Miss Vincent was think- ing it over, but said nothing, even to Euthymia, of any projects she might entertain. XII. MISS VINCENT AS A MEDICAL STU DENT. The young lady whom we have known as The Terror, as Lurida, as Miss Vin- cent, Secretary of the Pansophian Socie- ty, bad been reading various works se- lected for her by Dr. Butts, works chiefly relating to the nervous system and its different affections. She thought it was about time to talk over the gen- eral subject of the medical profession with her new teacher, if such a self- directing person as Lurida could be said to recognize anybody as teacher. She began at the beginning. What is the first book you would put in a stu- dents hands, doctor? she said to him one day. They were in his study, and Lurida had just brought back a thick volume on Insanity, one of Bucknill and Tukes, which she had devoured as if it had been a pamphlet. Not that book, certainly, he said. I am afraid it will put all sorts of no- tions into your head. Who or what set you to reading that, I should like to know? I found it on one of your shelves, and as I thought I might perhaps be crazy some time or other, I felt as if I should like to know what kind of a con- dition insanity is. I dont believe they were ever very bright, those insane peo- ple, most of them. I hope I am not stupid enough ever to lose my wits. There is no telling, my dear, what may happen if you overwork that busy brain of yours. But did nt it make you nervous, reading about so many people possessed with such strange no- tions? Nervous? Not a bit. I could nt help thinking, though, how many peo- ple I had known that had a little touch of craziness about them. Take that poor woman that says she is Her Maj- estys Person,not Her Majesty, but Her Majestys Person, a very impor- tant distinction, according to her: how she does remind me of more than one girl I have known! She would let her skirts down so as to make a kind of train, and pile things on her head like a sort of crown, fold her arms and throw her head back, and feel as grand as a queen. I have seen more than one girl act very much in that way. Are not most of us a little crazy, doctor, just a little? I think so. It seems to me I never saw but one girl who was free from every hint of craziness. 1885.] The New Portfolio. .9 And who was that, pray? Why, Euthymia, nobody else, of course. She never loses her head, I dont believe she would in an earth- quake. Whenever we were at work with our microscopes at the Institute I always told her that her mind was the only achromatic one I ever looked into, I did nt say looked through. But I did nt come to talk about that. I read in one of your books that when Sydenharn was asked by a student what hooks he should read, the great physician said, Read Don Quixote. I want you to explain that to me; and then I want you to tell me what is the first book, according to your idea, that a student ought to read. What do you say to my taking your question as the subject of a paper to be read before the Society? I think there may be other young ladies at the meet- ing, besides yourself, who are thinking of pursuing the study of medicine. At any rate, there are a good many who are interested in the subject ; in fact, most people listen readily to anything doc- tors tell them about their calling. I wish you would, doctor. I want Euthymia to hear it, and I dont doubt there will be others who will be glad to hear everything you have to say about it. But oh, doctor, if you could only persuade Euthymia to become a physi- cian! What a doctor she would make! So strong, so calm, so full of wisdom! I believe she could take the wheel of a steamboat in a storm, or the hose of a fire-engine in a conflagration, and handle it as well as the captain of the boat or of the fire-company. Have you ever talked with her about studying medicine? Indeed I have. Oh, if she would only begin with me! What good times we would have studying together! I dont doubt it. Medicine is a very pleasant study. But how do you think practice would be? How would you like being called up to ride ten miles in a midnight snow-storm, just when one of your raging headaches was racking you? Oh, but we could go into partner- ship, and Euthvmia is nt afraid of storms or anything else. If she would only study medicine with me! Well, what does she say to it? She does nt like the thought of it. She does ut believe in women doctors. She thinks that now and then a woman may be fitted for it by nature, but she does nt think there are many who are. She gives me a good many reasons against their practising medicine, you know what most of them are, doctor, and ends by saying, that the same wo- man who would be a poor sort of doc- tor would make a first-rate nurse; and that, she thinks, is a womans business, if her instinct carries her to the hospital or sick-chamber. I cant argue her ideas out of her. Neither can I argue you out of your feeling about the matter; but I am dis- posed to agree with your friend, that you will often spoil a good nurse to make a poor doctor. Doctors and side-saddles dont seem to me to go together. Rid- ing habits would be awkward things for practitioners. But come, we wont have a controversy just now. I am for giv- ing women every chance for a good edu- cation, and if they think medicine is one of their proper callings let them try it. I think they will find that they had bet- ter at least limit themselves to certain specialties, and always have an expert of the other sex to fall back upon. The trouble is that they are so impressible and imaginative that they are at the mercy of all sorts of fancy systems. You have only to see what kinds of in- struction they very commonly flock to in order to guess whether they would be likely to prove sensible practition- ers. Charlatanism always hobbles on two crutches, the tattle of women, and the certificates of clergymen, and I am afraid that half the women doctors will be too much under both those influences. 10 The New Portfolio. Lurida believed in Dr. Butts, who, to use the common language of the vil- lage, had carried her through a fever, brought on by over-excitement and ex- hausting study. She took no offence at his reference to nursery gossip, which she had learned to hold cheap. Nobody so despises the weaknesses of women as the champion of womans rights. She accepted the doctors concession of a fair field and open trial of the fitness of her sex for medical practice, and did not trouble herself about his suggested lim- itations. As to the imaginative tenden- cies of women, she knew too well the truth of the doctors remark relating to them to wish to contradict it. Be sure you let me have your pa- per in season for the next meeting, doc- tor, she said; and in due season it came, and was of course approved for read- lng XIII. DR. BUTTS READS A PAPER. Next to the interest we take in all that relates to our immortal souls is that which we feel for our mortal bodies. I am afraid my very first statement may be open to criticism. The care of the body is the first thought with a great many, in fact, with the larger part of the world. They send for the physician first, and not until he gives them up do they commonly call in the clergyman. Even the minister himself is not so very different from other people. We must not blame him if he is not always impatient to exchange a world of multi- plied interests and ever-changing sources of excitement for that which tradition has delivered to us as one eminently de- ficient in the stimulus of variety. Be- sides, these bodily frames, even when worn and disfigured by long years of service, hang about our consciousness like old garments. They are used to us, and we are used to them. And all the accidents of our lives, the house we dwell in, the living people round us, the landscape we look over, all, up to the sky that covers us like a bell glass, all these are but looser outside gar- ments which we have worn until they seem a part of us, and we do not like the thought of changing them for a new suit which we have never yet tried on. How well I remember that dear ancient lady, who lived well into the last decade of her century, as she repeated the verse which, if I had but one to choose, I would select from that string of pearls, Grays Elegy! For who to dumb fos~getfulness a prey This pleasing, anxious being eer resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? Plotinus was ashamed of his body, we are told. Better so, it may be, than to live solely for it, as so many do. But it may be well doubted if there is any disciple of Plotinus in this Society. On the contrary, there are many who think a great deal of their bodies, many who have come here to regain the health they have lost in the wear and tear of city life, and very few who have not at some time or other of their lives had occasion to call in the services of a physician. There is, therefore, no impropri6ty in my offering to the members some remarks upon the peculiar diffleulties which beset the medical practitioner in the discharge of his laborious and im- portant duties. A young friend of mine, who has taken an interest in medical studies, happened to meet with a very familiar story about one of the greatest and most celebrated of all English physicians, Thomas Sydeuham. The story is that, when a student asked him what books he should read, the great doctor told him to read Don Quixote. This piece of advice has been used to throw contempt upon the study of books, and furnishes a convenient shield for ignorant pretenders. But Syden 1885.] The New Portfolio. ii ham left many writings in which he has recorded his medical experience, and he surely would not have published them if he had not thought they would be better reading for the medical stu- dent than the story of Cervantes. His own works are esteemed to this day, and he certainly could not have sup- posed that they contained all the wis- dom of all the past. No remedy is good, it was said of old, unless applied at the right time in the right way. So we may say of all anecdotes, like this which I have told you about Sydenham and the young man. It is very likely that he carried him to the bedside of some patients, and talked to him about the cases he showed him, instead of putting a Latin volume in his hand. I would as soon begin in that way as any other, with a student who had already mastered the preliminary branches, who knew enough about the structure and functions of the body in health. But if you ask me what reading I would commend to the medical student of a philosophical habit of mind, you may be surprised to hear me say it would be certain passages in Rasselas. They are the ones where the astronomer gives an account to Irniac of his management of the elements, the control of which, as he had persuaded himself, had been committed to him. Let me read you a few sentences from this story, which is commonly bound up with the Vicar of Wakefield, like a woollen lining to a silken mantle, but is full of stately wis- dom in processions of paragraphs which sound as if they ought to have a gram- matical drum-major to march before their tramping platoons. The astronomer has taken Imlac into his confidence, and reveals to him the secret of his wonderful powers Hear, Imlac, what thou wilt not without difficulty credit. I have pos- sessed for five years the regulation of the weather and the distribution of the seasons: the sun has listened to my dictates, and passed from tropic to tropic by my direction; the clouds, at my call, have poured their waters, and the Nile has overflowed at my command; I have restrained the rage of the dog-star, and mitigated the fervors of the crab. The winds alone, of all the elemental pow- ers, have hitherto eluded my authority, and multitudes have perished by equi- noctial tempests, which I found myself unable to prohibit or restrain. The reader naturally wishes to know how the astronomer, a sincc~re, devoted, and most benevolent man, for forty years a student of the heavens, came to the strange belief that he possessed these miraculous powers. This is his account: One day, as I was looking on the fields withering with heat, I felt in my mind a sudden wish that I could send rain on the southern mountains, and raise the Nile to an inundation. Jn the hurry of my imagination I commanded rain to fall, and by comparing the time of my command with that of the inun- dation I found that the clouds had lis- tened to my lips. Might not some other cause, said I, produce this concurrence? The Nile does not always rise on the same day. Do not believe, said he, with im- patience, that such objections could es- cape me: I reasoned long against my own conviction, and labored against truth with the utmost obstinacy. I sometimes suspected myself of madness, and should not have dared to impart this secret but to a man like you, capa- ble of distinguishing the wonderful from the impossible and the incredible from the false. The good old astronomer gives his parting directions to Imlac, whom he has adopted as his successor in the govern- ment of the elements and the seasons, in these impressive words : Do not, in the administration of the year, indulge thy pride by innovation.; do not please thyself with thinking that 12 The New Portfolio. [July, thou canst make thyself renowned to all future ages by disordering the sea- sons. The memory of mischief is no de- sirable fame. Much less will it become thee to let kindness or interest pre- vail. Never rob other countries of rain to pour it on thine own. For us the iNile is sufficient. Do you wonder, my friends, why I have chosen these passages, in which the delusions of an insane astronomer are related with all the pomp of the Johnsonian vocabulary, as the first les- son for the young person about to enter on the study of the science and art of healing? Listen to me while I show you the parallel of the story of the as- tronomer in the history of medicine. This history is luminous with intelli- gence, radiant with benevolence, but all its wisdom and all its virtue have had to struggle with the ever-rising mists of delusion. The agencies which waste and destroy the race of mankind are vast and resistless as the elemental forces of nature; nay, they are themselves ele- mental forces. They may be to some extent avoided, to some extent diverted~ from their aim, to some extent resisted. So may the changes of the seasons, from cold that freezes to heats that strike with sudden death, be guarded against. So may the tides be in some small measure restrained in their inroads. So may the storms be breasted by walls they cannot shake from their foundations. But the seasons and the tides and the tempests work their will on the great scale upon whatever stands in their way; they feed or starve the tillers of the soil; they spare or drown the dwellers by the shore; they waft the seaman to his har- bor or bury him in the angry billows. The art of the physician can do much to remove its subjects from deadly and dangerous influences, and something to control or arrest the effects of these in- fluences. But look at the records of the life-insurance offices, and see how uniform is the action of natures de stroying agencies. Look at the annual reports of the deaths in any of our great cities, and see how their regularity ap- proaches the uniformity of the tides, and their variations keep pace with those of the seasons. The inundations of the Nile are not more certainly to be pre- dicted than the vast wave of infantile disease which flows in upon all our great cities with the growing heats of July, than the fevers and dysenteries which visit our rural districts in the months of the falling leaf. The physician watches these changes as the astronomer watched the rise of the great river. He longs to rescue indi- viduals, to protect communities from the inroads of these destroying agencies. He uses all the means which experience has approved, tries every rational method which ingenuity can suggest. Some for- tunate recovery leads him to believe he has hit upon a preventive or a cure for a malady which had resisted all known remedies. His rescued patient sounds his praises, and a wide circle of his pa- tients friends joins in a chorus of eulo- gies. Self-love applauds him for his sagacity. Self - interest congratulates him on his having found the road to fortune; the sense of having proved a benefactor of his race smooths the pil- low on which he lays his head to dream of the brilliant future opening before him. If a single coincidence may lead a person of sanguine disposition to be- lieve that he has mastered a disease which had baffled all who were before his time, and on which his contempora- ries looked in hopeless impoteuce, what must be the effect of a series of such coincidences even on a mind of calmer temper! Such series of coincidences will happen, and they may well deceive the very elect. Think of Dr. Rush, you know what a famous man he was, the very head and front of American medical science in his day, and re- member how he spoke about yellow fever, which he thought he had mastered! The Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker. Thus the physician is entangled in the meshes of a wide conspiracy, in which he and his patient and their friends, and Nature herself are involved. What wonder that the history of Medi- cine should be to so great an extent a record of self-delusion If this seems a dangerous concession to the enemies of the true science and art of healing, I will remind you that it is all implied in the first aphorism of Hip- pocrates, the Father of Medicine. Do not draw a wrong inference from the frank statement of the difficulties which beset the medical practitioner. Think rather, if truth is so hard of attainment, how precious are the results which the consent of the wisest and most expe- rienced among the healers of men agrees in accepting. Think what folly it is to cast them aside in favor of palpable im- positions stolen from the records of for- gotten charlatanism, or of fantastic specu- lations spun from the squinting brains of theorists as wild as the Egyptian as- tronomer. Begin your medical studies, then, by reading the fortieth and the following four chapters of Rasselas. Your first lesson will teach you modesty and cau- tion in the pursuit of the most decep- tive of all practical branches of knowl- edge. Faith will come later, when you learn how much medical science and art have actually achieved for the relief of mankind, and how great are the prom- ises it holds out of still larger triumphs over the enemies of human health and happiness. After the reading of this paper there was a lively discussion, which we have no room to report here, and the Society adjourned. Oliver Wendell Holmes. THE SINGULAR CASE OF JESHURUN BARKER. IF any of my readers, familiar with the medical journals of 184~ or there- abouts, should recall any statements then published concerning this peculiar and interesting case, they may also re- member something of the attention it attracted at the time, and the discussion it awakened not only in this country but also in France and Germany. Briefly summarized and stripped of its elaborate wrappings of scientific terms and medi- cal phraseology, the fact stated was of a curious malformation in the case of a boy, then some ten or twelve years of age. There was no outward defect, no physical deformity, but only a peculiar transposition of the mental organs, by which, to quote the felicitous language of a writer of the day, that wonderful mirror in the brain, which we call mem- ory, was simply reversed, so that instead of reflecting the past it reflected the fu- ture, and the boy, instead of remember- ing backward like ordinary people, re- membered forward. However, the majority of people must have long since forgotten the circum- stance, as would doubtless have hap- pened with my later knowledge of it, ac- quired from old volumes on file in my fathers office, had not more recent events revived it, and given me a week or two of strange experience. Our family consists of my aunt, my aunts rheumatism, my sister Lizzie, and my- self. The rheumatism is certainly enti- tled to mention as one of the family, since it not only sits at our table and lodges under our roof, but always forms a majority in our family councils. It was the rheumatism which decided that we should spend the summer of 1880 at 1885.] 18

John Wilkinson Wilkinson, John The Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker 13-22

The Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker. Thus the physician is entangled in the meshes of a wide conspiracy, in which he and his patient and their friends, and Nature herself are involved. What wonder that the history of Medi- cine should be to so great an extent a record of self-delusion If this seems a dangerous concession to the enemies of the true science and art of healing, I will remind you that it is all implied in the first aphorism of Hip- pocrates, the Father of Medicine. Do not draw a wrong inference from the frank statement of the difficulties which beset the medical practitioner. Think rather, if truth is so hard of attainment, how precious are the results which the consent of the wisest and most expe- rienced among the healers of men agrees in accepting. Think what folly it is to cast them aside in favor of palpable im- positions stolen from the records of for- gotten charlatanism, or of fantastic specu- lations spun from the squinting brains of theorists as wild as the Egyptian as- tronomer. Begin your medical studies, then, by reading the fortieth and the following four chapters of Rasselas. Your first lesson will teach you modesty and cau- tion in the pursuit of the most decep- tive of all practical branches of knowl- edge. Faith will come later, when you learn how much medical science and art have actually achieved for the relief of mankind, and how great are the prom- ises it holds out of still larger triumphs over the enemies of human health and happiness. After the reading of this paper there was a lively discussion, which we have no room to report here, and the Society adjourned. Oliver Wendell Holmes. THE SINGULAR CASE OF JESHURUN BARKER. IF any of my readers, familiar with the medical journals of 184~ or there- abouts, should recall any statements then published concerning this peculiar and interesting case, they may also re- member something of the attention it attracted at the time, and the discussion it awakened not only in this country but also in France and Germany. Briefly summarized and stripped of its elaborate wrappings of scientific terms and medi- cal phraseology, the fact stated was of a curious malformation in the case of a boy, then some ten or twelve years of age. There was no outward defect, no physical deformity, but only a peculiar transposition of the mental organs, by which, to quote the felicitous language of a writer of the day, that wonderful mirror in the brain, which we call mem- ory, was simply reversed, so that instead of reflecting the past it reflected the fu- ture, and the boy, instead of remember- ing backward like ordinary people, re- membered forward. However, the majority of people must have long since forgotten the circum- stance, as would doubtless have hap- pened with my later knowledge of it, ac- quired from old volumes on file in my fathers office, had not more recent events revived it, and given me a week or two of strange experience. Our family consists of my aunt, my aunts rheumatism, my sister Lizzie, and my- self. The rheumatism is certainly enti- tled to mention as one of the family, since it not only sits at our table and lodges under our roof, but always forms a majority in our family councils. It was the rheumatism which decided that we should spend the summer of 1880 at 1885.] 18 14; The Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker. [July, Hot Springs. My aunt asked our advice aAxrnt it one morning at the breakfast- table, calmly prefacing her request with the information that she had decided to go. When an elderly lady with gold spectacles, a rather pronounced nose and chin, and a still more pronounced for- tune in her own right asks advice in that way of the younger members of her family, the result can readily be sur- mised. On the whole, the movement was less objectionable than many deci- sions of our majority, since, as Lizzie pensively observed, Even a hot water- ing-place is not without its attractions. It chanced, too, that I had business in the neighborhood of Little Rock which could be as well transacted at that time as another, and so would enable me to be near my aunt and sister without the enforced leisure which I detested. After securing and settling ones self in desir- able quarters for such a sojourn, the next item of interest is, naturally, ones neigh- bors; and here we congratulated our- selves upon being peculiarly fortunate. Guests enough to save us from any- thing like dullness or monotony, without the tiresomeness and discomfort of a crowd, murmured my aunt complacent- ly, as she surveyed the cool, pleasant dining-hall at our first breakfast. Near us was a quiet group, which pres- ently attracted attention by its proxim- ity a middle-aged gentleman with his wife and daughter, apparently. Dress and manner marked them as persons of refinement, a certain easy adaptation to their surroundings hinted of familiarity with travel, and they did not appear to be invalids, though there was an air of watchfulness about them, a scarcely de- fined repression, that marked them as differing somewhat from mere pleasure- seekers. Perhaps they have an invalid son or daughter with them, who is not able to come down to meals, observed Aunt Dill, unconsciously answering this com- ment, which no one had expressed. Now and then, in the pauses of our own conversation, sentences from our neighbors floated to us unavoidably. There was a beautiful child wandering up and down the hail, belonging to some one accustomed to the house evidently, and feeling himself on his native heath, for he strayed from one group to anoth- er at will, and was petted by all. Pres- ently he stopped, and surveyed with grave baby eyes the party near us. What a lovely child! exclaimed the young lady, coaxing him near with a bonbon. Yes, and he resembles Why I cant think where I have ever seen him, remarked the gentleman in a tone of perplexity. Nowhere, dear; of course you nev- er did, interposed his wife, with what seemed like anxious haste. None of us have ever seen him until now. But he reminds me of some one, persisted the gentleman musingly. Ah, I remember! It is your little boy, Nellie. He is very like your little boy. A flush swept over the young ladys face, the dark red flush of annoyance or pain. Her answer was inaudible, but she sent the little one away. A young widow, who has lost her child? suggested Aunt Dill in a low voice to Lizzie, under cover of passing the rolls. Too young, and not in mourning, answered Lizzie, in the same tone. She looked very young, not over eighteen, and very pretty and grace- ful also, as she left the room a little la- ter, passing directly by us. They were our neighbors again at dinner, and in the afternoon I met the gentleman on one of the smooth wide walks ~the beach, some of our friends had chris- tened it of the grounds- A small velocipedist had just succeeded in up- setting himself, and the gentleman paused to rescue the wailing urchin, when a malicious gust of wind whisked away the rescuers hat. I captured the The Siiigular Case of Jesliurun Barker. flying property and returned it, to meet not only thanks but a pleasant smile of recognition. Dr. Wilkinson, I believe? He must have noticed us in the din- ing-hall, then, though he had not seemed to do so; but how had he learned my my name? I wondered. The M. D. on my office sign was still so uncomfort- ably fresh that I could scarcely imag- ine my reputation had preceded me. He read my glance and answered it. I met you on the morning train for Little Rock going up to attend the Cashville trial; I am interested in that too and we lunched together at Meli , ,, 005. That was exactly my plan for the morrow, but it assuredly was what I had not done on this first day of my arrival, nor on any preceding day. There was some mistake, hut I had neither time to explain nor ask for explanation. His daughter, who had been detained a mo- ment by a friend, called to him: I am ready, papa! It was a sweet, quick voice, holding in it the slightest possible hint of one who did not care to wait, and he yielded to it at once, replying to my somewhat confused statement that he had the advantage of me, by handing me his card as he turned away. It was only after he had gone that I reflected that the Cashville trial would not begin until the next day, and so I grew more puz- zled still. The card was inscribed Jeshurun Barker, and the name had a familiar look and sound; but I could not link it with any one I had ever known, and so was forced to drop the matter. However, if I had not met him before, I met him frequently after- ward. We journeyed to Little Rock together the next morning, lunched at the same place, and found ourselves on the same return train in the evening. Fate had determined, it appeared, that our two parties should be thrown to- gether. We encountered them in the halls, on the piazzas, and on the grounds; and between the ladies there soon sprang up one of the sudden friendships that belong to such places. Lizzie found a strong attraction in Miss Bar- ker. And she is ili/liss Barker, I ye learned that much, announced Aunt Dill complacently, after the first morn- ing together. Of course I hesitated a little between Mrs. and Miss after what I had heard her father say, but she laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world that I should accord her any such matronly dignity, as she said. When I told her what I had overheard, though, for I did tell her, she flushed in just that odd way again, and answered quickly: Oh, no, that was not what papa meant. He misspeaks sometimes. He was thinking ofof an older daughter of his. That is exactly the way in which she put it not my sister, you notice, nor my little nephew, as any one would naturally say, but only an older daughter of papas. They are very pleasant people, but I 11 warrant there is a twist in their family history some- where, a daughter who has married disreputably, perhaps. I longed to remind my aunt of cer- tain maxims concerning the vulgarity of undue interest in other peoples affairs which had been lavishly bestowed upon me in the days of my youth. But it is not always safe to return these kind- nesses of ones childhood. Our elders, I have observed, are prone to regard their choicest admonitions in the light in which the celebrated Miss MeFlim- sey viewed her betrothal : A sort of engagement, you see, Which is binding on you, but not binding on me. Lizzie and I consoled ourselves by as- cribing these lapses on Aunt Dills part to the rheumatism. Aunt Dill was so closely allied to us in family and blood 1885.] 15 16 The Singular Case that we could not shirk responsibility where she was concerned, but the rheu- matism was only a relation-in-law, as it were, and could be disapproved of when necessary. Mrs. Barker remarked incidentally, to-day, that Nellie was her only child, said Aunt Dill, an evening or two later. Now, how do you reconcile that with a runaway daughter? Dear me, auntie! That runaway daughter is purely your own invention, and nobody else needs to be reconciled to her, laughed Lizzie. It is possi- ble that Miss Nellie may have lost a half dozen brothers and sisters, older and younger, and now be an only child, is nt it? Besides, she only spoke of an older daughter of papas, which may have meant a half sister or a step sister. Hm, responded Aunt Dill disdain- fully, but she caught at the last sugges- tion, unfortunately, and proceeded to test it. To do her justice, she managed the matter with admirable finesse, and it was only during an easy after-dinner chat, which had somehow fallen upon the subject of odd marriages and second marriages, that she adroitly seized upon a remark of Mr. Barkers with the play- ful question You speak feelingly! Surely you have had no experience in second mar- riages? I? It really seemed for a mo- ment as if the gentleman did not know whether he had or not. Lie drew his hand across his brow and looked toward his wife, who was standing by an oppo- site window; then his dark eyes soft- ened. Indeed, no! he said, with his peculiar smile that always held a tinge of melancholy. I doubt whether there are two women in the world who are brave enough for that. His wife caught his glance and joined our group directly. They were a very affectionate family, the Barkers. Their devotion to each other was so intense as of Jeshurun Barker. [July, to be even a trifle annoying occasionally, for whenever I had engaged the gentle- man in a conversation that bade fair to be more than ordinarily interesting, his wife or daughter appeared upon the scene and appropriated him at once. Under ordinary circumstances it must be confessed that Miss Nellie might have proved a very agreeable intrusion, with her pretty, flushing face and win- ning, graceful ways. But any such at- tractions were dispelled, for me, by a hand at home, which wore a ring in the same state of untarnished newness as my office sign. Moreover, young Sayles had followed the Barkers to the springs, had been welcomed as an old acquaint- ance, and seemed successfully bent upon proving himself a very intimate one. His fine physique, to say nothing of his enraptured glances, made it evi- dent that he had not come for any ben- efit from the springs; and he would not have needed them in any case, as Miss Nellie must have kept him continually in hot water by her inopportune flyings- off after dear papa. It was only upon rare occasions that Mr. Barker could be drawn into any- thing like conversation. Usually, he contented himself with courteous but very brief replies when directly ad- dressed, and for the rest listened smil- ingly but silently while others talked. It was only reticence, however, not dull- ness, as one could readily see by watch- ing the expression of his mobile features, and the interest in his deep, peculiar eyes. There were times, too, when his interest overleaped the harriers of re- straint, and the views he expressed were striking and original. Two or three times, when we were together, I had chanced to awaken him upon some medical topic, and was sur~ prised and delighted to hear of dis- coveries which were new to me, though I considered myself particularly well read. But, as I have said, such con- versations were always interrupted by 1885.] The Singular Case of .Jeshurun Barker. IT either his wife or daughter. It was an absurd fancy, of course, but it really seemed at times as if they were jealous of any attention he bestowed upon oth- ers. The man puzzled and fascinated me with his quiet, gentle, almost mel- ancholy air, and his strange reserve, which was only a veil for opinions so unique, so startling, and so positive that, when once expressed, they carried with them the force of knowledge. Then, too, his name still perplexed me with its odd familiarity. I was haunted by some flitting ghost of association which I could not materialize. It was young Sayles who solved the problem for me at last. The number of guests increased as the season advanced, augmented not only by those who were needing to he built up physically, but by some who were seeking to build up financially. The attraction for these was not the mineral water, but a min- eral more solid, as represented by Judge Leach, president of the Great Synket Silver Mine, the richest mine in Mexico, sir, as the pompous judge was fond of informing the knot of listeners who always hung about him. He had come North on business connected with the mine, it was stated, and the local papers devoted considerable space to the object of his visit, his success and movements generally, calling him one of our great silver kings. His pres- ence had created no small stir in certain circles at Little Rock and at the Springs, where, for some reason, he preferred to spend a part of lis time. There were eager groups constantly about the mag- nate, discoursing with feverish excite- ment of stocks, shares, and dividends. Our comfortable quiet was gone. The very swings on the grounds suggested derricks, and one could no longer view the forks and spoons on the table with- out a desire to have them assayed, young Sayles declared in disgust. It was this feeling of being crowded that suggested the idea of a days respite VOL. LVI. NO. 333. 2 by a picnic excursion to a neighboring grove. The Barkers and ourselves, feel- ing that we were a sort of aborigines among these new-comers, were drawn more closely together, and Mr. Sayles had kindly included us in his picnic pro- ject. Now, if it s only a pleasant day to- morrow, he said, as we discussed final arrangements. Miss Nellie, suppose we ask your father what he thinks of the weather? He always seems to prophesy correctly. Miss Nellie hesitated, colored, and looked appealingly at her mother, as if, for some reason, the simple suggestion. were a very embarrassing one. But Mr. Barker was sitting by a window, news- paper in hand, and Mr. Sayles had turned toward him as he spoke. Shall we have a fine day for our ex- cursion, do you think, sir? What is the prospect for to-morrow? Excursion? Mr. Barker repeated the words as if he had not heard of the project before. Oh, yes, the weather is fine enough to-morrow, and why, no, we did nt go on any excursion, with Nellie sick in her room with a headache, and the whole plan spoiled because of one inadvertent remark. I really can- not see any sense in it. Neither could any one else. We all stared at him blankly except Mrs. Bar- ker. There was meaning enough in her quick glance, and her laugh was forced and uneasy. My dear, what a mixture of tenses! Your mind must be all on your newspa- per. Nobody but yourself has made any inadvertent remark. Warning, reminder, appeal, were in her eyes and voice, but it is probable that Mr. Barkers mind was still a little abstracted by his reading, for he only looked bewildered and answered has- tily Yes, yes, it was my own, of course; though I cant think just now what it was, nor why Nellie need feel so about 18 The Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker. [July, it, since Sayles is one of the family. If a man cant speak before his son-in- law The sudden start and rustle in his audience convinced Mr. Barker that something was wrong. lie looked help- lessly at his wife, questioningly at the rest of us, and added emphatically, as if his word had been doubted I assure you, I have given my con- sent next week. That picnic council unceremonious- ly dissolved dissolved is the proper word. There was a swift little rush of soft draperies and ribbons, and Miss Nellie had vanished through the door and up the stairway, followed by her mother. Aunt Dill and Lizzie were in the back parlor discoursing volubly on the mysteries of afghan-stitch what- ever that may be and Mr. Sayles was discovered on a side porch, a mo- ment later, his face very red from look- ing up at a hornets nest in the roof, and he remarked, with true scientific inter- est, that it was curious to watch how those reptiles could be such ingenious little insects, you know. For myself, I had received a revela- tion. The Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker, as I had read of it years be- fore, flashed clearly upon my memory, and unraveled at once all the perplexing tangles of the last few days. This was the man, and his peculiar manner, his inexplicable speeches and keen insight were accounted for. To confess that Miss Nellies mortification, the disap- pointment of the picnic party, and the general embarrassment were completely forgotten by me in the prospective de- light of studying this rare phenomenon is, probably, to accuse myself of selfish- ness. I can only plead guilty, feeling sure that with any enthusiastic member of the medical profession I shall need no recommendation to mercy. Of course the matter was soon ex- plained to the others. I told my aunt and sister what I knew, though Lizzie learned far more the next day from Miss Nellie herself, after spending the forenoon in an atmosphere of sympathy and camphor by that young ladys bed- side. Miss Nellie had wept herself into a furious headache, and declared be- tween her fits of sobbing that she never could be induced to go down stairs again never! It has always been so ever since I can remember. We never stay any- where long, no matter how delightful it is. Something always happens, and we have to go away, she said plaintively. Fancy having a father who, instead of remembering how pretty you looked in your first short dress, should only re- member how you will look in your first spectacles or when your front teeth are gone, or some such wretched thing! But the worst of it is nt any discom- fort to ourselves, anything that we can keep to ourselves, I mean, mamma and I have grown used to that; it is the embarrassments with other people. We have to be always watching and explain- ing and doing things that are odd, and even then the best that usually comes of it is that people think him slightly in- sane. Why, do you know, in one place where they found out about his queer memory they ran after us to have their fortunes told. Exactly as if we had been a party of gypsies! Nobody could make them believe that he did nt know anything about their old fortunes. And there was a jury trial once Oh dear! I could tell you no en~l of things, but it is n t any use. Of course I dont blame poor dear papa; he cant help it, and he wont remember the least thing that he said to Mr. Sayles last night. But how would you feel to be fairly thrown at a mans head in that horrid way? Mr. Sayles, however, when he had recovered from the suddenness of the onslaught, was not only delighted with the missile, but in ecstasies at the accu- racy of the aim; so that difficulty was overcome, and Miss Nellie was soon 1885.] The Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker. 19 lured back to her wonted place among us. In our own little circle, as we had come to call our two families (Mr. Sayles included), all concealment of Mr. Barkers peculiarity was now at an end. By a sort of tacit agreement we aided his wife and daughter in shielding him from any encounter that might awaken the curiosity of strangers; but among ourselves there was a dropping of con- straint and surveillance that certainly must have been a relief to the good gen- tleman, even though he remembered nothing of his previous position, nor any causes which had led to a change. Silence and reserve had become ha- bitual with him, nevertheless it was pos- sible to overcome this barrier occasion- ally, and as our conversations were no longer watched and interrupted, they became more frequent and even confi- dential. You see how it is, he said some- what sadly one day. I live in a differ- ent world from yours a different world from all those about me. It is only joined to theirs by the narrow isthmus of to-day. People who are always wish- ing they could see ahead do not know what they ask. It is isolation, sir, isola- tion. I suspect no one would wish it at the expense of not being able to see backward, I replied. But how did you first become aware of this difference between yourself and others? He looked at me a moment, and shook his head with a smile. If I could answer that question, Dr. Wilkinson, I should not be differ- ent from others. I laughed as I realized the absurdity of the inquiry, yet it was an error into which I was constantly and naturally falling in all our intercourse. Your past is a blank, then? I said. No, not a blank. I do not know it any more than you know your future, but it holds dreams and probabilities. Your future is not really a blank to you. And from what exists at present I can imagine the past, as you forecast the future. But aspirations, plans, and hopes are the chief mediums through which I view the future, I suggested. True; and they cannot apply to the past, nor, in any great measure, to a future that is known; for a man does not hope for what he knows. As for plans I know what I must do to-day by knowing what results from it to-mor- row. But there is where you must have the advantage of ordinary people, I urged. If you foresee danger, you can avoid it. I dont foresee, I only remember, and a man cant remember what does nt happen, can he? insisted Mr. Barker. You could nt avoid breaking your leg last summer by remembering it now, could you? And I cant avoid break- ing mine next summer by remembering it now, either. It s a compound frac- ture, too, he added, ruefully. Thinking over his case one night and I really bestowed more thought upon this curious freak of nature than upon anything else during those few weeks at the springs there suddenly occurred to me the possibility of super- seding Gates Ajar and kindred spec- ulations of the day by something like positive testimony. I questioned Mr. Barker upon the subject. How far forward does your knowl- edge extend? Can you remember into any state beyond this life? any eter- nity to which we go? No more than you can remember back into the eternity from which you came. Memory is only memory, I sup- pose, whichever way it faces. It is a mirror, which simply reflects the room it is in, and mine is hung on the oppo- site wall from most peoples. Your re- membrance runs back, growing less and less distinct at least I judge it must be so as it reaches your earliest years, 20 The Singular Case of JesAurun Barker. [July, until only isolated facts appear in a vague, shadowy way, and these finally fade into nothingness. Mine runs for- ward in exactly the same way. Beyond this world I can hope, and, though you may not have appreciated it, Dr. Wil- kinson, it is a blessed thing to hope. After a moments pause, he added slowly: I cannot say that I really do not know what hope is in regard to any- thing in this world. One can remem- her only what one in some way has knowledge of, and, of course, there are many things in the future of my friends and the history of the world of which, as they are not directly linked with my own experience, I am ignorant. Con- cerning these I can hope. There is a hope, too, connected with this peculiar- ity of my own, I have a theory that it is due to a very slight displacement a reversing of a small portion of the brain, and that by a critical examination of that organ, and a careful, scientifical- ly conducted comparison of it with a brain in its normal condition, the defect might be discovered, and thus the exact seat of memory located. What a gain that would be to science! In my will, which I make in a year or two, I give directions for a post-mortem examina- tion by the most eminent surgeons. Who knows what benefit to the race may grow out of it? An intense longing to take part in such an investigation made me for a mo- ment forget that the desired subject for scalpel and microscope was still in my friends head. Y-e-s, I said, rather inanely. You think it might throw new light upon the relation of mind and matter? Why may it not prove of great prac- tical value? pursued Mr. Barker ear- nestly. In my case the defect trans- position, call it what you will does not affect other faculties. Will, reason, judgment, are unaltered. Now, may it not be among the possibilities of surgi cal skill to reproduce this exact condi- tion in other brains? Reverse other peoples memories, do you mean? I inquired, somewhat aghast at the prospect. There might be some comfort, no doubt, in being able to extract an aching memory as one would an aching tooth; hut what would be the effect on society if bankers and railroad presidents, for instance, were afforded any new facilities for for- getting that the money in their posses- sion belonged to somebody else, and remembering only the to-morrows in which they expected to appropriate it to their own use? In certain cases, yes, replied Mr. Barker. Just consider what such a possibility might be to a confirmed drunkard or opium-eater! Placed in a hospital where the diseased tissues and fibres or whatever you medical men call it might have time to heal, while by a simple operation all memory of old habits, old associates, and any delight of intoxicating orgies was completely oblit erated, what cures might not be effect- ed? Then our penitentiaries how much more safely criminals might be pardoned and released if they left the memory of all past vices behind them with their prison garments. And our reform-schools sir, the possibilities are limitless. Could there be a greater boon to such youthful and depraved minds than, by a whiff of chloroform and a surgeons knife, to be forever freed from all the evil associations and vicious knowledge of the past? No, Dr. Wilkinson, I am not without hope. I am cheered by the thought that my life, whatever it misses of hap.. piness, may yet prove a great benefit to the race. I fully intended that it should prove a great benefit to me. Daily intercourse with a case so interesting and so unique would, I am sure, have appealed to any member of my profession as one of the great opportunities of a lifetime, and I 1885.] Tke Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker. 21 fondly hoped for disclosures and sugges- tions which should make the name of John Wilkinson, M. D., not unknown to fame. There arose in our conversation at different times many topics of interest, foreshadowings of future history, which charmed me. I recollect his giving, one day, a thrilling account of his adventure on an electric bicycle in the summer of 1890, I believe. But to me the most absorbing subject was the discoveries and inventions in medicine and surgery, as they came under his own observation, or as he read of them in newspapers and journals fifteen or twenty years hence. Some of these were indeed won- derful, and though, owing to his lack of a scientific or medical education, Mr. Barker could only describe workings and effects without any accurate knowl- edge of construction and causes, I hoped, by careful questioning, and a little series of experiments, to gain some valuable and practical information while we were together. But all such plans were speedily and hopelessly frustrated by a little occur- rence in the hotel parlors one evening. Judge Leach was there, surrounded by a crowd as usual, and Mr. Barker, also as usual, sat apart with his newspaper a yesterdays newspaper; that was his way of reading up. Judge Leach had noticed Mr. Barker, it seemed, and either attracted by something in that quiet gentlemans manner, or piqued by the fact that he never joined the silver-mining circle, the judge suddenly turned and asked his opinion upon the point under discussion. Perhaps you are not interested in mining and the different qualities of ore, sir? said the great man, blandly. Mr. Barker surveyed him absently, as if he had no recollection of ever hav- ing seen him. It a Judge Leach, you know. Surely you know Judge Leach? in- terposed one of the satellites, in a tone which seemed to say that not to know Judge Leach would be to fail of lifes chief object. I know him know of him yes, answered Mr. Barker, in a slow reflec- tion. I am trying to think what I read about him next week. The papers were full of the great Synket- Mine Swindle; the worthlessness of the shares, and the amount of money that had been gobbled up here before any one was wise enough to write on and make inquiries of disinterested parties in Mexico. Sir? thundered Judge Leach, growing very black in the face. It was a complete fraud, but the judge was safely off to Europe with the spoils, proceeded Mr. Barker, as calmly as if his remark had no bearing upon any one present. Sir! Do you mean to say be- gan the judge, advancing threateningly, while an angry murmur, like the breath of a coming storm, ran through the crowd around him. Mr. Barker might not have been in danger of instant annihilation, but Mrs. Barker thought he was. She started forward with a scream, and then, woman- like, fainted. It was the best possible move under the circumstances, as it dis- solved the angry conclave, and created a diversion which enabled the Barkers to retire. They packed their trunks that night, and left the place the next morning before other guests were astir. Of course we couldnt stay in any comfort after last night, Miss Nellie said to my sister at their tearful parting. Whether Mr. Barkers statement pre- cipitated matters, I do not know, but little whispers of distrust concerning the Great Synket began to be circu- lated almost immediately, growing more distinct and ominous as the days passed. Judge Leach was suddenly and privately summoned away on important business, and failed to return as did also the investments. There was a great deal of disappointment, chagrin, and wordy 22 The Two Blizabeths. [July, newspaper indignation; but my own burden of regret was for the sudden closing of the mine of knowledge I had hoped to explore. I consider Jeshurun Barker one of the greatest marvels of nature, I said. And I consider him an awful warn- ing to those people who are forever for- getting past mercies, and borrowing trouble about the future, responded Aunt Dill, severely. There are peo- ple who make themselves so miserably like him in that way that they ought to fear having their memories turned wrong side out to stay. We have never heard from the Bar- kers since, except that, two years ago, there came from Italy the wedding- cards of young Sayles and Miss Nellie. Under the peculiar circumstances, I must say that I consider young Sayles a brave man. I have heard more than one irate person wish his parents-in-law in the middle of next week, but to actually possess one who abides there might be attended with difficulties. John Wilkinson. THE TWO ELIZABETHS. A. D. 1209. AMIDST Thuringias wooded hills she dwelt, A high-born princess, servant of the poor, Sweetening with gracious words the food she dealt To starving throngs at Wartburgs blazoned door. A blinded zealot held her soul in chains, Cramped the sweet nature that he could not kill, Scarred her fair body with his penance-pains, And gauged her conscience by his narrow will. God gave her gifts of beauty and of grace, With fast and vigil she denied them all; Unquestioning, with sad, pathetic face, She followed meekly at her stern guides call. So drooped and died her home-blown rose of bliss In the chill rigor of a discipline That turned her fond lips from her childrens kiss And made her joy of motherhood a sin. To their sad level by compassion led, One with the low and vile herself she made, While thankless misery mocked the hand that fed, And laughed to scorn her piteous masquerade. But still, with patience that outwearied hate, She gave her all while yet she had to give; And then her empty hands, importunate, In prayer she lifted that the poor might live.

John Greenleaf Whittier Whittier, John Greenleaf The Two Elizabeths 22-24

22 The Two Blizabeths. [July, newspaper indignation; but my own burden of regret was for the sudden closing of the mine of knowledge I had hoped to explore. I consider Jeshurun Barker one of the greatest marvels of nature, I said. And I consider him an awful warn- ing to those people who are forever for- getting past mercies, and borrowing trouble about the future, responded Aunt Dill, severely. There are peo- ple who make themselves so miserably like him in that way that they ought to fear having their memories turned wrong side out to stay. We have never heard from the Bar- kers since, except that, two years ago, there came from Italy the wedding- cards of young Sayles and Miss Nellie. Under the peculiar circumstances, I must say that I consider young Sayles a brave man. I have heard more than one irate person wish his parents-in-law in the middle of next week, but to actually possess one who abides there might be attended with difficulties. John Wilkinson. THE TWO ELIZABETHS. A. D. 1209. AMIDST Thuringias wooded hills she dwelt, A high-born princess, servant of the poor, Sweetening with gracious words the food she dealt To starving throngs at Wartburgs blazoned door. A blinded zealot held her soul in chains, Cramped the sweet nature that he could not kill, Scarred her fair body with his penance-pains, And gauged her conscience by his narrow will. God gave her gifts of beauty and of grace, With fast and vigil she denied them all; Unquestioning, with sad, pathetic face, She followed meekly at her stern guides call. So drooped and died her home-blown rose of bliss In the chill rigor of a discipline That turned her fond lips from her childrens kiss And made her joy of motherhood a sin. To their sad level by compassion led, One with the low and vile herself she made, While thankless misery mocked the hand that fed, And laughed to scorn her piteous masquerade. But still, with patience that outwearied hate, She gave her all while yet she had to give; And then her empty hands, importunate, In prayer she lifted that the poor might live. 1885.] The 7i~vo Etizabethe. 23 Sore pressed by grief, and wrongs more hard to bear, And dwarfed and stifled by a harsh control, She kept life fragrant with good deeds and prayer, And fresh and pure the white flower of her soul. Death found her busy at her task: one word Alone she uttered as she paused to die, Silence I then listened even as one who heard With song and wing the angels drawing nigh! Now Fra Angelicos roses fill her hands, And, on Murillos canvas, Want and Pain Kneel at her feet. Her marble image stands Worshipped and crowned in Marburgs holy fane. Yea, wheresoeer her Church its cross uprears, Wide as the world her story still is told; In manhoods reverence, womans prayers and tears, She lives again whose grave is centuries old. And still, despite the weakness or the blame Of blind submission to the blind, she hath A tender place in hearts of every name, And more than Rome owns Saint Elizabeth! A. D. 1780. Slow ages passed: and lo! another came, An English matron, in whose simple faith Nor priestly rule nor ritual had claim, A plain, uncarionized Elizabeth. No sackcloth robe, nor ashen-sprinkled hair, Nor wasting fast, nor scourge, nor vigil long Marred her calm presence. God had made her fair, And she could do His goodly work no wrong. Their yoke is easy and their burden light Whose sole confessor is the Christ of God; Her quiet trust and faith transcending sight Smoothed to her feet the difficult paths she trod. And there she walked, as duty bade her go, Safe and unsullied as a cloistered nun, Shamed with her plainness Fashions gaudy show, And overcame the world she did not shun. In Earlhams bowers, in Plashets liberal hall, Ia the great citys restless crowd and din, Her ear was open to the Masters call, And knew the summons of His voice within. 24 Childhood in Mediceval Art. [July, Tender as mother, beautiful as wife, Amidst the throngs of prisoned crime she stood, In modest raiment faultless as her life, The type of Englands worthiest womanhood! To melt the hearts that harshness turned to stone The sweet persuasion of her lips sufficed, And guilt, which only hate and fear had known, Saw in her own the pitying love of Christ. So wheresoeer the guiding Spirit went She followed, finding every prison cell It opened for her sacred as a tent Pitched by Gennesaret or by Jacobs well. And Pride and Fashion felt her strong appeal, And priest and ruler marvelled as they saw How hand in hand went wisdom with her zeal, And womans pity kept the bounds of law. She rests in Gods peace; but her memory stirs The air of earth as with an angels wings, And warms and moves the hearts of men like hers, The sainted daughter of Hungarian kings! United now, the Briton and the Hun, Each, in her own time, faithful unto death, Live sister souls! in name and spirit one, Thuringias saint and our Elizabeth! John Greenleaf Whittier. CHILDHOOD IN MEDIAWAL ART. THE power of Christianity lies in its prophecy of universality, and the most significant note of this power is in its comprehension of the poor and the weak, not merely as the objects of a benedic- tion proceeding from some external so- ciety, but as themselves constituent members of that society, sharing in all its rights and fulfilling its functions. When the last great prophet of Israel and forerunner of Judaic Christianity sent to inquire what evidence Jesus of Nazareth could give that he was the Christ, the answer which came back had the conclusive words, To the poor the gospel is preached. The same Jesus, when he would give his immedi- ate followers the completest type of the kingdom which was to prevail through- out the world, took a child, and set him in the midst of them. There is no hard~ ly gained position in the development of human society which may not find its genetic idea in some word or act of the Son of Man, and the proem to the great song of an expectant democracy is in the brief hour of the first Christian so- ciety, which held all things in common.

Horace E. Scudder Scudder, Horace E. Childhood in Mediaeval Art 24-31

24 Childhood in Mediceval Art. [July, Tender as mother, beautiful as wife, Amidst the throngs of prisoned crime she stood, In modest raiment faultless as her life, The type of Englands worthiest womanhood! To melt the hearts that harshness turned to stone The sweet persuasion of her lips sufficed, And guilt, which only hate and fear had known, Saw in her own the pitying love of Christ. So wheresoeer the guiding Spirit went She followed, finding every prison cell It opened for her sacred as a tent Pitched by Gennesaret or by Jacobs well. And Pride and Fashion felt her strong appeal, And priest and ruler marvelled as they saw How hand in hand went wisdom with her zeal, And womans pity kept the bounds of law. She rests in Gods peace; but her memory stirs The air of earth as with an angels wings, And warms and moves the hearts of men like hers, The sainted daughter of Hungarian kings! United now, the Briton and the Hun, Each, in her own time, faithful unto death, Live sister souls! in name and spirit one, Thuringias saint and our Elizabeth! John Greenleaf Whittier. CHILDHOOD IN MEDIAWAL ART. THE power of Christianity lies in its prophecy of universality, and the most significant note of this power is in its comprehension of the poor and the weak, not merely as the objects of a benedic- tion proceeding from some external so- ciety, but as themselves constituent members of that society, sharing in all its rights and fulfilling its functions. When the last great prophet of Israel and forerunner of Judaic Christianity sent to inquire what evidence Jesus of Nazareth could give that he was the Christ, the answer which came back had the conclusive words, To the poor the gospel is preached. The same Jesus, when he would give his immedi- ate followers the completest type of the kingdom which was to prevail through- out the world, took a child, and set him in the midst of them. There is no hard~ ly gained position in the development of human society which may not find its genetic idea in some word or act of the Son of Man, and the proem to the great song of an expectant democracy is in the brief hour of the first Christian so- ciety, which held all things in common. 1885.] Childhood in .lllediceval Art. 25 The sketch of a regenerated human society, contained in the New Testa- ment, has been long in filling out, and the day which the first generation of Christians thought so near at hand has thus far had only a succession of pro- leptic appearances; but from the first the note of the power of Christianity, which lies in the recognition of poverty and weakness, has never been wanting, and has been most loudly struck in the great epochs of Christian revival. In the struggle after purity of associated life, which had its witness in the orders of the church, poverty was accepted as a necessary condition, and the construc- tive genius of the human mind, dealing with the realities of Christian faith, rose to its highest point in presenting, not the maturity, but the infancy of Jesus Christ. Each age offers its contribution to the perfection of the Christian ideal, and while, in the centuries lying on either side of the Renaissance, the church as an ecclesiastical system was enforcing the dogma of mediatorial sacrifice as something outside of humanity, the spirit of God, in the person of great painters, was drawing the thoughts of men to the redemption of the world, which lies in the most sacred of human relations. The great efflorescence of art, which we recognize as the gift of these centuries, has left as its most distinctive memorial the type of Christianity ex- pressed in the Madonna. I. In the Holy Family the child is the essential figure. In the earliest exam- ples of the mother and child, both Mary and Jesus are conceived as symbols of religions faith, and the attitude of the child is unchildlike, being that of a dis- penser of blessings with uplifted hand. The group is not distinctly of the mother and child, but of the Virgin and the Sa- viour, the Saviour being represented as a child in order to indicate the ground of the adoration paid to the Virgin. They stand before one as possessed of codrdinate dignity. It is a curious and suggestive fact that the Byzantine type of the Madoni~a, which rarely departed much from this symbolic treatment, has continued to be the preference of those whose conceptions of the religious life are most closely identified with a re- mote sacramentar& nism. The Italian lemonade-seller has a Byzantine Madon- na in his booth; the Belgian churches abound in so-called sacred pictures; the Russian merchant salutes an icon of the same type; and the ritualistic enthusiast of the Anglican revival modifies his a~sthetic views by his religious sympa- thy, and stops short in his admiration with Cimabue and Giotto. In the development of the Madonna from its first form as a rigid symbol to its latest as a realistic representation of motherhood, we are aware of a change in the minds of the people who worship before the altars where the pictures are placed, and in the minds of the painters who produce the almost endless varia- tions on this theme. The worshiper, dis- possessed of a belief in the fatherhood of God, came to take refuge in the mother- hood of Mary. Formally taught the wrath of God, he found in the familiar relation of mother and child the most complete type vouchsafed to him of that love which the church by many infor- mal ways bade him believe lay some- where in the divine life. Be this as it may, the treatment of the subject in a domestic and historical form followed the treatment in a relig- ious and ecclesiological mode. In the earlier representations of the Madonna there was a twofold thought exhibited. The mother was the queen of heaven, and she derived her dignity from the child on her knee. Hence she is some- times shown adoring the child, and the child looks up into the mothers face with his finger on his lip, expressive of 26 Childhood in lllediceval Art. the utterance, I am the Word. This adoration of the child by the mother was, however, but a transient phase: the increasing worship paid to the Vir- gin forbade that she should be so sub- ordinated; and in the gradual expan- sion of the theme, by which saints and martyrs and angels were grouped in at- tendant ministry, more and more impor- tance was attached to the person of the Virgin. The child looks up in wonder and affectionate admiration. He caresses her, and offers her a childs love mingled with a divine beings calm self-content. For throughout the whole period of the religious presentation of the Ma- donna, even when the Madonna herself is conspicuously the occasion of the pic- ture, we may observe the influence of the child, an influence sometimes subtle, sometimes open and manifest. It is not enough to say that this child is Jesus, as it is not enough to say that the mother is the Virgin Mary. The divine child is the sign of an ever-present childhood in humanity; the divine mother the sign of a love which the religion of Chris- tianity never wholly forgot. The com- mon imagination was perpetually seek- ing to relieve Mary and Jesus of all attributes which interfered with the cen- tral and inhering relation of mother and child: through this type of love the mind apprehended the gospel of Chris- tianity as in no other way. Indeed, this apotheosis of childhood and maternity is at the core of the re- ligion of hope which was inclosed in the husk of meditnval Christianity, and it was made the theme of many variations. Before it had ceased to be a symbol of worship, it was offering a nucleus for the expression of a more varied human hope and interest. The Holy Family in the bands of painters and sculptors, and the humbler class of designers which sprang into notice with the in- troduction of printing and engraving, becomes more and more emblematic of a pure and happy domestic group. Joseph is more frequently introduced, and John Baptist appears as a playmate of the child Jesus; sometimes they are seen walking in companionship. Cer- tain incidents in later life are symbol- ically prefigured in the realistic treat- ment of homely scenes, as in the Ma- donna by Giulio Romano, where the child stands in a basin, while the young S. John pours water upon him, Mary washes him, S. Elizabeth stands by hold- ing a towel, and S. Joseph watches the. scene, an evident prefigurement of the baptism in the Jordan. Or again, Mary, seated, holds the infant Christ be- tween her knees; Elizabeth leans over the back of the chair; Joseph rests on his staff behind the Virgin; the little S. John and an angel present grapes, while four other angels are gathering and bring- ing them. By such a scene Ippolito An- dreasi would remind people that Jesus is the true vine. II. The recognition of childhood as the heart of the family is disQoverable even more emphatically in the art of the northern people, among whom domestic life always had greater respect. It may seem a trivial reason, but I suspect na- ture holds the family more closely to- gether in cold countries, which compel much indoor and firesid~ life, than in lands which tempt to vagrancy. At any rate, the fact remains that the Ger- manic peoples have been home-cultivat- ing. It did not need the Roman Taci- tus to find this out, but his testimony helps us to believe that the disposition was a radical one, which Christianity reinforced rather than implanted. Lord Lindsay makes the pregnant observa- tion, Our Saviours benediction of the little children as a subject [is] from first to last Teutonic, I scarcely recol- lect a single Italian instance of it ; 1 1 Sketches of the History of Christian Art, iii. 270. 1885.] Childhood in .Miediceval Art. 27 and in the revival of religious art, at which Overbeck and Cornelius assisted, this and similar subjects, by their fre- quency, mark a differentiation from art south of the Alps, whose traditions, nevertheless, the German school was consciously following. Although of a period subsequent to the Renaissance, an excellent illustra- tion of the religious representation of the childhood of Jesus in northern art is contained in a series of twelve prints executed in the Netherlands, and de- scribed in detail by Mrs. Jameson. The series is entitled The Infancy of our Lord God and Saviour Jesus Christ, and the title-page is surrounded by a border composed of musical instruments, spinning-wheels, distaffs, and other im- plements of female industry, intermixed with all kinds of masons and carpen- ters tools. In the first of the prints, the figure of Christ is seen in a glory, surrounded by cherubim. In the sec- ond, the Virgin is seated on the hill of Sion; the infant in her lap, with out- spread arms, looks up to a choir of an- gels, and is singing with them. In the third, Jesus slumbering in his cradle is rocked by two angels, while Mary sits by, engaged in needlework. The fourth shows the interior of a carpen- ters shop: Joseph is plying his work, while Joachim stands near him; the Virgin is measuring linen, and S. Anna looks on; two angels are at play with the infant Christ, who is blowing soap- bubbles. In the fifth picture, Mary pre- pares the family meal, while Joseph is in the background chopping wood; more in front, Jesus sweeps together the chips, and two angels gather them. In the sixth, Mary is seen reeling off a skein of thread; Joseph is squaring a plank; Jesus is picking up chips, again assisted by two angels. The seventh shows Mary seated at her spinning-wheel; Joseph, aided by Jesus, is sawing through a large beam, the two angels standing by. The 1 Legends of the Madonna, Part III. eighth is somewhat similar: Mary holds her distaff, while Joseph saws a beam on which Jesus stands, and the two angels help in the work. In the ninth print, Joseph is busy building the frame-work of a house, assisted by one of the an- gels; Jesus is boring with a large gim- let, the other angel helping him; and Mary winds thread. In the next, Jo- seph is at work roofing the house; Jesus, in company with the angels, carries a beam up the ladder; while below, in front, Mary is carding wool or flax. The eleventh transfers the work, with an apparent adaptation to Holland, to the building of a boat, where Joseph is helped by Jesus, who holds a hammer and chisel, still attended by the angels; the Virgin is knitting a stocking, and the newly built house is seen in the background. In the last of the series, Joseph is erecting a fence round a. gar- den; Jesus, with the help of the angels, is fastening the pahings together; while Mary is weaving garlands of roses. Here is a reproduction of the child- hood of the Saviour in the terms of a homely Netherland family life, the nat- uralistic treatment diversified by the use of angelic machinery. The prints were a part of the apparatus used by the priests in educating the people. However such instruction may have fal- len short of the highest truths of Chris- tianity, its recognition of the simple du- ties of life and its enforcement of these by the example of the Son of Man make us slow to regard such interposi- tion of the church as remote from the spirit of Christ. If, as is quite possi- ble, these prints were employed by the Jesuits, then their significance becomes doubly noticeable. In that vigorous at- tempt by Loyola and his order to main- tain an organic Christian unity against the apparent disruption of Christianity, such a mode as this would find a place as serving to emphasize that connection between the church and the family which the Jesuits instinctively felt to 28 Childhood in Mediceval Art. [July, be essential to the supremacy of the former. Whatever light the treatment of the Madonna subject may throw upon the ages in which it is uppermost in mens thoughts, the common judgment is sound which looks for the most significance in the works of Raphael. Even those who turn severely away from him, and seek for purer art in his predecessors, must needs use his name as one of epochal consequence. So many forces of the age meet in Raphael, who was pecu- liarly open to influences, that no other painter can so well be chosen as an exponent of the idea of the time; and as one passes in review the successive Madonnas, one may not only detect the influence of Perugino, of Leonardo, of Michelangelo, and other masters, but may see the ripening of a mind, upon which fell the spirit of the age, busy with other things than painting. Of the early Madonnas of Raphael, it is noticeable how many present the Virgin engaged in reading a book, while the child is occupied in other ways, sometimes even seeking to interrupt the mother and disengage her attention. Thus in one in the Berlin museum, which is formal, though unaffected, Mary reads a book, while the child plays with a goldfinch; in the Madon- na in the Casa Connestabile, at Perugia, the child plays with the leaves of the book; in the Madonna del Cardellino, the little S. John presents a goldfinch to Jesus, and the mother looks away from her book to observe the children; in that at Berlin, which is from the Casa Colonna, the child is held on the mothers knee in a somewhat struggling attitude, and has his left hand upon the top of her dress, near her neck, his right upon her shoulder, while the mother, with a look of maternal tenderness, holds the book aside. In the middle period of Raphaels work this motive appears once at least in the St. Peters- burg Madonna, which is a quiet land- scape-scene, where the child is in the Madonnas lap: she holds a book, which she has just been reading; the little S. John kneels before his divine companion with infantine grace, and offers him a cross, which he receives with a look of tender love; the Madonnas eyes are di- rected to the prophetic play of the chil- dren with a deep, earnest expression. The use of the book is presumably to denote the Madonnas piety; and in the earlier pictures she is not only the ob- ject of adoration to the worshiper, who sees her in her earthly form, yet endowed with sinless grace, but the object also of interest to the child, who sees in her the mother. This reciprocal relation of mother and child is sometimes expressed with great force, as in the Madonna della Casa Tempi, in the Pinacothek at Munich, where the Virgin, who is stand- ing, tenderly presses the childs head against her face, while he appears to whisper words of endearment. In these and other of the earlier Madonnas of Raphael, there is an enthusiasm and a dreamy sentiment which seems to seek expression chiefly through the repre- sentation of holy womanhood, the child being a part of the interpretation of the mother. The mystic solemnity of the subject is relieved by a lightness of touch, which was the irrepressible as- sertion of a strong human feeling. Later, in what is called his middle period, a cheerfulness and happy con- templation of life pervade Raphaels work, as in the Bridgewater Madonna, where the child, stretched in the mothers lap, looks up with a graceful and lively action, and fixes his eyes upon her in deep thought, while she looks back with maternal, reverent joy. The Madonna of the Chair illustrates the same general sentiment, where the mother appears as a beautiful and blooming woman, look- ing out of the picture in the tranquil 1885.] Childhood in Mediceval Art. 29 enjoyment of motherly love; the child, full and strong in form, leans upon her bosom in a childs careless attitude, the picture of trust and content. The works of Raphaels third period, and those executed by his pupils in a spirit and with a touch which leave them sometimes hardly distinguishable from the masters, show a profounder penetration of life, and at the same time a firmer, more reasonable appre- hension of the divinity which lies in- closed in the subject. Mary is now something more than a young mans dream of virginal purity and maternal tenderness, she is also the blessed among women; the infant Christ is not only the innocent, playful child, but the prophetic soul, conscious of his divinity and his destiny. These characteristics pervade both the treatment which re- gards them as historic personages and that which invests them with adorable attributes as having their throne in heaven. The Holy Family is inter- preted in a large, serious, and dignified manner, and in the exalted, worshiped Madonna there is a like vision of things eternal seen through the human form. To illustrate this an example may be taken of each class. The Madonna del Passeglo, in the Bridgewater gallery, is a well-known composition, which repre- sents the Madonna and child walking through a field; Joseph is in advance, and has turned to look for the others. They have been stopped by the infant S. John Baptist, clad in a rough skin, who presses eagerly forward to kiss Jesus. The mother places a restraining hand upon the shoulders of S. John, and half withdraws the child Jesus from his em- brace. A classic gr~e marks Jesus, wlZo looks steadfastly into the eyes of the impassioned John. The three figures in the principal group are conceived in a noble manner: S. John, prophesying in his face the discovery of the Lamb of God; Mary, looking down with a sweet gravity which marks the holy children, and would separate Jesus as something more than human from too close fellow- ship with John; Jesus himself, a picture of glorious childhood, with a far-reach- ing look in his eye, as he gently thrusts back the mother with one hand, and with the other lays hold of the cross which John bears. - On the other hand, an example of the treatment of the adorable Madonna is that of San Sisto, in the Dresden gallery. It is not necessary to dwell on the de- tails of a picture which rises at once to every ones mind. The circumstance of innumerable angels heads, of the at- tendant S. Sixtus and S. Barbara, the sweep of cloud and drapery, the sugges- tion of depths below and of heights above, of heaven itself listening at the Madonnas feet, all these translate the mother and babe with ineffable sweet- ness and dignity into a heavenly place, and make them the centre of the spirit- ual universe. Yet in all this Raphael has rested his art in no elaborate use of celestial machinery. He has taken the simple, elemental relation, and invested it with its eternal properties. He gives not a supernatural and transcendent mother and child, but a glorified hu- inanity. Therefore it is that this picture, and with it the other great Madonnas of Raphael, may be taken entirely away from altar and sanctuary, and placed in the shrine of the household. The uni- versality of the appeal is seen in the unhesitating adoption of the Sistine Ma- donna as an expression of religious art by those who are even antagonistic to the church which called it forth. Iv. The concentration of Raphaels genius to so large an extent upon the subject of the Madonna was not a mere accident of the time, nor, when classic forms were renewing their power, was it a solecism. The spirit of the Renaissance 30 Ckildhoocl in Miediceval Art. [July, entered profoundly into Raphaels work, and determined powerfully the direction which it took. When he was engaged upon purely classic themes, it is interest- ing to see how frequently he turned to the forms of children. His decorative work is rich with the suggestion which they bring. One may observe the grace- ful figures issuing from the midst of flower and leaf; above all, one may note how repeatedly he presents the myth of Amor, and recurs to the Amorini, types of childhood under a purely naturalistic conception. The child Jesus and the child Amor appear side by side in the creations of Raphaels genius. In the great Renais- sance, of which he was so consummate an exponent, the ancient classic world and the Christian met in these two types of childhood: the one a childhood of the air, unmixed with good or evil; the other a childhood of heaven and earth, pro- leptic of earthly conflict, proleptic also of heavenly triumph. The coincidence is not of chance. The new world into which men were looking was not, as some thought, to he in the submersion of Christianity and a return to Pagan- ism, nor, as others, in a stern asceticism, which should render Christianity an ex- clusive church, standing aloof from the world as from a thing wholly evil. There was to be room for truth and love to dwell together, and the symbol of this union was the child. Raphaels Christ child drew into its features a classic loveliness; his Amor took on a Christ- like purity and truthfulness. Leslie, in his Handbook for Young Painters, makes a very sensible reflec- tion upon Raphaels children, as distin- guished from the unchildlike children of Francia, for example. A fault of many painters, he says, in their rep- resentations of childhood is, that they make it taking an interest in what can only concern more advanced periods of life. But Raphaels children, unless the subject requires it should be otherwise, are as we see them generally in nature, wholly unconcerned with the incidents that occupy the attention of their elders. Thus the boy, in the cartoon of the Beautiful Gate, pulls the girdle of his grandfather, who is entirely absorbed in what S. Peter is saying to the cripple. The child, impatient of delay, wants the old man to move on. In the Sacrifice at Lystra, also, the two beautiful boys placed at the altar, to officiate at the ceremony, are too young to comprehend the meaning of what is going on about them. One is engrossed with the pipes on which he is playing, and the atten- tion of the other is attracted by a ram brought for sacrifice. The quiet sim~ plicity of these sweet children has an indescribably charming effect in this picture, where every other figure is un- der the influence of an excitement they alone do not partake in. Children, in the works of inferior painters, are often nothing else than little actors; but what I have noticed of Raphaels children is true, in many instances, of the children in the pictures of Rembrandt, Jan Steen, Hogarth, and other great painters, who, like Raphael, looked to nature for their incidents. There was one artist of this time who looked to nature not merely for the incidents of childhood, but for the soul of childhood itself. It is impossible to regard the work of Luca della Rob- bia, especially in that ware which re- ceives his name, without perceiving that here was a man who saw children and rejoiced in their young lives with a sim- ple, ingenuous delight. The very spirit which led this artist to seek for expres- sion in homely forms of material, to domesticate art, as~ it were, was one which would make him quick to seize upon, not the incidents alone, but the graces, of childhood. Nor is it straining a point to say that the purity of his color was one with the purity of this sympathy with childhood. The Renais- sance as a witness to a new occupation 1885.] The Prophet of the Ureat Smoldil Mountains. 31 of the world by humanity finds its finest expression in the hope which springs in the lovely figures of Luca della Robbia. It is significant of this Renaissance it is significant, I think we shall find, of every great new birth in the world that it turns its face toward childhood, and looks into that image for the profound- est realization of its hopes and dreams. In the attitude of men toward childhood we may discover the near or far realiza- tion of that supreme hope and confidence with which the great head of the human family saw, in the vision of a child, the new heaven and the new earth. It was when his disciples were reasoning among themselves which of them should be the greatest that Jesus took a child, and set him by him, and said unto them, Who soever shall receive this child in my name receiveth me. The reception of the Christ by men, from that day to this, has been marked by successive throes of humanity, and in each great movement there has been a new apprehension of childhood, a new recognition of the meaning involved in the pregnant words of the Saviour. Such a recognition lies in the children of Raphael and of Luca della Robbia. There may have been no express intimation on their part of the connection between their works and the great prophecy, but it is often for later generations to read more clearly the presence of a thought by means of light thrown back upon it. The course of Christianity since the Renaissance sup- plies such a light. Horace B. Scudder. THE PROPHET OF THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS. XIII. THERE came a chanoe in the weather. A vagueness fell upon the landscape. The farthest mountains receded into in- visibility, and the horizon was marked by an outline of summits hitherto famil- iar in the middle distance. The sun- shine was languid, slumberous. A haze clothed the air in a splendid visible garb of translucent, gold-tinted folds, and trail- ing across the dim blue of the ranges invested them with many a dreamy illu- sion. Athwart the sky were long sweeps of fibrous white clouds presaging rain. Since dawn they were thickening; silent in the intense stillness of the noontide, they gathered and overspread the heav- ens and quenched the sun, and bereaved the vapors hanging in the ravines of all the poetic glamours of reflection. A rain- crow was huskily cawing on the trough by the roadside where he had perched. Dorinda heard the guttural note, and went out to gather up the fruit spread to dry on boards that were stretched from stone to stone. Dark clouds were rolling up from the west. She paused to see them submerge Chilhowee, its outline stark and hard beneath their turbulent whirl; toward the south their heavy folds broke into sudden commo- tion, and they were torn into fringes as the rain began to fall. The mist fol- lowed and isolated the Great Smoky from all the rest of the world. And now the little house was as lone- ly as the ark on Ararat. The mists possessed the universe. They filled the forests and lay upon the corn and hid the gyarden-spot, and came skulking about the porch, peering through the vines in a ghostly fashion. Presently they sifted through, and whenever the door was opened it showed them lurk- ing there as if wistfully waiting or with some half humanized curiosity. Night stole on, and the ruddy flare of the fire

Charles Egbert Craddock Craddock, Charles Egbert The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains 31-44

1885.] The Prophet of the Ureat Smoldil Mountains. 31 of the world by humanity finds its finest expression in the hope which springs in the lovely figures of Luca della Robbia. It is significant of this Renaissance it is significant, I think we shall find, of every great new birth in the world that it turns its face toward childhood, and looks into that image for the profound- est realization of its hopes and dreams. In the attitude of men toward childhood we may discover the near or far realiza- tion of that supreme hope and confidence with which the great head of the human family saw, in the vision of a child, the new heaven and the new earth. It was when his disciples were reasoning among themselves which of them should be the greatest that Jesus took a child, and set him by him, and said unto them, Who soever shall receive this child in my name receiveth me. The reception of the Christ by men, from that day to this, has been marked by successive throes of humanity, and in each great movement there has been a new apprehension of childhood, a new recognition of the meaning involved in the pregnant words of the Saviour. Such a recognition lies in the children of Raphael and of Luca della Robbia. There may have been no express intimation on their part of the connection between their works and the great prophecy, but it is often for later generations to read more clearly the presence of a thought by means of light thrown back upon it. The course of Christianity since the Renaissance sup- plies such a light. Horace B. Scudder. THE PROPHET OF THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS. XIII. THERE came a chanoe in the weather. A vagueness fell upon the landscape. The farthest mountains receded into in- visibility, and the horizon was marked by an outline of summits hitherto famil- iar in the middle distance. The sun- shine was languid, slumberous. A haze clothed the air in a splendid visible garb of translucent, gold-tinted folds, and trail- ing across the dim blue of the ranges invested them with many a dreamy illu- sion. Athwart the sky were long sweeps of fibrous white clouds presaging rain. Since dawn they were thickening; silent in the intense stillness of the noontide, they gathered and overspread the heav- ens and quenched the sun, and bereaved the vapors hanging in the ravines of all the poetic glamours of reflection. A rain- crow was huskily cawing on the trough by the roadside where he had perched. Dorinda heard the guttural note, and went out to gather up the fruit spread to dry on boards that were stretched from stone to stone. Dark clouds were rolling up from the west. She paused to see them submerge Chilhowee, its outline stark and hard beneath their turbulent whirl; toward the south their heavy folds broke into sudden commo- tion, and they were torn into fringes as the rain began to fall. The mist fol- lowed and isolated the Great Smoky from all the rest of the world. And now the little house was as lone- ly as the ark on Ararat. The mists possessed the universe. They filled the forests and lay upon the corn and hid the gyarden-spot, and came skulking about the porch, peering through the vines in a ghostly fashion. Presently they sifted through, and whenever the door was opened it showed them lurk- ing there as if wistfully waiting or with some half humanized curiosity. Night stole on, and the ruddy flare of the fire 32 The Prophet of the areat Smoky Mountains. had heightened suggestions of good cheer and comfort, because of these waifs of the rain arid the air shivering in chilly guise about the door. The men came to supper and all went again, except Pete. He was ailing, he declared, and betook himself to bed betimes. The house grew quiet. The grandmother nodded over her knitting, with a limp falling of the lower jaw, occasional spasmodic gestures, and an absorbed, unfamiliar expression of countenance. Dorinda in her low chair sat in the glow of the fire. As it rose and fell it cast a warm light or a dreamy shadow on her delicately rounded cheek and her shin- ing eyes. One disheveled tress of her dense black hair fell over the red ker- chief twisted around her neck. Her blue homespun dress lay in lusterless folds about her. The shadowy and rude interior of the room the dark brown of the logs of the wall and the intervening yellow clay daubing; the great clumsy warping-bars; the pendent peltry and pop-corn and strings of red pepper swaying from the rafters; the puncheon floor gilded by the firelight; the deep yawning chimney with its heaps of ashes and its pulsating coals all formed in the rich colors and soft blending of detail an harmonious setting for her vivid, definite face, as she set- tled herself to work at her evening stent. Jier reel was before her the spokes, worn smooth and dark and glossy by age and use, reflected with polished lustre the glimmer of the fire. She had a broche in her hand, just taken from the spindle. For the lack of the more modern broche-holder she thrust a stick through the tunnel of the shuck on which the yarn was wound, placing the end of it, to hold it steady, in her low shoe; catching the thread be- tween her deft fingers she threw it with a fine free gesture across the periphery of the reel. And then the whirling spokes were only a rayonnant sugges- tion, so swiftly they sped round and round in the light of the fire, and a musical low whir broke forth. Now and then the reel ticked and told off an- other cut, and she would bend forward to tie the thread with a practiced, dex- trous hand. The downpour of the rain had a dreary, melancholy persistence, beating upon the roof and splashing from the eaves into the puddles beneath. At in- tervals a drop fell down the wide chim- ney and hissed upon the coals. Suddenly there was another splash, differing in its abrupt energy; a foot had slipped outside and groping hands were laid upon the wall. Dorinda sprang up with a white face and tense muscles. The old woman was suddenly bolt up- right in her corner, although not recog- nizino the b sound. Hurry long, Drindy, she said per- emptorily, you-uns aint goin ter reel a hank ef ye dont mosey. What ails the gal? she broke off, her attention attracted to her granddaughters changed expression. Thar s suthin out o doors, said Dorinda, in a tremulous whisper. I hearn em step whenst ye war asleep. I aint batted my eye this night, said her grandmother, with the force of conviction. I aint slep a wink. An ye never hearn nuthin. There was a bolder demonstration outside; a foot-fall sounded on the porch and a hand tried the latch. Massy on us! Raiders! shrieked the old woman, rising precipitately, her knitting falling from her lap, the ball of yarn rolling away and the kitten springing after it. Dorinda ran to the door perhaps to put up the bar. But with sudden courage she lifted the latch. Outside were the ghostly vapors, white and visi- ble in the light from within. She peered out doubtfully for a moment. A sudden rush of color surged into her face; she made a feint of closing the door and ran back to her work, looking over her 1885.] The Prophet of the Great Smoky Yliountain8. 33 shoulder with radiant eyes; she caught up the broche, sticking it deftly in her shoe, seated herself in her low chair, and with her light free gesture led the thread across the reel. Massy on us! shrilled the old wo- man aghast. Drindy, shet the door! Be ye a-lettin the lawless ones in on us! raiders an sech, scoutin roun in the forg an nobody hyar but Pete, ez could nt he waked up right handy with nuthin more wholesome n a bul- leta There was a mans figure in the door- way a slow, hesitating figure, and Rick Tyler, his face grave and dubious, embarrassed by the complicated effort to look at Dorinda and yet seem to ignore her, trod heavily in, and with a soft and circumspect manner closed the door. I kem over hyar, Mis Cayce, he remarked, ez I lowed mebhe the boys war at the still aii ye felt lonesome, hem ez it war rainin right smart, an he hesitated. Howdy, Rick howdy! she ex- claimed, cordially. lie had the benefit of her relief in finding the visitor not a raider. Jes sot yer bones down hyar by the fire. Airish out o doors, aint it? I in powerful glad ter see ye. Drindy aint much company when she air busy, an the weavin aint done yit. I lowed ez I mought resk comm up hyar wunst in a while now, he said, with a covert glance at Dorinda. I aint keerin much fur the new sherff, kase he air a town man, an dont know me; an the new constable, he lowed over yander ter the store ez he war a offcer o the law, an not a shootin mark fur folks ez war minded ter hide out; an Gid Fletcher hey been told ez he d hey others ter deal with ef he ondertook ter fool along arrestin me agin. So I hey got no call ter stay ez close in the bresh es I hey been, though I aint a-goin ter furgit these hyar consarns, nuther. VOL. LVI. NO. 333. 3 He glanced down at the glimmer of steel in his belt, where Dorinda recog- nized her fathers pistols. Bes be on the safe side, said the old woman approvingly, her nimble needles quivering in the light. But law! I useter know a man over yander on Chilhowee Mounting, whar I lived afore I war merried, an he hed killed fower men, though I blieve one em war a Injun, an he hed no call ter uggervate hissef with sherffs, nor shootin-irons, nuther. He walked round ez favored an free ez my old tur-r-key gobbler. Though some said he hed 1)ad drenms. But ez he war a hearty feeder they inought hey kem from the stummick stiddier the heart. The young man listened with a doubt- ful mien. He was throwm~ back at his ease in the splint-bottomed chair. One stalwart leg, the boot reaching over his trowsers to the knee, was stretched out to the fire; from the damp sole the steam was starting in the warm air. On his other knee one of the shooting irons in question rested; he held it lightly with one hand. The other hand was thrust into the belt that girded his brown jeans coat. His tawny yellow hair, the ends of a deeper tint, being wet hung to his coat collar. I-us hat, from the broad brim of which rain-drops were still trickling, was deposited beneath the chair, and the kitten was investigating it with a dainty, scornful white mitten. He bore the marks of his trials in his sharpened features; his face took on readily a lowering expression, and a touch of anger kindled the smouldering fire in his brown eyes. But I hey killed no man, he said, with emphasis. I hey hurt nobody. Ef I hed, t would nt be no more n I oughter do ter glong with the sherff an leave it ter men. But I aint done no harm. An I dont want ter stay in jail, an be tried, an kem ter jedgmint, an sech, an mebbe hey them buzzardy lawyers fix suthin on me ennyways. 34 The Prophet of the areat Smo1c~, Mountains. [July) All through this speech the old woman tried to interrupt. Laws-a-massy, Rick, she said at length; ye hey got mighty tetchy sence ye hey been hid out. I aint sayin nuthin agin you-uns; ez I knows on nor agin that man that lived on Chil- howee Mounting, nuther. I cant sot myself ter jedge o him. He war a perfessin member, an he hed a power- ful gift in quinn; useter raise the chune reglar at all the meetins ez fur back ez I kin remember. Her interest in the visit was impaired in some degree by this collision; she would have rejoiced to express her men- tal estimate of Rick as the headin-est critter in the kentry, but her hospita- ble instincts constrained her, and she nobly swallowed her vexation. His presence, however, hectored her, and she seized an excuse to absent herself presently, saying that she had to get her clean plaid coat to mend, hem ez when it last hung on the clothes-line that thar fresky young hound named Bose stood on his hind legs ter gnaw it, an actially chawed a piece outn it, an I hey ter put a wedge in it afore I kin wear it. She creaked away into the next room, and as the door shut he turned his eyes for the first time on Dorinda. The fire- light played on the reel, whirling in a lustrous circle before her, on the broche stuck in the rough little shoe, on her arm, uplifted in a graceful curve as she held the thread. Her brilliant eyes were grave and intent; her dense black hair and her dark blue dress heightened the fairness of her face, and the crim- son kerchief about her throat was hard- ly more vivid than the flush on her cheeks. The knowledge that her embarrass- ment was greater than his own made him bolder. They sat, however, some time in silence. Then, his heart waxing soft in ~the coveted domestic atmosphere and the contemplation of the picture be- fore him, he said, gently, They air all agin me, Drindy. She forgot herself instantly. She looked full at him with soft melancholy deprecation. They dont hender ye none, she said. You-uns dont sot no store by me nuther, these days, Drindy, he went on, with a thrill of elation in his heart belying the doubt and despair in his speech. The reel ticked and told off another cut. She leaned forward to tie the thread. She could not lift her eyelids now; still he saw the vivid sapphire iris, half eclipsed by the long black lash. He patted the pistol on his knee. Would ye be afeard, Drindy, ter marry a man ez would hey ter keep his life, and yourn, mebbe, with this pistol? Would ye be afeard ter live in his house along o him, a hunted critter, an set an sing in his door, when the muzzle of a rifle or the sherffs revolver mought peek through the rails of the fence? Would ye be afeard? He put the weapon slowly into his belt. Would ye be afeard? he reit- erated. The reel stopped. She turned her eyes, dilated with a splendid boldness, full upon him. How they flouted fear! Such audacity of courage seemed to him gallant in a man; in a woman, ex- pressing faith in his valiance, it was en- chanting. He lost his slow decorum. He caught the hand that held the thread. She could not withdraw it from that strong ecstatic clutch, and as she start- ed, protesting, to her feet, he rose too, overturning the reel; and the kitten made merry confusion in the methodical cuts. Drindy, he exclaimed, catching her in his arms, thar aint no need ter be afeared! Word kern up the mounting I got it from Steve Byers ez when Abednego Tynes war tried he plead guilty, an axed ter go on the 1885.] The Prophet of the Great Smo1c~y lJliountains. 35 stand an make a statement. An he told the truth at last at last! An he war sentenced, an the case war nolle prosequied agin me! An ye war nt afeard! Ye would hey married me an resked it. Ye war nt afeard ! She was tall, and her agitated up- turned face was close to his shoulder. He knew it was simply unpardonable, according to the rigid decorums of their code of manners, but the impetuosity of his joy overbore him, and he bent down and kissed her lips. Dorindas courage ! it was gone. She looked so frightened and amazed that he relaxed his clasp. Ye know, Drindy, he said apologetically, I m fairly outn my head with joy. She stood trembling, her hand pressed to her beating heart, her head whirling. And then, he never forgot it, of her own accord she laid her other hand on his breast. I always believed ye war good, good, good! And the wild winds whirled around the Great Smoky, and the world was given over to the clouds and the night, and the rain fell, and the drops splashed with a dreary sound down from the eaves of the house. They did not hear. How little they heeded. Within, all the atmosphere was suffused by that wonderful irradiation of love, and happiness, and hope that was confidence. The fire might flare if it listed. The shadows might flicker if they would. It seemed to them at the moment each would never see aught, care for aught, save what was expressed in the others eyes. The kitten had waxed riotous in the unprecedented opportunities of the reel, still lying with all its tangled yellow yarn upon the floor. As it sprang ti- gerishly in the air and fell, fixing its predatory claws in another cut, Dorinda looked down with a startled air. Granny 11 be axin mighty pinted how that thar spun-truck kem ter be twisted so, she said, crestfallen and prescient. It looks like a hurraWs nest. Tell her ez how t war the cat, suggested Rick. Dorinda shook her head dubiously. The cat could nt hey got it ef the reel hed nt been flunged on the floor. Let s wind it inter balls, then, suggested Rick, quick at expedients. She 11 never know it war tangled. Ill hold it fur ye. It was no great hardship for Rick. She lightly slipped the skeins over the wrists that had known sterner shackles. The task required her to sit near him; her face and head were bent toward him as she absorbed herself in the effort to find the end of the thread; sometimes she lifted her eyes and looked radiantly at him. Lie had not known how beau- tiful she was, because he saw her face more closely, he thought, not averted, nor coy, as always before, or was it embellished by that ineffable joy that filled her heart? Well for them both, perhaps, that those few moments were so happy, or is it well to remember a supreme felicity, for this is fleeting. Yellow yarn! she was winding threads of gold. How his pulses thrilled at the lightest flying touch of her fleet hands! He looked at her, into her eyes if he might, at her round crimson cheek, at her clearly cut chin, at the long lashes, at the black hair drawn back from her brow, where a curling tendril drooped over the temple. And he held the yarn all awry. It was no first class job, for this rea- son and her haste. What ails ye ter hustle long so, D~rindy? he asked at last. Ye aint so mighty afeard o yer granny. Naw, Dorinda admitted, but brother Pete, he be at home ter-night, an he air tolerble fractious ef he sees his chance, an I dont want him a-laffln at we-uns; kase I hey hearn him say ez when young folks gits ter windin 36 The Projket of the areat Smoky lJlountain8. [efuly, yarn tergether t aint fur love o the spun-truck, but jes fur one another. Rick laughed a little, slowly. Then growing grave, Ef ye 11 blieve me, Pete told the word yander ter the still ez Amos Jeemes a misable addled aig he be I lowed ter the men at the mill ez he blieved ez t war the Cayces ez rescued me, the day o the gaynder pullin, from the sherff. She paused, the bright thread in her motionless hand, her fire-lit face bent upon him. Amos Jeemes hed better be keerful how he tries ter fix it on we-uns! she cried, with the tense vibration of anger, tellin the mill an sech! I hey beam the boys low ez t war ten year in the pentiary fur rescuing a man from the sherff, ef it got fund out. Pete say cz how he jes laffed at him an named him a fool. Pete air ekal ter that, she returned, with some sarcasm. She was deftly winding the yarn once more, the fire showing a deeper thought- fulness upon her face. Its flicker gave the room a sense of motion; the fes- toons of scarlet pepper-pods, the long yellow and red strings of pop-corn, the peltry hanging from the rafters, ap- parently swayed as the light rose and fell; and the warping-bars, with their rainbow of spun-truck stretched from peg to peg, seemed to be dancing a clum- sy measure in the corner. The rocking- chair where granny was wont to sit was occupied now by a shadow, and now was visibly vacant. She looked up into his face with an absorbed unnoting eye. He was pierced by the knowledge that though she saw him, she was thinking of something else. Wont the Court let the pason go free now, sence they know ye done no crime? she asked. Naw. The pason air accused of a rescue, an whether the man he rescued air convicted or no it air jes the same ter the law ez agin him. The rescue air the thing he hey got ter answer fur. She dropped her hands in her lap and threw herself back in her chair. Ten year in prison I she ex- claimed. Her face was all the tenderest pity; her voice was full of yearning sympathy; she cast her eyes upward with a look that was reverence itself. How good he war! I spose he knowed ye never done no harm, an he war willin ter suffer stiddier you-uns. I never hearn o sech a man! Pears ter me them old prophets dont tech him! I never beam o tkem showin sech love o God an thar feller-man. He rescued ye jes fur that! Rick Tyler looked at her for a mo- ment with a kindling eye. He sprang to his feet, throwing the golden skein it was only yarn after all, a coarse yel- low yarn upon the floor. He strode across the ample rude hearth and leaned against the mantel-piece, which was as high as his head. The light fell upon his changed face, the weapons in his belt, his long tawny hair, the flashing fire in his eye. He raised his right hand with an importunate gesture. Drindy Cayce, ye air in love with that man! he said, in a low passionate voice and between his set teeth. I hey seen it afore long ago; but sence ye hey promised ter marry me, ef ye say his name agin, I 11 kill him I 11 shoot him through the heart dead dead do ye hear medead! She was shaken by the spectacle of his sudden anger, and she was angered in turn by his jealous rage. There was a dull aching in her heart in the voids left by the ebbing of her ecstatic hap- piness. This was too precious to lightly let go. She walked over to him and took hold of his right arm, although his hand was toying nervously with his pistol. Ye dont blieve no sech word, Rick, she said, deep down in yer heart, ye dont blieve it. An how kin 188& ] The Prophet of the areat Srno1c~~, Mountains. 37 ye grudge me from thinkin well o the man, an feelin frienly, oh, mighty frienly, wheu he will hey ter take ten year in the pentiary fur givin ye yer freedom? He rescued ye! An I 11 thank him an praise him fur it evy day I live. My love, ef ye call it love, will foller him fur that all through the prison, an the bolts an bars, an gyards. An yer pistols cant hoip it. He put her from him with a mechani- cal gesture and a perplexed brow. He 8at down in the chair he had occupied at first; his hat was still under it, one leg was stretched out to the fire, on the other knee his hand rested; he looked exactly as when he first came into the room, but she had a vague idea, as she stood opposite on the hearth, that it was long ago, so much had happened since. Drindy,he said, he never done it. The pason never rescued me. She stood staring at him in wide- eyed amaze. He was silent for a moment, and then he broke into a bitter laugh. I do declar, he said, it fairly tickles me ter hear o one man hem arrested fur rescuin me, an another set hem spected o the same thing, when not one of em in all the Big Smoky, not one, lifted a hand ter holp me. Whether the gallus or a life sentence, t war all the same ter them. Accusin yer dad an the boys at the still shucks! Old Ground. hog loant me a rifle, an ter hear him talk saaft sawder boutn it ter Amos Jeemes ye d hey thunk he war the au- thor o my salvation! An arrest the pason! he war a likely one ter rescue a-body ! too feard o Satan! An ef all they say air true boutn the word he spoke yander at the meetin fore they tuk him off, he hey got cornsiderble call ter be afeard o Satan. Naw, sir! he never rescued nuthin but the gaynder! Nobody holped me! Nobody on the Big Smoky held out a hand! I aint goin ter furgit it nuther! She stood looking intently at his face, with its caustic laugh upon it and his eyes full of bitterness. She knew that he secretly upbraided her as well as her people that they had made no move to save him from the clutches of the sheriff. She involuntarily turned her eyes to the gun-rack where the barrel of Old Betsy gleamed, and she remembered the mark it bore to commemorate the foregone conclusion of Micajah Greens death. For this she had held her hand. She felt humble and guilty, since she had acted in the interests of peace. And yet that shrewd sense, that true con- science, which coexisted with the ideal- istic tendencies of her nature, demanded how could she justify herself in asking the sacrifice of ten years of other mens liberty that her lover might escape the consequences of his own act; how could she dare to precipitate a collision with the sheriff, while their grievance was still fresh in their minds? Fortunately she did not lay this train of thought bare before Rick Tyler. Natures like his foster craft in the most pellucid candor. How d ye git away, Rick? she said instead. I wont tell ye, he replied rudely; it dont consarn ye ter know. Then suddenly softening, I take that back, Drindy. I aint goin ter furgit ez ye owned up ye war willin ter marry me an live all yer life along with a hunted man in a house that mought be fired over yer head enny time, or a rifle ball whiz in at the winder. I aint goin ter furgit that. Alas! he could not divine how he should remember it! He fixed his eyes on the fire, as if moodily recalling the scene. She noted that desperate hunted look in his face which it had not worn to-night. I war a-settin thar, he began ab- ruptly, my feet tied with ropes, and with handcuffs on, he held his hands together as if manacled; she shuddered a little, an I hearn the hurrahin an fuss outside whilst they was all a-rowin over the gaynder. An then I e 38 The Prophet of the areat Smoky Mountains. hearn a powerful commotion mongst the dogs, ez ef they hed started some sorter game or suthin. An the fust I knowed thar war a powerful scuttlin round the back o the blacksmiths shop, an a rab- bit squez in a hole twixt the lowes log an the groun, t warnt bigger n a gophers hole. An I never thunk nuth- in ceptin them boys outside would be mighty mad ef they knowed thar hounds lied run a rabbit same ez a deer. Dorinda had sunk into her chair; her hands trembled, her face was pale. An the curus part of it, he con- tinued, now in the full swing of narra- tive, war that the hounds would nt gin it up. They jes kep a-nosin an yap- pin roun that thar little hole. Thar sot the rabbit she minded me o my- sef, got in an could nt git out. Thar war nowbar else fur her ter sneak, though. She sot thar ez upright an trembly ez me; jes ez skeered, an jes about ez little chance. The only dif- fence twixt us wuz I bed a soul, an that did nt do me enny good, an the lack o it did nt do her enny harm; both o we - uns war more perticlar bout keepin a skin full o whole bones n ennything else. An then them nosin hounds began ter scratch an claw up dirt. Bless yer soul, Drindy, they hed a hole ez big ez that thar piggin, afore I thunk ennything boutn it. It makes me feel the cold shakes when I mem- bers ez I mought not hey thunk boutn it till t war too late. Lord! how slow them hounds seemed! though the rabbit she fund em fast enough, I reckon. Evy now an then she d hop along this way an that, an the hounds would git her scent agin an the way they d yap! The critter would hop along an look up at me, I never will furgit the look in the critters eyes ez she sot thar an waited fur the dogs. They war in a hurry an tolerble lively, I reckon, but peared ter me ez slow ez ef evy one war weighted with a block an chain. Waal, the hole got bigger an they yapped louder, an I got so weak waitin, an fearin somebody would hear em, an kem ter see bout what they bed got up fur game, an find that hole, I did nt know how I could bide it. The hole got big enough fur the hounds ter squeeze through, an here they kem bouncin in. They lept round the forge, an flopped up agin the door so, that ef thar bed nt beei all that fuss outside bout takin the gaynder down, somebody would hey been boun ter notice it. I hed ter wait fur the dogs ter ketch the rabbit an shake the life outn her fore I darst move a paig, they kep up sech a com- motion. An when they bed dragged the critters little carcass outside an got ter fightin over it, I got up. I jes could sheffie along a leetle bit; that eternally cussed scoundrel, Gid Fletcher he paused. It was beyond the power of language to express the deep damnation he desired for the blacksmith. His face grew scarlet, the tears started to his angry eyes. How he pitied himself, re- membering his hard straits and his cruel indignities! And how she pitied him! He caught his breath, and went on. That black-hearted devil bed tied my feet so close I could scacely hob- ble, an my hands an wrists bed all puffed an swelled up, whar the cords hed been t war the sherff ez gin me the handcuffs. Waal, I tuk steps bout two inches long till I got crost the shop ter the hole. Then I jes flopped down an croped through. I did nt stan up outside, though t war at the back o the shop an nobody could see me. Ye know the aidge o the bluff aint live feet from the shop; the cliffs ez sheer ez a wall, but thar s a ledge bout twenty feet down. It looked mighty narrer, an thar war nt no vines ter swing by; but I jes bed ter think o them devils on tother side the forge ter make me will- in ter resk it. Waal, thar war a clump o sassfras, ye know the bark s tough, near the aidge. I jes bruk one o the shoots ter the root an turned 1885.] The Prophet of the areat Smok~ .Ylountaine. 89 it down over the aidge o the bluff an swung on ter the e-end o it. Waal, it tore off in my hands, but I did nt fall more n a few feet, an lighted on the ledge. An I tossed the saplin away, an then I walked, steps boutn two inches long, ef that ez fur ez the ledge went, cornsiderble way from the Settlemint, an t war two or three hun- dred feet ter the bottom, whar I stopped. An thar war a niche thar whar I could sit an lay down, sorter. Thar I bided all night. I hearn em huntin, an it made me laff. I knowed they war nt a-goin ter find me, but I did nt know how I war a-goin ter git away from thar with them handcuffs on, an ropes roun my legs; they war knotted so ez I could nt reach em fur the irons. I waited all nex day, though I never hed nuthin ter eat but some jew-berries ez growed mongst the rocks thar. An the nex mornn, his eye dilated with triumph, the swellin o my wrists hed gone down, an I could draw my hands out n the handcuffs ez easy ez lyin. He held up his hands; they were small for his size, and bore little token of hard work; the wrists were supple. An then, he said, with brisk con- clusiveness, I jes ontied the ropes roun my feet an dumb up ter the top o the mounting by vines an sech, an struck inter the laurel, an never stopped a-travelin till I got ter Cayces still. He drew a long sigh, not unmixed with pleasure. He had a sense of achievement. It gave, perhaps, a cer- tain value to his harsh experience to recount his triumphs to so fair an audi- ence. He was looking at her with a dawning smile in his eyes, and she was silently looking at him. Suddenly she burst into sobs. Shucks, Drindy, it s all over an done now, he said, appropriating the soft sympathy of her tears. An I m so glad, Rick; so glad fur that. I d hey bartered my hope o heaven fur it, she sobbed. But I war thinkin that minit o0 the pason. They rested him in his pulpit, an they would nt gin him bail, an they kerried him way from the mountings, an jailed him, an he 11 go ter the pentiary, ten year mebbe, fur a crime ez he never done. Ye would nt let him do that ef ye could holp it, would ye, Rick? She looked up tearfully at him. His eyes gleamed; his nostrils were quiver- ing; every fibre in him responded to his anger. Ef I could, Drindy Cayce, I d hey that man chained in the lowest pits o hell fur all time ter kem, so ye mought never see his face agin. An ef I could, I d wipe his memry off n the face 0 the yearth, so ye mought never speak his name. Law, Rick, dont! protested the girl, aghast. I ye seen ye ez jealous o Amos Jeemes I dont keer that fur Amos Jeemes, he cried, snapping his fingers. I hey nt seen ye sit an cry over Amos Jeemes, an sech cattle, an say he war like a prophet. I thought ye war think- in bout me, an an he paused in mortification. Drindy, he said, suddenly calm, though his eye was excited and quickly glancing, did ye ax him ef he would do ennything fur me when I war in custdy? Naw, said Dorinda, nobody could do nuthin fur you-uns, kase they d hey ter resk tharsefs an run agin the law. But what I want ye ter do fur pason air fur jestice. Lie never done what he war accused of. An ye war along o Abednego Tynes, though innercent. Law, Rick, ef the murderer would say the word ter sot ye free, cant ye do ez much fur the pason, ez hey seen so much trouble aready? In the name o Gawd, Drindy, what air you-uns a-wantin me ter do? he asked, in sheer amazement. She mistook the question for relent- The Prophet of the areat Smo1c~y Miountains. ing. She caressed his coat sleeve as she stood beside him. All her beauty was overcast; her face was stained with weeping; tears dimmed her eyes, and her pathetic gesture of insistence seemed forlorn, lie looked down dubi- ously at her. What I want ye ter do, Rick, fur him, air right, an law, an jestice. No.. body could hey done that fur ye, cept Abednego Tynes. I want ye ter go ter pasons trial fur the rescue, an gin yer testimony, an tell the jedge an jury the tale ye hey tole me the truth an they 11 be obleeged ter acquit. He flung away in a tumult of rage. It was exhausting to witness how his frequent gusts of passion shook him. Drindy, he thundered, ye want me ter gin mysef up fur the pason; ye dont keer nuthin fur me, so he gits back ter the Big Smoky an you-uns. I mought be arrested yit on the same indictment; the nolle prosequi dont hender, it jes dont set no day fur me ter be tried. An mebbe Steve Byers hey been foolin me some. Ye jes want ter trade me off ter the State fur the pason. Ye shant go! cried the girl. I didnt know that about the nolle prose- qui. Ye shant go! He was mollified for a moment. He noticed again how pale she was. Law, Drindy, lie said, ye fairly wear yer- sef out with yer tantrums. Why nt ye do like other folks; the pason never holped me none, an I aint got no call ter holp him. Ef ye war ter go afore the squnir an swear boutn the rescue an sech, an git him ter write it ter the Court fur the pason The constable o the deestric ez hangs roun thar at the jestices house mought be thar an arrest me, he said, speciously. The govnor haint with- drawn that reward yit, ez I knows on. Naw, she said, quickly, I 11 tanke the boys toll the constable down ter the still till ye git through. The jestice air lame, an aint able ter arrest ye, an I d be thar an gin ye the wink, ef thar war ennything oncommon enny- whar, or enny men aroun. He could hardly refuse. He could not affect fear. He hesitated. Ez long ez I thunk he hed rescued ye, I did nt hey no call ter move. But now I know how t war, I d fairly die ef he war lef ter suffer in jail, knowin he hey done nuthin agin the law. Her lip quivered. The tears started to her eyes. The sight of them, shed for another mans sake, excited again the vigilant jealousy in his breast. I 11 do nuthin fur Hi Kelsey, he declared. Ef ye aint in love with him, ye would be ef he war ter git back ter the Big Smoky. He done nuthin fur me, an I hey no call ter do nuthin fur him. He looked furiously at her, holding her at arms length. Ye hey tole me ye love me, an I expec ye ter live up ter it. Ye hey promised ter marry me, an I claim ye fur my wife. Say that mans name another time, an I 11 kill him ef ever he gits in rifle range agin. I 11 kill him I I II kill him I his right hand was once m6re mechanically toy- ing with the pistol, while lie held her arm with the other, an I 11 kill you, too I He had gone too far; he had touched the dominant impulse of her nature. Her cheeks were flaring. Her courage blazed in her eyes. An I tell ye, Rick Tyler, that I am not afeard o ye! An ef ye let a man suffer fur a word ez ye kin say in safety, an an act ez ye kin do in ease, ye aint the Rick Tyler I knowed, ye air suthin else. I lowei ye war good, but mebbe I hey been cheated in ye, an ef I heir, I 11 gin ye up. I aint a-goin ter marry no man ez I cant look up ter, an say he air good! An ef ye II meet me a hour fore sundown, at the squairs house, ter-morrow evenin, I 11 40 [July, 1885.] The Prophet of the treat Smoky Mountains. 41 blieve in ye, an I 11 marry ye. An ef ye dont, I wont. She caught up his hat and gave it to him. Then she opened the door. The white mists stood shivering in the little porch. He turned and looked in angry dismay at her resolute face. But he did not say a word, though he knew her heart yearned for it beneath her inflexi- ble mask. He walked slowly out, and the door closed upon him, and upon the shivering white mists. He paused for a moment, hesitating. He heard noth- ing within not even her retreating step. He knew as well as if he had seen her that she was leaning against the door, silently sobbing her heart out. Drindy needs a lesson, he said, sternly. And so he went out into the night. XIV. The rain ceased the next day, but the clouds did not vanish. Their folds, dense, opaque, impalpable, filled the vastness. The landscape was lost in their midst. The horizon had vanished. Distance was annihilated. Only a yard or so of the path was seen by Dorinda, as she plodded along through the white vagueness that had absorbed the famil- iar world. And yet for all essentials she saw quite enough; in her ignorant fashion she deduced the moral, that if the few immediate steps before the eye are taken aright, the long lengths of the future will bring you at last where you would wish to be. The reflection sus- tained her in some sort as she went. She was reluctant to acknowledge it even to herself; but she had a terrible fear that she had imposed a test that Rick would not endure. Ef he air so powerful jealous ez that, ter not holp another man a leetle bit, when he knows it cant hurt him none, he air jes selfish, an nuthin shorter. She paused for a moment, looking about her mechanically. The few black- berry-bushes, almost leafless, stretching out on either hand, were indistinct in the mist, and against the dense vapor they had the meagre effect of a hasty sketch on a white paper. The trees overhung her, she knew, in the invisible heights above; she heard the moisture dripping monotonously from their leaves. It was a dreary sound as it invaded the solemn stillness of the air. An Im bonn ter try ter hoip him, ef I kin. I know too much, sence Rick spoke las night, ter let me set an fold my hands in peace. Pears like ter me ez that thar air all the diffence twixt humans an the beastis, ter holp one an~ other some. An ef a human wont, pears like ter me ez the Lord hey wasted a soul on that critter. Despite her logic she stood still; her blue eyes were surcharged with shadows as they were wistfully turned upward to the sad and sheeted day; her lips were grave and pathetic; her blue dress had gleams of moisture here and there, and a plaid woolen shawl, faded to the faint- est hues, was drawn over her dense black hair. She stood and hesitated. She thought of the man she loved, and she thought of the word he denied the man in prison. Poor Dorinda! to hold the scales of Justice nnb]inded. I dunno what ails me ter be feard he wont kem! she said, striving to re- assure herself; an ennyhow she remembered the few immediate steps be- fore her taken aright, and went along down the clouded curtained path that was itself an allegory of the future. The justices gate loomed up like fate, the poor little pahings to be the jour- neys end of hope or despair! A pig, without any appreciation of its subtler significance, had in his frequent wallow- ings at its base impaired in a measure its stability. He grunted at the sound of a footfall, as if to warn the new- comer that she might step on him. Do- rinda took heed of the imperative cau- tion, opened the gate gingerly, and it 42 The Prophet of the Great Smoky .lJfto~~rntains. only grazed his back. He grunted again, whether in meagre surly ap- proval, or reproof that she had come at all, was hardly to be discriminated in his gruff disaffected tone. She noticed that the locust leaves, first of all to show the changing sea- son, were yellow on the ground; a half denuded limb was visible in the haze. There were late red roses, widely a-bloom, by the doorstep of the justices house, a large double cabin of hewn logs, with a frame-inclosed passage be- tween the two rooms, which, but for the lack of light, might have served for an- other. There was glass in each of the two windows, for the justice was a man of some means for these parts; and she saw behind one of the tiny panes his bald polished head and his silver rimmed spectacles gleaming in animated curi- osity. He came limping, with the as- sistance of a heavy cane, to the door. Howdy, Drindy, he exclaimed, cheerfully, come in, child. What sort o weather is this! In abrupt digression he looked over her head into the blank vagueness of the world. But for the dim light, it might have sug- gested the empty inexpressiveness of the periods before the creation, when the earth was without form and void. It air tolerble airish in the fog, said Dorinda, finding her voice with difficulty. The room into which she was ushered seemed to her limited experience a handsome apartment. But somehow the passion of covetousness is an un- touched spring in the nature of these mountaineers. The idea of ownership did not enter into Dorindas mind as she gazed at the green plaster parrot that perched in state on the high mantel- piece. She was sensible of its merits as a feature of the domestic landscape at the jestices. house, precisely as the sight of the distant Chilbowee was com- pany in her lonely errands about the mountain. To be deprived of either [July, would be like a revulsion of nature. She did not grudge the justice his pos 0. session, nor did she desire it for her- self. She entertained a simple admira- tion for the image, and always looked to see it on its lofty perch when she first entered the room. There were several books piled beside it, which the justice valued more. There was, too, a little square looking-glass, in which one might behold a distortion of physiognomy. Above all hung a framed picture of General Washington crossing the Dela- ware. The mantelpiece was to the girl a museum of curiosities. A rag carpet covered the floor; there was a spinning- wheel in the corner; a bed, too, draped with a gay quilt, a mad disportment of red and yellow patchwork, which was supposed to represent the rising sun, and was considered a triumph of handi- craft. The justices seat was a splint- bottomed chair, which stood near a pine table where ink was always displayed of a pale green variety writing-paper, and a pile of books. The table had a drawer which it was difficult to open or shut, and now and then the squnir engaged in muscular wrestling with it. He sat down, with a sigh, and drew forth his red bandanna handkerchief from the pocket of his brown jeans coat, and polished the top of his head, and stared at Dorinda, much marveling as to her mission. She had not, in her piimitive experience, attained to the duplicity of a subterfuge; she declined the invitation to go into the opposite room, where his wife was busy cooking supper, by saying she was waiting for a man who had promised to meet her here to explain something to the justice. Is it a weddin, Drindy? exclaimed the old fellow, waggishly. T aint a weddin, said Dorinda, curtly. Ye air foolin me! he declared, with a jocose affectation of inspecting his attire. I hey got another coat I allus wears ter marry a couple, an ye 1885.] The Prophet of the great Smoky Mountains. 48 dont want ter gimme a chance ter spruce up, fur fear I 11 take the shine off n the groom. It s a weddin! Who is the happy man, Drindy? This jesting, as appropriate, accord- ing to rural etiquette, to a young and pretty woman as the compliments of the season, seemed a dreary sort of fun to Dorinda, so heavy had her presaging heart become. There was a trifle of sensibility in the old squire, perhaps in- duced by much meditation in his inac- tive indoor life, and he recognized some- thing appealing in the girls face and at- titude, as she sat in a low chair before the dull fire that served rather to annul the chilliness of the day than to diffuse a perceptible warmth. The shawl had dropped from her head and loosely en- circled her throat; her hand twisted its coarse fringes; she was always turning her face toward the window where only the pallid mists might be seen the pallid mists and a great glowing crimson rose, that, motionless, touched the pane with its velvet petals. The old justice for- bore his jokes, his dignities might serve him better. He entertained Dorinda by telling her how many times he had been elected to office. And he said he would nt count how many times he expected to be, for it was his firm per- suasion that when Gabriel blew that thar old horn o hisn. he d find the squair still a-settin in jedgment on the Big Smoky. He showed her his books, and told her how the folks at Nashville were constrained by the law of the State to send him one every time they made new laws. And she understood this as a special and personal compliment, and was duly impressed. Out-doors the still day was dying silently, like the gradual sinking from a comatose state, that is hardly life, to the death it simulates. How did the gathering darkness express itself in that void whiteness of the mists, still visibly white as ever! Night was sifting through them; the room was shadowy; yet still in the glow of the fire she be- held their pallid presence close against the window. And the red rose was shedding its petals ! down dropping, with the richness of summer spent in their fleeting beauty, their fragrance a memory, the place they had embellished, bereft. She did not reflect; she only felt. She saw the rose fade, the sad night steal on apace; the hour had passed, and she knew he would not come. She burst into sudden tears. The old man, whether it was in curi- osity or sympathy, had his questions jus- tified by her self-betrayal, and his craft easily drew the story from her simplicity. He got up suddenly, with an expression of keen interest. She followed his mo- tions dubiously, as he took from the mantelpiece a tallow dip in an old pew- ter candlestick, and with slow circum- spection lighted the sputtering wick. I want ter look up a pint o law, Driudy, he said, impressively. Ye jes set thar an I 11 let ye know drecly how the law stands. It seemed to Dorinda a long time that he sat with his book before him on the table, his spectacles gleaming in the light of the tallow dip, close at hand, his lips moving as he slowly read be- neath his breath, now and then clutch- ing his big red handkerchief, and polish- ing off the top of his round head and his wrinkled brow. Twice he was about to close the book. Twice he renewed his search. And now at last it was small comfort to Dorinda to know that the affidavit would not, in the justices opinion, have been competent testimony. He called it an ex parte statement, and said that unless IRick Tylers deposition were taken in the regular way, giving due notic~ to the attorney-general, it could not be admitted, and in almost all crim- inal cases witnesses, were compelled to testify vira voce. Small comfort to Do- rinda to know that the effort was worth- less from the beginning, and that on it 44 Bacckus. [July, she had staked and lost the dearest values of her life. As he read aloud the prosy, prolix sentences, they were annotated by her sobs. Dell-law! Dorindy, t warnt no good, nohow! he exclaimed, presently breaking off with an effort from his reading, for he relished the rotund ver- biage, the large freedom of legal dic- tion impressed him as a privilege, ac- customed as he was only to the simple phrasings of his simple neighbors He could not understand her disappoint- ment. Surely Rick Tylers defection could not matter, he argued, since the affidavit would have been worthless. She did not tell him more. All the world was changed to her. Nothing not her lover himself could ever make her see it as once it was. She declined the invitation to stay and eat supper, and soon was once more out in the pallid mist and the contending d~tsk. The scene that she had left was still vivid in her mind, and she looked back once at the lucent yellow square of the lighted window gleaming through the white vapors. The rose-bush showed across the lower panes, and she re- membered the melancholy fall of the flower. Alas, the roses all were dead! Charles Egbert Craddock. BACCHUS. LISTEN to the tawny thief, Hid behind the waxen leaf, Growling at his fairy host, Bidding her with angry boast Fill his cup with wine distilled From the dew the dawn has spilled: Stored away in golden casks Is the precious draught he asks. Who, who makes this mimic din In this mimic meadow inn, Sings in such a drowsy note, Wears a golden belted coat; Loiters in the dainty room Of this tavern of perfume; Dares to linger at the cup Till the yellow sun is up? Bacchus, t is, come back again To the busy haunts of men; Garlanded and gayly dressed, Bands of gold about his breast; Straying from his paradise, Having pinions angel-wise, Tis the honey-bee, who goes Reveling within a rose! Frank Dempster Sherman.

Frank Dempster Sherman Sherman, Frank Dempster Bacchus 44-45

44 Bacckus. [July, she had staked and lost the dearest values of her life. As he read aloud the prosy, prolix sentences, they were annotated by her sobs. Dell-law! Dorindy, t warnt no good, nohow! he exclaimed, presently breaking off with an effort from his reading, for he relished the rotund ver- biage, the large freedom of legal dic- tion impressed him as a privilege, ac- customed as he was only to the simple phrasings of his simple neighbors He could not understand her disappoint- ment. Surely Rick Tylers defection could not matter, he argued, since the affidavit would have been worthless. She did not tell him more. All the world was changed to her. Nothing not her lover himself could ever make her see it as once it was. She declined the invitation to stay and eat supper, and soon was once more out in the pallid mist and the contending d~tsk. The scene that she had left was still vivid in her mind, and she looked back once at the lucent yellow square of the lighted window gleaming through the white vapors. The rose-bush showed across the lower panes, and she re- membered the melancholy fall of the flower. Alas, the roses all were dead! Charles Egbert Craddock. BACCHUS. LISTEN to the tawny thief, Hid behind the waxen leaf, Growling at his fairy host, Bidding her with angry boast Fill his cup with wine distilled From the dew the dawn has spilled: Stored away in golden casks Is the precious draught he asks. Who, who makes this mimic din In this mimic meadow inn, Sings in such a drowsy note, Wears a golden belted coat; Loiters in the dainty room Of this tavern of perfume; Dares to linger at the cup Till the yellow sun is up? Bacchus, t is, come back again To the busy haunts of men; Garlanded and gayly dressed, Bands of gold about his breast; Straying from his paradise, Having pinions angel-wise, Tis the honey-bee, who goes Reveling within a rose! Frank Dempster Sherman. 1885.J A Mexican Vacation Week. 45 A MEXICAN VACATION WEEK. FOUR oclock in the afternoon of a mid-June day found me on the plat- form of the railway station at the little Mexican city of Ac~imbaro. The soft air had the kindly touch of the breath of the Bajfo, that great depression in the central tableland which stretches from Quer& aro and Morelia on the south to Lagos on the north, at a height of from five thousand to six thousand feet above the sea-level, giving beneath a tropic sun one of the gentlest climates that ever blessed the homes of men. At half-past six oclock that morning I had left the city of Mexico. At nine oclock I had passed a height of over ten thousand feet above the sea, and stood shivering in the vivid sunshine and keen air of Salazar, trying to warm myself with a cup of abominable coffee, while a dozen eager-eyed curs watched anx- iously for scraps of enchiladas and other pepp~ry viands, which no Northern ca- nine, I am sure, could have been per- suaded even to smell of. Since then the train had dropped impetuously through pine-embowered gorges down into the magnificent great basin of the Toluca Valley, a sea-like expanse of young corn. Leaving Toluca, the highest of the Mexican state capitals, with an alti- tude of something like 8600 feet, we had sped all the rest of the morning through a long valley trough filled with grazing herds. In midwinter, they said, the trains sometimes ploughed their way through snow which covered this valley to a depth of several inches. rhis trough diminished to a narrow cafion, which opened out into all the wide world, it seemed, as ~ve turned a corner and crept along a narrow shelf hewn for our track, halfway up the pre- cipitous rim of a realm of checkered cultivation, spreading amongst an en- campment of tent-like mountains. These mountains, which stood in social groups, their bases cut off by the lines of the land as it fell away in terraces to the northward into the Bajio, were dark- ly muffled in pine mantles or savagely naked with the desolation of eternal barrenness, though often a patchwork of the delicate green of young grain was thrown tenderly over their shoul- ders, skirts, and knees. The descents from terrace to terrace made our way turn and curve incessantly, and with the wide-spreading landscape below, re- vealed map-like for vast distances, we seemed to have a birds privilege of in- spection over the world. It had been a day of varied scenic interest, as in most railway trips in Mexico. We entered Ac~4mbaro beside the Lerma River, one of the most consider- able streams of Mexico. It had first greeted us where it takes its start to- wards the Pacific, a clear, strong brook near Salazar. In the Toluca Valley it was spread out into blue lagoons. Down here it was a tawny, rapid, and shallow stream, with a numerous escort of Ahua- huetes, or taxus trees, like those in the venerable grove of Chapultepec. Their great trunks were wading fearlessly mid- river, and gray mosses streamed down from their branches like the tattered banners of a veteran army. Ac~imbaro had been raised into some prominence as the junction for the Pa- cific division of the Mexican National, the great narrow-gauge railway, with the main line. rrhe railway station, a pine-board shanty, was something to flee from, and the sight of the narrow streets of the town, near by, was like release from a nightmare. Nearly all Mexican towns, so far as I have seen them, have features which give them distinct individuality. These proceed from their great diversity in site

Sylvester Baxter Baxter, Sylvester A Mexican Vacation Week 45-54

1885.J A Mexican Vacation Week. 45 A MEXICAN VACATION WEEK. FOUR oclock in the afternoon of a mid-June day found me on the plat- form of the railway station at the little Mexican city of Ac~imbaro. The soft air had the kindly touch of the breath of the Bajfo, that great depression in the central tableland which stretches from Quer& aro and Morelia on the south to Lagos on the north, at a height of from five thousand to six thousand feet above the sea-level, giving beneath a tropic sun one of the gentlest climates that ever blessed the homes of men. At half-past six oclock that morning I had left the city of Mexico. At nine oclock I had passed a height of over ten thousand feet above the sea, and stood shivering in the vivid sunshine and keen air of Salazar, trying to warm myself with a cup of abominable coffee, while a dozen eager-eyed curs watched anx- iously for scraps of enchiladas and other pepp~ry viands, which no Northern ca- nine, I am sure, could have been per- suaded even to smell of. Since then the train had dropped impetuously through pine-embowered gorges down into the magnificent great basin of the Toluca Valley, a sea-like expanse of young corn. Leaving Toluca, the highest of the Mexican state capitals, with an alti- tude of something like 8600 feet, we had sped all the rest of the morning through a long valley trough filled with grazing herds. In midwinter, they said, the trains sometimes ploughed their way through snow which covered this valley to a depth of several inches. rhis trough diminished to a narrow cafion, which opened out into all the wide world, it seemed, as ~ve turned a corner and crept along a narrow shelf hewn for our track, halfway up the pre- cipitous rim of a realm of checkered cultivation, spreading amongst an en- campment of tent-like mountains. These mountains, which stood in social groups, their bases cut off by the lines of the land as it fell away in terraces to the northward into the Bajio, were dark- ly muffled in pine mantles or savagely naked with the desolation of eternal barrenness, though often a patchwork of the delicate green of young grain was thrown tenderly over their shoul- ders, skirts, and knees. The descents from terrace to terrace made our way turn and curve incessantly, and with the wide-spreading landscape below, re- vealed map-like for vast distances, we seemed to have a birds privilege of in- spection over the world. It had been a day of varied scenic interest, as in most railway trips in Mexico. We entered Ac~4mbaro beside the Lerma River, one of the most consider- able streams of Mexico. It had first greeted us where it takes its start to- wards the Pacific, a clear, strong brook near Salazar. In the Toluca Valley it was spread out into blue lagoons. Down here it was a tawny, rapid, and shallow stream, with a numerous escort of Ahua- huetes, or taxus trees, like those in the venerable grove of Chapultepec. Their great trunks were wading fearlessly mid- river, and gray mosses streamed down from their branches like the tattered banners of a veteran army. Ac~imbaro had been raised into some prominence as the junction for the Pa- cific division of the Mexican National, the great narrow-gauge railway, with the main line. rrhe railway station, a pine-board shanty, was something to flee from, and the sight of the narrow streets of the town, near by, was like release from a nightmare. Nearly all Mexican towns, so far as I have seen them, have features which give them distinct individuality. These proceed from their great diversity in site 46 A Mexican Vacation Week. and climate, from their local building- materials and architectural forms, and from the customs of their inhabitants. For many generations they hav~ been left to their own resources, and this isolation has encouraged these varia- tions. How unlike the growth of the smart towns of our young West, which appear all to have been cast in the same mould, or rather, cut out by the same jig-saw! There is notable architecture almost everywhere in Mexico. Some of the humblest villages are ennobled by churches whose domes and towers would give them a proud distinction in the greatest cities of our commonplace land. The architectural inspirations of Mex- ico come from Spain; the art has beon transplanted, not developed here. There- fore it shows characteristics of the styles which mark Spanish architectural his- tory. Gothic, however, is sparsely rep- resented, and its influence is seldom traced, except in the light, aerial striv- ings of some purely Renaissance towers. The Romanesque and Moorish are found underlying the Renaissance, which dom- inated Spanish architectural thought at the time of the Conquest. The Roman- esque influence is manifest almost every- where in Mexico, and sometimes with striking nobility in almost pure exam- ples of the style. There is also much extremely florid and undignified rococo. Fortunately, this often appears subject to Moorish influence, and in such cases its usual incoherence gives way to a piquant grace. In Acdmbaro I noted some charming architectural details. There was an old carved door, weather-beaten and richly wrought in high relief. In the upper part of the two panels large and gro- tesque twin heads looked grimly down, their beards uniting with the ornamental work below. A cherub head peeped out from each of the two upper corners of the doorway stonework, and the figure of some saint occupied the keystone, [July, looking very comfortable beneath the shelter of a rococo canopy. There were some naive reliefs cut in the extremely hard stone of the great basin of the fountain in the market-place, including a series of comical-looking scenes from a bull-fight. The bulls and horses were of the size of dogs in proportion to the human figures, perhaps as an indication of the superiority of men to animals. A shapely column stood in the centre of the basin, with a Corinthian capital sur- mounted by the Mexican coat-of-arms, the eagle, with a serpent in its beak, perched upon a prickly pear. This was painted, and so was the neighboring church. But I can forgive paint in Mexico, except in its stage of tawdry freshness; for one rainy season and the intense sunlight of a few months are enough to tone it down into beautiful pale washes of innumerable tints, the underlying hues of perhaps a centurys chromatic applications showing through here and there. The church walls and tower were suffused with roseate purple and an exquisite green like that of old bronzes. The domes of Acdmbaro were below the average of prominence and excel- lence prevailing in Mexico, but there were some features of the surroundings of the parochial church which atoned for this defect. The churchyard, which was across the way from a lovely little public garden filled with a tangle of vivid tropical bloon, was deeply shaded by many great ash-trees, or fresnos, which occupy a similar place in Mexico to that of the elm with us, and they fill it well. A low, plain wall surrounded the yard, rising at the entrances into large arches, whose curves were interrupted by ara- besque-like notches. The yard was spa- cious; ample for the processional cere- monies which may not take place in the public streets anywhere in Mexico since they were forbidden by the reform con- stitution of 18~7. The buildings ad- joining the church were mostly falling 1885.] A iJiexican Vacation Wee/c. 47 into ruin. A solitary pillar, with the fragments of two arches meeting at right angles springing from it like the branches of a tree, was all that remained of the cloisters which formerly occu- pied a large quadrangle, at whose cor- ner it stood. The fa9ade of the Capilla del Hospital (Chapel of the Hospital), which fronted on this quadrangle, was of strikingly quiet, simple be~uty, fitted to the placid shade and silence of the spot. An unfinished and ruined corner tower was void of all decoration, except the rich settiig of a handsome little Roman- esque window in its base. There was a tall rectangular surface, flanked by wall- spaces entirely plain, and framed in by projecting lines, on one side beaded and the other fluted. The ornamentation was confined to this space. A purely Romanesque doorway was surrounded by a broad band of rich carved-work, and the entire fa~ade was sprinkled with a constellation of stars, among which large rosettes stood here and there like suns, the whole wrought in a mellow- hued stone of a yellowish brown. The inhabitants of Acdmbaro were mostly Indians. They appeared to be very little troubled by considerations of clothing. Nearly all had some slight pretenses of raiment, however. But once in a while a stalwart man or a shapely youth, who had come in from the neighboring country regions, might be seen striding through the streets in scornful disregard of urban convention- alities; nothing on but breech-clouts and sandals. In the by-streets the children disported innocent of all attire. But somehow there was no impression of rcal nakedness. The warm brown color of the smooth skin, glossy as satin, seemed in itself a garment. I was re- minded of what some ladies once said about a voyage they made up the Nile. They were at first embarrassed at the sight of the natives on the banks, but at last they agreed among themselves to regard them as bronze statues, and after that they got along very comfort- ably. Passing through a street, I paused to look at an animated scene in a court- yard. A number of naked men were seated on the ground shelling corn, rasp- ing it over sticks and tossing the cobs deftly over their shoulders. The brown group of laborers and the heaps of yel- low ears in the sunlight made a superb color effect. There were some pleasant-looking houses which showed the existence of a considerable upper class. In passing one handsome dwelling I saw through the open windows paintings hanging on the tastefully papered walls, and other indications of exceptional refine- ment. I was told that it was the home of a lady who had a library of fifteen hundred volumes or more, and who was devoted to the study of Latin and Greek literature. I found Don Alex- andro, the jefe politico, or prefect, a genial, warm-hearted gentleman. He was a professed cosmopolitan, had spent years abroad, and was without preju- dices of race or nationality. His heart went out to the American friends whose guest I was, and he did much to make their voluntary exile pleasant. From Acdmbaro northwards the rail- way first traversed a fertile, prairie-like valley, mountain-inclosed. One of the ranges to the westward was magnificent in form, with abrupt sides and dome-like summits, like a mass of cumulus clouds. We passed through a considerable for- est of the largest mesquite-trees I had seen. They looked as if they might have been standing at the time of the Conquest, and were an indication of the finely timbered state which nearly all similar valleys of the central tableland probably once presented. These trees were larger than the average of our northern maples, although the mesquite, in its usual state, is rarely over twenty- five or thirty feet high. A mesquite growth always has an orchard-like ap 48 A Mexican Vacation Week. [July, pearance, the trees standing apart and in general form resembling apple-trees, although their foliage has a feathery fine- ness. In this forest the ground was cov- ered with excellent grass, and many cat- tle were feeding. Some of the trees had fallen, but their prostrate trunks were putting forth foliage as vigorous as that of their erect companions. Mesquite makes one of the best of fire-woods. It is frequently the custom not to cut down the trees, but simply to lop off the branches, leaving the trunk to put forth a new growth. The railway followed the course of the Lerma River, which led us past the important manufacturing city of Salva- tierra, where the stream supplies water- power to large cotton and woolen mills. Here there were extensive fields of su- gar-cane, which, we were told, was not converted into sugar, but wholly sold to be eaten in the surrounding cities, the natives being very fond of it as a dulce. Near by, to the northwestward, there rose the lofty mountain of Culiacan, one of the great landmarks of this part of Mexico. It is prominent from the Mex- ican Central Rail way near Salamanca. I had seen it from nearly all directions, and from every side it appeared a per- fect cone, with furrowed sides sloping uniformly to its broad base. It was evi- dently a volcano. There is another high mountain of the same name near the Pacific coast in the State of Sinaloa. A friend and compatriot with me pointed out a pass in the mountains to the eastward where there was a village whose inhabitants were all bandits. He had made a trip out there one holiday with some friends. There was nothing unusual, he said, in the appearance of the place, which had its church and priest. They were courteously received and hospitably entertained, but they felt that their hosts would have cut their throats very quickly had opportunity and incentive offered. It was near sunset when we entered upon a wide plain and drew near the city of Celaya with its group of beauti- ful domes, the design of a celebrated ar- chitect of the past century, Tres Guer- ras, and unsurpassed in symmetrical grace. They were covered with glazed tile of an old-gold hue, and glowed in the sunset rays, against the deep clear sky, as if illumined by an inner flame. It was ten~ oclock when we reached San Miguel de Allende, at present the northern terminus of the railway. There is always a mystery about a town which one enters at night for the first time. The carriage went rattling up hill for something like a league. We finally struck rough pavements where the way grew steeper. The streets were straight, and down their centres ran threads of water, gleaming away into the distance under the light of the lanterns strung overhead like the lines of a railway track reflected from the locomotive head- light. I was dropped at a hotel, where water was pleasantly trickling into a large tank in the court. My room was plain- ly furnished. The brick floor was cov- ered with a pretty matting; the bed was hard, but clean, as usually the case in Mexico. When I awoke in the morn- ing the air seemed peculiarly pure and fresh, with a perceptible tonic quality. As the tourist in Europe often becomes a connoisseur in wines, so the traveler in Mexico becomes a connoisseur in at- mospheres, recognizing many subtle and indescribable changes, from the sooth- ing, flower-perfumed breath of warm valley depths to the invigorating airs of wind-swept heights. Stepping to my window I found that the town was built on a gentle slope, the houses falling away before me into a wide brown valley, whose smooth un- dulations were bounded by a rugged mountain range. It was a gloriously spacious view. The street beneath my balcony ran up to the main plaza, ter- minating in an arcade. The great Gothic 1885.] A Mexican Vacation Week. 49 church-tower which met my eyes was an astonishing feature for Mexico. Its site, with streets falling away on three sides, and the uneven contour of the city, seemed appropriate for the presiding stateliness of the style. The tower was of great breadth, lacking the airy lightness characteristic of the Gothic at its best; but it had a majesty of its own, with something of an individual quality. An interesting con trast was furnished by a fine dome not far away, one of perfect symmetry, like those of Celayn. The Gothic tower was that of the parochial church, and I learned that it was the work of an illiterate Indian, who traced with a pointed stick in the sand the working-designs of the details for the stone-masons. I repaired to the plaza, finding almost everywhere in the streets rills of clear water, from which the laden donkeys often stopped to drink as they passed. The usual little garden which occupied the plaza was terraced on three sides to give a level surface, the square being on sloping ground. I did not like the painting of the cemented sides of the terraces in imitation of brick-work, but I did like the cheery, neat aspect of the garden itself, with its four little plashing fountains, strikingly limpid; its trimmed grass and pruned trees. It was all expressive of the thorough cleanliness of the town itself, with its well-washed countenance and not a foul smell in the streets. Buildings and tow- ers grouped finely around this Plaza de Allende, as it was called. The great church was undergoing a transformation from a plain Renaissance into the Gothic. The great tower had been completed for some time, and the old twin flanking tow- e~s were disappearing behind the incas- ing of the new fa~ade. An old chapel stood at right-angles to the church, facing the yard. It had a very plain, square tower, reminding me of the severity of mediinval architecture. The yard was populated with large cypresses, a tree which seoms always to have an architect- VOL. LVI. No. 333. 4 ural expression, so associated is it with architectural forms in southern lands; just as certain animals appear to take on the expressions of people they belong to. These cypresses played an admirable part in the composition, lending breadth and dignity to the base. Among their dark solemnity a few small young or~ ange-trees were sporting, spangled with their golden dots. The yard was ter- raced three or four feet above the plaza, surrounded by a high and heavy stone balustrade, which had the charm of an indefinite coloring, produced by the weatherworn character of the latest coating of whitewash, with under-colors, from rose to aged gray and black, show- ing through. Rambling through the narrow, undu- lating streets, I was led by my young Mexican friend, Josd, to the baths of El Chorro, on the southerly side of the town. We came to the foot of a pre- cipitous slope, covered with a beautiful shady garden. Pebble-paved paths zig- zagged up the hill, and clear water came hurrying down beside them with a gos- siping prattle, as if telling about the lively scenes above. Banana plants, ranged along the way, languidly mar- shaled an army of gay geraniums to present arms to the passers. Above was the long stone bath-house, with a grace- ful arcaded front facing a terrace with stone seats, where at all hours in the changing lights of the days progression views of quiet idyllic beauty were at command, looking out from under the deep overarching shade of the tall fres- nos that clothed the slope. In this bosky framework appeared the clustering domes arid towers of the city sloping away to the green fields and meadowa down in the valley. In front, below the terrace, a number of washerwomen were at work in places constructed for them ; little compartments where they knelt before scrubbing-stones inclined away from them, dipping water from the stream running close alongside. 50 A Mexican Vacation Week. [July, in this stream minnows darted about, and the children of the women sported. One chubby little fellow removed a lace- work of rags, which passed for a shirt, his only garment, revealing more than it concealed, and had a merry time. But he had more trouble dressing himself again than if he had a complete suit of clothes. It was comical to see him ex- ploring his way among the capacious holes of his garb before he found the place where his neck belonged, while his arms worked cautiously down into the sleeves, his fists appearing several times before reaching the end. The taciturn old fellow in charge of the place shuffled about with the air of a sexton. He took a key and unlocked a door for us with the air of showing us into a receiving tomb, but it was a grot- to-like place in the upper part of the building, where the water gushed out from the rocks of the cliff, forming a number of large pools, some of which were so still, glassy, and wonderfully transparent that the presence of the water was hardly to be detected. Bills flowed out from here in considerable volume, supplying not only the bathing- tanks, but the city water-works, the wa- ter being led in pipes over the place. Each householder had the perpetual right to the water on the payment of thirty dollars, and so abundant was the supply that it was left always running in the houses, the rills in the streets be- ing formed of the waste. We walked over the flat roof of the building and looked down into the swim- ming-tank for boys, whence merry cries resounded, as from bathing children the world over. Is there anything like water-sports to induce gayety and an overflow of animal spirits? The dozen or so naked boys illustrated the diver- sity of blood among the Mexican peo- ple, their bodies ranging through all shades, from the delicate pinkish-white of the blonde, Goth-descended Spanish- American and the light olive of the Ibe nan, the dusky twilight of mixed bloods, to the ruddy bronze of the pure aborig- inal. Another large bathing-tank was for women, and there were several pri- vate baths in vaulted, cell-like compart- ments where the bather descended into a tank of smooth brick-work with water about four feet deep. This Chorro wa- ter was tasteless, but its mineral proper- ties were testified to by the greenish deposit which it left on the rocks and masonry. It had excellent medicinal qualities and, being slightly tepid, was pleasantly refreshing. It left the skin feeling as smooth as satin. On descending from these baths in the delicious late afternoon air it was pleas- ant to stroll through the beautiful neigh- boring rural lanes, among rich gardens and cosy country-houses, out to the Ca- fiada de Aguacates, or Ravine of Agua- cates. There were long shadows falling athwart and forming carpet-like figures, streaked and interwoven with sunlight. These lanes, smoothly paved with small stones, rambled over the hillsides and were the favorite pleasure-walks of the place. They passed over deep ravines on arched stone bridges, amid thickets of fruit-trees, where aguacates, chirimoyas, zapotes, and figs grew side by side with apples, peaches, apricots, and pears. The shade was often deep, and there were frequent glimpses out into the tawny valley, the Guanajuato treasure range from which many millions of silver and gold had been taken and in which many more lay buried standing a lu- minous purple against the mellow sun- set gilding the city buildings, with the lordly great Gothic tower resembling the Erfurt cathedral in effect. We passed an archway surmounted with a statue of Allende, the hero whose name the city has borne since Mexican independence was gained. It was an unspeakably ugly statue, and its crude- ness was heightened by the tawdry paint which set forth the generals regimen- tals with startling would-be realism. 1885.] A Mexican Vacation Week. St All this region is heroic ground. Dolores de Hidalgo, the cradle of Mex- ican liberty, is but a few leagues away from San Miguel de Allende, and from the high land just back of the town it could be plainly seen were it not for a projecting spur of hills in the valley. Ignacio Allende, who was the compan- ion of Hidalgo, was born here in San Miguel de Allende, as it was then called, on January 20, 1779. His father was a Spaniard, and the family was one of the leading ones of the place. He was a captain of dragoons, and being enthu- siastic for independence, he joined in the conspiracy with the patriot priest of Dolo- res, together with Aldama and Abasolo, fellow-officers in his regiment. Allende was with Hidalgo. and his companions at Dolores when, near .midnight of Sep- tember 15, 1810, the famous grito de independencia was raised. The revo- lution began the next day, and the mul- titude, ever swelling, reached San Mi- guel that evening. Here, through the influence of Allende, the royal regiment joined the revolutionists, and an army was organized with Hidalgo at the head and Allende as lieutenant-general. It was queerly equipped, being armed with lances, clubs, and various agricultural implements. It marched southward, and at the little village of Atotonilco the curate took the standard with the paint- ing of the Virgin of Guadalupe from the church, and it was made the banner of independence. The battle-cry was: Viva Ia Religion! Viva nuestra Madre Santissima de Guadalupe! Viva la America y muera el mal gobierno! (Long live religion! Long live our most holy Mother of Guadalupe! Long live America and death to the bad govern- ment!) It is notable that while the op- pression of the Spaniards was a strong incentive, a leading motive in the rev- olution was the fear that the church would suffer through the rule of Napo- leonism in Spain, and this is said to account for the active part which the priests took in the struggle. While the church took a leading part in the be- ginning, real Mexican liberty was not gained until the church itself was over- thrown and forever separated from the s~tate by Juarez, in the great civil war which resulted in the adoption of the reform constitution of 1857. The first great step in the revolution was the taking of the large and im- mensely rich city of Guanajuato, which enabled Hidalgo to organize thoroughly. He then took up his march to Mexico over substantially the same route which we traversed by rail over the Mexican National. His army numbered one hundred thousand men when he reached the Monte de las Cruces overlooking the valley of Mexico. Here, by some strange fatality, while the Spaniards were almost panic - stricken and final victory seemed within grasp, Ilidalgo withdrew without a battle. His fortunes thenceforward declined, and the first chapter in the eleven years struggle for independence ended on July 30, 1811, with the shooting of Hidalgo, Al- lende, Aldama, and Jimenez in the city of Chihuahua. One afternoon I went with Jos6 di- rectly up the hill back of the town, fol- lowing the course of a small aqueduct from one of the numerous springs in the neighborhood. The way was bor- dered with a hedge of cactus, the nopal bearing most refreshing tunas, or prickly pears, in abundance; while a tall cactus, with many upward-growing branches, like a candelabra, had a small berry- like fruit resembling set beads growing along the edges of its stalks. It was called the charambulla, and resembled a gooseberry. It had a bright carmine pulp filled with fine black seeds. A luxuriant buerta, or orchard, filled the neighboring little valley grooved into the hillside. It was a wild tangle of pear, quince, apple, and fig trees, together with grape vines, all growing so closely and disheveled that it seemed a wonder 52 A Arexican Vacation Week. [July, there was any fruit at all. Abundant water and a tropic sun do wonders, how- ever, and the fruit of San Miguel was better than the average. Improved grafts and scientific horticulture would make Mexican fruit unsurpassed. I notic& T a massive wall running along the barren hillside for a considerable distance. It seemed useless in that locality, and I asked what it was for. I was told that a kind-hearted rich man had built it to give employment to the poor people, at a time when there was little for them to do and there was much distress. He might have set them about some work of utility, I thought. The upland reached away in a moor- like expanse when we attained a height of something like a thousand feet above the valley. It was another climate al- ready, and the cool wind swept power- fully across. Dark mountains covered with pines rose to the eastward. Im- mediately below was the handsome town, with streets running down hill like fur- rows, the lines of water in their centre glistening like silver threads. Rambling across the fields, we came to the verge of a deep cup walled in by towering cliffs. This opened into the plain, over which there was a vast view. At our feet, seemingly almost within a stones throw, there nestled an old stone mill. Near by were the arches of an aqueduct. A swift stream rushed past, a cascade gushed out from an opening in the wall, and lawn-like fields of green alfalfa spread around, the whole a lit- tle landscape gem set in a sublime frame- work. The source of this stream was fifteen leagues away, whence it courses through an ever deepening gorge. We scrambled down and then up be- side the stream over a chaos of great boulders that strewed the way until we came to the foot of the lii~h cascades of the Ingenio, which tumbled down in several steps over a total height of more than one hundred and seventy feet. In- genio means a marvel, and here the marvel was said to be that an enormous serpent had fallen and caused this split in the rocks. The walls of the narrow cafion towered perpendicularly and made a most impressive solitude. In one place this wall was covered with a beautiful mantle of the Virginia creeper, the only spot where I have ever seen it growing wild in Mexico. At its foot there was a tangle of cactus. Below the mill the stream ran into a presa, or reservoir, with a dam of as- tounding solidity and thickness. It was built of small rubble-stone, laid in cement so hard that it seemed a part of the rock itself. The basin was empty, but twenty- four hours were enough to fill it in the rainy season. The dam had been raised for over half its length something like a century before with a view to doubling the capacity of the basin, but the work had been abandoned, since the present supply for irrigation proved sufficient for the wants of the population. Along this stream there was room for many reservoirs of the same sort. The same is the case throughout Mexico, so that, should it ever be needed, the agricultu- ral production of the country could be many times increased. The walk back to the town was a charming one, along a level, smooth, and winding road. The groups of towers were emulated by clusters of organ cac- tus, shooting up slenderly to a height of forty feet or more above the humble cots in the outskirts. The hills rolled away beside the town, brown on their slopes like cheeks well tanned by a scorching sun, their piny summits bluish black in the distance. The rich verdure of gardens and orchards filled the ra- vines running irregularly up the hill- sides, inwreathing the town with their graceful fringe. High above, perched on a crag, rose the old convent of Santo Domingo, with square, belligerent-look- ing towers like a castle; elsewhere on the heights was a mass of white masonry, with graceful arcades, darkly recessed, A Mezican Vacation Week. 53 gleaming among groves of trees. A tree of great beauty hereabouts was the pepper tree, or drbol de Peru, lining the highways in places and growing un- usually tall. Some trees were in blos- som, others were in fruit; the bunches of scarlet berries, which are in some demand in the markets as a food for tame mocking- birds, gleaming vividly. The foliage, though drooping, had a sprightly cheeriness, and if its pendent form suggested tears at all, it would be those brought to the eyes by the piq- uancy of the fruit! The beauty of these trees was greatly heightened by the moss draping their branches, of a hue between orange and old gold. This moss makes the fine yellow and green dyes used extensively in local manufactures. San Miguel has a most industrious population. It is famous for the manu- facture of zarapes and rebozos, or blan- kets and scarfs, which are, respectively, universal articles of apparel among the male and female population of Mexibo. The former are made of wool and the lat- ter of cotton or silk, both Woven on hand- looms, whose lively clatter may be heard in passing about half the houses in town. Great skill is attained in the manufac- ture of zarapes, and those of San Miguel and Saltillo are the finest in Mexico, some costing over a thousand dollars each. I saw one which had taken over a year in the making, and its value was three hundred dollars. The weaving was a marvel of fineness, and it had a very close reproduction of a painting which was shown me. In market hours, particularly on Sundays, the plaza was enlivened by the sellers of zarapes and rebozos, who went around with their goods in little piles on their shoulders, seeking customers. This plaza was the centre of activity for the place. The principal shops were there, and on one side was the fruit-market, where the venders had light tents pitched on the pavement, the fruit displayed in little heaps spread on matting on the ground. The mushy, but delicious white zapotes, with flesh much like that of a Bart- lett pear, were generally surrounded by swarms of wasps. On another side of the plaza a deal of cooking was always going on; much frying over little char- coal fires. It was no wonder that crowds of peasants were attracted to buy, for the odor of meat and onions was savory even to more civilized nostrils. The plaza was the club-room of the place, so to speak; night after night the same young men might be seen quietly chatting together on the same benches of carved stone. Some even- ings there was music, and then every- body turned out, promenading around the little garden. There was a good- sized theatre, with performances every Sunday night, and often two or three other evenings in the week. Some of the traveling dramatic and operatic com- panies which make the round of the Mexican provincial cities are excellent. One afternoon I sat reading in my room while the first shower of the month was falling. The rainy season was several weeks later than usual, this year. It was a goodly shower, and the rivulets in the streets were soon converted into turbid torrents. While the rain was still pouring, though very gently, I heard music in the street. It was St. Johns day, and I thought it part of the cele- bration. I stepped to the balcony and saw a band coming, followed by a score or more of men with lighted candles. The band was playing a lively march. Ahead there ran a little boy with what looked like a tawdrily painted box-cov- er. The men were nearly all of the lower class, shabbily dressed. One of them carried on his head an open coffin, containing what I at first took for a doll, having something to do with the ceremonial. It was dressed in white muslin with some gilt tinsel. But as they passed below I saw that it was a dead baby, with long eyelashes and black eyes staring up to the sky. Mean- 54 A Country Gentleman. [July, while the rain kept dropping pitilessly on the senseless little form. Or, I fan- cied, since the form was senseless, was the rain pitiless, or compassionate tears from heaven! The men sheltered from the wind with one hand the candles they were carrying. The procession marched along with the martial blare of the music sounding gayly down the narrow streets, seeming strangely inap- propriate to mark the entry of a little child into the kingdom of heaven. The rains fell daily now. Every afternoon the clouds rolled up and the skies grew black. Almost over night the landscape underwent a magic trans- formation. The brown, sun-scorched plains turned to the loveliest of spring- time greens, and the fresh tint crept up over the gray rocks to the mountain summits. When I returned to the capital I found that the railway, just below San Miguel, ran through a grand gorge, coursed by a river. On my upward trip I had missed this sight, having passed through in the dark. The river, usually a mere rill, was swollen to a powerful, broad-breasted current, with boats upon it for people to cross in. Sylvester Baxter. A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. XXI. THE pony walked on, sometimes a little quicker, sometimes a little slower, while Geoff dreamed. No doubt Pony too had his own thoughts. His opinion was that summer had come again. He was rather a pampered little pony, who had never been put to any common use, who had never felt harness on his back, or a weight behind him, or the touch of a whip beyond that of Geoffs little switch; and he had come so far and had trotted so long that he was hot, and did not like it. He had come so far that he no longer knew which was the dircc- tion of home and the comfortable cool stable, for which he began to puff and sigh. When he came to a cross-road he sniffed at it, but never could be sure. rrhe scent seemed to lie one time in one way, another time in another. Not be- ing able to make sure of the way home, the pony made it up to himself in a different direction. He sauntered along, and cooled down. He took a pull at the grass, nearly snatching the loose reins out of Geoffs small hands. Then, after having thus secured the proper length, he had a tolerable meal, a sort of picnic refreshment, not unpleasant; and the grass was very crisp and fresh. He began to think that it was for this purpose, to give him a little beneficial change of diet, that he had been brought out. It was very considerate. Corn is good, and so even is nice, dry, sweet- smelling hay. But of all things in the world, there is nothing so delightful as the fresh salad with all its juices, the sweet grass with the dew upon it, es- pecially when it is past the season for grass, and you have been ridden in the suu. Geoffs mind was pleasurably moved in a different way. The freedom, the silence, the fresh air, entered into his lit- tle being like wine. He had not known much of the delights of solitude. A sickly child, who has to be watched con- tinually, and who is alone in the sense of having no playmates, no one of his own age near him, has less experience than the robust of true aloneness. He had been always with his mother, or, in his mothers brief absences, so brief

M. O. W. Oliphant Oliphant, M. O. W. A Country Gentleman 54-69

54 A Country Gentleman. [July, while the rain kept dropping pitilessly on the senseless little form. Or, I fan- cied, since the form was senseless, was the rain pitiless, or compassionate tears from heaven! The men sheltered from the wind with one hand the candles they were carrying. The procession marched along with the martial blare of the music sounding gayly down the narrow streets, seeming strangely inap- propriate to mark the entry of a little child into the kingdom of heaven. The rains fell daily now. Every afternoon the clouds rolled up and the skies grew black. Almost over night the landscape underwent a magic trans- formation. The brown, sun-scorched plains turned to the loveliest of spring- time greens, and the fresh tint crept up over the gray rocks to the mountain summits. When I returned to the capital I found that the railway, just below San Miguel, ran through a grand gorge, coursed by a river. On my upward trip I had missed this sight, having passed through in the dark. The river, usually a mere rill, was swollen to a powerful, broad-breasted current, with boats upon it for people to cross in. Sylvester Baxter. A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. XXI. THE pony walked on, sometimes a little quicker, sometimes a little slower, while Geoff dreamed. No doubt Pony too had his own thoughts. His opinion was that summer had come again. He was rather a pampered little pony, who had never been put to any common use, who had never felt harness on his back, or a weight behind him, or the touch of a whip beyond that of Geoffs little switch; and he had come so far and had trotted so long that he was hot, and did not like it. He had come so far that he no longer knew which was the dircc- tion of home and the comfortable cool stable, for which he began to puff and sigh. When he came to a cross-road he sniffed at it, but never could be sure. rrhe scent seemed to lie one time in one way, another time in another. Not be- ing able to make sure of the way home, the pony made it up to himself in a different direction. He sauntered along, and cooled down. He took a pull at the grass, nearly snatching the loose reins out of Geoffs small hands. Then, after having thus secured the proper length, he had a tolerable meal, a sort of picnic refreshment, not unpleasant; and the grass was very crisp and fresh. He began to think that it was for this purpose, to give him a little beneficial change of diet, that he had been brought out. It was very considerate. Corn is good, and so even is nice, dry, sweet- smelling hay. But of all things in the world, there is nothing so delightful as the fresh salad with all its juices, the sweet grass with the dew upon it, es- pecially when it is past the season for grass, and you have been ridden in the suu. Geoffs mind was pleasurably moved in a different way. The freedom, the silence, the fresh air, entered into his lit- tle being like wine. He had not known much of the delights of solitude. A sickly child, who has to be watched con- tinually, and who is alone in the sense of having no playmates, no one of his own age near him, has less experience than the robust of true aloneness. He had been always with his mother, or, in his mothers brief absences, so brief 1885.] A Country Gentleman. 55 that they scarcely told in the story of his life, under the charge of the nurse, who was entirely devoted to him. He knew by heart all the stories she had to tell, and yet would have them repeated, with a certain pleasure in the sound of the words. But his mother, he never could be sure what she was going to say. To question her was the chief oc- cupation of his life, and she never was weary of replying. His days were full of this perpetual intercourse. So it hap- pened that to get out alone into the ab- solute stillness, broken only by the rustle of the leaves, the sound of the wind as it brought them down, the twitter of the birds, the tinkle of the little stream, was a new delight to Geoff, unlike any- thing that had gone before. And to see miles and miles before him, to see all round him roads stretching into the un- known, houses and churches and woods, all nameless and new, was he riding out to seek his fortune, was he going to conquer the world, was he the prince riding to the castle where the Sleeping Beauty lay? Was he Jack, going on unawares to the ogres castle, where he was to kill the giant and deliver the prisoners? The little boy did not, per- baps, put these questions into form, but they were all in his mind, filling him with a vague, delicious exhilaration. He was all of these heroes put together, and little Geoff Markland beside. He was afraid of nothing: partly, perhaps, be- cause of his breeding, which had made it apparent to him that the world chiefly existed for the purpose of taking care of Geoff; and partly from an innate confi- dence and friendliness with all the world. He had no serious doubt that ogres, giants, and other unpleasant people did exist to he overcome; but so far as men and women were considered, Geoff had no fear of them: and he was aware that even in the castle of the ogre these natural aids and auxiliaries were to be found. He wandered on, accordingly, quite satisfied with his fancies, until the pony gave that first jerk to the reins and began his meal. Geoff pulled him up at first but then began to reflect that ponies have their breakfast earlier than boys, and that even he himself was begin- ning to feel that the time for eating had come. We cant both have luncheon, said the little man, and I think you might wait, pony;~ but he reflected again that, if he could put out his hand and reach some bread and butter, he would not himself, at that moment, be restrained by the thought that ponys hunger was unsatisfied. This thought induced him to drop his wrists and leave the pony free. They formed an odd lit- tle vignette on the side of the road: the pony, with its head down, selecting the juicy spots; the little boy amicably con- senting, with his bands upon its neck. Geoff, however, to those who did not know that he was consenting, and had philosophically made up his mind to sanction, in default of luncheon for him- self, his ponys meal, looked a somewhat helpless little figure, swayed about by the movements of his little steed. And this was how he appeared to the occu- pants of a phaeton which swept past, with two fine bay horses, and all their harness glittering and jingling in the sun. There was a lady in it, by the drivers side, and both greeted the little boy with a burst of laughter. Shall I touch him up for you? the gentleman cried, brandishing his whip over the ponys head. This insult went to Geoffs soul. He drew himself up out of his dreaming, and darted such a glance at the passers-by as produced another loud laugh, as they swept past. And he plucked the ponys head from the turf with the same startled movement, and surprised the little animal into a canter of a dozen paces or so, enough, at least, he hoped, to show those insolent people that he could go, when he liked. But after that the pony took matters into his own hand. It was beginning to be afternoon, 56 which to Geoff meant the decline of the day, after his two-oclock dinner. He had had no dinner, poor child, and that after- noon languor which the strongest feel, the sense of falling off and running low, was deepened in him by unusual empti- ness, and that consciousness of wrong which a child has who has missed a meal. Pony, after his dinner, had a more lively feeling than ever that the stable at home would be cool and com- fortable, and, emboldened by so much salad, wanted to turn back and risk find- ing the way. Lie bolted twice, so that all Geoffs horsemanship and all his strength were necessary to bring the little beast round. The little man did it, setting his teeth with childish rage and determination, digging his heels into the fat refractory sides, and holding the reins twisted in his little fists with savage tenacity. But a conflict of this sort is very exhausting, and to force an unreasonable four-footed creature in the way it does not want to go requires a strain of all the faculties which it is not easy to keep up, especially at the age (not all told) of nine. Geoff felt the tears coming to his eyes; he felt that he would die of shame if any one saw him, thus almost mastered by a pony: yet that he would give anything in the world to see a known face, some one who would help him home. Not the phae- ton, though, or that man who had offered to touch him up. When he heard the wheels behind him again Geoff grew frantic. He laid his whip about the ponys neck, with a maddening deter- mination not to be laughed at any more. But circumstances were too strong for him. The pony made a spring forward, stopped suddenly, and Geoff, with a giddy sense of dying through the air, a horri- ble consciousness of great hoofs coming down, lost all knowledge of what was going to happen to him, and ended in insensibility this wild little flight into the unknown. It was well for Geoff that some one A Country aentleman. [July, who had been crossing a field close by, at this climax of his little history, saw the impending accident, and sprang over the stile into the road at the decisive moment; for the driver of the phaeton, with the best will in the world, could scarcely have otherwise avoided mis- chief, though he pulled his horses back on their hind quarters in the sudden alarm. Theo Warrender flung himself under the very hoofs of the dashing bays. He seized the child and flung him out on the edge of the road, but was him- self knocked down, and lay for a mo- ment not knowing how much he was him- self hurt, and paralyzed by terror for the boy, whom he had recognized in the flash of the catastrophe. There was a whirl of noise, for a moment, loud shrieks from the lady, the grinding of the sud- denly stopped wheels, the prancing and champing of the horses, the loud ex- clamations of the man who was driving to the groom, who sprang out from be- hind, and to his shrieking companion. The groom raised Geoffs head, and laid him on the grass at the roadside, while Warrender crept out from the dan- gerous position he occupied, his heart sick with alarm. Lie s coming to, said the groom. There is no harm done. The gentleman s more hurt than the boy. There is nothing the mat- ter with me, cried Warrender, though the blood was pouring from his forehead, making bubbles in the dust. When Geoff opened his eyes he had a vision first of that anxious, blood~stained coun- tenance; then of a bearded face in an atmosphere of cigar smoke, which re- minded him strangely, in the dizziness of returning consciousness, of his father: while the carriage~ the impatient bays, the lady looking down from her high seat, were like a picture behind. lie could not remember at first what it was all about. The bearded man knelt beside him, feeling him all over. Does any- thing hurt you, little chap? Come, that s brave. I think there a nothing wrong. 1885.] But look at Theo! Theo s all bleeding, said Geoff, trying to raise himself up. It s nothing, a trifle, said War- render, feeling, though faint, angry that the attention of the stranger should be directed to his ghastly countenance. He added, Dont wait on account of him. If you will let your man catch the pony, I 11 take him home. Then the lady screamed from the phaeton that the little darling must be given to her, that he was not fit to get on that pony again, that he must be driven to the village. She called her companion to her, who swore by Jove, and plucked at his mustache, and con- sulted with the groom, who by some chance knew who the child was. The end of the discnssion was that Geoff, to his own great surprise, and not without a struggle, was lifted to the phaetoa and I)laced close to the lady, who drew him to her, and kept him safe within her arm. Geoff looked up at the face that bent so closely over him with a great deal of curiosity, and mingled attrac- tion and repulsion. In his giddy state, it seemed to him another phase of the dream. The sudden elevation, the rush of rapid motion, so different from his slow and easy progress, the two hays dashing through the air, the ladys per- fumery and her caresses, all bewildered the boy. Where were they taking him? After all, was there really some ogres castle, some enchanted palace, to which he was being swQpt along without any will of his? The little boy was disturbed by the kisses and caresses of his new friend. lie was not a shy child; but he felt himself too old to be kissed, and a little indignant, and slightly alarmed, in the confusion of his shaken frame, as to where he was being taken and what was going to happen to him. The bays were grand and the lady was beautiful; but as Geoff looked at her, holding him- self as far away as was possible with- in the tight enclosure of her arm, he 57 thought her more like the enchantress than the good, lovely fairy queen, which had been his first idea. She was not like the ogres wife he knew so well, that pathetic, human little person, who did what she could to save the poor strayed boys; but rather of ogre-kind herself, kissing him as if she would like to put a tooth in him, with loud laughter at his shrinking and indisposition to he caressed. Geoff also felt keenly the meanness of forsaking Theo, and even the pony, who by this time, no doubt, must be very sorry for having thrown him, and very much puzzled how to get home. Would the groom (left behind for the purpose) be able to catch him? All these things much disturbed Geoffs thoughts. He paid little attention to the promises that were made to him of tea and nice things to eat, although he was faint and hungry; feeling not al- together certain, in his little confused brain, that lie might not, instead of eat- ing, be eaten, though lie was quite aware at the same time that this was nonsense, and could not be. But when the phaetoa turned in at the gate of the Elms, and Geoff saw the high red brick house, surrounded with its walls, like a prison, or like the ogres castle itself, his perturbation grew to a climax. The vague alarm which takes complete possession of a child when once aroused in him rose higher and higher in his mind. When the lady sprang lightly down, and held out her arms to receive him as he alighted, the little fel- low made a nervous leap clear of her, and stood shaking and quivering with the effort, on his guard, and distrust- ful of any advance. Nobody is go- ing to harm you, my little fellow, said the man, kindly enough; while the lady asked why he was frightened, with laughter which confused and alarmed him more and more; for Geoff was ac- customed to be taken seriously, and did not understand being laughed at. He wanted to be civil, notwithstanding, A Country Gentleman. 58 A Count ry Gentleman. [July, and was about to follow in-doors, pluck- ing up his courage: when a glance round which showed him how high the walls were, and that the gates had been closed, and that in the somewhat narrow space inside there was no apparent outlet by which he could communicate with the world in which his mother and Theo and everybody he knew were left be- hind carried a thrill of panic, which he could not overcome, through all his being. As he paused, scared and fright- ened, on the threshold, he saw at the further end of the inclosure a door stand- ing a little ajar, by which some one had entered on foot. Geoff did not pause to think again, but made for the open- ing with a sudden start, and, when out- side, ran like a hunted hare. He ran straight on, seeing houses before him where he knew there must be safety, houses with no high walls, cottages such as a small heart trusts in, be it beggar or prince. He ran, winged with fear, till he got as far as Mrs. Bagleys shop. It was not a great distance, but he was unused to violent exertion, and his little body and brain were both quivering with excitement and with the shock of his fall. The dread of some one com- ing after him, of the house that looked like a prison, of the strangeness of the circumstances altogether, subsided at the sight of the village street, the church in the distance, the open door of the little shop. All these things were ut- terly antagonistic to ogres, incompat- ible with enchantresses. Geoff became himself again when he reached the fa- miliar and recognizable; and when he saw the cakes in Mrs. Bagleys window, his want of a dinner grew into an over- powering consciousness. He stopped himself, took breath, wiped his little hot forehead, and went in, in a very gentle- manly way, taking off his hat, which was dusty and crushed with his fall, to the astonished old lady behind the coun- ter. Would you mind giving me a cake or a biscuit? he said. I dont think I have any money, but I am going to Mrs. Warrenders, if you will show me where that is, and she will pay for me. But dont do it, said Geoff, sud- denly perceiving that he might be taken for an impostor, if you have any doubt that you will be paid. Oh, my little gentleman, cried Mrs. Bagley, take whatever you please, sir! I m not a bit afraid; and if you was never to pay me, you re but a child, if I may make bold to say so; and as for a cake or a But if you 11 take my advice, sir, a good bit of bread and but- ter would be far more wholesome, and you shall have that in a moment Thank you very much, said Geoff, though he cast longing eyes at the cakes, which had the advantage of being ready; and please might I have a chair or a stool to sit down upon, for I am very tired? May I go into that nice room there, while you cut the bread and but- ter? My mother, said the boy, with a sigh of pleasure, throwing himself down in Mrs. Bagleys big chair, which she dragged out of its corner for him, will be very much obliged to you when she knows. Yes, I am only a child, he con- tinued, after a moment; but I never thought I was so little till I got far away from home. Will you tell me, please, where I am now? Mrs. Bagley was greatly impressed by this little personage, who looked so small and talked with such imposing self-pos- session. She set down before him a glass of milk with the cream on it, which she had intended for her own tea, and a great slice of bread and butter, which Geoff devoured without further com- ment. This is Underwood, she said, and Mrs. Warrenders is close by, and there s nobody but will be pleased to show you the way; but I do hope, sir, as you have nt run away from home? Oh, no, said Geoff, with his mouth full of bread and butter, not at all. I only came to see Theo, that is Mr. Warrenders name, you know. To be A Count r~y Gentleman. sure, he added, mamma will not know where I am, and probably she is very much frightened; that is something like running away, is nt it? I hope they have caught my pony, and then when I have rested a little I can ride home. Is that a nice house, that tall red house with the wall round it, or do they shut up people there? Ah, that s the Elms, said the old lady, and she gave a glance which Geoff did not understand to the young woman who was sitting at work behind. I dont know as folks is ever shut up in it, she said, significantly; but dont you never go there, my little gentleman, for it aint a nice house. The like of him could nt get no harm, Granny, even if it was as bad as you think. There is nobody as would nt get harm, man or woman, or even children, cried Granny, dogmatically. It was the last place as poor Lord Markiand was ever in afore his accident, and who knows Geoff put down his bread and butter. That s my father, he said. Did he know those people? Perhaps his horses got wild escaping from them. Mrs. Bagley lifted up her hands in awe and wonder. My stars! she said, I thought I had seen him before. Liz- zie, it s the little lord. That is what the lady called me, said Geoff, as if it was my fault. Do they set traps there for people who are lords? XXII. It may be imagined what the sight of Theo all bound up and bleeding was to the family in the Warren. He had not at all the look of a benevolent deliverer, suffering sweetly from a wound received in the service of mankind. He had a very pale and angry countenance, and snorted indignant breath from his dilated nostrils. It s nothing; a little water will make it all right, he answered to the eager questions of his mother and sisters. Has the brat got here? The brat? What brat? Oh, Theo! You ye been knocked down; your coat is covered with dust. Run for a basin, Chatty, and some lint. You look as if you had been fighting, or something. These cries rose from the different voices round him, while old Joseph, who had seen from a window the plight in which his master was, stood gazing, somewhat cynical and very curious, in the back- ground. The scene was the hall, which has been already described, and into which all the rooms opened. Well, rejoined Theo angrily, I never said I had nt. Where s the boy? Little fool! and his mother will be distracted. Oh, dont bother me with your bathing. I must go and see after the boy. Let me see what is wrong, pleaded Mrs. Warrender. The boy? Who is it? Little Markland? Has he run away? Oh, Theo, have patience a moment. Joseph will run and inquire Minnie will put on her hat Running dont suit these legs o mine, grumbled Joseph, looking at his thin shanks. And what am I to put on my hat for? cried Minnie. Let Theo ex- plain. How can we tell what he wants if he wont explain? I 11 run, said Chatty, who had al- ready brought a basin and water, and who flew forth in most illogical read- iness, to satisfy her brother, although she did not know what he wanted. Good - will, however, is often its own reward, and in this instance it was emphatically so, for Chatty almost ran into a little group advancing through the shrubbery, Mrs. Bagley, with her best bonnet hastily put on, holding little Geoff Markland by the hand. The boy was in advance, dragging his guardian forward, and Mrs. Bagley panted with the effort. Oh, Miss Chatty, she 1885.1 59 60 A Countr2, Gentleman. [July, cried, I m so thankful to see you! The little gentleman, he s in such a hurry. The little gentleman Geoff let go in a moment the old ladys hand, nearly throwing her off her balance; but he was full of his own affairs, as was natural. It is me, he said to Chatty. I came to see Theo; l)ut I had an accident: and he had an accident. And they wanted to take me to that tall house, but I would nt. Has Theo come back? and where is pony? This old lady has to be paid for the bread and butter. She was very kind, and took care of me when I ran away.~~ Oh, cried Chatty, did you run away? And Lady Markland will be so unhappy. No one paid any attention to Mrs. Bagleys declaring that she wanted no payment for her bread and butter; and Geoff, very full of the importance of the position, hurried Chatty back to the house. Can I go in? he said, breathless; and will you send me home, and find pony for me? Oh, here is Theo! Was it the horse that tipped you on the head? He came forward with great giavity, and watched the bath- ing of Warrenders brow, which was going on partly against his will. Geoff approached without further ceremony, and stood by the side of the table, and looked on. Did he catch you with his forefoot? said the boy. I thought it was only the hind feet that were dan- gerous. What a lot of blood! and oh, are they going to cut off your hair? When I got a knock on the head, mam- ma sent for the doctor for me. Dear Theo, be still, and let me do it. How could you get such a blow? I will tell you, Mrs. Warrender, said the little boy, drawing closer and closer, and watching everything with his little grave face. Pony threw me, and the big bays were coming down to crush my head. I saw them waving in the air, like that, over me: and Theo laid hold of me here and tore me, and they kicked him instead. What is all this about a pony and the bays? Theo, tell me. He tore me all here, look, in the back of my knickerbockers, said Geoff putting his hand to the place; but I d rather have that than a knock on my head. Theo, does it hurt? Theo, what a lot you have bled! Were you obliged to tear my knickerbockers? I say, Theo, the lady was pretty, but I did nt much like her, after all. Theo, though his head was over the basin, put out his hand and seized the child by the shoulder. What did you run away for, you little Do you know your mother will be wretched about you? your mother, who is worth a hundred of you. This was said through his teeth, with a twist of Geoffs shoulder which was almost savage. I say! cried the child; then he added, indignantly. I never ran away; I came to see you, because you are go- ing to be my tutor. I did nt think it was such a long way. And pony got hungry. And so was I. Going to he his tutor! It was Minnies voice that said this, so sharply that the air tingled with the words, and Mrs. Warrender started a little; but it was not a moment at which any more could be said. The bathing was done, and Theos wound had now to be brought together by plaster and hound up. It was not very serious. A hoof had touched him, but that was all, and fortunately not on a dangerous place. Take him away and give him some- thing to eat, said the patient, but not in a hospitable voice. I want to see it all done, said Geoff, pressing closer. Is that how you do it? Dont you want another piece of plaster? Will you have to take it off again, or will it stay till it is all well ? Oh, look, that corner is nt fast. Press it there, a little closer. Oh, Theo, she has done it so nicely. You cant see a bit of the 1885.] bad place. It is all covered with plas- ter, like that, and then like this. I wish now it had been me, just to know how it feels. Take him away, mother, for heav- ens sake! cried Warrender under his breath. My dear, you must not worry Theo. He is going to lie down now, and be quiet for a little. Go with Minnie, and have something to eat. I am not so hungry now, said the boy, but very much interested. When you are interested you dont feel hun- gry: and the 01(1 woman gave me some- thing to eat. Would you pay her, please? Wont you tie something on, Mrs. Warrender, to hide the plaster? It does nt look very nice like that. Come, said Chatty, taking him by the hand. The elder sister had thrown herself into a chair at the mention of the tutor, and seemed unable for further exertion. Oh, yes, I am coming; but I am most interested about Theo. Theo, you have got a stain upon your cheek; and your coat is torn, too, as bad as my Well, but he did tear my knickerbock- ers. Look! I felt the cold wind, though I did not say anything; not upon the open road, but when we got among your trees. It is so dark among your trees. Theo! Come, come; I want you to come with me, Chatty said, hurrying Geoff away: and perhaps the sight of the ta- ble in the dining-room, and the tray which Joseph, not without a grumble, was placing upon it, became about this time as interesting as Theos wound. We ought to send and tell his moth- er thnt the child is here. Or send him back, said Minnie sharply, and get rid of him. A little story-teller! Theo his tutor! If I were his mother, I should whip him, till he learned what lies mean! Mrs. Warreuder looked with some anxiety at her son. Children, 8he 61 said, make such strange misrepresenta- tions of what they hear. But we should send I have sent already, said Theo. She will probably come and fetch him and, mother My dear, keep still, and dont~ dis- turb yourself. There might be a little fever. Oh, rubbish! Fever! I shall not dis- turb myself, if you dont disturb me. Look here. It is quite true; I ye of- fered myself to be his tutor. His tutor! cried Minnie once more, in a voice which was like the report of a pistol. Mrs. Warrender said nothing, but looked at him with a boundless pity in her eyes, slightly shaking her head. Well! and what have you to say against it? cried Theo, facing his sis- ter, with a glow of anger mounting to the face which had been almost ghastly with loss of blood. This is not a moment for discussion. Go and see to the child. rfheo, my dear boy, if you care so much for Geoff as that at another time you must tell us all about it. There is nothing to tell you, save that I have made up my mind to it, he said, looking at her with that prompt de- fiance which forestalls remark. Geoff! Do you think it is for Geoff? But nei- ther at this time nor at any other time is there more to say. He looked at her so severely that Mrs. Warrenders eyes fell. He felt no shame, but pride, in his self-sacrifice, and determination to stand by it and uphold his right to make it in the face of all the world. But this very determination, and a consciousness of all that would be said on the subject, gave Warrender a double intolerance in respect to Geoff himself. To imagine that it was for the boys sake was, he already felt, an im- putation he could scarce endure. For the boys sake! The boy would have been swept away before now if thought could have done it. From the first hour A Country Gentleman. 62 A Country Gtentleman. he had been impatient of the boy. The way in which he clung to his mother had been a personal offense. And his mother I ah, no, she could do no wrong. Not even in this matter, which sometimes tortured him, could he blame Lady Markland. But that she or any one should imagine for a moment that he was ready to sacrifice his time, his independence, so much of his life, for the sake of Geoff! That was a mis- conception which lATarrender could not bear. Dont let that little come near me, he said to his mother, as he finally went off, somewhat feebly, to the old library, where he could be sure of quiet. Make the girls take care of him and amuse him. She will proba- bly come and fetch him, and I will rest till then That little Warrender did not add any epithet; the adjective was enough. Till then till she comes! Is that all your thought? said his mother. Oh, my poor boy I He met her eyes with a pride which scorned concealment. Yes, he could own it here, where it would be in vain to deny it. He would not disavow the se- cret of his heart. Mothers have keen eyes: but hers were not keen, they were pitying, more sad than tears. She looked at him, and once more softly shook her head. The blood had rushed again to his face, dyeing it crimson for a moment, and he held his head high as he made his confession. Yes, mother, that is all my thought. And then he walked away, tingling with the first avow- al that had he made to mortal ears. As for Mrs. Warrender, she stood looking after him with so mingled an expression that only a delicate casuist could have divined the meaning in her. She was so sorry for him, so proud of him. He was so young, not more than a boy, yet man enough to give all his heart and his life to sacrifice everything, even his pride for the sake of the woman he loved. His mother, who had never be- [July, fore come within speaking distance of a passion like this, felt her heart glow and swell with pride in him, with tender ad- miration beyond words. She had nei- ther loved nor been loved after this sort; and yet it was no romance of the poets, but had a real existence, and was here, here by her side, in this monotonous little world which had never been touched by such a presence before. She said to herself that it would never come to any- thing but misery and pain; yet even misery was better than nothingness, and he who had loved had lived. To think that a quiet, middle-aged Englishwoman, a pattern of domestic duty, should think thus, and exult in her sons inconceiv- able and, as she believed, unhappy pas- sion, is almost too much to be credible. Yet so it was. Geoffs absence was not discovered until two oclock, when Lady Markland, at the end of a long and troublesome consultation over matters only partially understood, suggested luncheon to her man of business. Geoff will be wait- ing and very impatient, she said, with a smile. Mr. Longstaffe was not anxious to see Geoff, nor disturbed that the little boys midday meal should have been postponed to business, though this dis- turbed Geoffs mother, who had been in the habit of thinking his comfort the rule of her life. She was much startled not to find him in the dining-room, and to hear that he had not come back. Not come back! and it is two oclock! But Black will take good care of him, she said, with a forced smile, to Mr. Longstaffe, and I must not keep you waiting. If you please, my lady, said the butler, Black s not gone with him. At this Lady Markland stared at the man, the color dying out of her face. You have let him go out alone! I had nothing to do with it, my lady. The colt s lame, and Black Oh, she cried, with impatience, dont talk to me of excuses, but go, go, and look for my child! Then she was told that 1885.] A Country Gtentleman. 63 Black had gone some time since, and was scouring all the roads about; that he had come back once, having seen noth- ing; and that now the coachman and gardener were gone, too. From this time until the hasty messenger arrived with Theos hurried note, Lady Mark- land spent the time in such distraction as only mothers know, representing to herself a hundred dangers, which reason told her were unlikely, but which imag- ination, more strong than reason, placed again and again before her eyes, till she felt a certainty that they were true. All these stories of kidnapping, which peo- ple in their senses laugh at, Lady Mark- land as much as any, being when in her right mind a very sensible woman, came before her now as possible, likely, almost certain. And she saw Geoff, with his little foot caught in the stirrup, dragged at the ponys frightened heels, the stones on the road tearing him, his head knock- ing against every obstacle; and she saw him lying by the roadside, white and lifeless. She saw everything that could and could not happen, and accused her- self for not having sent him to school, out of danger, for not having kept him by her side night and day. Mr. Longstaffe naturally looked on at this anguish with a mixture of contempt and pity. He was not at all alarmed for Geoff. The young gentleman will have gone to visit one of his friends; he will have gone further than he intended. He may, if he does nt know the country very well, have missed his way: but we dont live in a land of brigands and bandits, my dear lady; somebody will be sure to direct him safely back. He managed to eat his luncheon by him- self, after she had begged him not to mind her absence, and had left him un- disturbed to confide to the butler his re- gret that Lady Markland should be so much upset, and his conviction that the little boy was quite safe. He 11 be all right, sir, the butler said. He is as sharp as a needle, is Mr. Geoff. I did ought to say his little lordship, but it s hard to get into new ways. They said this, each with an indulgent smile at her weakness, in Lady Marklands absence. The lawyer had a great respect for her, and the butler venerated his mistress, who was very capable in her own house~ but they smiled at her womanish exag- geration, all the same. Warrender had been quite right in thinking she would come at once for Geoff. She had almost harnessed the horses herself, so eager was she, and they flew along the country roads at a pace very unlike their ordinary calm. Evening had fallen when she rushed into the hall at the Warren, in her gar. den hat, with a shawl wrapped about her shoulders, the first she had found. Ter- rible recollections of the former occasion when she had been summoned to this house were in her mind, and it was with a fantastic terror which she could scarce- ly overcome that she found herself once more, by the same waning light, in the place where she had been sent for to see her husband die. If she had been deceived! If the child should be gone, like his father! She had not, however, a second moment in which to indulge this fancy, for Geoff s voice, somewhat raised, met her ears at once. Geoff was in very great feather, seated among the ladies, expounding to them his views on things in general. Our trees at Mark- land are not like your trees, he was saying. They are just as young as me, mamma says. When I am as old as you are, or as Theo, perhaps they will he grown. But I shall not like them so big as yours. When Theo is my tutor I shall tell him what I think; it will be a fine opportunity. Why, mamma! She had him in her arms, kissing and sobbing over him for a moment, till she could overcome that hysterical impulse. Theo had come from his room at the sound of the wheels, and the party were all collected in the drawing-room, the door of which stood open. There was 64 A Country Gentleman. [July, little light, so that they could scarcely see each other, but Minnie had full time to remark with horror that Lady Mark- land did not even wear a widows bon- net, or a crape veil, for decency, but had on a mere hat, a straw hat, with a black ribbon. She put her hand on her heart, in the pang of this discovery, but no- body else took any notice. And, indeed, in the outburst of the poor ladys thanks and questions, there was no room for any one else to speak. Oh, it was all right, said Geoff, who was in high excitement, the chief spokes- man, and extremely eager to tell his own story before any one could inter- fere. I knew the way quite well. I wanted to see Theo, you know, to ask him if he really meant it. I wanted to speak to him all by himself; for Theo is never the same, mamma, when you are there. I knew which turn to take as well as any one. I was nt in a hurry; it was such a nice day. But pony was not interested about Theo, like me, and he remembered that it was dinner-time. That was all about it. And then those people in the phaeton gave him a start. It was nothing. I just popped over his head. There was no danger except that the bays might have given me a kick; but horses never kick with their fore- feet. Here Lady Markland gave a shriek, and clutched her boy again. You fell, Geoff, among the horses feet! Oh, it did nt matter, mamma; it did nt matter a hit. Theo caught me, and tore my knickerbockers (but they re mended now). lie bled a great deal, and I helped Mrs. Warrender to plaster up the cut; but I was nt hurt, not a bit; and my knickerbockers It was Geoff s turn now to pause in surprise, for his mother left him, and flew to Theo, and, taking his hands, tried to kiss them, and, between laughing and crying, said, God bless you! God bless you i You have saved my boys life! Geoff was confounded by this deser tion, by the interruption, by the sudden cry. He put his hand up to the place where Warrenders cut was, dimly real- izing that it might have been in his own head but for Theo. Was that what it was? he said, wondering and unobserved in the midst of the new com- motion, which for the moment left Geoff altogether, and rose around Warrender, as if he had been the hero of the day. XXIII. They all sat round the table and took their evening meal together before Lady Markland went back. It was not a cer- emonious, grand dinner, as if there had been a party. Old Joseph pottered about, and put the dishes on the table, and handed the potatoes now and then when they were not wanted, and some- times leaned across between the young ladies to regulate the lamp, explaining why as he did so. Excuse me, Miss Chatty, but it s a-going to smoke, he said and in the mean time the family helped each other. But Lady Mark- land was not conscious of the defects in the service. She sat by Theos side, talking to him, looking at him in a kind of soft ecstasy. They had been friends before, but it seemed that she had now for the first time discovered what he was, and could not conceal her pleas- ure, her gratitude, her admiration. She made him tell her how it all happened, a dozen times over, while the others talked of other things, and poured out her thanks, her happiness, her ascrip- tion of praise, as if he had been more than mortal, devoting herself to him alone. Lady Markland had never been the kind of woman who allows herself in society to be engrossed by a man. It was entirely unlike her, unlike her char- acter, a new thing. She was quite un- conscious of Minnies sharp eyes upon her, of the remarks which were being made. All she was aware of, in that A Country G~entleman. 65 rapture of safety after danger and re- lief from pain, was Geoff, blinking with eyes half sleepy, half excited, by the side of Mrs. Warrender, nothing hurt in him but his knickerbockers; and the young man by her side, ~with the wound upon his head, who had saved her childs life. Theo, for his part, was wrapped in a mist of delight for which there was no name. He saw only her, thought only of her; and for the first time be- gan to imagine what life might be if it should ever come to mean a state in which this rapture shou]d be perma- nent, when she would always look at him so, always devote herself, eyes and lips and all her being, to make him happy. The room lay in darkness beyond the steady light of the white lamp, shining on the circle of faces. There was not much conversation. Minnie was stern- ly silent, on the watch; Chatty sym- pathetically on the alert, too, though she scarcely knew why, because her sister was; Mrs. Warrender listening with a faint smile to Geoffs little chatter, occa- sionally casting a glance at the other end of the table, which she could see but imperfectly. Lady Markland spoke low, addressing Theo only, so that Geoff, as before, held the chief place. He was never weary of going over the adven- tures of the day. It is that tall house before you come to the village, a tall, tall house, with a wall all round, as if to keep prisoners in. I know there are no prisoners now. Of course not! There are people all about in the fields and everywhere, who would soon tell the policeman and set you free. I was not afraid. Still, if the gates had been shut, and they re- fused to open, I dont know what one would do. The lady was like a picture in the Pilgrims Progress, that one, you know. I thought her pretty at first. But then she held me in her arm as if I had been a baby. Oh, it would be Those People! VOL. LYI. wo. 383. 5 said Minnie, moved to a passing excla- mation of horror. Never mind that now. You must not venture out again without the groom, for it makes your mother unhappy. Theo, said Mrs. Warrender, with a smile and a sigh, when he was a little fellow like you, never did anything to make me unhappy.~~ Did nt he? said Geoff seriously. But I did nt know. flow could I tell pony would so soon get hungry? He has nt a regular dinner-time, as we have; only munches and munches all day. But I was telling you about the tall house You must tell me another time, Geoff. Theo must bring you back with him sometimes for a holiday.~~ Yes, said Geoff, that would do better. Pony would go splendid by the side of Theos big black. I shall come often. When I do my lessons well I have never done any lessons except with r~1amma. Does Theo like teaching boys? I dont know, my dear. I dont think he has ever tried. Then why is he coming to teach me? That, at the very bottom of it, you know, is what I wanted him to tell me; for he would not tell straight out, the real truth, before mamma. I hope he always tells the real truth, said Mrs. Warrender gently. I suppose, my little Geoff, it is because he is fond of you. Upon this Geoff shook his little head for a long time, twisting his face and blinking his keen little eyes. He is not fond of me oh no, it is not that. I can do with Theo very well as well as with any one; but he is not fond of me. I am glad to hear that you can do with Theo, said the mother, amused. Yes. I dont mind him at all: but he is not fond of me; and he is sure not to teach mammas way, and that is the only way I know. If he were to want to punish me, Mrs. Warrender 66 A Count r~y Gentleman. [July, I hope, my dear, there will be no question of that. I should nt mind, said the boy, but mamma would nt like it. It might be very awkward for Theo. You are flogged when you go to school, are nt you? At least, all the books say so. Mamma, he went on, raising his voice, here is a difficulty, a great difficulty. If Theo should want to flog me, what should you do? Lady Markland did not hear him for the moment. She was absorbed I this was the remark made by Minnie, who watched with the intensest observation. Then Geoff, in defiance of good man- ners, drummed on the table to attract his mothers attention, and elevated his voice: Cant you hear what I m say- ing, mamma? If I were to be stupid with my lessons, and Theo were to flog me (It is only putting a case, for I am not stupid, he added, for Mrs. War- renders instruction, in an undertone.) You must not suggest anything so dreadful, said Lady Markland from the other end of the table. But now you must thank Mrs. Warrender, Geoff, and Mr. Theo, and every one; for the car- riage has come round, and it is growing late, and we must go away. Then Mrs. Warrender rose, as in duty bound, and the whole party with her. I will not ask you to stay; it is late for him, and he has had too much excitement, said the mistress of the house. And to think I might never have taken him home at all, never heard his voice again, but for your dear son, your good son! cried Lady Markiand, taking both Mrs. Warrenders hands, putting forward her head, with its smooth silken locks in which the light shone, and the soft round of her uplifted face to the elder woman, with an emotion and tenderness which went to Mrs. Warrenders heart. She gave the necessary kiss, but though she was touched there was no enthusi- asm in her reply. You must not think too much of that, Lady Markland. I hope he would have done it for any child in danger. This, of course, is always perfectly true; but it chills the effusion of indi- vidual gratitude.. Lady Markland raised her head, but she still held Mrs. War- renders hands. I wish, she said, oh, I wish you would tell me frankly! Does it vex you that he should be so good to me? This kind, kind offer about Geoff, is it too much? Yes, yes, I know it is too much; but how can I refuse what he is so good, so char- itable, as to offer, when it is such a boon to us? Oh, if you would tell me! Is it displeasing, is it distasteful to you? I dont know how to answer you,~~ Mrs. Warrender said. AhI but that is an answer. Dear Mrs. Warrender, help me to refuse it without wounding his feelings. I have always felt it was too much. Lady Markland, I cannot interfere. He is old enough to judge for himself. He will not accept guidance froni me, ah, nor from you either, except in one way. She returned the pressure of her visitors hand, which had relaxed, with one that was as significant. It is not so easy to lay spirits when they are once raised, she said. Lady Markland gave her a sudden, alarmed, inquiring look; but Theo came forward at that moment with her cloak, and nothing could be said more. When the visitors were gone he came back into the dining-room, expectant, defiant, fire in all his veins, and in his heart a sea of agitated bliss that had to get an outlet somewhere; not in a lita- ny to her, for which there was no place, but at least in defense of her and of him- self. It was Minnie, as usual, who stood ready to throw down the glove; Chatty being no more than a deeply interest- ed spectator, and the mother drawing aside from the fray with that sense of sympathy which silences remonstrance. Besides, Mrs. Warrender did not know, 18%.] in the responsive excitement in her- self which Theos passion called forth, whether she wished to remonstrate or to put nny hindrance in his way. Well, upon my word! said Min- nie, Mrs. Wilberforce may well say the world is coming to a pretty pass. Only six months a widow, and not a bit of crape upon her! I knew she wore no cap. Cap! why, she has nt even a bonnet, nor a veil, nor anything! A little bit of a hat, with a black ribbon, too light for me to wear; even Chat- ty would be ashamed to be seen Oh, no, Minnie; in the garden, you know, we have never worn anything deeper. Do you call this the garden? cried Minnie, her voice so deep with alarm and presentiment that it sounded bass, in the silence of the night. Six miles off, and an open carriage, and coming among people who are themselves in mourning! It ought to have given her a lesson to see my mother in her cap. If you have nothing better to do t~han to find fault with Lady Markland -~ said Theo, pale with passion. Oh, cried Minnie, dont suppose I am going to speak about Lady Mark- land to you. How can you be so infat- uated, Theo? You a tutor, you, that have always been made such a fuss with, as if there was not such another in the world! What was it all he was to be? A first class, and a Fellow, and I dont know what. But tutor to a small boy, tutor to a little lord, a sort of a valet, orasortof a nurse. Minnie! your brother is at an age when he must choose for himself. How much are you to have for it? she cried, how much a year? Or. are you to be paid with presents, or only with the credit of the connection? Oh, I am glad poor papa is dead, not to hear of it. He would have known what to think of it all. He would have given you his opinion of a woman of a wo- man .. 67 Lady Markland is a very nice wo- man, said Chatty. Oh, Theo, dont look as if you were going to strike her! She does nt know what she is saying. She has lost her temper. It is just Minnies way. Of a woman who wears no crape for her husband! cried Minnie, with an effort, in her bass voice. Theo, who had looked, indeed, as if he might have knocked his sister down, here burst into an angry peal of laughter, which rang through the house; and his mother, seizing the opportunity, took him by the arm and drew him away. Dont take any notice, she said. You must not forget she is your sister, what- ever she says. And, my dear boy, though Minnie exaggerates, she has reason on her side, from her point of view. No, I dont think as she does, altogether; but, Theo, cant you understand that it is a disappointment to us? We always made so sure you were going to do some great thing. And to be of a little real use, once in a way, is such a small thing! Oh, Theo, you must be reasonable, and think a little. It does not want a scholar like von to teach little Geoff. A scholar like me. How do you know I am a scholar at all? Mrs. Warrender knew that no an- swer to this was necessary, and did not attempt it. She went on: And you are not in a position to want such em- ployment. Dont you see that every- body will begin to inquire what your in- ducement is? For a young man who has nothing, it is all quite natural; but you Theo, have you ever asked your- self how you are to be repaid? You are as bad as Minnie, mother, he said, with scorn; you think I want to be repaid. She clasped her hands upon his arm, looking up at him with a sort of pitying pride. She must think of it, Theo, everybody must think of it; ah yes, and even yourself, at the last. A Country aentleman. 1885.] Tempted. 69 turned into ridicule; but you never will meet the real question. Oh, is that you, Herbert? Have you got rid of your churchwarden so soon? for this was the pretext upon which the rector had been got out of the way. He did not want much, a mere question. Indeed, said the rector re- membering that fibs are not permitted to clergy any more than to the mere laic, and perceiving that he must expect his punishment all the same, with that cour- age which springs from the conviction that it is as well to be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb it was not the churchwarden at all; it was only a mis- take of John. Well, said his wife significantly, it was a mistake that was quickly rec- tified, one can see, as you have come back so soon. And here is Theo talking already of going home. Of course he has his lessons to prepare for to-morrow; he is not a mere idle gentleman now. Little gibes and allusions like these rained upon the young man from all quarters during the first six months, but no one ventured to speak to him with the faithfulness used by Mrs. Wil- berforce; and after a time even these irritating if not very harmful weapons dropped, and the whole matter sank into the region Qf the ordinary. He rode, or, if the weather was bad, drove, five days in the week to his little pupil, who in himself was not to Theos mind an attractive pupil, and who kept the temper of the tutor on a constant strain. It ought, according to all moral rules, to have been very good for Warrender to be thus forced to self-control, and to exercise a continual restraint over his extremely impatient temper and fas- tidious, almost capricious temperament. But there are circumstances in which such self-restraint is rather an aggravat- ing than a softening process. During this period, however, Theo was scarcely to be accounted for by the usual rules of human nature. His mind was alto- gether absorbed by one of the most powerful influences of human life. He was carried away by a tide of passion which was stronger than life itself. ii!. 0. JV. Oliphant. TEMPTED. YES, I know what you say: Since it cannot be soul to soul, Be it flesh to flesh, as it may; But is Earth the whole? Shall a man betray the Past For all Earth gives? But the Past is dead? At last, It is all that lives. Which were the nobler goal To snatch at the moments bliss, Or to swear I will keep my soul Clean for her kiss? Andrew HedbroQk. TO A B~t of Bird-Life. [July, A BIT OF BIRD-LIFE. Tun redwing blackbird is pr& mi- nently a bird of social tastes. Nearly the whole year he lives in a noisy crowd, calling, screaming, and singing from morning till night; at this time in his life his manners are of no particular interest. But in the spring, as to other birds, comes the mysterious impulse to leave the giddy throng, to retire to a. quiet nook, to build a nest, and establish a family. During this pleasing episode in his ordinary history, his personality reveals itself; he is no longer simply a unit in a lively mob, but an individual with well - marked characteristics and tastes of his own, and he then becomes attractive to the student of bird ways. It is the redwing in domestic life, as the head of a family, that he comes before you now. The blackbird nook is invariably the loveliest spot in a neighborhood, and is never hard to find, for with childlike ingenuousness he makes himself so con- spicuous, and his business so apparent, that the dullest observer cannot fail to notice him. Long before you reach his vicinity you will hear his gleeful Conk- a-reel (or, more correctly, liwa-ker- ~ I ) and as you approach, his loud Chack! chack I challenging your right to intrude, and demanding your business in his retreat. But draw near, even if, as sometimes happens, he grows belligerent and swoops down towards your face. You will find a clump of trees at the edge of the water, generally hedged in by low, thick-growing shrubs. Part the branches in defiance of his angry protests, stoop, and you shall step into a most charming spot, his chosen home. If in a park it will be a bit of wildness left as nature planned it, unfrequented and perfectly secluded, though perhaps not ten feet from a common walk. Within the thick shroud- ing bushes the ground is bare, or thinly clad with low shrubs, and tall trees com- pletely shade the leafy temple, which is cool and roomy, and refreshing in its peculiar green light. One side borders the water, and there, low among the reeds, is doubtless the homestead so high- ly regarded, and so poorly concealed. But though the place be lonely you shall not enjoy it in peace, for this anx- ious parent, the most fussy and restless of feathered folk, will net cease to scold and scream so long as you stay, run- ning along the branches and eying you from every side. Should his mate be sitting, she will keep silent and show herself more wary than her spouse, but if not thus engaged, she will soon ap- pear. She differs so greatly from him that you may not recognize her till she adds her volubility to the m~l6e, and you perceive that her voice is exactly like his. She is smaller, and of an incon- spicuous gray and brown color, which better fits her for her maternal duties; but her manner of carrying herself, her restlessness, and the expressive use of the tail betray her relationship. The redwing himself is the most con- spicuous object in the landscape. Shin- ing black from the point of the bill to the tip of the toes, his color harmonizes with nothing in nature, and his gold- fringed scarlet epaulets gleam through the trees like gems. Sit down quietly and watch him. Notwithstanding his society life, he has not the slightest repose of manner. He is incessantly in motion; to stand still while you look at him is impossible to a blackbird. He will walk along a small branch in such a way that it takes a close look to see that he does not put one foot before the other. He really s~dles, but holds his body in the direction he is moving, so that one is easily deceived in the matter.

Andrew Hedbrooke Hedbrooke, Andrew Tempted 69-70

TO A B~t of Bird-Life. [July, A BIT OF BIRD-LIFE. Tun redwing blackbird is pr& mi- nently a bird of social tastes. Nearly the whole year he lives in a noisy crowd, calling, screaming, and singing from morning till night; at this time in his life his manners are of no particular interest. But in the spring, as to other birds, comes the mysterious impulse to leave the giddy throng, to retire to a. quiet nook, to build a nest, and establish a family. During this pleasing episode in his ordinary history, his personality reveals itself; he is no longer simply a unit in a lively mob, but an individual with well - marked characteristics and tastes of his own, and he then becomes attractive to the student of bird ways. It is the redwing in domestic life, as the head of a family, that he comes before you now. The blackbird nook is invariably the loveliest spot in a neighborhood, and is never hard to find, for with childlike ingenuousness he makes himself so con- spicuous, and his business so apparent, that the dullest observer cannot fail to notice him. Long before you reach his vicinity you will hear his gleeful Conk- a-reel (or, more correctly, liwa-ker- ~ I ) and as you approach, his loud Chack! chack I challenging your right to intrude, and demanding your business in his retreat. But draw near, even if, as sometimes happens, he grows belligerent and swoops down towards your face. You will find a clump of trees at the edge of the water, generally hedged in by low, thick-growing shrubs. Part the branches in defiance of his angry protests, stoop, and you shall step into a most charming spot, his chosen home. If in a park it will be a bit of wildness left as nature planned it, unfrequented and perfectly secluded, though perhaps not ten feet from a common walk. Within the thick shroud- ing bushes the ground is bare, or thinly clad with low shrubs, and tall trees com- pletely shade the leafy temple, which is cool and roomy, and refreshing in its peculiar green light. One side borders the water, and there, low among the reeds, is doubtless the homestead so high- ly regarded, and so poorly concealed. But though the place be lonely you shall not enjoy it in peace, for this anx- ious parent, the most fussy and restless of feathered folk, will net cease to scold and scream so long as you stay, run- ning along the branches and eying you from every side. Should his mate be sitting, she will keep silent and show herself more wary than her spouse, but if not thus engaged, she will soon ap- pear. She differs so greatly from him that you may not recognize her till she adds her volubility to the m~l6e, and you perceive that her voice is exactly like his. She is smaller, and of an incon- spicuous gray and brown color, which better fits her for her maternal duties; but her manner of carrying herself, her restlessness, and the expressive use of the tail betray her relationship. The redwing himself is the most con- spicuous object in the landscape. Shin- ing black from the point of the bill to the tip of the toes, his color harmonizes with nothing in nature, and his gold- fringed scarlet epaulets gleam through the trees like gems. Sit down quietly and watch him. Notwithstanding his society life, he has not the slightest repose of manner. He is incessantly in motion; to stand still while you look at him is impossible to a blackbird. He will walk along a small branch in such a way that it takes a close look to see that he does not put one foot before the other. He really s~dles, but holds his body in the direction he is moving, so that one is easily deceived in the matter. 1885.] A Bit of Bird-Life. 71 Then he will jump heavily to the next bough and walk the length of that, jerk- ing his tail at every step, and all the time scolding and screaming at the top of his voice, till you are sure the whole bird world will be notified of the pres- ence of an inquisitive stranger, with sus- picious manners. Should the young be out, you will quickly be informed of the fact by the presence of the modest gray mother, who will appear, perhaps, with a mouthful of food, which, however, will not prevent her uttering the blackbird Chack! chack! She will earnestly resent your intrusion, hopping uneasily about the tree, anxious to carry her load to the nest, yet fearing to have you see her, till at length she will slip behind the trunk, and silently take wing from the further side, while her ingenuous spouse, perfectly confident of the success of her ruse, delivers a triumphant hwa-ker- ~. Such childlike faith is not to be betrayed. You have not the heart to follow that troubled mother to the clump of low bushes where her treasure is hid- den; you are not here as a robber, or violator of homes, however small, but as a student of life. To~-morrow you shall return and see the darlings of the red- wing family out on the tree, which is much more satisfactory than to disturb the nest, and distress the owners of it. If you keep still so long that the lively bird forgets your presence and becomes less noisy, you may see him sit down on a branch, to rest after his ex- citement, letting his tail hang straight down, and occasionally stretching out his long neck till the feathers stand apart, then swell out his throat and treat you to his song. If the hour is right you may see him bathe, and it is worth waiting for. He is exceedingly fond of water, and spatters and splashes with a good will; and though too careless a felluw to spend much time over his sub- sequent toilet, simply shaking himself violently and leaving the sun to corn- plete the drying, yet his coat is bright and shining. When the young family appeart on the tree the spectacle is most amusing: the father, fussy as the celebrated hen with one chicken, hopping and running over the branches, chattering all the time and occasionally offering a dainty morsel to one of the infants; the moth- er, busy enough trying to fill the ever hungry mouths; and the clumsy young- sters themselves, as big as their moth- er and exactly like her in color, too restless to keep near each other, but sidling along the branches, and hopping awkwardly about the tree, so that the mother has to seek them in a new place every time she returns from her excur- sions for food. For several days the feeding goes on, till the nestlings are fully feathered and one cannot tell them from their mother; and then some morn- ing the student creeps into the black- bird nook, to find it strangely quiet and the whole family gone. It has probably quite broken up: the father has resumed his bachelor ways in the society of his kind, the full-grown young of the neigh- borhood enjoying life in their own fash- ion in a flock by themselves. The sum- mer home-life of the blackbird is over, and you will seek him in vain in the nook. Henceforth it is the open coun- try and the cornfields where he is to be found, under many names, but merry and voluble as ever, and here we will not follow him. The noises a redwing blackbird can make are of great variety, more than one would suspect who has not studied him in confinement. The close ac- quaintance with all the sounds natural to a bird, and the emotions indicated by the different cries and calls, is perhaps the most useful knowledge to be gained by keeping him in captivity. The blackbird in the house has made every slightest sound familiar, and you never mistake him for any other, however far off or well concealed. The song of this

Olive Thorne Miller Miller, Olive Thorne A Bit of Bird-Life 70-74

1885.] A Bit of Bird-Life. 71 Then he will jump heavily to the next bough and walk the length of that, jerk- ing his tail at every step, and all the time scolding and screaming at the top of his voice, till you are sure the whole bird world will be notified of the pres- ence of an inquisitive stranger, with sus- picious manners. Should the young be out, you will quickly be informed of the fact by the presence of the modest gray mother, who will appear, perhaps, with a mouthful of food, which, however, will not prevent her uttering the blackbird Chack! chack! She will earnestly resent your intrusion, hopping uneasily about the tree, anxious to carry her load to the nest, yet fearing to have you see her, till at length she will slip behind the trunk, and silently take wing from the further side, while her ingenuous spouse, perfectly confident of the success of her ruse, delivers a triumphant hwa-ker- ~. Such childlike faith is not to be betrayed. You have not the heart to follow that troubled mother to the clump of low bushes where her treasure is hid- den; you are not here as a robber, or violator of homes, however small, but as a student of life. To~-morrow you shall return and see the darlings of the red- wing family out on the tree, which is much more satisfactory than to disturb the nest, and distress the owners of it. If you keep still so long that the lively bird forgets your presence and becomes less noisy, you may see him sit down on a branch, to rest after his ex- citement, letting his tail hang straight down, and occasionally stretching out his long neck till the feathers stand apart, then swell out his throat and treat you to his song. If the hour is right you may see him bathe, and it is worth waiting for. He is exceedingly fond of water, and spatters and splashes with a good will; and though too careless a felluw to spend much time over his sub- sequent toilet, simply shaking himself violently and leaving the sun to corn- plete the drying, yet his coat is bright and shining. When the young family appeart on the tree the spectacle is most amusing: the father, fussy as the celebrated hen with one chicken, hopping and running over the branches, chattering all the time and occasionally offering a dainty morsel to one of the infants; the moth- er, busy enough trying to fill the ever hungry mouths; and the clumsy young- sters themselves, as big as their moth- er and exactly like her in color, too restless to keep near each other, but sidling along the branches, and hopping awkwardly about the tree, so that the mother has to seek them in a new place every time she returns from her excur- sions for food. For several days the feeding goes on, till the nestlings are fully feathered and one cannot tell them from their mother; and then some morn- ing the student creeps into the black- bird nook, to find it strangely quiet and the whole family gone. It has probably quite broken up: the father has resumed his bachelor ways in the society of his kind, the full-grown young of the neigh- borhood enjoying life in their own fash- ion in a flock by themselves. The sum- mer home-life of the blackbird is over, and you will seek him in vain in the nook. Henceforth it is the open coun- try and the cornfields where he is to be found, under many names, but merry and voluble as ever, and here we will not follow him. The noises a redwing blackbird can make are of great variety, more than one would suspect who has not studied him in confinement. The close ac- quaintance with all the sounds natural to a bird, and the emotions indicated by the different cries and calls, is perhaps the most useful knowledge to be gained by keeping him in captivity. The blackbird in the house has made every slightest sound familiar, and you never mistake him for any other, however far off or well concealed. The song of this 1885.] A Bit of Bird-b ~fe. Then he will jump heavily to the next bough and walk the length of that, jerk- ing his tail at every step, and all the time scolding and screaming at the top of his voice, till you are sure the whole bird world will be notified of the pres- ence of an inquisitive stranger, with sus- picious manners. Should the young be out, you will quickly be informed of the fact by the presence of the modest gray mother, who will appear, perhaps, with a mouthful of food, which, however, will not prevent her uttering the blackbird Chack! chack! She will earnestly resent your intrusion, hopping uneasily about the tree, anxious to carry her load to the nest, yet fearing to have you see her, till at length she will slip behind the trunk, and silently take wing from the further side, while her ingenuous spouse, perfectly confident of the success of her ruse, delivers a triumphant hwa-ker- ~. Such childlike faith is not to be betrayed. You have not the heart to follow that troubled mother to the clump of low bushes where her treasure is hid- den; you are not here as a robber, or violator of homes, however small, but as a student of life. To.morrow you shall return and see the darlings of the red- wing family out on the tree, which is much more satisfactory than to disturb the nest, and distress the owners of it. If you keep still so long that the lively bird forgets your presence and becomes less noisy, you may see him sit down on a branch, to rest after his ex- citement, letting his tail hang straight down, and occasionally stretching out his long neck till the feathers stand apart, then swell out his throat and treat you to his song. If the hour is right you may see him bathe, and it is worth waiting for. He is exceedingly fond of water, and spatters and splashes with a good will; and though too careless a fellow to spend much time over his sub- sequent toilet, simply shaking himself violently and leaving the sun to com plete the drying, yet his coat is bright and shining. When the young family appears on the tree the spectacle is most amusing: the father, fussy as the celebrated hen with one chicken, hopping and running over the branches, chattering all the time and occasionally offering a dainty morsel to one of the infants; the moth- er, busy enough trying to fill the ever hungry mouths; and the clumsy young- sters themselves, as big as their moth- er and exactly like her in color, too restless to keep near each other, but sidling along the branches, and hopping awkwardly about the tree, so that the mother has to seek them in a new place every time she returns from her excur- sions for food. For several days the feeding goes on, till the nestlings are fully feathered and one cannot tell them from their mother; and then some morn- ing the student creeps into the black- bird nook, to find it strangely quiet and the whole family gone. It has probably quite broken up: the father has resumed his bachelor ways in the society of his kind, the full-grown young of the neigh- borhood enjoying life in their own fash- ion in a flock by themselves. The sum- mer home-life of the blackbird is over, and you will seek him in vain in the nook. Henceforth it is the open coun- try and the cornfields where he is to be found, under many names, but merry and voluble as ever, and here we will not follow him. The noises a redwing blackbird can make are of great variety, more thau one would suspect who has not studied him in confinement. The close ac- quaintance with all the sounds natural to a bird, and the emotions indicated by the different cries and calls, is perhaps the most useful knowledge to be gained by keeping him in captivity. The blackbird in the house has made every slightest sound familiar, and you never mistake him for any other, however far off or well concealed. The song of this 72 A Bit of Bird-Life. bird has been variously characterized, but rarely appreciated. It is, in truth, when heard away from the crowd, a wild, rich strain, recalling the woods on long summer days, the delightful odor of fresh earth and strong vegetable growth. It is impossible to describe, hut no birds song is more expressive of his life, or more suggestive of wild na- ture. It consists of two strains, each of which is often varied. The most com- monly heard has been well represented by Gentry by the syllables hwa-ker-~, on an ascending scale. Heard nearer, however, this strain is found to consist always of four notes (one lower in the beginning), and often of six. If the or- dinary notes are supposed to be do, mi, sol, do, beginning on low C, which they nearly resemble, the bird varies it by sometimes singing sol, mi, do, mi, 801, do, in the same octave, and sometimes by throwing in a tone between each of the original four. The whole is given with an indescribable thrill, and the final do is often a well-executed trill. The second strain is of similar notes, only in a minor key. If the tones can- not be said to be of sweet quality in themselves, it must be remembered that they are adapted for distant effects; and at least they are clear, perfectly suited to the open air, and not unpleasing even in a room. But the song is the smallest of the redwings utterances. First is his fa- miliar harsh Chack, chack! express- ing various emotions, being sometimes softened into Check ~ and Chick,~~ and even, with closed bill, into a rich Chuck. Besides this he has a shrill scream (it can be ialled nothing else) on a high key, a sharp, insect-like sound, and a rough aspirate when displeased, like the first sound of h. In addition to all these, he has one genuinely sweet, most musical note. It is a sin- gle call, which sounds like ce-u. He gives it sometimes when flying, and in captivity when greatly enjoying any- f July, thing. For instance, in bathing he will utter that note, and if one answers in a moderately close imitation, on the same key, he will repeat it. I have kept one saying it over for twenty times or more. Poets and naturalists have exhausted adjectives in ridiculing the blackbirds song, but the reasons for the peculiar dis- cordance of a flock in which only they seem to have been observed are not far to seek. In the first place, when birds begin to moult, and their usually clear, decided notes break, crack, and fail miserably, nearly every one takes refuge in silence. If he cannot sing his best, he will not sing at all; and it is extremely ineresting to hear the gen- tle, low trials which he will give of his returning powers when this season is over, whispered songs as it were, till he is sure he has recovered his voice, and can pour out the full, clear song in which he delights. The blackbird is the only exception that I know to this nearly universal habit of silence, and he is so brimming over with spirits and jollity that sing he must. So he is not discouraged though his attempted hwa-ker-~ ends on the first syllable in a crack, or choke, or even in a dis- mal squeal, as it sometimes does. He simply pauses a moment, as if to collect his energies, and then utters his whole song, every note clearly and well, as if to say, That was only a slip; you see I can sing yet. Then again, his song needs, for full enjoyment, to be heard alone. While in the madding crowd of a flock of blackbirds, noisy and gar- rulous as a pack of school-children, the hwa-ker-~ of one is spoiled by the scream of another, and the chack, chacks of twenty more. Listen to one bird alone in his own chosen nook, and no song in the woods seems more appro- priate to the place, more to breathe the very soul of wildness. When this bird expresses his emo- tions in a house, the strain is a curious medley of all the sounds he can make, 1885.] in rapid succession, as Hwa-ker-~ I chack, chack! (scream) ~-u! chack, chack! (scream) chick, chick! ~~u! hwa-ker-~! (scream), and so on for fifteen minutes without pause. His morning song is the hwa-ker-~ alone, at intervals of a minute or less. In a happy captivity he will sing thus for an hour, while yet the room is dark, and he has not touched food. I spoke of the blackbirds fondness for water: in a cage it is impossible to keep more than a quarter of an inch of water in his dish: it is simply irresisti- ble. The first thing he does is to spat- ter as much out as he can, and then with every mouthful of food, before and after and in the middle of his eating, he wants more. Seeds he cracks over the dish, and picks the fragments from the top; of mocking-bird food he takes a beakful and deliberately drops it in the water, and eats the particles daintily as they float. He is the only bird I have ever seen pay particular attention to bathing his feet. The one I have will stand on the edge of his bathing- dish, fill his beak, and pass it down over each toe in succession, letting the water flow over it, refilling as needed, and apparently scraping the whole length carefully. I have watched this very closely, while not three feet from him. The same bird learned in a few days to know his regular attendant, and while remaining for months quite wild on the approach of the gentlemen of the family, whom he saw every day, was never in the least afraid of rue. From the first he ate from my fingers, and before he had been in the house a week, seeing one day a thrush standing on my knee and receiving meat from my hand, he came out of his cage, flew across the room, and alighted beside the thrush, who instantly vacated his position, and stood there as long as I fed him, showing no fear. A little later, when he became very ill, and so weak that he hesitated to descend his three perches 78 for food because of his uncertain foot- ing, he allowed me to put my hand in the cage and hold his dish up to him on the upper perch, when he would eat freely, and then, when I held up the water, drink also. For two or three days he ate in no other way, and I am confident I thus kept him alive while curing him of his ailment. The blackbird has now lived with me eight months, and though his cage door is always open he seldom comes out, and when he does is very glad to get back. He is very observing; notices in a moment if I have anything for him to eat, and comes instantly to the side nearest to me, and calls till I offer him a bit of whatever it may be, when he descends to his beloved water-cup, tastes the morsel, and usually leaves it in one of his dishes. He had a strange expe- rience a few months ago: he broke off the end of his bill. First the upper mandible appeared a quarter of an inch shorter than the lower, and he had great trouble in eating, though he sang as merrily as ever. In a day or two, while I was seeking advice on the subject, which, by the way, I did not get, for no person or book, that I could find, gave any light on such a catastrophe, he broke off the lower one to match. Since then he is as happy as ever, disturbed by nothing except the singing of one of his neighbors, whom it seems to he the aim of his life to reduce to silence. If volume would do it, success would crown his efforts, but his opponent is a plucky little fellow, and refuses to be suppressed; and so for months the unequal rivalry has continued. The redwing blackbird is never by any chance graceful. He walks about the floor like an old man with the gout, and he has a curious fashion of thrust- ing his bill into a dish and then opening it, as if to pry the seed or water apart. He does the same under the edge of a towel or newspaper on the floor. One droll little exhibition of intelli A Bit of Bird-Ljfe. 74 China Speak8 for Ilier8elf. [July, gence was furnished by the blackbird and a thrush. The latter chose to alight beside the cage of the former, and at- tempt to pull things through the wires. The indignant owner came down to the corner nearest the intruder, and began to scold, Chack! (scream) chack! (scream). The thrush calmly went on with his occupation, on observing which the blackbird slightly raised the wing nearest the enemy, and quivered it while repeating the remonstrance. Finding the thrush not in the least disturbed, he resorted to more severe measures, and gave a violent peck be- tween the wires, which settled the mat- ter. The queer thing about the per- formance was that both birds would pause in their demonstrations every few seconds, and look over to where I sat. I pretended not to notice them, and then they would resume hostilities, act- ing exactly like two quarrelsome chil- dren, who look to see if they are ob- served. It was certainly an intelligent acknowledgment of my position as law- maker, as well as a recognition of the possibility of nay disapproval, and above all a guilty consciousness of wrong- doing. Olive Thorne Miller. CHINA SPEAKS FOR HERSELF. CHINA, after being made known to Europe for over five hundred years by Europeans only, has at length spoken for herself. Colonel Tcheng-Ki-Tong, military attach6 to the Chinese em- bassy in Paris, published last year in the Revue des Deux Mondes a series of papers which have since been re- printed in a little volume called Les Chinois Peints par Eux-Mgmes. His picture of his own country shows it in very different colors from those to which we are accustomed, and it may be ob- jected that this time the lion is the painter; it was certainly the lions turn. Colonel Tcheng adverts to the ignorance and injustice with which his country has been treated by travelers who are hardly familiar even with its external aspect; to the easy credence given to monstrous charges against it, as for in- stance that the legal punishment of un- faithful wives is being trampled to death by elephants, or that superfluous children are habitually thrown upon dung-hills to be devoured by hogs; and to the fact that the word Chinese is a synonym for absurdity. He claims the right for his country to be heard through her sons, and as he has lived in Europe for fif- teen years, and is versed in her history, literature, and languages, he knows the standards by which his national man- ners and customs must be judged. In- tercourse with intelligent and cultivated Frenchmen has made him critical, and taught him caution in advancing opin- ions and theories which cannot be vindi- cated by European canons of morality and taste. He is keen and observant, with an ironical wit, which his Asiatic courtesy keeps within the bounds of offense. If he were inclined to satirize the practice of Christendom, we should probably have a treatise on the subject more severe and searching than Gulli- vers Travels or~ Montesquieus Lettres Persanes. But Colonel Tcheng professes to desire only to give a true account of his people, and there could not he a mo- ment when truth in their behalf would be more in season. If his statements are untrustworthy, there will be pens enough able and ready to refute them, so in the present article they have been repeated without comment.

China Speaks for Herself 74-85

74 China Speak8 for Ilier8elf. [July, gence was furnished by the blackbird and a thrush. The latter chose to alight beside the cage of the former, and at- tempt to pull things through the wires. The indignant owner came down to the corner nearest the intruder, and began to scold, Chack! (scream) chack! (scream). The thrush calmly went on with his occupation, on observing which the blackbird slightly raised the wing nearest the enemy, and quivered it while repeating the remonstrance. Finding the thrush not in the least disturbed, he resorted to more severe measures, and gave a violent peck be- tween the wires, which settled the mat- ter. The queer thing about the per- formance was that both birds would pause in their demonstrations every few seconds, and look over to where I sat. I pretended not to notice them, and then they would resume hostilities, act- ing exactly like two quarrelsome chil- dren, who look to see if they are ob- served. It was certainly an intelligent acknowledgment of my position as law- maker, as well as a recognition of the possibility of nay disapproval, and above all a guilty consciousness of wrong- doing. Olive Thorne Miller. CHINA SPEAKS FOR HERSELF. CHINA, after being made known to Europe for over five hundred years by Europeans only, has at length spoken for herself. Colonel Tcheng-Ki-Tong, military attach6 to the Chinese em- bassy in Paris, published last year in the Revue des Deux Mondes a series of papers which have since been re- printed in a little volume called Les Chinois Peints par Eux-Mgmes. His picture of his own country shows it in very different colors from those to which we are accustomed, and it may be ob- jected that this time the lion is the painter; it was certainly the lions turn. Colonel Tcheng adverts to the ignorance and injustice with which his country has been treated by travelers who are hardly familiar even with its external aspect; to the easy credence given to monstrous charges against it, as for in- stance that the legal punishment of un- faithful wives is being trampled to death by elephants, or that superfluous children are habitually thrown upon dung-hills to be devoured by hogs; and to the fact that the word Chinese is a synonym for absurdity. He claims the right for his country to be heard through her sons, and as he has lived in Europe for fif- teen years, and is versed in her history, literature, and languages, he knows the standards by which his national man- ners and customs must be judged. In- tercourse with intelligent and cultivated Frenchmen has made him critical, and taught him caution in advancing opin- ions and theories which cannot be vindi- cated by European canons of morality and taste. He is keen and observant, with an ironical wit, which his Asiatic courtesy keeps within the bounds of offense. If he were inclined to satirize the practice of Christendom, we should probably have a treatise on the subject more severe and searching than Gulli- vers Travels or~ Montesquieus Lettres Persanes. But Colonel Tcheng professes to desire only to give a true account of his people, and there could not he a mo- ment when truth in their behalf would be more in season. If his statements are untrustworthy, there will be pens enough able and ready to refute them, so in the present article they have been repeated without comment. 1885.] C/dna ASrpeak8 for herself. (5 The family is the corner-stone of the Chinese Empire. Chinese society may be defined as the totality of its families, and the Chinese family may be com- pared to an organized society. It at- tains the dignity of a religious order with a settled rule; its income consti- tutes a common fund, from which pro- vision is made for the education of children, for marriage portions, for an allowance to young men beginning their career, for pensions to the sick, the aged, or those who are out of employ- ment. The administration of the fam- ily fortune is the application of the apostolic system within the limits of kin. Real estate also belongs to the united family, and landmarks bearing the patronymic define the boundaries of every property. Each family has its own statutes, among which are recorded the joint possessions and the destina- tion of certain revenues to the purposes named above. Each separate statute- book has also its penal code, fixing the punishments of such members as, by ill- conduct not amenable to law, shall in- jure the honor of the family, for the general welfare of which it is incumbent upon every one to sacrifice his individual peculiarities. But if circumstances, or irreconcilable differences of disposition, destroy the common harmony, there may be a division of the estate among the male heirs. The eldest of a family is the head; every important action is decided by him, and he signs legal papers in the name of the other mem- bers. It is usual for all the genera- tions of one line to live in one house, so that the seven ages may sometimes be found under the same roof. The family, thus erected into an in- stitution, necessarily extends its influ- ence over matters which elsewhere be- long to other departments of life. The tie of blood being regarded by the Chi- nese as a religious bond, virtues which with us are considered as causes with them are set down as effects, and vice versa. Five principles are inculcated to maintain its sacredness: namely, fidel- ity to the sovereign, respect towards parents, union between husbands and wives, concord among brothers, and con- stancy in friendship. The obligations of children to parents are held as so solemn that the distinction of the former redounds to the advantage of the latter, and honors are transmitted backwards: if a public functionary is ennobled, his parents are ennobled with him, and his rank, if sufficiently high, ascends to more remote progenitors. Titles are not he- reditary except for military services, and in that case descend through the eldest son only; but unless sustained by personal merit, this sort of rank is not valued. Such a conception of aris- tocracy must act as a constant stimulus to filial reverence, and supply parents with an additional incentive for educat- ing their sons carefully, literary attain- ment being the most direct road to office in China. Fraternal affection comes next in the order of virtue, and involves almost an identification of a mans inter- ests and advantages with his brothers; the responsibility for mutual help and relief seems to be boundless. All kin- dred share these claims in some degree, and even friendship recognizes them as sacred duties: to strip ones self of ones coat for a friend who has none would not be accounted a merit in China, but the least that anybody could do. These obligations are as binding upon the poor as on the rich; people who have not the means to do much individually for others raise subscriptions among them- selves to provide for the more needy of their own class. Colonel Tcheng slyly remarks that in Christian countries he has noticed that practices which he has always looked upon as matters of course are held up as miracles of grace and goodness. With us, he says, to assist friends who have met with ill-fortune is not a virtue, but a habit. Europeans strike him as hard-hearted and wanting 16 China Speaks for Herself. in sympathy for the misfortunes of their friends and acquaintances. At the same time he admits that the idea of succor- ing the ills of the stranger, of humanity, in short what we term philanthropy or general benevolence, is incomprehensi- ~le to them; they have the charity that begins at home in its widest sense, but the Christian relation of the neigh- bor is unknown to them, and by in- ference the Good Samaritan would have been set down as a fool, in China. The worship of ancestors is the high- est expression of filial piety and blood- love among the Chinese. Their bury- ing-grounds, like ours, are without their towns, in the prettiest situation of the environs, on a hillside, if there be one in the neighborhood, and Family Vault is to be read on the entrance of many inclosures. The richer families build temples to their ancestors, in which are mural tablets inscribed with the name, titles, and public services of each line, forming a sort of genealogical tree. Some of these edifices contain apart- ments, in which the surviving members of a scattered clan meet twice a year, in the spring and autumn, at the time ap- pointed for the semi-annual veneration of the manes, seasons of thanksgiving and solemn rejoicing. They are even built occasionally with a view to being used as villas, or summer retreats, in which family festivals, such as marriages, or the celebration of successful examina- tions, to be spoken of hereafter, are held. In this way, those who have gone before, long before, are associated in the memory and gratitude of their descendants with the important events of the present life. Throughout the provinces of the empire the inhabitants of each village are generally kinsfolk, and have a common chapel dedicated to their forefathers: This, observes Colonel Tcheng, is our parish church. In a country where the family is the axis of the social system, many actions, which elsewhere are considered the [July, special or independent concern of in- dividual men or women, lose their per- sonal significance, and are undertaken with reference to the gens, or kin-corpo- rate. Marriage, and all that relates to it, illustrates beyond any other custom the principle of solidarity in Chinese existence. Colonel Tcheng informs us that his countrymen consider the in- crease of the family the sole object of marriage. This being one of the most sacred duties of man, matrimony is uni- versal, and entered upon very early. Celibacy is condemned as a vice, and an old bachelor or an old maid is looked upon as a monster. Marriages are made while the parties are extremely young, according to our notions, and are arranged by the parents, or the next of kin, often when the future con- sorts are children. Love-making, court- ship, engagements in our sense of the term, are unknown and impossible; women, although they go out unveiled, living in a sort of gynec~eum, to which only their immediate kinsmen have ac- cess. The preliminaries are frequently managed by discreet and zealous friends, or even by respectable professional go- betweens. The first step in the alliance is a solemn ceremony of betrothal, em- phasized by a festival in both families, when the contract is signed by the parents and heads of the respective houses, and the bridegroom sends the bride a pair of bracelets in token of es- pousal; but neither she nor he is present on this occasion. Later he sends what is known in France as the corbeille, or those articles of a brides wardrobe which are not included in the trousseau. In China they consist of silk and cotton stuffs and embroideries, and are literally sent in a basket, or rather in several dozen very handsome ones. This is the signal for another pompous ceremony; and on the brides part there comes in return a splendid dress to be worn on the wedding-day, which, if her future husband i8 already a man of rank, is 1885.] China Speaks for Herself. TI the uniform of his grade; every degree of mandarin is distinguished by his cos- tume, and after marriage the wife wears a dress corresponding to his title. The bridegroom, moreover, sends to the ladys family presents of choice eatables, nota- bly a peculiarly delicious sort of cake, to be distributed among the acquaint- ance in announcing the engagement. The marriage must be concluded within a year from this interchange of gifts. On the eve of the wedding-day there is another important transfer of goods, namely, the brides portion, which con- sists of her outfit, plate, and furniture; for dower, in the sense of money, there is none. The bridegrooms family gives a state dinner, at which these objects are exhibited, and on the same evening he sends the bride a sedan-chair, trimmed with crimson satin and embroidery. The chair is accompanied by a proces- sion of musicians and servants with lan- terns and torches, a red umbrella, a green screen, and other insignia of rank. Her family also gives a grand dinner- party for the reception and display of the chair, during which the guests are re- galed by the music of the band. The next day four persons belonging to the family, or friends, of the bridegroom, go to the brides house and invite her to repair to that of her future husband. She goes in her sedan-chair, with four or eight bearers, according to his rank, and a small escort, and her arrival is an- nounced by an explosion of fireworks. The chair is deposited in a saloon, where the family, friends, bridesmaids, and groomsmen are assembled. One of the last, the best man, no doubt, bearing a metallic mirror before his breast, ad- vances to the sedan-chair, bows thrice, and a bridesmaid raises the curtains and begs the bride to descend. She accedes, still wearing her veil, and is conducted to an inner room; there the bridegroom, in his wedding-dress, receives her, and this is their first sight of each other. They are formally reconducted to the first apartment; music is playing, and a table has been laid with wine, fruits, and perfumes burning, to symbolize an altar. The pair prostrate themselves and thank the Supreme Being for their creation, the earth for their nourish- ment, the emperor for his protection, and their parents for their education. There is no minister of religion or civil functionary present. The bridegroom then introduces his bride to the compa- ny, and a banquet follows, during which the music, which has not ceased during the orisons, continues to play. Through- out the evening the house is thrown open, and any one can enter and see the bride, who remains standing behind a table on which there are lighted candles. On the morrow the bride takes her hus- band to present him to her family, and the formalities of the previous evening are partially repeated, which completes the marriage ceremonies. Divorce is legal in China, and was in force there several centuries before our era, but it is not in favor. When a hus- band surprises his wife with a lover the law permits him to kill her, which re- moves one cause of separation from the jurisdiction of the courts. Sterility, af- ter a fixed age, is a plea admitted by law, and grons disrespect or disobedience on the part of husband or wife to the oth- ers parents. Adopting a child is more frequent than divorce, when there is no offspring. Colonel Tcheng asserts that divorce is unusual between persons of good position, who prefer concessions and compromises to destroying hallowed ties and making private dissensions public; in fact, that his country-people are re- strained by the same considerations that influence people of reserve and refine- ment everywhere. Women, although excluded by Chinese custom from society, and consequently unable to exert their power in various ways familiar to the women of the West, have an authority in the household beyond anything known in Europe or 78 China Speaks for Herself. [July, America. The Chinawoman is her hus- bands equal before the law, and can buy, sell, contract, alienate, or conduct any business negotiation in his place. She has complete control of her children and of their education. Her own, although not solid according to our notions, is practi- cal and graceful: besides domestic accom- plishments, poetry and elegant literature have a place in her studies, and are often her favorite recreations; skill in painting and embroidery is held in high esteem, and the cultivation of flowers, especially within doors, is one of the daily pleas- ures of every woman of leisure; that charming taste and luxury is carried far beyond anything that we imagine, even with our hothouses and conservatories. Her amusements are limited: games of cards and loto are among the most ex- citing. If Heaven gives her children, declares Colonel Tcheng, and a good husband, she is certainly the happiest of her sex. Yet there is a domestic institution which one would suppose might seriously interfere with the hap- piness of a lady-mandarin who had chil- dren, flowers, the gift of rhyming, and even a good husband. Although polyg- amy is not permitted in China, except in cases where marriage is sterile (when, if the husband is unwilling to ask for a divorce, the law countenances a second wife), there is another conjugal relation recognized. Living under the same roof as the wedded wife, but in an inferior and dependent position, is an unwedded one, or the lawful mistress, as Colonel Tcheng terms her. He thinks that this arrangement is altogether better than the furtive or transient connections which are the cause of so much grief and shame in Christian countries; he refers in vin- dication of it to patriarchal custom and to the story of Sarah and Hagar, but the instance is not well chosen to illustrate the peace and happiness of such a domes- tic practice. The Chinese proverb, Nine women in ten are jealous, is a comment on its moral effect. There is another class of women who have no place in the household, yet who seem to hold an admitted and by no means infamous position, somewhat an- swering to that of the courtesans of ancient Greece, but to no modern de- nomination in the Western world. These women are the only female musicians, music and singing not being taught to ladies ; they are well educated, talk agreeably, and have the much-prized accomplishment of making verses. Such artists, as Colonel Tcheng calls them, are of great value in society, which in China is composed exclusively of men, women appearing only at family parties. A young man who wishes to entertain his friends hires a flower-boat, a large junk adorned like a florists window and illuminated at night; he sends cards, supplied at the boat, on which he writes his own name, that of the female artist who will be present, and the time of meeting. The guests spend an hour with him upon the water, the invitation being limited to this unless explicitly made longer, and the time is passed in talk, music, making verses and puns, a favorite amusement among Celestials of polite education; for refreshment they have delicious tea, fruit, and sometimes a delicate repast, although eating has not much share in Chinese parties of pleas- ure. The aforementioned artists also allow dinners to be given at their houses, on the invitation of a person who hires them for the occasion, the talents and resources of the hostess, if so she may be styled, helping to make the evening agreeable. The young men who are in- vited sometimes engage companions of the same class to come with them, and add their accomplishments to the gen- eral enjoyment. These women are often clever and handsome, and their mode of life does not imply immorality: they may be well or ill conducted, that is their own affair; but those who belong to the former category are often engaged to enliven family parties, which would 1885.] China Speaks for Herself. 79 not be done in the other case. A Chinese novel which has been translated into French throws a curious light on this subject. The hero declares that he will not marry until he can find a wo- man who is beautiful, sweet-tempered, affectionate, clever, and accomplished. You will have to look for your wife on the flower - boats, then, says his friend. This book is altogether an inter- esting supplement to Colonel Tchengs. An organized life of pleasure, such as can be found in Europe and to some degree in America, does not exist in China. The chapter of recreations does not say a word about out-of-door sports; even riding, to judge from the novel just referred to, is looked upon only as a mode of traveling. There are thea- tres and similar places of amusement, and one of the more magnificent modes of giving an entertainment is to engage one of these for the performance, and send out invitations to ones dear five hundred friends. But apparently there is no habitual play-goer, nor any class which passes the time in going from one diversion to another. The Chinese are serious and studious, and after their first youth have little necessity for amusements that cannot be found in their homes or in the intercourse of their friends. There is probably an absence of animal spirits in the national tempera- ment. Their calm and sedentary pleas- ures are for the most part of a social and singularly refined nature. The ex- istence of rich people is organized so as to give them the constant indulgence of their tastes; they love gardens, flowers, and inactive occupations out-of-doors, and their homes provide them with all these. Birthdays and other anniversa- ries are constantly observed and cele- brated by family gatherings and by much making of presents; there are great public holidays, the Feast of Lan- terns, of Dragon-Boats, and of Kites, and parties among families and friends are made to enjoy them together. Private festivals are held in honor of certain beautiful flowers to which an allegorical significance is attached, and these blos- soms have their anniversaries. On an in- vitation, instead of dinner, supper, dan- cing, etc., being mentioned as the object of the reunion, the full moon, a fine view, or the blooming of a rare plant is held out as the inducement. On these occasions, pen, ink, and paper are sup- plied to the guests, who compose verses against time. The subject and rhymes are often suggested, and it becomes a trial of wits, not more insipid, probably, than the recreations of the Della Crus- cans, the Diversions of Parley, or the pastimes of many other literary circles. It gives a chance to display the chi- rography of the competitors, which holds a curious place among Chinese accom- plishments. It has been gradually com- ing to its present elaborate significance since the year B. c. 2000. India ink (encre de Chine) and a camels-hair brush are used instead of pens and fluid ink. Great importance is attached to a fine handwriting, which by its shades and curves expresses what with us can be conveyed only by the voice. The force and point given by italics and capitals but faintly represent the effect of differ- ent styles of writing in Chinese; Colonel Tcheng compares it to the modulations of fine declamation, making intelligible to the eye and preserving every grada- tion of the writers thought. Excursions also are in high favor, either water-par- ties, or prolonged picnics among beauti- ful regions, where the Buddhist convents offer their hospitality instead of hotels, and make pilgrims of pleasure very com- fortable. In all these reunions, next to verse- making and another species of amuse- ment akin to guessing riddles and cha- rades, conversation is the principal re- source. Literary topics are preferred, although metaphysical and philosophical discussions have their place; the events of the day may be touched upon, but not 80 C/dna Speaks for Herself. politics. The total exclusion of the last is ascribed by Colonel Tcheng to the ex- treme politeness of his countrymen, who banish a subject which might lead to unpleasant differences in the company. We may suspect, however, that there are other reasons for their reticence, as in his little book Colonel Tcheng is vir- tually silent as to everything relating to the government or public affairs. Even in speaking of the laboring classes he quotes the impressions of European travelers, adroitly avoiding either con- firming or contradicting them. His comparison between Chinese and Euro- pean society is altogether in favor of the former. According to his account his countrymen always enjoy their so- cial meetings, whereas even in Paris the balls and parties struck him as cold and dull, notwithstanding the dangerous charm of woman, who is excluded in the East because there men think it safest to keep out of harms way. Accus- tomed to invariable refinement and good- breeding at home, he was astonished and shocked by the absence of conventional propriety among Parisians when deliv- ered from the restraint of ladies pres- ence. The only society which he found really agreeable was in the artist world, and there alone, in his opinion, do peo- ple enjoy themselves. The most interesting portion of the book is that which explains the theory of education in China. From time im- memorial the value of public education has been acknowledged. There is a work extant, written before our era, that speaks of the ancient system of com- mon schools in every town and village. Although, properly speaking, there is no aristocracy, there are four classes: men of letters, agriculturists, manufacturers, and tradespeople. All have the same opportunities of learning, and the com- petitive examinations which confer grades of honor are open to all. The object is to train the mind of the masses and diffuse knowledge universally, and [July, so to call out latent aptitudes, wherever they exist, for the service of the state and the common profit~ The end is to make thinkers rather than scholars, and the means consist in the method of in- struction, and not in the list of studies. There are two schemes in use: one for children, the other for students. The first is contained in one of the sixteen discourses of the Emperor Yong Tching, called the Holy Edict, and is for the aid of parents and teachers. It lays great stress on the importance of training chil- dren early to look at the serious side of things, at principles rather than circum- stances, and at laws rather than facts. The first aims of education should be to awake the attention and overcome bad habits; children should be encouraged to ask questions about what is taught them, that they may not learn merely by rote, and acquire the bad habit of repeating with their lips while their minds are on other matters. Obedience is the great lesson to be taught by parents, and in view of this, nobody who knows the American ethics of education can be sur- prised at the prejudice existing in this country against a people brought up on such principles; it is sufficient to account for their exclusion by law from the United States. For the student the first thing to learn is to form a resolution. A firm re- solve made and persevered in will insure success in ones studies, thinks Colonel Tcheng; it has, besides, the double ad- vantage of giving a direction to the en- ergies and forming the character. The precepts for the student are: to analyze daily the work he has done; to review his work every ten or twenty days; to begin study every morning at five oclock, and to give as much attention to it as a general should to his manceuvres; not to allow any interruption whatever to occur for five or ten consecutive days; not to fear being slow, but to fear making pauses; finally, to remember that time passes like lightning, that a month 1885.] China Speaks for Herself. 81 goes like a flash, another follows it, and the year is gone before we know it. These are not unfamiliar maxims to the Western mind, and we have equivalents for the proverb, Bend the mulberry tree while it is young, whk~h is given as an example of the many Chinese proverbs the language is rich in that vein referring to the importance of early training. The standard text-books treat only of mental tendencies, of duty and mutual obligation; from Colonel Tchengs account, they must be like Te- lemachus, without the story. Families who can afford a tutor edu- cate their children at home; for poorer ones there are day and night schools in every village, not free, but so cheap that they are within the means of the hum- blest classes. There are also colleges in various parts of the empire; the instruc- tion is not official, although the exam- inations are. There are annual exam- inations at the chief town at each prov- ince, before the prefect. Every candidate must pass on five subjects, each taking a day, during which he is shut up by him- self in a cell, with writing materials, but no books to consult. If the candidate passes in all the branches, he goes up for examination before an imperial commis- sioner delegated specially to each prov- ince. There are three degrees, corre- sponding to B. A., M. A., and Doctor. The examinations for the second grade are triennial; they take place at the capital of each province, and the candi- dates are examined on three subjects, each of which occupies three days. The ordeal is so severe that out of ten thousand candidates sometimes but two hundred are graduated. The third de- gree is conferred at Pekin, and the ex- aminations follow the same order as for the second. There is still a final one, which takes place before the emperor, and assigns the graduates to four ranks, according to their merit. There can be but four recipients of the highest lion- ois, which immediately confer the title VOL. LVI. NO. 333. 6 of Academician; the second are be- stowed on candidates who are counted worthy to compete for admission to the academy a second time; the third qual- ify for clerkships in the different depart- merits of the government; the fourth render graduates eligible for sub-pre- fects. The number of degrees of Doc- tor conferred at one time vary from two to three hundred. Promotion may al- ways be hoped for, as it depends upon merit, and not upon age. The Academi- cians become members of the Imperial College, the highest body in the empire, from which the emperors ministers are chosen. While with us or in Europe an M. D., D. D., or LL. D. begins to forget much of what he has previously learned as soon as he takes his degree, the same order of men in China pass the rest of their lives in reviewing their knowledge by holding examinations. The rejoicings of successful candidates far exceed those in Occidental countries on similar occasions. They are cele- brated by family festivals as splendid as at weddings; the parents repair to the temple of the ancestors, to honor them for the new dignity; magnificent ban- quets are given to all their kinsfolk and friends. The fortunate aspirant goes to announce his degi~ form ally to his con- nection and acq~rWntance, with a band of music and an escort of friends car- rying banners; as they pass, the crowd hails him like a conqueror, and falls into the procession, realizing one of Mr. Ens- kins dreams. Letters stating his de- gree are posted on the walls of his house and sent about like circulars. The indif- ference shown about the attainment of a degree in the West amazes Colonel Tcheng, who probably has not met any flarvard graduates. lie concludes that it can be obtained too easily. Sup- pose, he says, that admission to the bar were determined by annual compe- tition, the number of degrees being limited: the right of pleading would become an honor, and the professional 82 sentiment would rise to real pride. But there is n~ such anal possible under totally dissimilar conditions. In a country where literary attainment is the sole road to political importance its credentials are necessarily valued in proportion to their effect; the influence they may command can be estimated by the Chinese mode of representa~ tion. Strictly speaking, there is no such thing; but the provincial functionaries, whose appointment, as we have, seen, depends on their proficiency in their studies, are ex qfficio representatives, of an informal sort, and lay the com- plaints and petitions of the people in their district before the government. The beginnings of everything in China are very ancient. The prehis- toric world of the Celestials was not peopled by demigods and heroes, but by a dynasty of holy emperors, whose su- pernatural wisdom and longevity laid the foundations of the present prosper- ity of the realm. These monarchs were not hereditary; each chose his successor, and abdicated when his own powers de- clined. The first is called the Emperor of the Heavens, and he divided time into its, celestial and terrestrial epochs. He lived eighteen hundred years, and was succeeded by the Em~~or of the Earth, who lived for the sa~ length of time, and divided the month into thirty days. The third was the Emperor of Men, and under his reign, which lasted forty-five thousand five hundred years, human so- ciety appeared; he divided his domin- ions into nine parts, over each of which he set a member of his family. This period corresponds to the era of. cave- dwellers in modern pal~ontology. The fourth is known as the Emperor of Nests, under whom man tried to build wooden dwellings for himself, to defend himself against wild beasts, and to use their skins for clothing. The fifth~ the Emperor of Fire, taught man ho.w to produce and use it; he instituted domes- tic life, and taught the practdce of barter China Speaks for Herself. [July, and of recording events by means of knotted cords. His successor, Fou-Hy, introduced hunting, fishing, and the do- mestication of animals among mankind; he defined the four seasons, and fixed the first day of the year about where it now fafls~ He determined the cardi- nal points of the horizon, and invented stringed instruments. He also instituted marriage with its ceremonies, property, and proclaimed the eight diagrams or fundamental principles on which are based progress and philosophy. He was followed by Tcheng-Nung, the Emperor of Agriculture, who studied the proper- ties of plants, taught the healing art, and invented canals, emhankments, and dykes; during his reign the dragon first appeared, which after many mysterious visits to China took up its abode on the imperial escutcheon. Next came the Yellow Emperor, and this close connee. tion l)etween the first mention of the national arms and the national color suggests a new order of expansion; he created the observatory, the art of run- ning, the bow, the ship, coinage, wind- instruments, furniture, coaches, and cos- tume. lie published a book on medi- cine, in which the phrase to feel the pulse first occurs. The administrative division of the empire was organized during his reign. The ninth emperor is said to have ruled from 2399 B. C.. to 1981, at which date the historic period ho- gins, and the holy dynasty ends. 1-listory relates that in his time great hydraulic works were accomplished during terri- ble inundations, the only allusion in Chi- nese records to anything corresponding to the Deluge of the Jewish Scriptures. But everybody will see the analogy be- tween the preceding catalogue and the descendants of Adam: Cain the tiller of the ground, Abel the shepherd, Jabal, Jubal, Tubal-Cain, Noah the first ship- builder and vine-grower, Nimrod the mighty hunter. Colonel Teheng draws no inferences from this, nor from the noted similarities between Buddhism 1885.] China Speak8 for Herself. 83 and Christianity; he himself is appar- ently a disciple of Confucius. Throughout the book, however, which is merely a comprehensive sketch of Chinese views and manners, the author constantly compares the theory and prac- tice of his country with those which he has observed in Europe, and always to the advantage of his own nation. In some cases the superiority is incontesta- ble; in others he may be suspected of doing what is a temptation to every one in parallels of this sort, of contrasting the highest standard in his own land with the average practice elsewhere. Besides this, keen though he is, he sometimes mistakes the bearing of usages, as for instance when he can see only a breach of etiquette in according the place of honor to the actor who recites in com- panies where men of rank and eminence are present; he fails to discern that at bottom this is only a finer form of that politeness which he thinks a Chinese monopoly, missing the difference be- tween Christian and heathen courtesy. He invests with a special significance and importance manifestations in his own country which are quite common out of it, like the acclamations of the graduate by the people; he would be certain to see similar demonstrations in any Occidental town through which the baccalaureate should march with flags and a brass band, though probably no- body but Mr. Ruskin would treat it mag- niloquently. Where Colonel Teheng cannot prove the injuriousness of foreign customs or their inferiority to Chinese, he ingeniously argues that, although good in themselves and useful for Eu- ropeans, they would be superfluous for his countrymen, on account of the ex- cellence of their provisions from all time. There is a good deal of delicate Oriental subtlety and sophistry in his reasoning, but it is not always convincing. There is one subject on which he de- serves to be heai~d with respect by the Western world, the relations of his government to other nations. China is blamed, he says, for her want of confi- dence in the outer world, whether rep- resented by countries or individuale, and for her opposition to the general intro- duction of railroads, gas, and other mod- ern improvements under the indefinite name of progress. As regards individ- uals, Frenchmen are roughly classed in China as missionaries, Englishmen as opium-traders, Americans no doubt be- ing included in the same denomination. With regard to the propagandists, Colonel Tcheng, fearing lest he should be carried away by righteous indignation, quotes a passage from M. de la Verndde, of the Free School of Political Science in Paris, the gist of which is that three hundred years ago the Jesuits went to China, and penetrated into the interior, teaching the arts and sciences, and con- ciliating public opinion by their amenity and adroitness. They were soon ac- knowledged as pacific, benevolent, and intelligent instructors, and received per- mission by an imperial edict to build churches, and practice and teach their doctrines. But the Dominicans and Fran- ciscans, jealous of the influence of the Jesuits in the far East, obtained in 1772 a bull from Clement XIV. expelling them from China. The Lazarists, who replaced them, undid their good work, upset the religious ideas of the na- tives, rubbed their national prejudice& the wrong way, and drew upon them- selves the suspicion of acting as spies. The Anglo - Saxons have persisted in forcing an illicit trade forbidden by law and treaty, violating good faith, and ruining the health, morals, and fortunes of the inhabitants. And yet we are reproached for want of confidence! How are we to learn it? . . . The essential character of Western civilization is in- vasive; I need not demonstrate this. Formerly barbarous hordes invaded flour- ishing coutitries~ not to iuitroduce the benefits of a new o~rder ef intelligence, but for rapine and pillage. Civilized 84 China Speaks fQr Herself. [July, races follow the same course, claiming to establish happiness on earth: vio- lence is the starting-point of their prog- ress. . . . War and pauperism are the two scourges of humanity, and in China the idea of progress is to maintain peace and promote the common weal. The day when the Occident shall convince the Chinese that the modern spirit which creates the marvelous inventions over which we clap our hands possesses the secret of maintaining peace and promot- ing the common weal, on that day China will join the general confederation with enthusiasm. But have we been convinced of this? Is it .known what the importations are which enter those ports which a famous treaty has opened to the world? We hoped for the per- fected implements and machinery of the arts of peace, which it is the object of the government to encourage throughout the empire, but the staple of those im- portations has been firearms, and by way of modern civilization we are to inau- gurate militarism! And we are blamed for our want of confidence! Well, at the risk of offending those who do not think with me, I will say that we hate with all our might whatever, far or near, threatens peace and rouses the spirit of combat in the human soul,, imperfect enough by nature. What need have we of war, hated by mothers, and what ideal would it satisfy if some day our 400,000,000 inhabitants should be armed with rifles? Is that progress? To de- flect the public wealth from the channels which reason appoints, to make it con- tribute towards organizing all the forms of misery that spring from the use and abuse of force, is in my opinion to lower and corrupt ourselves. We shall never look at militarism as an element of civilization; far from it! We are con- vinced that it is a return to barbarism. . . The foreigners who land in China have but one end, speculation, and, what is very curious, these speculators despise us because we have no , confidence in them. Confidence? We can never have too little! Englishmen who remember the affair of the lorcha Arrow, and Americans the Burlingame treaty, may reply. Colonel Tcheng makes exception in favor of the foreigners who honor their own nationality by the respect they show for that of others: Diplomatists, who captivate us by their good-breeding, and who accomplish delicate missions with a courtesy and tact that do credit to their civilization; men of learning, who come to study our language and to draw from our books the wisdom of the most an- cient of human societies, these are not aliens, but friends, with whom we are proud to exchange our ideas and to dream of progress and civilization; true sons of humanity, who have nothing in common with the adventurers who swarm upon our coasts. In proof of the good-will and fair dealing of the Chinese towards Europeans who do not come to their country with sinister or too selfish designs, he adduces the Arsenal of Fou- Tcheou, founded, under the emperors orders, by a French ex-naval officer, NI. Prosper Giquet. It is a great head- quarters of ship-building and civil en- gineering, intended to develop Chinese commerce and metallurgy. There are scientific schools attached to it; the pu- pils finish their education in France, and return to superintend their special branches. The administration of the arsenal is in. the hands of high dignita- ries of the native government, Euro- peans teach and direct the works, and a perfectly good understanding exists between them. Alas! since this was written the unfortified and defenseless Arsenal of Fou-Tcheou has been bom- barded by a French fleet, without any declaration of war on the part of the republic. Colonel Tchengs readers are forced to repeat, And they are blamed for want of confidence I Daniel De Poe and Tkoma8 Sitepard. 85 DANIEL DE FOE AND THE relations between Daniel De Foe and America are all very curious. Few Englishmen of his time were so well informed as he regarding our geog- raphy. This is true not only of South America, where, at the mouth of the On- noco, he laid the scene of the first great American romance, but it is true of North America also. A large part of the Life of Colonel Jack, one of his best novels, describes the adventures of that hero as a bondsman in what is now the State of Virginia. So accurately i~ the geography of the story indicated that we can make out that the principal action goes on on plantations which oc- cupied the site of the present cities of Georgetown and Washington. This story is the best account which we have of the condition of the white slaves of Vir- ginia in the seventeenth century. De Foe introduces his own plan for the ex- tinction of African slavery. This plan must be called Utopian, because it pre- sumes on a degree of humanity among the white planters of that time which they never exhibited. It is worth notice, indeed, that De Foes two most remark- able heroes, Robinson Crusoe and Colo- nel Jack, should have been, one a slave- trader, and the other a slave. It is known that one of De Foes sons spent several years in North Carolina, and probably De Foe derived from him his intimate acquaintance with the customs of our Southern States. It has also been observed that on the occasion of Robinsons second voy- age to his island, after he bad trans- ferred the unfortunate French sailors whom he had rescued from shipwreck to a bark on the banks of Newfoundland, he was tempted, in another similar exi- gency, to bear away to the coast of America for provisions. For this there proved to be no necessity: the more is THOMAS SHEPARD. the pity. lie would have brought to Boston the news of Queen Annes death, and he would have had a chance to hear Mr. Willard preach from John xxi. 22, on mans acquiescence in Gods disposal. If, at Judge Sewalls hospitable board, Robinson Crusoe had met with Lemuel Gulliver, who is supposed to have been in these parts at about that time, there would have been the most fortunate meeting of Sewall, the most prosaic per- son in American fact, with Crusoe and Gulliver, the two most interesting char- acters in American and Australian fic- tion. But alas! history is too apt to fall short of its possibilities ! I have, however, lately observed that Robinson Crusoe had a closer connec- tion than this might have been with our New England notables of the first generation. Reading, the other day, in the charming autobiography of Shepard the Chrysostom of the first church of Cambridge of that terrible shipwreck off Yarmouth, in which he and his were all but lost, as the ship was, I felt sure that the narrative was all familiar to me before. It was only to cross the room, and take down Robinson Crusoe, to find that here was the same ship- wreck in which, in that same Yarmouth harbor, the runaway lad learned his first lesson of adventure. If the reader will compare the two narratives, he will be apt to think that De Foe had heard the story of the Windy Saturday in which Sliepards ship went down, and that, with that iron-and-steel memory of his, he reproduced it in his account of Robinsons first voyage. The details as to place, even, are the same. For a moment, I hoped to find that Robinson and our charming New England preach- er held sweet counsel together in Yar- mouth, or as they pulled at the oars. But sterner fate said, No. For De

Edward Everett Hale Hale, Edward Everett Daniel De Foe and Thomas Shepard 85-88

Daniel De Poe and Tkoma8 Sitepard. 85 DANIEL DE FOE AND THE relations between Daniel De Foe and America are all very curious. Few Englishmen of his time were so well informed as he regarding our geog- raphy. This is true not only of South America, where, at the mouth of the On- noco, he laid the scene of the first great American romance, but it is true of North America also. A large part of the Life of Colonel Jack, one of his best novels, describes the adventures of that hero as a bondsman in what is now the State of Virginia. So accurately i~ the geography of the story indicated that we can make out that the principal action goes on on plantations which oc- cupied the site of the present cities of Georgetown and Washington. This story is the best account which we have of the condition of the white slaves of Vir- ginia in the seventeenth century. De Foe introduces his own plan for the ex- tinction of African slavery. This plan must be called Utopian, because it pre- sumes on a degree of humanity among the white planters of that time which they never exhibited. It is worth notice, indeed, that De Foes two most remark- able heroes, Robinson Crusoe and Colo- nel Jack, should have been, one a slave- trader, and the other a slave. It is known that one of De Foes sons spent several years in North Carolina, and probably De Foe derived from him his intimate acquaintance with the customs of our Southern States. It has also been observed that on the occasion of Robinsons second voy- age to his island, after he bad trans- ferred the unfortunate French sailors whom he had rescued from shipwreck to a bark on the banks of Newfoundland, he was tempted, in another similar exi- gency, to bear away to the coast of America for provisions. For this there proved to be no necessity: the more is THOMAS SHEPARD. the pity. lie would have brought to Boston the news of Queen Annes death, and he would have had a chance to hear Mr. Willard preach from John xxi. 22, on mans acquiescence in Gods disposal. If, at Judge Sewalls hospitable board, Robinson Crusoe had met with Lemuel Gulliver, who is supposed to have been in these parts at about that time, there would have been the most fortunate meeting of Sewall, the most prosaic per- son in American fact, with Crusoe and Gulliver, the two most interesting char- acters in American and Australian fic- tion. But alas! history is too apt to fall short of its possibilities ! I have, however, lately observed that Robinson Crusoe had a closer connec- tion than this might have been with our New England notables of the first generation. Reading, the other day, in the charming autobiography of Shepard the Chrysostom of the first church of Cambridge of that terrible shipwreck off Yarmouth, in which he and his were all but lost, as the ship was, I felt sure that the narrative was all familiar to me before. It was only to cross the room, and take down Robinson Crusoe, to find that here was the same ship- wreck in which, in that same Yarmouth harbor, the runaway lad learned his first lesson of adventure. If the reader will compare the two narratives, he will be apt to think that De Foe had heard the story of the Windy Saturday in which Sliepards ship went down, and that, with that iron-and-steel memory of his, he reproduced it in his account of Robinsons first voyage. The details as to place, even, are the same. For a moment, I hoped to find that Robinson and our charming New England preach- er held sweet counsel together in Yar- mouth, or as they pulled at the oars. But sterner fate said, No. For De 843 ,Daniel Dc .FQC ~nd fIJkoma8 Shepard. Foes purposes required that Robinson should be shipwrecked some years after the day of the adventure of Thomas Shepard. I have been tempted to print the two narratives in parallel columns, as is the custom of newspapers, when they would grind any one to powder. l3ut, in our case, we have no one to crush, and the reader will not object, perhaps, to turning backward and forward a lit- tle. Observe, then, that Robinson set sail in a ship which was passing south- ward along the English coast, through the Northern Sea, or German Ocean, and that Shepard, with his family, who had sailed from Harwich, was also seek- ing the English Channel. I copy Shep- ard first FROM THOMAS SHEPARD 8 MEMOIR. So about the beginning of winter, we set sail. . . . And having gone some few leagues the wind stopped us, and so we cast anchor in a dangerous place, and in the morning the wind grew fierce and drove us . . . full upon the sands, . . . and the ship was in great danger. But the Lord directed one of the seamen to cut some cable or rope, and so she was turned about and beaten quite backward toward Yar- mouth, quite out of our way. . . . The wind did drive us, . . . and gave us no place to anchor, until we came to Yar- mouth Roads, an open place at sea, yet fit for anchorage. . . . Which when we had done, upon a Saturday morning, the Lord sent a most dreadful and terri- ble storm of wind from the West, so dreadful that . . . divers ships were cast away. One among the rest came with us from New Castle, and he and all his men perished. But when the wind thus arose, our master cast all his anchors; but the anchors broke and the ship drave toward the sands, where we could not but be cast away. Whereupon the master cries out that we were dead men, and thereupon the whole company go to pray. But the vessel drew so near to the sands that the master shot off two pieces of ord- nance to the town [of Yarmouth] for help. The town perceived it, and thousands came upon the walls of Yar- mouth, and looked upon us, and pitied us. So our master not knowing what to do, it pleased the Lord, that there was one Mr. Cook, a drunken fellow an instrument to save all our lives. For he persuaded the master to cat down his mainmast. The master was unwilling to do it. . . . At last Cook calls for hatchets; he tells the mas- ti~r, If you be a man, save the lives of your passengers, cut down your main- mast. And so, when the mast was gone, the master had one little anchor left, and cast it out. But the ship was driven toward the sand still. . . . So the master professed he had done what he could, and desired us to go to prayer. Immediately after prayer the wind be- gan to abate and the ship stayed... And so we rode it out, . . . and upon the Sabbath-day morning boats came to our vessel, . . . and my dear wife and child went in the first boat. Thus far Shepard. I have mate- rially abridged his account, my wish being to show simply the passages which nearly resemble Robinsons. But I think I have omitted nothing which contradicts it. Two such witnesses are not to be expected to persevere in the same order, or with the same observa- tions, all the time. Here is Robinson Crusoes account: FROM ROBINSON CRUSOE. The ship was no sooner got out of the Humber, but the wind began to iblow and the sea to rise in a most frightful manner. . . . I expected every wave to swallow us up. . . . The sixth day we came into Yarmouth Roads.... Here we were obliged to come to an- chor, and here we lay... during which 1885.] Daniel De Foe and TAoma8 Shepard. 87 time many ships from Newcastle came into the same roads.... Our men were unconcerned, not apprehensive of dan.. ger, but the eighth day [after arrival], in the morning, the wind increased, and we had all hands at work to strike our topmasts. . . By noon the sea went very high indeed, and our ship rode forecastle in, shipped several seas, and we thought once or twice that our anchor had come home. . . . By this time it blew a terrible storm. I heard the master say softly to himself, Lord, be merciful to us, we shall all be lost, and the like.... I was dreadfully frighted... . I got out of my cabin and looked out: . . . the sea ran mountains high; . .. two ships had cut their masts by the board, and our men cried out that a ship which rid about a mile ahead was foundered. . . . Towards evening the mate and boatswain begged the master of our ship to let them cut away the foremast, which he was very unwilling to do; but the boatswain protesting to him that if he did not the ship would founder, he consented, and when they had cut away this mast . . . they were obliged to cut the mainmast away, too. The storm was so violent that I saw what is not often seen, the master, the boatswain, and some others at their prayers, and expecting every moment when the ship would go to the bottom. The master . . . ordered to fire a gun as a signal of distress . . . and a light ship . . . ventured a boat out to help us. . . . We were not more than a quarter of an hour out of our ship, but we saw her sink. We could see a great many people running along the shore, to assist us when we should come near. At Cromer we landed and walked afterwards to Yarmouth, where as unfor- tunate men we were treated with great humanity, as well by the magistrates of the town, who assigned us good quar- ters, as by particitlar merchants and owners. Of course one shipwreck is, to a cer- tain extent, like another shipwreck. But here are some striking resemblances in detail. In each case, after a first de- tention, the vessel takes refuge in Yar- mouth Roads, and anchors. In each case they suppose they are then in safety, and other vessels join them, seek- ing the same shelter. In each case a heavy gale strikes them in the morning, westerly in one, southwesterly in the other; both ships lie at all their an- chors, and both ships drag their anchors. In each case the master is then heard to say that they are lost, and from each ship they see a Newcastle ship founder. In each case the master is unwilling to cut away the mast, but is compelled to do so by the protest of another. In each case the master goes to prayer, which is not often seen. In each case he fires a gun as a signal of dis- tress, and in each case they see the people on the shore, who are watching them. In each case they are landed from the ship in boats not their own, and, as I understand it, the ship, in each case, sinks soon after. The most remarkable differences which I observe are that in Robinson Crusoes ship the foremast is carried away, and carries the mainmast with it; while in Shepards case the main- mast is carried away. The drunken fellow who persuades the captain to cut down the mast is a passenger, bred to the sea, in Shepard; in Robinson, he is a boatswain of the ship. Robinson Crusoes ship had but four passengers, and Shepards had two hundred. But these are such variations as would have come into tradition in eighty-five years, or as a novelist might make for his purpose. My theory is that De Foe had heard the story of the Windy Satur- day, and the Sunday which followed it, from some one who was in the ship with Shepard, and that he was glad to work the detail into his story. Edu,ard Everett Hale. On Horseback. ON HORSEBACK. I. Tua way to mount a horse said the Professor. If you have no ladder put in the Friend of Humanity. The Professor had ridden through the war for the Union, on the right side, en- joying a much better view of it than if he had walked, and knew as much about a horse as a person ought to know for the sake of his character. The man who can recite the tales of the Canter- bury Pilgrims, on horseback, giving the contemporary pronunciation, never miss- ing an accent by reason of the trot, and at the same time witch North CarQlina and a strip of East Tennessee with his noble horsemanship, is a kind of Liter- ary Centaur of whose double instruction any Friend of Humanity may he glad to avail himself. The way to mount a horse is to grasp the mane with the left hand hold- ing the bridle-rein, put your left foot in the stirrup, with the right hand on the back of the saddle, and Just then the horse stepped qpickly around on his hind feet, and looked the Professor in the face. The Superinten- dents of Affairs, who occupy the flag- ging in front of the hotel, seated in cane- bottomed chairs tilted back, smiled. These useful persons appear to have a life-lease of this portion of the city pavement, and pretty effectually block it up nearly all day and evening. When a lady wishes to make her way through the blockade, it is the habit of these ob- servers of life to rise and make room, touching their hats, while she picks her way through, and goes down the street with a pretty consciousness of the flutter she has caused. 7f1e war has not changed the Southern habit of sit- ting out-of-doors, but has added a new element of street picturesqueness in groups of colored people lounging about the corners. There appears to be more leisure than ever. The scene of this little lesson in horse- manship was the old town of Abingdon, in Southwest Virginia, on the Virginia and East Tennessee railway; a town of ancient respectability, which gave birth to the Johustons and Floyds and other notable people; a town that still pre- serves the flavor of excellent tobacco and something of the easy-going habits of the days of slavery, and is a sort of educational centre, wher9 the young ladies of the region add the final graces of intellectual life in moral philosophy and the use of the globes to their nat- ural gifts. The mansion of the late and left Floyd is now a seminary, and not far from it is the Stonewall Jackson In- stitute, in the midst of a grove of splen- did oaks, whose stately holes and wide- spreading branches give a dignity to educational life. The distinction of the region is its superb oak-trees. As it was vacation in these institutions of learning, the travelers did not see any of the vines that traditionally cling to the oak. The Professor and the Friend of Hu- manity were about starting on a jour- ney, across country southward, through regions about which the people of Ab- ingdon could give little useful informa- tion. If the travelers had known the capacities and resources of the country they would xiot have started without a supply train, or the establishment of bases of provisions in advance. But, as the Professor remarked, knowledge is something that one acquires when he has no use for it. The horses were sad- dled; the riders were equipped with flannel shirts and leather leggings; the saddle-bags were stuffed with clean linen, 88 [July,

Charles Dudley Warner Warner, Charles Dudley On Horseback 88-101

On Horseback. ON HORSEBACK. I. Tua way to mount a horse said the Professor. If you have no ladder put in the Friend of Humanity. The Professor had ridden through the war for the Union, on the right side, en- joying a much better view of it than if he had walked, and knew as much about a horse as a person ought to know for the sake of his character. The man who can recite the tales of the Canter- bury Pilgrims, on horseback, giving the contemporary pronunciation, never miss- ing an accent by reason of the trot, and at the same time witch North CarQlina and a strip of East Tennessee with his noble horsemanship, is a kind of Liter- ary Centaur of whose double instruction any Friend of Humanity may he glad to avail himself. The way to mount a horse is to grasp the mane with the left hand hold- ing the bridle-rein, put your left foot in the stirrup, with the right hand on the back of the saddle, and Just then the horse stepped qpickly around on his hind feet, and looked the Professor in the face. The Superinten- dents of Affairs, who occupy the flag- ging in front of the hotel, seated in cane- bottomed chairs tilted back, smiled. These useful persons appear to have a life-lease of this portion of the city pavement, and pretty effectually block it up nearly all day and evening. When a lady wishes to make her way through the blockade, it is the habit of these ob- servers of life to rise and make room, touching their hats, while she picks her way through, and goes down the street with a pretty consciousness of the flutter she has caused. 7f1e war has not changed the Southern habit of sit- ting out-of-doors, but has added a new element of street picturesqueness in groups of colored people lounging about the corners. There appears to be more leisure than ever. The scene of this little lesson in horse- manship was the old town of Abingdon, in Southwest Virginia, on the Virginia and East Tennessee railway; a town of ancient respectability, which gave birth to the Johustons and Floyds and other notable people; a town that still pre- serves the flavor of excellent tobacco and something of the easy-going habits of the days of slavery, and is a sort of educational centre, wher9 the young ladies of the region add the final graces of intellectual life in moral philosophy and the use of the globes to their nat- ural gifts. The mansion of the late and left Floyd is now a seminary, and not far from it is the Stonewall Jackson In- stitute, in the midst of a grove of splen- did oaks, whose stately holes and wide- spreading branches give a dignity to educational life. The distinction of the region is its superb oak-trees. As it was vacation in these institutions of learning, the travelers did not see any of the vines that traditionally cling to the oak. The Professor and the Friend of Hu- manity were about starting on a jour- ney, across country southward, through regions about which the people of Ab- ingdon could give little useful informa- tion. If the travelers had known the capacities and resources of the country they would xiot have started without a supply train, or the establishment of bases of provisions in advance. But, as the Professor remarked, knowledge is something that one acquires when he has no use for it. The horses were sad- dled; the riders were equipped with flannel shirts and leather leggings; the saddle-bags were stuffed with clean linen, 88 [July, 1885.] O?~ Horseback. and novels, and sonnets of Shakespeare, and other baggage, it would have been well if they had been stuffed with hard- tack, for in real life meat is more than raiment. The hotel, in front of which there is cultivated so much of what the Ger- mans call s~tzfleisc1t, is a fair type of the majority of Southern hotels, and differs from the same class in the North in being left a little more to run itself. The only information we obtained about it was from its porter at the station, who replied to the question, Is it the best ? We warrant you perfect satisfaction in every respect. This seems to be only a formula of expression, for we found that the statement was highly colored. It was left to our imagination to con- jecture how the big chambers of the old house, with their gaping fireplaces, might have looked when furnished and filled with gay company, and we got what satisfaction we could out of a bygone bustle and mint-julep hilarity. In our struggles with the porter to obtain the little items of soap, water, and towels, we were convinced that we had arrived too late, and that for perfect satisfac- tion we should have been here before the war. It was not always as now. In colonial days the accommodations and prices at inns were regulated by law. In the old records in the court- house we read that if we had been here in 1777 we could have had a gallon of good rum for sixteen shillings; a quart bowl of rum toddy made with loaf sugar for two shillings, or with brown sugar for one shilling and sixpence. In 1779 prices had risen. Good rum sold for four pounds a gallon. It was ordered tbat a warm dinner should cost twelve shillings, a cold dinner nine shillings, and a good breakfast twelve shillings. But the item that pleased us most, and made us i-egret our late advent, was that for two shillings we could have had a good lodging, with clean sheets. The colonists were fastidious people. Abingdon, prettily situated on rolling hills and a couple of thousand feet above the sea, with views of mountain peaks to the south, is a cheerful and not too exciting place for a brief sojourn, and hospitable and helpful to the stranger. We had dined so much, at least, the public would expect of us with a de- scendant of Pocahontas; we had as- sisted on Sunday morning at the dedi- cation of a new brick Methodist church, the finest edifice in the region, a dedi- cation that took a long time, since the bishop would not proceed with it until money enough was raised in open meet- ing to pay the balance due on it, a religions act, though it did give a busi- ness aspect to the place at the time; and we had beeii the light spots in the evening service at the most aristocratic church of color. The irresponsibility of this amiable race was exhibited in the tardiness with which they assembled: ~it the appointed time nobody was there except the sexton; it was three quarters of an hour before the congregation be- gan to saunter in, and the sermon was nearly over before the pews were at all filled. Perhaps the sermon was not new, but it was fervid, and at times the able preacher roared so that articulate sounds were lost in the general effect. It was precisely these passages of cata- racts of sound and hard breathing which excited the liveliest responses, Yes, Lord, and Glory to God. Most of these responses came from the Amen corner. The sermon contained the usual vivid description of the last judgment- ah, and I fancied that the congregation did not get the ordinary satisfaction out of it. Fashion had entered the fold, and the singing was mostly executed by a choir in the dusky gallery, who thinly and harshly warbled the emo- tional hymns. It occupied the minister a long time to give out the notices of the week, and there was not an evening or afternoon that had not its meetings, its literary or social gathering, its picnic 90 On Horseback. or fair for the benefit of the church, its Dorcas society, or some occasion of re- ligious sociability. The raising of funds appeared to be the burden on the preach- ers mind. Two collections were taken up. At the first, the boxes appeared to get no supply except from the two white trash present. But the second was more successful. After the sermon was over, an elder took his place at a table within the rails, and the real business of the evening began. Somebody in the Amen corner struck up a tune that had no end, but a mighty power of setting the con- gregation in motion. The leader had a voice like the pleasant droning of a bag- pipe, and the faculty of emitting a con- tinuous note like that instrument, with- out stopping to breathe. It went on and on like a Bach fugue, winding and whin- ing its way, turning the corners of the lines of the catch without a break. The effect was soon visible in the emotional crowd: feet began to move in a regular cadence and voices to join in, with spurts of ejaculation; and soon, with an air of martyrdom, the members began to leave their seats and pass before the table and deposit their contributions. It was a cent contribution, and we found it very diffi- cult, under the contagious influence of the hum from the Amen corner, not to rise and go forward and deposit a cent. If anything could extract the pennies from a reluctant worldling it would be the buzzing of this tune. It went on and on, until the house appeared to be drained dry of its cash; and we inferred by the stopping of the melody that the preachers salary was secure for the time being. On inquiring, we ascertained that the pecuniary flood that evening had risen to the height of a dollar and sixty cents. All was ready for the start. It should have been early in the morning, but it was not; for Virginia is not only one of the blessed regions where one can get a late breakfast, but where it is al~ most impossible to get an early one. AL ten A. P.!., the two horsemen rode away out of sight of the Abingdon spectators, down the eastern turnpike. The day was warm, but the air was full of vital- ity and the spirit of adventure. It was the 22d of July. The horses were not ambitious, but went on at an easy fox- trot that permits observation and en- courages conversation. It had been stip- ulated that the horses shou,l~ be goed walkers, the one essential t~iing in a horseback journey. Few horses, even in a country where riding is general, are trained to walk fast. We hear much of horses that can walk five miles an hour, but they are as rare as white elephants. Our horses were only fair walkers. We realized how necessary this accomplish- ment is, for between the Tennessee line and Asheville, North Carolina, there is scarcely a mile of trotting-ground. We soon turned southward and de- scended into the 1-loiston River Valley. Beyond lay the Tennessee hills and con- spicuous White-Top Mountain (55~O feet), which has a good deal of local ce- lebrity (standing where the States of Virginia, Tennessee, and North Carolina corner), and had been pointed out to us at Abingdon. We had been urged, per- sonally and by letter, to ascend this mountain, without fail. People recoin- mend mountains to their friends as they do patent medicines. As we leisurely jogged along we discussed this, and en- deavored to arrive at some rule of con- duct for the journey. The Professor expressed at once a feeling about mountain - climbing that amounted to hostility, he would go nowhere that he could not ride. Climbing was the most unsatisfactory use to which a mountain could be put. As to White- Top, it was a small mountain, and not worth ascending. The Friend of Hu- munity, who believes in mountain-climb- ing as a theory, and for other people, and knows the value of being able to say, without detection, that he has as- cended any high mountain about whieb 1885.] L~ 1kr& ~back. 91 he is questioned, p since this question is the first one asked about an exploration in a new country, saw that he should have to use a good deal of diplomacy to get the Professor over any considerable elevation on the trip. And he had to confess also that a view from a mountain is never so satisfactory as a view of a mountain, from a moderate height. The Professor, however, did not argue the matter on any such reasonable ground, but took his stand on his right as a man not to ascend a mountain. With this appeal to first principles, a position that could not be confuted on account of its vagueness (although it might prob- ably be demonstrated that in society man has no such right), there was no way of agreement except by a compro- mise. It w~as accordingly agreed that no mountain under six thousand feet is worth ascending; that disposed of White- Top. It was further agreed that any mountain that is over six thousand feet high is too high to ascend on foot. With this amicable adjustment we forded the Llolston, crossing it twice within a few miles. This npper branch of the Tennessee is a noble stream, broad, with a rocky bed and a swift cur- rent. Fording it is ticklish business ex- cept at comparatively low water, and as it is subject to sudden rises there must be times when it seriously interrupts travel. This whole region, full of swift streams, is without a bridge, and, as a consequence, getting over rivers and brooks and the dangers of ferries occu- py a prominent place in the thoughts of the inhabitants. The life necessarily had the frontier quality all through, for there can be little solid advance in civilization in the uncertainties of a bridgeless condition. An open, pleasant valley, the Holston, but cultivation is ~iore and more negligent and houses are few and poorer as we advance. We had left behind the hote1~ of perfect satisfaction, and expected to live on the country, trusting to the iu~. frequent b~~t remunerated hospitality of the widely scattered inhabitants. We were to dine at Ramseys. Ramseys had been recommended to us as a royal place of entertainment, the best in all that region; and as the sun grew hot in the sandy valley, and the weariness of noon fell upon us, we magnified Ram- seys in our imagination, the nobility of its situation, its cuisine, its inviting rest- fulness, and half decided to pass the night there in the true abandon of plan- tation life. Long before we reached it, the Holston River which we followed had become the Laurel, a most lovely, rocky, winding stream, which we forded continually, for the valley became too narrow much of the way to acconimo- date a road and a river. Eagerly as we were looking out for it, we passed the great Ramseys without knowing it, for it was the first of a little settlement of two houses and a saw-mill and barn. It was a neat log house of two lower rooms and a summer kitchen, quite the best of the class that we saw, and the pleasant mistress of it made us welcome. Across the road and close to the Laurel was the spring-house, the invariable adjunct to every well-to-do house in the region, and on the stony margin of the stream was set up the big caklron for the fam- ily washing; and here, paddling in the shallow stream, while dinner was pro- paring, we established an intimacy with the children aiid exchanged philosophical observations on life with the old negroes who was dabbling the clothes. What impressed this woman was the inequal- ity in life. She jumped to the unwar- ranted conclusion that the Professor and the Friend were very rich, and spoke with asperity of the difficulty she expe- rienced in getting shoes and tobacco. It was useless to point out to her that her alfresco life was singularly blessed and free from care, and the happy lot of any one who could loiter all day by this laughing stream, undisturbed by debt or antbition. Everybody about the place 92 On ffor8ebaclc. [July, was barefooted, except the mistress, in- cluding the comely daughter of eighteen, who served our dinner in the kitchen. The dinner was abundant, and though it seemed to us incongruous at the time we were not twelve hours older when we looked back upon it with longing. On the table were hot biscuit, ham, pork, and green beans, apple-sauce, blackberry preserves, cucumbers, coffee, plenty of milk, honey, and apple and blackberry pie. Here we had our first experience, and I may say new sensation, of honey on pie. It has a cloying sound as it is written, but the handmaiden recom- mended it with enthusiasm, and we evi- dently fell in her esteem, as persons from an uncultivated society, when we declared our inexperience of honey on pie. Where be von from? It turned out to be very good, and we have tried to introduce it. in families since our return, with indifferent success. There did not seem to be in this family much curiosity about the world at large, nor much stir of social life. The gay- ety of madame nppeared to consist in an occasional visit to paw and maw and graudmaw, up the river a few miles, where she was raised. Refreshed by the honey and fodder at Ramseys, the pilgrims went gayly along the musical Laurel, in the slant- ing rays of the afternoon sun, which played upon the rapids and illumined all the woody way. Inspired by the mis- apprehension of the colored phIlosopher and the dainties of the dinner, the Pro- fessor soliloquized So am I as the rich, whose blessed key Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since seldom coming, in the long year set, Like stones of wealth they thinly. placid are, Or captain jewels in the carcanet. Five miles beyond Ramseys the Ten- ~nessee line was crossed. The Laurel be- tame more rocky, swift, full of rapids, :and the valley narrowed down to the river-way, with standing room, however, for stately trees along the banks. The oaks, both black and white, were, as they had been all day, gigantic in size and splendid in foliage. There is a cer- tain dignity in riding in such stately company, and the travelers clattered along over the stony road under the im- pression of possible high adventure in a new world of such freshness. iNor was beauty wanting. The rhododendrons had, perhaps, a week ago reached their cli- max, and now began to strew the water and the ground with their brilliant pet- als, dashing all the way with color; but they were still matchlessly beautiful. Great banks of pink and white covered the steep hillsides; the bending stems, ten to twenty feet high, hung their rich clusters over the river; aveilues of glory opened away in the glade of the stream; and at every turn of the winding way vistas glowing with the hues of romance wrenched exclamations of delight and wonder from the Shakespearean sonnet- eer and his humble Friend. In the deep recesses of the forest suddenly flamed to the view, like the splashes of splen- dor on the sombre canvas of an old Ve- netian, these wonders of color, the glowing summer-heart of the woods. It was difficult to say, meantime, whether the road was laid out in the river, or the river in the road. In the few miles to Eggers (this was the des- tination of our great expectations for the night) the stream was crossed twenty-seven times, or perhaps it would be more proper to say that the road was crossed twenty-seven times. Where the road did not run in the river, its bed was washed out and as stony as the bed of the stream. This is a general and accurate description of all the roads in this region, which wind along and in the streams, through nar- row valleys, shut in by low and steep hills. The country is full of springs and streams, and between Abingdon and Eggers is only one (small) bridge. 1885.] On Hcrsebaclc. 93: In a region with scarcely any level land or intervale, farmers are at a dis- advantage. All along the road we saw nothing but mean shanties, generally of logs, with now and then a decent one- story frame, and the people looked mis- erably poor. As we picked our way along up the Laurel, obliged for the most part to ride single-file, or as the Professor ex- pressed it, Let me confess that we two must be twain, Although our undivided loves are one, we gathered information about Eggers from the infrequent hovels on the road, which inflamed our imaginations. Eg- ger was the thriving man of the region, and lived in style in a big brick house. We began to feel a doubt that Egger would take us in, and so much did his brick magnificence impress us that we regretted we had not brought apparel fit for the society we were about to enter. It was half past six, and we were tired and hungry, when the domain of Egger towered in sight, a gaunt two- story structure of raw brick, unfinished, standing in a narrow intervale. We rode up to the gate, and asked a man who sat in the front-door porch if this was Eggers, and if we could be accom- modated for the night. The man, with- out moving, allowed that it was Eggers, and that we could probably stay there. This person, however, exhibited so much indifference to our company, he was such a hairy, unkempt m~sn, and car- ried on face, hands, and clothes so much more of the soil of the region than a prudent proprietor would divert from raising corn, that we set him aside as a poor relation, and asked for Mr. Eg- ger. But the man, still without the least hospitable stir, admitted that that was the name he went by, and at length advised us to lite and hitch our horses, and set on the porch with him and enjoy the cool of the evening. The horses would be put up by and by, and in fact things generally would come round some time. This turned out to be the easy way of the country. Mr. Egger was far from being inhospitable, but was in no hurry, and never had been in a hurry. He was not exactly a gentleman of the old school. He was better than that. He dated from the time when there were no schools at all, and he lived in that placid world which is without information and ideas. Mr. Egger showed his superiority by a total lack of curiosity about any other world. This brick house, magnificent by com- parison with other dwellings in this country, seemed to us, on nearer ac- quaintance, only a thin, crude shell of a house, half unfinished, with bare rooms, the plastering already discolored. In point of furnishing it had not yet reached the God bless our Home stage in crewel. In the narrow meadow, a strip of vivid green south of the house, ran a little stream, fed by a copious spring, and over it was built the inevi- table spring-house. A post, driven into the bank by the stream, supported a tin wash-basin, and here we performed our ablutions. The traveler gets to like this freedom and primitive luxury. The farm of Egger produces corn, wheat, grass, and sheep; it is a good enough farm, but most of it lies at an angle of thirty-five to forty degrees. The ridge back of the house, planted in corn, was as steep as the roof of his dwelling. it seemed incredible that it ever could have been ploughed, but the proprietor assured us that it was ploughed with mules, and I judged that the har- vesting must be done by squii-rels. The soil is good enough, if it would stay in place, but all the hillsides are seamed with gullies. The discolored state of the streams was accounted for as soon as~ we saw this cultivated land. No sooner is the land cleared of trees and broken up than it begins to wash. We saw more of this later; especially in North 94 On IJior8e6ack. [July, Carolina, where we encountered no stream of water that was not muddy, and saw no cultivated ground that was not washed. The process of denudation is going on rapidly wherever the origi- nal forests are girdled (a common way of preparing for crops), or cut away. As the time passed and there was no sign of supper, the question became a burning one, and we went to explore the kitchen. iNo sign of it there. No fire in the stove, nothing cooked in the house, of course. Mrs. Egger and her comely young bare-footed daughter had still the milking to attend to, and sup- per must wait for the other chores. It seemed easier to be Mr. Egger, in this state of existence, and sit on the front porch and meditate on the price of mules and the prospect of a crop, than to be Mrs. Egger, whose work was not limited from sun to sun; who had, in fact, a days work to do after the men- folks had knocked off; whose chances of neighborhood gossip were scanty, whose amusements were confined to a religious meeting once a fortnight. Good, honest people these, not unduly puffed up by the brick house, grubbing away year in and year out. Yes, the young girl said, there was a neighbor- hood party, now and then, in the win- ter. What a price to pay for mere life! Long before supper was ready, nearly nine oclock, we had nearly lost inter- est in it. Meantime two other guests had arrived, a couple of drovers from North Carolina, who brought into the circle by this time a wood-fire had been kindled in the sitting-room, which contained a bed, an almanac, and some old copies of a newspaper a rich flavor of cattle and talk of the price of steers. As to politics, although a presi- dential campaign was raging, there was scarcely an echo of it here. This was Job nson County, Tennessee, a strong. Republican county: but dog-gone it, says sheet, and soon ceased to hear the bark- Mr. Egger, it s no use to vote ; our votea ing of dog~ and the horned encounters are overborne by the rest of the Stae. ~f the droiers herd. Yes, they d got a Republican member of Congress, he d heard his name, but he d forgotten it. The drover said lie d heard it also, but he did nt take much interest in such things, though he was nt any Republican. Parties is pretty much all for office, both agreed. Even the Professor, who was traveling in the interest of Reform, could nt wake up a discussion out of such a state of mind. Alas! the supper, served in a room dimly lighted with a smoky lamp, on a long table covered with oil-cloth, was not of the sort to arouse the delayed and now gone appetite of a Reformer, and yet it did not lack variety: corn.. pone (Indian meal stirred up with water and heated through), hot biscuit slack- baked and livid, fried salt-pork swim- ming in grease, apple-butter, pickled beets, onions and cucumbers raw, coffee~ so-called, buttermilk, and sweet milk when specially asked for (the correet~ taste, however, is for buttermilk), and pie. This was not the pie of commerce, but the pie of the country, two thick slabs of dough, with a squeezing of ap- ple between. The profusion of this supper staggered the novices, but the drovers attacked it as if such cooking were a common occurrence, and did jus- tice to the weary labors of Mrs. Egger. Egger is well prepared to entertain. strangers, having several rooms and several beds in each room. Upon con- sultat,ion with the drovers, they said they d just as soon occupy an apart- ment by themselves, and we gave up their society for the night. The beds in our chamber had each one sheet, and the room otherwise gave evidence of the mod- ern spirit; for in one corner stood the fashionable ~sthetic decoration of our Queen Anne drawing-rooms, the spin- ning-wheel. Soothed by this concession to taste, we crowded in between the straw and the home-made blanket and. 1885.] On Horseback. 95 Yes, this house stands on the line. Where you sit you are in Tennessee; I m in North Carolina. Do you live here? Law, no; I m just staying a little while at the colonels. I live over the mountain here, three miles from Taylors- ville. I thought I d be where I could step into North Carolina easy. hows that? Well, they wanted me to go before the grand jury and testify about some pistol-shooting down by our house, some friends of mine got into a little difficulty, and I did nt want to. I never has no difficulty with nobody, never says nothing about nobody, has nothing against nobody, and I reckon nobody has nothing against me. Did you come alone? Why, of course. I come across the mountain by a path through the woods. That s nothing.~~ A discreet, pleasant, pretty girl. This surely must be the Esmeralda who lives in these mountains, and adorns low life by her virgin purity and sentiment. As she talked on, she turned from time to time to the fireplace behind her, and dis.. charged a dark fluid from her pretty lips, with accuracy of aim, and with a nonchalance that was not assumed, but belongs to our free-born American girls. I cannot tell why this habit of hers (which is no worse than the sister habit of dipping) should take her out of the romantic setting that her face and figure had placed her in; but somehow we felt inclined to ride on further for our heroine. And yet, said the Professor, as we left the site of the colonels thriving distillery, and by a winding, picturesque road through a rough farming country descended into the valley, and yet why fling aside so readily a character and situation so full of romance, on account of a habit of this mountain Helen, which We parted with Mr. Egger after breakfast (which was a~ close copy of the supper) with more respect than re- gret. his total charge for the enter- tainment of two men and two horses supper, lodging, and breakfast was high or low, as the traveler chose to es- tirnate it. It was $1.20: that is, thirty cents for each individual, or ten cents for each meal and lodging. Our road was a sort of by-way up Gentry Creek and over the Cut L~urel Gap to Worths, at Creston Post-Office, in North Carolina, the next available halting place, said to be fifteen miles distant, and turning out to be twenty- two, and a rough road. There is a little settlement about Eggers, and the first half mile of our way we had the corn- pany of the school-mistress, a modest, pleasant-spoken girl. Neither she nor any other people we encountered had any dialect or local peculiarity of speech. Indeed, those we encountered that morn- ing had nothing in manner or accent to distinguish them. The novelists had led us to expect something different; and the modest and pretty young ladies, with frank and open blue eyes, who wore gloves and used the common Eng- lish speech, had never figured in the fic- tion of the region. Cherished illusions vanish often on near approach. The day gave no peculiarity of speech to note, except the occasional use of hit for it. The road over Cut Laurel Gap was very steep and stony, the thermometer mounted up to 80~, and notwithstanding the beauty of the way the ride became tedious before we reached the summit. On the summit is the dwelling and dis- tillery of a colonel famous in these parts. We stopped at the house for a glass of milk; the colonel was absent, and while the woman in charge went for it, we sat on the veranda and con- versed with a young lady, tall, gent, well favored, and communicative, who one of our best poets has almost made leaned in. the doorway. poetical, in the ease of the pioneer tak 9t; On iforeebacic. ing his westward way, with ox-goad pointing to the sky He s leavin,, on the pictured rock His fresh tobacco stain. To my mind the incident has Ho- ineric elements. The Greeks would have looked at it in a large, legendary way. Here is Helen, strong and lithe of limb, ox-eyed, courageous, but wo- man-hearted and love-inspiring, contend- ed for by all the braves and daring moon- shiners of Cut Laurel Gap, pursued by the gallants of two States, the prize of a border warfare of bowie knives and re- volvers. This Helen, magnanimous as attractive, is the witness of a pistol diffi- culty on her behalf, and when wanted by the areopagus, that she may neither implicate a lover nor punish an enemy (having nothing, this noble type of her sex, against nobody) skips away to Mount Ida, and there, under the ~gis of the flag of her country, in a Licensed Dis- tillery, stands with one slender foot in Tennessee and the other in North Car- olina ~ Like the figure of the Republic it- self, superior to state sovereignty, inter- posed the Friend. I beg your pardon, said the Pro- fessor, urging up Laura Matilda (for so he called the nervous mare, who fretted herself into a fever in the stony path), I was quite able to get the woman out of that position without the aid of a metaphor. It is a large and Greek idea, that of standing in two mighty States, superior to the law, looking east and looking west, ready to transfer her agile body to either State on the approach of messengers of the court; and I 11 be hanged if I did nt think that her non- chalant rumination of the weed, com- bined with her lofty moral attitude, added something to the picture. The Friend said that he was quite willing to join in the extremest defense of the privileges of beauty, that he even held in abeyance judgment on the practice of dipping; but when it came to chewing, gum was as far as he could go as an allowance for the fair sex. When I consider everything that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment The rest of the stanza was lost, for the Professor was splashing through the stream. No sooner had we descended than the fording of streams began again. The Friend had been obliged to stipu- late that the Professor should go ahead at these crossings, to keep the impetu- ous nag of the latter from throwing half the contents of the stream upon his slower and uncomplaining companion. What a lovely country, but for the heat of noon and the long wearisome- ness of the way! not that the distance was great, but miles and miles more than expected. How charming the open glades of the river, how refreshing the great forests of oak and chestnut, and what a panorama of beauty the banks of rhododendrons, now intermingled with the lighter pink and white of the laurel! In this region the rhododendron is called laurel, and the laurel (the sheep-laurel of New England) is ca!led ivy. At Worths, well on in the afternoon, we emerged into a wide, open farming intervale, a pleasant place of meadowa and streams and decent dwellings. Worths is the trading centre of the re- gion, has a post-office and a sawmill and a big country store; and the dwelling of the proprietor is not unlike a roomy New England country-house. Worths has been immemorially a stopping place in a region where places of accommoda- tion are few. The proprietor, now an elderly man, whose reminiscences are long ante bellum, has seen the world grow up about him, he the honored, just centre of it, and a family come up into the modern notions of life, with a board- ing-school education and glimpses of city life and foreign travel. I fancy that nothing but tradition and a remaining Southern hospitality could induce this private family to suffer the incursions & f the wayfaring man. Our travelers ar~ 1885.] On Ilorsebacic. 97 not apt to be surprised at anything in American life, but they did not expect to find a house in this region with two pianos and a bevy of young ladies, whose clothes were certainly not made on Cut Laurel Gap, and to read in the books scattered about the house the evidences of the finishing schools with which our country is blessed, nor to find here pu- pils of the Stonewall Jackson Institute at Abingdon. With a flush of local pride, the Professor took up, in the roomy, pleasant chamber set apart for the guests, a copy of Porters Elements of Moral Science. Where you see the Elements of Moral Science, the Friend generalized, there 11 be plenty of water and tow- els; and the sign did not fail. The friends intended to read this book in the cool of the day: but as they sat on the long veranda, the voice of a maiden reading the latest novel to a sewing- group behind the blinds in the drawing- room; and the antics of a mule and a boy in front of the store opposite; and the arrival of a spruce young man, who had just ridden over from somewhere, a matter of ten miles gallop, to get a medicinal potion for his sick mother, and lingered chatting with the young ladies until we began to fear that his mother would recover before his return; the coming and going of lean women in shackly wagons to trade at the store; the coming home of the cows, splashing through the stream, hooking right and left, and lowing for the hand of the milker, all these interruptions, to- gether with the generally drowsy quiet of the approach of evening, interfered with the study of the Elements. And when the travelers, after a refreshing rest, went on their way next morning, considering the Elements and the pi- anos and the refinement, to say nothing of the cuisine, which is not treated of in the text-book referred to, they were con- tent with a bill double that of brother Egger in his brick magnificence. VOL. LVI. NO. 333. 7 The simple truth is that the traveler in this region must be content to feed on natural beauties. And it is an unfortunate truth in natural history that the appetite for this sort of diet falls after a time, if the inner man is not supplied with other sort of food. There is no landscape in the world that is agreeable after two days of rusty bacon and slack biscuit. How lovely this would be, ex- claimed the Professor, if it had a back- ground of beefsteak and coffee! We were riding along the west fork of the Laurel, distinguished locally as rrhree Top Creek, or rather we were riding in it, crossing it thirty-one times within six miles; a charming wood (and water) road, under the shade of fine trees, with the rhododendron illuminat- ing the way, gleaming in the forest and reflected in the stream, all the ten miles to Elk Cross Roads, our next des- tination. We had heard a great deal about Elk Cross Roads; it was on the map, it was down in the itinerary fur- nished by a member of the coast sur- vey. We looked forward to it as a sweet place of repose from the noontide heat. Alas! Elk Cross Roads is a dirty gro- cery-store, encumbered with dry-goods boxes, fly-blown goods, flies, loafers. In reply to our inquiry, we were told that they had nothing to eat, for us, and not a grain of feed for the horses. But there was a man a mile further on, who was well to do and had stores of food, old man Tatem would treat us in bang-up style. The difficulty of getting feed for the horses was chronic all through the journey. The last corn crop had failed, the new oats and corn had not come in, and the country was literally barren. We had noticed all along that the hens were taking a vaca- tion, and that chickens were not put for- ward as an article of diet. We were unable, when we reached the residence of old man Tatem, to im- agine how the local superstition of his wealth arose. His house is of logs, 98 On Horseback. [July, with two rooms, a kitchen and a spare room, with a low loft accessible by a ladder at the side of the chimney. The chimney is a huge construction of stone, separating the two parts of the house; in fact, the chimney was built first, ap- parently, and the two rooms were then built against it. The proprietor sat in a little railed veranda. These Southern verandas give an air to the meanest dwelling, and they are much used; the family sit here, and here are the wash- basin and pail (which is filled from the neighboring spring-house) and the row of milk-pans. The old man Tatem did not welcome us with enthusiasm; he had no corn, these were hard times. He looked like hard times, grizzled times, dirty times. It seemed time out of mind since he had seen comb or razor, and although the lovely New River, along which we had ridden to his house, a broad, inviting stream, was in sight across the meadow, there was no evidence that he had ever made acquaintance with its cleansing waters. As to corn, the necessities of the case and pay being dwelt on, perhaps he could find a dozen ears. A dozen small ears he did find, and we trust that the horses found them. We took a family dinner with old man Tatem in the kitchen, where there was a bed and a stove, a meal that the host seemed to enjoy, but which we could not make much of, except the milk; that was good. A painful meal, on the whole, owing to the presence in the room of a grown-up daughter with a graveyard cough, without physician or medicine, or comforts. Poor girl! just dying of a misery. In the spare room were two beds; the walls were decorated with the gay- colored pictures of patent-medicine ad- vertisements a favorite art adorn- ment of the region; and a pile of an ient illustrated papers with the usual patent-office report, the thoughtful gift of the member for the district. The old man takes in the Blue Ridge Bap- tist, a journal which we found largely taken up with the experiences of its editor on his journeys roundabout in search of subscribers. This newspaper was the sole communication of the fam- ily with the world at large, but the old man thought he should stop it, he didnt seem to get the worth of his money out of it. And old man Tatem was a thrifty and provident man. On the hearth in this best room as orna- ments or memento mon were a couple of marble grave-stones, a short head- stone and foot-stone, mounted on bases and ready for use, except the lettering. These may not have been so mournful and significant as they looked, nor the evidence of simple, humble faith; they may have been taken for debt. But as parlor ornaments they had a fascination which we could not escape. It was while we were bathing in the New River, that afternoon, and medi- tating on the grim, unrelieved sort of life of our host, that the Professor said, Judging by the face of the Blue Ridge Baptist, he will charge us smartly for the few nubbins of corn and the milk. The face did not deceive us; the charge was one dollar. At this rate it would have broken us to have tarried with old man Tatem (perhaps he is not old, but that is the name he goes by) over night. It was a hot afternoon, and it needed some courage to mount and climb th& sandy hill leading us away from the corn-crib of Tatem. But we entered almost immediately into fine stretches of forest, and rode under the shade of great oaks. The way, which began by the New River, soon led us over the hills to the higher levels of Watauga County. So far on our journey we had been hemmed in by low hills, and with- out any distant or mountain outlooks. The excessive heat seemed out of place at the elevation of over two thousand feet, on which we were traveling. Boone, the county-seat of Watauga County, was On Horseback. our destination, and, ever since morning, the guide-boards and the trend of the roads had notified us that everything in this region tends towards Boone as a centre of interest. The simple inge- nuity of some of the guide-boards im- pressed us. If, on coming to a fork, the traveler was to turn to the right, the sign read, To BooNE 10 M. If he was to go to the left, it read, .M 01 uNooa oT A short ride of nine miles, on an as- cending road, through an open, un- fenced forest region, brought us long before sundown to this capital. When we had ridden into its single street, which wanders over gentle hills, and landed at the most promising of the taverns, the Friend informed his com- rade that Boone was 8250 feet above Albemarle Sound, and believed by its in- habitants to be the highest village east of the Rocky Mountains. The Pro- fessor said that it might be so, but it was a God-forsaken place. Its inhab- itants numbered perhaps 250, a few of them colored. It had a gaunt, shaky court-house and jail, a store or two, and two taverns. The two taverns are needed to accommodate the judges and lawyers and their clients during the session of the court. The court is the only excitement and the only amuse- ment. It is the event from which other events date. Everybody in the county knows exactly when court sits, and when court breaks. During the session the whole county is practically in Boone, men, women, and children. They camp there, they attend the trials, they take sides; half of them, perhaps, are wit- nesses, for the region is litigious, and the neighborhood quarrels are entered into with spirit. To be fond of law- suits seems a characteristic of an iso- lated people in new conditions. The early settlers of New England were. Notwithstanding the elevation of Boone, which insured a pure air, the thermometer that afternoon stood at from 850 to 890. The flies enjoyed it. How they swarmed in this tavern! They would have carried off all the food from the dining-room table (for flies do not mind eating off oil-cloth, and are not par- ticular how food is cooked), but for the machine with hanging flappers that swept the length of it; and they destroy all possibility of sleep except in the dark. The mountain regions of North Caro- lina are free from mosquitoes, but the fly has settled there, and is the universal scourge. This tavern, one end of which was a store, had a veranda in front, and a back gallery, where there were evidences of female refinement in pots of plants and flowers. The landlord him- self kept tavern very much as a hostler would, but we had to make a note in his favor that he had never heard of a milk punch. And it might as well be said here, for it will have to be insisted on later, that the traveler, who has read about the illicit stills till his im- agination dwells upon the indulgence of his vitiated tastes in the mountains of North Carolina, is doomed to disappoint- ment. If he wants to make himself an exception to the sober people whose cooking will make him long for the maddening bowl, he must bring his poi- son with him. We had found no bread since we left Virginia; we had seen corn-meal and water, slack-baked; we had seen potatoes fried in grease, and bacon encrusted with salt (all thirst- provokers), but nothing to drink strong- er than buttermilk. And we can say that, so far as our example is concerned, we left the country as temperate as we found it. How can there be mint-juleps (to go into details) without ice? and in the summer there is probably not a pound of ice in all the State north of Buncombe County. There is nothing special to be said about Boone. We were anxious to reach it, we were glad to leave it; we note as to all these places that our joy 1885.1 99 100 On Horseback. at departing always exceeds that on ar- riving, which is a merciful provision of nature for people who must keep inov- ing. This country is settled by genuine Americans, who have the aboriginal primitive traits of the universal Yankee nation. The front porch in the morn- ing resembled a carpenters shop; it was literally covered with the whittlings of the row of natives who had spent the evening there in the sedative occupation of whittling. We took that morning a forest road to Valle Crusis, seven miles, through noble growths of oaks, chestnuts, hemlocks, rhododendrons; a charming wood road, leading to a place that, as usual, did not keep the promise of its name. Yalle Crusis has a blacksmith shop and a dirty, fly-blown store. While the Professor consulted the blacksmith about a loose shoe, the Friend carried his weariness of life without provisions up to a white house on the hill, and negotiated for boiled milk. This house was occupied by flies. They must have numbered millions, settled in black swarms, cov- ering tables, beds, walls, the veranda; the kitchen was simply a hive of them. The only book in sight, Whewell s Ele- ments of Morality, seems to attract flies. Query, Why should this have such a different effect from Porters ? A white house, a pleasant-looking house at a distance, amiable, kindly people in it, why should we have arrived there on its dirty day? Alas! if we had been starv- ing, Valle Crusis had nothing to offer us. So we rode away, in the blazing heat, no poetry exuding from the Professor, eight miles to Banners Elk, crossing a mountain and passing under Hanging Rock, a conspicuous feature in the land- scape, and the only outcropping of rock we had seen: the face of a ledge, round- ed up into the sky, with a green hood on it. From the summit we had the first extensive prospect during our journey. The road can be described as awful, steep, stony, the horses unable to make [July, two miles an hour on it. Now and then we encountered a rude log cabin with- out barns or outhouses, and a little patch of feeble corn. The women who regarded the passers from their cabin doors were frowzy and looked tired. What with the heat and the road and this discouraged appearance of human- ity, we reached the residence of Dugger, at Banners Elk, to which we had been directed, nearly exhausted. It is no use to represent this as a dash across coun- try on impatient steeds. It was not so. The love of truth is stronger than the desire of display. And for this reason it is impossible to say that Mr. Dugger, who is an excellent man, lives in a clean and attractive house, or that he offers much that the pampered child of civili- zation can eat. But we shall not forget the two eggs, fresh from the hens, whose temperature must have been above the normal, nor the spring-house in the glen, where we found a refuge from the flies and the heat. The higher we go, the hotter it is. Banners Elk boasts an elevation of 3500 to 3700 feet. We were not sorry, towards sunset, to descend along the Elk River towards Cranberry Forge. The Elk is a lovely stream, and, though not very clear, has a reputation for trout; but all this region was under operation of a three- years game law, to give the trout a chance to multiply, and we had no op- portunity to test the value of its reputa- tion. Yet a boy whom we encountered had a good string of quarter-pound trout, which he had taken out with a hook and a feather rudely tied on it, to resemble a fly. The road, though not to be com- mended, was much better than that of the morning, the forests grew charming in the cool of the evening, the whippoor- will sang, and as night fell the wander- ers, in want of nearly everything that makes life desirable, stopped at the Iron Companys hotel, under the impression that it was the only comfortable hotel in North Carolina. Charles Dudley Warner. 1885.] Southwestern Kansas seen with Eastern Eyes. 101 SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS SEEN WITH EASTERN EYES. EASTERN ideas get ruthlessly shaken when one enters the actual life of the much-written-about Great New West. The state of mind of a little boy of my acquaintance, who, on being sent to school in Germany, wrote home in his first letter, I dont like Germany at all. They drink beer, and in the second, I dont like Germany. We drink beer, finds its parallel in the feelings of many a homesick emigrant who goes to the frontier without the important prepara- tion of a temporary residence in the Middle West. Slowly and surely, with- out making much note of the process, is the Easterner transformed into a new type of man as he comes under the in- fluence of that wonderful fascination which has led to the proverb, The American haven of eternal rest Lies ever just a little further west. It is sometimes said that the perfect American is an Eastern man with a Western veneer. But though the East has been stimulated and enlivened in its migration westward, yet the modifying process is not an easy one; neither can it be carried on without loss in some directions, which the enthusiastic pio- neer is very likely to overlook. Per- haps a fitting subject for the represen- tative American novel, which critics sometimes tell us is yet to be written, might be found in the conflict between Eastern and Western ideas which is now going on in many a soul on the Western plains. No State or Territory west of the Mississippi has had a greater infusion of New England blood at its earliest set- tlement than the one which is the geo- graphical centre of the country. New England emigration saved Kansas, said a Boston man on one occasion. No, was the reply of a Westerner, but it has done a greater thing. It has Amen- canized the Yankee. Both statements contain some truth. The true Kansan loves to recount the events which have made the history of his State remarkable. There was the great immigration in 1854, when the Northern conscience was aroused to pre- vent the extension of slavery, and com- pany after company of settlers, in can- vas - topped wagons, moved westward, singing the songs of Whittier. Then came the border war, in which Bleed- ing Kansas was for several years the centre of the nations thought. In 1861 Kansas entered the Union, and during the great conflict that followed she sent into the army and lost by death a larger proportion of her citizens than any other loyal State. After the war was over there were years of business depression, Indian raids, drought, and grasshoppers, justifying the motto Ad astra per aspera, which is borne on the coat of arms of the State. Yet, though its history has had so much of conflict, it has had much of encouragement also. We well re- member bow Easterners and foreigners gazed with wondering eyes upou the great sheaves and tall corn-stalks of the Kansas exhibit at Philadelphia in 1876. Since then severe droughts have again occurred, but now, after a few years of large crops, the vacant lands of Kansas are fast filling with settlers. To Southwestern Kansas we took our journey from the shores of the Atlantic while the early fall flowers were bloom- ing. We feasted our eyes on the hills of Berkshire County and New York, brilliant in autumn colors, with the homesickening reflection that we were soon to be out of sight of trees and rocks and hills, and after a journey of nearly three days we steamed into the Union Depot at Kansas City, with its labyrinth of railroad tracks. Then we

M. H. Leonard Leonard, M. H. Southwestern Kansas seen with Eastern Eyes 101-108

1885.] Southwestern Kansas seen with Eastern Eyes. 101 SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS SEEN WITH EASTERN EYES. EASTERN ideas get ruthlessly shaken when one enters the actual life of the much-written-about Great New West. The state of mind of a little boy of my acquaintance, who, on being sent to school in Germany, wrote home in his first letter, I dont like Germany at all. They drink beer, and in the second, I dont like Germany. We drink beer, finds its parallel in the feelings of many a homesick emigrant who goes to the frontier without the important prepara- tion of a temporary residence in the Middle West. Slowly and surely, with- out making much note of the process, is the Easterner transformed into a new type of man as he comes under the in- fluence of that wonderful fascination which has led to the proverb, The American haven of eternal rest Lies ever just a little further west. It is sometimes said that the perfect American is an Eastern man with a Western veneer. But though the East has been stimulated and enlivened in its migration westward, yet the modifying process is not an easy one; neither can it be carried on without loss in some directions, which the enthusiastic pio- neer is very likely to overlook. Per- haps a fitting subject for the represen- tative American novel, which critics sometimes tell us is yet to be written, might be found in the conflict between Eastern and Western ideas which is now going on in many a soul on the Western plains. No State or Territory west of the Mississippi has had a greater infusion of New England blood at its earliest set- tlement than the one which is the geo- graphical centre of the country. New England emigration saved Kansas, said a Boston man on one occasion. No, was the reply of a Westerner, but it has done a greater thing. It has Amen- canized the Yankee. Both statements contain some truth. The true Kansan loves to recount the events which have made the history of his State remarkable. There was the great immigration in 1854, when the Northern conscience was aroused to pre- vent the extension of slavery, and com- pany after company of settlers, in can- vas - topped wagons, moved westward, singing the songs of Whittier. Then came the border war, in which Bleed- ing Kansas was for several years the centre of the nations thought. In 1861 Kansas entered the Union, and during the great conflict that followed she sent into the army and lost by death a larger proportion of her citizens than any other loyal State. After the war was over there were years of business depression, Indian raids, drought, and grasshoppers, justifying the motto Ad astra per aspera, which is borne on the coat of arms of the State. Yet, though its history has had so much of conflict, it has had much of encouragement also. We well re- member bow Easterners and foreigners gazed with wondering eyes upou the great sheaves and tall corn-stalks of the Kansas exhibit at Philadelphia in 1876. Since then severe droughts have again occurred, but now, after a few years of large crops, the vacant lands of Kansas are fast filling with settlers. To Southwestern Kansas we took our journey from the shores of the Atlantic while the early fall flowers were bloom- ing. We feasted our eyes on the hills of Berkshire County and New York, brilliant in autumn colors, with the homesickening reflection that we were soon to be out of sight of trees and rocks and hills, and after a journey of nearly three days we steamed into the Union Depot at Kansas City, with its labyrinth of railroad tracks. Then we 102 Southwestern Kansas seen with Eastern Eyes. [July, bade good-by to the comforts of Pull- man cars and the services of railroad porters for a tedious journey of thirteen hours in a crowded local, over one of the unfinished railroads, with alphabet- ical names, that are resting in a state of indecision as to their future course. At first the stations were frequent, and the otherwise monotonous scenery was va- ried by large villages, with fine farms and orchards and streams of water fringed with great trees. Then the towns grew smaller and rarer. The river beds seemed nearly dry. At in- creasing intervals we passed tiny farm- houses of wood, or stone, or sod, each having the inevitable melon-patch and perhaps a bed of peanuts or sweet-pota- toes; and now and then appeared an emigrant wagon, with green body, red wheels, and canvas sheeting, slowly toil- ing across the solitary plain. There were large reaches of landscape thickly covered with dwarf sunflowers, whose golden heads seemed but a little larger than the ox-eye daisies of our Eastern meadows. Acres upon acres of the stalks of corn or sorghum cane stood like regiments of soldiers in solid pha- lanx; hawks in great numbers flapped their wings over the fields where wheat or millet had lately been harvested; but between the tracts that had been culti- vated lay vast stretches of unbroken prairie, its dry, dead grass variegated by golden-rods and other yellow or blue fall flowers. After the daylight faded the tedious evening ride was varied by a salute of appropriate Kansas weather, a sudden storm of high wind, with thun- der, lightning, and hail, which, however, our train passed quickly through. Ya~ riety was also given by the stories told by a young man behind us, who was instructing another, evidently a tender- foot, as a new-coiner is called, in the ways of the country to which he had come. Why, we could hear him say, the landlord said he should not put up any partitions in his hotel. He could nt afford such a waste of room. He could put a man to sleep in the width of space that a wall would take ~ The car, which had been full when we left Kansas City, was gradually emptied, until it contained, beside our- selves, only one woman and about a dozen men, who, in the dull evening glare, looked to our unaccustomed eyes like uncouth barbarians; and when, about one oclock at night, we reached the little town that is the temporary railroad terminus, it was with some dejection of mind that, in common with several fellow passengers, we took an omnibus for the house of entertainment recom- mended by our conductor as the only first-class hotel in the city. Separate rooms were out of the question, but the courteous landlord, after canvassing his resources, succeeded in giving each of us a couch, or the fraction thereof, for the remainder of the night. But though accommodations were limited the kindly attention we received revived our sink- ing spirits. In the morning, after a good breakfast, we resumed our jour- ney, and after a ride of two hours southward across prairie we took, with much curiosity, our first view of the town of Cleopatra, that has now been our home for eight months. The city was born just five years ago. This means that at that time some men from a point further east came here prospecting, selected a town site, formed themselves into a town com- pany, purchased the land from the gov- ernment, obtaining the necessary papers, marked out city limits, and chose a mayor and councilmen, and then this was a city. The place at first contained twenty or thirty inhabitants, living to- gether for a while in barracks, like sol- diers. The old settlers of that not very distant period love to relate the infancy of the little settlement, and to show the picture, painted by one of the town fathers, of the miniature city, which consisted of one long, rude frame- 1885.] iS~outhwestern Kansas seen with Eastern 1!4.es. 103 building (the barracks), now made into a barn for a sheep ranch, and beside it a single tent, with slanting stove-pipe chimney, occupied by one man, whose wife was his companion. The picture also shows a noble dog, the pet of the little community, and all around nothing but blue sky and green-brown prairie. It must be confessed that a city to which all building material and provi- sions and implements must be brought seventy miles over a roadless prairie does not present many of what we are accus- tomed to call city advantages. But the men made a grocery store out of an emigrant wagon, and went bravely to work, marking out streets, breaking prai- rie, and planning for sites of public buildings, and soon little houses began to appear. Since then this baby city has passed through the various trials incident to childhood. It has had no mushroom growth like that of the railroad termini and the mining towns, yet as the county- seat and the trading centre of a promis- ing stock-raising and agricultural district it has held its way hopefully through its vicissitudes, and is now both prosper- ous and expectant. A year or two after the town was founded, the great county-seat fight occurred. The little town of Rival in the north of the county (the railroad terminus already mentioned, although this was before the time of the railway) wished to supersede Cleopatra as county- seat, and an election was held. There were less than two thousand people in the county, including men, women, and children, but cattle-men and cowboys from other counties gave volunteer as- sistance, and more than four thousand votes were counted. Much threatening passed between the Cleopatra men and the Rivalites, arid toward night some- thing of a riot occurred. The votes were partially sifted at last, arid it was decided that Cleopatra should remain the county-seat. A year or so later came the railroad excitement. A railroad goes where it pleases, and usually keeps its own coun- sel. But the news had gone forth that the railroad was coming to Cleopatra, and the town was booming. A rail- road, however, changes its mind some- times, and one Sunday, fourteen miles of track that had been completed nearly to the city was taken up, to be laid in another direction. Monday morning found the town, which on Saturday had been so elated, in great depression, and many of its people lost heart and moved away. But Cleopatra is still sanguine of having a railroad. The agents of the great roads of the region are often inter- viewed and entertained, and the land agents are constantly assuring us that it is as certain as fate that the cars will be here before many months. Next to a railroad for itself, the great desire of Cleopatra is to have the one that comes to Rival extended westward, so that that city may lose its, present importance as a terminus. rro a look- er-on, the local jealousy of neighboring towns is amusing. The typical West- ern man thinks that he can prove by mathematics and geography that the city in which he has cast his lot cannot fail of greatness, and one chief object of his life is to advance its interests. The events which cause anxiety to the residents, such as prevailing sickness or town disturbances, are seldom mentioned in the local paper. It would not be politic. They might hinder immigration. But whatever is detrimental to a rival town is promptly and fully reported. A man comes into Rival by rail, and in- quires for Cleopatra. Cleopatra? says the Rivalite. Seems to me I ye heard of such a place. Hullo, you (turning to another), do you know where Cleo- patra is ? Why, yes, is the answer, I believe there is a little place by that name off south, but there dont nobody go there, and there aint no road to it, only a cowpath. Even the transient 104 Southwestern Kansas seen with Eastern Byes. [July, visitor is soon influenced by the local enthusiasm, and is ready to affirm that all the advantages of the region are con- centrated in the spot where he happens to be. The county-seat fight already men- tioned is the only case of lawlessness that has ever occurred in Cleopatra. It has been a most well-behaved town for one on the border, and plumes itself not a little on its good society, as com- pared with some of its neighbors. We walk through its streets with the same sense of quiet and law protection as in a INew England village. Yet the wise will sometimes say, Other frontier towns have had their bloodshed. Our turn may yet come. Once indeed, but a few weeks ago, it seemed that per- haps the time had come, when the tem- perance men of the town determined that at all hazards the state prohibitory law should be enforced. For a week the town was in agitation. Cowboys from the ranges came into town wear- ing their revolvers, threats were in the air, ladies avoided Main Street, and men walked around silent and with stern faces. The whole community waited as though beside a muttering volcano. Then the crisis passed, and for a time, at least, prohibition held sway. On our arrival at Cleopatra, that au- tumn morning, we found a compact little settlement of from five hundred to one thousand people. We were unable to learn the number exactly, for pioneers do not stand still to be counted, and a wise man hesitates to accept the local census of a Western city. Through the middle of the town ran the arterial Main Street, flanked by wooden sidewalks and lined for half a mile on each side with little shops, most of them having the square sham or battlement front. The town contained two church build- in gs, a brick court-house, a school-house for three schools, a flouring mill, and a disused mill for making sorghum sugar. For the rest, it was made up of little private houses, containing usually from one to five rooms, and, at first sight, seeming to have been dropped down helter-skelter on the prairie; but a little familiarity soon showed us that there was method in the madness, which time and labor on the prospective streets would develop. During the months that have elapsed since our arrival, the appearance of the town has been considerably changed. Several blocks have been built on Main Street, of brick or a soft red stone that is quarried in the neighborhood. A num- ber of larger and finer houses have been built on a rise of the prairie at the north of the town, which has therefore been dubbed Quality Hill by the populace; and just now, under the influence of the news that a railroad company is preparing to send a branch in this di- rection, the town is having a bigger boom than ever before, and buildings of all sizes are going up on every side. The interiors of the houses present all the degrees from furniture consist- ing chiefly of a trunk and some dry goods boxes to rich furniture with pianos and choice pictures; yet these differ- ences depend less upon the worldly pos- sessions of the people than upon the length of time since their arrival. Many a family living in one room with a few utensils has household goods waiting somewhere till a house can be built to put them in. The little trees that have been planted in the city are still too small to obstruct the view, and all the larger houses and two or three windmills for raising water can he seen for miles around. The town looks very pretty as seen in the dis- tance, and is the chief landmark of the region. To one within the city, how- ever, the unfinished streets and build- ings give an unpleasant feeling of dis- order and discomfort, like that of a spring house-cleaning or a May moving. But a fe~v weeks residence usually en- ables one to look at all things as tem 1885.] Southwestern Kansas seen with Eastern E& ies. 105 porary, and therefore endurable, like the discomforts of travel, or the inconven- iences of a camping-out excursion. Most of the men in the town are capitalists in a small way. Specula- tion abounds, and money changes hands fast. A financial authority has said that; the country must be rich which does not make use of small coin. Except in the post-office the smallest money rec- ognized here, either in prices of goods or in making change, is the nickel. Every two or three doors on Main Street we find a land-office, and land business is now brisk; but in a few months any one who wishes to prove up a good claim must go west to the next county. Trades of all kinds are starting, and every skillful workman has his hands over-full. Almost every man has two or three kinds of business and turns from one to another with amazing facil- ity. In a certain sense the most suc- cessful man is the most versatile man. There are a dozen or more lawyers in town, but each gives a part of his time to other business. Here is one who has been a judge and a professor in a law school, but is now seeking health and fortune by dividing his time between a law office and a sheep ranch. His ac- complished daughter is thinking of open- ing a private school in town, but in the interim spends a few days in the saddle herding her fathers sheep. Here is an- other lawyer, who is also a land agent and has a hog-ranch in the country; soon he transfers this to his partner, and takes charge of one of the local newspapers. Here is a man holding several county offices, but also superin- tending a coal and lumber yard. Some of his capital he invests in a grocery, and he is also engaged in cattle business in the Indian Territory. Almost every man has his farm outside, which he cul- tivates himself or by proxy, or is simply holding to await rise in land values. But, notwithstanding the restless change of occupation, the streets seem full of idle men. Here are new-corners, land-lookers, and farmers and stock- men from the country, gathered in knots at the corners trying to make a trade. Men temporarily out of employment stand with hand in their pockets watch- ing their chances. Main Street, there- fore, looks lazy, and has an air of listless waiting. A walk of five minutes from the court- house in any direction brings one out on the open prairie; then for a few miles there are farms, with here and there a settlers dwelling, and beyond, on the south and west, lie the great stock- ranges. On three sides of the town, at a dis- tance of four or five miles, flows Wolf Creek, having, like most capricious West- ern rivers, a great bed, washed out by short-lived floods, with a little water and a great deal of sand. It is usually ford- able at almost any point, but after a heavy rain, it is suddenly transformed into a mighty river, cutting off all com- munication between the country people and the town. In the distance, its course is shown by a straggling row of small cottonwoods and willows, twisted and broken by the floods. At the fords, posts are erected showing the depth of the stream and the heights to which the river has risen in various May freshets. Thirty miles away lies the town of L , our nearest eastern neighbor, a busy and rough cattle market, whose reputation in the region has suffered from its having been the scene of vari- ous acts of cowboy lawlessness. Two hours drive southward would take us across The Strip, a belt of land which the government is selling for the benefit of the Osage Indians, and into The Na- tion, as the Indian Territory is often called. But the Indians themselves are mostly far away in the eastern and south- ern parts of the Territory, and on cross- ing the border we find it difficult to realize the fact, recorded in an ancient geography, that 106 Sout1~western Kansas seen witI~ Eastern E?,es. [July, Chocktaw, Chickasaw, Cheri-o-kee Indians live in this Territo-ree. Three days journey by saddle south- west will take us across the sand hills and salt plains of the Territory into the great Texas Pan 1-Jandle. West of us, in the next county, there are as yet only a few settlements, but the tide is rolling on, and even now a company of men from Cleopatra are prospecting for a town site in the next county west. Sometimes we drive in our spring wagon to Rival; not often, for we are too loyal to Cleopatra to do our trading in a rival city, even though the want of a railroad somewhat increases the cost of goods in our own stores. But we cannot be wholly independent of the town which has the nearest railway sta- tion. We do not see the cars, for the one daily passenger train both arrives and returns in the night. Yet even the track is a welcome sight to the prairie dweller, for it connects him with his early home and Eastern friends, and the great world of civilization on whose edge he dwells. In the fall, winter, and early spring, prairie fires form a prominent feature of the landscape, and are a source of great danger to the inhabitants of the plains. Some of these fires are put out (that is, kindled) by the settlers at times when fire can be controlled, as a means of protection from wandering fires. Care- less is the traveler who ventures far over the prairie without carrying matches so that he may burn for himself a place of safety in case of danger. A fire-guard is ploughed around the town, and every little country home is encircled by sev- eral furrows where fire can be fought. Often in an evening we can see eight or ten fires, dotting the line of the ho- rizon at distances which we cannot guess. Sometimes in a rising wind a fire threat- ens the town or the neighboring farm- houses, and the men gather to beat it hack, and send counter-fires to meet it. The main fire-line leaps along roaring and crackling in the tall grass, and leav- ing behind miles of black, smoking ground, soon to be covered with a soft carpet of yellow green; but it also leaves side-fires and back-fires, which must be watched and guarded by those who are fighting fire with fire. Prairie fires in the distance, in a still evening, are very pretty things to see, but when wind and fire combine to resist human control, the feeling sometimes changes to excitement and terror. Even more than in older communities do the people here talk ~much about the weather, and the opinions held re- garding it are various enough to prove the truth of the definition, Pleasant weather is a state of the mind in which it enjoys itself. It does not take long for the settler who is well and prosper- ous to share a little the Western man s enthusiasm; but a new-coiner usually feels that a climate in which the mer- cury is liable to change twenty or thirty degrees in a single hour is open to crit- icism. Even to the old resident the weather brings a continual round of sur- prises. When the winter northers blow, and for days we spend all our energies to keep from freezing, we almost refuse to believe what we certainly know, that this is, on the whole, a warm cli- mate; that, except for the northers, the winters are mild; that farmers do their ploughing in midwinter, and plant their potatoes in February; and that animals pasture without shelter the whole year through. Yet even during the heated summer the nights are always cool. The heavy rains fall mostly from April to June. The later summer and autumn are rather dry, and November, bleak and dreary month on our Eastern shores, is usually considered a delight- ful season here. Winter storms some- times bring a dry powdery snow, which blows fiercely in our faces, and makes drifts in the caflons, but seldom whitens the general surface of the gronnd, or prevents the herds from finding pasture. 1885.] Southwestern Kansas seen with Eastern Eyes. 107 A wet and heavy snow, if it does come, is a sad calamity, for it takes away the food of thousands of grazing animals. Dust is everywhere, inflaming the eyes, sifting through cracks, and rising in sand storms under the influence of a high wind. Mud, so great a trial in Eastern Kansas, is here little known. For a few hours after a heavy rain it plasters our overshoes, and almost holds us to the ground, but suddenly it is gone. Here are no swamps, no marshes of stagnant water, no damp night air. The enthusiastic resident assures you that there is no malaria, as in Eastern Kansas, .- That is impossible where drainage is so perfect. Yet one soon learns that there is the same tendency to bilious diseases that is found in most parts of the West, and that fevers are frequent. But the most remarkable feature of the climate is the wind, which sweeps past us from north to south, from south to north again, without a wind-break between us and the North Pole. It would be too much to say that the wind always blows in Kansas, but one who is in the process of acclimation feels that the pauses are both rare and short. Down upon us, often without a mo- ments warning, sweeps a norther, usu- ally of three days duration. Then the weather gradually moderates, and the wind changes to the south, to be suc- ceeded shortly by another northern gale. Now and then we have an equally strong and trying south wind, a genuine sirocco from the Staked Plain of rrexas, hot to our hands and cheeks, and almost irresistible in its force. Occasionally in the spring there comes a day that seems to have all zones and seasons condensed into its brief space. Two or three such days are indelibly fixed in my memory. The morning may dawn upon us clear, cool, and soft, with sparkling dew, and the song of a thousand meadow larks. The sun comes grandly up above the clean-cut horizon. We feel no languor. It is a delight to live and breathe and move. The sun mounts toward the zenith, and the air begins to grow hot. It is insufferably hot. There is no tree, no hill, no rock, to give a cooling shade, and the deep- blue sky contains no passing cloud to give us a moments respite from the suns blinding rays. We think regret.. fully of the umbrella that yesterdays wind turned inside out, and determine to put up a tent as soon as the weather is cool enough to encourage the effort. But atmospheric stillness never lasts ]ong in Kansas. The wind begins to blow, and our stifling breath grows more free. From the south the wind comes, reaching our, ears with a murmuring sound before we feel it in our faces. The prairie grass and fields of grain rise and fall, first in waves, and then in heaving billows. The wind increases in force and becomes a sirocco, scorching our faces worse than the hottest rays of the sun could do. There is no dignity in walking. We struggle with our skirts and wraps. We tie our hats down, we hold on to them with both hands, and still they escape us, and we rush madly after them. The clothes on the line at the next door flap wildly around, beat- ing out their hems and splitting in every weakened spot, while the washer- woman is striving to keep her balance long enough to rescue them before their total destruction; lucky is she if they are not snatched from her grasp and scattered far over the prairie never to be recovered. Great tumble-weeds come rolling like hoops across the plain. Here comes a market-basket escaped from the hand of some urchin who for a moment forgot to be vigilant. We start to catch it for him, but it eludes us, and goes bumping over the prairie for half a mile or more, and is soon out of sight. A canvas-covered carriage is seized by the wind and rolled down the street. On the next house comes toppling down the stove-pipe chimney. Three or four 108 aaribaldis Ideas. [July, claim shanties are laid over on their sides, and the builders of the large house in the upper part of the town will have to begin to-morrow putting up their frame anew. We think about torna- does and cyclones, and then remark quietly, This is nt anything; just an ordinary straight blow. Clouds of dust fill the air, penetrating the thickest veils, reddening our eyes, and sifting through the cracks of doors and windows to the utter ruin of all good housekeeping. The only comfort is in the thought that this state of things cannot last long; a change will surely come soon. And here it comes. In the southeast, a black cloud appears, moving rapidly. We look anxiously to see if it is funnel- shaped, and a few nervous persons re- treat to their cellars, or caves (that is, artificial excavations that serve as out- side cellars for some of the houses). But this is not a tornado, only a Kansas shower. First comes a cloud of dust, sweeping with the rapidity of a whirl- wind, and veiling the town from sight. The lightning blinds our eyes, and streaks the black sky with chains of light. Housewives bring sheets and pieces of old carpet to stop the cracks of the doors and windows on the wind- ward side, and hurry must be the word, for in a moment the rain is upon us, not in drops, but in blinding sheets moving horizontally along. In a few moments the roadways are streams of running water, the tubs and rain bar- rels and cisterns are overflowing. The farmers exultingly exclaim, This in- sures the corn crop, and the local edi- tor writes for his item column, - What slanderer said Drouthy Kansas? It is no longer rain; it is sleet and hail. Next comes a rift in the clouds, a perfect arch of rainbow, and the clouds roll away out of sight, leaving the clean-washed earth dotted with flow- ers. The afternoon wanes. The winds are still. The sun sinks in a blaze of golden glory, and almost without a twi- light the day is ended. In the ocean of dark blue ether above and round us, the moon and stars are shining. It is the perfection of glorious night. We linger in its beauty, unwilling that sleep should claim the best hours of the twenty-four, but at last, the thought of to-morrows labors and vicissitudes drives us to our couch. We fall asleep, to awaken per- haps in a few hours and find that the bed-covering is insufficient. We wrap ourselves in all the blankets we can find, but are still cold, and grow colder. The south wind has given place to a norther, which creeps in through the seams of the windows, lifts the carpet in billows, and drives us back to our warmest flan- nels, and our rekindled fires. In weather, as in almost all phases of this prairie life, it is the unexpected which usually happens. What adjective is there, applicable to weather, that may not be used in the superlative degree here! I do not wonder that this is called Sunny Kansas, but it is also windy Kansas. Yes, it is drouthy Kan- sas, but it is also fertile, beautiful Kan- sas. ilL II. Leonard. GARIBALDIS IDEAS. ON the 9th of November, 1861, Gar- kingdom in a campaign so marvelous ibaldi left Naples for Caprera. It was that its story reads more like an epic the turning point of his career. He poem than a military history. He had had created an army and conquered a silenced the cavils of men who called

W. L. Alden Alden, W. L. Garibaldi's Ideas 108-115

108 aaribaldis Ideas. [July, claim shanties are laid over on their sides, and the builders of the large house in the upper part of the town will have to begin to-morrow putting up their frame anew. We think about torna- does and cyclones, and then remark quietly, This is nt anything; just an ordinary straight blow. Clouds of dust fill the air, penetrating the thickest veils, reddening our eyes, and sifting through the cracks of doors and windows to the utter ruin of all good housekeeping. The only comfort is in the thought that this state of things cannot last long; a change will surely come soon. And here it comes. In the southeast, a black cloud appears, moving rapidly. We look anxiously to see if it is funnel- shaped, and a few nervous persons re- treat to their cellars, or caves (that is, artificial excavations that serve as out- side cellars for some of the houses). But this is not a tornado, only a Kansas shower. First comes a cloud of dust, sweeping with the rapidity of a whirl- wind, and veiling the town from sight. The lightning blinds our eyes, and streaks the black sky with chains of light. Housewives bring sheets and pieces of old carpet to stop the cracks of the doors and windows on the wind- ward side, and hurry must be the word, for in a moment the rain is upon us, not in drops, but in blinding sheets moving horizontally along. In a few moments the roadways are streams of running water, the tubs and rain bar- rels and cisterns are overflowing. The farmers exultingly exclaim, This in- sures the corn crop, and the local edi- tor writes for his item column, - What slanderer said Drouthy Kansas? It is no longer rain; it is sleet and hail. Next comes a rift in the clouds, a perfect arch of rainbow, and the clouds roll away out of sight, leaving the clean-washed earth dotted with flow- ers. The afternoon wanes. The winds are still. The sun sinks in a blaze of golden glory, and almost without a twi- light the day is ended. In the ocean of dark blue ether above and round us, the moon and stars are shining. It is the perfection of glorious night. We linger in its beauty, unwilling that sleep should claim the best hours of the twenty-four, but at last, the thought of to-morrows labors and vicissitudes drives us to our couch. We fall asleep, to awaken per- haps in a few hours and find that the bed-covering is insufficient. We wrap ourselves in all the blankets we can find, but are still cold, and grow colder. The south wind has given place to a norther, which creeps in through the seams of the windows, lifts the carpet in billows, and drives us back to our warmest flan- nels, and our rekindled fires. In weather, as in almost all phases of this prairie life, it is the unexpected which usually happens. What adjective is there, applicable to weather, that may not be used in the superlative degree here! I do not wonder that this is called Sunny Kansas, but it is also windy Kansas. Yes, it is drouthy Kan- sas, but it is also fertile, beautiful Kan- sas. ilL II. Leonard. GARIBALDIS IDEAS. ON the 9th of November, 1861, Gar- kingdom in a campaign so marvelous ibaldi left Naples for Caprera. It was that its story reads more like an epic the turning point of his career. He poem than a military history. He had had created an army and conquered a silenced the cavils of men who called 1885.] aaribaldis Ideas. 109 him only a brilliant leader of guerrilla bands, by defeating on the banks of the Volturno thirty-five thousand disciplined and well led troops with an army of half their number. He had achieved the last and greatest conquest that a man can make, the conquest of himself, for sooner than sow dissension among Ital- ian patriots he had given up his purpose of marching on Rome, and had surren- dered his dictatorship to the Sardinian king. Up to that time Garibaldis character was one of rare beauty. He was always perfectly honest and completely sincere; but the sweetness of disposition, the un- suspicious nature leading him to believe other men to be as honest as himself, the infinite pity and tenderness towards the weak and suffering, the sublime and total self-forgetfulness those qualities which made men love him more, if pos- sible, than they admired him waned sadly and steadily during his later years. He lost faith in God and in man. He became harsh, suspicious, misanthropic. He seemed to think that he was the only honest, intelligent patriot in Italy, and he tolerated no dissent from his opinions among his nearest and most devoted friends. He abused indiscriminately re- ligion, government, and science; the mon- archists, the Mazzinians, and even the survivors of The Thousand; and though he sometimes professed to love King Humbert, he publicly praised the crazy regicide Passanante as a hero. To this strange and pitiful change of Garibaldis whole moral nature, his writings give ample and saddening testimony. Garibaldi was by no means an illit- erate man. He was a good mathema- tician. He spoke German, Spanish~ French, and English with fluency, and was familiar with the history of Rome and to some extent with that of modern Europe. He had read romances, poetry, military treatises, and books of science, theology, and philosophy. Intellectually, however, he always remained a child, and the effect upon his mind of this het- erogeneous reading was what it would have been upon a school-boy. He could not understand why the frothy novels of Guerazzi were not as great as the romances of Victor Hugo, and he firm- ly believed Alexander Dumas, pare, to be the greatest author the world had produced. In addition to the innumerable letters which Garibaldi published during his later years, he wrote soon after the events of 1849 a brief autobiography. In 1867 he wrote his first historical ro- mance, Clelia, or the Rule of the Monk, which was translated into English by Jessie White Mario. Two years later he wrote Cantoni the Volunteer, and af- ter his campaign in France he wrote his third romance, entitled The Thousand. He also confided to his son Menotti a new autobiography, covering the period between 1850 and 1870, with the order that it should not be published until after his death. As yet, Menotti has not published it, and there can be little doubt that the fact is creditable to his good sense and filial piety. Whatever Garibaldi wrote prior to the close of his Neapolitan campaign was worthy of him. His early autobi- ography was modest and simple. He had a story to tell, and he told it in a di- rect and forcible way. The writer evi- dently had no thought of his style, but thought only of what he had to say. The contrast between the simplicity of this autobiography and the turgidity of Garibaldis romances is as marked as that between the moral tone of his first and his latest writings. In his addresses to his troops Gari- baldi was always happy. Written l~y an enthusiast, they were adapted to kindle enthusiasm. At times they were gen- uinely eloquent, and the well-known or- der of the day issued on the eve of the retreat from Rome in 1849 will live for- ever. His speeches were always brief and often admirable, and though they 110 aari1~aldis Ideas. [July, were sometimes distasteful to the diplo. matists, it was because diplomacy cannot always tolerate frankness. Of the romances, while they were all miraculously bad, it may be said that their badness was progressive. Clelia is less utterly stupid than Cantoni, and The Thousand is even more prepos- terous than its predecessors. Clelia was written partly before and partly after Mentana, and the last chapters describe the affair of Villa Glori and the abor- tive attempt at insurrection in Rome. Cantoni is a romance of the Roman re- public of 1849; and The Thousand pur- ports to tell in the guise of a romance the true story of the Conquest of Sicily and Naples. The imaginative part of these romances might have been writ- ten by a boy of fourteen whose imagi- nation had been fed by Dumas s nov- els. The historical parts are thrust in chiefly as episodes, and with a complete disregard of what precedes and what follows them. The characters are col- orless and lifeless. The heroines, of whom each book has several, are all precisely alike, young women of great beauty and all possible virtues; the he- roes are brave young soldiers, each one of whom is precisely like all the others; and the villains are all priests of un- speakable depravity. In point of style, one would fancy that nothing could be more vicious and bombastic than Clelia, were it not that Cantoni and The Thou- sand are in this respect really and un- mistakably worse. All three would long ago have been forgotten were it not that they contain what Garibaldi fancied were his ideas on religion; politics, and human society. It was at one time the habit of good Protestants in this country to look on Garibaldi as a defender of the faith. There is no doubt that Garibaldi pro- tested with great vigor against the rul- ers of the Roman church, but there was never a time when he could properly be classed as a Protestant. He early abandoned the Roman Cath- olic Church, but even throughout his wild career in South America, where his exploits bore a dangerously close re- semblance to piracy, he retained a be- lief in God, and a respect for Christian- ity. His mother was a devout woman, and he could not but reverence her re- ligious faith. In his autobiography he says of her, I have in fancy seen her on her knees before the Most high my dear mother! pleading for the life of her son; and I have believed in the efficacy of her prayers. He says of Ugo Bassi, the patriot priest, Bassi was a true servant of Christ; one of the line of Christian apostleship, in all the purity and holiness of the divine insti- tution, and he exclaims, We Italians wish to be of the religion of Christ. He recognizes that God rules, and speaks of Those unforeseen and im- portant events which, I love to say, are evidently brought about by the hand of Providence. He even confesses that he sometimes prayed, for in describing the death of Anita, he says, I prayed for forgiveness, for I thought of the sin of taking her from her home. Cer- tainly these expressions of belief in God and of respect for the religion of Christ are not sufficient to form a creed that would be acceptable to any Protestant evangelical sect, but they are suffi- cient to show that at the time the auto- biography was written Garibaldi was not an atheist, nor an enemy of revealed religion. During the Sicilian campaign Garibal.. di was accompanied by Father Pantaleo, a courageous and patriotic monk, un- der whose influence, perhaps, Garibaldi seemed for a time ready to believe that a man could be both priest and patriot. Says Guerzoni, the best of his biogra- pliers, He not only tried to win the good priests with proclamations, but he searched them out, wished to have them about him, feted them, followed them into their churches, and bowed before their 1885.] Garibaldis Ideas. 111 altars. In a proclamation issued at Na- pies he spoke of the good monks of La Gancia and the noble hearted priests of the Neapolitan continent. He did not cease to denounce the Pope, but it was chiefly as the Italian ruler, who had brought in the hated French troops to oppress his people. No one can believe that Garibaldi, with his habitual hatred of intrigues and scorn of hypocrisy, was during this time trying to win the sup- port of the priesthood by intrigue and hypocrisy. He had found Pantaleo an honest fellow and a great help to him, and he was ready to believe that there were other priests equally worthy of confidence. At the very time that he was thus striviig to make friends with the priesthood, he presented Gavazzi, the most violent of Protestants, with a church in Naples. This was not the act of one who was hoping to buy the favor of the priests, but rather of one who re- spected religion, and dreamed of a free church in a free state. 1-Je afterwards said during his triumphal tour of Lom- bardy: It is in vain my enemies try to make me out an atheist, a blasphe- mer. I believe in God. I am of the religion of Christ, not of the religion of the Popes. His knowledge of the re- ligion of Christ was undoubtedly ex- tremely vague, but he was so far from being an atheist that he was anxious to be known as a Christian. In 1862, Garibaldi was lured by Rat~ tazzi, the Prime Minister, into the net of Aspromonte. He felt that he had been betrayed, and he knew that it was in accordance with the order of the king to whom he had given half of Italy that he had been struck down by an Italian bullet. Lying on his couch in the prison-cell of Yarignano he began his first historical romance, and it is not strange that the book should show the bitterness of the writers disappoint- ment. His faith in man was fatally shaken, but he still believed vaguely in God. He introduced himself as one of the dramatis personce of Clelia, and de- scribed his home at Caprera as a place where God is worshiped as he should be, in purity of spirit, without formalism, fee, or mockery. He no longer, how- ever, believed in the possibility of the existence of an honest priest. The Garibaldi of Clelia hates the priest- hood as a lying and mischievous institu- tion, but is ready, so soon as they dives~ themselves of their malignity and buf- foonery, to welcome them with open arms to a nobler vocation, a new and honest profession, and to urge men to pardon their past offenses, conforming in this, as in other acts, to a spirit of uni- versal~ tolerance. Though not suffering them as priests, he pities and yearns to- ward them as men; for priests he re- gards as the assassins of the soul, and in that light esteems them more culpable than those who slay the body. This is a sufficiently sweeping condemnation of the church, but the man who a year before had said I am of the religion of Christ asks the readers of Clelia, Is it not surprising that, in spite of the light of the nineteenth century, a people should be found willing to believe the blasphemous fables called the doctrines of the church? For some time after the publication of Clelia, Garibaldi re- tained his belief in the existence of a personal God, but he never again wrote of religion except with hatred and con- tempt. There is a good deal of hearty abuse of the priests in Clelia; but in Cantoni, the author gives a freer rein to his vitu- peration. He usually speaks of the church as the shop, though he occa- sionally calls it the cloaca, or with more exactness of definition, the cloaca of prostitution and infamy. The priests are wolves, crocodiles, ministers of Satan, and vipers, who cover every horrible crime with the mantle of hypocrisy. Protestantism does not fare much better than Romanism, for Garibaldi describes it as that Babylon 112 Garibaldi8 Ideas. [July, of sects called Protestantism, composed of shopkeepers who are perhaps a little less bad than those of the grand Roman cloaca, but who are nevertheless priests and enemies, and disturbers of human brotherhood. Of Christ, he speaks in a rather kindly way, remarking that he contributed not a little to propagate the dogma of human emancipation, but he adds: It is now proved that Christ never called himself God. On the con- trary, to the flatterers . . . who wished to deify him, he replied, I am a son of man. In Cantoni, the existence of God is neither affirmed nor denied, but it is evident that Garibaldi had finally lost his belief in a personal God, for having spoken of The Infinite, he remarks, Time is infinite; space is infinite; matter is infinite. We may imagine an infinite intelligence, an hy- pothesis that might be of service to the cause of universal brotherhood. This remark was repeated in substance in The Thousand, and it represented all that was left of the simple faith in God and the religion of Christ which the Garibaldi of the autobiography mod- estly professed. The rrhousand is one prolonged howl against religion, but it contains few abusive epithets that had not been previously used in Cantoni, and there is therefore no sufficient ex- cuse for quoting its wearisome billings- gate. The Thousand was written in 1872. In 1879, Garibaldi wrote a letter to a crack-brained enthusiast known as Baron Swift, who had started an athe- i~tic propaganda in Venice. In this letter he spoke of Swift and himself as we atheists. About the same time he wrote, in the guise of a letter, what he evidently meant to be a proclama- tion. The letter was as follows, Dear Friends, Man has created God, not God man. Garibaldi never retracted this open profession of atheism, and though Guer- zoni says that his religion was the phil osophical deism of Jean Jacques, he gives us no reason to believe that Gari- baldi was insincere when he proclaimed himself an atheist. Garibaldis political faith underwent as great a change as his religious faith. In his youth he was a follower of Maz- zini, and called himself a republican; but he concerned himself little with Mazzinis political philosophy, and with the practical good sense which then characterized him, he recognized that the first duty of Italians was to drive out the foreigner. He once wrote, I care not whether we have a republic or a monarchy, so long as United Italy is free to choose what government she wishes. When Cavour invited him to serve under the Sardinian king against the Austrians, he gladly accepted the offer, and during the most glorious period of his life he was a loyal sup- porter of the monarchy. But after the royal army attacked him at Aspromonte, Garibaldi began to denounce, in his writings, first the Moderates, or followers of Cavour and Ricasoli, and then the Italian govern- ment. In Clelia the Moderates were characterized as always indissolubly bound to the chariots of selfishness, and as waiting at whatever cost until the manna of freedom should fall from heaven into their mouths, or the for- eign~r should come to their relief and set their country free; and in Can- toni they were referred to as that caste of cowards that priestly educa- tion has implanted in Italy under the name of Moderates. In the latter book the Italian government is a con- venticle of wretched men, unworthy-to be called a government; a govern- ment always hypocritical, always per- verse, and always hostile to, and ready to exterminate, the volunteers. It is charged with having tried to induce the people of Palermo to stop the march of the volunteers, and thus to stifle in its cradle that stupendous enterprise that 1885.] Garibaldi8 Ideas. 113 was destined finally to constitute Italy. This miserable government, after Garibaldi had passed the Straits, col- lected all its sycophants in Naples, and while it deceived the Bourbon king with crafty intrigues, it fomented a rev- olution in order to overthrow him, and to paralyze the army of the people that had already won ten victories. We firmly believe, exclaims the author of Clelia, that a more cowardly govern- ment than the Italian cannot be found in ancient or modern history. Not content with denouncing the Moderate party and the government, Garibaldi denounced Mazzini and his followers. In Naples, during his dicta- torship, Garibaldi had spoken of Maz- zini as his friend, and during his visit to England he had toasted Mazzini, my master. But in Cantoni he charges Mazzini with gross incompetence as virtual dictator of Rome in 1849. He was without the capacity to command, and he would not tolerate either the commands or the advice of any one; and with his followers was accustomed to say, We alone are pure, we men of republican principles, for we want the republic even when it is impossible to have it. For them, as for the priests, Marsala was a defeat and Mentana a triumph. In The Thousand, the Maz- zinians are charged with having, on the eve of the battle of Mentana, induced thousands of volunteers to desert un- der the pretext of returning home to proclaim the republic and to raise barri- cades. Garibaldis own gallant soldiers, who bad accepted commissions in the royal army, also had their share of abuse. In Cantoni, he asks, Where are the seventy of Cairoli, the thousand of Mar- sala? and answers, To-day they are making love; they are crowding the caf6s and the theatres; and many of them, thinking that they are serving the country, have put on a livery and serve a perverse government. The peas VOL. LYJ. NO. 333. 8 antry fail to please the author of The Thousand, who says, they do not be- long to us, but to the priests, and there is no instance of one of them having been found among the volunteers. Doctors, professors, and scientific men also fall under the ban. In The Thou- sand, he asks in reference to parlia- ment, How can one have faith in five hundred individuals, most of whom are professors? and he adds, in a note, that while many of his friends have belonged to this class, they have hitherto proved so bad in governments and parliaments that I despair of them. In Cantoni, not only scientific men, but science it- self is denounced, and Garibaldi asks, if learning and science are really any better than idiocy? Having thus ex- pressed his disapproval of nearly all classes of men, the aged misanthrope denounces the whole human race col- lectively as a family of apes, and ex- claims, I cover my face with shame at l)elonging to this race of asses. In his last years Garibaldi praised no one ex- cept the cowardly assassins who tried to kill the Emperor of Germany, the King of Spain, and the King of Italy. It was in honor of these wretches that he wrote the most shameful of his many pitiable letters. There was but one form of govern- ment which Garibaldi approved, and that was an elective despotism. The liberty of a nation, he informs us in Clelia, consists in the people choosing their own government, and this govern- ment should be dictatorial or presidential; that is to say, directed by one man. . rrhe dictatorship should be limited to a fixed period, and it must be guard- ed by popular rights and public opin- ion from becoming either excessive or hereditary. In The Thousand, the same idea is expressed: The dictator should have a guard of ten lictors, and the country should be defended in time of war by the armed nation. There should be no written laws, but the 114 aaribaldis ideas. [July, dictator should administer justice in the public piazza. Judging from Gari- baldis own writings, there was no man living in Italy, except himself, whom he could have regarded as fit to be dictator. If any other member of the family of apes had been made dictator, and ruled without laws, he would have been made very uncomfortable by the daily denunciations which Garibaldi would have hurled at him. What were the causes which worked this unhappy change in the simple- minded noble Icader of The Thousand? Doubtless it was due to illness and dis- appointment working on a mind by no means strong. Garibaldi undoubtedly had a genius for war. He was an able tactician, as his dispositions made on the field of the Volturno showed. Gen- eral Manteuffel, who was assuredly a com- petent critic, wrote of him: The tac- tics of General Garibaldi were charac- terized by great rapidity in movements, by wise dispositions during the heat of battle, and by an energy and brilliancy of attack that depended in part on the moral qualities of his soldiers, but that also showed that the general never for- got for a single instant the objective point of a battle, which is to dislodge the enemy from his positions by a rapid, vigorous, and resolute attack; and Manteiiffel also added, speaking of the campaign in the Vosges: The suc- cesses of the general were partial, and had no results, but had General Bour- baki followed his counsels, the campaign of the Vosges would have been the most fortunate of those fought by French armies in 1870 71. Nevertheless, Garibaldis real greatness was moral and not intellectual, and the pitiable fol- lies which he committed whenever he attempted to meddle in matters of ad- ministration and statesmanship suffi- ciently proved his total lack of judg- ment outside of purely military affairs. He was bitterly disappointed when the arrival of the Sardinian army at Naples compelled him to abandon his intended march on Rome. He was again disappointed when the royal gov- ernment in 1862 interfered to put a stop to his mad attempt to make private war on Austria at Sarnico. He was again disappointed when Pallavicini captured his band of red-shirts on the heights of Aspromonte, and his last and heaviest disappointment was the defeat of Men- tana. He could not comprehend that a citizen of Italy, however popular he might be, had no right to raise armies and declare war against Austria, France, or the Papal government, and he could not but feel exasperated against the monarchy which thwarted his wild ex- peditions, and the sober ci~zens who supported it. During the last years of his life, Gari- baldi was a martyr to rheumatism. He suffered incessant pain, and was for much of the time a helpless cripple. He lay on his bed and thought of the failure of his efforts to liberate Venice and Rome, and of the later successes of diplomacy and Prussian armies, which gave to Italy the coveted cities, and opened an era of peaceful and prosaic prosperity in which no place was found for the leader whose life had been spent in the camp of enthusiastic volunteers. The old man felt that he had lived too long; that Italy no longer needed him; and that there was nothing left for him but to endure his physical tortures, and the humiliations put upon him by those members of his family who lacked the good sense and honesty of his elder s~n Menotti. A strong-brained man might have grown stronger and better in the furnace of pain and disappointment, but it made Garibaldi a bitter misanthrope, a furious blasphemer of God and man. But the splendor of a unique career cannot be marred by a brief old age em- bittered by pain and disappointment. The Garibaldi who led the thousand from Marsala to Naples was an ideal hero, and 1885?] J2o8es. 115 his fame is and will be forever one of feel nothing but pity when listening to the noblest treasures of the race. The the wild cries wrung from him by the Garibaldi of those last sad years at sharpest of bodily, and the bitterest of Caprera was another man, and one can mental pain. W. L Alden. ROSES. BLOW, roses, blow Your pink and snow, Your gold and red, Ere June hath fled. Your time is brief For bud and leaf; But in your hour Of perfect flower, Who doth not wait Upon your state; Who doth not own That you alone Hold Beautys dower From flower to flower, And reign alone On Beautys throne? What though your stay Be but a day, Your bloom and breath Survive your death, Haunt all the year, So sweet, so dear You made the day Of your brief stay. So, seeming dead, Some brief lives shed After their close Sweets like the rose. Nora Perry.

Nora Perry Perry, Nora Roses 115-116

1885?] J2o8es. 115 his fame is and will be forever one of feel nothing but pity when listening to the noblest treasures of the race. The the wild cries wrung from him by the Garibaldi of those last sad years at sharpest of bodily, and the bitterest of Caprera was another man, and one can mental pain. W. L Alden. ROSES. BLOW, roses, blow Your pink and snow, Your gold and red, Ere June hath fled. Your time is brief For bud and leaf; But in your hour Of perfect flower, Who doth not wait Upon your state; Who doth not own That you alone Hold Beautys dower From flower to flower, And reign alone On Beautys throne? What though your stay Be but a day, Your bloom and breath Survive your death, Haunt all the year, So sweet, so dear You made the day Of your brief stay. So, seeming dead, Some brief lives shed After their close Sweets like the rose. Nora Perry. 116 England, Rzt88ia, and India. ENGLAND, RUSSIA, AND INDIA. As a handy compendium, full of reli- able and accurate information relating to the Anglo-Russian dispute, Mr. Charles Marvins The Russians at the Gates of Herat 1 is by far the best book of its kind out of many that have been offered to the reading public. As a po- lemic the volume will be perused with a certain amount of caution. That its author came specially qualified to his task must be admitted at the outset. Mr. Marvin is a zealous patriot, and possesses the rare impartiality, as he re- minds us himself, of being both a Rus- sophile and a Russophobe. He has long been convinced of the blindness of English statesmen to the real objects of the Russian advance in Central Asia, and has for years devoted himself, in a field which a unanimous if tacit consent has wholly surrendered to him, to what he calls the sacred task of safeguarding India from the menace from the north. At one time Mr. Marvin was little more than a voice crying in the wil- derness. The English public not only declined to share his apprehensions, but even doubted their sincerity. That ungrateful period of his agitation Mr. Marvin has outlived. Thanks to the spasmodic rapidity of recent Russian expansion in Central Asia, he has ob- tained a hearing in the Tory press and on the Tory platform, while his follow- ers are now numerous enough to con- stitute a political party of themselves, were they not already members of the Tory organization. It is, in fact, im- possible to overlook the circumstance that the influence Mr. Marvin has come to wield by his books and his speeches is distinct from that felt when a great orator rallies his countrymen to com- 1 The Russians at the Gates of Ilerat. By CHARLES MARvIN. With Maps and Portraits. New York: Charles Scribners Sons. 1885. mon resistance in some hour of national danger. It is true that Mr. Marvin has done a certain amount of positive good. His pamphlets and writings have thrown a greater flood of light on the geography and politics of Central Asia than many wars could have contributed. He has quickened the languid parliamentary interest in our Indian empire. Be- yond this his agitation has been harm- ful. It has tended to create a chronic distrust of each other on the p art of two great powers. While in the yes of Eu- rope it has unduly magnified the re- sources of the Czar, in the eyes of Rus- sia it has unduly dwarfed the military capacity of Great Britain. The policy, advocated by Mr. Marvin, of haggling over particular lines and swearing by frontiers hard and fast has been a vir- tual confession and must have been regarded as such by the Russians that once the approaches are in the hands of the northern power, once an advan- tage has been gained by that power in the delimitation of the frontier, India is irretrievably lost to the English. The idleness of supposing that the mere pos- session of a favorable boundary line by Russia places India at the mercy of the northern menace is obvious; yet it is upon this supposition that the alarmists found their case. Hitherto they have but poorly sustained the thesis that Rus- sia desires the possession of India. That the Czar needs India, which is the real point, has not even been asserted. To fairly judge of her aims in Cen- tral Asia, Russias movements must be viewed as a whole, and with a due re- gard to the larger aspects of racial and national development. It must first be remembered that Russian expansion is no modern phenomenon, but a secular process belonging to the whole period

England, Russia, and India 116

116 England, Rzt88ia, and India. ENGLAND, RUSSIA, AND INDIA. As a handy compendium, full of reli- able and accurate information relating to the Anglo-Russian dispute, Mr. Charles Marvins The Russians at the Gates of Herat 1 is by far the best book of its kind out of many that have been offered to the reading public. As a po- lemic the volume will be perused with a certain amount of caution. That its author came specially qualified to his task must be admitted at the outset. Mr. Marvin is a zealous patriot, and possesses the rare impartiality, as he re- minds us himself, of being both a Rus- sophile and a Russophobe. He has long been convinced of the blindness of English statesmen to the real objects of the Russian advance in Central Asia, and has for years devoted himself, in a field which a unanimous if tacit consent has wholly surrendered to him, to what he calls the sacred task of safeguarding India from the menace from the north. At one time Mr. Marvin was little more than a voice crying in the wil- derness. The English public not only declined to share his apprehensions, but even doubted their sincerity. That ungrateful period of his agitation Mr. Marvin has outlived. Thanks to the spasmodic rapidity of recent Russian expansion in Central Asia, he has ob- tained a hearing in the Tory press and on the Tory platform, while his follow- ers are now numerous enough to con- stitute a political party of themselves, were they not already members of the Tory organization. It is, in fact, im- possible to overlook the circumstance that the influence Mr. Marvin has come to wield by his books and his speeches is distinct from that felt when a great orator rallies his countrymen to com- 1 The Russians at the Gates of Ilerat. By CHARLES MARvIN. With Maps and Portraits. New York: Charles Scribners Sons. 1885. mon resistance in some hour of national danger. It is true that Mr. Marvin has done a certain amount of positive good. His pamphlets and writings have thrown a greater flood of light on the geography and politics of Central Asia than many wars could have contributed. He has quickened the languid parliamentary interest in our Indian empire. Be- yond this his agitation has been harm- ful. It has tended to create a chronic distrust of each other on the p art of two great powers. While in the yes of Eu- rope it has unduly magnified the re- sources of the Czar, in the eyes of Rus- sia it has unduly dwarfed the military capacity of Great Britain. The policy, advocated by Mr. Marvin, of haggling over particular lines and swearing by frontiers hard and fast has been a vir- tual confession and must have been regarded as such by the Russians that once the approaches are in the hands of the northern power, once an advan- tage has been gained by that power in the delimitation of the frontier, India is irretrievably lost to the English. The idleness of supposing that the mere pos- session of a favorable boundary line by Russia places India at the mercy of the northern menace is obvious; yet it is upon this supposition that the alarmists found their case. Hitherto they have but poorly sustained the thesis that Rus- sia desires the possession of India. That the Czar needs India, which is the real point, has not even been asserted. To fairly judge of her aims in Cen- tral Asia, Russias movements must be viewed as a whole, and with a due re- gard to the larger aspects of racial and national development. It must first be remembered that Russian expansion is no modern phenomenon, but a secular process belonging to the whole period

Marvin's The Russians at the Gates of Herat Book Reviews 116-118

116 England, Rzt88ia, and India. ENGLAND, RUSSIA, AND INDIA. As a handy compendium, full of reli- able and accurate information relating to the Anglo-Russian dispute, Mr. Charles Marvins The Russians at the Gates of Herat 1 is by far the best book of its kind out of many that have been offered to the reading public. As a po- lemic the volume will be perused with a certain amount of caution. That its author came specially qualified to his task must be admitted at the outset. Mr. Marvin is a zealous patriot, and possesses the rare impartiality, as he re- minds us himself, of being both a Rus- sophile and a Russophobe. He has long been convinced of the blindness of English statesmen to the real objects of the Russian advance in Central Asia, and has for years devoted himself, in a field which a unanimous if tacit consent has wholly surrendered to him, to what he calls the sacred task of safeguarding India from the menace from the north. At one time Mr. Marvin was little more than a voice crying in the wil- derness. The English public not only declined to share his apprehensions, but even doubted their sincerity. That ungrateful period of his agitation Mr. Marvin has outlived. Thanks to the spasmodic rapidity of recent Russian expansion in Central Asia, he has ob- tained a hearing in the Tory press and on the Tory platform, while his follow- ers are now numerous enough to con- stitute a political party of themselves, were they not already members of the Tory organization. It is, in fact, im- possible to overlook the circumstance that the influence Mr. Marvin has come to wield by his books and his speeches is distinct from that felt when a great orator rallies his countrymen to com- 1 The Russians at the Gates of Ilerat. By CHARLES MARvIN. With Maps and Portraits. New York: Charles Scribners Sons. 1885. mon resistance in some hour of national danger. It is true that Mr. Marvin has done a certain amount of positive good. His pamphlets and writings have thrown a greater flood of light on the geography and politics of Central Asia than many wars could have contributed. He has quickened the languid parliamentary interest in our Indian empire. Be- yond this his agitation has been harm- ful. It has tended to create a chronic distrust of each other on the p art of two great powers. While in the yes of Eu- rope it has unduly magnified the re- sources of the Czar, in the eyes of Rus- sia it has unduly dwarfed the military capacity of Great Britain. The policy, advocated by Mr. Marvin, of haggling over particular lines and swearing by frontiers hard and fast has been a vir- tual confession and must have been regarded as such by the Russians that once the approaches are in the hands of the northern power, once an advan- tage has been gained by that power in the delimitation of the frontier, India is irretrievably lost to the English. The idleness of supposing that the mere pos- session of a favorable boundary line by Russia places India at the mercy of the northern menace is obvious; yet it is upon this supposition that the alarmists found their case. Hitherto they have but poorly sustained the thesis that Rus- sia desires the possession of India. That the Czar needs India, which is the real point, has not even been asserted. To fairly judge of her aims in Cen- tral Asia, Russias movements must be viewed as a whole, and with a due re- gard to the larger aspects of racial and national development. It must first be remembered that Russian expansion is no modern phenomenon, but a secular process belonging to the whole period 1885.] England, Russia, and India. 117 of the life of the empire. Originally it seemed a mere recoil from the fiscal op- pressions of the central authority; in modern times it has worn the guise of a military advance. Yet that it has been a true movement of the people must be apparent to those who have noticed the rapidity with which not only Siberia, but all parts of Russias Asian territo- ries are being colonized from her pos- sessions in Europe. Unprecedented in history, owing as much to the extent of the field open to it as to the remarkable virility of the forces at work, present- ing itself at one time as conquest and at another as peaceful absorption, Russian development has been as altruistic in some of fts results as most of its aims have been constructively self-seeking. Thus in opening up vast tracts of land to the agricultural or commercial enter- prise of her people, Russia has sheltered many an oasis of human vegetation from the shifting sands of barbaric anarchy and power. Descending with a gentle and irresistible gravitation into the Cen- tral Asian desert, her civilization has connected stagnant pool and poisoned lagoon with the healthy saline flood of human progress. A high civilization like that of the English, the Tatar races could scarcely have assimilated: Rus- sian culture, with its Asiatic founda- lions, had an appropriate and natural mission among the dwellers of the steppe. rrhat the Tatar should first modify the Russian and ultimately come to be taught by him is one of those nat- ural adaptations of ends to great pur- poses that of itself seems to justify the manner in which the problem of ethno- logical ele~~~ation is being carried towards solution in Central Asia. But Russian capacity for elevating semi-barbarous tribes in no sense implies Russian fitness for completing the work of civilization in India. Hence the dan- ger of the natives welcoming the Czar with open arms is by no means great. Mr. Marvin lays emphasis on the dis affected elements, and hints at the ease with which a collapse of the English rule might be brought about. Does Mr. Mar- yin seriously believe that the thought- ful and highly intelligent Hindus are prepared to hand over the privileges they now enjoy under British tutelage in exchange for the spy system, the passport regulations, the press censure, the secret tribunals, the administrative processes of the White Czar ~ ? If Russia, as in one place Mr. Marvin ad- mits, apparently to save himself from an untenable position, has no intention of holding and occupying India, and the fact is as notorious as he represents it to be, what probability is there of a rising to welcome an invader who has no intention of remaining in the coun- try? And if Russia has no intention of holding and occupying India, why does Mr. Marvin declare it (page 125) to be the express aim of Russia to drive us [the English] out of India by means of a large force of troops pre- viously concentrated in trans-Caspian territory? The possibility of an invasion of In- dia, no one need doubt. That there are officers in the Russian army who would willingly take part in such an enter- prise is indisputable. The military tradition of English leader-writers commonplace, that the cost of absorbing the Khanates is to be recouped in the spoils of Delhi and Lahore, may not yet be forgotten in the wild songs of the Cossack camp-fire along the Central Asian plain. But these things do not create a fixed policy of invasion cher- ished for whole centuries. If the Rus- sians are warlike, they are the most realistic nation in Europe. In this question of India they have had plenty of time in which to count the cost, and there is no doubt that they have counted it. The idea of a serious attack upon India without the intention of carrying a possible success to its logical and mili- tary conclusion is not to be entertained. 118 England, Russia, and India. [July, The belief that Russia could the easier attain the possession of Constantinople by a series of blows dealt across the Af- ghan territory is much more plausible. But to administer India as a Russian possession that is to say, as part of a centralized system of government now strained to its uttermost would be a task even more formidable than its ac- quirement by force of arms. To pos- sess it at all would immensely add to the vulnerability of the Russian empire, without furnishing the seaboard of which that empire stands so urgently in need. The secular aspects of a great hist6r- ical development are, after all, wider than its immediate and accidental as- pects; nor is the political interpretation of them to be compared with the scien- tific. The Russian menace to India, assuming that there is a real menace, indicates a counterplot, if it indicates anything. Russia may some day will some day . strike at Constanti- nople; for her to be able to divide Englands attention between care for India and solicitude for the integrity of the Turkish empire is an advantage worth bidding for. Apart from this, the future course of events in Central Asia is clear. In the end, soon or late, the Russian and the English boundaries must coincide. This is the real, as it should be the final, settlement of the Anglo-Russian dispute, since it ought to be no more difficult for two great powers to live next door to eaeh other in Asia, than it has been found to be in Europe. And the true policy of each nf those powers is, as it seems to us, to look forward to such a junction, to es- timate all minor issues at their real worth, and to arrange any preliminary disputes that may arise with calmness and dignity. From Mr. Marvins book we pass to Nir. George Makepeace Towles volume,1 1 England and Russia in Asia. By GEORGE M& KEPEACE TOwLE. Timely Topics Series. With Maps. Boston: James It. Osgood & Co. 1886. which is a model of all that a compila- tion of the kind should not be. It is not too much to say that it is one of the most inaccurate books ever written, and therefore worse than useless to the pub- lic. Mr. Towle blunders over the com- monest facts. He starts off by ignoring 40,000,000 of people in his statement of the population of India, and makes the area of the empire 900,000 instead of 1,500,000 square miles. A few lines further on Mr. Towle gives 1612 instead of 1616 as the date of what lie calls the attack of a Portuguese fleet on the English factory at Surat. The attack was not on the factory, but on the East India Companys fleet off the port of Surat, at the mouth of the river Tapti. We read next that the company built Fort St. George, Madras, in 1640. This event took place in 1639. Mr. Towle adds that Bombay fell into the com- panys hands in 1662, the fact being that the delivery of the place did not occur until 1665. The next blun- der fixes the number of persons thrust into the Black Hole at 150, instead of at 146. On page 17, there is a con- fused and erroneous account of the cir~ cumstances under which the provinces of Bengal, Orissa, and Bahar were handed over to the English. In the same page, Mr. Towle states that Clive returned to England in 1766. He did not leave India until 1767. Warren Hastings assumed office as governor- general in 1772, not in 1773 as Mr. Towle assures us. Further on we are told that the Hastings trial dragged its slow length along for nearly five years. Its slow length was at least two years longer than Mr. Towle ven- tures to make it. The administration of the Marquis of Daihoesie lasted eight years, not seven. The queen was pro- claimed Empress of India two years earlier than Mr. Towle thinks it pru- dent to admit. At page 31, and again on page 33, Mr. Towle falls into a ludi- crous confusion of absolute power with

Towle's England and Russia in Asia Book Reviews 118-119

118 England, Russia, and India. [July, The belief that Russia could the easier attain the possession of Constantinople by a series of blows dealt across the Af- ghan territory is much more plausible. But to administer India as a Russian possession that is to say, as part of a centralized system of government now strained to its uttermost would be a task even more formidable than its ac- quirement by force of arms. To pos- sess it at all would immensely add to the vulnerability of the Russian empire, without furnishing the seaboard of which that empire stands so urgently in need. The secular aspects of a great hist6r- ical development are, after all, wider than its immediate and accidental as- pects; nor is the political interpretation of them to be compared with the scien- tific. The Russian menace to India, assuming that there is a real menace, indicates a counterplot, if it indicates anything. Russia may some day will some day . strike at Constanti- nople; for her to be able to divide Englands attention between care for India and solicitude for the integrity of the Turkish empire is an advantage worth bidding for. Apart from this, the future course of events in Central Asia is clear. In the end, soon or late, the Russian and the English boundaries must coincide. This is the real, as it should be the final, settlement of the Anglo-Russian dispute, since it ought to be no more difficult for two great powers to live next door to eaeh other in Asia, than it has been found to be in Europe. And the true policy of each nf those powers is, as it seems to us, to look forward to such a junction, to es- timate all minor issues at their real worth, and to arrange any preliminary disputes that may arise with calmness and dignity. From Mr. Marvins book we pass to Nir. George Makepeace Towles volume,1 1 England and Russia in Asia. By GEORGE M& KEPEACE TOwLE. Timely Topics Series. With Maps. Boston: James It. Osgood & Co. 1886. which is a model of all that a compila- tion of the kind should not be. It is not too much to say that it is one of the most inaccurate books ever written, and therefore worse than useless to the pub- lic. Mr. Towle blunders over the com- monest facts. He starts off by ignoring 40,000,000 of people in his statement of the population of India, and makes the area of the empire 900,000 instead of 1,500,000 square miles. A few lines further on Mr. Towle gives 1612 instead of 1616 as the date of what lie calls the attack of a Portuguese fleet on the English factory at Surat. The attack was not on the factory, but on the East India Companys fleet off the port of Surat, at the mouth of the river Tapti. We read next that the company built Fort St. George, Madras, in 1640. This event took place in 1639. Mr. Towle adds that Bombay fell into the com- panys hands in 1662, the fact being that the delivery of the place did not occur until 1665. The next blun- der fixes the number of persons thrust into the Black Hole at 150, instead of at 146. On page 17, there is a con- fused and erroneous account of the cir~ cumstances under which the provinces of Bengal, Orissa, and Bahar were handed over to the English. In the same page, Mr. Towle states that Clive returned to England in 1766. He did not leave India until 1767. Warren Hastings assumed office as governor- general in 1772, not in 1773 as Mr. Towle assures us. Further on we are told that the Hastings trial dragged its slow length along for nearly five years. Its slow length was at least two years longer than Mr. Towle ven- tures to make it. The administration of the Marquis of Daihoesie lasted eight years, not seven. The queen was pro- claimed Empress of India two years earlier than Mr. Towle thinks it pru- dent to admit. At page 31, and again on page 33, Mr. Towle falls into a ludi- crous confusion of absolute power with 1885.] England, Rz& 8sia, and India. 119 despotic rule. Failing to appreciate the distinction between a paternal and a constitutional government, he gravely describes the office of viceroy as that of an absolute despot. Three blun- ders occur in Mr. Towles account of the machinery of Indian government. His statement of the artillery possessed by the Hindu states is short of the truth by a thousand guns. The sentence, on page 50, alleging that Peter was the most ambitious, the ablest, and the most civilized Czar who ever sat on the Muscovite throne is a perplexing study to say the least. Who Timour Tamer- lane was, Mr. Towle leaves his readers to guessif they can. On page 71, he gives us an inaccurate version of the tak- ing of Khiva, tripping lightly forward to sketch the Khirgiz, whose physiog- nomies, he says, are a curious mixture of Turk and Mongolian. All we need observe here is that if the mixture is at all so curious as Mr. Towles mixture of substantives, the Khirgizes, as he spells the word, must be a very strange people, indeed. On page 93, Mr. Towle says the Cossacks have never been sub- ject to serfdom. The Cossacks were for many years recruited from the serfs. There are several blunders in Mr. Towles account of the Russian navy at page 96. In page 100, Mr. Towle makes Dost Mohammed go on fighting for several years after be is chronologi- cally dead. A few lines further on he speaks of one man out of 26,000 escap- ing the wholesale slaughter in the Khy- her Pass. The slaughter took place in the Khurd, Kabul, and Jagdalak defiles, and those who perished numbered 16,000 not 26,000. Herat (page 104) is 388 miles from Askabad, not 400; and 869 from Candahar, not 300. The story at page 105, of an English force being kept at bay before Herat, in 1857, is purely without foundation. Mr. Towle talks twice of Marquis Wellesley, whoever that personage may be. Fully a dozen other blunders occur in various parts of the book, hut we have not enough space left in which to notice them. We have dwelt upon the volume at this length simply with a purpose of warning and example that may, it is to be hoped, protect the public from fur- ther inflictions of the kind in the future. Brigadier General Rodenboughs book is an interesting but not always ac- curate contribution to the literature of the subject. Written mainly from a sol- diers point of view, it deals chiefly with the military aspects of the situation. The engravings are good. But some of the plurals are not to be recommended. Vol- taire used to think that all Greek nouns had their plural in oi, and so the idea seems to prevail among writers of war manuals that you have only to put ee at the end of a substantive to make it a Central Asian plural. Mr. Towle is the most conspicuous offender in this respect, for he writes Khokandi general, of the Turkistanee, and Turkistanee woman, thus using the ee sound as a masculine adjective ending, as a femi- nine adjective terminal, and as the end- ing for the genitive plural. Tatar gram- mar is somewhat flexible, but not nearly so flexible as Mr. Towle would make it. Mr. Rodenbough, too, talks of Tush- kendees, using an ending which, like the rest, is neither English nor Asian. The correct forms are, of course, Tash- kendian, Khokandian, Turkistan, etc. At page 12, Mr. Rodeibough remarks that the thorough way in which Russia seeks to hind her Asian subjects is shown in the fact that, in 1884, at the request of the Khan of Khiva, a Russian tutor was selected to instruct his children. Does the author mean that the tutor en- tered the Khans family as a diplomatic agent? Save on this supposition the 1 Afqkanistan and the Anglo-Russian Dispute. Txxo. F. RODENBOUGR, Bvt. Brigadier-General, An Account of Russias Advance towards India. U. S. A. New York and London: G. P. Put- With Three Maps and other Illustrations. By nams Sons. The Knickerbocker Press. 188b.

Rodenbough's Afghanistan and the Anglo-Russian Dispute Book Reviews 119-120

1885.] England, Rz& 8sia, and India. 119 despotic rule. Failing to appreciate the distinction between a paternal and a constitutional government, he gravely describes the office of viceroy as that of an absolute despot. Three blun- ders occur in Mr. Towles account of the machinery of Indian government. His statement of the artillery possessed by the Hindu states is short of the truth by a thousand guns. The sentence, on page 50, alleging that Peter was the most ambitious, the ablest, and the most civilized Czar who ever sat on the Muscovite throne is a perplexing study to say the least. Who Timour Tamer- lane was, Mr. Towle leaves his readers to guessif they can. On page 71, he gives us an inaccurate version of the tak- ing of Khiva, tripping lightly forward to sketch the Khirgiz, whose physiog- nomies, he says, are a curious mixture of Turk and Mongolian. All we need observe here is that if the mixture is at all so curious as Mr. Towles mixture of substantives, the Khirgizes, as he spells the word, must be a very strange people, indeed. On page 93, Mr. Towle says the Cossacks have never been sub- ject to serfdom. The Cossacks were for many years recruited from the serfs. There are several blunders in Mr. Towles account of the Russian navy at page 96. In page 100, Mr. Towle makes Dost Mohammed go on fighting for several years after be is chronologi- cally dead. A few lines further on he speaks of one man out of 26,000 escap- ing the wholesale slaughter in the Khy- her Pass. The slaughter took place in the Khurd, Kabul, and Jagdalak defiles, and those who perished numbered 16,000 not 26,000. Herat (page 104) is 388 miles from Askabad, not 400; and 869 from Candahar, not 300. The story at page 105, of an English force being kept at bay before Herat, in 1857, is purely without foundation. Mr. Towle talks twice of Marquis Wellesley, whoever that personage may be. Fully a dozen other blunders occur in various parts of the book, hut we have not enough space left in which to notice them. We have dwelt upon the volume at this length simply with a purpose of warning and example that may, it is to be hoped, protect the public from fur- ther inflictions of the kind in the future. Brigadier General Rodenboughs book is an interesting but not always ac- curate contribution to the literature of the subject. Written mainly from a sol- diers point of view, it deals chiefly with the military aspects of the situation. The engravings are good. But some of the plurals are not to be recommended. Vol- taire used to think that all Greek nouns had their plural in oi, and so the idea seems to prevail among writers of war manuals that you have only to put ee at the end of a substantive to make it a Central Asian plural. Mr. Towle is the most conspicuous offender in this respect, for he writes Khokandi general, of the Turkistanee, and Turkistanee woman, thus using the ee sound as a masculine adjective ending, as a femi- nine adjective terminal, and as the end- ing for the genitive plural. Tatar gram- mar is somewhat flexible, but not nearly so flexible as Mr. Towle would make it. Mr. Rodenbough, too, talks of Tush- kendees, using an ending which, like the rest, is neither English nor Asian. The correct forms are, of course, Tash- kendian, Khokandian, Turkistan, etc. At page 12, Mr. Rodeibough remarks that the thorough way in which Russia seeks to hind her Asian subjects is shown in the fact that, in 1884, at the request of the Khan of Khiva, a Russian tutor was selected to instruct his children. Does the author mean that the tutor en- tered the Khans family as a diplomatic agent? Save on this supposition the 1 Afqkanistan and the Anglo-Russian Dispute. Txxo. F. RODENBOUGR, Bvt. Brigadier-General, An Account of Russias Advance towards India. U. S. A. New York and London: G. P. Put- With Three Maps and other Illustrations. By nams Sons. The Knickerbocker Press. 188b. 120 Two English IkLrn of Letters. [July, alleged connection of statement with illustration is not at all proved. rrhe habit of learning Russian in Central Asia is as common as is that of acquir- ing French at St. Petersburg. It ought to be added, in conclusion, that none of the three writers named know anything personally, that is to say at first hand, of the disputed territory. In this respect Mr. Marvin, who has never been nearer Afghanistan than Baku, is no better off than Mr. Towle. It is mainly a knowledge of the Russian language that has rendered Mr. Marvin an authority in this matter, just as it is a want of that knowledge which makes so many of the books written on the sub- ject practically valueless. TWO ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS. THE conditions of the literary life in America are less dotermined than they are in England. The only organization within which authorship may be said to find substantial shelter is journalism, and this profession is so exacting and so inimical to most forms of literature, that those who have most serious thoughts of the literary life are rather desirous of escaping from journalism than of using ~it as a vantage ground. It might seem at first blush as if the universities and colleges would offer a desirable fastness from which to send out ventures in lit- erature; but the academic life is a some- what sterile one; it is with us so identified with the pedagogic that the energies of the professor, if they move the produc- tion of hooks, are most likely to he oc- cupied with the tools of the profession. Text-hooks in abundance issue every year from college faculties, but very few contributions to humane literature. The academic life again is so specialized that even the professor of English literature rarely produces work upon which his successor or associate may comment. His attitude toward the subject of his teaching is too critical to allow him tnuch freedom of mind, and he is be- sides so conscious of his position that he is undermined in his resolution, and ren professors in other departments are still further removed from the possibility of being litt6rateurs by the whole course of their training and the limitations of their profession. The constitution of the English uni- versities, on the other hand, directly en- courages and sustains the literary life. This is not to say that literature in its freest expression is not there, as here, out- side the walls of the college, but that a man of literary taste and ambition may deliberately possess himself of academic situations which will make it possible for him to lead a literary life, free from fret and carking care; and also that the prizes for scholarship offered by the uni- versities distinctly suggest to the student literary occupation. A man, in other words, with fortune enough to secure him a university education, may hope to win a Fellowship which will demand only slight academic duties, leaving him free to devote himself to literature; and a student devoted to learning who falls into such a place will, by the very force of his own nature, be urged into liter- ary production. Thus the university, by a provision which enlarges the scope of university life, is more than a train- ing-school for immature minds; it is a society of scholars, and as such, direct- ~lered abnormally sensitive to the criti- ly encourages and sustains the literary (cism of others as well as of himself. The life.

Two English Men of Letters 120-121

120 Two English IkLrn of Letters. [July, alleged connection of statement with illustration is not at all proved. rrhe habit of learning Russian in Central Asia is as common as is that of acquir- ing French at St. Petersburg. It ought to be added, in conclusion, that none of the three writers named know anything personally, that is to say at first hand, of the disputed territory. In this respect Mr. Marvin, who has never been nearer Afghanistan than Baku, is no better off than Mr. Towle. It is mainly a knowledge of the Russian language that has rendered Mr. Marvin an authority in this matter, just as it is a want of that knowledge which makes so many of the books written on the sub- ject practically valueless. TWO ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS. THE conditions of the literary life in America are less dotermined than they are in England. The only organization within which authorship may be said to find substantial shelter is journalism, and this profession is so exacting and so inimical to most forms of literature, that those who have most serious thoughts of the literary life are rather desirous of escaping from journalism than of using ~it as a vantage ground. It might seem at first blush as if the universities and colleges would offer a desirable fastness from which to send out ventures in lit- erature; but the academic life is a some- what sterile one; it is with us so identified with the pedagogic that the energies of the professor, if they move the produc- tion of hooks, are most likely to he oc- cupied with the tools of the profession. Text-hooks in abundance issue every year from college faculties, but very few contributions to humane literature. The academic life again is so specialized that even the professor of English literature rarely produces work upon which his successor or associate may comment. His attitude toward the subject of his teaching is too critical to allow him tnuch freedom of mind, and he is be- sides so conscious of his position that he is undermined in his resolution, and ren professors in other departments are still further removed from the possibility of being litt6rateurs by the whole course of their training and the limitations of their profession. The constitution of the English uni- versities, on the other hand, directly en- courages and sustains the literary life. This is not to say that literature in its freest expression is not there, as here, out- side the walls of the college, but that a man of literary taste and ambition may deliberately possess himself of academic situations which will make it possible for him to lead a literary life, free from fret and carking care; and also that the prizes for scholarship offered by the uni- versities distinctly suggest to the student literary occupation. A man, in other words, with fortune enough to secure him a university education, may hope to win a Fellowship which will demand only slight academic duties, leaving him free to devote himself to literature; and a student devoted to learning who falls into such a place will, by the very force of his own nature, be urged into liter- ary production. Thus the university, by a provision which enlarges the scope of university life, is more than a train- ing-school for immature minds; it is a society of scholars, and as such, direct- ~lered abnormally sensitive to the criti- ly encourages and sustains the literary (cism of others as well as of himself. The life. 1885.] The Memoirs 1 of the rector of Lin- coin College illustrate this point in an interesting fashion. He represents a distinct class of professional English- men. To the learned professions is add- ed one so clearly defined as to offer a goal for ambition as well understood and recognized as the army, the church, or the bar. There never was any ques- tion as to my destination. It was as- sumed from the cradle upwards that I was to go to Oxford, and to be a Fellow of a college. From about 1825 [when he was not twelve] onwards, a Fellow- ship of Oriel was held up to me as the ideal prize to which I was to aspire. I was never diverted or distracted from this goal of ambition by any alternative career being proposed to me. I was to go to Grid, of course, as a commoner, there were no scholars in those days, and then it would depend upon what talents I might give proof of whether a Fellowship of Oriel were within my reach or not. He went to Oxford to reside in 1832, and his life thereafter was passed under academic influences. For fifty years a resident member of the university, and for at least the latter half of that period one of the most con- spicuous figures there, well may he con- clude his memoirs with the words: There seems to have fulfilled itself f0r me that adage of Goethe which, when I first came upon it, appeared a mere paradox: Was man in der Jugend wiinsche, Hat man im Alter die Fulle. Of that which a man desires in youth of that he shall have in age as much as he will. We speak of him as a conspicuous figure at Oxford, hut there is a charmed circle in England, as in every highly or- ganized people, within which dwell men and women who are without fame in the wide world, yet have a positive reputa- 1 Memoirs. By MARK PATTIsoN, late Rector of Lincoln College, Oxford. London: Macmil- lan & Co. 188b. 121 tion among the historians of fame, so that, as in the case of Mark Pattison, one such cannot die without instantly giving rise to long obituaries in the lead- ing journals. Probably many Ameri- cans heard for the first time the name of this Oxford scholar when they read in the English weeklies of his death, and found the papers for weeks afterward occupied with reminiscences and charac- terizations. His contributions to literature, few in number, are of a high order, and are likely to preserve his fame more even than this autobiography, which will serve to explain him to those already interest- ed in his career. His Isaac Casaubon, especially, a masterly piece of biographic work, will bring him the respect of all students of literature. If he could have written his study of Scaliger he would have placed himself even more emphat- ically in the ranks of the greater men of letters in England. These works, as well as his study of Milton, came near the end of his career, when he had firm- ly established his reputation among his peers. The very lateness of the fruit is characteristic of the slow ripening of his powers, but none the less does his literary production confirm what we have said as to the aid which the uni- versity affords the literary life. Patti- son was predestined for literature, and yet, when one studies the conditions of his life, it seems impossible to believe that the results finally reached could have been attained by him in any other profession. Indeed, the slowness of his develop- ment and the long concealment of his consciousness of a vocation give a sin- gular charm to his Memoirs. He seems to look hack upon his youth and early manhood with an odd mingling of pity and contempt. The frankness wit1~t which he writes makes the book possess the true flavor of autobiography. He is concerned with his mental and spirit- ual growth, aud ~o deeply interested in Two Englisk M~rn of Letters.

Pattison's Memoirs Book Reviews 121-124

1885.] The Memoirs 1 of the rector of Lin- coin College illustrate this point in an interesting fashion. He represents a distinct class of professional English- men. To the learned professions is add- ed one so clearly defined as to offer a goal for ambition as well understood and recognized as the army, the church, or the bar. There never was any ques- tion as to my destination. It was as- sumed from the cradle upwards that I was to go to Oxford, and to be a Fellow of a college. From about 1825 [when he was not twelve] onwards, a Fellow- ship of Oriel was held up to me as the ideal prize to which I was to aspire. I was never diverted or distracted from this goal of ambition by any alternative career being proposed to me. I was to go to Grid, of course, as a commoner, there were no scholars in those days, and then it would depend upon what talents I might give proof of whether a Fellowship of Oriel were within my reach or not. He went to Oxford to reside in 1832, and his life thereafter was passed under academic influences. For fifty years a resident member of the university, and for at least the latter half of that period one of the most con- spicuous figures there, well may he con- clude his memoirs with the words: There seems to have fulfilled itself f0r me that adage of Goethe which, when I first came upon it, appeared a mere paradox: Was man in der Jugend wiinsche, Hat man im Alter die Fulle. Of that which a man desires in youth of that he shall have in age as much as he will. We speak of him as a conspicuous figure at Oxford, hut there is a charmed circle in England, as in every highly or- ganized people, within which dwell men and women who are without fame in the wide world, yet have a positive reputa- 1 Memoirs. By MARK PATTIsoN, late Rector of Lincoln College, Oxford. London: Macmil- lan & Co. 188b. 121 tion among the historians of fame, so that, as in the case of Mark Pattison, one such cannot die without instantly giving rise to long obituaries in the lead- ing journals. Probably many Ameri- cans heard for the first time the name of this Oxford scholar when they read in the English weeklies of his death, and found the papers for weeks afterward occupied with reminiscences and charac- terizations. His contributions to literature, few in number, are of a high order, and are likely to preserve his fame more even than this autobiography, which will serve to explain him to those already interest- ed in his career. His Isaac Casaubon, especially, a masterly piece of biographic work, will bring him the respect of all students of literature. If he could have written his study of Scaliger he would have placed himself even more emphat- ically in the ranks of the greater men of letters in England. These works, as well as his study of Milton, came near the end of his career, when he had firm- ly established his reputation among his peers. The very lateness of the fruit is characteristic of the slow ripening of his powers, but none the less does his literary production confirm what we have said as to the aid which the uni- versity affords the literary life. Patti- son was predestined for literature, and yet, when one studies the conditions of his life, it seems impossible to believe that the results finally reached could have been attained by him in any other profession. Indeed, the slowness of his develop- ment and the long concealment of his consciousness of a vocation give a sin- gular charm to his Memoirs. He seems to look hack upon his youth and early manhood with an odd mingling of pity and contempt. The frankness wit1~t which he writes makes the book possess the true flavor of autobiography. He is concerned with his mental and spirit- ual growth, aud ~o deeply interested in Two Englisk M~rn of Letters. 122 Two Englisl& Alien of Letters. [July, it is he that he is willing to spread upon the record the testimony of his memory to what can scarcely be regarded as less than donkeyish stupidity in youth. He was sent to college, and accepted the destiny planned for him apparently with- out a doubt as to its wisdom. Under conditions of extreme poverty it is hard- ly credible that he would have been se- lected for an academic career. Trollope deliberately disclosed his own slowness of development in his autobiography, and Pattisons revelation of his dullness may be placed above Trollopes for can- dor and penetration. Trollope turns upon his boyhood with a half revenge- ful air; Pattison is curiously interested in the young fellow whom he remem- bers, and relates tales of his gaucherie and general mental clumsiness which would amaze one if he did not perceive that the author was all the while intent on a psychological study. He had not had the rough introduction to life which a public school gives; he had been brought up in a Yorkshire rectory, amongst women chiefly, leading a soli- tary life and fumbling about for the thread of his being. Thus, when he went up to Oxford he was thrown into a singular bewilderment. He could not adjust his preconceived notions of the place and life there to the actual facts and conditions; least of all could he adjust himself to his surroundings. I was not all at once made aware, he says, of this want of conformity be- tween myself and others of my age; I arrived at the apprehension of it slowly, after many vain experiments and suc- cessive failures to establish a good un- derstanding with one after another. My weakness of character was such that I came to the conclusion in the end that the fault or defect, whatever it might be, was in me. They could not be all wrong, and they seemed to have no difficulty in getting on with each oth- er. My boyish inexperience was such that I could not understand how it could be that the others, many of whom were below me in attainments, were before me in manliness of character; that they dared to assert themselves as they were, while I was deficient in character, and hid, instead of standing by, the small amount~ I possessed. This inability to apprehend the reason of my social ill success had a discouraging consequence upon the growth of my character. I was so convinced that the fault was in me, and not in the others, that I lost anything like firm footing, and suc- curnbed to, or imitated, any type or set with which I was brought in contact, esteeming it better than my own, of which I was too ashamed to stand by it and assert it. . . . The consequences to me of this relation to others did not end with mutability and chameleon-like read- iness to take any shade of color. The sense of weakness being thus daily and hourly pressed upon me grew internally painful. I felt humiliated and buffeted, and as if I were destined to be the sport and football of my companions. Out of this consciousness grew a general self- consciousness, which gained ground rap- idly upon me, and became a canker in my character for years afterward. I, who had come up to Oxford a mere child of nature, totally devoid of self- consciousness to such a degree that I had never thought of myself as a sub- ject of observation, developed a self- consciousness so sensitive and watchful that it came between me and everything I said or did. It became physical ner- vousness. I thought every one was watching me; I blushed and trembled in company when I spoke or moved, and dared not raise a glass to my lips for fear it should be seen how my hand trembled. Before I said anything I had to think what would So-and-so think oJ me for saying it. A morbid self-con- sciousness was in a fair way to darken my life, and to paralyze my intellect. He makes a faint defense of this dressing the window for customers 1885.] as probably an inherited failing, and re- marks in passing that his sister, who lives in literature as Sister Dora, in Miss Lonsdales book romance, Pat- tison calls it showed the same ten- dency. She spent a faculty of inven- tion he remarks, a little viciously, which would have placed her in the first rank as a novelist, in embellishing the every-day occurrences of her own life. It is more to the point to observe that his own mental and physical awk- wardness, largely the result of his isola- tion followed by a sudden plunge into the world, gave way not before resolu- tion, but before the gradual command which he acquired of himself under the discipline of a will set doggedly to at- tain the result for which he had been sent to Oxford. Again and again he fails to secure a Fellowship and the read- er is disposed to think that this period of failure was really a more determining one in Pattisons mental and moral de- velopment than the autobiographer rec- ognizes. The whole book impresses upon one the power which this university life has to absorb the thought of a really strong man. In looking back upon his earlier days, Pattison is stirred by the recollec- tion of the academic battles. It is true that he writes from within the walls which he had never left, but he writes after an enlargement of mind through contact with great religious movements, with scholarship, and with literature, which would seem sure to correct a too narrow and parochial view. How moved he was by his final success in securing a Fellowship appears when he writes I had seen with the despair of an excluded Pen all the gates of all the colleges shut against me, and here in the most unlikely quarter of Oxford, I had really got the thing I had so eagerly desired. I was quite off my head for two or three days, and must have exhibited myself as a jeune 6tourdg in the eyes of the Rector and Fellows of Lincoln. It Two English Men of Letters. 123 is noticeable, however, that the attain- ment of his wishes, so far from making him merely complacent, was really the means of a further development of his powers, for it was not long before he was heartily engaged in effecting reforms in the management of the college. So completely did he identify himself with Lincoln that when his failure to be chosen Rector resulted in a reactionary movement, he became almost paralyzed in his will, secluded himself, and led for a long time a half torpid existence. Again his defeat opened the way for a larger, wider interest, and he took part in the general movement of university reform. He was finally chosen to the office which he had lost, and the tenor of his life thenceforward moved on with- out much disturbance. We have omitted to dwell upon the religious side of Pattisons character, though it forms an interesting, and to some justifying, portion of his autobi- ography, because we desired chiefly to call attention to the picture which his life presents of a scholars career, with special reference to the bearing it has on the literary life. The doggedness with which Pattison overcame difficul- ties, the half-blind manner in which he pushed forward in his studies, and the final breadth and accuracy of his learning might have been repeated in other forrt~s had he been thrown upon the open world of London; but it is clear that the half - monastic life which he led was singularly adapted to shape a character so divided in weakness and strength as his was, and to occasion at last the lit- erary productions which certainly would not have proceeded from him under other conditions. The university, however, is not the only English organization which fosters literature and makes a vantage-ground for the man of letters. As it is demon- strably more efficient in this respect than its American congener, so the civil service of England has offered a more 124 Two English Af~rn of Letters. [July, convenient shelter for the littdrateur than the same service in America. Our gov- ernment, indeed, has not been slow to recognize authors, but it has been chiefly in the way of rewards in the diplomatic service for those who have already won a certain distinction. Now and then, nota- bly in the case of the New York Custom House, government offices have served as means of support to hard-working lit- erary men, but the general insecurity which has hitherto attached to this em- ployment, and the peril to ones self-re- spect in seeking appointments, have hin- dered such men from counting upon this ~esource. One of the probable results of a service organized upon the merit sys- tem is the attraction to it of men capa- ble of clerkly labor, but chiefly ambi- tious of literary fame. The freedom from concern which enables one to lay aside his business mind, like an office coat, when the clock strikes tl)ree, and don the literary habit, is especially neces- sary to the calm and cheerful pursuit of literature. Such a state of things exists in London to-day, and may be confidently predicted of Washington, New York, and other cities, in the near future. The memoirs of Sir Henry Taylor 1 do not precisely illustrate this, for his connection with the civil service was ra.ther the result of a tradition holding in the higher ranks of the service, by which men of education easily found their way into positions less strictly clerical. His career nevertheless points the moral which we have been drawing, for it illustrates the ease with which one may lead a divided life, giving his formal half to government service, and enjoying, without detriment, a poets oc- cupation and fame. The division is not an uncommon one in England, and in Sir Henry Taylors case there was not only a delightful literary life, but a very 1 Autdbiography of Henry Taylor, 1800-1875. In two volumes. ~Iew York: Harper & l3rother3. 1885. serviceable official one. If he had not written Philip Van Artevelde, Taylor would yet have had an honorable place in the administration of government, for though his position by his own choice was a subordinate one, he rendered very effective service in the Colonial office, and brought high principle and intelli- gent thought to bear upon administrative economy. We can easily dismiss the book as a demonstration of the ease with which literature and officialism are combined, and resort to it for its very agreeable record of reminiscences. Indeed, at this distance we do dismiss, in reading, much of the detail which Taylor the under-secretary indulges in respecting his affairs during office hours, and con- fine ourselves to what Taylor the poet does and says when he is at liberty. The air of the book throughout is ex- tremely agreeable and well-bred. Pos- sibly recent examples served as warn- ings to avoid disagreeable personalities; at any rate, the kindly and discriminat- ing author distinctly avoids a censorious judgment of others, and in treating of his own life and affairs maintains a de- cent reserve. Yet the book is not with- out its own little confidences. We are a little amused at first at the familiar manner in which the author speaks of his wife as Alice; but if he can do it for his own pleasure, we certainly share that pleasure. One comes to take a most friendly interest also in the old mans fond preference for the society of girls, and there is a light rustle of muslins, especially in the closing chapters, which falls upon the ear with a grateful de- light. Here is a little touch which shows that in his interest in girls, he gave as well as received : If my change of air has not done much for me, I have at least had a very pleasant change in other respects, being on a visit here to the Prescotts, with whom I spent some two or three months of last summer, while Alice was at Tun

Henry Taylor's Autobiography Book Reviews 124-126

124 Two English Af~rn of Letters. [July, convenient shelter for the littdrateur than the same service in America. Our gov- ernment, indeed, has not been slow to recognize authors, but it has been chiefly in the way of rewards in the diplomatic service for those who have already won a certain distinction. Now and then, nota- bly in the case of the New York Custom House, government offices have served as means of support to hard-working lit- erary men, but the general insecurity which has hitherto attached to this em- ployment, and the peril to ones self-re- spect in seeking appointments, have hin- dered such men from counting upon this ~esource. One of the probable results of a service organized upon the merit sys- tem is the attraction to it of men capa- ble of clerkly labor, but chiefly ambi- tious of literary fame. The freedom from concern which enables one to lay aside his business mind, like an office coat, when the clock strikes tl)ree, and don the literary habit, is especially neces- sary to the calm and cheerful pursuit of literature. Such a state of things exists in London to-day, and may be confidently predicted of Washington, New York, and other cities, in the near future. The memoirs of Sir Henry Taylor 1 do not precisely illustrate this, for his connection with the civil service was ra.ther the result of a tradition holding in the higher ranks of the service, by which men of education easily found their way into positions less strictly clerical. His career nevertheless points the moral which we have been drawing, for it illustrates the ease with which one may lead a divided life, giving his formal half to government service, and enjoying, without detriment, a poets oc- cupation and fame. The division is not an uncommon one in England, and in Sir Henry Taylors case there was not only a delightful literary life, but a very 1 Autdbiography of Henry Taylor, 1800-1875. In two volumes. ~Iew York: Harper & l3rother3. 1885. serviceable official one. If he had not written Philip Van Artevelde, Taylor would yet have had an honorable place in the administration of government, for though his position by his own choice was a subordinate one, he rendered very effective service in the Colonial office, and brought high principle and intelli- gent thought to bear upon administrative economy. We can easily dismiss the book as a demonstration of the ease with which literature and officialism are combined, and resort to it for its very agreeable record of reminiscences. Indeed, at this distance we do dismiss, in reading, much of the detail which Taylor the under-secretary indulges in respecting his affairs during office hours, and con- fine ourselves to what Taylor the poet does and says when he is at liberty. The air of the book throughout is ex- tremely agreeable and well-bred. Pos- sibly recent examples served as warn- ings to avoid disagreeable personalities; at any rate, the kindly and discriminat- ing author distinctly avoids a censorious judgment of others, and in treating of his own life and affairs maintains a de- cent reserve. Yet the book is not with- out its own little confidences. We are a little amused at first at the familiar manner in which the author speaks of his wife as Alice; but if he can do it for his own pleasure, we certainly share that pleasure. One comes to take a most friendly interest also in the old mans fond preference for the society of girls, and there is a light rustle of muslins, especially in the closing chapters, which falls upon the ear with a grateful de- light. Here is a little touch which shows that in his interest in girls, he gave as well as received : If my change of air has not done much for me, I have at least had a very pleasant change in other respects, being on a visit here to the Prescotts, with whom I spent some two or three months of last summer, while Alice was at Tun 1885.] Two English Alen of Letters. 125 bridge Wells; people abounding in kind- ness of all sorts, and hospitable beyond all human hospitality of modern times. They have had with them, since Janu- ary, the whole of the family of Stephea Spring Rice, his wife and the tune- ful nine, his children, and their gov- erness and servants, in all, seventeen souls; and the house is as cheerful as a grove in spring, and music goes on from morning till night, pianoforte, harp, violin, violoncello, and voices of all kinds, and, I may also say, of all ages; for yesterday I heard a song very beautifully sung by a lady seventy-seven years old. The music all day long, and not the performing only, but even the practicing, suits me, better than it would you, I dare say, for I have an ignorant fondness for music which is by no means fastidious. And then there is a great deal of girl-life going on, which is alway full of interest for me; and there is one very fine creature of the girl-kind, ingenuous, noble, and free, who, though not of the house, is always in and about it~ playing croquet on the lawn by day, or making music in the evenings, and concerning whom a girl I had never seen till last week I was seriously consulted by a man of whom I know almost as little. And when I see the sort of holiday-life that is led at such a jilace as this, I hardly wonder that so many a man (like Jacob) finds a wife at a wateringplace.~, In such leisurely fashion the book runs on, the half-serious, half-idle gos- sip of an old man who, from his corner, looks out on the world in which he has played no unimportant part, while he has all along retained a good portion of his independence and has used well his higher gifts. Elis amiability does not stand in the way of a shrewd charac- terization, as well as discriminating judgment of men and affairs. He has almost the air of a champion when speaking of Aubrey de Vere, whom he admires greatly, and his loyalty to Wordsworth is dignified as well as en- thusiastic. How cleverly he can sketch a group of people no easy task may be seen in an off-hand letter which he writes to Aubrey de Vere from a coun- try-house where he was staying at the tinie. After rapidly jotting down the men of science and letters, he adds Then comes a good-humored-looking Captain and Mrs. Baring; an Alick Bar- ing; a Mr. Beach; a Lord Giffard, pleasant but sanguinary, for he had killed sixty-five tigers. eleven elephants, and a multitude of bears; a Mr. Gowan, fulfiller of all knowledge, it is said, whose walk into the room was as if he had the knowledge in a bowl between both hands and was afraid of spilling it; or like the walk of a man who knows that he is always on the edge of a precipice; or like the walk of a monthly nurse in a darkened room, who knows not what she may knock against next only he seemed to be himself the object of his own nursing; he said nothing (except a few words once a day to make silence audible, and to assure us that he was not the ghost of a nurse), and he expected nothing and was in nobodys way; and at the end of his visit his servant wrapped him carefully up and put him into a fly to be taken away. He probably left no impression on many of us; but on me he left rather a peculiar impression of a noiseless and passionless existence; a human being who gave nothing, asked nothing, said nothing, did nothing, felt nothing, and was perfectly contented with himself and everybody else; how cautiously he sat down! weighing his spread vans, while the nether part grad- ually lowered itself to within flumping distance, and then flumped; Lord de Manley, cultivated, refined, and distin- guished.looking, and he might have been agreeable, but his favorite son is in the Crimea, and he looked as if the waters of the Black Sea had gone over his soul. It would be easy to go on picking 126 Paradi8e Pound. [July, out entertaining passages from a book which reflects a generous, lively nature. The best things, as we have hinted, are quite independent of the foreign office, but we suspect that Sir Henry owes much of his genialty to the freedom which his hemispherical life permitted. At any rate, we cannot help recognizing the delightful possibilities which lie for men of letters in such conditions as were his. We are aware that much else than the mere formal condition of a civil ser- vice on the merit system determines such literary life either in England or in America, and we have no wish to plead for a mere repetition of condi- tions. The literary life is more self- determined than to be dependent upon any such conditions, and possibly the difficulties which it is passing through in America are fitting it for a freer, more influential future. Be this as it may, until America offers something better, we must continue to think that in the organization of English life, the Pattisons and Taylors have a capital chance for making the most of them- selves. PARADISE FOUND. WHEN the historian of literature ren- ders his account of the scientific writ- ings of the nineteenth century, he will have an interesting chapter on the semi- scientific books which were devoted to the task of reconciling the old mythol- ogies to modern learning. No part of his task will be more charming than that which sets forth the many efforts to determine the seat of paradise, that fair cradle of the golden youth of man, whence he was driven to the toil and woe of the rude outer world. It will be interesting for the student of after times to trace how the early writers at first approached this problem with easy minds; how in the days of Hudibras, the scholar Knew the seat of paradise, Could tell us in what degree it lies; And, as he was disposed, could prove it Below the moon or else above it. Coming to the day when scientific meth- ods were more critical, he will see that the question of the geographical seat of paradise became involved with the I Paradise Found: The Cradle of the Human Race at the North Pole. A Study of the Pre- historic World. By WILLIAM F. WARImESS, S. T. problem of the origin of the genus homo. Suppositions became gradually more and more complicated by known facts; one by one all possible seats of paradise were tried and found wanting. Doubtless, the end of it all will be the conviction that there was no paradise of place, or paradise of. condition for man; that for the golden age he must look to the future, and if the garden of Eden is to be found, it will be in the time to come and with an ever improving man. Dr. Warrens very interesting work ~ will probably come near the end of this series of paradise books, for unless we go above the moon, as Hudibras sug- gests that his ingenious explorer Burnet could do, there is no place in the world for further searching. It is a conspicu- ous merit of our author that he effec- tively demolishes all the other possi- ble suppositions, showing that, if it was anywhere in the world, the seat of para- dise must have been at the north pole; and if at any time in the earths history, it must have been during the age, late D., LL. D., etc., President of Boston University. Pages xxiv., ~O5. l2mo. Houghton, Muffin & Co. 188~.

Paradise Found 126

126 Paradi8e Pound. [July, out entertaining passages from a book which reflects a generous, lively nature. The best things, as we have hinted, are quite independent of the foreign office, but we suspect that Sir Henry owes much of his genialty to the freedom which his hemispherical life permitted. At any rate, we cannot help recognizing the delightful possibilities which lie for men of letters in such conditions as were his. We are aware that much else than the mere formal condition of a civil ser- vice on the merit system determines such literary life either in England or in America, and we have no wish to plead for a mere repetition of condi- tions. The literary life is more self- determined than to be dependent upon any such conditions, and possibly the difficulties which it is passing through in America are fitting it for a freer, more influential future. Be this as it may, until America offers something better, we must continue to think that in the organization of English life, the Pattisons and Taylors have a capital chance for making the most of them- selves. PARADISE FOUND. WHEN the historian of literature ren- ders his account of the scientific writ- ings of the nineteenth century, he will have an interesting chapter on the semi- scientific books which were devoted to the task of reconciling the old mythol- ogies to modern learning. No part of his task will be more charming than that which sets forth the many efforts to determine the seat of paradise, that fair cradle of the golden youth of man, whence he was driven to the toil and woe of the rude outer world. It will be interesting for the student of after times to trace how the early writers at first approached this problem with easy minds; how in the days of Hudibras, the scholar Knew the seat of paradise, Could tell us in what degree it lies; And, as he was disposed, could prove it Below the moon or else above it. Coming to the day when scientific meth- ods were more critical, he will see that the question of the geographical seat of paradise became involved with the I Paradise Found: The Cradle of the Human Race at the North Pole. A Study of the Pre- historic World. By WILLIAM F. WARImESS, S. T. problem of the origin of the genus homo. Suppositions became gradually more and more complicated by known facts; one by one all possible seats of paradise were tried and found wanting. Doubtless, the end of it all will be the conviction that there was no paradise of place, or paradise of. condition for man; that for the golden age he must look to the future, and if the garden of Eden is to be found, it will be in the time to come and with an ever improving man. Dr. Warrens very interesting work ~ will probably come near the end of this series of paradise books, for unless we go above the moon, as Hudibras sug- gests that his ingenious explorer Burnet could do, there is no place in the world for further searching. It is a conspicu- ous merit of our author that he effec- tively demolishes all the other possi- ble suppositions, showing that, if it was anywhere in the world, the seat of para- dise must have been at the north pole; and if at any time in the earths history, it must have been during the age, late D., LL. D., etc., President of Boston University. Pages xxiv., ~O5. l2mo. Houghton, Muffin & Co. 188~.

Warren's Paradise Found Book Reviews 126-132

126 Paradi8e Pound. [July, out entertaining passages from a book which reflects a generous, lively nature. The best things, as we have hinted, are quite independent of the foreign office, but we suspect that Sir Henry owes much of his genialty to the freedom which his hemispherical life permitted. At any rate, we cannot help recognizing the delightful possibilities which lie for men of letters in such conditions as were his. We are aware that much else than the mere formal condition of a civil ser- vice on the merit system determines such literary life either in England or in America, and we have no wish to plead for a mere repetition of condi- tions. The literary life is more self- determined than to be dependent upon any such conditions, and possibly the difficulties which it is passing through in America are fitting it for a freer, more influential future. Be this as it may, until America offers something better, we must continue to think that in the organization of English life, the Pattisons and Taylors have a capital chance for making the most of them- selves. PARADISE FOUND. WHEN the historian of literature ren- ders his account of the scientific writ- ings of the nineteenth century, he will have an interesting chapter on the semi- scientific books which were devoted to the task of reconciling the old mythol- ogies to modern learning. No part of his task will be more charming than that which sets forth the many efforts to determine the seat of paradise, that fair cradle of the golden youth of man, whence he was driven to the toil and woe of the rude outer world. It will be interesting for the student of after times to trace how the early writers at first approached this problem with easy minds; how in the days of Hudibras, the scholar Knew the seat of paradise, Could tell us in what degree it lies; And, as he was disposed, could prove it Below the moon or else above it. Coming to the day when scientific meth- ods were more critical, he will see that the question of the geographical seat of paradise became involved with the I Paradise Found: The Cradle of the Human Race at the North Pole. A Study of the Pre- historic World. By WILLIAM F. WARImESS, S. T. problem of the origin of the genus homo. Suppositions became gradually more and more complicated by known facts; one by one all possible seats of paradise were tried and found wanting. Doubtless, the end of it all will be the conviction that there was no paradise of place, or paradise of. condition for man; that for the golden age he must look to the future, and if the garden of Eden is to be found, it will be in the time to come and with an ever improving man. Dr. Warrens very interesting work ~ will probably come near the end of this series of paradise books, for unless we go above the moon, as Hudibras sug- gests that his ingenious explorer Burnet could do, there is no place in the world for further searching. It is a conspicu- ous merit of our author that he effec- tively demolishes all the other possi- ble suppositions, showing that, if it was anywhere in the world, the seat of para- dise must have been at the north pole; and if at any time in the earths history, it must have been during the age, late D., LL. D., etc., President of Boston University. Pages xxiv., ~O5. l2mo. Houghton, Muffin & Co. 188~. 1885.] Par~xdise FotLnd. 127 in a geological sense, but vastly remote in terms of human history, when about the north pole there was, for a while, a temperature much higher than that which now prevails there, and a geog- raphy very different from that of to- day. If the paradise people are dis- lodged from these nearly inaccessible grounds, we may hope that they will never more trouble the busy world with their tedious though beautiful specula- tions. The reader will find that the book is divided into two sections. The second treats of the ethnic traditions which seem to refer the origin of man to the extreme north; the first, of the geologi- cal facts which support the hypothesis that man originated about the north pole, and that while dwelling in that region he acquired a rather high degree of culture, and had many facts impressed upon his mind which clung in his religious mem- ories long after the change of climate had expelled him from his earliest home. The second part of the treatise concerns a field in which the training of the au- thor admirably fits him for his task. It seems to the present writer that if this part of the argument had been pre- sented at the outset, the book would have gained in strength by the change. There can be no question that the se- lected traditions hearing on this point, which are presented by Dr. Warren, seem at first sight to warrant the hy- pothesis that the ancient peoples of Asia had once dwelt in very high lati- tudes. The array of authorities is strong, and the form of presentation ex- tremely good. If this part of the work is to be definitely overthrown, it will have to be accomplished by an expendi- ture of scholarly labor not less than that which the author has given to its construction. Without undertaking this impossible task, the wary reader will see grave reasons to doubt the value of this array of evidence, reasons which he will draw from other experiences with the same sort of evidence used for simi- lar ends. He will remember the charm- ing episode in modern semi-science made by the curious researches of Taylor, Piazzi, Smyth, and others of their sect, into the history of the great pyramid. There only a part of the facts are of the traditional sort; the remainder are as hard as Egyptian syenite and as sharp as the clean angles of perfect masonry. Yet even there a well-trained man of science, who mixed faith with his math- thematics, and allowed a little conjec- ture to cloud his equations, converted an astrologists observatory and a tomb into a record of supernatural knowl- edge and a prophecy of things to be. An even better sign of the danger that lies in such proof is found in the fact that the very myths which seem to agree in assigning hyperborean regions for the cradle of the human race equally agree in the statement that man was suddenly created from the earth by the direct ex- ercise of the divine will. There are now few educated men who would attach any value, as fact, to this ancient and universal idea of a sudden miraculous creation of the human race. Yet if the consensus of statement is to be taken as evidence that the race originated about the north pole, it should be ac- cepted as of equal value as to the origin of the species. Accepting the evidence which the learned author so well sets forth to show that ancient peoples had a vague notion that they came origi- nally from the high north, and giving him his claim that their traditions de- scribe an aspect of the heavens and a suc- cession of day and night in their races cradle which are fairly reconcilable with the conditions of circumpolar regions, we may still explain these facts without encountering those inseparable difficul- ties which our author has to face in his effort to plant the primitive man within the arctic circle, leaving him there until he had developed his arts, his civiiza.. tion, and a sublime religious belief. 128 The Eden of the imagination had to be placed beyond the realm of familiar experience, the more remote the better. The far north afforded an admirable field for speculative creation. It is not unreasonable to believe that, at a very remote time, certain peoples had so far developed the conceptions of the earths form and its general relations to the sun, that some forgotten Kepler would have been able to conceive all the meas- ure of truth concerning the arctic as- tronomy which the most willing inter- preter can find in these shadowy myths. The mysterious north, with its icy gir- dle and changing days, has, proved even in our own time a fascinating field for speculations which, even in minds of mo(lern culture, have engendered strange beliefs. To this day, there are many who strongly cling to the absurd notion that in the untraversed ice fields about the pole there may be a region of paradisical perfection of climate. Twice within the last two centuries, once in Germany and again in America, the delusion of Symmes Hole has possessed adventurous spirits, and led to the invention of most extreme concep- tions as to the conditions of life in an under world, the entrance of which lay at the navel of the earth, the north pole. We have only to assume that, among these pole seekers of the remote past, there was some Keplerian spirit searching with all of Dr. Warrens en- thusiasm for the site of the human cradle, to find the origin of these myths, and to account for their modicum of truth to nature. In a word, it is much easier to assume that the myths which seem tQ show that man knew the polar lands were built on certain simple and early attained conceptions of the earths fig- 1 The great detail which may be shown in such speculations is well indicated in Captain Symmes project for entering the hole witicli his imagi- nation pictured. lie had a vessel constructed for the expedition, which was to take himself and a select party of cranks to the interior world. Fore- seeing danger when he turned the sharp edge Paradi8e Fownd. [July; ure, than than they embody the actual experience of the earliest men, gained while living within the arctic circle.1 We now turts to the first part of Dr. Warrens book, that which treats of the astronomical and geological aspects of the question. Here he is much at sea, and sorely puzzled to find a pilot. At the outset he is met with the difficulty arising from the polar climate. This he explains by the supposition that this earlier stage of man took place at a time when the inter-arctic climate was much warmer than at present; when there was a more connected land mass in the arctic regions than now exists there. Such conditions he finds indeed in the Miocene period. At that time a vegetation, comparable to that now found in Alabama, flourished to within twelve degrees of the pole, and may once have existed at the geographic pole, if there wns land there for it to rest upon. But our author omits to reckon with several serious difficulties which he must encounter in placing man in so remote a time. No trustworthy evidence has yet been found that will place man in the Miocene period. No one who has attentively studied the time ratios of the tertiary nge will venture to estimate the period of this Miocene warmth about the polo at less than a mil- lion years in the past; and if we accept the best evidence of geology, we will be compelled to assign an even more remote position for that period. Tak- ing the least possible estimate, we should be compelled to assume that the peoples who have these traditions of the high north had preserved a vivid memory of their ancient dwelling place for a duration more than one hundred times as great as the historic period. Fur- which separated the outer from the inner sea, he had his ship constructed with masts which could be quickly lowered, so that they might not be snapped by the strain brought upon them in mak- ing the turn. Fortunately for this erratic genius, he died before setting out on his voyage, and the ship was turned to other uses. Paradise lAnznd. 129 thermore, that in their arts, their litera- ture, and their religious customs, these men had remained essentially unchanged for this vast period. When we consider that all the evidence we have goes to show the men of ten thousand years ago to have been in an exceedingly primitive state of savagery, we see how violent is this strain upon our powers of belief. To take the ground of the author, we must suppose that an original culture had disappeared, and been replaced by a state of long-enduring savagery, from which culture again emerged, the pre- vious traditions of original civilization alone remaining to mark the pristine state of life about the pole. But we are only at the beginning of the diffi- culties that surround this hypothesis; the author himself admits some of these. After securing the relative warmth of climate necessary to his view by remov- ing the cradled state of man to a time when we have no trustworthy evidence that the race existed, he finds it neces.. sary to reckon with the long polar night. He cannot venture to embrace any of the various hypotheses concerning the change in the position of the polar axis, for the principal traditional support of his hypothesis is found in statements which the myths make as to the nature of the slay and night, and the motion of the stars, which could only occur at the geodetic pole. lie has to explain how the people of this hyperborean Eden could fit into the polar system of sun- shine and darkness. His treatment of this question is a skillful piece of fen- cing with facts, but utterly unsatisfactory. He claims that the night is much shorter than it is shown by experience to be, even at points several hundred miles from the pole, giving great value to the moonlight and to the aurora borealis. lie makes out that there is hardly any 1 We are not without experiments on the infin- mice of darkness on human beings of our day. Some years ago an effort was made to use the great chambers of the Mammoth Cave of Ken- tucky as a place of abode of consumptives. The VOL. LVI. NO. 333. 9 night at all in t~e regions beneath the pole. Almost every arctic navigator who has ventured in high latitudes dwells with painful reiteration on the miseries of that period of darkness, even when accompanied by starlit skies and relieved by the lesser lights of morn and the flickering glories of the false aurora. Men come from their im- prisonment bleached and saddened by the deadly darkness, which inevitably kills all but the stout-hearted and vig- orous men who are selected for such trials, chosen for their task as are those of the forlorn hope in the worst enter- prises of war. Let us fancy the women and children, the aged and weak of the arctic paradise, doomed each year to th~ four months of darkness: can we con- ceive it an Eden to them? here the author will have to put in another hy- pothesis, and people his Eden with a folk who fattened on that which kills their descendants.1 It is to be remembered that all the while the dwellers in the arctic para- dise were enduring the trials of an an- nual night, there were lands to the south of them equally blest in their climates and free from the evils of the polar regions. By the theory these lands were untenanted by mt~, and open to the first corner. It will be necessary to add a hypothesis to account for the fact that these primitive people preferred to retain this land of an annual day and night rather than to remove to regions where there was a diurnal system, which is much more satisfactory to their de- scendants. It is also to be remembered that the present state of our knowledge of the tertiary age shows that the period of Miocene warmth was a geologically brief interlude between times of glacial cold. There is clear proof that dur- ing a part of that period there was a air is pure and dry, aud the temperature at least as good as that of the arctic paradise could have been. The results were disastrous in the extreme, the effect of darkness overcoming the benefits aris- ing from the equable temperature and pure air. 180 Paradise Found. development of glacial conditions about the north pole comparable to that of the last ice time. During this period of Mio~ene glaciation, vast ice sheets ex- tended to the sea level in the neighbor- hood of Turin in the valley of the Po. In the earlier Eocene period there was also apparently a time of extreme gla- ciation. It is likely that the warm cir- cumpolar climate came between these two ice times. So, to have man born at the pole, it would have been necessary to import his ancestry into that region, and to withdraw the new-made man di- rectly afterwards. There is, however, another and much more serious objection to the whole hy- pothesis. This arises from the facts which we have concerning the origin of man. There is no doubt that man came from a group of animals closely akin to the anthropoid apes. All these forms of animals are now, and, as far as the neg- ative evidence of the paleontological record goes, always have been dwellers in low latitudes, none of their remains having beeu found afiywhere near the arctic circle. If we are to make as- sumptions, we must assume that the cra- dle of the human race was somewhere in the field occupied by its ancestors. The cautious n& turalist will avoid this and all other similarly imperfect assump- tions; but if compelled to surmise in matters which are not as yet ready for hypothesis, he must say with Darwin s~nd all other careful students of the field that man probably took shape in the tropical region. Thus the main points on which the author must rely for the maintenance of his hypothesis, the very foundation on which he must erect his edifice, fail to give him support; they seem, indeed, to serve him in no way. It is, therefore, ~ot of such importance to note the fal- lacies which everywhere beset the prog- ress of his argument on the geological part of his subject. In his collection of authorities we find the m9s& uncritical association. Authors worthy of all credit are jumbled with those who have no right to be heard. It is perhaps in his effort to show the paradisical conditions of the polar climate during mans cradle period that we find the wildest assumptions. Of that cli- mate we know but one fact of any im- portance: namely, that it permitted the growth of a tolerably luxuriant vegeta- tion, of a character somewhat like that which now exists in the region about the Lower Mississippi. In other words, we can fairly conjecture that the tempera- ture in the winter season did not often go to near zero of Fahrenheit, and can assume that the rainfall was not very small. We can grant no more than this as the basis for the rhapsodies which our author indulges in concerning the cli- mate. If the geologist was forced to make a picture of the probable climate of the circum polar regions during the Eocene time it would not be one which would suit a paradise. He would pic- ture it as a land of perpetual fogs and endless rain, a warmer 1-lebrides, a mild- er South Alaska. He would doubt its fitness for grain culture and question whether the existing or other useful spe- cies of grain had yet been developed. He would doubt the existence of any very useful fruits, and even more st~rongly doubt the presence then and there of any of our domesticated animals. If compelled to account for the food of a hyperborean Eocene man, he would sug- gest that he was probably a fish-eating savage, who had ~a hard wrestle for a living. All this would be conjecture, but unlike that of our learned author it would rest upon a foundation of well- affirmed facts. Another fatal defect of methods visi- ble throughout this portion of the work is seen in the way in which our author overlooks the task of connecting his evidence. Having shown by a mixture of proof and assumptions that the Miocene lands about the pole were the seat of a 1885.] Paradi8e Found. 181 beautiful climate, arid having set forth that there are certain traditions that seem to prove among the ancients a knowl- edge of circumpolar conditions, he re- gards his argument in favor of a polar seat of paradise as established for that time and place, ignoring the great difil- culty of proving that man was there during the brief time while the Mio- cene warmth prevailed in high latitudes. Again and again, we have such gaps in the evidence passed by as if they were of no moment; but it is not worth while to give them separate men- tion. The whole of the book, as far as it treats of the physical facts, is in its methods apart from the ways of modern natural science. The author seems to be laboring under a grave misapprehen- sion as to the scientific method, a mis- apprehension common to many writers who, without training in the method of physical research, try to cast the data of science into a form to support their theories. They make avail of the sci- entific method in part alone. They see that the naturalist uses hypotheses in groping for truth, therefore they pro- ceed to construct hypotheses also; but they fail to apprehend the checks which the well-trained student of nature puts upon the use of the imagination in re- search. If he submits to the canons of modern inquiry, the naturalist first as- sembles his facts before him, using due criticism to exclude imperfect observa- tions, or at least to qualify all such ob- servations by some sign of doubt. Then he tries to imagine some known cause, or some cause that comes into the near- est relation to known causes, which may explain the phenomena. His imagined explanation must stand criticism from two points of view First, it must not rest on any other unverified hypothesis; second, it must be the simplest possible explanation of the phenomena which he can conceive. This is only the begin- ning of the true investigators work. He must now take care that he be not captivated by the offspring of his mind, but reviewing the facts with which he is dealing he must narrowly scrutinize them to see if they are really explained by the hypothesis. Here, indeed, the master of this sublime art of interrogat- ing nature shows his power. The first part of his path may have been labori- ous; the second, however, is the real steep on which many fall. If men of general literary training could be brought to see the difficulty of this part of scientific inquiry and the worthless- ness of all work in which it is neglected, we should have fewer books of this sort. The natural world contains an infinite variety of facts; each of these facts will take shape according to the mind that views it; they are clouds that are backed like a whale or very like a camel, as the spirit inclines to see whale or camel when it looks upon them. If an eager soul, fired by a brilliant conception, rushes to the world of phenomena for proof of his idea, this kindly nature will fool him to the top of his bent. Swe- denborg says sadly that the spirits about him were prone to deceive him; so, too, it was in science until a few learned how to bring these treacherous witnesses to book. In one regard this Paradise Found will prove extremely satisfactory to every man of science. If we read it aright it marks an abandonment of all the dog- matic grounds which have so long sepa- rated naturalists from theologians. It is good indeed to find a distinguished divine, the president of an orthodox in- stitution of learning, who is willing to regard the question of the origin of man as a matter debatable on physical evi- dence alone; who feels that the preciou8 interests of Christianity are not bound for life or death to the literal text of ancient traditions. In this regard the naturalist will be glad to welcome the author as a man of science, however ~nuch he may question his use of the methods of the art. 182 A Chat in the & tddlle. [July, To the general reader this book will on account of the felicity of its style and be welcome on account of its great store the charming spirit of open-minded, frank of well presented traditions, as well as inquiry which everywhere pervades it. A CHAT IN THE SADDLE. Tins is in all ways a very attractive book. It is beautifully printed, the il- lustrations are interesting, and the sub- ject is discussed in a sensible and very agreeable manner. Such treatment is well deserved, for there is no form of ex- ercise which is at all equal to riding on horseback. There is nothing moreover which is so valuable to a people for the development of manly qualities of mind and body, and which ought therefore to be so thoroughly cultivated. We of the East in this country are natural lovers of the horse, but our attention has been given wholly to the trotting variety of the noble animal, and the far finer and better art of horsemanship has sunk into neglect. Within a few years, however, the tide has turned, and riding is becom- ing every day more popular and more generally practiced. Colonel Dodges volume indeed is in itself the best proof of this encouraging fact. Fifteen or evei~ ten years ago the author of Pa- troclus and Penelope would have been like one crying in the wilderness. Now we hope and believe that his readers will be counted by the hundred. The last part of the book is devoted to instruc- tions to a beginner which in the main are sound and judicious. Colonel Dodge has a real love for a horse, which is not so common a quality as might be supposed, and all that he says as to kind treat- ment and abundant caresses may be read with profit by all, even by those persons who think that the last word on riding 1 Patroclus and Penelope. A Chat in the Sad- lie. By THEODORE AYRAULT DODGE. BO8tOfl: Houghton, Muffin & Co. 18811. is known to them. He speaks very modestly of his own performances, but we are sorry to say that we fear there are very few amateurs among us who have done nearly as well. Colonel Dodge has studied the French system of train- ing, a sealed hook to most of our horse- men, and on this he of course, and very wisely, founds his teaching. He makes, however, one or two singular mistakes. For instance, he directs his pupil to use the right leg in order to make the horse lead with the left shoulder at a gallop. If the gallop were a diagonal movement this would be correct. But the gallop is a lateral movement, that is, the legs of the horse on the same side move to- gether, which is, of course, the reverse of the trot or walk. In order, there- fore, to make the horse lead to the left, the left hind-leg must be set in motion, and that is done by the left leg of the rider. Colonel Dodge falls into this er- ror, it would seem, from not having sufficiently analyzed the movements of the horse, and from not laying enough stress on the suppling of the hind-legs which furnish all the propelling power. Control those, and everything else fol- lows. The suppling of the fore-hand comes next in importance, but the mo- tive power is behind the saddle and not in front of it. The fault of the Baucher system is in giving too much attention to the fore-hand, neck, and mouth, and too little to the loins and hind-legs. The first thing in horsemanship is to be able to move the horse forward, and that must be done by the riders command of the animals hind-legs. Establish your

A Chat in the Saddle 132

182 A Chat in the & tddlle. [July, To the general reader this book will on account of the felicity of its style and be welcome on account of its great store the charming spirit of open-minded, frank of well presented traditions, as well as inquiry which everywhere pervades it. A CHAT IN THE SADDLE. Tins is in all ways a very attractive book. It is beautifully printed, the il- lustrations are interesting, and the sub- ject is discussed in a sensible and very agreeable manner. Such treatment is well deserved, for there is no form of ex- ercise which is at all equal to riding on horseback. There is nothing moreover which is so valuable to a people for the development of manly qualities of mind and body, and which ought therefore to be so thoroughly cultivated. We of the East in this country are natural lovers of the horse, but our attention has been given wholly to the trotting variety of the noble animal, and the far finer and better art of horsemanship has sunk into neglect. Within a few years, however, the tide has turned, and riding is becom- ing every day more popular and more generally practiced. Colonel Dodges volume indeed is in itself the best proof of this encouraging fact. Fifteen or evei~ ten years ago the author of Pa- troclus and Penelope would have been like one crying in the wilderness. Now we hope and believe that his readers will be counted by the hundred. The last part of the book is devoted to instruc- tions to a beginner which in the main are sound and judicious. Colonel Dodge has a real love for a horse, which is not so common a quality as might be supposed, and all that he says as to kind treat- ment and abundant caresses may be read with profit by all, even by those persons who think that the last word on riding 1 Patroclus and Penelope. A Chat in the Sad- lie. By THEODORE AYRAULT DODGE. BO8tOfl: Houghton, Muffin & Co. 18811. is known to them. He speaks very modestly of his own performances, but we are sorry to say that we fear there are very few amateurs among us who have done nearly as well. Colonel Dodge has studied the French system of train- ing, a sealed hook to most of our horse- men, and on this he of course, and very wisely, founds his teaching. He makes, however, one or two singular mistakes. For instance, he directs his pupil to use the right leg in order to make the horse lead with the left shoulder at a gallop. If the gallop were a diagonal movement this would be correct. But the gallop is a lateral movement, that is, the legs of the horse on the same side move to- gether, which is, of course, the reverse of the trot or walk. In order, there- fore, to make the horse lead to the left, the left hind-leg must be set in motion, and that is done by the left leg of the rider. Colonel Dodge falls into this er- ror, it would seem, from not having sufficiently analyzed the movements of the horse, and from not laying enough stress on the suppling of the hind-legs which furnish all the propelling power. Control those, and everything else fol- lows. The suppling of the fore-hand comes next in importance, but the mo- tive power is behind the saddle and not in front of it. The fault of the Baucher system is in giving too much attention to the fore-hand, neck, and mouth, and too little to the loins and hind-legs. The first thing in horsemanship is to be able to move the horse forward, and that must be done by the riders command of the animals hind-legs. Establish your

Dodge's Patroclus and Penelope Book Reviews 132-134

182 A Chat in the & tddlle. [July, To the general reader this book will on account of the felicity of its style and be welcome on account of its great store the charming spirit of open-minded, frank of well presented traditions, as well as inquiry which everywhere pervades it. A CHAT IN THE SADDLE. Tins is in all ways a very attractive book. It is beautifully printed, the il- lustrations are interesting, and the sub- ject is discussed in a sensible and very agreeable manner. Such treatment is well deserved, for there is no form of ex- ercise which is at all equal to riding on horseback. There is nothing moreover which is so valuable to a people for the development of manly qualities of mind and body, and which ought therefore to be so thoroughly cultivated. We of the East in this country are natural lovers of the horse, but our attention has been given wholly to the trotting variety of the noble animal, and the far finer and better art of horsemanship has sunk into neglect. Within a few years, however, the tide has turned, and riding is becom- ing every day more popular and more generally practiced. Colonel Dodges volume indeed is in itself the best proof of this encouraging fact. Fifteen or evei~ ten years ago the author of Pa- troclus and Penelope would have been like one crying in the wilderness. Now we hope and believe that his readers will be counted by the hundred. The last part of the book is devoted to instruc- tions to a beginner which in the main are sound and judicious. Colonel Dodge has a real love for a horse, which is not so common a quality as might be supposed, and all that he says as to kind treat- ment and abundant caresses may be read with profit by all, even by those persons who think that the last word on riding 1 Patroclus and Penelope. A Chat in the Sad- lie. By THEODORE AYRAULT DODGE. BO8tOfl: Houghton, Muffin & Co. 18811. is known to them. He speaks very modestly of his own performances, but we are sorry to say that we fear there are very few amateurs among us who have done nearly as well. Colonel Dodge has studied the French system of train- ing, a sealed hook to most of our horse- men, and on this he of course, and very wisely, founds his teaching. He makes, however, one or two singular mistakes. For instance, he directs his pupil to use the right leg in order to make the horse lead with the left shoulder at a gallop. If the gallop were a diagonal movement this would be correct. But the gallop is a lateral movement, that is, the legs of the horse on the same side move to- gether, which is, of course, the reverse of the trot or walk. In order, there- fore, to make the horse lead to the left, the left hind-leg must be set in motion, and that is done by the left leg of the rider. Colonel Dodge falls into this er- ror, it would seem, from not having sufficiently analyzed the movements of the horse, and from not laying enough stress on the suppling of the hind-legs which furnish all the propelling power. Control those, and everything else fol- lows. The suppling of the fore-hand comes next in importance, but the mo- tive power is behind the saddle and not in front of it. The fault of the Baucher system is in giving too much attention to the fore-hand, neck, and mouth, and too little to the loins and hind-legs. The first thing in horsemanship is to be able to move the horse forward, and that must be done by the riders command of the animals hind-legs. Establish your A Chat in the Saddle. current of movement first, and then regu- late and control it. The modern French method, under the disciples of Baucher, has made precisely this change of sys- tem, and with the best results. The gaits have been stimulated, the stride lengthened, the forward movement quick- ened, and yet the suppling of the fore- hand and the neck has not been dimin- ished. In order, however, to control the hind-legs of the horse, and obtain these results, the rider must use his own legs, and this again is a point which Colonel Dodge does not emphasize enough. He seems in writing, although certainly not in his own practice, to mix up seat and legs and stirrups. Stirrups, in the first place, have nothing to do with seat, for a really first-rate seat cnn in fact only be made by riding without them, as Col- onel Dodge certainly knows from expe- rience. Yet, very surprisingly, he never tells his pupil, and he nowhere says that the best, if not the only way to make a good seat is by constantly riding a sharp- trotting horse without stirrups, in accord- ance with the advice of Whyte Melville, and indeed of all other masters of the art. In the second place, the seat ought to be wholly distinct from the legs be- low the knee, which should be per- fectly free to produce the effects neces- sary to control and manage the horse with any degree of delicacy or force. But this perfect and essential freedom o~ the lower leg can only be obtained by the steady work without stirrups. There are other points on which we dis- agree with Colonel Dodge, as, for ex- ample, in regard to the rack and single- foot, the use of which he defends and even advocates. These are at best but bastard and false gaits, which can only be cultivated at the expense of the true gaits, and the best course is to abandon them altogether. There may be condi- tions under which they have their uses, but these conditions certainly do not exist in this part of the world. It is not necessary~ however, even if we had space~ to discuss here the tt~ch- nical details of horsemanship. In the main, as we have said, Colonel Dodges instructions are sound and good, and can be read with profit by all horsemen and even, we venture to think, by many of our fox-hunters. The chief merit of the book is that it calls attention to the fact that there is a great deal in riding be- sides being carried by a horse and stick- in g on him somehow or other. Colonel Dodge, in a word, shows that the true art stretches far beyond those restricted limits. He teaches the important lesson, so very much needed here at this time~ that there is a deal of fine riding out- side of the hunt-clubs of this country, and even of England as well. The fol- lowing sentence indeed should be writ- ten up in the premises of every hunt- club, country-club, and jockey-club in the United States. It is the gener- al impression among men who ride to hounds, and still more among men who pretend to do so, that leaping is the ul- tima thule of equestrianism; and that a man who can sit a horse over a four- foot hurdle has graduated in the art of horsemanship. The corollary to this error is also an article of faith among men who hunt, that is, that no other class of riders can leap their horses boldly and welL But both ideas are as strange as they are mistaken. In one words this book teaches us to be liberal in our ideas, and to realize that the riding of an English groom is not the ne plus ultra of horsemanship. The noble and manly art of riding is just beginning to develop in this country, and it ought to be encouraged and strengthened in every possible way. There is at this moment danger of its being injured, and of its growth being retarded by its falling into the hands of small sets of men, who know no other standard than their own very narrow one, who have a tendency to convert cross-country riding and fox~ hunting into steeple-chasing and a fierce competition in jumping, who hunt to 138 Francz8qz.~e Sarcey. jump fences instead of jumping fences in order to hunt, and who thus and in divers other ways disgust and drive off many persons whom, in the interests of riding, they should strive to conci]iate. These very men are bold riders and often real lovers of the horse, but they are unintentionally standing in the way of what they wish to promote. The rid- ing community hereabouts requires just at this time a little liberal education. It needs to learn respect for various methods, and to appreciate the work done by various nations. In driving the trotting horse no one approaches the American; in racing and cross-country riding England stands at the head; but we must go to France for the best sys- tem of managing and developing the eheval de promenade, and for the best methods of training. We are in danger here of forgetting all this, and nine riding men out of ten, who perhaps nev- er heard of Baucher, will sneer at the French system of training as circus tricks, without being aware that it is purely scientific; that its one object is com- plete control of the horse, and that the man capable of training a horse properly must of necessity be a fine rider, with coolness of temper, strength of seat, in- telligence of baud, patience, courage, and discretion. Colonel Dodges book is liberalizing, and it should be heartily welcomed on this account if on no other. It may be both warmly and safely com- mended to all lovers of horses and to all who ride. We need to widen our horizon and elevate our standards, and this volume is the first effort we have seen by any American horseman to do both. FRANCISQUE SARCEY. FRANcISQUE SARcEY is to-day the foremost critic in French dramatic liter- ature, and in a country where the stage holds so high a place in the opinions of both native and foreign audiences, the judgment of an authority such as Sar- cey is often final, and always awaited with interest. His own contributions to literature have not been either fre- quent or important, for he has given his strength to the business of his life, the rapid composition of critical notices of new plays, new operas, new hooks, and even new pictures, all the world of art is his, over which for many years he has held absolute sway. He has succeeded to Jules Janin, in the place he holds in public estimation, but he has brought to his task many qualifications which Janin lacked, and he has therefore been able to hold his own against the growing force of critics engaged in enlightening the world as to what it ought to think of the last novelty. Following the ex- ample of so many of the living leaders of literature, both in England and in France, he has determined to tell his own story, and thus avoid the risks in- cidental to posthumous biography. His book has the charm of that first con- dition of successful literary work in France, a clear style, simple, succinct, and well sustained.1 It is much better in this regard than the recent biography of Michelet, in which his widow has published so much of her grief and ad- miration that the story, as Michelet told it, has lost a great deal of its interest. Sarceys book has the advantage over that of Maxime Ducamp that it is shorter, and that it is his own story. Ducamp wants to make his recollee- 1 Souvenirs dv .Jeunesse. Par FRAKCISQThU SAnczv. Paris: Ollendorif. 1885. 134

Francisque Sarcey 134

Francz8qz.~e Sarcey. jump fences instead of jumping fences in order to hunt, and who thus and in divers other ways disgust and drive off many persons whom, in the interests of riding, they should strive to conci]iate. These very men are bold riders and often real lovers of the horse, but they are unintentionally standing in the way of what they wish to promote. The rid- ing community hereabouts requires just at this time a little liberal education. It needs to learn respect for various methods, and to appreciate the work done by various nations. In driving the trotting horse no one approaches the American; in racing and cross-country riding England stands at the head; but we must go to France for the best sys- tem of managing and developing the eheval de promenade, and for the best methods of training. We are in danger here of forgetting all this, and nine riding men out of ten, who perhaps nev- er heard of Baucher, will sneer at the French system of training as circus tricks, without being aware that it is purely scientific; that its one object is com- plete control of the horse, and that the man capable of training a horse properly must of necessity be a fine rider, with coolness of temper, strength of seat, in- telligence of baud, patience, courage, and discretion. Colonel Dodges book is liberalizing, and it should be heartily welcomed on this account if on no other. It may be both warmly and safely com- mended to all lovers of horses and to all who ride. We need to widen our horizon and elevate our standards, and this volume is the first effort we have seen by any American horseman to do both. FRANCISQUE SARCEY. FRANcISQUE SARcEY is to-day the foremost critic in French dramatic liter- ature, and in a country where the stage holds so high a place in the opinions of both native and foreign audiences, the judgment of an authority such as Sar- cey is often final, and always awaited with interest. His own contributions to literature have not been either fre- quent or important, for he has given his strength to the business of his life, the rapid composition of critical notices of new plays, new operas, new hooks, and even new pictures, all the world of art is his, over which for many years he has held absolute sway. He has succeeded to Jules Janin, in the place he holds in public estimation, but he has brought to his task many qualifications which Janin lacked, and he has therefore been able to hold his own against the growing force of critics engaged in enlightening the world as to what it ought to think of the last novelty. Following the ex- ample of so many of the living leaders of literature, both in England and in France, he has determined to tell his own story, and thus avoid the risks in- cidental to posthumous biography. His book has the charm of that first con- dition of successful literary work in France, a clear style, simple, succinct, and well sustained.1 It is much better in this regard than the recent biography of Michelet, in which his widow has published so much of her grief and ad- miration that the story, as Michelet told it, has lost a great deal of its interest. Sarceys book has the advantage over that of Maxime Ducamp that it is shorter, and that it is his own story. Ducamp wants to make his recollee- 1 Souvenirs dv .Jeunesse. Par FRAKCISQThU SAnczv. Paris: Ollendorif. 1885. 134

Sarcey's Souvenirs de Jeunesse Book Reviews 134-136

Francz8qz.~e Sarcey. jump fences instead of jumping fences in order to hunt, and who thus and in divers other ways disgust and drive off many persons whom, in the interests of riding, they should strive to conci]iate. These very men are bold riders and often real lovers of the horse, but they are unintentionally standing in the way of what they wish to promote. The rid- ing community hereabouts requires just at this time a little liberal education. It needs to learn respect for various methods, and to appreciate the work done by various nations. In driving the trotting horse no one approaches the American; in racing and cross-country riding England stands at the head; but we must go to France for the best sys- tem of managing and developing the eheval de promenade, and for the best methods of training. We are in danger here of forgetting all this, and nine riding men out of ten, who perhaps nev- er heard of Baucher, will sneer at the French system of training as circus tricks, without being aware that it is purely scientific; that its one object is com- plete control of the horse, and that the man capable of training a horse properly must of necessity be a fine rider, with coolness of temper, strength of seat, in- telligence of baud, patience, courage, and discretion. Colonel Dodges book is liberalizing, and it should be heartily welcomed on this account if on no other. It may be both warmly and safely com- mended to all lovers of horses and to all who ride. We need to widen our horizon and elevate our standards, and this volume is the first effort we have seen by any American horseman to do both. FRANCISQUE SARCEY. FRANcISQUE SARcEY is to-day the foremost critic in French dramatic liter- ature, and in a country where the stage holds so high a place in the opinions of both native and foreign audiences, the judgment of an authority such as Sar- cey is often final, and always awaited with interest. His own contributions to literature have not been either fre- quent or important, for he has given his strength to the business of his life, the rapid composition of critical notices of new plays, new operas, new hooks, and even new pictures, all the world of art is his, over which for many years he has held absolute sway. He has succeeded to Jules Janin, in the place he holds in public estimation, but he has brought to his task many qualifications which Janin lacked, and he has therefore been able to hold his own against the growing force of critics engaged in enlightening the world as to what it ought to think of the last novelty. Following the ex- ample of so many of the living leaders of literature, both in England and in France, he has determined to tell his own story, and thus avoid the risks in- cidental to posthumous biography. His book has the charm of that first con- dition of successful literary work in France, a clear style, simple, succinct, and well sustained.1 It is much better in this regard than the recent biography of Michelet, in which his widow has published so much of her grief and ad- miration that the story, as Michelet told it, has lost a great deal of its interest. Sarceys book has the advantage over that of Maxime Ducamp that it is shorter, and that it is his own story. Ducamp wants to make his recollee- 1 Souvenirs dv .Jeunesse. Par FRAKCISQThU SAnczv. Paris: Ollendorif. 1885. 134 1885.] Jirancisque & trcey. 185 tions exhaustive, and so many worthies of all ranks figure in the pages of his two bulky volumes that they leave no very distinct impression of anybody. Sarcey tells the plain, straightforward story of his literary life, his training as child and boy and man, his hard work as a teacher, and his sudden and suc- cessful emancipation into the world of letters. It has that rare merit in a French book, not professedly religious, of being perfectly clean. It gives a capital sketch of domestic life in a mod- est sphere, and shows how in France fair ability, with hard work, finds its recognition, and secures its possessor, in the end, a fair place. As a child, he heard his father, a village school4eacher, read the best French dramas, and from that day he was unconsciously begin- ning to train himself for the future dra- matic critic of the leading journal of Paris. In Paris itself, in the outset of his studies in the Normal School, he became one of the enthusiastic disci- ples of Clmev~, the leader of the school of Tonic Sol Fa instruction in music. He was brought into the charmed circle of those who believed in it as if it were the only solution of music for the people, by his schoolfellow, Edmond About, who in this and in other re- spects was a sort of mental sponsor for Sarcey. The story of Chev~ and of his predecessors, Galin and Aim6 Paris, is admirably told; and it is~well worth the telling, for it is an example of un- selfish devotion to a cause that, in the eyes of its champions, was worthy of every sacrifice. To-day, in France, there are hundreds of thousands of men and women enjoying music through the system that is here described, and even in the modest beginnings of the same method in this country there is some encouragement for those who have an abiding faith in the power of ideas and their vitality. Far more important is Sarceys description of the rise and progress of the Ecole Morale, the alma mater of so many of the lead- ing and representative men of modern France. Sarceys immediate contem- poraries were Tame, About, Weiss, Challemel-Lacour, Prdvost-Paradol, men whose training and ambition were to fit them~elves to become professors, for in France the scholastic hierarchy is absolute, and the Minister of Education in Paris appoints the faculty of the pro- vincial schools on an entirely irrespon- sible basis of authority; there are no local boards to be consulted, no exam- iners to be faced, the graduate of the Normal School is assigned his post, and the reports of successive inspectors and a little influence carry him from one end of France to another, until he finally arrives at that elysium of every French- man, Paris itself, with the certainty of a pension at the end of thirty-five years of service, and the possibility of the uni- versity, the academy, and even the min- istry, as the great prizes in the long race for pedagogic honors. Three years at the Normal School in Paris supply plenty of material for an account of training utterly unlike that of our colleges, or those of England and Germany, and well worth comparing to our own very different system. The business of teach- ing began for Sarcey at Chaumont, in l8~1; then it was taken up at Lesneven, carried on at Rodez, and completed at Grenoble. Each change was made by an arbitrary exercise of authority, and often there was abundant reason for it, for Sarcey is perfectly frank and in- genuous in telling his story, but he does it in such a way as to show admi- rably all the faults of such a system of centralization. Teaching classics in each of the successive classes, then rhetoric, then philosophy, there was no question of consulting the teachers own fitness, or even that of his colleagues, for their respective tasks. The principal of each local college has a certain lim- ited authority, but it is thrown into the shade by the inspectors, who come di- 186 The Co~tributor8 (tub. [July, rectly from the central bureau at Paris, s~re clothed with something of the sover- eign power vested there, and make and unmake the professors by their reports, which are of course often influenced by personal and political likes and dislikes, and are always hidden under the veil of official secrecy, so that no man subject to the power of the minister knows when and how it will reach him. The only thing certain is that, after thirty- five years of work, there will he a pen- sion of three hundred francs as the final outcome of a life of toil and sacrifice and struggle. So strong is the native French love of order and orderly occupation that nothing short of the crass stupidity of the Empire drove some of its ablest opponents from the comparative ob- scurity of their subordinate posts under the government, in the multifarious ad- ministration, into public life, and, of course, into active opposition. In this way the ranks of those who were grow- ing bold in their attacks and outspoken in their opinions were recruited from the teachers, the Normal School es- pecially supplying subtle minds and trained pens. Sarcey took the tide on the flood, and after the success of a few experimental essays in the Figaro, re- pigned his appointment and began his new life in Paris. His souvenirs end at this point, and it rests with the public to decide whether or not they shall be continued, so as to tell the story of his later triumphs and the advantages of his assured position. His book is ~n admirable example of the merits of his style, with the clear, crisp, sharp, senten- tious writing that comes from thorough training, and long experience of just what to say and what to leave unsaid. It gives a capital picture of the life of the class of which he is so good a rep- resentative, of plain, honest, modest, in- dustrious bourgeois, raised above the peasant in intelligence or education, and free from the vices and the faults of the aristocracy, but ambitious to learn and to do, proud of its hard earned successes, and thoroughly alive to the distinction that lifts the man of letters, who has made his mark, out of the rank and file of the great army of office- holders. The story of Sarceys train- ing and of his emancipation from the bureaucracy into the noble army of free lances of letters is a characteristic bit of modern French life, little known outside the charmed circle, and well worth the reading, both because it is so well told, and because it deserves the telling, as a side light upon the shift- ing drama of the France of our own day. THE CONTRIBUTORS CLUB. DOUBTLESS there are persons so hap- pily constituted by nature that, meta- phorically speaking, they can shut up shop at a moments notice, and go junketing with a merry comrade, or at Least can enjoy all the legal holidays in their lot without suffering Black Care to follow them. But the most of us live under a very different dispensation: when we are not pursuing our occupa tion, our occupation is diligently pifr- suing us; in truth, we are not long in discovering that there is no earthly para- dise but our tyrant has an extradition treaty with that country; no reputed free soil, but a fugitive slave law is in force there. Everywhere we meet our fellow - runaways. From being run- aways ourselves, we are able to detect others in like case. Moreover, some of

Contributor's Club Contributor's Club 136-141

186 The Co~tributor8 (tub. [July, rectly from the central bureau at Paris, s~re clothed with something of the sover- eign power vested there, and make and unmake the professors by their reports, which are of course often influenced by personal and political likes and dislikes, and are always hidden under the veil of official secrecy, so that no man subject to the power of the minister knows when and how it will reach him. The only thing certain is that, after thirty- five years of work, there will he a pen- sion of three hundred francs as the final outcome of a life of toil and sacrifice and struggle. So strong is the native French love of order and orderly occupation that nothing short of the crass stupidity of the Empire drove some of its ablest opponents from the comparative ob- scurity of their subordinate posts under the government, in the multifarious ad- ministration, into public life, and, of course, into active opposition. In this way the ranks of those who were grow- ing bold in their attacks and outspoken in their opinions were recruited from the teachers, the Normal School es- pecially supplying subtle minds and trained pens. Sarcey took the tide on the flood, and after the success of a few experimental essays in the Figaro, re- pigned his appointment and began his new life in Paris. His souvenirs end at this point, and it rests with the public to decide whether or not they shall be continued, so as to tell the story of his later triumphs and the advantages of his assured position. His book is ~n admirable example of the merits of his style, with the clear, crisp, sharp, senten- tious writing that comes from thorough training, and long experience of just what to say and what to leave unsaid. It gives a capital picture of the life of the class of which he is so good a rep- resentative, of plain, honest, modest, in- dustrious bourgeois, raised above the peasant in intelligence or education, and free from the vices and the faults of the aristocracy, but ambitious to learn and to do, proud of its hard earned successes, and thoroughly alive to the distinction that lifts the man of letters, who has made his mark, out of the rank and file of the great army of office- holders. The story of Sarceys train- ing and of his emancipation from the bureaucracy into the noble army of free lances of letters is a characteristic bit of modern French life, little known outside the charmed circle, and well worth the reading, both because it is so well told, and because it deserves the telling, as a side light upon the shift- ing drama of the France of our own day. THE CONTRIBUTORS CLUB. DOUBTLESS there are persons so hap- pily constituted by nature that, meta- phorically speaking, they can shut up shop at a moments notice, and go junketing with a merry comrade, or at Least can enjoy all the legal holidays in their lot without suffering Black Care to follow them. But the most of us live under a very different dispensation: when we are not pursuing our occupa tion, our occupation is diligently pifr- suing us; in truth, we are not long in discovering that there is no earthly para- dise but our tyrant has an extradition treaty with that country; no reputed free soil, but a fugitive slave law is in force there. Everywhere we meet our fellow - runaways. From being run- aways ourselves, we are able to detect others in like case. Moreover, some of 1885.] The Contributors Club. 137 these fled too hastily to fit themselves with a proper disguise, and therefore their shop garments do bewray them. And again, while we have been in con- versation with them, even as the word was upon their lips, have they not been nabbed by the Demon of Brown Study, and spirited away before our very eyes? We smiled indulgently upon the un- ceremonious manner of their leave-tak- ing, knowing that in? this respect we had much to be remitted to ourselves. All vocations are represented by these refu- gees; and where any two of like occu- pation meet, a third person shall over- hear much that might be termed shop- talk ; thus merchant converses with brother merchant, school-teacher with school-teacher, farmer with farmer, each two in an idiom of their owl), the im- port of which but vaguely reaches the intelligence of the uninitiate. Of all these fugitive shop-keepers, the writer, though seemingly most free, is perhaps least able to snap the charmed tether that binds him to his occupation. Wher- ever he goes, he still must be gather- ing, in the interest of a recondite and incalculable fund technically known as Material. So, although he may decree to himself a vacation, drop his faithful implement, the pen, and leave behind him the four walls of his shop, it is only to find himself in a larger shop, where the abundance of riches is like to prove an embarrassment. His scope of inquiry has a Socratic breadth, including all manner of men, their occupations and amusements. It is his business to know something of everything, from the gen- eration of antique gods to the combina- tions, human and circumstantial, that seat prime ministers and the presidents of republics. He aims to know what life is in a trappers or a squatters hut in the unkempt western wilderness, and what it is in the courtly circles of the metropolis. It is within his province to nnderstand the processes employed in a paper-mill, and the delicate craftsman ship given to the making of a watch. To him there is nothing great or small, since with a stroke of the pen he can render marvelous the dullest common- place, or can reduce a hero to the figure which he is said to present to his valet. It is probably not well understood outside the profession how extreme is the impatience which seizes upon the litt6rateur at beholding any cultivable ground left fallow. I once heard one of the craft remark to another: What a pity it is your friend does not write her memoirs, or at least put the ma- terial in some clever persons hands to work up: if I were you, I would nag her until she let me do it! Such, commonly, is the writers abhorrence of waste that his economic and utilitarian principles are applied self ward as well as to the outer world. With ileine he might affirm, Out of my own great woe I make my little songs. He cant afford to let any tender or ro- mantic passage in his own experience go tithe-free; it must be turned to ac- count to swell the bulk of Material. The note-taking instinct never slumbers. In the midst of some delightful vagary, he must catch himself up, to recall how it originated, and to determine whether it be worth clapping into some pigeon-hole of the memory for use hereafter; if he walks with Nature, he looks and listens with shrewd inquisitorial eye and ear, having intent to report every trick of manner, every tone and syllable of her artless confidence; if he reads a book, he is not without the impulse to lay up serviceable quotations. It may be observed that the literary adept has a way of engaging his friends and acquaintances in conversation upon the particular subject in which he hap- pens to he interested. 1-le does this in so skillful a manner that his obliging fellow-conversationalists never suspect the turn they have served; indeed, it takes oiae of his own trade, acquainted 138 The Contriln.tors fJlu6. [July, with all its methods and exigencies, to discover his social thrift. Otherwise, how should I have guessed that the dis- tinguished preacher, who came down from his study to chat with us for a few moments, was endeavoring to compensate for the interruption by laying us all un- der contribution to the sermon left un- finished upstairs? With an apparently careless, I have been thinkino he drew the conversation into the channel in which his own thoughts were run- ning. So I surmised at the time, and was agreeably corroborated in my sup- position when a few days later I had the pleasure of reading the sermon in print. It not infrequently happens that those who live under the same roof with a literary workman acquire an almost pro- fessional zeal in looking after the in- terests of the shop, constituting them- selves a reportorial association to lay before him whatever in their daily ex- perience and observation they may deem of use as Material. Such service being based upon love, and totally disconnected from lucre, is a department in literary hackwork which has never yet received the recognition to which it is entitled by desert. It does not seem to me that Henry James has quite got at the heart of the matter, when he says in his recent ar- ticle on George Eliot that the marriage of the nunlike Dinah Morris shocks the reader, who sees in it a base conces- sion. lie calls it a trouvaille of Mr. Lewes, and rejoices to exonerate George Eliot from having conceived it Nevertheless, her responsibility as an artist and moralist is deeply involved in the marriage, as she declares in one of her letters that she accepted the idea at once, and from the end of the third chapter worked with it constantly in view. This statement proves that the union was deliberately planned all through the development of the story and of the characters, so that it cannot be considered in the light of a conven- ient concluding accident. If Dinah be nunlike, she was nevertheless created for marriage; but to apply the term nunlike to her indicates a confusion of ideas. Her saintliness is not of Catholic origin. Methodism and Quaker- ism produce spiritual arid ascetic women without the tendency to celibacy. Lu- cretia Mott is an instance of such devel- opment on a stage of action which gave her character some historical signifi- cance, arid she was a wife at eighteen.; and George Eliots aunt, whose religious experience suggested Dinah Morris to the author, was herself a married wo- man. The essential reason for the marriage, however, lies in Adams own nature and history. In real life, such a man would certainly marry, and in the novel, it is artistically right that he should marry the woman who serves as a link to bind together all the various persons and in- terests of the story. This office of Dinahs, as the unifying principle in the story, must not be overlooked in any adequate criticism. To say that a more buxom mate would have been more suitable to Adam, if marry he must, is simply, as George Eliot remarks of a criticism which some one made on the plot of The Mill on the Floss, to say that a book entirely different from Adam Bede should have been written. Sure- ly, it would not have been well to end with the vague stAement that after a while Adam married somebody, and it would also have been poor art to in- troduce another woman into the body of the narrative, who would have di- verted attention from the contrasted characters of Dinah and Hetty. I con- tend that it is not only natural that Adam should marry, but it is artistically necessary, in order that the tragedy may not be over - weighted. Neither Arthur nor Hetty is a character of sufficient moral import to entail lasting consequences of a fatal nature oa deeper 1885.] souls. The agony of Hettys wander- ings and death; Arthurs lifelong regret, with the especial sting in it, that it is useless; Adam and Dinah so pained that they can never take any after happiness quite joyfully, these suffice. George Eliot knew life and art too well to de- stroy the harmony between cause and effect by making the tragedy greater still. She was not young when she wrote, and she had known how the heart heals even over a wound from which the soul never quite recovers. Hetty is too slight a thing to move more terrible issues. Had the result of their sins been greater, the reader might have been stirred to irritation against Arthur and Iletty, but George Eliot wishes them to be seen through the medium of pity, a sort of light which, if not in all senses an artistic ]ight, seems still to l)artake intimately of the nature of di- vine art. Probably few of us would be great- ly strengthened in the secretly cherished dogma of auto-infallibility, could we foresee to what mutation our present opinions, tastes, desires, sympathies, and adherencies would be subject during the next twenty years. We are right to think and feel as we do now (no doubt of that!). Shall we be right also when, by and by, we find ourselves at the very antipodes of our own present estate of thought and feeling? We are not mood- slaves, nor faith-breakers, nor time-ser- vers, yet what vagrancy and zigzagging our line of travel presents! Stability wins our allegiance; any fickleness of judgment or of will offends us, and turns us away from him who betrays it; we so repel the thought of unsteadfastness in our own purpose and conduct that we are almost ready to announce it a species of virtue to be established, though for the worse, and a species of vice to change, though for the better. As to mental mutability, the world might be divided into three classes: those who frequently and inconsequent- The Contributor8 Club. 139 ly change their minds and who ar~ scarcely more conscious than are other ephemerie of the metamorphoses under- gone; those who consent to change their minds, dreading not to forsake the old domicile of opinion and purpose if the spirits growing life shall be better ac- commodated in the new; and those who change their minds under protest, griev- ing at what they re~ard as evidence of instability in themselves. Such, Knowing the heart of man is set to be The centre of this world, abont the which These revolutions of disturbances Still roll, consider that it is laid upon them t~ maintain a kind of centric immobility; failing of which, nothing less than the destruction of their whole starry systeixi would result. Apparently, they forget that the heart of man, as well as its fluctuating satellites, has an orbit to ac- complish in space, which it does, by its own law of motion. We should perhaps feel less poignant4 ly those alterations which, without our fault, come over our spiritual existence; if we but reflected that, however sud- den and startling our discovery of them% their progress has been steady, and not violent. Yesterday this days madness did prepare; so, if the case be lament~ able, the votive cup of our tears belongs to yesterday rather than to the present day. We might do worse than to temper the sharpness of regret, thus, with a drop or two from the vial of fatalism~ Who does not feel that i~~ himself are various selves, each destined, by a hidden but just plan of rotation, to have its turn and ascendency? It belongs to the statesmanship of self-government to find and declare the unity running through all these successive administrations. But it is urged, There is in me a Protean spirit that baffles inspection. How then? Is not our Proteus like its name- sake of old, that after so many antio transformations and sly evasions wa at last cornered and brought to reveal 140 The Contributor8 Club. [July, to the Argive heroes returning from Troy what they sought to learn regard- jug their fortunes? If the physical self is completely renovated once in every seven years, and if in the course of a lifetime we have been provided with so many differ- ent tenements, why may there not have been as many different tenants? In one view of the case, it would seem a pity that nature should give us so many new bodies, and there make a stay of her benevolence, leaving us with the same old minds! If, some grounds of former belief or *~tion having been relinquished, I am ac- 9used of unsteadfastness, nothing daunt- ed, nothing disheartened, let, me reply, You are mistaken; I have not changed my mind, but my mind has changed me. I would not stand out against the authority of this resident vicegerent, obeying which it is possible to feel an almost jocund irresponsibility as to con- sequences. I would heed the royal edict of Antoninus, Reverence the faculty which produces opinion. Observing that Nature abhora a stand- still not less than she does a vacuum, that growth and change are everywhere hound together, and that it is the inor- ganic and senseless which change least effects, I no longer covet static existence; ~rather am I thankful that the mind in me is of convertible stuff, and so con- stituted that it can heat Change on its own ground. It might have been reverie yet I thQught myself fully awake, when lately I heard the Muses chanting this song, OF THE CONSTANT. I AM not constant as yon constant rocks, That have their bases under oceans floor, That yield no piteous span, receive no score,. ~hough ships make thither, waves deal shocks on shocks; am b~~t constant as the sea, whose flocks, How wide soeer they wander, evermore ~Iorning and evening crowd the vacant shore ~At beck of her who smiles through silvery locks, Constant but as the oak, now bare and dry, soon the genial season. shall. restore And its gray arms with fluttering honors fill, Or as the violet, that seems to die, Yet can its azure angel lift it still To greet the coming springtime as before. In Lounsburys Life of Cooper (of which let me say, in passing, that it seems to me a model for that kind of writing) occurs the following comment: There are those with great faults which please and impress us far more than those in which the component parts are better balanced. The criticism is applied to Coopers novels, which the biographer considers as belonging to the class here described. Whether we think this judgment just or not with respect to Cooper, the remark contains a gen- eral truth, easily recognized as appli- cable to certain of Coopers fellow craftsmen; to Dickens, for instance, whose extraordinary powers will al- ways continue to impress those who are the quickest to see and feel his imper- fections. But the above - quoted sen- tence struck me at once on reading it as being significant with regard to Cooper himself as well as his works. Cooper was a man whose worst de- fects were more readily seen by the outside world in general than his good qualities. It is not surprising that his brusqueness of manner, which in the excitement of discussion often looked like violence, his lack of patience with other peoples opinions, his contempt for which he sometimes was not at the pains to conceal, should have repelled a great many of his acquaintance. Yet those who could see below the surface, and who had opportunity to observe him in his domestic relations, must have felt that while there was much in him to forgive there was also much to love and honor. In this rcspect Cooper is a type of many others, men and wo- men, whom I, for one, find no difficulty in tolerating. even liking, partly, per- haps, for the reason that they fare so badly with the majority. It is a ques- tion of taste, doubtless, and they who 1885.] Books of the Month. prefer a negative character, incapable of giving offense, to one in which faults and virtues are prominent alike, have a right to their preference. It is very unwise and a mark of inexperience to undervalue an amiable disposition; but, on the other hand, the lack of it may be compensated for by other admira- ble and lovable qualities, and pure neg- ativity is often the most irritating thing possible. That the irritation is not al- together reasonable and justifiable does not help the matter. Yet complain as we may of the superficial judgments so common in the world, and however much we are disinclined to follow or be led by them, it is impossible to deny that such surface estimates are after all the only ones practicable, as the world goes. The fact is unmistakable, wheth- er we like it or not, that our acquaint- ance judge of us by the appearance, the outside, not by the inner truth of our being. It can hardly be otherwise. Inner and outer ought to correspond, but who will give us credit for lovely qualities of the spirit that persist in hid- ing themselves shyly? Cooper and those who resemble him forget the outside, do not realize that to escape the imputation of arrogance, violence, and conceit they must avoid the appearance of anything that may be mistaken for these unlovely traits, since a world not made up of Solomons will not spend time or thought in distinguish- ing show from substance. Every day one lives, the plainer it becomes that ones influence depends almost wholly upon ones personality, and not only on what one says and does, but how it is done and said. The speech or action gains weight and credit from the speaker or doer; the same thing said differently by a different person will produce com- paratively little impression. Let a man give utterance to what is in reality a well-considered opinion in an eager and hasty fashion, the opinion will be taken not for what it is worth in itself, but as partaking of the ill-advised rashness with which it has been pronounced. Few peo- ple are sufficiently interested in an ira- personal subject, in the discussion of any more or less abstract truth for its own sake, to overlook anything not to their taste in the manner of their interlocu- tors, or to prevent prejudice with ro- gard to the speakers from biasing their reception of the words spoken. Whoso is a really ardent advocate of a special truth or theory, let him then take heed to the fashion of his advocacy, since a small thing may lose him his cause. It will be little comfort to coma plain of the folly of his hearer, whom, had he had been wise and well informed~ the pleader would have had no need to enlighten. Oar characteristic modes of behavior and speech may not express us wholly, and therefore not altogether truly; yet how can we deny that, after all, these traits are our own, and so to a certain extent the manner is the man. BOOKS OF THE MONTH. History. A new edition, two volumes in one, has been issued of George W. Williamss History of the Negro Race in America, from 1619 to 1880. We have already received the work, and this edition does not appear to contain any additions or changes. Military Manners and Customs, by I. A. Farrer (bit), is a r~!sum~, in readable form, ef the principal points in the history of war, such as treatment of prisoners, rules about spies, the change of weapons, the meaning of parts of dress. The stndy, it appears, is to be called bel- lology. There can be no objection to calling it so, the author says. Yes, there is. We do not want any more mixed technical terms. Machiol~ ogy would be better, and it is just as disagreeable a word. We like the conclusion of the book, foi~ the author, after his industrious explanations in the antiquities of the subject, turns to the ethical side, 141

Books of the Month 141-144

1885.] Books of the Month. prefer a negative character, incapable of giving offense, to one in which faults and virtues are prominent alike, have a right to their preference. It is very unwise and a mark of inexperience to undervalue an amiable disposition; but, on the other hand, the lack of it may be compensated for by other admira- ble and lovable qualities, and pure neg- ativity is often the most irritating thing possible. That the irritation is not al- together reasonable and justifiable does not help the matter. Yet complain as we may of the superficial judgments so common in the world, and however much we are disinclined to follow or be led by them, it is impossible to deny that such surface estimates are after all the only ones practicable, as the world goes. The fact is unmistakable, wheth- er we like it or not, that our acquaint- ance judge of us by the appearance, the outside, not by the inner truth of our being. It can hardly be otherwise. Inner and outer ought to correspond, but who will give us credit for lovely qualities of the spirit that persist in hid- ing themselves shyly? Cooper and those who resemble him forget the outside, do not realize that to escape the imputation of arrogance, violence, and conceit they must avoid the appearance of anything that may be mistaken for these unlovely traits, since a world not made up of Solomons will not spend time or thought in distinguish- ing show from substance. Every day one lives, the plainer it becomes that ones influence depends almost wholly upon ones personality, and not only on what one says and does, but how it is done and said. The speech or action gains weight and credit from the speaker or doer; the same thing said differently by a different person will produce com- paratively little impression. Let a man give utterance to what is in reality a well-considered opinion in an eager and hasty fashion, the opinion will be taken not for what it is worth in itself, but as partaking of the ill-advised rashness with which it has been pronounced. Few peo- ple are sufficiently interested in an ira- personal subject, in the discussion of any more or less abstract truth for its own sake, to overlook anything not to their taste in the manner of their interlocu- tors, or to prevent prejudice with ro- gard to the speakers from biasing their reception of the words spoken. Whoso is a really ardent advocate of a special truth or theory, let him then take heed to the fashion of his advocacy, since a small thing may lose him his cause. It will be little comfort to coma plain of the folly of his hearer, whom, had he had been wise and well informed~ the pleader would have had no need to enlighten. Oar characteristic modes of behavior and speech may not express us wholly, and therefore not altogether truly; yet how can we deny that, after all, these traits are our own, and so to a certain extent the manner is the man. BOOKS OF THE MONTH. History. A new edition, two volumes in one, has been issued of George W. Williamss History of the Negro Race in America, from 1619 to 1880. We have already received the work, and this edition does not appear to contain any additions or changes. Military Manners and Customs, by I. A. Farrer (bit), is a r~!sum~, in readable form, ef the principal points in the history of war, such as treatment of prisoners, rules about spies, the change of weapons, the meaning of parts of dress. The stndy, it appears, is to be called bel- lology. There can be no objection to calling it so, the author says. Yes, there is. We do not want any more mixed technical terms. Machiol~ ogy would be better, and it is just as disagreeable a word. We like the conclusion of the book, foi~ the author, after his industrious explanations in the antiquities of the subject, turns to the ethical side, 141 Book8 of the Month. and shows that the disintegration of the war spirit may be looked for in the exercise of the indi- vidual conscience, by which the soldier ceases to be, as now, a non-moral agent. American Pres- byterianism, its origin and early history, together with an appendix of letters and documents, many of which have recently been discovered, by Charles Augustus Briggs. (Scribners.) A close study of the facts of the subject, untouched by any imaginative light, but strictly, dryly, matter of fact. It has all the appearance of thoroughness, yet we are a little puzzled over the account of New England Presby- terianism. The casual reader would suppose that New England was founded by Presbyterians, but that there was some subtle influence called Con- gregationalism, which had the effect to shorten the chapter in Dr. Briggss history. New Light on Mormonism, by Mrs. Ellen E. Dickinson, with an introduction by Thurlow Weed. (Funk & Wag- nalls.) Mrs. Dickinsons new light is thrown chiefly upon the origin of the sect, and especially on the invention of the Book of Mormon. The third volume of Tames The French Revolution has been published. The translation is by John Do- rand. (bit.) Russia Under the Tzars, by Step- niak (Scribners Sons), gives a lurid picture of Russian despotism. Like Underground Russia, the work is a series of detached studies. Biography. The latest volume in the Ameri- can Statesmen Series is Samuel Adams, by J. K. Hosmner. (Iloughton.) Mr. Hosmer has the first requisite of a biographer, hearty interest in his subject; and he has given Adams his place, which is not on a pedestal, but on the pavement, with much skill and animation. The town meeting, as a political force, is well understood and de- scribed; but the most serviceable part of Mr. Hosmers work is his individualizing of this man of the town meeting, always awake, though others might want to sleep; always at work, though others might be tired. We are not so sure that he has clearly defined the limitations of Adamss political thou0ht. In the Men of Letters Series (Houghton), the latest number is Nathaniel Parker Willis, by henry A. Beers. Barring a tendency to imitate his subjects jauntiness, Mr. Beers has written with a clear sense of Williss light weight. lie has been commendably patient and thorough in his sifting of material, and since Willis was the best representative of one phase of our literary history, it is a satisfaction to have so clean and complete a picture of the man and his surroundings. In taking account of Williss char. acter, however, has Mr. Beers sufficiently consid- ered the self-indulgence which enfeebled a writer who might have been light without being weak? A man who is indifferent to his pecuniary obliga- tions is not the one to have the most sensitive lit erarv conscience. Louis Pasteur, His Life and Labors, by his son-in-law. Translated from the French by Lady Claud Hamilton. (Appleton.) The French title of this work was felicitous: His- toire dua Savant, par use Ignorant, and describes the attitude taken by the author. He might not like to be called vie Ignorant by any one but himself, but he intends to say that he writes for ~he average reader concerning the work of a most interesting man of science, translating the techni- cal phrases which Pasteur would use in addressing his colleagues, and omitting whatever is too ab- struse for the laity. The author is plainly the heros son-in-law, and not his valet. Chinese Gordon, the Uncrowned King; his character as it is portrayed in his private letters. Compiled by Laura C. Holloway. (Funk & Wagualls.) A mo- saic which cannot help giving some hints of Gor- dons character, in more ways than the compiler supposes. Henry Irving, by William Winter (Geo. J. Coombes), is a collection of critical arti- cles which originally appeared in the columns of the N. Y. Tribune. It is seldom that dramatic criticism gets the chance, or deserves the chance, to repeat itself as literature. Though the reader may not always accept Mr. Winters point of view, and so fail at times to share his enthusi- acm, the impression will remain that these essays were welt worth preserving in book-form. For instance, it would have been a pity to have such charming and thoughtful chapters as The Golden Age of Acting and The Influence of the Stage lost in the oblivion of yesterdays newspaper. The woodcut portraits of Mr. Irving and Miss Terry narrowly miss being very poor. Philosophy and Religiass. Dr. McCoshs Phil- osophic Series (Scribners) has advanced to its eighth number: Herbert Spencers Philosophy as culminated in his Ethics. By this short cut one may at once know what Mr. Spencer maintains, and also how idle his speculation is. The Na- ture and Reality of Religion ; a controversy be- tween Frederic Harrison and Herbert Spencer. (Appleton). In this philosophical duel, each corn- batamet blazes away after he has been killed. Sermons by Bishop Matthew Simpson, of the Methodist Episcopal church. Edited from short band reports, by Geo. R. Crooks. (Harpers.) Bishop Simpson was a great orator ; lee was also a man of great administrative power. He was probably more like John Wesley thase any of that founders successors. These qualities are sug- gested by this volume, rallier than directly ex- pressed in it. The vitality of the sermons was so much in the man, that one feels at once time need of the human voice; vet the man was so subordi- nated to his work that a book could fairly set him forth, and these sermons, direct, large-minded, impatient of petty considerations, disclose some timing of the secret of the bishops power. The Protestant Faith, or Salvation by Belief; an Essay upon the errors of the Protestant Church: by Dwi~ht Hinckley Olmstead (Putnams) : a not very forcible tractate against the error which makes intellectual belief the basis of religion. Mr. Olmsteads reasoning is too restricted to reach very important results. An inquiry into the bases of Protestantism would disclose more fun- damental truths. Travel and Nature. Life and Travel in India: being recollections of a journey before the days of railroads, by Anna Harriette Leonowens. (Porter & Coates.~ The author, well-known by ber work on Siam, has thrown into this record of travel a good deal of personality, and evidently takes more interest in the persons of India than in the antiqul-. 142 [July, Books of the Month. ties or natural scenes. It is odd that she should describe the feats of jugglers without apparently having her own curiosity so far aroused as to venture on any explanation. Home Studies in Nature, by Mary Treat (Harpers): A very unpre- tentious and agreeable record of observations, by a patient observer, among birds, insects, and plants. We welcome such books, not only on their own account, but because they constitute a rational corrective to a too analytical and, so to speak, in- humane study of nature. Boots and Saddles, or Life in Dakota with General Custer, by Elizabeth B. Custer (Harpers): a lively, fresh narrative of domestic life in the cavalry service, and when one considers what that domestic life must have been, one readily sees that Mrs. Custers hook has plenty of adventure in it. It is possessed by a refresh- ingly hearty spirit. The Rescue of Greely, by Commander XV. S. Schlcy arid Professor J. R. Soley (Scribners) : a plain narrative, with all the official documents, and useful maps. The pictures have the general fidelity of photographs, but little artistic value. Fly Rods and Fly Tackle: suggestions as to their manufacture and use, by Henry P. Wells (Harpers): a very full and unconventional treatise, based on per- sonal experience, and enlivened by accounts of personal adventures. In a Trip to Hawaii, pub- lished by the Oceanic Steamship Company of San Francisco, one finds a guide-book of the custom- ary external seductiveness, but the interest in it is increased by discovering that it is written by Charles Warren Stoddard, whose South Sea Idylls formed an agreeable addition to literature a few years ago. It is a guide-book after all, and rather a cheap piece of literature. De Paris k San Francisco, par Lambert de Salute-Croix (Calmnaun L~vv, Paris), is a bright little volumo containing the notes and impressions of an intelligent French- man, who looks at America through rose-colored spectacles, and shares his pleasant experiences with the reader. A traveler of this sort is a rara avis in the United States. Fiction. Fitz James OBriens The Diamond Lens and other stories has been republished in a paper-covered edition. (Scribners.) There is a vividness about OBriens best work which is pretty sure to attract anew successive generations of young readers. The Adventures of Timias Terrystone, by 0. B. Bunce (Appleton), is a novel in autobiographic form, which recalls Sterne by its mannerism, hut bein~ written in the latter part of the nineteenGi century is less broad and less long. It is an amiable little book, by a man who plainly is in love vitls literature and art. Across the Chasm (Scribners) is rather a severe title for a li~ht, agreeable book. It is in effect a study of manners among gentlemen in the North and the South. The author apparently intends to make much of deeper distinction, but forgets her- self and relapses into what is more of a young ladys judgment of men. The hook is, neverthe- less, so graceful in many ways that its timidity and faintness (if touch become almost virtues. Within the Capes, by Howard Pyle (Scribners) is a story rather than a novel, and has a special element of attractiveness in its representation of life, apparently, on the Delaware. The time is the early part of this century, and the scenes are amphibious, half on water and half on land. Pulpit and Easel, by Mary B. Sleight (Crowell), is a serious story which rests for its principal con- cern on the choice of a profession. Shall one be a minister or arm artist ? and if an artist, may he not still be a religious man, and in some subtle way a preacher ? The art of the book is hardly equal to the sermonizing. The Harpers have begun a Handy Series, issued weekly, and con- taining miniature novels like Mignon, or Bootles Baby, by J. S. Winter. In the Franklin Square Library (Harpers) recent numbers are Boulder stone, by William Sime Gerald, by Eleanor C. Price ; Lesters Secret, by Mary Cecil flay; The Shadow of a Crime, by hall Caine; A Week of Passion, by Edward Jenkins; Captain Brand of the Centipede, by H. A. Wise ; and Lazarus in London, by F. W. Robinson. Without a Home, by E. P. Roe (Dodd, Mead & Co.), is published in quarto paper form. The publistiers state : The other works of E. P. Roe are not published in this form, and can be had in the regular l2mo edition only, at $1.50 per volume. We believe the same legend is at the head of Opening of a Chest- nut Burr. Tales from Many Sources (Dodd, Mead & Co.) is a collection of brief tales princi- pally from one source, the English magazines. The first three volumes of the series, which isa very good one, emnbraces stories by Thomas Hardy, F. Anstey, Stevenson, Norris, Charles Reade, William Black, and the auttmor of John Inglesant. Social end Economical Science. The Life of Society ; a General View, by Edmund Woodward Brown. (Putnams.) Mr. Brown treats his subject in a thoughtful manner, but it is his manner rather than his matter which suggests thought. There is a serious consideration of commonplaces, but a failure, we think, to get hold of radical principles. For example, he speaks as if man be- came a social and political being, and does not seem to conceive of him as essentially social and political. It is a little odd also to find a volume mipon society and scarcely a hint of the nation as determining society. Working People and their Employers, by Washington Gladden (Funk & Wagnalls): a volume of sermons in form bmmt con- taining a freer and more candid handling of the theme thsn one germerally finds in sermons. Dr. Gladden has a strong desire to bring the immu- table truths of the gospel to hear upon the prob- lems which especially concern laborers and em- ployers to - day. He has translated Paul into American. Mans Birthright, or the Higher Law of Property, by Edward H. G. Clark. (Putnams.) Mr. Clark, starting with tIme premise that time earth belongs to mankind, and the land of the United States to the people of the United States, proceeds to the conclusion that persons occupymug land are tenants of the people and should pay rent in the formn of an income tax; that the mommey thus col- lected slmould pay all the expenses of governnient~ federal, state, and municipal. The book is in a measure a correction of Mr. Henry Georges doc- trine of the nationalization of land. Pocket Tariff of the United States Customus Duties, by 1885.] 143 144 John G. Wilson (G. W. Sheldon & Co., New York), contains full infurmation arrauged in alphabetical order. It also has full shipping instructious fur importers aud tourists. We are pleased to see that Chinese bombs as fire~crackers have to pay a duty of 100 per cent. A Primer of Tariff Re- form, by David A. XVells (Cassell), like most cat echisms, arranges the answers according to the views of the catechizer. The catethumen is gagged. Society in Loudon, by a foreign res- ident (Harpers), is apparently written to catch some of the breezes which have been blowing So- cietv in Berlin into popularity. It is scarcely so penetrating as that clever work. It is indeed little more than ~a rapid survey of the subject such as a dozen journalists in London might make on demand. Two recent numbers of Questions of the Day (Putmiams) are The Progress of the Working Classes in the last half century, by Robert Giffen, and Defective and Corrupt Legis- lation, the cause and remedy, by Simon Sterne. Alfred F. Sears I)resented to tIme American So- ciety of Civil Engineers an interesting paper on Commercial Cities ; the law of their birth and growth, which has been published in the Transac- tions of the society. He reaches the conclusion Railroads have increased the commercial wealth and machinery, but as yet they have not, and I dare to say they never ~vill, divert trade from the line of direction of natural channels. The third biennimial report of the Bureau of Labor Statistics of Illinois has been issued by the state printer. (H. W. Rokker, Springfield, Illinois.) The little biographies of blacksmiths and other laborers are interesting reading, all the more so, that no names are given. Here is one of No. 41, a laborer, Irish. Earnings of father, $400. Con- dition Family numbers six parents and four children, three boys aged one, two and three, and one girl five years of age. Occupy a house con- taining three rooms, for which they pay a rental of $10 monthly. The parents are intelligeist, and Deem to be setisfted and enjoy l~/e. Being young people, flmey take little interest as yet in labor or- ganizat ons. As the newspapers say, the italics are our own. Humor. Flatland, a Romance of Many Dimen- sions (Roberts), is a diverting skit by some math- ematician, who has amused himself with imagining a world made up wholly of two dimensions, length and breadth. Lyra Bicyclica: sixty poets on the wheel, by Joseph G. Dalton. (E. C. Hodges & Go., Boston.) Parodies and other frivolities which may have amused the writer, and have done him no harm. A reader, however, with choice of tor- ture, might prefer to be broken on another wheel. Gonducf.Oats or Wild Oats ? common-sense for young men, by J. M. Buckley. (Harpers.) The readers presumed by this hook are young men of vague notions about their plans of life. Accord- ingly, a survey is attempted of various professions and occupations from farmer to dentist, and ad- vice is given on the choice to be made, as also upon various other subjects of conduct. The multiplicity EJuly. of sub~e~ts saves the writer from being tedious on any one of them, but the commcn-sense and corn- mnouplace are pretty interchangeable. Words of Advice, for Parents, and Young Men and Women, by a Father. (Cleaves, Macdonald & Co., Boston.) More good-sense: more commonplace. But, after all, is not commonplace safer than paradox? Sci Ce. A Reprint of Annual Reports and other papers on the Geology of the Virginias is the title of a work drawn from the several publications of the late W. B. Rogers. (Appleton.) The reports originally proceeded from the GeoIo~ical Survey of Virginia, and are reprinted in their order of appearance from 1834 to 1841, while later papers appearing as late as 1882 are added. Very inter- esting and complete colored maps and charts ac- company the volume. Professor Rogers was at the head of the survey, and the lapse of time of course does not impair the value of results. The book is in effect a directory to the mineral wealth of the slumbering commonwealth. The Lenape Stone, or the Indian and the Mammoth, byH.C. Mercer. (Putnams.) A boy picked up a stone in the field of a farm in Pennsylvania. He sold it to anotltar boy, and the second found another stone, nine years after the first, which fitted the first find. The Lenape Stone, thus found, contains a rude scratching of a mammoth, as well as some scenes in Indian life. Hence a laborious examnination, much agonizing on time part of scientific experts, and hence this seriomma little monograph, in which all the facts are carefully garnered, amid a whote museum of similar facts brought together for purposes of comparison. Jelly - Fish, Star Fish, and Sea Urchins, being a research on primitive nervous systems, by G. J. Romance, constitutes the forty ninth volume of the International Scientific Series. (Appleton.) The book, besides its uses to the gen- eral seader, appeals to the workimig physiologist. We miss a reference to the nervous prostration of Medusa. Sea-urchins could scarcely be expected to be thus affected. Their business naturally would be to make others nervous. Medicine cad hygiene. How to Drain a House, practical information for householders, by George E. Waring, Jr. (Holt.) Colonel Waring appears as the housewifes ally in her contest with the plumber, by providing her with an intelligible conception of what can and what cannot he done in house drainage. It is a comfort to learn that we really are better off with drains than without, and that the tendency is toward simplicity of am paratus. A. convenient volume, Diet for the Sick, has been prepared by the experienced Mrs. Hen- derson. It is a treatise on the values of foods, their application to special conditions of health and disease, and on the best methods of their prep- aration. Its most practical service will be as a cook-book for the sick room. (Harpers.) The Invalids Tea-Tray, by Susan Anna Brown (J. R. Osgood & Co.), is an attractive and admirably arranged little volume that really supplies a want, which can hardly be said of most new cook- ery-books. Book8 of the M~rntk.

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The Atlantic monthly. / Volume 56, Issue 334 Galaxy, Atlantic Atlantic Monthly Co. Boston August 1885 0056 334
Oliver Wendell Holmes Holmes, Oliver Wendell The New Portfolio 145-157

THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY: VOL. LVI. A UG UST, 18& 5. No. CCCXXXIV. THE NEW PORTFOLIO. XIV. MISS VINCENT S STARTLING DISCOV ERY. THE sober-minded, sensible, well-in- structed Dr. Butts was not a little ex- ercised in mind by the demands made upon his knowledge by his young friend, and for the time being his pupil, Miss Lurida Vincent. I dont wonder they called her The Terror, he said to himself. She is enough to frighten anybody. She has taken down old books from my shelves that I had almost forgotten the backs of, and as to the medical journals, I be- lieve the girl could index them from memory. She is in pursuit of some special point of knowledge, I feel sure, and I cannot doubt what direction she is working in, but her wonderful way of dealing with books amazes me. What marvels those first scholars in the classes of our great universities and colleges are, to be sure! They are not, as a rule, the most distinguished of their class in the long struggle of life. The chances are that the field will beat the favorite over the long race- course. Others will develop a longer stride and more staying power. But what fine gifts those first scholars have received from nature! How dull we writers, famous or obscure, are in the acquisition of knowledge as compared with them! To lead their classmates they must have quick apprehension,. fine memories, thorough control of their mental faculties, strong will, power of concentration, facility of expression, a wonderful equipment of mental facul- ties. I always want to take my hat off to the first scholar of his year. Dr. Butts felt somewhat in the same way as he contemplated The Terror. She surprised him so often with her knowledge that he was ready to receive her without astonishment when she burst in upon him one day with a cry of triumph, Eureka! Eureka! And what have you found, my dear? said the doctor. Lurida was flushed and panting with the excitement of her new discovery. I do believe that I have found the secret of our strange visitors dread of all human intercourse! The seasoned practitioner was not easily thrown off his balance. Wait a minute and get your breath, said the doctor. Are you not a little overstating his peculiarity? It is not quite so bad as that. He keeps a man to serve him, he was civil with the peo- ple at the Old Tavern, he was affable enough, I understand, with the young fellow he pulled out of the water, or Copyright, 1885, by Houenrou, MnvLIu & Co. 146 The New Portfolio. [August, rescued somehow, I dont believe he avoids the whole human race. He does not look as if he hated them, so far as I have remarked his expression. I passed a few words with him when his man was ailing, and found him polite enough. No, I dont believe it is much more than an extreme case of shyness, connected, perhaps, with some congenital or other personal repugnance to which has been given the name of an antipathy. Lurida could hardly keep still while the doctor was speaking. When he fin- ished, she began the account of her dis- cpvery: I do certainly believe I have found an account of his case in an Italian medical journal of about fourteen years ago. I met with a reference which led me to look over a file of the Giorncde #iegli Osp it cdi lying among the old pamphlets in the medical section of the Library. I have made a translation of it, which you must read and then tell me if you do not agree with me in my conclusion. Tell me what your conclusion is, and I will read your paper and see for myself whether I think the evidence justifies the conviction you seem to have reached. Luridas large eyes showed their whole rounds like the two halves of a map of the world, as she said, I believe that JUliaurice Kirkwood is suffering from the effects of the bite of a TARANTULA! The doctor drew a long breath. He remembered in a vague sort of way the stories which used to be told of the ter- rible Apulian spider, but he had con- signed them to the limbo of medical fa- ble where so many fictions have clothed themselves with a local habitation and a name. He looked into the round eyes and wide pupils a little anxiously, as if he feared that she was in a state of un- due excitement, but, true to his profes- sional training, he waited for another symptom, if indeed her mind was in any measure off its balance. I know what you are thinking, Lurida said, but it is not so. I am not mad, most noble Festus. You shall see the evidence and judge for yourself. Read the whole case, you can read my hand almost as if it were print, and tell me if you do not agree with me that this young man is in all proba- bility the same person as the boy de- cribed in the Italian journal. One thing you might say is against the supposition. The young patient is spoken of as Signo- rino ~I... Ch. . . . But you must re- member that ek is pronounced hard in Italian, like k, which letter is wanting in the Italian alphabet; and it is natural enough that the initial of the second name should have got changed in the record to its Italian equivalent. Before inviting the reader to follow the details of this extraordinary case as found in a medical journal, the holder of The Portfolio wishes to be indulged in a few words of explanation, in order that he may not have to apologize for allowing the introduction of a subject which may be thought to belong to the professional student rather than to the readers of these papers. There is a great deal in medical books which it is very unbecoming to bring before the general public, a great deal to repel, to disgust, to alarm, to excite unwhole- some curiosity. It is not the men whose duties have made them familiar with this class of subjects who are most likely to offend by scenes and descriptions which belong to the physicians private library and not to the shelves devoted to polite literature. Goldsmith and even Smollett, both having studied and practised medi- cine, could not by any possibility have outraged all the natural feelings of del- icacy and decency as Swift and Zola have outraged them. But without han- dling doubtful subjects, there are many curious medical experiences which have 1885.] The New Portfolio. 147 interest for every one as extreme illus- trations of ordinary conditions with which all are acquainted. No one can study the now familiar history of clair- voyance profitably who has not learned something of the vagaries of hysteria. No one can read understandingly the lives of Cowper and of Carlyle without having some idea of the influence of hypochondriasis and of dyspepsia upon the disposition and intellect of the sub- jects of these maladies. I need not apol- ogize, therefore, for giving publicity to that part of this narrative which deals with one of the most singular maladies to be found in the records of bodily and mental infirmities. The following is the account of the case as translated by Miss Vincent. For obvious reasons the whole name was not given in the original paper, and for sim- ilar reasons the date of the event and the birthplace of the patient are not precisely indicated here. [Giornale degli Ospitali, Luglin 21, 18.] REMARKABLE CASE OF TARANTISM. The great interest attaching to the very singular and exceptional instance of this rare affection induces us to give a full account of the extraordinary ex- ample of its occurrence in a patient who was the subject of a recent medical con- sultation in this city. Signorino M . . . Ch . . . is the only son of a gentleman travelling in Italy at this time. He is eleven years of age, of sanguine-nervons temperament, light hair, blue eyes, intelligent coun- tenance, well grown, but rather slight in form, to all appearance in good health, but subject to certain peculiar and anom- alous nervous symptoms, of which his father gives this history. Nine years ago, the father informs us, he was travelling in Italy with his wife, this child, and a nurse. They were passing a few days in a country village near the city of Ban, capital of the province of the same name in the di- vision (compartimento) of Apulia. The child was in perfect health and had never been affected by any serious ill- ness. On the 10th of July he was play- ing out in the field near the house where the family was staying when he was heard to scream suddenly and violently. The nurse rushing to him found him in great pain, saying that something had bitten him in one of his feet. A labor- er, one Tommaso, ran up at the moment and perceived in the grass, near where the boy was standing, an enormous spi- der, which he at once recognized as a tarantula. He managed to catch the creature in a large leaf, from which he was afterwards transferred to a wide- mouthed bottle, where he lived without any food for a month or more. The creature was covered with short hairs, and had a pair of nipper-like jaws, with which he could inflict an ugly wound. His body measured about an inch in length, and from the extremity of one of the longest limbs to the other was be- tween two and three inches. Such was the account given by the physician to whom the peasant carried the great spi- der. The boy who had been bitten con- tinued soreaming violently while his stocking was being removed and the foot examined. The place of the bite was easily found and the two marks of the claw-like jaws already showed the effects of the poison, a small livid circle extending around them, with some puffy swelling. The distinguished Dr. Amadei was immediately sent for and applied cups over the wounds in the hope of drawing forth the poison. In vain all his skill and efforts! Soon, ataxic (irregular) nervous symptoms de- clared themselves, and it became plain that the system had been infected by the poison. The symptoms were very much like those of malignant fever, such as distress about the region of the heart, 14~s The New Portfolio. [August, difficulty of breathing, collapse of all the vital powers, threatening immediate death. From these first symptoms the child rallied, but his entire organism had been profoundly affected by the venom circulating through it. His con- stitution has never thrown off the mal- ady resulting from this toxic (poison- ous) agent. The phenomena which have been observed in this young patient cor- respond so nearly with those enumerated in the elaborate essay of the celebrated Baglivi that one might think they had been transcribed from his pages. He is very fond of solitude, of wandering about in churchyards and other lonely places. He was once found hiding in an empty tomb, which had been left open. His aversion to certain colors is remarkable. Generally speak- ing, he prefers bright tints to darker ones, but his likes and dislikes are capricious, and with regard to some colors his anti- pathy amounts to positive horror. Some shades have such an effect upon him that he cannot remain in the room with them, and if he meets any one whose dress has any of that particular color, he will turn away or retreat so as to avoid passing that person. Among these, pur- pie and dark green are the least endur- able. He cannot explain the sensations which these obnoxious colors produce except by saying that it is like the dead- ly feeling from a blow on the epigastri- um (pit of the stomach). About the same season of the year at which the tarantular poisoning took place he is liable to certain nervous seiz- ures, not exactly like fainting or epileps5~, but reminding the physician of those affections: all the other symptoms are aggravated at this time. In other respects than those men- tioned the boy is in good health. He is fond of riding, and has a pony on which he takes a great deal of exercise, which seems to do him more good than any other remedy. The influence of music, to which so much has been attributed by popular be- lief and even by the distinguished Pro- fessor to whom we shall again refer, has not as yet furnished any satisfactory re- sults. If the graver symptoms recur while the patient is under our observa- tion, we propose to make use of an agen- cy discredited by modern skepticism, but deserving of a fair trial as an exception- al remedy for an exceptional disease. The following extracts from the work of the celebrated Italian physician of the last century are given by the writer of the paper in the Giornale in the original Latin, with a translation into Italian, subjoined. Here are the extracts, or rather here is a selection from them, with a translation of them into English. After mentioning the singular aver- sion to certain colors shown by the sub- ject of tarantism, Baglivi writes as fol- lows: Ft si astantes incedant vestibus co colore diffusis, qui Tarantatis ingratus est, necesse est ut ab illorum aspectu rece- dant; nam ad intuitum molesti colori~ angore cordis, et symptomatum recrudes- eantia statim corripiuntur. (G. Bagli- vi, Op. Oninia, page 614. Lugduni, 1745.) That is, if the persons about the pa- tient wear dresses of the color which is offensive to him, he must get away from the sight of them; for on seeing the ob- noxious color he is at once seized with distress in the region of the heart, and a renewal of his symptoms.~ As to the recurrence of the malady. Baglivi says: Dum calor solis ardentius exurere incipit, quod contingit circa initia Julii et Augusti, Tarantati lente venientem re- crudescentiam veneni perczpiunt.. (Ibid, page 619.) Which I render, When the heat of the sun begins to burn more fiercely, which happens about the beginning of July and August, the subjects of Taran 1885.] The New Portfolio. 149 tism perceive the gradually approaching recrudescence (returning symptoms) of the poisoning. Among the remedies most valued by this illustrious physi- cian is that mentioned in the following sentence. Laudo magnopere equitationes in aire rusticano faceas singulis diebus, hora potissimum matutina, quibus equi- tationibus morbos chronicos pene incu- rabiles protinus eliminavi. Or in translation, I commend especially riding on horseback in country air, every day, by preference in the morning hours, by the aid of which horseback riding I have driven off chronic diseases which were alniost incurable. Miss Vincent read this paper aloud to Dr. Butts, and handed it to him to examine and consider. He listened with a grave countenance and devout attention. As she finished reading her account, she exclaimed in the passionate tones of the deepest conviction: There, doctor! Have nt I found the true story of this strange visitor? Have nt I solved the riddle of the sphinx? Who can this man be but the boy of that story? Look at the date of the journal when he was eleven years old; it would make him twenty-five now, and that is just about the age the peo- ple here think he must be of. What could account so entirely for his ways and actions, as that strange poisoning which produces the state they call tar- antism? I am just as sure it must be that as I am that I am alive. Oh, doctor, doctor, I must be right, this Signorino M . . . Oh . .. was the boy Maurice Kirkwood, and the story accounts for everything, his solitary habits, his dread of people, it must be because they wear the colors he cant bear. His morning rides on horseback, his coming here just as the season was approaching which would aggravate all his symp toms, does nt all this prove that I must be right in my conjecture, no, my conviction? The doctor knew too much to inter- rupt the young enthusiast, and so he let her run on until she ran down. He was more used to the rules of evidence than she was, and could not accept her positive conclusion so readily as she would have liked to have him. He knew that beginners are very apt to make what they think are discoveries. But he had been an angler and knew the meaning of a yielding rod and an easy-running reel. He said quietly, You are a most sagacious young lady, and a very pretty prima jhcie case it is that you make out. I can see no proof that Mr. Kirkwood is not the same person as the M... Oh... of the medical journal, that is, if I ac- cept your explanation of the difference in the initials of these two names. Even if there were a difference, that would not disprove their identity, for the initials of patients whose cases are reported by their physicians are often altered for the purpose of concealment. I do not know, however, that Mr. Kirkwood has shown any special aversion to any par- ticular color. It might be interesting to inquire whether it is so, but it is a delicate matter. I dont exactly see whose business it is to investigate Mr. Maurice Kirkwoods idiosyncrasies and constitutional history. If he should have occasion to send for me at any time, he might tell me all about him- self, in confidence, you know. These iild accounts from Baglivi are curious and interesting, but I am cautious about receiving any stories a hundred years old, if they involve an improbability, as his stories about the cure of the tarantula bite by music certainly do. I am disposed to wait for future de- velopments, bearing the very singular case you have unearthed in mind, of course. It would nt be very strange if our young gentleman had to send for 150 The New Portfolio. [August, me before the season is over. He is out a good deal before the dew is off the grass, which is rather risky in this neighborhood as autumn comes on. I am somewhat curious, I confess, about the young man, but I do not meddle where I am not asked for or wanted, and I have found that eggs hatch just as well if you let them alone in the nest, as if you take them out and shake them every day. This is a wonderfully interesting supposition of yours, and may prove to be strictly in accordance with the facts. But I do not think we have all the facts in this young mans case. If it were proved that he had an aversion to any color, it would greatly strengthen your case. His antipatia, as his man called it, must be one which covers a wide ground, to account for his self.isolation, and the color hypothe- sis seems as plausible as any. But, my dear Miss Vincent, I think you had better leave your singular and striking hypothesis in my keeping for a while, rather than let it get abroad in a com- munity like this, where so many tongues are in active exercise. I will carefully study this paper, if you will leave it with me, and we will talk the whole matter over. It is a fair subject for specula- tion, only we must keep quiet about it. This long speech gave Luridas per- fervid brain time to cool off a little. She left the paper with the doctor, tell- ing him she would come for it the next day, and went off to tell the result of this visit to her bosom friend, Miss Eu- thymia Tower. XV. DR. BUTTS CALLS ON EUTHYMIA. The doctor was troubled in thinking over his interview with the young lady. She was fully possessed with the idea that she had discovered the secret which had defied the most sagacious heads of the village. It was of no use to oppose her while her mind was in an excited state. But he felt it his duty to guard her against any possible results of in- discretion into which her eagerness and her theory of the equality, almost the identity, of the sexes might betray her. Too much of the woman in a daughter of our race leads her to forget danger. Too little of the woman prompts her to defy it. Fortunately for this last class of women, they are not quite so likely to be perilously seductive as their more emphatically feminine sisters. Dr. Butts had known Lurida and her friend from the days of their infancy. He had watched the development of Luridas intelligence from its preco- cious nursery-life to the full vigor of its trained faculties. He had looked with admiration on the childish beauty of Euthymia, and seen her grow up to womanhood, every year making her more attractive. He knew that if any- thing was to be done with his self-willed young scholar and friend, it would be more easily effected through the me- dium of Enthymia, than by direct ad- vice to the young lady herself. So the thoughtful doctor made up his mind to have a good talk with Euthymia, and put her on her guard, if Lurida showcd any tendency to forget the convention- alities in her eager pursuit of knowl- edge. For the doctors horse and chaise to stop at the door of Miss Euthymia. Towers parental home was an event strange enough to set all the tongues in the village going. This was one of those families where illness was hardly looked for among the possibilities of life. There were other families where a call from the doctor was hardly more thought of than a call from the baker. But here he was a stranger, at least on his professional rounds, and when he asked for Miss Euthymia, the servant, who knew his face well, stared as if he had held in his hand a warrant for her apprehension. 1885.] The New Portfolio. 151 Euthymia did not keep the doctor waiting very long while she made ready to meet him. One look at her glass to make sure that a lock had not run as- tray, or a ribbon got out of place, and her toilet for a morning call was finished. Perhaps if Mr. Maurice Kirkwood had been announced, she might have taken a second look, but with the good middle- aged, married doctor, one was enough for a young lady who had the gift of making all the dresses she wore look well, and had no occasion to treat her chamber like the laboratory where an actress compounds herself. Euthymia welcomed the doctor very heartily. She could not help suspect- ing his errand, and she was very glad to have a chance to talk over her friends schemes and fancies with him. The doctor began without any round- about prelude. I want to confer with you about our friend Lurida. Does she tell you all her plans and projects? Why, as to that, doctor, I can hard- ly say, positively, but I do not believe she keeps back anything of importance from me. I know what she has been busy with lately, and the queer idea she has got into her head. What do you think of the Tarantula business? She has shown you the paper she has written, I suppose. Indeed she has. It is a very curi- ous case she has got hold of, and I do not wonder at all that she should have felt convinced that she had come at the true solution of the village riddle. It may be that this young man is the same person as the boy mentioned in the Ital- ian medical journal. But it is very far from clear that he is so. You know all her reasons, of course, as you have read the story. The times seem to agree well enough. It is easy to con- ceive that Oh might be substituted for K in the report. The singular solitary habits of this young man entirely coin- cide with the story. If we could only find out whether he has any of these feelings with reference to certain colors, we might guess with more chance of~ guessing right than we have at present. But I dont see exactly how we are going to submit him to examination on this point. If he were only a chemical compound, we could analyze him. If he were only a bird or a quadruped, we could find out his likes and dislikes. But being, as he is, a young man, with ways of his own, and a will of his own, which he may not choose to have interfered with, the problem becomes more com- plicated. I hear that a newspaper cor- respondent has visited him so as to make a report to his paper, do you know what he found out? Certainly I do, very well. My brother has heard his own story, which was this: He found out he had got hold of the wrong person to interview. The young gentleman, he says, interviewed kim, so that he did not learn much about the sphinx. But the newspaper man told Willy about the sphinxs library and a cabinet of coins he had; and said he should make an article out of him, anyhow. I wish the man would take himself off. I am afraid Luridas love of knowledge will get her into trou- ble! Wisicit of the men do you wish would take himself off? I was thinking of the newspaper man. She blushed a little as she said, I cant help feeling a strange sort of in- terest about the other, Mr. Kirkwood. Do you know that I met him this morn- ing, and had a good look at him, full in the face? Well, to be sure! That was an in- teresting experience. And how did you like his looks? I thought his face a very remark- able one. But he looked very pale as he passed me, and I noticed that he put his hand to his left side as if he had a twinge of pain, or something of that 152 The New Portfolio. [August, sort, spasm or neuralgia, I dont know what. I wondered whether he had what you call angina pectoris. It was the same kind of look and movement I remember, as you must, too, in my uncle who died with that complaint. The doctor was silent for a moment. Then he asked, Were you dressed as you are now? Yes, I was, except that I had a thin mantle over my shoulders. I was out early, and I have always remembered your caution. What color was your mantle? It was black. I have been over all this with Lurida. A black mantle on a white dress. A straw hat with an old faded ribbon. There cant be much in those colors to trouble him, I should think, for his man wears a black coat and white linen, more or less white, as you must have noticed, and he must have seen ribbons of all colors often enough. But Lurida believes it was the ribbon, or something in the combination of colors. Her head is full of Taran- tulas and Tarantism. I fear that she will never be easy until the question is settled by actual trial. And will you believe it? the girl is determined in some way to test her supposition! Believe it, Euthymia! I can be. lieve almost anything of Lurida. She is the most irrepressible creature I ever knew. You know as well as I do what a complete possession any ruling idea takes of her whole nature. I have had some fears lest her zeal might run away with her discretion. It is a great deal easier to get into a false position than to get out of it. I know it well enough. I want you to tell me what you think about the whole business. I dont like the look of it at all, and yet I can do nothing with the girl except let her follow her fancy, until I can show her plainly that she will get herself into trouble in some way or other. But she is ingenious, full of all sorts of devices, innocent enough in themselves, but liable to be misconstrued. You remember how she won us the boat-race? To be sure I do. It was rather sharp practice, but she felt she was paying off an old score. The classical story of Atalanta, told, like that of Eve, as illus- trating the weakness of woman, pro- voked her to make trial of the powers of resistance in the other sex. But it was audacious. I hope her audacity will not go too far. You must watch her. Keep an eye on her correspondence. The doctor had great confidence in the good sense of Lnridas friend. He felt sure that she would not let Lurida commit herself by writing foolish letters to the subject of her speculations, or similar indiscreet performances. The boldness of young girls, who think no evil, in opening correspondence with idealized personages is something quite astonishing to those who have had an opportunity of knowing the facts. Lu- rida had passed the most dangerous age, but her theory of the equality of the sexes made her indifferent to the by- laws of social usage. She required watch. ing, and her two guardians were ready to check her, in case of need. XVI. MISS VINCENT WRITES A LETTER. Euthymia noticed that her friend had been very much preoccupied for two or three days. She found her more than once busy at her desk, with a manu- script before her, which she turned over and placed inside the desk, as Euthymia entered. This desire of concealment was not what either of the friends expected to see in the other. It showed that some project was under way, which, at least in its present stage, the Machiavellian young lady did not wish to disclose. It had cost her a good deal of thought and 1885.] The New Portfolio. 153 care, apparently, for her waste-basket was full of scraps of paper, which looked as if they were the remains of a man- uscript like that at which she was at work. Copying and recopying, prob- ably, thought Euthymia, but she was willing to wait to learn what Lurida was busy about, though she had a suspicion that it was something in which she might feel called upon to interest herself. Do you know what I think? said Euthymia to the doctor, meeting him as he left his door. I believe Lurida is writing to this man, and I dont like the thought of her doing such a thing. Of course she is not like other girls in many respects, but other people will judge her by the common rules of life. I am glad that you spoke of it, an- swered the doctor; she would write to him just as quickly as to any womau of his age. Besides, under the cover of her office, she has got into the way of writing to anybody. I think she has already written to Mr. Kirkwood, ask- ing him to contribute a paper for the Society. She can find a pretext easily enough if she has made up her mind to write. In fact, I doubt if she would trouble herself for any pretext at all if she decided to write. Watch her well. Dont let any letter go without seeing it, if you can help it. Young women are much given to writing letters to persons whom they only know indirectly, for the most part through their books, and especially to romancers and poets. Nothing can be more innocent and simple-hearted than most of these letters. They are the spontaneous outflow of young hearts easily excited to gratitude for the pleas- ure which some story or poem has given them, and recognizing their own thoughts, their own feelings, in those expressed by the author, as if on purpose for them to read. Undoubtedly they give great relief to solitary young persons, who must have some ideal reflection of them- selves, and know not where to look since protestantism has taken away the cruci- fix and the Madonna. The recipient of these letters sometimes wonders, after reading through one of them, how it is that his young correspondent has man- aged to fill so much space with her simple message of admiration or of sym- pathy. Lurida did not belong to this particu- lar class of correspondents, but she could not resist the law of her sex, whose thoughts naturally surround themselves with superabundant drapery of language, as their persons float in a wide super- fluity of woven tissues. Was she in- deed writing to this unknown gentle- man? Euthymia questioned her point- blank. Are you going to open a correspon- dence with Mr. Maurice Kirkwood, Lurida? You seem to be so busy writ- ing, I can think of nothing else. Or are you going to write a novel, or a pa- per for the Society, do tell me what you are so much taken up with. I will tell you, Euthymia, if you will promise not to find fault with me for carrying out my plan as I have made up my mind to do. You may read this letter before I seal it, and if you find anything in it you dont like, you can suggest any change that you think will improve it. I hope you will see that it explains itself. I dont be- lieve that you will find anything to frighten you in it. This is the letter, as submitted to Miss Tower by her friend. The bold handwriting made it look like a mans letter, and gave it consequently a less dangerous expression than that which belongs to the tinted and often fragrant sheet with its delicate thready charac- ters, which slant across the page like an April shower with a south wind chas- ing it. ARROWHEAD VILLAGE, August , 18. Mv DEAR SIR, You will doubt- less be surprised at the sight of a letter 154 The New Portfolio. [August, like this from one whom you only know as the Secretary of the Pansophian Society. There is a very common feel- ing that it is unbecoming in one of my sex to address one of your own with whom she is unacquainted, unless she has some special claim upon his atten- tion. I am by no means disposed to concede to the vulgar prejudice on this point. If one human being has any- thing to communicate to another, any- thing which deserves being communi- cated, I see no occasion for bringing in the question of sex. I do not think the komo sum of Terence can be claimed for the male sex as its private property on general any more than on grammati- cal grounds. I have sometimes thought of devoting myself to the noble art of healing. If I did so, it would be with the fixed pur- pose of giving my whole powers to the service of humanity. And if I should carry out that idea, should I refuse my care and skill to a suffering fellow-mor- tal because that mortal happened to be a brother, and not a sister? My whole nature protests against such one-sided humanity! iNo! I am blind to all dis- tinctions when my eyes are opened to any form of suffering, to any spectacle of want. You may ask me why I address you, whom I know little or nothing of, and to whom such an advance may seem pre- sumptuous and intrusive. It is because I was deeply impressed by the paper which I attributed to you, that on Ocean, River, and Lake, which was read at one of our meetings. I say that I was deeply impressed, hut I do not mean this as a compliment to that paper. I am not bandying compliments now, but thinking of better things than praises or phrases. I was interested in the paper, partly because I recognized some of the feelings expressed in it as my own, partly because there was an undertone of sadness in all the voices of nature as you echoed them which made me sad to hear, and which I could not help long- ing to cheer and enliven. I said to my- self, I should like to hold communion with the writer of that paper. I have had my lonely hours and days, as he has had. I have had some of his expe- riences in my intercourse with nature. And oh! if I could draw him into those better human relations which await us all, if we come with the right disposi- tions, I should blush if I stopped to in- quire whether I violated any conven- tional rule or not. You will understand me, I feel sure. You believe, do you not? in the insig- nificance of the barrier which divides the sisterhood from the brotherhood of mal)kind. You believe, do you not? that they should be educated side by side, that they should share the same pursuits, due regard being had to the fitness of the particular individual for hard or light work, as it must always be, whether we are dealing with the stronger or the weaker sex. I mark these words because, notwithstand- ing their common use, they involve so much that is not true. Stronger! Yes, to lift a barrel of flour, or a barrel of cider, though there have been women who could do that, and though when John Wesley was mobbed in Stafford- shire a woman knocked down three or four men, one after another, until she was at last overpowered and nearly murdered. Talk about the weaker sex! Go and see Miss Euthymia Tower at the gymnasium! But 110 matter about which sex has the strongest muscles. Which has most to suffer, and which has most endurance and vitality? We go through many ordeals which you are spared, but we outlast you in mind and body. I have been led away into one of my accustomed trains of thought, but not so far away from it as you might at first suppose. My brother! Are you not ready to recognize in me a friend, an equal, a sister, who can speak to you as if she 1885.] The New Portfolio. 155 had been reared under the same roof? And is not the sky that covers us one roof, which makes us all one family? You are lonely, you must be longing for some human fellowship. Take me into your confidence. What is there that you can tell me to which I cannot respond with sympathy? Whaf saddest note in your spiritual dirges which will not find its chord in mine? I long to know what influence has cast its shadow over your existence. I myself have known what it is to carry a brain that never rests in a body that is always tired. I have defied its in- firmities, and forced it to do my bidding. You have no such hindrance, if we may judge by your aspect and habits. You deal with horses like a Homeric hero. No wild Indian could handle his bark canoe more dexterously or more vigor- ously than we have seen you handling yours. There must be some reason for your seclusion which curiosity has not reached, and into which it is not the province of curiosity to inquire. But in the irresistible desire which I have to bring you into kindly relations with those around you, I must run the risk of giving offence that I may know in what direction to look for those restora- tive influences which the sympathy of a friend and sister can offer to a brother in need of some kindly impulse to change the course of a life which is not, which cannot be, in accordance with his true nature. I have thought that there may be something in the conditions with which you are here surrounded which is re- pugnant to your feelings, something which can be avoided only by keeping yourself apart from the people whose acquaintance you would naturally have formed. There can hardly be anything in the place itself, or you would not have voluntarily sought it as a residence, even for a single season. There might be individuals here whom you would not care to meet, there must be such, but you cannot have a personal aversion to everybody. I have heard of cases in which certain sights and sounds, which have no particular significance for most persons, produced feelings of distress or aversion that made them unbearable to the subjects of the constitutional dislike. It has occurred to me that possibly you might have some such natural aversion to the sounds of the street, or such as are heard in most houses, especially where a piano is kept, as it is in fact in almost all of those in the village. Or it might be, I imagined, that some color in the dresses of women or the furniture of our rooms affected you unpleasantly. I know that instances of such antipathy have been recorded, and they would ac- count for the seclusion of those who are subject to it. if there is any removable condition which interferes with your free entrance into and enjoyment of the social life around you, tell me, I beg of you, tell me what it is, and it shall be eliminated. Think it not strange, 0 my brother, that I thus venture to introduce myself into the hidden chambers of your life~ I will never suffer myself to be fright- ened from the carrying out of any thought which promises to be of use to a fellow-mortal by a fear lest it should be considered unfeminine. I can bear to be considered unfeminine, but I cannot endure to think of myself as in- human. Can I help you, my brother? Believe me your most sincere well wisher, LURIDA VINCENT. Euthymia had carried off this letter and read it by herself. As she finished it, her feelings found expression in an old phrase of her grandmothers, which came up of itself, as such survivals of early days are apt to do, on great occa- sions. Well, I never! Then she loosened some button or string that was too tight and went to the window for a breath of out-door air. 156 The New Portfolio. [August, Then she began at the beginning and read the whole letter all over again. What should she do about it? She could not let this young girl send a let- ter like that to a stranger of whose character little was known except by in- ference, to a young man, who would consider it a most extraordinary ad- vance on the part of the sender. She would have liked to tear it into a thou- sand pieces, but she had no right to treat it in that way. Lurida meant to send it the next morning, and in the mean time Euthymia had the night to think over what she should do about it. There is nothing like the pillow for an oracle. There is no voice like that which breaks the silence of the stagnant hours of the night with its sudden sug- gestions and luminous counsels. When Enthymia awoke in the morning, her course of action was as clear before her as if it had been dictated by her guardian angel. She went straight over to the home of Lurida, who was just dressed for breakfast. She was naturally a little surprised at this early visit. She was struck with the excited look of Euthymia, being her- self quite calm, and contemplating her project with entire complacency. Euthymia began, in tones that ex- pressed deep anxiety. I have read your letter, my dear, and admired its spirit and force. It is a fine letter, and does you great credit as an expression of the truest human feeling. But it must not be sent to Mr. Kirkwood. If you were sixty years old, perhaps if you were fifty, it might be admissible to send it. But if you were forty, I should question its pro- priety; if you were thirty, I should veto it, and you are but a little more than twenty. How do you know that this stranger will not show your letter to anybody or everybody? How do you know that he will not send it to one of the gossiping journals like the House- hold Inquisitor? But supposing he keeps it to himself, which is more than you have a right to expect, what opinion is he likely to form of a young lady who invades his privacy with such free- dom? Ten to one he will think curios- ity is at the bottom of it, and, come, dont be angry at me for suggesting it, may there not be a little of that same motive mingled with the others? No, dont interrupt me quite yet, you do want to know whether your hypothesis is correct. You are full of the best and kindest feelings in the world, but your desire for knowledge is the ferment un- der them just now, perhaps more than you know. Luridas pale cheeks flushed and whitened more than once while her friend was speaking. She loved her too sincerely and respected her intelli- gence too much to take offence at her advice, but she could not give up her humane and sisterly intentions merely from the fear of some awkward conse- quences to herself. She had persuaded herself that she was playing the part of a Protestant sister of charity, and that the fact of her not wearing the costume of these ministering angels made no difference in her relations to those who needed her aid. I cannot see your objections in the light in which they appear to you, she said gravely. It seems to me that I give up everything when I hesitate to help a fellow-creature because I am a woman. I am not afraid to send this letter and take all the consequences.~~ Will you go with me to the doctors, and let him read it in our presence? And will you agree to abide by his opinion, if it coincides with mine? Lurida winced a little at this pro- posal. I dont quite like, she said, showing this letter to to she hesitated, but it had to come out to a man, that is, to another man than the one for whom it was intended. The neuter gender business had got a pretty damaging side-hit. 1885.] The Port Royal of M~ire Angdlique. Well, never mind about letting him read the letter. Will you go over to his house with me at noon, when he comes back after his morning visits, and have a talk over the whole matter with him? You know I have sometimes had to say must to you, Lurida, and now I say you must go to the doctors with me and carry that letter. There was no resisting the potent monosyllable as the sweet but firm voice delivered it. At noon the two maidens rang at the doctors door. The servant said he had been at the house after his 157 morning visits, but found a hasty sum- mons to Mr Kirkwood, who had been taken suddenly ill and wished to see him at once. Was the illness dangerous? The servant - maid did nt know, but thought it was pretty bad, for Mr. Paul came in as white as a sheet, and talked all sorts of languages which she could nt understand, and took on as if he thought Mr. Kirkwood was going to die right off. And so the hazardous question about sending the letter was disposed of, at least for the present. Oliver Wendell Holmes. THE PORT ROYAL OF MARE ANG~LIQUE. Qui ne connait pas Port Royal, ne connait pas lhumanit~. ROYRE-COLLARD. FRENCH Protestantism in the six- teenth century, according to Sainte- Beuve, was the work of the aristocracy, or at least of the gentry. Port Royal was the religious expression of the best part of the middle classes in France. In 1599, the last year of the sixteenth century, littlQ Jacqueline Arnauld, a child of seven, was appointed coadjutrix to the lady-abbess of Port Royal, while her sister Jeanne, two years younger, was made abbess of the neighboring convent of Saint Cyr. Antoine Ar- nauld, father of these childen, and of a numerous progeny besides, was an emi- nent lawyer of Huguenot descent; and their grandfather, M. Marion, advocate- general of Henry IV., was a favorite of that monarch, who was not very strict, as we know, in his ideas about abbeys and sacraments. He probably consid- ered this a legitimate and honorable method of providing for the younger daughters of his friends. The Popes bull, however, confirming these ap- pointments was not forthcoming. An- toine Arnauld had made a great repu tation by a famous plea against the Jesuits, instrumental in procuring their recent expulsion. His courageous elo- quence had won from the University of France an official expression of ever- lasting gratitude, but it had also secured to him the undying hatred of the Or- der, and of its friends at court. Every- thing went on as if the confirmation had been issued in due form. Little Jeanne went to Saint Cyr to perform her du- ties by proxy, and Jacqueline was sent away from home to a convent, to be trained for her new responsibilities, and to be initiated into her religious life. The choice of abode was a strange one, for she was sent to Maubuisson. Midway between Creil and Paris, on the Chemin du fer du Nord, near the station of Saint-Ouen-lAum6ne, where you change cars for Dieppe, rise the ruins of this stately abbey, founded by Blanche, mother of Saint Louis. Here Jacqueline dwelt for two years, under the care and guidance of Madame An- g~lique dEstrdes, Abbess of Maubuisson and Bertaumont, the unworthy sister of the far-famed Gabrielle. At first, Ma- dame dEstr4es had only presided over

Moria Ellery MacKaye MacKaye, Moria Ellery The Port Royal of Mere Angelique 157-177

1885.] The Port Royal of M~ire Angdlique. Well, never mind about letting him read the letter. Will you go over to his house with me at noon, when he comes back after his morning visits, and have a talk over the whole matter with him? You know I have sometimes had to say must to you, Lurida, and now I say you must go to the doctors with me and carry that letter. There was no resisting the potent monosyllable as the sweet but firm voice delivered it. At noon the two maidens rang at the doctors door. The servant said he had been at the house after his 157 morning visits, but found a hasty sum- mons to Mr Kirkwood, who had been taken suddenly ill and wished to see him at once. Was the illness dangerous? The servant - maid did nt know, but thought it was pretty bad, for Mr. Paul came in as white as a sheet, and talked all sorts of languages which she could nt understand, and took on as if he thought Mr. Kirkwood was going to die right off. And so the hazardous question about sending the letter was disposed of, at least for the present. Oliver Wendell Holmes. THE PORT ROYAL OF MARE ANG~LIQUE. Qui ne connait pas Port Royal, ne connait pas lhumanit~. ROYRE-COLLARD. FRENCH Protestantism in the six- teenth century, according to Sainte- Beuve, was the work of the aristocracy, or at least of the gentry. Port Royal was the religious expression of the best part of the middle classes in France. In 1599, the last year of the sixteenth century, littlQ Jacqueline Arnauld, a child of seven, was appointed coadjutrix to the lady-abbess of Port Royal, while her sister Jeanne, two years younger, was made abbess of the neighboring convent of Saint Cyr. Antoine Ar- nauld, father of these childen, and of a numerous progeny besides, was an emi- nent lawyer of Huguenot descent; and their grandfather, M. Marion, advocate- general of Henry IV., was a favorite of that monarch, who was not very strict, as we know, in his ideas about abbeys and sacraments. He probably consid- ered this a legitimate and honorable method of providing for the younger daughters of his friends. The Popes bull, however, confirming these ap- pointments was not forthcoming. An- toine Arnauld had made a great repu tation by a famous plea against the Jesuits, instrumental in procuring their recent expulsion. His courageous elo- quence had won from the University of France an official expression of ever- lasting gratitude, but it had also secured to him the undying hatred of the Or- der, and of its friends at court. Every- thing went on as if the confirmation had been issued in due form. Little Jeanne went to Saint Cyr to perform her du- ties by proxy, and Jacqueline was sent away from home to a convent, to be trained for her new responsibilities, and to be initiated into her religious life. The choice of abode was a strange one, for she was sent to Maubuisson. Midway between Creil and Paris, on the Chemin du fer du Nord, near the station of Saint-Ouen-lAum6ne, where you change cars for Dieppe, rise the ruins of this stately abbey, founded by Blanche, mother of Saint Louis. Here Jacqueline dwelt for two years, under the care and guidance of Madame An- g~lique dEstrdes, Abbess of Maubuisson and Bertaumont, the unworthy sister of the far-famed Gabrielle. At first, Ma- dame dEstr4es had only presided over 158 The Port Royal of Mire Ang6lique. [August, the Abbey of Bertaumont, near Ami- ens, where Henry IV. was a frequent visitor. It is said that Gabrielle com- plained of being banished so far from Paris, and begged her royal lover to give her sister charge of some other convent not so remote. So the abbess of Maubuisson was notified that another would be appointed in her stead, and the king signified his wishes, convoked the chapter in person, and installed Madame Angilique and her fair sister in their new domain. Thus, in the shadow of the royal amours, and under the influence of such a woman, Jacque- line passed two years of her childhood and received her first impressions of convent life. Once, during this period, she accompanied the abbess on a visit to Maubuisson, was confirmed there, and took Madame dEstmies own name, An- g4lique. The old abbess of Port Royal had just died, and a new nomination was to be sent to Rome, no longer of Jacqueline Arnauld, as coadjutrix, but of Angilique Arnauld, as abbess, and her age was stated as seventeen, when, in fact, she was hardly nine years old. Even then, difficulties were made, and, only after a great deal of adroit diplo- macy in support of the falsehood, the Popes consent was obtained, and the bull issued, investing Ang6lique with the dignity of the abbess of the monas- tery of Port Royal, where she now took up her abode, after being regularly installed in presence of an august as- semblage. The abbey of Port Royal des Champs, about eighteen miles to the west of Paris, lies in a narrow valley, com- pletely shut in by wooded hills. It was founded in the year 1204, by Eudes de Sully, Bishop of Paris, and Mathilde de Garlande, who had made a vow for the salvation and safe return of her hus- band, a crusader with Foulques de Nen- illy. The name is said to come from the low Latin word borra or porra, sig- nifying a hole full of brambles and stag- nant water, only too descriptive of the original state of the valley. Twelve years after its foundation it was called Portu - Regio, thus sanctioning the legend of Philip-Augustus, who, having lost his way in the chase, took refuge in a little chapel dedicated to Saint Lau- rence on this spot, and founded the ab- bey in grateful recognition of the shel- ter afforded, thence called Port Royal. So says tradition, but historical records do not confirm the story. The convent belonged to the Order of Saint Bernard; but some of the first nuns were Benedictines, and they were under the supervision of the monks of Citeaux, at the neighboring convent of Vaux de Cernai, now a picturesque and imposing ruin, belonging to Madame Nathaniel Rothschild. Vaux de Cer- nai was founded in 1128, by Simon de Montfort, also a patron and benefactor of Port Royal. Thibaut, grandson of Mathilde de Garlande, became the ab- bot of Vaux de Cernai, and evidently regarded with great favor the convent near by, founded by his grandmother. During the visits he made to Port Royal as superior, he inhabited a small, detached building near the porters lodge that ever after went by his name. Four hundred years had passed away since Mathilde de Garlande kept her pious vow, when the child abbess came into possession of her new domain, no longer a stagnant fen, but a fair and fertile valley, embosoming a goodly con- vent. The rule had been very much relaxed, as was generally the case at that period, and more or less disorder prevailed, though the epitaph of the old abbess, who had lately died, recorded that she had not neglected her con- vent, and had fed her nuns well. At the time of the accession of M~re An- g6lique, the confessor was an ignorant old monk, who did not understand his Pater, could not say one word of the catechism, and never opened a book but his breviary. There had been no 1885.] The Port Royal of Akre Ang6lique. preaching at Port Royal for the last thirty years, except on the rare occa- sions when a nun took the veil. They went to communion once a month and on high feast days, always excepting that of the purification, that came in carnival time when all the house was in confusion, and the confessor and the nuns had as much as they could do to prepare for masquerades. The sisters followed the fashion of wearing masks and gloves to preserve their complex- ions. There were only thirteen nuns in all, and the eldest, thirty-three years old, was soon sent away by Madame Arnauld for unseemly conduct. The young abbess led a regular life and conducted all the services, beginning with the matins at four oclock. The rest of the time she played or ram- bled about the place, attending particu- larly to one of the regulations that di- rected the lady abbess to take the com- munity to walk after vespers. Rainy days she read romances, or the history of Rome, by way of recreation. The prioress attended to all the material wants of the house. There was not much luxury, for they were not rich and the servants were wasteful, hut there was a great deal of liberty in private expenditure, and some of the nuns had their own furniture and silver service. The Arnauld family exercised a vigilant oversight, Madame Arnauld, especially, often arriving from Paris unexpectedly; but all was quiet and orderly, and the general of the Order, on his annual visit of inspection, pronounced everything satisfactory, and increased the number of nuns to sixteen. One day Henry IV., hunting in the neighborhood, called at the abbey to see Antoine Ar- nauld, Ang6liques father, then on a visit to the convent, during the parlia- mentary recess. The youthful abbess went out in great state at the head of all her nuns, to meet the king. She was mounted for the occasion on high- heeled overshoes, and the king compli 159 mented her on being tall for her age. He promised to come back and dine the next day, but the hunt taking him in another direction, he sent his excuses in due form, and then shouted as he passed close under the walls, on horseback: The king kisses the hands of the lady abbess. This was his first and last visit to Port Royal; little else oc- curred to break the monotony, and after five long years Ang~lique grew weary of a life that began to inspire her with disgust. She confided in no one, how- ever, and when people suggested that she was not bound by vows made when she was a minor, she never appeared to entertain the idea, and discouraged such remarks. She began, however, to make and receive visits, proceedings that in- terfered with the regularity of convent life, and displeased her mother, who did not spare remonstrances and exhor- tations. Ang6lique saw at last that she must submit to the rule, or else afflict her parents and do discredit to her posi- tion. She gave up her excursions and tried for a time to console herself by reading Plutarchs Lives, and other pro- fane books; but, in spite of this diver- sion, her life grew so intolerable that she meditated escape, dreamed of marriage, and seriously planned taking refuge with her Huguenot aunts at La Rochelle. On the eve of carrying out this design, she fell ill, probably from nervous ex- citement, and was taken home on a litter. She was tenderly cared for in her fathers house in Paris, and, on her recovery, the affectionate child had lost the courage to distress those who loved her by such a scandal. It is possible that in her delirium she may have be- trayed her secret; at all events, one day, soon after her recovery, her father sur- prised her by suddenly presenting an illegibly written page, laying it before her, and saying in a peremptory tone: Sign this, my daughter, there, in that place, pointing out the spot for the signature. One glance convinced her 160 The Port Royal of lFIJre Ang6lique. [August, that it was a confirmation of her vows, but she did not dare to resist, and wrote her name, ready to die with shame and anger, as she said afterwards. Dis- heartened and humiliated by this trick, still feeble from severe and prolonged illness, she returned disconsolately to Port Royal and the hated convent-life; but the glad welcome of the nuns, who had feared to lose her, made her a little more reconciled to what she began to regard as an inevitable fate. During the following Lent, wanting a book to read, and afraid to ask for profane liter- ature, she took up a volume of medita- tions, left by a Capuchin monk at the convent, thought it beautiful, and found it consoling. While this comforting impression was still vivid, a Capuchin presented himself one night at the convent-gate, asking permission to preach. They had just returned from the walk after vespers, and M~re Ang~lique at first refused on account of the lateness of the hour, but finally consented, and the sisters gath- ered in the church to hear the sermon. Any change was a welcome relief from the wretched preaching of the students from Citeaux, who usually officiated at Port Royal, and this service at the close of day was a variety. The monk took for his subject the humility of the Son of God and his birth in the manger. M~re Angilique never remembered dis- tinctly what he said; but during the ser- mon her heart was touched so that all at once her condition seemed as glorious as it had till then appeared grievous, and she rejoiced, instead of sorrowing, at the ir- revocable nature of her vows. This hour of her life was the first gleam that broad- ened later into the perfect day. It would have seemed a natural impulse to con- fide in the man whose sermon had been the occasion of this miraculous change; but with characteristic dignity the girl of fifteen sent one of the sisters to thank the monk and to speed him on his way. Afterwards it was knowil that he was a most disreputable character, who had been already a cause of scandal in sev- eral communities. An older man, the austere Pare Bernard, was taken into her confidence and consulted in regard to the various reforms that she now be- gan to feel it her bounden duty to make. This Capuchin was very injudicious, however, and aroused at once the vio- lent opposition of the best and most re- ligious of the nuns, who felt aggrieved by his wholesale denunciations of their quiet lives. He drew up a set of new regulations in strict conformity with the old Benedictine rule, and submitted them to the prior of Citeaux, in spite of the ur- gent remonstrance of M~re Ang~lique, who knew the prior well, and was sure that he would disapprove and complain to her father. The laxity of this digni- tary may be inferred from the fact that he had recently heen present at a the- atrical entertainment given by Les Dames de Saint Antoine. The play was the Cleopatra of Gamier, and the nuns were dressed in mens clothes for the male parts. Other distinguished ec- clesiastics were also present, and the ab- bess was no less a person than Mademoi- selle de Thou, sister of the president and aunt of the historian of that name. In spite of this array of respectable laxity, reform was counseled by the Capuchin advisers of M~re Ang6lique. One monk, P~re Pacifique, sympathized with her ardent desire to go away, no longer into the world to get married, but as a lay sister to some other convent of stricter rule. P~re Bernard, however, insisted that she should stay where she was and reform Port Royal. A whole year went by, troubled by interior and exterior conflict. At times God seemed to veil his face again, and there was a constant struggle with the nuns, who thought their young abbess unreasonable and ex- travagant, and who strenuously opposed all her plans. She had recourse in se- cret to the greatest austerities, deprived herself of food and rest, dropped burn- 1885.] The Port Royal of iJiPre Ang~lique. 161 ing wax upon her bare arms, and com- mitted other follies that she was the first to blame in after years; but, as she said, I tried everything, then. Madame Ju- Deauville, one of the nuns, employed by her mother to watch her, slept in her cell for tbat purpose, but when it was dark Mare Angdique would often creep softly away into a garret and spend the night in prayer. Warned, as she had foreseen, by the prior, M. Arnauld ar- rived one day unexpectedly, drove away all the Capuchin advisers with expres- sions of contempt and dislike, and car- ried his daughter off to his chateau of Andilly to enjoy the season of vintage. But home was no longer charming to her; her father condemned all her plans of reform, and she returned to Port Royal as soon as he would allow her to do so, ill with intermittent fever and very unhappy. One day a student from Citeaux preached on the text, Blessed are they who are persecuted for right- eousness sake. After the sermon one of the girls employed as a domestic in the convent said to her, Madame, if you chose, you might be one of those blessed ones. Mare Ang~lique rebuked the girl for her boldness, but the words sank into her heart. iNot long after, she took occasion to renew her vows public- ly, and made a solemn declaration of her resolve to lead in future a truly religious life. Some of the sisters followed her example; but she saw no way of accom- plishing her reforms, and despondently recurred at times to her plan of going, as a lay sister, to another convent. One day the prioress sought an interview and inquired the cause of her great mel- ancholy; learning the reason that she no doubt divined, she told her that the sis- ters wished her to say that they pre- ferred to accede to her wishes to seeing her so ill and depressed, and that they would oppose her no longer. Unspeak- ably rejoiced, she at once appointed a day, convoked the chapter, and proposed community of goods in accordance with VOL. LVI. NO. 334. 11 the first vow of poverty. The sisters at once agreed and brought all their pos- sessions, even their clothing, to swell the common fund. One, however, could not give up her little garden. The next step was to enforce the sanctity of the cloister, to shut the world out from the convent. M~re Angilique felt that she herself must set the example, and deter- mined to allow no exceptions, not even in the persons of her immediate fam- ily. At Easter one of the nuns took the veil, and for the first time the numer- ous visitors were excluded from the inte- rior of the convent. This caused great dissatisfaction, and some of the sisters said, Wait and see when M. Arnauld comes; his daughter will not dare to keep him out. They had not long to wait. Mare Ang6lique wrote to her fam- ily to prepare her father for the change in the arrangements; but either they did not dare to tell him, or he did not choose to believe them. On the 25th of September, 1609, word came to Port Royal that Monsieur and Madame Ar- nauld, with three of their children, the eldest brother and two sisters of the abbess, might be expected in the course of the morning. The keys were taken from the custody of the portresses and intrusted to sisters who, by watching and prayer with M& re Ang~lique, had been nerved to resist the assault. While the community was at dinner, between ten and eleven oclock, the sound of car- riage-wheels was heard, and those who were in the confidence of the abbess re- paired to their posts. Mhre Ang6lique, who had been for some time at prayer in the church, hastened to the main en- trance, at which her father was already knocking. She opened the wicket. M. Arnauld demanded instant admission without listening to his daughter, who entreated him to go to the parlor and hear what she bad to say. But he only knocked the louder and clamored for ad- mittance, ending by overwhelming M~re Ang6lique with abuse. The mother, 162 The Port Ro~yal of Mere Ang~lique. [August, standing near by, added her vehement re- proaches, calling her an unnatural child. The brother, just twenty-one, accused her of being nothing less than a mon- ster and a parricide, and shouted to the nuns to come and interfere and not al- low a man like his father, and a family like theirs, to be thus outraged and in- sulted. One old sister, the same who had held to her garden, responded from within, and declared that it was shame- ful not to open the door for M. Arnauld, while the domestics, assembled in an inner court, murmured loudly at the ingratitude of the lady abbess. M. Arnauld, meanwhile, perceiving that all this noise was useless, bethought him of a stratagem, and demanded his little daughters, Agnes and Marie - Claire, then on a visit to their sister, thinking no doubt to rush in as they opened the door. But M~re Angdlique, hastily in- trusting to a faithful sister the key of a little door communicating with the church, sent them out by that way. The brother continued his abuse of Mare Angilique before these little girls, but was interrupted by Agn~s, who ex- claimed, looking as grave and dignified as a Spanish Jnfanta, My sister is only doing as she is commanded by the Coun- cil of Trent. Listen to her, cried the brother. Here is another one talking to us of canons and councils. Dur- ing all this scene, the two sisters who had come in the carriage stood apart, sad and silent, aghast at their fathers rage, and distressed by the knowledge of what Mere Angllique was suffering. M. Arnauld ordered that the horses should be instantly reharnessed to the carriage; but on the reiterated suppli- cations of his daughter, he consented to go first into the parlor for a moment. There he changed his tactics, and when she drew back the curtain from the grating their eyes met for the first time that day, and she saw the pale, excited face of her offended father. He spoke to her tenderly, and adjured her by the memories of the past, by their love for one another, not to treat him so igno- miniously, saying at last, as he saw she remained inflexible, Since it is all over, then, and we shall never meet again, remember my last words: Do not injure yourself, my child, by indiscreet austerities. These tender accents were too much for her to bear; she fell faint- ing to the floor. He tried in vain to open the grating and called loudly for help. The nuns, not knowing what had happened, were afraid to show them. selves; but the family came to the res- cue and thundered at the convent gate till they made themselves understood. All the sisters rushed to the parlor and after some time Mhre Ang& lique was restored to consciousness. Turning her eyes at once towards the grating, she saw her father anxiously watching her, and feebly murmured: If he will only grant me this, not to go away to-day! He could not refuse. The abbess was carried to her room, but she soon insist- ed on being brought back to a bed placed close to the grating, where she could talk to her family. The conver- sation became gentle and affectionate. That day and the next she reasoned with her father, and at last persuaded him to consent to his exclusion from the interior of the convent. The agree- ment was afterward modified so that he could give orders in regard to the build- ings and the gardens; but he never again set foot in the cloister. The 25th of September, la journ6e du guichet, as it is called, was ever after celebrated in the annals of Port Royal, and after this coup d6tat Mare Angdlique had no more difficulty in carrying out the reforms she desired in her own convent. Even when she thought best to dispense with the pecuniary aid hitherto derived from her father, she was cheerfully seconded by the nuns, who had begun to regard her as a saint, and her whole family treated her with affectionate reverence. Jeanne, now M~re Agn& s, became her prioress; 1885.] TI~e Port Royal of Mere Ange~lique. 163 Marie-Claire, as well as a remarkable younger sister, Marie Eug6nie, entered the convent. In time to come we shall see her mother, also, a nun at Port Royal, as well as her sister, Madame Le Maitre, who had made an unhappy mar- riage, and whose five sons subsequently swelled the ranks of the Solitaires. After some years, Port Royal came to be considered as leaven for other communities, and sisters from that con- vent were in great demand to inaugu- rate reform elsewhere. M~re Ang6lique herself was sent to Maubuisson, where, since the death of Henry IV., disorders of all sorts were still rife, no longer shielded by the name and presence of the king. Louis XIII. himself gave the order for investigation and reform in this in- stance. Several ecclesiastics, sent there to report, had been shamefully mal- treated, however, and the last royal com- missioner had been seized with his suite, shut up in one of the towers of the ab- bey, and kept there for four days on bread and water, the commissioner him- self receiving lashes every morning by the express command of the lady abbess herself. Such high-handed defiance could not be allowed to remain unpun- ished. With the consent of the Mar& . chal dEstries, her brother, and that of other members of the culprits family, it was decided to proceed at once to ex- tremities, and the abbot of Citeaux pre- sented himself at Maubuisson, as though in his ordinary official capacity. Ma- dame dEstries refused to appear, how- ever, and the abbot was forced to depart without seeing her. Arrest and impris- onment were the only resource. After a long delay, the requisite order was ob- tained from Parliament, and the follow- ing year the abbot left Paris once more for Maubuisson, this time with a provost and archers to do his bidding. The es- cort was left at Pontoise and the abbot presented himself alone at the convent gate. During two days he tried peaceful negotiations in vain, Madame dEstr~es remained invisible, said she was ill, and laughed to scorn the threat of arrest. Finally, one morning the provost and archers were admitted at an early hour by the abbot to the outer part of the convent where he had been lodged. Under his orders, they broke open the doors, escaladed the walls, and gained access to the interior. The abbess was not to be found, however, and only at nightfall was her hiding-place discov- ered. She stood at bay, and made such desperate resistance that they were forced to carry her, half undressed, on a mattress to the carriage they had in waiting, and, in this state, she was taken to a Magdalen asylum, where orders were given that she should be kept in close confinement. Mare Ang~lique was appointed to the vacant place and, accompanied by her sister Marie-Claire and two or three other nuns, she arrived at Maubuisson a fortnight after the cap- ture of Madame dEstr6es. She found in the abbey about twenty nuns, almost all sent there against their will, and shamefully ignorant of the first rudi- ments of a religious education. They spent a great deal of time in preparing for dramatic entertainments that took place in the presence of large companies of invited guests. There were all kinds of amusements besides. Summer days, after hurrying through vespers and com- plins, the prioress took the nuns to row on the ponds near the highway to Paris, and the monks of Saint Martin de Pon- toise, near by, often came of an evening to dance with the sisters. M~re Ang6- lique and her nuns must have seemed to these people like beings of another world. She tried at first to win the old inmates, whom she had known during the two years she passed at Maubuisson, and after a time, a certain amount of decency and outward conformity was se- cured; but to create a different atmos- phere, she made the experiment of re- ceiving at once into the convent thirty young girls, with whom she labored night 164 The Port Royat of Mere Ang6lique. [August, and day more hopefully and not in vain, as it proved. All at once Madame dEs- tries escaped from durance vile and burst upon them at the abbey. The follow- ing account is from the lips of Mare Ang~lique, taken down by her nephew, M. Le Maitre. In the month of September, 1619, Madame dEstries appeared unexpected- ly at Maubuisson, accompanied by the Comte de Sanzai and several gentle- men. She obtained access to the con- vent by means of a false key, procured for her by one of the sisters, a worth- less person. As we were entering the choir she approached me, and said: I have come, madame, to thank you for the care you have taken of my con- vent, and to beg you to return at once to your own, and to leave Maubuisson to me. I answered, Madame, I would certainly do so if I could; but I am not here, as you know, by my own will, but by that of the abbot of Citeaux, our superior. I came by his order, and I can only go away at his command. She replied that she was the abbess, and that she intended to take her right- ful place. I said, Madame, you are no longer the abbess, since you have been deposed. She answered: I have appealed from that decision. I said, The decree holds good, as the sentence of deposition has not been annulled; and I must consider you as deposed, since I am established in this house by the ab- bot of Citeaux, with the authority of the king; therefore do not take it ill that I seat myself in the abbess place, and thereupon I sat down. Supported by the newly received sisters, I then ad- dressed the community and recommend- ed them to partake of the sacrament during mass, and to invoke the Divine aid in the storm that was impending. Most of them were already prepared for the communion, since it was a festival of our Order. I felt sure that she would turn me out; but great was my aston- ishment after dinner, when the confes sor came to tell me that I must retire and yield to force. I answered that I should not do so, that it was against my conscience. But I was still more sur- prised later, when I saw him enter the church in company with Madame dEs- tr6es, the Comte de Sanzai, and four gentlemen with their swords drawn, and exhort me to yield, to avert the conse- quences of resistance. One of the gen- tlemen presently fired off a pistol, thinking doubtless to terrify me. But I answered, composedly, that I would not leave, unless forcibly compelled to do so; for only thus could I be excused in the sight of God. My nuns all crowded round me, putting their hands in my girdle, so that I could hardly breathe. Madame dEstr~es became very angry and abusive, and reaching out her hand, she touched or pulled my veil a little, as if she would pull it from my head. Whereupon the sisters changed from lambs to lions, not suffering that I should be harmed. One of them, Anne de Sainte-Th~cle, a tall girl of noble birth, took a step towards Madame dEs- trees, and said: Wretched creature! are you so bold as to touch the veil of ma- dame of Port Royal? I know you well; I know what you are! and so saying, in presence of these men with drawn swords, she snatched the veil off her head and threw it far from her. Then Madame dEstries, seeing me resolved not to go, ordered the gentlemen to take me out by force, which they did, holding me by the arms. I did not resist, for I was glad to go away with my nuns from a place where there were such men, from whom I had everything to fear for the nuns and for me. But it did not suit Madame dEstr~es that they should go too, and she called to the gentlemen to put me all alone in a coach that was in waiting. As soon as I was seated, how- ever, nine or ten of the nuns jumped in, three mounted on the box beside the coachman, and three got up behind like footmen; the rest all clung to the wheels. 1885.] The Port Royal of Afli~re Ang6lique. 165 Madame dEstr~es ordered the coach- man to whip up his horses; but he an- swered that he dared not do it for fear of killing some of the nuns. Then I threw myself out of the coach, and was followed by all the sisters. I bade them get some cordials, because the pestilence was at Pontoise, whither we went, the thirty nuns walking t*o and two in procession along the road. The lieutenant of Pontoise, a friend of Ma- dame dEstr~es, passed on horseback, and laughed to see us. No doubt the poor man thought she was safely re- established. The people of Pontoise came out to receive us with blessings, saying, as we passed: There are the good nuns of the abbess of Port Royal. They have left the devil behind at Man- buisson. We entered the first church on our way. It was the Jesuits, and they came forward to greet us very courteously; but after we had said our prayers, we left, and outside I met M. Du Yal of the Sorbonne, whom I knew very well. He said that all the religious houses of Pontoise would be open to receive us; but I preferred to go somewhere by ourselves, and the prior offered me his own house, which I accepted. Meantime an express had been sent to Paris to alarm the family. My father was away, but my brother made complaint and obtained an order for the arrest of Madame dEstr~es, who, with the Comte de Sanzai, fled so precipitately on the approach of the military, that she left her casket behind her. The soldiers went on to Pontoise, and brought us back at ten oclock at night, in procession, as we went, escorted by a troop of one hundred and fifty arch- ers on horseback, each bearing a lighted torch in his hand. For some time it was necessary to keep a mounted patrol, day and night, at the abbey, to guard against surprise. Louis XIII. finally appointed as abbess Madame de Soissons, sister of the Duch- ess de Longueville, hoping that her high rank would put an end to the plots of the friends of Madame dEstr~es. M~re Ang~lique was requested by the king to remain, how~ver, at Maubuisson, till the Popes bull should arrive, confirm- ing the appointment of Madame de Sois- sons. The double rule was not a suc- cess. M~re Angt~lique was thought too austere, and there was much dissatisfac- tion expressed that she had burdened the convent with her thirty new nuns, many without portions, and some of humble birth. Before going back to Port Royal, she wrote to ask if the community would consent to share their poverty with these thirty women, who had proved so faithful. A glad answer came promptly, signed by all the nuns, declaring that so far from regarding their coming as a burden, they should consider it a benediction. The income of Port Royal was twelve hundred dollars a year, one fifth that of Maubuisson. Mare Ang6lique sent the letter to the general of the Order, obtained his approval, and then wrote to her mother, asking her to send coaches enough to transport the thirty nuns from Maubuisson to Port Royal. They were sent at once, with an attendant for each carriage. Mare Ang6lique accompanied them only as far as Paris, where it was necessary for her to remain a few days. Before tak- ing leave of the sisters, she charged them, as soon as they caught sight of the hills that shut in the valley, and espied the steeple of the church above the tops of the trees, to repeat all to- gether, Set a watch, 0 Lord, before my mouth; keep the door of my lips, and from that moment to keep silence, till she herself should arrive and let loose their tongues. This was done, says the chronicler, lest the excitement and disturbance of their arrival should be an occasion of much idle talk and great waste of time. But as it was necessary that they should be known apart, she told each one to pin on her sleeve her name, written on a piece of 166 The Port Royal of JJJiere Ang6lique. [August, paper. On the arrival of these timid mutes, who felt, as Racine says, as if they were bringing starvation to Port Royal, M~re Agn~s and all the sisters came forth to meet them, singing the Te Deum. Like a quantity of wood thrown on a blazing fire, this large ac- cession of numbers, far from depress- ing, increased the fervor of the commu- nity. While at Maubuisson, lVThre Ang~lique made the acquaintance and enjoyed the friendship of Saint Francis de Sales, and through him knew Madame de Chantal, with whom she became inti- mate. He went first to Maubuisson, at her request, to confirm one of that neg- lected sisterhood, then returned several times, once staying nine days. M~re Ang~lique sent him to Port Royal to see her sister, Mare Agn~s. He was enchanted with the spot. Truly a port-royal, he writes, and he ever after spoke of the place as his dear delight. All the Arnauld family shared his friendship. M~re Agn~s always wore on her person one of his precious letters to Madame Le Maitre, who made at his knees a vow of perpetual chas- tity, before her husbands death allowed her to take the veil. The youngest son, afterwards the great doctor, re- ceived his blessing, and the eldest, M. dAndilly, followed him about like his shadow. Mare Ang~lique, feeling that God was visibly with this man, begged him to be her spiritual director, and com- plained that hitherto she had been obliged to seek counsel here and there as seemed best at the time. Like a bee gathering honey from different flow- ers, added Saint Francis. A compari- son, says Sainte-Beuve, savoring less of Calvary than of Hymettus. He rallied her also on her passion for aus- terities, of which he disapproved, and tried to convince her that it was unrea- sonable to expect the best service from a human being, any more than from a dumb animal, when they were deprived of proper rest and food. He writes: Dearly beloved daughter, sleep well. By degrees you may restrict yourself, since you wish to do so, to six hours, but believe me, to eat little, to labor hard, to have great anxieties, and to de- prive the body of sleep is to drive a~ tired, unfed horse to death. He said that her great activity of mind ran away with her, and that she was in too much of a hurry to attain spiritual perfection. Why not, he continues, catch small fish oftener, instead of such large ones once in a while, and he reminds her that the finest trees are of the slowest growth. At that time he was certainly in sympathy with Port Royal, of which Saint-Cyran had not yet taken posses- sion. Later, Saint - Beuve thinks, he would have disapproved with F~nelon. After her return from Maubuisson~ Mere Ang~lique received a letter ap- proving her action in taking the thirty sisters to Port Royal. It came from a remarkable man, who made the commu- nity his stronghold, stamping it inefface- ably as Jansenist, Augustinian, or, as he would have said, as Christian. This. man was Jean du Vergier de Hauranne, Abb6 de Saint - Cyran. Of a good family of Bayonne, he studied first at a Jesuit college, and was then sent to Louvain at the same time with the celebrated Jansenius. They met after- wards in Paris, both eagerly seeking the pure Christian doctrine, and deter- mined to go back to the earliest authori- ties in their search for truth. De Han- ranne, recalled to Bayonne on his fathers death, carried his friend home with him, and there at Champrd, an estate on the seashore, near Bayonne, belonging to the family, they remained five years absorbed in the study of the Scriptures and the Fathers, especially Saint Au- gustine. In after years, Saint-Cyran liked to show his friends a large old armchair with a desk attached. In it Jansenius studied, one may say lived;. 1885.] The Port Royal of Aliere Ang6lique. 167 for he rarely went to bed at night. INo wonder that Madame de Hauranne used to say to her son, Take care, Jean, or you will kill that good Fleming, making him study so hard. All their exercise at Champr6 consisted in games of battledore and shuttlecock, in which they became fabulously adroit. At the end of these five years, sure of what they had only surmised in the be- ginning, that the church had lapsed into Pelagianism, they espoused the cause of God and Saint Augustine, de- claring that if man can save himself, the logical inference must be that the intervention of the Redeemer becomes unnecessary, and that thus to exalt the Father at the expense of the Son virtu- ally does away with Jesus Christ. Their belief that man has sinned, that for this deep-seated disease there is but one Healer, is Protestant-Calvinistic doc- trine; but Saint-Cyran and his disci- ples accepted the Real Presence and the sacraments, and had no idea of leaving the church, though Saint-Cyran said boldly that for six hundred years the church could hardly be said to have existed, so great had been the corrup- tion; that the bed of the river had re- mained, but that the water had ceased to flow; and he stigmatized the Council of Trent as a mere political assembly. Both Jansenius and he wrote ponder- ous Latin folios in support of these doc- trines, dividing the name of Augustine between them for the titles, Petrus Aurelius and Petrus Augustinus; but while Jansenius confined himself to the doctrine, Saint-Cyran applied it to life, and Port Royal became the nursery of his seedlings. What is the knowl- edge of a truth that is never put in practice? he used to say. The Fre- quent Communion, written in French by the great Arnauld, and translations of Saint Augustine, by dAndilly and others, helped to disseminate their teach- ings far and wide in France, among the laity and in religious communities. Good men, intellectually timid, like Saint Vincent de Paul, shuddered at these bold utterances, and used all their influence in Rome and at the court of France to silence Saint - Cyran. He excited a great deal of ecclesiastical jealousy by his potent influence as a spiritual director, and in this way had incurred the enmity and secured the ill- will of the notorious Capuchin, P~re Joseph. Richelieu himself was at first inclined to favor and flatter the abbd. Once passing through the antechamber, on his way to a royal audience, he said to the assembled courtiers, putting his hand on Saint-Cyrans shoulder as he spoke, This is the most learned man in Europe. But the abb6s persistent refusal of bishoprics, his criticism of the decree annulling the marriage of the kings brother, and his intimacy with Jansenius, who had just published Mars Gallicus, a Latin pamphlet op- posing Richeliens policy, showed that he could not be won over, and caused him to be regarded by the great minis- ter with suspicion and dislike. Final- ly, his conversion of M. Le Maitre, the eminent lawyer and brilliant orator, who at once disappeared from the world, attracted general attention to the wide-spreading spiritual dominion of the man, and Richelieu determined to put him out of the way. This Basque, he said, is more dangerous than six armies. If they had impris- oned Luther and Calvin when they began to dogmatize, it would have saved a great deal of trouble. Saint- Cyran received a domiciliary visit, his papers were seized, and he was taken to Vincennes and kept there on a vague charge of heresy a whole year before he could obtain an examination. Even then he was not set at liberty, and he was only released, two years after his incarceration, at the death of Richelien. His health had suffered from the se- verity of his confinement, and he did not live very long after recovering his 168 The Port Royal of M#ire Ang6lique. [August, freedom. It was a day of silence when the joyful news came to Port Royal. MZwe Angdlique could not keep it to herself, and told the nuns by untying her girdle before them. She had found at last her ideal director, a man of ada- mantine purity, immense enthusiasm, great tenderness, and a boundless devo- tion to truth, and she was guided by him to the end. Amp~re calls him the Lycurgus of that Christian Sparta. For some years there had been a Port Royal also in Paris, a large house in the Faubourg Saint Jacques, now the hospital of La Maternitd, purchased with the aid and at the suggestion of Ma- dame Arnauld, at a time when the val- ley seemed particularly malarious. In- deed, only in modern times has the drain- age been complete and the lovely spot made salubrious. Here in Paris, young girls were educated; and the same work was carried on for boys by the Soli- taires, in the deserted house of Port Royal des Champs, and in neighboring ch~iteaux belonging to noblemen friend- ly to the community. When M. Le Maitre retired from the world after his conversion, he lived, at first, a life of perfect seclusion in a little house built for him adjoining the convent. His brothers and nephews joined him, also under Saint-Cyrans in- fluence, and there gradually was formed a remarkable group of men, physi- cians, men of letters, soldiers, schol- ars, and ecciesiastics, resolved to lead a life of self-renunciation and consecra- tion, and who, directed by the abbd from his prison, took for their rallying-cry, Thought allied with faith, and made redemption of souls their mission. These men were the Solitaires. They took no vows; some came and went; but the majority remaine& at Port Royal des Champs, systematically dividing their time between religious exercises, literary pursuits, teaching, and manual labor. The nuns also carried on various indus- tries, and they made themselves farm- ers, gardeners, carpenters, and shoemak- ers in the service of these sisters, whom they called, Nos dames, nos maitresses, et nos reines. They devised a plan of religious service to alternate with the convent hours, so that prayer and praise might rise perpetually at Port Royal. Of these men the saintly princess, Madame Elizabeth, sister of Louis XVI., writes: Their theology apart, that I do not un- derstand, these gentlemen of Port Royal were holy persons. What a life they led, compared to ours! Their schools, called Les petites dcoles de Port Royal, soon acquired a great reputation. Their text-books were novelties, written by the Solitaires themselves, who anti- cipated in many ways modern ideas in regard to education. In learning lan- guages they believed that a great deal of translation should precede grammar, and they gave their pupils copious draughts of literature. The list of their books is very long; but we may men- tion the French grammar by the great Arnauld, aided by Lancelot; methods of learning Greek, Latin, Spanish, and Italian, and the Garden of Greek Roots, in French verse, by Lancelot and De Saci. They also made translations of Pha~drus, Terence, Plautus, Cicero, and Virgil. They paid less attention to Latin versification than was usual at that time; but occasionally a subject was given to the older classes on which they were to improvise conjointly a copy of Latin verses. The work was done in class; every one was at liberty to contribute phrase or epithet, to suggest, to criticise, obtaining permission to speak by raising the hand, and the observation of par- liamentary rules obviated all confusion. Greek was taught in these schools for the first time without a Latin medium, a great innovation, and when the Gar- den of Greek Roots is criticised it must be remembered that there was then no such thing as a Greek and French dic- tionary in existence. They preferred young scholars, chosen from good but 1885.] The Port Royal of Mare Ang~lique. 169 not necessarily rich or noble families. People of means paid five hundred livres a year for instruction, which was gra- tuitous to others. They taught chil- dren to read first in French instead of in Latin, another innovation, and Pascal suggested the method they employed of pronouncing at first only the vowel sounds of the alphabet, leaving the con- sonants to be learned afterwards in com- bination with the vowels; the base, it will be seen, of the phonetic system now generally adopted in France. For writing, they were the first to use metal pens, for the purpose, they say, of saving the time of teachers and schol- ars. Saint-Cyran agreed with Erasmus that six scholars were enough for one teacher, and when they had twenty-four pupils, they placed them in four sepa- rate rooms, with a master for each. At the Ch& teau de Chesnai a whole wing was given up to the children. The severest punishment was to be sent home, or to see some service as- signed to a servant that the pupil was accustomed to perform for his teacher. Great gentleness and indulgence were required of the teachers, who were to endeavor to make study as interesting as amusement. There were out-of-door rec- reations and such indoor amusements as billiards, backgammon, chess, or histor- ical games of cards. A formal polite- ness was enforced, every one being ad- dressed as Monsieur. Saint-Cyran had always wished to devote himself to chil- dren, and was very fond of teaching them. Before his imprisonment, he went every other day to Port Royal, superintended the boys work, more especially their themes, and gave them a commentary on Virgil. The largest of these schools were at the Chateau de Chesnai near Port Royal and in a cul-de-sac of the Rue Saint Dominique in Paris. These were broken up on the charge of being nests of heresy, and the teachers were obliged to disguise and hide themselves, in constant danger of arrest and imprisonment. The HOtel de Loa- gueville and other great houses sheltered two or three at a time. De Saci, nephew of Mare AngAique, was thrown into the Bastile, where he passed two years, occupied in translating the Old Testa- ment in French. He had already trans- lated the New. Copies of his Bible, printed by the Elzevirs, and smuggled into Paris in produce-wagons, under convoy of some man of mark, were after- wards widely distributed. When the nuns returned to Port Royal des Champs, the Solitaires be- took themselves to Les Granges, a farm on the heights, less than a third of a mile from the abbey. They did not see much of the sisters, though in such close sympathy and working always in con- cert. M~re Ang6lique did not approve of very frequent visits, and the clois- ter rule was strictly observed. The uncle of Madame de Sivign~, a devoted friend of Port Royal, built a new clois- ter for the nuns, and after its comple- tion sent to ask if he could be admitted only once, accompanying his request by the present of a basket of rare fruit. Mare Agn~s answered, I thank you humbly for the fruit. You have the privilege of giving as much as you like and of granting every favor that is asked. Both these privileges are de- nied us, so that you cannot see the in- side of our building on account of an angel with a flaming sword at the gate, I mean the anathema of the church. The Chevalier de S6vign~ entered the promised land at last; but only after his death. He was buried in his cloister. Another note from Mare Agni~s to her nephew shows that she was more indulgent than her sister in regard to visits from the Solitaires. LES GRAKGES. To M. LE MAITRE Mv VERY DEAR NEPHEW, I believe that you think I have gone back to Paris, or else that I have come here to live as if I were excommunicated, it is 170 The Port Royal of AiPre Ang6lique. [August, so long since you have asked for me; and I avail myself of the privileges of an aunt and an old woman to ask you to come to the parlor of Sainte Madeleine at noon to-day to be scolded for your conduct. At one time Mare Ang~Aique had been made superior of the convent of the Saint Sacrement in Paris, after- wards incorporated with Port Royal, and on this occasion, when a uniform dress was required, the sisters adopted the white scapulars of the Saint Sacrement with a large red cross in front, a very striking costume. A new superior at Citeaux threaten- ing to put an end to all eccentricity, meaning austerity, at Port Royal, Mare Ang~lique, alarmed, petitioned for a change of jurisdiction, and obtained per- mission from the Pope to belong to the diocese of Paris. She had no more monkish interference to apprehend; but the archbishops of Paris were very much controlled by the court, and this influ- ence proved, in the end, fatal to Port Royal. There had been still another important change. While Louis XIII. was besieging La Rochelle, his mother, Marie de M~dicis, paid a visit to the abbey, and said to M~re Ang4lique, as she was going away, Have you noth- ing to ask of me? the first time I go to a convent I always grant some favor. M~re Ang~lique asked that the abbess should be in future elected every three years, instead of being chosen for life. This was done, and she immediately re- signed her place together with her co- adjutrix, M~re Agn~s. In course of time they were both r& lected, but Mare Angdlique bad reason frequently to re- pent of her abdication. The wars of the Fronde disturbed the industrious, peaceful seclusion of the valley. The convent was put in a state of defense, and the Solitaires manned the walls and made ready for a siege. Even M. Le Maitre wore a sword by his side, or carried a musket over his shoulder. The nuns of neighboring con- vents flocked in to seek an asylum and were received with open arms, as well as the poor peasants, who were allowed to store their valuables in the church itself. The convent courts were full of cattle, and the monastery looked like Noahs ark. Port Royal had helped Cardinal Retz when, as archbishop of Paris, he was sorely in need, and he was always amiable to M& re Ang~lique and often friendly to the community; but no re- liance could be placed upon him, and little sympathy was possible between these disciples of Saint-Cyran and that Don Juan of a prelate. As some one said, He, a Jansenist? Impossible; to be a Jansenist, you must be a Chris- tian. The Jesuits incessantly defamed Port Royal, and Jansenius book, Petrus Au- gustinus, had been condemned by a bull of Urbain VIII., confirmed more defi- nitely by his successor, Innocent X. The Syndic of the Faculty of Theology in Paris had distinguished himself, more- over, by denouncing specifically five propositions, which he said were con- tained in the book. From this time the enemies of Port Royal knew where to aim. The Jesuits in Rome then sent word that if some of the French clergy would ask for the condemnation of these five propositions, the Holy Father would not be averse to granting their request. Saint Vincent de Paul eagerly headed the movement in Paris, and the petition was sent to Rome without first submit- ting it to the general assembly of the clergy then in session. On account of this irregularity, Innocent hesitated; but the regent, Anne of Austria, at the sug- gestion of Saint Vincent de Paul, signi- fied to the Pope her wish that he would act promptly and decisively in the mat- ter, whereupon he signed the bull. This caused great rejoicing in the Jesuit camp; all courtiers disclaimed the 1885.] The Port Ro~,al of Mere Ang6lique. 171 slightest Jansenistic taint, and such a horror prevailed in these circles of the Augustinian doctrine of grace that a story is told of an orthodox bishop, on a visit to an abbey of his diocese, who hearing, as he entered the refectory, these words pronounced by the reader: It is God who worketh in us to will and to do, called out, Close that book, and bring it to me at once. He was obeyed, and the heretical author was discovered to be Saint Paul! Mazarin cared little for these theolog- ical disputes; but he owed the Jansen- ists a grudge and was suspicious of their amicable relations with Retz. Gondi at first resisted the kings order that the bishops should formally accept the Popes bull, but when Anne of Austria said cajolingly that he must not refuse the first favor she had ever asked of him, the gallant courtier gave way and that barrier was thrown down. This was the Formulary that all priests, monks, and nuns were eventual- ly required to sign: I submit in good faith to the ordinances of his Holiness, Innocent X., and I condemn in my heart and by word of mouth the five propositions of Cornelius Jansenius, contained in the book entitled Petrus Angustinus, which the Pope and the bishops have condemned, which doctrine is not that of Saint Augustine, but which the said Jansenius has perverted con- trary to the meaning of the worthy doc- tor. The Parliament of Paris was in no haste to register the decree requiring these signatures, and Mazarin declared openly that the king had already done more than he ought for the Jesuits, who gave him more trouble than all the gov- ernment of the realm. In the mean time the Sorbonne called to account for his doctrines the author of the Fre- quent Communion, the great Arnauld, youngest brother of M~re Ang4lique. He was publicly censured; but it is as- serted that the Sorbonne had been packed for the vote with a large number of newly made doctors, ignorant and obsequious to the regent. While the trial was going on, she remarked one day to the Princesse de Gu~m~n~, a great friend of Port Royal, Your doc- tors talk too much. That need not dis- turb you, madame, retorted the prin- cess; you have already on the benches more mendicant monks and friars than you need. And there are more to come, said the queen, haughtily. Do put an end to this affair, Mazarin ex- claimed one day to one of the doctors; these women do nothing but talk about it, and they understand it no better than I do. Arnaulds defense was in Latin, and Port Royal made use of Pascals pen to appeal from the Sorbonne to the public. Then appeared Les Lettres Provinciales. This fierce assault, these deadly blows dealt by a skillful and un- sparing hand, fairly took away the en- emys breath. The immediate success is well known: the letters became the rage, the next issue was eagerly antici- pated, and choice circles gathered to hear them read aloud in the salons of the Duchesse de Longueville, the Princesse de Conti, the Princesse de Gu6m~nS, and Madame de Sabh~. It only made it more interesting that no one knew ex- actly when the next letter would appear or where they were printed, and that the bookseller had made his fortune and had been thrown into the Bastile. Pas- cals relations with Port Royal had at- tracted very little attention, and he was known principally as a mathematician and man of fashion; but a rumor of his being the author obliged him to hide and disguise himself. He lodged at this time under an assumed name in a small inn near the Sorbonne, directly opposite the college of the Jesuits in the lions mouth as it were. His brother-in-law, M. P~rier, from Auvergne, arriving in Paris for a few days, went to the same house, where he received one day a visit from an old acquaintance, one of the 172 The Port Royal of Mare Ang6lique. [August, Fathers opposite. In the course of con- versation the priest said, Do you know that some people suppose that your brother, M. Pascal, is the author of these letters? M. P~rier replied as unconcernedly as he could, while he was painfully aware that behind the half- closed curtains of the bed near which they were seated, twenty or more cop- ies of the next letter, fresh from the press, were spread out to dry. When the guest had gone Pascal came down from his room overhead, heard the story, and took possession of his prop- erty. There was now a lull. The Sob itaires, dispersed by a royal mandate, quietly swarmed again in their old haunts, the schools revived, and every- thing in the community was prosperous and peaceful, when the long-gathering storm broke over Port Royal. The king issued an order to disperse board- ers and scholars, novices and postulants, and furthermore commanded that none should be received in future. Mare Ang~lique had truly said, Yes, we shall kill the dragon; but he will be our death. M. Singlin, too, the supe- rior, was also sent away. Mi~re Ang& lique hastened to Paris to aid her sister, Nkre Agn~s. She took leave of her nuns as if she should never see them again. She was nearly seventy years old and very feeble. To her brother, M. dAndilly, she said, as he was helping her into the carriage, Keep a brave heart. Trust me, my sister, was his response; I shall not be found want- ing. My brother, my brother, she replied, let us be humble and remem- ber that humility without firmness is cow- ardice, but that courage without humil- ity is presumption. In her clear vision she saw the temptation to martyrdom, and dreaded for her friends vainglory in suffering for God almost as much as faintheartedness. Deprived of her di- rector, M. Siughin, and not choosing that her beloved nephew, De Saci, should expose himself to the danger of arrest by coming to the house on her account, she said to the sisters who expressed their sorrow for her deprivation, It does not trouble me; I know that M. Singhin is praying for me. What more could I ask? I respect him very much; but I do not put a man in the place of God. My nephew without Gods help could do me no good, and God without him shall be all in all. They walled up the doors, shutting them out from their own gardens; and when some of the sisters said, Who knows but that they may be shutting themselves out of heaven? she reproved them, saying, Do not speak so, my daughters, but pray to God for them and for us. Af- ter a few days her feebleness increased, dropsical symptoms appeared, and she was confined to her bed. Troubled by the idea that the nuns would keep a rec- ord of her last words and actions as if she were a saint, she tried to speak very little and to do nothing that could excite remark. She knew that they had al- ready done so to some extent, and she had a horror of the twaddle in the Lives of the Saints and of sentimental death- bed recitals. She summoned all her en- ergy to write a letter to the queen- mother, pleading the cause of Port Royal, defending the community from the charge of heresy, and invoking in their favor the testimony of Saint Fran- cis de Sales and Madame Chantal. She quoted from Saint Th~r~se to remind her majesty that in a court it is not al- ways an easy matter to ascertain the truth. This duty accomplished, she laid herself down to die, saying, It is time for a little Sabbath rest. Strange to say, only towards the last was this ad- mirable woman freed from an overpow- ering dread. Of this terror, her broth- er writes: May it not show an ardent imagination, an unusually powerful con- ception of the holiness and justice of the Supreme Being, denoting a great soul ? The history of Port Royal has some- 1885.] The Port Royal of lJPre Ang6lique. 173 times been called nothing but a quarrel between the Jesuits and the Arnauld family. As we stand by the open grave of their acknowledged head, let us pass them in review as if they gathered from far and near from the spirit land to do her reverence. Antoine Arnauld, father of Mare An- gdlique, had twenty children, ten of whom lived to grow up. His wife took the veil after her husbands death, and passed the last twelve years of her life in the Paris convent. The eldest son, M. Arnauld dAndilly, who was the first to feel Saint-Cyrans influence, was a genial person, more receptive than orig- inal, very susceptible to female charms, courtly and amiable, but upright and loyal withal like sea-weed, waving about on the water, but firmly fastened to the rock beneath. He was more liter- ary than any other of the family, and did Port Royal good service by his finished translations from Saint Augustine, his constant oversight and criticism, and his knowledge of the world. He refused a place offered him in the Academy, and upon this occasion Richelien made the rule, ever since strictly observed, that no places should ever be offered and that candidates for the honor should make personal application. M. dAndil- ly lived to a great age and served to the last as an usher, a sort of self-appointed master of ceremonies for the nuns in their dark days, a connecting-link be- tween Port Royal and the world with- out. He was one of the Solitaires, built himself a house on the hill near Les Granges, and spent his own for- tune and part of his eldest sons also in draining and embellishing the grounds of the convent. His especial delight was in raising fine fruit, of which he presented propitiatory offerings to the queen-mother, Madame de Sabh~, and Mademoiselle Montpensier. La grande Mademoiselle gives an amusing and characteristic account of a visit she paid him in his dear desert. He had sent her a basket of clingstone peaches, with an injunction not to eat them till they were dead ripe. The fruit by the way was not meant for the consumption of the community, but was usually sold and the proceeds given to the poor. When the final dispersion came of the House in Paris, M. dAndilly was on the spot, affording his protection to the sis- ters, escorting the nuns to their car- riages, and when his daughters turn came, first leading them into the church before the altar as if consecrate them anew in the cause oi truth and to the service of God. Constant as he was to his outlawed belief and courageous in his devotion to his persecuted family and friends, he never appears to have forfeited the royal favor, and the queen- mother could ask, even while urging on the enemies of Port Royal, Does dAndilly love me still ? He was also a great favorite at the H6tel Rambouillet, and in his youth belonged to that set. He had two daughters, lVThre Angdlique Saint-Jean and Sister Madeline Th6r~se, both nuns at Port Royal. Of the eldest her father said to Madame de S6vign~, Depend upon it, I myself and all my other children are stupid in comparison with Angilique. On her, indeed, the mantle of her aunt seemed to fall. M. dAndilly had six sisters, who were all nuns: Madame Le Maitre, Mare Ang6- lique, M~re Agn~s, Sister Anne Eug~nie, Sister Marie-Claire, and Sister Made- leine Sainte Christine. Of his three brothers, the eldest was the Bishop of Angers, and the second, Simon, a young soldier, was killed at Verdun. The youngest became celebrated as the Great Arnauld, eulogized by Voltaire, and for whom Boileau wrote the epitaph beginning : Errant, panvre, banni, proscrit, persecnt~. Madame Le Maitre bad five sons, all Solitaires: M. Le Maitre, the eminent orator, and MM. de Saci, S& icourt, Saint Elme, and Yalemont. The name Saci is thought to be an anagram of Isaac. 174 The Port Royal of lJiPre Angelique. [August, Mare Ang6lique was sometimes con- sidered too austere. She was certainly less indulgent than M~re Agn~s, and had little patience with the wearisome caprices of some of their fine-lady con- verts; but no real grief, even of a crowned head, appealed to her in vain. Marie de Gouzagne, beloved of Cinq- Mars, afterwards Queen of Poland, had a lodging at Port Royal des Champs, and she appeared as a mourner at Saint- Cyrans funeral. After her departure for Poland, she kept up a constant cor- respondence with M~re Ang~lique, and offered the community a refuge from persecution in her kingdom when she learned that they were seriously think- ing of embarking for America. When we read the description of Mere Ang& . liques tenderness to Jacqueline Pa~cal at the time of her taking the veil, we are reminded of what the sisters used to say of her: If she is as terrible as an angel, she can comfort you like one. The community was accused by its enemies of the heinous sin of not wor- shiping saints, and of caring little for images, and we might think Port Royal free from superstition were it not for the famous story of the cure of Pascals little niece by the application of a reli- quary containing one of the sacred thorns from the crown worn by Jesus to a tu- mor of the lachrymal gland. The cure was said to have been immediate and miraculous. Pascal himself was pro- foundly impressed, never seeming for a moment to doubt the authenticity of the miracle, and Mere Ang~lique gives Ma- rie de Gonzagne a detailed account of the cure, appearing to believe in it de- voutly. Then a daughter of Philippe de Champagne was cured at Port Royal of a chronic disease, in answer, it was said, to the prayers of the community; an event commemorated by her father in a picture in the Louvre representing M& e Agn~s and his daughter. Long after the destruction of Port Royal this idea of miracle-working revived among the so-called Jansenists, and reached its climax in the extravagances of the Convulsionnaires of Saint Midard. At the time of the departure of M~re Angilique for Paris, Jacqueline Pascal had been left in charge of Port Royal des Champs, and upon her devolved the responsibility of accepting or rejecting the Formulary when it was presented for signature. The decision was made even harder on account of a preamble written by Pascal himself at the request of some of the clergy, who did not ob- ject to leaving a loophole for the con- sciences of the sisterhood. But the an- guish of these women was great. If the preamble was obscure, the Formulary was clear. How could they condemn the doctrine of Jansenius in which they be- lieved, or assert that the Five Proposi- tions were in a book that they had never read and which they could not read? Jacqueline Pascal writes in a letter, in- dorsed, To he shown to my brother if he is well enough: I know the respect I owe the bishops, but my con- science will not let me sign a statement that a thing is in a place where I have never seen it. . . . flow can they cut us off from the church? They can de- prive us of the outward signs of that union, but never of the union itself so long as we have love one for another. How is this that we are asked to do different from offering incense to idols, and thinking that we are absolved because we have a piece of the cross hidden in our sleeves? (an allusion to a passage in one of the Lettres Provin- ciales); and farther on, I know that it is not for women to defend the faith, but when bishops are as timorous as women, it befits women to be as brave as bishops. Jacquelines rebuke sank into her brothers heart. From that time he rejected all subterfuges and compromises, and when his sister died, not long afterwards, he only said to those who brought the tidings: God grant that our end may be like hers. 1885.] When it was urged upon M~re An- g6lique-Saint-Jean that she should sign the Formulary as an act of submis- sion, to avoid scandal, she replied: To me it seems as if a surgeon had ban- daged my arm for no cause whatever, and when it had become inflamed and swollen, proposed to cut it off to avoid gangrene. Should I not be justified in saying to him: Cut off your bandage, but do not cut off my arm ? When threatened with the papal anathema, she said: There is one consolation: the successors of Saint Peter are very apt to imitate his haste in drawing the sword, and they strike without awaiting their Masters command. Then Jesus comes and heals the wound. These women were no respecters of persons, and it is not hard to understand how offensive their practical, uncompro- mising republicanism must have been to the court hard by, at Versailles. So long as they did not bow down, Louis XIV. felt as if he did not really reign. They stood steadfast, gently inflexible, bear- ing in mind how Mare Ang~lique had said: I fear nothing that is not eter- nal, refusing to compound with their consciences in spite of the persuasions and entreaties of their friends, and the threatening taunts of their enemies, who wielded against them, defenseless as they were, the combined power of the king and pope. Pure as angels, and proud as demons, said the archbishop of Paris. When the king was told of their de- termined disobedience, he resolved that the punishment should be condign. The nuns were forcibly removed and im- prisoned separately, or two or three together, in different convents. Some gave way, but most remained firm. After a long time the unrepentant sisters who still remained alive were sent back to Port Royal, where they remained imprisoned three or four years under an interdict, deprived of the sacraments, and with sentinels posted 175 night and day outside their walls. At last, under a new Pope, the Peace of the Church was proclaimed, the stub- born bishops were pardoned, and Louis XIV., in good humor after his Peace of Aix la Chapelle, declared that he would not be more severe with the nuns than the Pope had been with the clergy.~~ The moment was thought propitious, the sisters made a tardy and vague sub- mission, and the interdict was removed. Great was the rejoicing in the valley when the long silent bells rang out again. The Great Arnauld, who had just been presented at court, said the first high mass at Port Royal, and was still at the altar, when a long procession with banners and music from the parish of Magny, near by, entered the church to join in their thanksgiving services. Ten years of prosperity ensued; but immediately after the death of the Duchesse de Longueville, their pro- tectress, persecution, long smouldering, broke out afresh, and in spite of their previous submission, there was a second blockade and interdict of thirty years, ending in the forcible removal of the twenty-two surviving nuns, the young- est fifty and the eldest eighty years old. All that was asked of them was to al- low a notice to be posted at the convent gate, stating that they accepted the bull of Innocent X., and submitted in all things to the papal authority; but they refused, accepted the consequences, and went down with their flag flying. They were separated and scattered in different convents, where they remained, deprived of the sacraments even in their last hours. The church, convent, outbuildings, and adjacent houses were razed to their foundations, and all the dead removed from the cemetery, by express order of the king. The desecration of the graves was frightful, and identification was in- tentionally rendered impossible. At this time Racines remains were re- moved by his friends to St. Etienne da Mont, in Paris. His aunt had been The Port Royal of JiPre Ang6lique. 176 The Port Royal of lJPre Ang~lique. [August, one of the last abbesses of Port Royal. During the last ten years, these se- cluded women had probably excited envy as well as dislike; for they had been courted by the world of fashion to some extent, as well as esteemed by many thoughtful people who did not accept their doctrine. Ladies of high rank were in the habit of going to Port Royal for short religious retreats, and the services on holy-days seemed very attractive, fourteen or fifteen ecelesias- tics often being present uninvited. Not that there was any splendor of ritual, or luxury of altar-cloth or vestments: the pictures of Philippe de Champagne were the only ornaments of the church, there was no organ, and the reading and sing- ing, though beautiful, were of the sim- plest kind; but the fervor of the nuns and the quiet of the place constituted a peculiar charm. The description of Port Royal in the sixth volume of the Ck4ie of Mademoi- selle Scud~ry, is purely imaginary: but we find this account by a 1~vL Lonail, written in 1693 : It is not a large monastery, but lodges a goodly number. The court is narrow and long, extending from east to west. The church, the parlors, and the houses of female guests are on one side, and the stables, workshops, and houses for ecclesiastics and male guests on the other. The cloister and dwell- ings of the nuns are apart, behind the church. The garden extends towards the east, and is intersected by a little canal. Towards the south there is a shady wood by a brook, called the Solitude. All this is shut in by high walls, defended at intervals by towers, built during the wars of the Fronde to protect the con- vent from soldiery. After describing the church, the cloisters, and the pro- cession, he continues: At last I left a place where I would willingly have stayed all my life. I climbed the hill to the left and visited Les Granges, the farm of the Solitaires. There I saw the old schools of Port Royal, the houses of M. dAndilly and M. Arnauld, and the Solitude of M. Pont-Chateau. I turned back to look once more on the abbey and the fields tilled by these pious men, and bade adieu to this blessed spot; but the memory of my visit lingers like a perpetual feast. The destruction has been complete. All that remains of the abbey of Port Royal is the dove-cot, a large round tower, with a funnel-shaped roof; frag- ments of pillars and capitals; the Foun- tain of M~re AngMique; a large wal- nut-tree, that goes by her name; Les Granges on the neighboring heights; and the walk called La Solitude, with its rusty, ivy-garlanded cross. The church was a fine specimen of the Cister- cian architecture in the early part of the thirteenth century. A little chapel has been erected on the spot where the high altar stood, and here can be seen some interesting relics, such as por- traits, engravings, and manuscript let- ters. Some of the tombstones, rescued from desecration, are preserved in the neighboring church of Magny, Arnauld dAndillys among the number. You can wander about Port Royal at your will, perfectly undisturbed by guides or tourists, pace the Alley of the Solitaires by the side of the brook, that has learned not to murmur, and keeps in summer days their vow of silence, or throw yourself on the daisied grass by the old fountain, or in the shade of the walnut-tree of Mare Ang6lique. If you wish to examine the relics, you summon the guardian in the employ of the So- ciety of Saint Antoine, to whom the property now belongs. He is a gentle old man, upwards of eighty, a school- master at Asni~res for more than forty years, proud and appreciative of the treasures intrusted to his keeping, and quite imbued with the spirit of the place. After speaking of his past life and his age, he added: I am perfectly happy. I am not afraid to die; but I 1885.] A Country aentleman. 177 sometimes think that heaven itself can- not be more peaceful than Port Royal. From Versailles, the distance to the abbey is about eight miles, but a pleas- ant excursion can be made from Paris by taking the Chemin de fer de la Bre- tagne at the Gare Mont Parnasse early enough to connect with the little patacke that goes from La Verri~re, the second station beyond Saint Cyr, to Mesnil- Saint-Denis. From this hamlet you go on foot. The road winds through fields for a mile and a half, skirts a wood, and the top of the Colombier of Port Royal soon comes in sight. The en.~ trance is by a little door in an old stone wall. You can return another way by Trappes, a station nearer to Paris than La Yerri~re, but the walk is not nearly so pleasant as from Mesnil-Saint-Denis. You pass, however, by Les Oranges, the farm of the Solitaires. People say sometimes: There is not much to see at Port Royal. That is true; but the place is redolent of beautiful memories and interesting asso- ciations, and the peace has not passed away. Maria Ellery MacKaye. A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. XXIV. It may now be necessary to indicate the outline, at least, of an incident which was the reason why, at the most critical period of the affairs both of her brother and sister, Minnies supervising and con- trolling care was neutralized. Whether it is the case that nothing that did hap- pen would have happened, as is her sin- cere conviction, had she been free to observe and guide the course of events, is what neither the writer of this history nor any other human looker-on can say. We are all disposed to believe that cer- tain possibilities would have changed the entire face of history had they ever de- veloped, and that life would have been a different thing altogether had not So and So got ill, or gone on a journey, or even been so ill-advised as to die at a particular juncture. Miss Warrender was of this opinion strongly; but it is possible that the reader may think that everything would have gone on very much as it did, in spite of all that she could have said or done. It is a prob- lem which never can be settled, should we continue discussing it forevermore. VOL. LVI. NO. 334. 12 The thing which deprived the family of Minnies care at the approaching crisis was what cannot be otherwise de- scribed than as a happy event. In the early summer, before Mr. Warrender died, a new curate had come to Under- wood. This, however, is not an entirely just way of stating the case. A curate, in the ordinary sense of the word, was not wanted at Underwood. The parish was small. Such a thing as a daily ser- vice had not begun to be thought of, and the rector, who was full of energy, would have thought it wasteful extravagance to give a hundred pounds a year to an- other clergyman, in order that he might have the lessons read for him and the responses led by an educated voice. Ideas about educated voices, as well as about colored cloths and lights on the altar, have all developed since that time. People in general were quite sat- isfied with the clerk in those days, or, if they were not satisfied, at least accepted him as a necessary evil, at which they were free to laugh, but against which there was nothing to he said. The morn- ing service on Sunday was the only one that was of much importance; to whi~h

M. O. W. Oliphant Oliphant, M. O. W. A Country Gentleman 177-192

1885.] A Country aentleman. 177 sometimes think that heaven itself can- not be more peaceful than Port Royal. From Versailles, the distance to the abbey is about eight miles, but a pleas- ant excursion can be made from Paris by taking the Chemin de fer de la Bre- tagne at the Gare Mont Parnasse early enough to connect with the little patacke that goes from La Verri~re, the second station beyond Saint Cyr, to Mesnil- Saint-Denis. From this hamlet you go on foot. The road winds through fields for a mile and a half, skirts a wood, and the top of the Colombier of Port Royal soon comes in sight. The en.~ trance is by a little door in an old stone wall. You can return another way by Trappes, a station nearer to Paris than La Yerri~re, but the walk is not nearly so pleasant as from Mesnil-Saint-Denis. You pass, however, by Les Oranges, the farm of the Solitaires. People say sometimes: There is not much to see at Port Royal. That is true; but the place is redolent of beautiful memories and interesting asso- ciations, and the peace has not passed away. Maria Ellery MacKaye. A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. XXIV. It may now be necessary to indicate the outline, at least, of an incident which was the reason why, at the most critical period of the affairs both of her brother and sister, Minnies supervising and con- trolling care was neutralized. Whether it is the case that nothing that did hap- pen would have happened, as is her sin- cere conviction, had she been free to observe and guide the course of events, is what neither the writer of this history nor any other human looker-on can say. We are all disposed to believe that cer- tain possibilities would have changed the entire face of history had they ever de- veloped, and that life would have been a different thing altogether had not So and So got ill, or gone on a journey, or even been so ill-advised as to die at a particular juncture. Miss Warrender was of this opinion strongly; but it is possible that the reader may think that everything would have gone on very much as it did, in spite of all that she could have said or done. It is a prob- lem which never can be settled, should we continue discussing it forevermore. VOL. LVI. NO. 334. 12 The thing which deprived the family of Minnies care at the approaching crisis was what cannot be otherwise de- scribed than as a happy event. In the early summer, before Mr. Warrender died, a new curate had come to Under- wood. This, however, is not an entirely just way of stating the case. A curate, in the ordinary sense of the word, was not wanted at Underwood. The parish was small. Such a thing as a daily ser- vice had not begun to be thought of, and the rector, who was full of energy, would have thought it wasteful extravagance to give a hundred pounds a year to an- other clergyman, in order that he might have the lessons read for him and the responses led by an educated voice. Ideas about educated voices, as well as about colored cloths and lights on the altar, have all developed since that time. People in general were quite sat- isfied with the clerk in those days, or, if they were not satisfied, at least accepted him as a necessary evil, at which they were free to laugh, but against which there was nothing to he said. The morn- ing service on Sunday was the only one that was of much importance; to whi~h 178 A Country Gentleman. [August, the whole parish came. That in the af- ternoon was attended only by the village people, and did not count for much. The rector would not have said in so many words, like a French curd, that vespers were pas obligatoire, but he had the same feeling. Both he and his wife felt kindly to the people who came, as if it were a personal compliment. It is needless to say that things ecclesiastical have very, very much changed since, and that this easy state of affairs exists no longer. Thus there was evidently no need of a curate at Underwood proper. But the parish was now a double one. Once St. Marys-Underwood, it was now Underwood - cum - Pierrepoint; and the condition of drawing the revenues of the later division was that the rector should always provide for the duty in the little church at Pierrepoint, which was considered a fine specimen of early architecture, though not much adapted to modern needs. It had been usually some ~habby old parson, some poor gen- tleman who had been a failure in life, one of those wonderful curates who are rich in nothing but children, and to whom the old, rambling, out-at-elbows parsonage house at Pierrepoint was of itself an attraction, who had taken this appointment. And it had been a great surprise to the neighborhood when it was known that the Honorable and Rev- erend Eustace Thynne (to say the Rev- erend the Honorable, which is now the highest fashion in such matters, postpon- ing, as is meet, secular rank to that of the Church, was unknown in those pre- Ritualistic days), a young man, a barons son, an entirely unexceptionable and in- deed every way laudable individual, had accepted this post. A greater surprise it would be impossible to imagine. The Warrenders had been as much interest- ed as anybody before the death in the family had made such sentiments for a time inappropriate. But Mr. Thynne had turned out a very sympathetic young clergyman. He had left his card and kind inquiries at once. He had helped to officiate at the funeral, and afterwards Minnie had been heard to say that no one had given her so true an idea of how grief ought to be borne. He had been a frequent visitor through the summer. If Theo saw little of him, that was en- tirely Theos fault. It was Mr. Thynne who persuaded the girls that to resume their duties in the Sunday-school was not only right, but the best thing for them, so soothing and comforting; and he had come a great deal to the Warren while Theo was so much away, and in many things had made him~elf useful to the girls, as Theo had been doing to Lady Markland. He did not, indeed, devote himself to them with the same indiscriminate devotion. There was no occasion for anything of the kind. Mrs. Warrender was quite capable of looking after things herself, and Minnies energy was almost greater than was necessary for the needs of their position; so that it was not at all needful or desirable that he should put himself at their dis- posal in any exaggerated way. But all that a man and a clergyman could do to make himself useful and agreeable Ens- tace Thynne did. They got to talk of him as Eustace Thynne quite naturally, when they were talking of him, though they still called him Mr. Thynne when conversing with him. They saw a great deal of him. There was very little to do at Pierrepoint, and he was a great walker, and constantly met them when they were out. And he was very sound in his views, not extreme in anything; not an evangelical, much less inclining towards that section of the Church which began to be known in the world under the name of Puseyites. Eustace Thynne had no exaggerated ideas; he was not eccentric in anything. The Thirty-Nine Articles sat as easily upon him as his very well made coat; he never forgot that he was a clergyman, or wore even a gray checked necktie, which the rector 1885.] A Country O%ntleman. 1T9 sometimes did, but always had a white tie, very neatly tied, and a tall hat, which was considered in those days the proper dress for a clergyman, even in the coun- try. His political ideas inclined to con- servatism, whereas, as Minnie always said, the Warrenders were liberal; but it was a very moderate conservatism, and the difference was scarcely appreciable. From all this it may be divined that Minnie was in the way of following the example set her by her mother and grandmother, and the majority of women generally. She had not thought herself very likely to marry for some time back; for the country had wonderfully few young men in it, and she had no desire ever to leave home. But when Prov- idence sent Eustace Thynne in her way, there was no reason why she should shut her eyes to that divine and benevo- lent intention. She softened in some ways, but hardened in others, during the course of the year. In matters upon which Eustace Thynne agreed with her, and these were the principal features of her social creed, she was more de- termined than ever, having his moral support to fall back upon, and would not allow the possibility of a doubt. And this made her the more severe upon Theo, for in all questions of propriety Mr. Thynne was with her, heart and soul. As usually happens in the forming of new bonds, the old ones were a little strained while this process was going on. Chatty, who had been very deeply inter- ested at first, when she saw in her elder sister symptoms of a state about which she herself had entertained only the vaguest dreams, became sometimes a lit- tle tired of it, as she found one of the results to be a growing inclination to get rid of herself. When they went out together to visit a pensioner, if they met Mr. Thynne (as they often did) on the road, Minnie would stop at the end of the lane. Will you just run in and see how old Sarah is? she would say to Chatty. Two of us in such a little place is too much for the poor old dear; and Mr. Thynne would remark, in a low voice, that Miss Warrender was so considerate (if everybody would be as considerate 1), and linger and talk, while Chatty went and informed herself about all old Sa- rahs ills. This, however, the younger sister could have borne; but when she found, on rejoining the pair, that they had been discussing Theo, and that Min- nie had been asking Mr. Thynnes ad- vice, and that he entirely agreed with her, and thought she was quite right about Lady Markland, Chattys spirit rose. I would not talk about Theo to any one, she said, indignantly. Who do you call any one? Mr. Thynne takes a great interest in all of us: and he is a clergyman, and of whom should one ask advice if not of a clergyman? Minnie replied, with triumphant logic. If he was a bishop, I would not talk over Theo not with him, nor any one, Chatty replied. She had always been inclined to take Theos part, and she be- came his partisan in these new circum- stances, standing up for him through thick and thin. And in her little expe- ditions up and down the lane to ask after old Sarah, while Minnie strolled slowly along with her clerical lover, Chatty be- gan to form little opinions of her own, and to free herself more or less from that preponderating influence of the el- der sister which had shaped all her pre- vious life. And little wistfulnesses began to float across Chattys gentle mind, and little thrills of curiosity to go through it. Her surroundings at this moment gave much room for thought, Minnie, who had never shown any patience in respect to such vanity, and was always severe with the maids and their young men, wandering on ahead with Mr. Thynne; and Theo, who had always been so im- perious, given up in every thought to Lady Markland, and not to be spoken to on ordinary subjects during the short time he spent at home! With these 180 A Co~sntr~y aentleman. [August, two before her eyes, it can scarcely be supposed that Chatty did not ask her- self, now and then, whether, for her also, there was not somebody whose appear- ance would change everything. And for the first time she began to get impa- tient of the Warren, in the gloom of the winter, and to wish, like her mother, for a change. Mr. Thynne was not ineligible, like most curates. It was not for poverty, or because he had no other place to turn to, that he had taken the curacy at Pierre- point. There was a family living await- ing him, a very good living; and he had some money, which an uncle had left him; and he was the honorable as well as the reverend. Minnie had her own ideas, as has been seen, on matters of rank. She did not think overmuch of the nobility. She was of opinion that the country gentry were the support and sal- vation of England. Still, while a plain Mrs. or Miss may be anybody to those who dont know her, a dairymans daughter or a scion of the oldest of fam- ilies, an honorable to your name does at once identify you as occupying a cer- tain position. It is a very good thing, she said, in that way; it is a sort of hall-mark, you know. It is sometimes put on very false metal, Minnie. Oh, I dont know, said Minnie, with an indignant flush; no more than any other kind of distinction. The peerage does not go wrong oftener, perhaps not so often as other people, but it does give a cacket. It is known then whom you belong to, and that you must be more or less nice people. I like it for that. There could be no doubt about Mr. Thynne, any way, my dear. I never said I was thinking of Mr. Thynne, said Minnie, with a violent blush, as she broke off the conversation and hurried away. And, indeed, it was not at all of Mr. Thynne that she was thinking, but rather of a possible Mrs. Thynne, and what her advantages might be over other ladies who did not possess that pretty and harmless affix. She de- cided that, unquestionably, it was an ad- vantage. Out of your own county it might very well happen that nobody might know who you were: but an hon- orable never could be mistaken. She came gradually to change her views about the peerage in general, after that discovery, and made up her mind that a title in the family was good in every way. There could never be any doubt about that. Then it was in Debrett, and everybody could satisfy themselves about its genuineness and antiquity, and lay their finger upon the descendants and relatives of the house. There were inconveniences in that, especially in re- spect to the record of age but still it was an advantage; and, to be sure, for those who were added to a noble family by marriage even that inconvenience did not exist. Mr. Thynne declared himself in sum- mer, after the year of mourning was over, and when even Miss Warrender felt that it was permitted to be more lively, and to wear white dresses, though with black ribbons, of course; and as the fam- ily living fell vacant immediately, the wedding took place almost at once. It made a great sensation in the parish, it need not be said; and while the few peo- ple in Pierrepoint gave the curate a tea- pot, in Underwood there was a great agitation in the Sunday-school and much collecting to buy a fine big Bible, with a great deal of gilding outside, for Miss Warrender, which was given to her at a tea in the school-room, with a speech from the rector, who was not fond of public speaking, and had to be egged up to it by many pricks and goads by his wife. It was considered a very suitable present for a young lady who was going to marry a clergyman, just as the teapot was most suitable for a young clergyman about to be married. In those days there was not the rain of marriage presents from 1885.] A Country aentleman. 181. everybody within reach which is the painful fashion now. And Minnie had a very excellent, solid trousseau, as might be expected, full of useful clothes; the silks very handsome, and the dinner dresses, though serious (which she thought suitable to a clergymans wife), quite good enough to go anywhere in. If she had been yielded to in that respect, her going- away dress would have been lavender with black lace, quite second mourning. But not only her mother and sister, but Mrs. Wilberforce and even Mr. Thynne himself, who did not fancy a bride in mourning, remonstrated so strongly that she was obliged to yield. I am in favor of showing every respect to our dear ones who are gone; but there are limits, the bridegroom said: and Mrs. Wilberforce declared that, though her- self a conservative and staunch upholder of the past, she did think dear Minnie sometimes went a little too far, notwith- standing that the Warrenders were lib- erals. This determined stand on the part of all belonging to her resulted in Minnies departure from the Warren clothed in a suit of russet brown, which was very becoming to her, much more so than the whiteness of her bridal dress and veil. These events withdrew Minnies at- tention in great measure from the oth- ers which were preparing, and finally carried her off altogether on the eve of many and great changes, such as turned topsy-turvy the life of the Warrenders. She was naturally very much taken up by her husband and her new surround- ings, and the delightful trouble of set- tling down in her new parish and home. And she was at a considerable distance from them, half a days journey, which made very frequent visits impossible. It has been already said that we do not pretend to give our opinion as to wheth- er, if Minnie had not married, things might not have gone very differently in the Warrender family life. After the wedding guests had depart- ed, Warrender ordered his horse to be brought round, as usual. He had, of course, been occupied all the morning with his own family, and with the mar- riage and the entertainment afterwards. Geoff had got a holiday, which he prized very much. (Lady Markland and the boy had been asked, of course, to the wedding, but it was perhaps a relief to all that they declined to come.) And if there ever was a moment in which Mrs. Warrender wanted her son, it was that day. She was tired out, and in the ner- vous state to which the best of us are li- able at agitating moments. Minnie was not, perhaps, in absolute sympathy with her mother, but Mrs. Warrender had a great deal of imagination, and partly by means of those recollections of the past that are called up by every great family event, and partly by inevitable anticipa- tions of the future, she was in special need of kindness and filial care. Her heart swelled within her when she saw the black horse brought round. She went to the door in the gray gown which she had got for Minnies marriage, and met her son as he came into the hall. Oh, Theo, are you going to leave us to - day? I thought you would have stayed with us to-day, she said, with what an unfavorable critic would have called a querulous tone in her voice. It was in reality fatigue and weariness, and a great desire for her boys affection and comforting care; but the other expla- nation would not perhaps have been al- together without justification. Why should I stay to-day, more than any other day? he said. You dont require me to tell you, Theo. It is getting late; you cant be wanted there, surely, to-day. Now this was injudicious on Mrs. Warrenders part: but a woman cannot always be judicious. He looked at her with quick offense. Suppose I think differently? he said; or suppose that it is for my 182 A Count r~, Gentleman. [August, own pleasure I am going, as you say, there? I meant no harm, said Mrs. War- render. I have not opposed you. Often I have longed to have you a little more at home: but I never said anything, Theo, you know I have never said anything. I cant imagine, mother, what there was to say. She checked herself with difficulty, but still she did check herself. There are some things, she said, that I wish you would attend to, I cannot help feeling that there are several things; but to-day, dear Theo, both Chatty and I are feeling low. Stay with us this afternoon. It will do us so much good. She thought that he wavered for an instant, but if so it was only for an in- stant. I dont believe that, he said. We should only quarrel; and what is the use of a thing that is forced! And besides, of all days, this is the one above all others that I want to go. It is my best chance and then he stopped and looked at her, the color rising to his face. I thought Geoff was to go some- where, for a holiday. He gave her another look, and the red became crimson. That is just the reason, he said enigmatically, and with a slight wave of his hand passed her, and went out to the door. You will be back to dinner, Theo? He turned his head as he was about to ride away, looking down upon her. Perhaps I may be back immediately, he said, most likely; but never mind me, one way or another. I want noth- ing but to be let alone, please. Chatty had come out to the door, and they both stood and watched him as he rode along, disappearing among the trees. I think he must be going to seek his fortune, his mother said, restraining a sob. Oh, mamma! said simple Chatty, I would go and pray for him, but I dont know what to ask. Nor I, said Mrs. Warrender. God bless him, that is all that one can say.~~ But the house looked very dreary as they went back to it, with all the con- fusion of the wedding feast and the signs of a great company departed. They scarcely knew where to sit down, amid the litter that had been so gay a few hours ago, and looked so miserable now. But Theo! What was he doing? Where was he carrying the heart that beat so high, that would be silent no longer? Was he going to lay it at the feet of a woman who would spurn it? When would he come hack, and how? Already they began to listen, though he had scarcely set out, for the sound of his return, in joy or in despair, who could say? xxv. TTTEO came home neither late nor early; neither in joy nor in despair. He came back harassed and impatient, eaten up with disquietude and suspense. He was pale and red in succession ten times in a moment. He was so much absorbed in his own thoughts that he hardly heard what was said to him as the three sat down, a little forlorn, to dinner when the late summer twilight began to close over all the brightness of that long, fa.- tiguing day. The night after the wed- ding, with its sense already of remote- ness to the great event of the morning so much prepared for and looked for- ward to, with the atmosphere so dead and preternaturally silent which has tingled with so much emotion, with the inevitable reaction after the excitement, nothing could ever make that mo- ment a cheerful one. It is something more than the disappearance of a mem- ber of the family: it is the end of antici.. pation, of excitement, of all that has been 1885.] A Country Gentleman. 183 forming and accelerating the domestic life for weeks or months, perhaps. Even if there should happen to be an unex- pressed and inexpressible relief in hav- ing permanently escaped the sway of a sharp critic, a keen inspecting eye which missed nothing, that consciousness only helps to take the edge off life and make it altogether blurred and brief for the moment. in the present case the very meal was suggestive: cold chickens, cold lamb, ham on the sideboard with or- namentations upon it, remains of jellies, and preparations of cream, an alto- gether chilly dinner, implying in every dish a banquet past. And there was not very much said. Joseph, who was rather more tired than everybody else, made no attempt to bring the lamp, and no one asked for it. They sat in the waning light, which had less of day and more of night in that room than anywhere else, and made a very slight repast in a much subdued way, with little interest in the cold chick- en. Once Mrs. Warrender made a re- mark about the evening. How dark it is! I think, Theo, if you dont do something soon, the trees will crush the house. I dont see what the trees have to do with it, he answered with irritation; I have always begged you not to wait for me when I was late. But you were not late, dear Theo, said Chatty, with a certain timidity. I suppose I ought to know whether I was late or not, he replied. And the ladies were silent, and the salad was handed round. Very suitable for a summer evening, but yet on the whole a depress- ing meal. When they rose from the table Mrs. Warrender asked Theo to take a turn with her, which he did with great re- luctance, fearing to be questioned. But she had more discretion than to question him, at least on that subject. She told him that if he did not particularly want her, she had made up her mind to go away. Chatty will be dull without her sister. I think she wants a little change, and for that matter, so do I. And you dont want us, Theo. That is a hard thing to say, mother. I do not mean any blame. I know that the time is critical for you, too, my dear boy. That is why I ask, do you wish me to remain? but I dont think you do. He did not answer for a full minute. Then, No, he said, I dont think I do. They were walking slowly round the house, by the same path which they had taken together when the father was lying dead, and before there had been Question of Lady Markland in the young mans life. Mother, he said after another interval, I ought to tell you, perhaps. I know nothing about myself or what I am going to do; it all depends on some one else. Minnie would moralize finely on that, if she were to hear it. Things have come to this, that I know nothing about what may happen to-morrow. I may start off for the end of the world, that is the most likely, I think. I cant go on living as I am doing now. I may go to where? I dont know and I dont care much. If I were a Nimrod, as I ought to have been, I should have gone to Africa for big game. But it will probably be Greece or something con- ventional of that kind. Dont speak so wildly, dear. Per- haps you will not go away at all. You have not made up your mind. When I tell you I know nothing, not even about to-morrow! But I dont en- tertain much hope. That is how it will end, in all probability. And of course I dont want you to stay like rooks among the trees here. Poor old house! it will soon have no daylight at all, as you say.~~ Theo, I hope you will do something before it is too late. It is not a beauti- ful house, but you were born in it, and so was your father. He pressed her arm almost violently 184 A Country Gentleman. [August, within his. Who knows, mother? great days may be coming for the old place: or if not, let it drop to pieces, what does it matter? I shall be the last of the Warrenders. Theo, she said with agitation, re- turning the pressure of his arm, have you said anything to-night? 1-ler question was vague enough, but he was at no difficulty in understanding. He said, after a moment, I had no op. portunity, there were people there; but to-morrow, to-morrow They came out together, as these words were said, upon the edge of the pond. In the depth of that dar~ mir- ror, broken by water-lilies and floating growth of all kinds, there was a pale reflected sky, very colorless and clear, the very soul and centre of the brood- ing evening. Everything was dark around, the summer foliage black in the absence of light, the heart of June as gloomy as if the trees had been fu- neral plumes. The two figures, dark like all the rest, stood for a moment on the edge of the water, looking down upon that one pale, dispassionate, re- flected light. There was no cheer in it, nor anything of the movement and pulsa- tion of human existence. The whiteness of the reflection chilled Mrs. Warrender, and made her shiver. I suppose, she said, Jam fanciful to-night; it looks to me like an unkindly spectator, who does not care what becomes of us. She added, with a little nervous laugh, Per- haps it is not very probable that our little affairs should interest the universe, after all. Warrender did not make any reply. He heard what was said to him and saw what was round him in a dim sort of confused way, as if every object and every voice were at a distance; and with an impatience, too, which it was painful to him to keep down. He went with her to the house, saying little; but he could not rest there, and came out again, groping his way through the surrounding trees, and returned after a while to the pond, where there was that light to think by, more congenial even in its chill clearness than the oppressive dark. It changed beneath his eyes, but he took no notice; a star came into it and looked him in the face from under the shadow of the great floating shelf of the water-lily leaves; and then came the blue of the dawn, the widening round him of the growing light, the shimmer of the early midsummer morning, long, long before those hours which men claim as the working day. That sudden bursting forth of life and color startled him in the midst of his dreams, and he went home and stole into the sleeping, dark- ened house, where by dint of curtains and shutters twilight still reigned, with something of the exhaustion and neglect of the morning after the feast, the morning of the day which was to decide for him whether life should be miserable or divine. These were the words which the young man used in his infatuation. He knew no others: miserable, so that he should no longer care what happened to him, or believe in any good, which was the most probable state of affairs; or divine, a life celestial, inconceivable, which was indeed not to be dwelt upon for a moment as if under any suggestion of possibility it could be. Next day Mrs. Warrender began at once her preparations for that rem oval which she had so long contemplated, which had been so often postponed, throwing Chatty into an excitement so full of conflicting elements that it was for some time difficult for the girl to know what her own real sentiments were. She bad been figuring to herself with a little wistfulness, and an occa- sional escapade into dreams, the part which it was now her duty to take up, that of her mothers chief companion, the daughter of the house, the dutiful dweller at home, who should have no heart and no thought beyond the War- 1885.] A Country Gentleman. 185 ren and its affairs. Chatty was pleased enough with the former r6le. It had been delightful both to her mother and herself to feel how much they had in common when the great authority on all family matters, the regulator of pro- prieties, the mistress of the ceremonies, so to speak, was out of the way, and they were left unmolested to follow their natural bent; but Chatty felt a little sinking of the heart when she thought of being bound to the Warren forever: of the necessity there would be for her constant services, and the unlikelihood of any further opening of life. While there had been two girls at home, there was always a possibility of an invita- tion, of a visit and little break of nov- elty, but it was one of Minnies most cherished maxims that a young lady in the house was indispensable, and Chatty, in the recollection of it, felt a certain cheerful despair, if the expression is per- missible, seize her. She would be cheer- ful, she said to herself, whatever hap- pened. It was her duty: she loved her home, and wanted nothing else, oh, noth- ing else! Home and ones mother, what could one want more? But when Chatty heard, all in a mo- ment, those plans which promised, in- stead of the monotonous life to which she had been accustomed, a new world of novelty, of undiscovered distance, of gayeties and pleasures unknown, her despair changed into alarm. Was it right, however pleasant it might be, to go away; to ahandon the Warren; to be no longer the young lady of the house, doing everything for those about her, but a young woman at large, so to speak, upon the world, getting amuse- ments in her own person, having noth- ing to do for anybody? Chatty did not know what to think, what to reply to her mother. She exclaimed, Oh, mamma! with a gleam of delight; and then her countenance fell, and she asked, What will Theo do alone? with all the conscious responsibility of a sister, the only unmarried sister left. But the question that was uppermost in her mind did not really concern Theo. What will Minnie say? was what she was thinking. She turned this over in her mind all day with a breathless sense of so many new things that the old sense of subjection was a sort of sup- port to her in the whirlwind of change. Minnie had often said that nothing short of necessity would make her leave the Warren. But then the force of that assertion was somewhat diminished by the fact that Minnie had not hesitated to leave the Warren when Mr. Thynne asked her to do so. Was necessity an~ other name for a husband? Chatty blushed at this thought, though it seemed very improbable that any husband would ever appear to suggest such a step to herself. Would Minnie still think that the only motive; would she disapprove? Chatty went out by herself that day to take the usual afternoon walk which her sister had always insisted upon. The day was dull and gray for midsummer, and Chatty had not yet recovered from the fatigue of yesterday. She allowed to herself that the trees were sadly overgrown, and that it was quite dark within the grounds of the Warren when it was still light beyond; and she per- mitted herself to think that it was a little dull having nowhere to walk to but Mrs. Bagleys shop. To be sure there was the rectory: but Mrs. Wil- berforce would be sure to question her so closely about all that had happened and was going to happen that Chatty preferred not to risk that ordeal. There was not a soul about the village on this particular afternoon. Chatty thought she had never seen it so deserted. To make her walk a little longer, she had come out by the further gate of the Warren, the one that Theo always used, that which was nearest to Mark- land. The only figures she saw in all her line of vision, as she came out, mak- ing a little sound with the gate, which 186 A Count r~y aentleman. [August, in the silence sounded like a noise and startled them, were two women, just parting as it seemed. One of them Chat- ty saw at a glance was Lizzie Hampson. The other she came hurrying along towards Chatty, having parted, it ap- peared, with a kiss from her companion. They met full without any possibility of avoiding each other, and Chatty, in spite of herself, gave a long look at this woman, whom she had seen before in the high phaeton, and sometimes at the gate of the Elms. She was as young, or it might be younger than Chatty, with a lovely complexion, perhaps slightly aided by art, and quantities of curled and wavy hair. But the chief feature in her was her eyes eyes of infantine blue, surrounded with curves of distress like a childs who has been crying its very heart out. It was evident that she had been crying; her eyelashes were wet, her mouth quivering. Altogether, it seemed to Chatty the face of a child that had been naughty and was being punished. Poor thing! she said in her soft heart, looking at the other girl with infinite pity. Oh, how miserable it must be to go wrong! Chatty felt as if she could have found it in her heart to stop this poor young creature, and en- treat her, like a child, not to be naughty any more. The other looked at her with those puckered and humid eyes with a stare into which there came a little defiance, almost an intention of affronting and insulting the young lady; but in a mo- ment had hurried past and Chatty saw her no more. Chatty, too, quickened her steps, feeling, she could not tell why, a sensation like affront. Why should she be affronted? She did not like to look back, but felt as if the wo- man she had just passed must be mock- ing her behind her back, or perhaps threatening her, ready to do her a mis- chief. And certainly it was Lizzie Hamp- son who was running on in front. Chatty called to her in the sudden fright that had come over ner, and was glad when the girl stopped and turned round re- luctantly, though Lizzies face was also stained with crying and wore a muti- nous and sullen look. Did you call me, Miss Warrender? I am going home. Granny is waiting. Wait for me a moment, Lizzie. Oh, you have been crying, too. What is the matter? And that that lady I wont tell you a lie, Miss Chatty, when you ye just found me out: but if you re going to tell upon me I this is the truth. I have been saying good- by to her; and no one in Underwood will ever see her more. Then Lizzie began to cry again, melting Chattys soft heart. Why should I tell upon you? I have nothing to say. It appears that it is some one you know; but I dont know who it is. Oh, Miss Chatty, you are the real good one; said Lizzie, you dont think everybody s wicked. I dont love her ways, but I love her, that poor, poor thing. Dont tell granny I was with her; but it is only to say good-by; that was all, for the last time, just to say good-by. Is she going away? Chatty spoke in a low and troubled voice, know- ing that she ought not to show any in- terest, but with a pity and almost awe of the sinner which was beyond all rule. Oh, yes, Miss Warrender, she is go- ing away; the gentleman spoke the truth when he said it always comes to misery. There may be a fine appearance for a time, and everything seem grand and gay; but it always comes to misery in the end. To this Chatty made no reply. It was not a lesson that she required, in her innocence and absence from tempta- tion, to learn; but she had an awe of Lizzie and her words as if a gulf had opened at her feet and she had seen the blackness of darkness within. 1885.] And if you 11 believe me, she once was just as good and as innocent! Well, and she s a kind of innocent now, for that matter. Oh, poor thing! Oh, Miss Warrender, dont you be angry if I m choking and crying. I cant help it! She dont know what she s doing. She dont know bad from good, or right from wrong. There s some like that. Just what pleases them at the moment, thats all they think of. She once had as happy a life before her! and a good husband, and served hand and foot. Lizzie, said Chatty, with a shud- der, dont please tell me any more. If anything can be done Nothing, said the girl shaking her head. What could be done? If the good ladies were to get her into their hands, they would put her in a peniten- tiary or something. A penitentiary for her! Oh, Miss Chatty, it s little they know. If they could put her in a pal- ace, and give her horses and carriages and plenty to amuse her, that might do. But she does nt want to repent; she does nt know what it means. She wants to he well off and happy. And she s so youn.g. Oh, dont think I would be like that for the world, not for the world, dont think it! But I cant help knowing how she feels. Oh, my poor dear, my poor dear ! The wonder with which Chatty heard this strange plea was beyond description; but she would ask no more questions, and hear no more, though Lizzie seemed ready enough to furnish her with all de- tails. She went back with the girl to the shop, thus disarming Mrs. Bagley, who was always full of suspicions and alarm when Lizzie was out of the way, and stood talking to the old woman while Lizzie stole into the parlor behind and got rid of the traces of her tears. Chatty felt very solemn as she stood and talked about her patterns, feeling as if she had come from a death-bed or a funeral. It was something still more terrible and solemnizing: it was her first 187 glimpse into a darkness of which she knew nothing, and her voice sounded in her own ears like a mockery as she asked about the bundle of things that had come from Highcombe. There s one as is called the honeysuckle, said Mrs. Bagley: it will just please you, Miss Chatty, as likes nice, delicate little things. The old woman thought she must be feeling her sisters loss dread- ful, looking as melancholy as if it was her coffin she was buying. And Chatty accepted the honeysuckle pattern and looked out the materials for working it, without relaxing from that serious- ness which was so little habitual to her. She even forgot all about her own prob- lems, as she went home, seeing constantly before her the pretty, childlike face all blurred with tears. Was it true, as Liz- zie said, that there was no way to help or deliver? If she had stopped, per- haps, as she had almost been impelled to do, and said, as it was on her lips to say, Oh, I am so sorry for you; oh, dont do wrong any more, would the unhappy creature perhaps have listened to her, and repented, though Lizzie said she did not want to repent? Chatty could not forget that pitiful face. Would she ever, she wondered, meet it again? XXVI. Markland lay as usual, bare and white against the sun, upon that day of fate. The young trees had grown a little, and stood basking, scarcely shivering, leaning their feeble young heads togeth- er in the sun, but making little show as yet; all was wrapped in the warmth and stillness of the summer morn. The old butler stood upon the steps of the great door, his white head and black figure making a point in the bright, unbroken, still life about. Within, Lady Markland was in the morning-room with her busi- ness books and papers, but not doing much; and Geoff was in another, alone A Country aentleman. 188 with his books, not doing much: think- ing, both of them, of the expected vis- itor now riding up in a breathless white heat of excitement to the hail door. The entire house knew what was com- ing. Two or three maids were peeping at the windows above, saying, There he is, with flutters of sympathetic emo- tion. That was why the butler stood on the steps waiting. All these spec- tators in the background had watched for a long time past; and a simultaneous thrill had run through the household, which no one was conscious of being the cause of, which was instinctive and incontrovertible. If not yesterday, then to-day ; or to-morrow, if anything should come in the way to-day. Things had come to such a pitch that they could go no further. Of this every one in Mark- land was sure. There is something that gets into the air when excitement and self repression run high, and warns the whole world about of the approach of an event. A bird of the air hath car- ried the matter. So it is said in all languages. But it is more than a bird in the air, swifter flying, entering into the most secret places. The last thing that Warrender thought of was that the fire and passion in his own breast had been publicly revealed. He wondered night and day whether she knew, wheth- er she had any suspicion, if it had ever occurred to her to think; but that the maids should be peeping from the win- dows, and the old butler watching at the door to receive the lover, was be- yond his furthest conception of possibil- ity: fortunately, since such a thought would have overwhelmed him with fury and shame. Lady Markiand sat at her table, pon- dering a letter from Mr. Longstaffe. She had it spread out before her, but she could only half see the words, and only half understand what they meant. She had read in Theos eyes on the previous day all. Had he but known he had nothing to reveal to her, nothing that A Country Gentleman. [August, she could not have told him before- hand! She had felt that the tempest of his young passion had been about to burst, and she had been extravagantly glad of the sudden appearance of the visitors who made it impossible. She had been glad, but perhaps a little dis- appointed, too; her expectation and certainty of what was coming having risen also to a white heat of excitement, which fell into stillness and relief at the sight of the strangers, yet retained a certain tantalized impatience, as of one from whose lips a cup has been taken which will certainly have to be emptied another day. This was what she said to herself, with a trembling and agi- tation which was fully justified by the scene she anticipated. She said to her- self that it must be got over, that she would not try to balk him, but rather give him the opportunity, poor boy. Yes! it was only just that he should have his opportunity, and that this great crisis should be got over as best it might. Her hands trembled as she fold- ed Mr. Longstaffes letter and put it away; her mind, she allowed to herself, was not capable of business. Poor boy, poor foolish boy! for was not he a boy in comparison with herself, a woman not only older in years, but so much older in life; a woman who had been a wife, who was a mother; a woman whose first thoughts were already pledged to other interests, and for whom love in his inter- pretation of the word existed no more? She would look down upon him, she thought, as from the mountain height of the calm and distant past. The very at- mosphere in which such ideas had been possible was wanting. She would still him by a word; she would be very kind, very gentle with him, poor boy! She would blame herself for having uninten- tionally, unconsciously, put him in the way of this great misfortune. She would say to him, How could I have ever thought that I, a woman so much older, past anything of the kind, that I could 1885.] A Country Gentleman. 189 harm you! But it is not love, it is pity; it is because you are sorry for me! And it will pass, and you will learn to think of me as your friend. Oh, such a friend as she would be to him! and when some one younger, prettier, happier than she caine in his way, as would certainly hap- pen! Lady Markland could not help feeling a little chill at that prospect. The warmth of a young mans devotion has a great effect upon a woman. It makes many women do foolish things, out of the gratitude, the exhilaration of finding themselves lovable and beloved, even when they have passed the age and the possibility of being loved, as Lady Markland, now seven and twenty, had concluded herself to be. Seven and twenty! ab, but that was not all! a wife already, to whom it was shame so much as to think of any other man. A second marriage appeared to her, as to many women, a sort of athe- ism; a giving up of the religion of the immortal. If marriage is a tie that en- dures forever, as it must be every happy womans creed it is, how could she die, how dare ever to look in the face a man who because he was dead no more than that, because a change had happened to him which was no doing of his she had abandoned for another mail? This ar- gument made it once and forever impos- sible to contemplate such an act. There- fore it was to another mans wife that this poor boy, this generous enthusiast, was giving his all. But a woman can- not have such a gift laid down at her feet without a sensation of gratitude, without a certain pleasure even amid the pain, in that vindication of herself and her womanhood which he makes to her, raising her in her own esteem. Therefore she could not be hard, could not be angry. Poor boy! to think of what it was he was throwing away; and of the heating heart full of foolish pas- sion with which he was coming to say words which her imagination snatched at, then retired from, trying not to an- ticipate them, not to be curious, not to be moved in advance by what he must say. And then by times she would pause and ask herself whether she could not prevent him, whether she could not spare him these fruitless words. Would not it be wrong to let him say them when it was so certain what her response must be? She might stop him, perhaps, in the utterance; tell him with how much sympathy, with how much tender- ness! that it must not be; that not for her were such expressions possible; that he was mistaking himself, and his own heart, in which pity was moving, not love. Could she do this? She felt a quick pang of disappointment in the thought of not hearing what he had to say: but it would be kinder to him perhaps: would it be kinder ? to stop those words on his lips, words that should only be said to the woman who could listen to them, to the happy young creature whom some time or oth- er he would love. This was the con- fusion of thought in Lady Marklands mind while she sat by her writing-table among her papers, turning them over with nervous hands, now opening, now closing again the letters to which she could give no attention; letters, a cool observer might have said, much more important than a question of a foolish young fellows love. Meanwhile the maids peeped, and the old butler looked down the avenue where Warrenders black horse was visible, marked with foam as if he had been pushed on at a great pace, and yet, now that the house was in sight, coming slowly enough. The servants had no doubt about what was going to happen so far as Warrender was concerned, but it was all the more like an exciting story to them that they had no certainty at all how it was to end. Opinions were divided as to Lady Markiand; indeed, so wrapped was the whole matter in mystery that those who ought to know the best, old Soames for 190 A Country Gentleman. [August, one, and her own maid for another, would give no opinion at all. Geoff was all this time in the room where he had his lessons, waiting for his tutor. He was biting his nails to the quick, and twisting his little face into every kind of contortion. Geoff was now ten, and he had ~grown a good deal during the year, if not so very much in stature, yet a great deal in ex- perience. A little, a very little, and yet enough to swear by, of the whole- some discipline of neglect had fallen to Geoffs share. Business and lessons. had parted his day from his mothers in a way which was very surprising when it was realized; and Geoff real- ized it, perhaps, better than Lady Mark- land did. In the evenings she was, as before, his alone; though sometimes even then a little preoccupied and with other things in her mind, as she allowed, which she could scarcely speak to him about. But in the long day these two saw comparatively little of each other. At luncheon, Warrender was always there, talking to Lady Markland of sub- jects which Geoff was not familiar with. The boy thought, sometimes, that Theo chose them on purpose to keep him out of it. Certainly he was very often out of it, and had to sit and stare and listen, which was very good for him but did not make him more affectionate towards Theo. To feel out of it is not a comfortable, but it is a very maturing experience. Geoff sat by and thought what a lot Theo knew; what a lot mamma knew; what an advantage grown-np people had; and how inatten- tive to other peoples feelings they were in using it. After luncheon, Theo fre- quently stayed to talk something over with Lady Markland; to show her something; now and then to help her with something which she did not feel equal to. During these moments Geoff was supposed to play. What he did, generally, was to resort to the stables and talk with the coachman and Black? whose conversation was perhaps not the best possible for the little lad, and who instructed him in horse-racing and other subjects of the kind. When Theo went away, Lady Mark- land would call for Geoff to walk down the avenue with her, accompanying the tutor to the gate. And after he had been shaken hands with and had gone, then was to Geoff the best of the day. His mother and he, when it was fine, strolled about the park together for an hour, in something like the old confiding and equal friendship; a pair of friends, though they were mother and son, and though Geoff was but ten and she twen- ty-seven. That was old times come back, and recalled what was already the golden age to Geoff, the time before anything had happened. He did not say before his father died, for his childish mem- ory was acute enough to recollect that things had often been far from happy then. But he remembered the halcyon days of the first mourning; the complete peace; the gradual relaxation of his mothers face; the return of her dim- ples, and of her laughter. It had only been then, he remembered, that he had called her pretty mamma! her face had become so fresh, and so soft and round. But lately it had lengthened a little again; and the eyes sometimes went miles off, which made him uneasy. Why do your eyes go so far away? do you see anything? he asked, some- times; and then she would come back to him with a start, perhaps with a flush of sudden color, sometimes with a laugh, making fun of it. But Geoff did not feel disposed to make fun of it. It gave him a pang of anger to see her so; and unconsciously, without knowing why, he was more indignant with Theo at these moments, than he was when Theo sat at table and talked about matters beyond Geoffs ken. What had Theo to do with that far - away look? What could he have to do with it? Geoff could not tell. He was aware 1885.] A Count r~y aentleman. 191 there was no sense in his anger, but yet he was angry all the same. And now, he sat waiting for Theo to come: waiting, but not wishing for him. Geoff was not so clever as the maids and old Soames; he did not know what he was afraid of. He had never for- mulated to himself any exact danger; and naturally he knew nothing of the seductions of that career into which War- render had been drawn without intend- ing it; without meaning any breach of Geoffs peace or of his own. Geoff did not know at all what he feared. He felt that there was something going on which was against him; and he had a kind of consciousness, like all the rest, that it was coming to a climax to-day. But he did not know what it was, nor what danger was impending over him. Perhaps Theo intended to stay longer; to come to Markiand altogether; to interfere with the boys evenings as he had done with his mornings. Or perhaps but when he for a mo- ment asked himself what he feared, his thoughts all lied away into vague alarms, infinitesimal in comparison with the reality, which was far too big and ter- rible for his mind to grasp. Mamma was afraid of it, too, he had thought, this morning. She had looked as the sky looks sometimes when the clouds are flying over it, and the wind is high and a storm is getting up: sometimes her face would be all overcast, and then her eyes had the look of a shower falling (though she did not shed any tears), and then there would be a clearing. She was afraid, too. It was something that Tlieo was going to propose; some change that he wanted to carry out: and mamma was afraid of it, too. This was in one way comforting, but in an- other more alarming; for it must be very serious indeed, if she, too, was afraid. He roused himself from these un- comfortable thoughts, and began to pull his books about, and put his exercises upon the desk which Theo used, when he heard the sound of Theos arrival, the heavy hoofs of the big black horse, the voice of Soames in the hall, the quick steady step coming in. The time bad been when Geoff would have thrown all his books on the table, and rushed out to witness the arrival, with an eager Oh, Theo, you re five minutes late! or Oh, Theo, I have nt done yet! For some time, however, he had left off doing this. Things were too serious for such vanities; he lifted his head and held his breath, listening to the ap- proaching footstep. A kind of alarm lest it should not be coming here at all, but straight to Lady Marklands room, made him pale for the moment. That would be too bad, to come here pro- fessedly for Geoff and to go instead to mamma! it would be just like Theo; but fortunately things were not quite so bad as this. The steps came straight to Geoffs door. Warrender entered, looking the boy could not tell how flushed, weary-eyed: something as he had seen his father look in the morn- ing after a late night. Excitement sim- ulates many disorders, and this was the first thought that leaped to Geoffs mind, with its little bit of painful experience. I say, Theo! the boy cried; and then stared and said no more. Well! what is it yousay? Ihope you are prepared to-day, not like last time.~~ Last time! but I was very well pre- pared last time! It is you who forget. I knew everything. You had better teach me, then, Geoff, for I dont know everything: no, nor half what I want to know. Oh, here is the exercise! Warrender said, sitting down. He looked it over and corrected it with his pencil, hanging over it, seeming to forget the boys presence. When that was done he opened the book carelessly, anywhere, not at the place, as Geoff, who watched with keen eyes everything the young 192 A Noct~tri~. [August, man was doing, perceived instantly. Where did you leave off last time? Go on, he said. Geoff began; but he was far too intent on watching Theo to know what he was about; and as he construed with his eyes only, and not all of them, for he had to keep his com- panion s movements in sight all the time, it is needless to say that Geoff made sad work of his Caesar. And his little faculties were more and more sharp- ened with alarm, and more and more blunted in Latin, when he found that stumble as he liked, Theo did not cor- rect him, nor say a word. He sat with his head propped on his hands, and when Geoff paused merely said, Go on. Either this meant something very awful in the shape of fault-finding when the culprit had come to the end of the lesson, the exemption now meaning dire retribution then, or else there was something very wrong with Theo. Geoffs little sharp eyes seemed to leap out of their sockets with excitement and suspense. At last Warrender suddenly, in the midst of a dreadfully boggled sentence, after Geoff had beaten himself on every side of these walls of words in bewilder- ing endeavors to find a nominative, sprang up to his feet. Look here, he said, I think Ill give you a holiday to-day. Geoff, startled, closed his book upon his hand. I had a holiday yesterday. Had you? well, what has that to do with it? You can put away your books for to-day. As for being pre pared, my boy, if my head had not been so bad Is your head bad, Theo? Geoff put on a look of solicitude to divert at- tention from his own delinquencies. I think it will split in two, said Warrender, pressing his hands upon his temples, in which indeed the blood was so swelling in every vein that they seemed ready to burst. He added, a minute after, You can run out and get a little air; and here he paused, and the boy stopped and looked up, knowing and fearing what was coming. And, repeated Warrender, a crimson flush coming to his face which had been so pale, I 11 go and explain to Lady Markland. Oh, if you re in a hurry to go, never mind, Theol I 11 tell mamma. Warrender looked at Geoff with a blank but angry gaze. I told you to run out and play, he said, his voice sounding harsh and strange. It s very bright out of doors. It will be the best thing for you. And, Theol what shall I learn for to-morrow? To-morrow! The child was fright~ ened by the look Theo gave him: the sudden fading out of the flush, the hol- low look in his eyes. Then he flung down the book which all the time he had been holding mechanically in his hand. Damn to-morrow! he said. Geoffs eyes opened wide with amaze- ment and horror. Was Theo going mad? was that all that it meant after all? M 0. W. Oliphant. A NOCTURN. I HAVE been an acolyte In the service of the Night, Subtile incense I have burned, Songs of silence I have learned,

Edith M. Thomas Thomas, Edith M. A Nocturn 192-194

192 A Noct~tri~. [August, man was doing, perceived instantly. Where did you leave off last time? Go on, he said. Geoff began; but he was far too intent on watching Theo to know what he was about; and as he construed with his eyes only, and not all of them, for he had to keep his com- panion s movements in sight all the time, it is needless to say that Geoff made sad work of his Caesar. And his little faculties were more and more sharp- ened with alarm, and more and more blunted in Latin, when he found that stumble as he liked, Theo did not cor- rect him, nor say a word. He sat with his head propped on his hands, and when Geoff paused merely said, Go on. Either this meant something very awful in the shape of fault-finding when the culprit had come to the end of the lesson, the exemption now meaning dire retribution then, or else there was something very wrong with Theo. Geoffs little sharp eyes seemed to leap out of their sockets with excitement and suspense. At last Warrender suddenly, in the midst of a dreadfully boggled sentence, after Geoff had beaten himself on every side of these walls of words in bewilder- ing endeavors to find a nominative, sprang up to his feet. Look here, he said, I think Ill give you a holiday to-day. Geoff, startled, closed his book upon his hand. I had a holiday yesterday. Had you? well, what has that to do with it? You can put away your books for to-day. As for being pre pared, my boy, if my head had not been so bad Is your head bad, Theo? Geoff put on a look of solicitude to divert at- tention from his own delinquencies. I think it will split in two, said Warrender, pressing his hands upon his temples, in which indeed the blood was so swelling in every vein that they seemed ready to burst. He added, a minute after, You can run out and get a little air; and here he paused, and the boy stopped and looked up, knowing and fearing what was coming. And, repeated Warrender, a crimson flush coming to his face which had been so pale, I 11 go and explain to Lady Markland. Oh, if you re in a hurry to go, never mind, Theol I 11 tell mamma. Warrender looked at Geoff with a blank but angry gaze. I told you to run out and play, he said, his voice sounding harsh and strange. It s very bright out of doors. It will be the best thing for you. And, Theol what shall I learn for to-morrow? To-morrow! The child was fright~ ened by the look Theo gave him: the sudden fading out of the flush, the hol- low look in his eyes. Then he flung down the book which all the time he had been holding mechanically in his hand. Damn to-morrow! he said. Geoffs eyes opened wide with amaze- ment and horror. Was Theo going mad? was that all that it meant after all? M 0. W. Oliphant. A NOCTURN. I HAVE been an acolyte In the service of the Night, Subtile incense I have burned, Songs of silence I have learned, 1886.] A Nocturn. 198 Spirit-uttered antiphon That from aisle to aisle doth run Through the deep cathedral wood. There she blessed me as I stood, There, or in her courts that lie Open to the gemmed sky. Me with starlight she hath crowned, And with purple wrapped me round, Darkling purple, strangely wrought By the servants of her thought. Mortal, whosoeer thou art, That dost bear a fevered heart, Hither come and heak~d be: Night such grace will show to thee, Thou shalt tread the dewy stubble Stranger to all fret and trouble, While bright Hesper leans from heaven Through the soft, dove-colored even, While the grass-bird calleth peace On the fields that have release From the sickle and the rake. Happy sigher! thou shalt take The rich breath of blossomed maize, As the moist wind smoothly plays With its misty silks and plumes. Thou shalt peer through tangled glooms, Where the fruited brier-rose Fragrance on thy pathway throws, And the firefly bears a link; Where swart bramble-berries drink Spicy dew, and shall be sweet, Ripened by to-morrows heat; Still, wherever thou dost pass, Chimes the cricket in the grass; And the plovers note is heard, Moonlights wild enchanted bird, Flitting, wakeful and forlorn, Round the meadows lately shorn. Wilt thou come, and heahid be Of the wounds Day gave to thee, Come and dwell, an acolyte Of the deep-browed holy Night? .Editk AL Thomas. 194 OR Horseback. [August, ON HORSEBACK. II. CRANBERRY FORGE is the first wedge of civilization fairly driven into the northwest mountains of North Carolina. A narrow-guage railway, starting from Johnson City, follows up the narrow gorge of the Doe River and pushes into the heart of the iron mines at Cranberry, where there is a blast furnace, and where a big company store, rows of ten- ement houses, heaps of slag and refuse ore, interlacing tracks, raw embank- ments, denuded hillsides, and a black- ened landscape are the signs of a great devastating American enterprise. The Cranberry iron is in great esteem, as it has the peculiar quality of the Swedish iron. There are remains of old fur- naces lower down the stream, which we passed on our way. The present plant is that of a Philadelphia company, whose enterprise has infused new life into all this region, made it accessible, and spoiled some pretty scenery. When we alighted, weary, at the gate of the pretty hotel, which crowns a gen- tle hill and commands a pleasing, ever- green prospect of many gentle hills, a mile or so below the works and wholly removed from all sordid associations, we were at the point of willingness that the whole country should be devastated by civilization. In the local imagination this hotel of the company is a palace of unequaled magnificence, but probably its good-taste, comfort, and quiet elegance are not appreciated after all. There is this to be said about Philadelphia and it will go far in pleading for it in the Last Day against its monotonous rec- tangularity and the Babel-like ambition of its Public Building that wherever its influence extends there will be found comfortable lodgings and the luxury of an undeniably excellent cuisine. The visible seal that Philadelphia sets on its enterprise all through the South is a good hotel. This Cottage Beautiful has on two sides a wide veranda, set about with easy chairs; cheerful parlors and pretty chambers, finished in native woods, among which are conspicuous the satin stripes of the cucumber tree; luxurious beds, and an inviting table, ordered by a Philadelphia landlady, who knows a beefsteak from a boot-tap. Is it low to dwell upon these things of the senses, when one is on a tour in search of the picturesque? Let the reader ride from Abingdon through a wilderness of corn- pone and rusty bacon, and then judge. There were, to be sure, novels lying about, and newspapers, and fragments of information to be picked up about a world into which the travelers seemed to emerge. They, at least, were satis- fied, and went off to their rooms with the restful feeling that they had arrived somewhere, and no unquiet spirit at morn would say to horse. To sleep, perchance to dream of rJ7atem and his household cemetery, and the Professor was heard muttering in his chamber, Weary, with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; But then begins a journey in my head, To work my mind, when bodys work s ex- pird. The morning was warm (the eleva- tion of the hotel must be between 2500 and 3000 feet), rainy, mildly rainy; and the travelers had nothing better to do than lounge upon the veranda, read fee- ble ten-cent fictions, and admire the stems of the white birches, glistening in the moisture, and the rhododendron trees, twenty feet high, which were shaking off their last pink blossoms, and look down into the valley of the Doe. It is not an exciting landscape, nothing bold or specially wild in it, but,

Charles Dudley Warner Warner, Charles Dudley On Horseback 194-207

194 OR Horseback. [August, ON HORSEBACK. II. CRANBERRY FORGE is the first wedge of civilization fairly driven into the northwest mountains of North Carolina. A narrow-guage railway, starting from Johnson City, follows up the narrow gorge of the Doe River and pushes into the heart of the iron mines at Cranberry, where there is a blast furnace, and where a big company store, rows of ten- ement houses, heaps of slag and refuse ore, interlacing tracks, raw embank- ments, denuded hillsides, and a black- ened landscape are the signs of a great devastating American enterprise. The Cranberry iron is in great esteem, as it has the peculiar quality of the Swedish iron. There are remains of old fur- naces lower down the stream, which we passed on our way. The present plant is that of a Philadelphia company, whose enterprise has infused new life into all this region, made it accessible, and spoiled some pretty scenery. When we alighted, weary, at the gate of the pretty hotel, which crowns a gen- tle hill and commands a pleasing, ever- green prospect of many gentle hills, a mile or so below the works and wholly removed from all sordid associations, we were at the point of willingness that the whole country should be devastated by civilization. In the local imagination this hotel of the company is a palace of unequaled magnificence, but probably its good-taste, comfort, and quiet elegance are not appreciated after all. There is this to be said about Philadelphia and it will go far in pleading for it in the Last Day against its monotonous rec- tangularity and the Babel-like ambition of its Public Building that wherever its influence extends there will be found comfortable lodgings and the luxury of an undeniably excellent cuisine. The visible seal that Philadelphia sets on its enterprise all through the South is a good hotel. This Cottage Beautiful has on two sides a wide veranda, set about with easy chairs; cheerful parlors and pretty chambers, finished in native woods, among which are conspicuous the satin stripes of the cucumber tree; luxurious beds, and an inviting table, ordered by a Philadelphia landlady, who knows a beefsteak from a boot-tap. Is it low to dwell upon these things of the senses, when one is on a tour in search of the picturesque? Let the reader ride from Abingdon through a wilderness of corn- pone and rusty bacon, and then judge. There were, to be sure, novels lying about, and newspapers, and fragments of information to be picked up about a world into which the travelers seemed to emerge. They, at least, were satis- fied, and went off to their rooms with the restful feeling that they had arrived somewhere, and no unquiet spirit at morn would say to horse. To sleep, perchance to dream of rJ7atem and his household cemetery, and the Professor was heard muttering in his chamber, Weary, with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; But then begins a journey in my head, To work my mind, when bodys work s ex- pird. The morning was warm (the eleva- tion of the hotel must be between 2500 and 3000 feet), rainy, mildly rainy; and the travelers had nothing better to do than lounge upon the veranda, read fee- ble ten-cent fictions, and admire the stems of the white birches, glistening in the moisture, and the rhododendron trees, twenty feet high, which were shaking off their last pink blossoms, and look down into the valley of the Doe. It is not an exciting landscape, nothing bold or specially wild in it, but, 1885.] On fforsel3ack. 195 restful with the monotony of some of the wooded Pennsylvania hills. Sunday came up smiling, a lovely day, but offering no church privileges, for the ordinance of preaching is only occasional in this region. The ladies of the hotel have, however, gathered in the valley a Sunday-school of fifty children from the mountain cabins. A couple of rainy days, with the thermometer rising to 800, combined with natural laziness to detain the travelers in this cottage of ease. They enjoyed this the more be- cause it was on their consciences that they should visit Linville Falls, some twenty-five miles eastward, long held up before them as the most magnificent feature of this region, and on no account to be omitted. Hence naturally a strong desire to omit it. The Professor takes bold ground against these abnormal freaks of nature, and it was nothing to him that the public would demand that we should see Linville Falls. In the first place we could find no one who had ever seen them, and we spent two days in catechizing natives and strangers. The nearest we came to information was from a workman at the furnace, who was born and raised within three miles of the Falls. He had heard of people going there. He had never seen them himself. It was a good twenty- five miles there, over the worst road in the State we d think it thirty before we got there. Fifty miles of such trav- el to see a little water run down hill! The travelers reflected. Every country has a local waterfall of which it boasts; they had seen a great many. One more would add little to the experience of life. The vagueness of information, to be sure, lured the travelers to undertake the journey; but the temptation was resisted something ought to be left for the next explorer and so Linville remains a thing of the imagination. Towards evening, July 29th, between showers, the Professor and the Friend rode along the narrow-guage road, down Johnsons Creek, to Roan Station, the point of departure for ascending Roan Mountain. It was a ride of an hour and a half over a fair road, fringed with rhododendrons, nearly blossomless; but at one point on the stream this stur- dy shrub had formed a long bower where- under a table might have been set for a temperance picnic, completely over- grown with wild grape, and still gay with bloom. The habitations on the way are mostly board shanties and mean frame cabins, but the railway is intro- ducing ambitious architecture here and there in the form of ornamental filigree work on flimsy houses: ornamentation is apt to precede comfort in our civiliza- tion. Roan Station is on the Doe River (which flows down from Roan Moun- tain), and is marked at 2650 feet above the sea. The visitor will find here a good hotel, with open wood fires (not ungrateful in a July evening), and oblig- ing people. This railway from Johnson City, hanging on the edge of the preci- pices that wall the gorge of the Doe, is counted in this region by the inhabitants one of the engineering wonders of the world. The tourist is urged by all means to see both it and Linville Falls. The tourist on horseback, in search of exercise and recreation, is not probably expected to take stock of moral condi- tions. But this Mitchell County, al- though it was a Union county during the war and is Republican in politics (the Southern reader will perhaps prefer an- other adverb to although), has had the worst possible reputation. The mountains were hiding-places of illicit distilleries; the woods were full of grog- shanties, where the inflaming fluid was sold as native brandy, quarrels and neighborhood difficulties were frequent, and the knife and pistol were used on the slightest provocation. Fights arose about boundaries and the title to mica mines, and with the revenue officers; and force was the arbiter of all dispui~es. 196 On Horseback. [August, Within the year four murders were com- mitted in the sparsely settled county. Travel on any of the roads was unsafe. The tone of morals was what might be expected with such lawlessness. A lady who came up on the road on the 4th of July, when an excursion party of coun- try people took possession of the cars, witnessed a scene and heard language past belief. Men, women, and children drank from whiskey bottles that contin- ually circulated, and a wild orgy result- ed. Profanity, indecent talk on topics that even the license of the sixteenth century would not have tolerated, and freedom of manners that even Teniers would have shrunk from putting on can- vas made the journey horrible. The unrestrained license of whiskey and assault and murder had produced a reaction a few months previous to our visit. The people had risen up in their indignation and broken up the grogger- ies. So far as we observed temperance prevailed, backed by public opinion. In our whole ride through the mountain region we saw only one or two places where liquor was sold. It is called twelve miles from Roan Station to Roan Summit. The distance is probably nearer fourteen, and our horses were five hours in walking it. For six miles the road runs by Doe River, here a pretty brook shaded with laurel and rhododendron, and a few cul- tivated patches of ground and infre- quent houses. It was a blithe morning, and the horsemen would have given full indulgence to the spirit of adventure but for the attitude of the Professor to- wards mountains. It was not with him a matter of feeling, but of principle, not to ascend them. But here lay Roan, a long, sprawling ridge, lifting itself 6250 feet up into the sky. Impossible to go around it, and the other side must be reached. The Professor was obliged to surrender, and surmount a difficulty which he could not philosophize out of his mind. From the base of the mountain a road is very well engineered, in easy grades for carriages, to the top; but it was in poor repair and stony. We mounted slowly through splendid forests, special- ly of fine chestnuts and hemlocks. This big timber continues till within a mile and a half of the summit by the wind- ing road, really within a short distance of the top. Then there is a narrow belt of scrubby hardwood, moss-grown, and then large balsams, which crown the mountain. As soon as we came out upon the southern slope we found great open spaces, covered with succulent grass, and giving excellent pasturage to cattle. These rich mountain meadows are found on all the heights of this re- gion. The surface of Roan is uneven, and has no one culminating peak that commands the country, like the peak of Mount Washington, but several emi- nences within its range of probably a mile and a half, where various views can be had. Near the highest point, shel- tered from the north by balsams, stands a house of entertainment, with a de- tached cottage, looking across the great valley to the Black Mountain range. The surface of the mountain is pebbly, but few rocks crop out; no ledges of any size are seen except at a distance from the hotel, on the north side, and the mountain consequently lacks that savage, unsubduable aspect which the White Hills of New Hampshire have. It would, in fact, have been difficult to realize that we were over 6000 feet above the sea, except for that pallor in the sunlight, that atmospheric thinness and want of color which is an unpleas- ant characteristic of high altitudes. To be sure, there is a certain brilliancy in the high air it is apt to be foggy on Roan and objects appear in sharp out- line, but I have often experienced on such places that feeling of melancholy, which would, of course, deepen upon us all if we were sensible that the sun was gradually withdrawing its power of 1885.] On Hor8ebaclc. 197 warmth and light. The black balsam is neither a cheerful nor a picturesque tree; the frequent rains and mists on Roan keep the grass and mosses green, but the ground damp. Doubtless a high mountain covered with vegetation has its compensation, but for me the naked granite rocks in sun and shower are more cheerful. The advantage of Roan is that one can live there and be occupied for a long time in mineral and botanical study. Its mild climate, moisture, and great eleva- tion make it unique in this country for the botanist. The variety of plants as- sembled there is very large, and there are many, we were told, never or rarely found elsewhere in the United States. At any rate the botanists rave about Roan ~ountain and spend weeks on it at a time. We found there ladies who could draw for us Greys lily (then passed) and had kept specimens of the rhododendron (not growing elsewhere in this region), which has a deep red, almost purple color. The hotel is a rude mountain struc- ture, with a couple of comfortable rooms for office and sitting-room, in which big wood fires are blazing; for though the thermometer might record 600, as it did when we arrived, fire was welcome. Sleeping places partitioned off in the loft above gave the occupants a feeling of camping out, all the conveniences being primitive; and when the wind rose in the night and darkness, and the loose boards rattled and the timbers creaked, the sensation was not unlike that of being at sea. The hotel was satisfactorily kept, and Southern guests, from as far south as New Orleans, were spending the season there, and not find- ing time hang heavy on their hands. This statement is perhaps worth more than pages of description as to the character of Roan, and its contrast to Mt. Washington. The summer weather is exceedingly uncertain on all these North Carolina mountains; they are apt at any moment to be enveloped in mist; and it would rather rain on them than not. On the afternoon of our arrival there was fine air and fair weather, but not a clear sky. The distance was hazy, but the outlines were preserved. We could see White Top, in Virginia; Grandfather Mountain, a long serrated range; the twin towers of Linville; and the entire range of the Black Mountains, rising from the valley, and apparently lower than we were. They get the name of Black from the balsams which cover the summits. The rain on Roan was of less annoy- ance by reason of the delightful com- pany assembled at the hotel, which was in a manner at home there, and, thrown upon its own resources, came out uncom- monly strong in agreeableness. There was a fiddle in the house, which had some of the virtues of that celebrated in the history of old Mark Langston; the Professor was enabled to produce anything desired out of the literature of the eighteenth century; and what with the repartee of bright women, big wood fires, reading, and chat, there was no dull day or evening on Roan. I can fancy, however, that it might tire in time, if one were not a botanist, with- out the resource of womens society. The ladies staying here were probably all accomplished botanists, and the writer is indebted to one of them for a list of plants found on Roan, among which is an interesting weed, cata- logued as Ilumana, perplexict negligens. The species is, however, common else- where. The second morning opened, after a night of high wind, with a thunder shower. After it passed, the visitors tried to reach Eagle Cliff, two miles off, whence an extensive western prospect is had, but were driven back by a tem- pest, and rain practically occupied the day. Now and then through the parted clouds we got a glimpse of a mountain- 198 On Horseback. [August, side, or the gleam of a valley. On the lower mountains, at wide intervals apart, were isolated settlements, commonly a wretched cabin and a spot of girdled trees. A clergyman here, not long ago, undertook to visit some of these cabins and carry his message to them. In one wretched hut of logs he found a poor woman, with whom, after conversation on serious subjects, he desired to pray. She offered no objection, and he kneeled down and prayed. The woman heard him, and watched him for some mo- ments with curiosity, in an effort to as- certain what he was doing, and then said: Why, a man did that when he put my girl in a hole. Towards night the wind hauled round from the south to the northwest, and we went to High Bluff, a point on the north edge, where some rocks are piled up above the evergreens, to get a view of the sunset. In every direction the mountains were clear, and a view was obtained of the vast horizon and the hills and lowlands of several States a continental prospect, scarcely anywhere else equaled for variety or distance. The grandeur of mountains depends mostly on the state of the atmosphere. Grandfather loomed up much more loftily than the day before, the giant range of the Blacks asserted itself in grim inaccessibility, and we could see, a small pyramid on the southwest hori- zon, Kings Mountain in South Caro- lina, estimated to be distant one hun- dred and fifty miles. To the north Roan falls from this point abruptly, and we had, like a map below us, the low country all the way into Virginia. The clouds lay like lakes in the valleys of the lower hills, and in every direction were ranges of mountains wooded to the summits. Off to the west by south lay the Great Smoky Mountains, dis- puting eminence with the Blacks. Magnificent and impressive as the spectacle was, we were obliged to con- trast it unfavorably with that of the White Hills. The rock here is a sort of sand or pudding stone; there is no limestone or granite. And all the hills are tree covered. To many this cloth- ing of verdure is most restful and pleas- ing. I missed the sharp outlines, the delicate artistic sky lines, sharply de- fined in uplifted bare granite peaks and ridges, with the purple and violet color of the northern mountains, and which it seems to me that limestone and gran- ite formations give. There are none of the great gorges and awful abysses of the White Mountains, both valleys and mountains here being more uniform in outline. There are few precipices and jutting crags, and less is visible of the giant ribs and bones of the planet. Yet Roan is a noble mountain. A lady from Tennessee asked me if I had ever seen anything to compare with it she thought there could be nothing in the world. One has to dodge this sort of question in the South occasional- ly, not to offend a just local pride. It is certainly one of the most habitable of big mountains. It is roomy on top, there is space to move about without too great fatigue, and one might pleasantly spend a season there, if he had agreeable com- pany and natural tastes. Getting down from Roan on the south side is not as easy as ascending on the north; the road for five miles to the foot of the mountain is merely a river of pebbles, gullied by the heavy rains, down which the horses picked their way painfully. The travelers endeavored to present a dashing and cavalier appear- ance to the group of ladies who waved good-by from the hotel, as they took their way over the waste and wind-blown declivities, but it was only a show, for the horses would neither caracole nor champ the bit (at a dollar a day) down hill over the slippery stones, and, truth to tell, the wanderers turned with regret from the society of leisure and persiflage to face the wilderness of Mitchell County. 1885.] On Horseback. 199 How heavy, exclaimed the Professor, pricking Laura Matilda to call her at- tention sharply to her footing: How heavy do I journey on the way, When what I seek my weary travels end Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, Thus far the miles are measurd from thy friend The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, As if by some instinct the wretch did know His rider loved not speed, being made from thee The bloody spur cannot provoke him on That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, Which heavily he answers with a groan, More sharp to me than spurring to his side For that same groan doth put this in my mind; My grief lies onward and my joy behind. This was not spoken to the group who fluttered their farewells, hut poured out to the uncomplaining forest, which rose up in ever statelier and grander ranks to greet the travelers as they descended the silent vast forest, without note of bird or chip of squirrel, only the wind tossing the great branches high overhead in response to the sonnet. Is there any region or circumstance of life that the poet did not forecast and provide for? But what would have been his feelings if he could have known that almost three centuries after these lines were penned, they would be used to express the emo- tion of an unsentimental traveler in the primeval forests of the New World? At any rate he peopled the New World with the children of his imagination. And, thought the Friend, whose attention to his horse did not permit him to drop into poetry, Shakespeare might have had a vision of this vast continent, though he did not refer to it, when he exclaimed: What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend? Bakersyille, the capital of Mitchell County, is eight miles from the top of Roan, and the last three miles of the way the horsemen found tolerable going, over which the horses could show their paces. The valley looked fairly thrifty and bright, and was a pleasing introduc- tion to Bakersville, a pretty place in the hills, of some six hundred inhabitants, with two churches, three indifferent ho- tels and a court-house. This mountain town, 25~O feet above the sea, is said to have a decent winter climate, with little snow, favorable to fruit-growing, and, by contrast with New England, en- couraging to people with weak lungs. This is the centre of the mica mining, and of considerable excitement about minerals. All around, the hills are spotted with diggings. Most of the mines which yield well show signs of having been worked before, a very long time ago, no doubt by the occupants be- fore the Indians. The mica is of excel- lent quality and easily mined. It is got out in large irregular-shaped blocks and transported to the factories, where it is carefully split by hand, and the laminm, of as large size as can be ob- tained, are trimmed with shears and tied up in packages for market. The quan- tity of refuse, broken, and rotten mica piled up about the factories is immense, and all the roads round about glisten with its scales. Garnets are often found imbedded in the laminm, flattened by the extreme pressure to which the mass was subjected. It is fascinating mate- rial, this mica, to handle, and we amused ourselves by experimenting on the thin- ness to which its scales could be reduced by splitting. It was at Bakersville that we saw specimens of mica that resem- bled the delicate tracery in the moss- agate, and had the iridescent sheen of the rainbow colors the most delicate greens, reds, blues, purples, and gold, changing from one to the other in the reflected light. In the texture were the tracings of fossil forms of ferns and the most exquisite and delicate vegetable beauty of the coal age. But the mag- net shows this tracery to he iron. We were shown also emeralds and din- monds, picked up in this region, and there is a mild expectation in all the in- 200 On Horseback. [August, habitants of great mineral treasure. A singular product of the region is the flexible sandstone. It is a most uncanny stone. A slip of it a couple of feet long and an inch in diameter each way bends in the hand like a half frozen snake. This conduct of a substance that we have been taught to regard as in- fIexibl~ impairs ones confidence in the stability of nature and affects him as an earthquake does. This excitement over mica and other minerals has the usual effect of starting up business and creating bad blood. For- tunes have been made, and lost in riot- ous living; scores of visionary men have been disappointed; lawsuits about titles and claims have multiplied, and quarrels ending in murder have been frequent in the past few years. The mica and the illicit whiskey have worked together to make this region one of lawlessness and violence. The travelers were told stories of the lack of common morality and decency in the region, but they made no note of them. And, per- haps fortunately, they were not there during court week to witness the scenes of license that were described. This court week, which draws hither the whole population, is a sort of Saturna- ha. Perhaps the worst of this is already a thing of the past; for the outrages a year before had reached such a pass that by a common movement the sale of whiskey was stopped (not interdicted, but stopped), and not a drop of liquor could be bought in Bakersville nor within three miles of it. The jail at Bakersville is a very sim- ple residence. The main building is brick, two stories high and about twelve feet square. The walls are so loosely laid up that it seems as if a colored pris- oner might butt his head through. At- tached to this is a room for the jailer. In the lower room is a wooden cage, made of logs bolted together and filled with spikes, nine feet by ten feet square and perhaps seven or eight feet high. Between this cage and the wall is a space of eighteen inches in width. It has a narrow door, and an opening through which the food is passed to the prisoners, and a conduit leading out of it. Of course it soon becomes foul, and in warm weather somewhat warm. A recent prisoner, who wanted more ven- tilation than the State allowed him, found some means, by a loose plank, I think, to batter a hole in the outer wall opposite the window in the cage, and this ragged opening, seeming to the jailer a good sanitary arrangement, re- mains. Two murderers occupied this apartment at the time of our visit. During the recent session of court, ten men had been confined in this narrow space, without room enough for them to lie down together. The cage in the room above, a little larger, had for ten- ant a person who was jailed for some misunderstanding about an account, and who was probably innocent from the jailers statement. This box is a wretch- ed residence, month after month, while awaiting trial. We learned on inquiry that it is practically impossible to get a jury to convict of murder in this region, and that these admitted felons would un- doubtedly escape. We even heard that juries were purchasable here, and that a mans success in court depended upon the length of his purse. This is such an unheard of thing that we refused to credit it. When the Friend attempted to arouse the indignation of the Pro- fessor about the barbarity of this jail, the latter defended it on the ground that as confinement was the only punishment that murderers were likely to receive in this region, it was well to make their detention disagreeable to them. But the Friend did not like this wild-beast cage for men, and could only exclaim, Oh, murder! what crimes are done in thy name. If the comrades wished an adventure, they had a small one, more interesting 1885.] On Ilorsebacic. 201 to them than to the public, the morn- ing they left Bakersyille to ride to Burasyille, which sets itself up as the capital of Yancey. The way for the first three miles lay down a small creek and in a valley fairly settled, the houses, a store, and a grist-mill giving evidence of the new enterprise of the region. When Toe River was reached there was a choice of routes. We might ford the Toe at that point, where the river was wide, but shallow, and the crossing safe, and climb over the mountain by a rough but sightly road, or descend the stream by a better road and ford the river at a place rather dangerous to those unfamil- iar with it. The danger attracted us, but we promptly chose the hill road on account of the views, for we were weary of the limited valley prospects. The Toe River, even here, where it bears westward, is a very respectable stream in size, and not to be trifled with after a shower. It gradually turns northward, and joining the Nollechucky becomes part of the Tennessee system. We crossed it by a long, diagonal ford, slipping and sliding about on the round stones, and began the ascent of a steep hill. The sun beat down unmercifully, the way was stony, and the horses did not relish the weary climbing. The Pro- fessor, who led the way, not for the sake of leadership but to be the discoverer of laden blackberry bushes, which began to offer occasional refreshment, discouraged by the inhospitable road and perhaps oppressed by the moral backwardness of things in general, cried out: Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmd in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honor shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill, And simple truth miscalld simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill: Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. In the midst of a lively discussion of this pessimistic view of the inequalities of life, in which desert and capacity are so often put at disadvantage by birth in beggarly conditions, and brazen assump- tion raises the dust from its chariot wheels for modest merit to plod along in, the Professor swung himself off his horse to attack a blackberry bush, and the Friend, representing simple truth, and desirous of getting a wider prospect, urged his horse up the hill. At the top he encountered a stranger, on a sorrel horse, with whom he entered into con- versation and extracted all the discour- agement the man had as to the road to Burnsville. Nevertheless, the view opened finely and extensively. There are few exhil- arations comparable to that of riding or walking along a high ridge, and the spirits of the traveler rose many de- grees above the point of restful death, for which the Professor was crying when he encountered the blackberry bushes. Luckily the Friend soon fell in with a like temptation, and dismount- ed. He discovered something that spoiled his appetite for berries. His coat, strapped on behind the saddle, had worked loose, the pocket was open, and the pocket-book was gone. This was serious business. For while the Pro- fessor was the cashier, and traveled like a Rothschild, with large drafts, the Friend represented the sub-treasury. That very morning, in response to in- quiry as to the sinews of travel, the Friend had displayed, without counting, a roll of bills. These bills had now dis- appeared, and when the Friend turned back to communicate his loss, in the character of needy nothing not trimmd in jollity, he had a sympathetic listener to the tale of woe. Going back on such a journey is the woefulest experience, but retrace our steps we must. Perhaps the pocket-book lay in the road not half a mile back. But not in a half a mile, or a mile, was it 202 On Horseback. [August, found. Probably, then, the man on the sorrel horse had picked it up. But who was the man on the sorrel horse, and where had he gone? Probably the coat worked loose in crossing Toe River and the pocket-book had gone down stream. The number of probabilities was infinite, and each more plausible than the others as it occurred to us. We inquired at every house we had passed on the way, we questioned every one we met. At length it began to seem improbable that any one would remember if he had picked up a pocket-book that morning. This is just the sort of thing that slips an untrained memory. At a post-office, or doctors shop, or inn for drovers, it might be either or neither, where several horses were tied to the fence, and a group of men were tilted back in cane-chairs on the veran- da, we unfolded our misfortune and made particular inquiries for a man on a sorrel horse. Yes, such a man, David Thomas by name, had just ridden to- wards Bakersville. If he had found the pocket-book, we would recover it. He was an honest man. It might, however, fall into hands that would freeze to it. Upon consultation, it was the general verdict that there were men in the coun- ty who would keep it if they had picked it up. But the assembly manifested the liveliest interest in the incident. One suggested Toe River. Another thought it risky to drop a purse on any road. But there was a chorus of desire ex- pressed that we should find it, and in this anxiety was exhibited a decided sensitiveness about the honor of Mitch- ell County. It seemed too bad that a stranger should ~go away with the im- pression that it was not safe to leave money anywhere in it. We felt very much obliged for this genuine sympathy, and we told them that if a pocket-book were lost in this way on a Connecticut road, there would be felt no neighbor- hood responsibility for it, and that no- body would take any interest in the in- cident except the man who lost, and the man who found. By the time the travelers pulled up at a store in Bakersville they had lost all expectation of recovering the miss- ing article, and were discussing the in- vestment of more money in an adver- tisement in the weekly newspaper of the capital. The Professor, whose re- form sentiments agreed with those of the newspaper, advised it. There was a group of idlers, mica acquaintances of the morning, and philosophers in front of the store, and the Friend opened the colloquy by asking if a man named David Thomas had been seen in town. He was in town, had ridden in within an hour, and his brother, who was in the group, would go in search of him. The information was then given of the loss, and that the rider had met David Thomas just before it was discovered, on the mountain beyond the Toe. The news made a sensation, and by the time David Thomas appeared a crowd of a hundred had drawn around the horse- men eager for further developments. Mr. Thomas was the least excited of the group as he took his position on the sidewalk, conscious of the dignity of the occasion and that he was about to begin a duel in which both reputa- tion and profit were concerned. He recollected meeting the travelers in the morning. The Friend said, I discovered that I had lost my purse just after meeting you; it may have been dropped in Toe River, but I was told back here that if David Thomas had picked it up it was as safe as if it were in the bank. What sort of a pocket-book was it? asked Mr. Thomas. It was of crocodile skin, or what is sold for that, very likely it is an imita- tion, and about so large indicating the size. What had it in it? Various things. Some specimens of mica; so~eblank checks; some money. 1885.] On Ilorsebacic. 203 Anything else? Yes, a photograph. And, oh, some- thing that I presume is not in another pocket-iook in North Carolina, in an envelope, a lock of the hair of George Washington, the Father of his Coun- try. Sensation, mixed with incredulity. Washingtons hair did seem such an odd part of an outfit for a journey of this kind. How much money was in it? That I cannot say, exactly. I hap- pen to remember four twenty dollar United States notes, and a roll of small hills, perhaps something over a hundred dollars. Is that the pocket-book? asked David Thomas, slowly pulling the loved and lost out of his trousers pocket. It is.,, You d he willing to take your oath on it? I should be delighted to. Well, I guess there aint so much money in it. You can count it (handing it over); there haint been nothing taken out. I cant read, but my friend here counted it over, and he says there aint so much as that. Intense interest in the result of the counting. One hundred and ten dollars! The Friend selected one of the best engraved of the notes, and appealed to the crowd if they thought that was the square thing to do. They did so think, and David Thomas said it was abundant. And then said the Friend: I m exceedingly grateful to you be- sides. Washingtons hair is getting scarce, and I did not want to lose these few hairs, gray as they are. You ye done the honest thing, Mr. Thomas, as was expected of you. You might have kept the whole. But I reckon if there had been five hundred dollars in the book and you had kept it, it would nt have done you half as much good as giv- ing it up has done; and your reputation as an honest man is worth a good deal more than this pocket-book. [The Pro- fessor was delighted with this sentiment, because it reminded him of a Sunday- school.] I shall go away with a high opinion of the honesty of Mitchell County. Oh, he lives in Yancev, cried two or three voices. At which there was a great laugh. Well, I wondered where he came from. And the Mitchell County peo- ple laughed again at their own expense, and the levee broke up. It was exceed- ingly gratifying, as we spread the news of the recovered property that afternoon at every house on our way to the Toe, to see what pleasure it gave. Every man appeared to feel that the honor of the region had been on trial and had stood the test. The eighteen miles to Burnsville had now to be added to the morning excur- sion, but the travelers were in high spirits, feeling the truth of the adage that it is better to have loved and lost, than never to have lost at all. They decided, on reflection, to join company with the mail-rider, who was going to Burnsville by the shorter route, and could pilot them over the dangerous ford of the Toe. The mail-rider was a lean, sallow, sinewy man, mounted on a sorry sorrel nag, who proved, however, to have blood in her, and to be a fast walker and full of endurance. The mail-rider was taci- turn, a natural habit for a man who rides alone the year round, over a lone- ly road, and has nothing whatever to think of. He had been in the war six- teen months, in Hugh Whites regiment, reckon you ye heerd of him? Confederate? Which ? Was he on the Union or Confeder- ate side ? Oh, Union.~~ Were you in any engagements? Which? Did you have any fighting? Not reglar. 204 On Ilorsebacic. [August, What did you do? Which? Wjiat did you do in Hugh Whites regiment? Oh, just cavorted round the moun- tains. You lived on the country? Which? Picked up what you could find, corn, bacon, horses? That s about so. Did nt make much difference which side was round, the country got cleaned out. Plunder seems to have been the object? Which? You got a living out of the farm- ers? You bet. Our friend and guide seemed to have been a jayhawker and mountain ma- rauder on the right side. His attach- ment to the word which prevented any lively flow of conversation, and there seemed to be only two trains of ideas running in his mind: one was the sub- ject of horses and saddles, and the other was the danger of the ford we were com- ing to, and he exhibited a good deal of ingenuity in endeavoring to excite our alarm. He returned to the ford from every other conversational excursion, and after every silence. I do know s there s any great danger; not if you know the ford. Folks is carried away there. The Toe gits up sudden. There s been right smart rain lately. If you re afraid, you can git set over in a dug- out, and I 11 take your horses across. Mebbe you re used to fording? It s a pretty bad ford for them as dont know it. But you 11 get along, if you mind your eye. There s some rocks you 11 have to look out for. But you 11 be all right, if you follow me. Not being very successful in raising an interest in the dangers of his ford, although he could not forego indulging a malicious pleasure in trying to make the strangers uncomfortable, he finally turned his attention to a trade. This hoss of mine, he said, is just the kind of brute-beast you want for this coun- try. Your hosses is too heavy. How 11 you swap for that one o yourn ? The reiterated assertion that the horses were not ours, that they were hired, made little impression on him. All the way to Burnsville he kept recurring to the subject of a trade. The instinct of swap was strong in him. When we met a yoke of steers, he turned round and bantered the owner for a trade. Our saddles took his fancy. They were of the army pattern, and he allowed that one of them would just suit him. He rode a small flat English pad, across which was flung the United States mail pouch, apparently empty. He dwelt upon the fact that his saddle was new and ours were old, and the advantages that would accrue to us from the ex- change. He did nt care if they had been through the war, as they had, for he fancied an army saddle. The Friend answered for himself that the saddle he rode belonged to a distin- guished Union general, and had a bullet in it that was put there by a careless Confederate in the first battle of Bull Run, and the owner would not part with it for money. But the mail-rider said he did nt mind that. He would nt mind swapping his new saddle for my old one and the rubber coat and leggins. Long before we reached the ford we thought we would like to swap the guide, even at the risk of drowning. The ford was passed, in due time, with no inconvenience save that of wet feet, for the stream was breast high to the horses; but being broad and swift and full of sunken rocks and slippery stones and the crossing tortuous, it is not a ford to be commended. There is a cu- rious delusion that a rider has in cross- ing a swift broad stream. It is that he is rapidly drifting up stream, while in fact the tendency of the horse is to go with the current. 1885.] On Horseback. 205 The road in the afternoon was not unpicturesque, owing to the streams and the ever noble forests, but the prospect was al*ays very limited. Agriculturally, the country was mostly undeveloped. The travelers endeavored to get from the rider an estimate of the price of land. Not much sold, he said. There was one sale of a big piece last year; the owner enthorited Big Tom Wilson to sell it, but I d know what he got for it. All the way along the habitations were small log cabins, with one room, chinked with mud, and these were far between; and only occasionally thereby a similar log structure, unchinked, laid up like a cob house, that served for a stable. Not much cultivation, except now and then a little patch of poor corn on a steep hillside, occasionally a few apple-trees, and a peach-tree without fruit. Here and there was a house that had been half finished and then aban- doned, or a shanty in which a couple of young married people were just begin- ning life. Generally the cabins (con- firming the accuracy of the census of 1880) swarmed with children, and near- ly all the women were thin and sickly. In the days ride we did not see a wheelhd vehicle, and only now and then a horse. We met on the road small sleds, drawn by a steer, sometimes by a cow, on which a bag of grist was being hauled to the mill, and boys mounted on steers gave us good evening with as much pride as if they were bestriding fiery horses. In a house of the better class, which was a post-house, and where the rider and the woman of the house had a long consultation over a letter to be regis- tered, we found the rooms decorated with patent - medicine pictures, which were often framed in strips of mica, an evidence of culture that was worth not- ing. Mica was the rage. Every one with whom we talked, except the rider, had more or less the mineral fever. The impression was general that the moun- tain region of North Carolina was enter- ing upon a career of wonderful mineral development, and the most extravagant expectations were entertained. Mica was the shining object of most prospecting, but gold was also on the cards. The country about Burnsville is not only mildly picturesque, but very pleas- ing. Burnsville, the county-seat of Yan- cey, at an elevation of 2840 feet, is more like a New England village than any hitherto seen. Most of the houses stand about a square, which contains the shab- by court-house; around it are two small churches, a jail, an inviting tavern, with a long veranda, and a couple of stores. On an overlooking hill is the seminary. Mica mining is the exciting industry, but it is agriculturally a good couiitry. The tavern had recently been enlarged to meet the new demands for entertain- ment, and is a roomy structure, fresh with paint and only partially organized. The travelers were much impressed with the brilliant chambers, the floors of which were painted in alternate stripes of vivid green and red. The proprietor, a very intelligent and enterprising man, who had traveled often in the North, was full of projects for the development of his region and foremost in its enter- prises, and had formed a considerable collection of minerals. Besides, more than any one else we met, he appreci- ated the beauty of his country, and took us to a neighboring hill, where we had a view of Table Mountain to the east and the nearer giant Blacks. The elevation of Burnsville gives it a delightful summer climate, the gentle undulations of the country are agreeable, the views noble, the air is good, and it is altogether a livable and attractive place. With facilities of communication, it would be a favorite summer resort. Its nearness to the great mountains (the whole Black range is in Yancey County), its fine pure air, its opportunity for fishing and hunting, commend it to those in search 206 On Horseback. [August, of an interesting and restful retreat in summer. But it should be said that before the country can attract and retain trav- elers, its inhabitants must learn some- thing about the preparation of food. If, for instance, the landlords wife at Burnsville had traveled with her hus- band, her table would probably have been more on a level with his knowl- edge of the world, and it would have contained something that the wayfaring man, though a Northerner, could eat. We have been on the point several times in this journey of making the ob- servation, but have been restrained by a reluctance to touch upon politics, that it was no wonder that a people with such a cuisine should have rebelled. The travelers were in a rebellious mood most of the time. The evidences of enterprise in this region were pleasant to see, but the ob- servers could not but regret, after all, the intrusion of the money-making spirit, which is certain to destroy much of the present simplicity. It is as yet, to a de- gree, tempered by a philosophic spirit. The other guest of the house was a sedate, long-bearded traveler for some Philadelphia house, and in the evening he and the landlord fell into a conversa- tion upon what Socrates calls the disad- vantage of the pursuit of wealth to the exclusion of all noble objects, and they let their fancy play about Vanderbilt, who was agreed to be the richest man in the world, or that ever lived. All I want, said the long-bearded man, is enough to be comfortable. I would nt have Vanderbilts wealth if hed give it to me. Nor I, said the landlord. Give me just enough to be comfortable. [The tourist could nt but note that his ideas of enough to be comfortable had changed a good deal since he had left his little farm and gone into the mica business, and visited New York, and en- larged and painted his tavern.] I should like to know what more Vanderbilt gets out of his money than I get out of mine. I heard tell of a young man who went to Vanderbilt to get employment. Van- derbilt finally offered to give the young man, if he would work for him, just what he got himself. The young man jumped at that he d be perfectly sat- isfied with that pay. And Vanderbilt said that all he got was what he could eat and wear, and offered to give the young man his board and clothes. I declare, said the long-bearded man. That s just it. Did you ever see Vanderbilts house? Neither did I, but I heard he had a vault built in it five feet thick, solid. He put in it two hun- dred millions of dollars, in gold. After a year, he opened it and put in twelve millions more, and called that a poor year. They say his house has gold shut- ters to the windows, so I ye heard. I should nt wonder, said the land- lord. I heard he had one door in his house cost forty thousand dollars. I dont know what it is made of, unless it s made of gold. Sunday was a hot and quiet day. The stores were closed and the two churches also, this not being the Sun- day for the itinerant preacher. The jail also showed no sign of life, and when we asked about it, we learned that it was empty, and had been for some time. No liquor is sold in the place, nor with- in at least three miles of it. It is not much use to try to run a jail without liquor. In the course of the morning a couple of stout fellows arrived, leading between them a young man whom they had ar- rested, it did nt appear on any war- rant, but they wanted to get him com- mitted and locked up. The offense charged was carrying a pistol; the boy had not used it against anybody, but he had flourished it about and threatened, and the neighbors would nt stand that; they were bound to enforce the law against carrying concealed weapons. 1885.] Should a College Educate? 207 The captors were perfectly good-na- tured and on friendly enough terms with the young man, who offered no resist- ance, and seemed not unwilling to go to jail. But a practical difficulty arose. The jail was locked, up, the sheriff had gone away into the country with the key, and no one could get in. It did not appear that there was any provision for boarding the man in jail; no one in fact kept it. The sheriff was sent for, but was not to be found, and the prisoner and his captors loafed about the square all day, sitting on the fence, rolling on the grass, all of them sustained by a simple trust that the jail would be open some time. Late in the afternoon we left them there, trying to get into the jail. But we took a personal leaf out of this ex- perience. Our Virginia friends, solici- tous for our safety in this wild country, had urged us not to venture into it with- out arms take at least, they insisted, a revolver each. And now we had to congratulate ourselves that we had not done so. If we had, we should doubt- less on that Sunday have been waiting, with the other law-breaker, for admis- sion into the Yancey County jail. Charles Dudley Warner. SHOULD A COLLEGE EDUCATE? Ii~ the American language (which is simply the most modern English) a college and a university are two different things. The terms are sometimes con- founded, in loose popular speech, but the best usage in this country shows an increasing tendency toward a sharp dis- tinction between them. A failure to apprehend this distinction clearly, and a consequent notion that a college is only a little university, or a university only a large college, has sometimes given rise to odd doctrine as to what a college should teach. In their original signification the words are not widely different: the universitas signifying merely a corpo- rate whole, in law; the collegium, a society of colleagues. But the term university, in its development in Europe and this country, and the term college, in its development in this country es- pecially, have become widely differen- tiated. That which is properly called a university has its own distinct pur- 1 In one or two instances our state charters have employed these terms, university and college, in such a way as to confuse any rational or usual distinction between them. The State of Califor pose, and consequently its own proper methods and appliances. That which is properly called a college has a different purpose, and its methods and appliances are consequently entirely different. Ideally, a university is a place where anybody may learn everything. And this, whether it be as knowledge, prop- erly speaking, or as skill. Actually, however, as found existing at present (since few persons after leaving college wish to study beyond the requirements of a bread-occupation), a university con- sists of a central college, surrounded by a cluster of professional or technical schools, where special branches are pur- sued, chiefly with reference to some par- ticular calling. A college, on the other hand, is a place where young people, whatever their future occupation is to be, may first of all receive that more or less complete development which we call a liberal education. 1 The character of the college course, nia, for instance, has a University of California, consisting of a College of Letters, a College of Agriculture, a College of Mining, etc. Of these only the College of Letters answers to the ac

E. R. Sill Sill, E. R. Should a College Educate? 207-215

1885.] Should a College Educate? 207 The captors were perfectly good-na- tured and on friendly enough terms with the young man, who offered no resist- ance, and seemed not unwilling to go to jail. But a practical difficulty arose. The jail was locked, up, the sheriff had gone away into the country with the key, and no one could get in. It did not appear that there was any provision for boarding the man in jail; no one in fact kept it. The sheriff was sent for, but was not to be found, and the prisoner and his captors loafed about the square all day, sitting on the fence, rolling on the grass, all of them sustained by a simple trust that the jail would be open some time. Late in the afternoon we left them there, trying to get into the jail. But we took a personal leaf out of this ex- perience. Our Virginia friends, solici- tous for our safety in this wild country, had urged us not to venture into it with- out arms take at least, they insisted, a revolver each. And now we had to congratulate ourselves that we had not done so. If we had, we should doubt- less on that Sunday have been waiting, with the other law-breaker, for admis- sion into the Yancey County jail. Charles Dudley Warner. SHOULD A COLLEGE EDUCATE? Ii~ the American language (which is simply the most modern English) a college and a university are two different things. The terms are sometimes con- founded, in loose popular speech, but the best usage in this country shows an increasing tendency toward a sharp dis- tinction between them. A failure to apprehend this distinction clearly, and a consequent notion that a college is only a little university, or a university only a large college, has sometimes given rise to odd doctrine as to what a college should teach. In their original signification the words are not widely different: the universitas signifying merely a corpo- rate whole, in law; the collegium, a society of colleagues. But the term university, in its development in Europe and this country, and the term college, in its development in this country es- pecially, have become widely differen- tiated. That which is properly called a university has its own distinct pur- 1 In one or two instances our state charters have employed these terms, university and college, in such a way as to confuse any rational or usual distinction between them. The State of Califor pose, and consequently its own proper methods and appliances. That which is properly called a college has a different purpose, and its methods and appliances are consequently entirely different. Ideally, a university is a place where anybody may learn everything. And this, whether it be as knowledge, prop- erly speaking, or as skill. Actually, however, as found existing at present (since few persons after leaving college wish to study beyond the requirements of a bread-occupation), a university con- sists of a central college, surrounded by a cluster of professional or technical schools, where special branches are pur- sued, chiefly with reference to some par- ticular calling. A college, on the other hand, is a place where young people, whatever their future occupation is to be, may first of all receive that more or less complete development which we call a liberal education. 1 The character of the college course, nia, for instance, has a University of California, consisting of a College of Letters, a College of Agriculture, a College of Mining, etc. Of these only the College of Letters answers to the ac 208 Should a College Educate? then, should be determined purely with reference to the distinct purpose of the college. The human mind being many- sided, the college undertakes to aid its. development on all the lines of its natu- ral growth. The tendency of modern life, moreover, with its extreme division of labor, being to force one or two powers of the mind at the expense of the rest, the aim of the college is to forestall this one-sided effect by giving the whole man a fair chance before- hand. While the special or professional schools of the university provide that a person may go as far as possible on some one line of knowledge, which con- stitutes his specialty, or of that com- bination of knowledge and skill which constitutes his profession, the college provides that he shall get such a com- plete possession of himself in all his powers: mind, body, and that total of qualities known as character as is essential to the highest success in any specialty or profession whatever. He may get this broad preparation else- where than in college. It may come through private study. It may come sometimes but only to men of ex- traordinary endowments from the dis- cipline of life itself. But to the ordinary man, the average man, it comes most surely and most easily through a col- lege course. Once having it, from one source or another, a man no doubt fits himself best to serve the world by per- fecting his knowledge and skill in some single direction; but without some such broad preliminary development, some such liberal education, he will fail not only of his best possible special cepted sense of the term college, the others being what are more properly called professional or technical schools. The use of the words at Cambridge (U. S.) illustrates their almost uni- versal application in this country: Harvard Uni- versfty consisting (in the language of the an- nual catalogue) of Harvard College, the Di- vinity School, the Law School, the Lawrence Scientific School, etc. 1 The Johns Hopkins University, at Baltimore, furnishes one example, in this country, of a university in somewhat the sense of the term [August, work, but what is worst of all he will assuredly fail of that best service which any man can do for the commu- nity, the living in it, whatever his pro- fession, as a complete and roundly moulded man. He will fail (to use Mr. Spencers excellent phrase) of complete living. He will have en- tered the world without being equipped for that great common profession, the profession of living underneath and above his particular calling the in- tellectual life. But (it may be asked) why may not the university, through some one of its special schools, furnish this culture without the need of a college? Be- cause a man is too complex an organ- ism to get complete growth in any sin- gle region of study, or by any one line of exercises. But, at least (it may further be asked), might not the ideal university, with its whole circle of knowledges, professional and otherwise, give this complete cul- ture? In other words, why should not the college add to its conrse all kinds of knowledges, and so itself become an ideal university, where anybody might learn everything? It is the theory im- plied in this question that produces the tendency toward unlimited electives in thc college course. There should be no difficulty in seeing why this is an irrational tendency, however attractive it may seem at first sight to the public. It is irrational because the time actu- ally given to college study is no more than four years; in this time only a few subjects can be studied; and the very essence of the function of the col- as used abroad. It does not, it is true, exclude college work, but it maintains chairs of original research, and at the same time provides advanced instruction for graduate students on special lines of study, other than those of the usual professional schools. It is to be hoped that the fact of its carryiug on under-graduate college work does not indicate any danger of its being checked in its full career, through some possible unripeness of its public for its more advanced work, and warped toward an ordinary university with a college and professional schools, only. 1885.] Should a College Educate? 209 lege is, therefore, that it should select among the numberless possible subjects those which promise the greatest edu- cating force. For we reach, at this point in the discussion, a fact that un- derlies the whole ~ystem of any right education a fact persistently ignored by many persons having to do with educational affairs, particularly in the lower schools and in remote communi- ties, and on the ignorance of which no end of educational blunders have been built. It is the fact that, while every possible knowledge and skill is useful for one purpose or another, not all are equally useful for the purposes of edu- cation. The college, therefore, must se- lect such studies as are most useful for its own purposes. So far as the univer- sity undertakes to prescribe any such general or culture-course, it becomes a college. So far as the college forgets to do this, in deference to notions of a practical training, or of the magnifi- cence of a great cloud of electives, it does not become a university for that, in the nature of the case, is impossible; but it fails of its true function as a college, and is no longer either the one thing or the other. The ideal of a great university where anybody might learn everything has a peculiar charm for the imagination. Bacon sketched the large outlines of such an establishment in his New At- lantis; and ever since his day we have come to see more and more clearly that knowledge does indeed make prosperity, whether for peoples or for individuals. Nothing can be more charming, then, than the thought of a great central in- stitution where the last word on every subject might be heard; where the fore- most scientist in every science, the fore- most craftsman in every handicraft, should impart the entirety of his ac- quisitions or his dexterity to all who cared to seek it. Such a university ought, it would seem, to be accessible to every community in this modern world. VOL. LVI. No. 334. 14 But all this would not give us a col- lege. That we have only when we have a company of competent scholars pro- viding a course of general preliminary trc~ining; a course selected with refer- ence to its particular end of producing broadly educated men. The university, taking the man as he is, would propose to leave him as he is, except for the ac- quisition of a certain special knowledge or skill. The college, taking the youth as he is, proposes to make of him some- thing that he is not. It proposes no less a miracle, in fact, than the changing of a crude boy into an educated man. A miracle yet every day sees it more and more successfully performed. An educated man what is it that we understand by the phrase? If it would not be easy to set down all that it connotes in our various minds, we should probably agree that it incudes, among other things, such qualities as these: a certain largeness of view; an acquaintance with the intellectual life of the world; the appreciation of prin- ciples; the power and habit of indepen- dent thought; the freedom from person- al provincialism, and the recognition of the other point of view; an underlying nobleness of intention; the persistence in magnanimous aims. If there has not yet been found the system of culture which will give this result every time and with all sorts of material, it may at least be asserted that a course of study whether in college or out somewhat corresponding to the course pursued at our best colleges has a visible tendency to produce this result. Whether it might be produced, also, by some entirely dif- ferent course is certainly a question not to be rashly answered in the negative. All we can say is, that any course which has as yet been proposed as a substitute has proved, on experiment, to have se- rious defects in comparison with it. Our wisest plan is to hold fast what we al- ready know to be good studies, making farther experiments with candor and 210 Should a College Educate? [August, fairness; avoiding, on the one hand, the timid pre-judgments of those who are afraid of all that is not ancient and es- tablished, and, on the other hand, the crude enthusiasms of those half-educated persons who think that nothing old can be good, and nothing new can be bad. Two principal proposals of change in the college course have been made. One is that the modern languages should be substituted for the ancient. So far as the complete substitution has been tried, most observers would probably agree that the experiment has failed. In other words, more persons are found to have studied modern languages with- out having become educated persons by that means than are found to have studied the classics without that result. College observers, unbiased by any per- sonal interest as teachers on either side, wouhi probably be found nearly unani- mous as to this point. Without discuss- ing the question theoretically here, we would only insist upon this: that, so far as any change of this kind is made, it be made only on the ground of greater serviceableness for purely educational purposes, as being better fitted to educe the man the only test of studies with which the college has any- thing whatever to do. Probably Mills answer, or counter-question, will event- ually be found the wisest one as between the classical and the modern languages and literatures : Why not both? The other principal proposal of change is the substitution of natural science in place of the humanities. To the ad- dition of a certain amount of natural science, enough, certainly, to impart its admirable methods of research, and, what is more, its admirable spirit of uncom- promising adhesion to the exact truth, no one is likely to object. But when it is pro- 1 Sometimes we hear the curious remark made, perhaps by one of the weaker brethren among those very useful persons, the dealers in second- Ihand science (Popular Science), that the book of nature is the expression of the mind of God while other books only express the mind of man. posed to make any radical substitution of the material studies for the human studies, making courses (as has been done) without Latin, Greek, Literature, Logic, Philosophy, Ancient History, etc., supplying their places with the natural sciences, it is well to consider carefully, first, the results of the experiment so far as it has been tried; and, secondly, certain well-established principles con- cerning the human mind in its relation to studies. As to ascertained results, it is to be said that for some time now there have been, in several of our insti- tutions of learning, courses having these contrasted characters running side by side. We will not here offer any testi- mony of our own as to the comparative results of the two in the production of broadly educated men. We would only suggest to those who are in any doubt upon the matter, or who have any radi- cal change of college courses in view, to look into the results of the experi- ment for themselves, and to take the testimony of those who have had op- portunity to observe them. The effect of such an examination will be likely to produce hearty agreement with an editorial writer in a late number of Sci- ence, who remarks that the introduc- tion of scientific studies in our educa- tional systems has not brought about the millennium which was expected. Much good, no doubt, they have done, when introduced in proper proportion. Their methods have certainly influenced favorably the methods of the older stud- ies. But, after all, we come back to the truth that, of the two groups of studies, both indispensable, the humanities fur- nish the greater growth-power for the mind, because they are the product and expression of mind. It cannot be too carefully kept in But it does not require great acumen to perceive that the mind of man and all its productions are also the work and the expression of the same Au- thor his Bible, one might say, to carry on the figure, while material nature is only his spelling- book. 1885.] Should a College Educate? 211 view that, in any such comparison of the natural sciences with the humanities, we take into account only their educa- tional value. The sensitive loyalty of scientific men to their specialties, a very pleasant thing to see, sometimes seems to blind them to this distinction between intrinsic values and educational values. They should remember that no slight upon the intrinsic value of any science is implied in the doubt as to its compara- tive educational value. There are many things of enormous usefulness to the world in other ways, whose examination could contribute next to nothing toward the development of mind. Iron, for ex- ample, constitutes almost the framework of civilization; but this does not at all imply that metallurgy, as a college study, would have any considerable educating force. On the other hand, there are many subjects of study whose applica- tion to the ordinary business of life might seem very remote indeed, yet whose power to educe the man is found to be very great. The calculus, or the Antigone, might never be of any use to the man, in the superficial sense of the word, yet they might have been the very meat and drink of his in- tellectual growth. The natural sciences may well be satisfied with the crowns of honor the world must always give them for their royal contributions to our men- tal and material existence, without ex- pecting to be made exclusively, also, our nurses and schoolmasters. The fitness for those humbler but necessary func- tions must be determined wholly on oth- er grounds than that of value, however priceless it be, to the world for other purposes. Both experiment and reflec- tion seem to point more and more de- cisively to the view that mind, on the whole, grows chiefly through contact with mind. And accordingly, what are called the liberal courses of study, formed largely of those studies which bring to the student the magnetic touch of the human spirit in its dealings with life, seem to show more vitalizing pow- er, seem actually to produce, on ex- periment, more broadly educated men than what may be called the illiberal courses, formed without these human studies. Yet here, again, Why not both?~ is the best solution, so far as we can effect it. For the natural sci- ences have, undeniably, certain admira- ble influences in education. They are free from any encouragement of mor- bid moods. They teach the mind to hug its fact. There is little minis- try to brooding egotism in them; except that sometimes a very callow pupil may for a while feel that the mastery of a few rudiments somehow covers him pre- maturely with the glory that properly belongs to the great discoverers; but from this stage he soon recovers. There is always a freshness and out-of-door healthfulness about even the simplest work in natural science that makes it a charming study, for the lower schools, especially. Mr. Spencer has well point- ed out its adaptation, on this score, even to the period of childhood. It is, in fact, so far as it includes only the ob- servation of outside nature, an invig- orating play of the mind, rather than a laborious work. And the need of this health-giving intellectual play we never outgrow. But the attractiveness of these natu- ral studies must not be allowed to blind us to the need, when it comes to form- ing a course for the maturer mind, of more abstract and complex subjects. The sciences in their higher and severer regions, where the mind of man has more and more mingled itself with the mere facts of nature, as in wide compar- ative views and the induction of great principles; and especially the pure- ly human studies, the languages, his- tories, philosophies, literatures, these must be the food and light of the larger growth of the mind. The law of intel- lectual development in education seems to be analogous to a certain familiar law 212 Should a College Educate? [August, of physical growth in lower organisms. The very lowest, the vegetable, is able to nourish itself directly on the crude inorganic elements of nature: the high- er, the animal, can only be nourished on matter already organized by life. Some- what so, apparently, with the growth of intellect: while the simpler faculties, such as we share with other animals, are able to get their full development from the sights and sounds of nature alone, the deeper feelings and the higher intel- lectual processes can be best nourished on the outcome of the human spirit nature and life as organized, or reor- ganized, by the mind of man. In meeting the public on this matter of the course of study, the college finds itself confronted with two or three false notions, s~ inveterate that they may well be classed as popular delusions. Each of these, like most popular delu- sions, has crystallized round a conven- ient phrase. One such notion is that the choice of studies for any given youth should be governed by his own natural predispo- sitions. In other words, he should fol- low his bent. This has a plausible sound, yet to apply it to the college course would be to ignore the very pur- pose of the college. When it comes to selecting a life occupation, a specialty for study or practice, such as the vari- ous schools of the university undertake to furnish, a youth should, no doubt, choose according to his taste and talent. But to choose on that ground alone in his preparatory culture - course would simply magnify any lack of balance in his original nature. As well might one advise a boy at the gymnasium to devote himself to those exercises in which he naturally excelled, to the neglect of all that found out his weak points; if the arms were feeble, to use only the mus- cles of the thighs; if the thighs were un- developed, to use only the arms. The purpose of the college is to do for mind and character whet the gymnasium does for the physical powers: to build up the man all round. If the student hates mathematics, it is probably because his mind is naturally weak on the side of abstract reasoning, and the hated study is therefore the very study he needs. If he has a lofty disdain of literature, it is very likely only an evidence of some lack of that side of culture some- where in his ancestry. There is noth- ing sacred about a bent. So far from being an indication of Providence, it is apt to be a mere indication of hereditary defect. If we look at it from the side of its being a predisposition to weakness in some particular directions, a bent away from certain lines of study (the form in which it chiefly shows itself in college), we can see that the sooner it is repaired by a generous mental diet, the better for the man and for the race to whose ideal perfection he and his posterity are to contribute. Perhaps the greatest danger to which the higher ed- ucation is at present exposed is that of spreading before the student a vast num- ber of miscellaneous subjects, all recom- mended as equally valuable, and inviting him to choose according to his bent. The result naturally is that the average boy follows that universal bent of human nature toward the course that offers him the easiest time. If this course happens to include strong studies, easy only be- cause he is special]y interested in them, the harm is not so great; but if it con- sists chiefly of light studies, introduced into the curriculum only because some- body was there to teach them, and some- body else wanted them taught (and per- haps a little, too, because each counts one in a catalogue), then the harm is enormous. This becomes evident enough if we use (as we may for brevitys sake be permitted to do) the reductio ad a/i- surdum of an extreme illustration; if we suppose that some language having a great history and a great literature, the Greek, for example, is rejected in favor of some barbarous tongue em- 1885.] Should a college Educate? 213 bodying neither history nor literature; say, for example, the Pawnee or the Eskimo; or if we suppose that for exer- cises in writing and reasoning is substi- tuted the collecting of postage-stamps of all nations, or practice on the guitar. Far short of any such violent extremes, there are perfectly well recognized dif- ferences between the efficacy of one study and another in educating a col- lege student. And it would seem wiser to trust the choice to the governing body of the college than to an inex- perienced lad, swayed by some momen- tary whim, or by the class-tradition of the easiness of one subject or an- other; in other words, by his natural bent. Another popular delusion concerning the college course hinges on a common misuse of the word practical. It prop- erly signifies effectual in attaining ones end. So, transferring the term to per- sons, we call him a practical man who habitually employs such means. A practical study, then, is in reality a study which is calculated to effect the end we have in view in pursuing it. And since the end in view of a college study is purely and simply the development of the mind and character, any study is a practical study just to the extent that it is effectual for this end. And any study is a completely unpractical study, no matter how useful it may be for other purposes, if it is ineffectual for this. The real virus of peoples misuse of this word lies in their taking it to mean, not effectual for ones end, whatever it be, but effectual for that particular end which to them happens to seem the chief end of man. If a mans one aim is to have a successful farm, he is apt to con- sider all studies unpractical that do not bear directly on agriculture. If the great object of another is to gain public office, to him that study alone seems practical which directly sabserves this end. Accordingly, there are always found well-meaniug persons, not con- versant with educational affairs, who consider the best studi~K and those which for college purposes are most practical, as being completely unpracti- cal; and who will always be trying to crowd in upon its courses those so-called practical studies, which, for the ends the college has in view, would prove as unpractical as studies could be. It furnishes a favorite phrase for those who thus misconceive the purpose of a liberal education, to say that it fails to fit a man for the struggle of life. If the phrase means the making of a living, this objection certainly seems not well founded. Any ones daily observa- tion of common life will enable him to answer the question whether or not lib- erally educated men are, relatively to the rest of the community, making ~ comfortable living. When, however, we come to notice that some of those who are fondest of this complaint against the college course, on their own ac- count, do not seem to stand in any con- spicuous need of a living, we are led to suspect that they may mean some- thing else by the struggle of life. Perhaps some mean by this phrase the strife for sudden wealth, or for political office, prizes for which, in fact, a good deal of violent struggling is done. So far from inciting men to any such feverish struggle, it may be hoped that the higher education will always raise them above the disposition for it, or the temptation to it. Public reputation and public office should, we are beginning once more to believe, seek the man ; and they may be depended on to find him as fast as he deserves them. If not in the scramble and struggle of certain ignoble regions of effort, at least in the legitimate pursuit of any dignified ca- reer, men succeed in the long run by means of their character and intelli- gence; and the more completely these have been developed, the surer the suc- cess. Such a completeness the present college course is generally admitted to 214 Should a College Educate ~ [August, have an observed tendency, at least, to produce. However much it may lack of perfec- tion, the common criticisms upon it seem wide of the mark: whether it be the charge that there are not enough elec- tives for every possible taste or bent; or that the studies are not practical enough; or that they fail to fit a man for the struggle of life. For these complaints are all based on the same fundamental misconception, the suppo- sition, namely, that the purpose of the college is merely to equip the man; when in reality its purpose is, first of all, to evolve the man. They all over- look this central idea of the higher ed- ucation: that its aim is not merely to add something to the man from without, as convenience, or equipment; but to produce a certain change in him from within as growth and power. The mis- conception seems all the more short- sighted, in that it fails to perceive that the most valuable equipment for any work whatever that may afterward be undertaken is found in this very breadth and depth of preparatory development. Two permanent human desires, on the surface antagonistic, but at bottom perfectly reconcilable, have all along been at work in moulding systems of education. One is the desire to be much, or the desire for attainment; the other is the desire to get much, or the desire for acquisition. As we look at young people, we find that we have both these desires for their future. We would have them amount to a great deal, in them- selves: we may call this our aspiration for them; and we would have them get on in life: we may call this our ambition for them. As we look at the community we feel these same two de- sires: we would have it a community of wise and noble persons; and we would have it a prosperous community. Now our educational work has taken on one character or another, according as aspiration or ambition has been most prominently in mind. Some, perceiving that we are all people of whom more might have.been made, have been most impressed with the importance of lifting mens personal lives to higher planes. Others have felt most the need of equip- ping men for special efficiency in the various callings of life. Not the college only, but the entire field of education, from kindergarten to university, has been a battle-ground where these two ideas, unwisely supposing themselves natural foes, have continually fought. But both these desires are in the right. Seen in the larger view there is no possible casus belli between them. They are reconciled the moment it is seen to be true that the completest development is itself the most valuable equipment. Fortunately, the colleges have for the most part taken this larger view, and have courageously kept their courses in accord with it, in spite of efforts from outside to warp them from their true purpose of providing an education for men, to that of providing an occupation for them; and corresponding efforts to have the educative studies removed, and occupative studies substituted in their stead. That the college course will be further improved, as it has been constantly im- proving in the past, no one can doubt. The important thing is that changes, when they are made, should be made with a clear understanding of the pur- pose of the college, and in furtherance of this. It would not be best (if, once more, a violently absurd example may be pardoned) that Eskimo should be substituted for Greek on a vicious and sophistical ground; such as, for instance, that a young man might some time go on a diplomatic mission to Greenland, and might find it a convenient language to have. Nor should practice on the guitar be substituted for literary exer- cises, on any such ground as that it is well received in society, and, for pur- poses of instruction in the female sem 1885.] Hermion~e. 215 irs, might at any moment be a valuable equipment for the struggle of life. The greatest advance in college work is probably to be expected from im- proved methods of treatment, rather than from radical changes of the sub- jects of the course. Much of the ele- mentary work in the languages, both ancient and modern, will no doubt; event- ually be relegated to the lower schools. More and more the classics will be taught as literatures. The same change, it may be hoped, will some time invade even the modern language courses, so that they will have less of the Ollen- dorif character, the mere conversational drill, conceived as being useful or or- namental for the struggle, and more of the character of an intellectual study of the modern European mind in its history and literature. So also in the natural sciences, the lower schools will doubtless one day do a large part of what now the colleges are doing; much of that mere observation and memory, namely, which is not beyond the capa- city of the ordinary boy or girl of high- school age. One college study there is, in partic ular, which may be expected to make great advances in its scope and methods. It is a study which has for a long time appeared on all the catalogues, but which, so far as any adequate develop- ment is concerned, is still in its infancy. This study, the History of English Lit- erature, has too largely consisted in the mere memorizing of disconnected facts and dates as found in some one or two text-books. And so far as the real au- thors of our literature have been studied at all, it has been with much too exclu- sive a regard to philology. Even in this comparatively superficial aspect of the subject, its study has been confined, commonly, to a few poets of the early period. The outside shell of literature, the language, has been taught with much acumen and nice scholarship; but the substance, the thing itself, has been neglected. It remains to be seen what educating force there will prove to be in the proper study of this subject when it shall include the history of English thought, of which English literature is only the expression; and when it shall bring the student face to face with the best minds of modern as well as of ancient times. E. I?. Sill. HERMIONE. I. The Lost Magic. WHITE in her snowy stone, and cold, With azure veins and shining arms, Pygmalion doth his bride behold, Rapt on her pure and sculptured charms. AhI in those half-divine old days Love still worked miracles for men; The gods taught lovers wondrods ways To breathe a soul in marble then.

Andrew Hedbrooke Hedbrooke, Andrew Hermione 215-217

1885.] Hermion~e. 215 irs, might at any moment be a valuable equipment for the struggle of life. The greatest advance in college work is probably to be expected from im- proved methods of treatment, rather than from radical changes of the sub- jects of the course. Much of the ele- mentary work in the languages, both ancient and modern, will no doubt; event- ually be relegated to the lower schools. More and more the classics will be taught as literatures. The same change, it may be hoped, will some time invade even the modern language courses, so that they will have less of the Ollen- dorif character, the mere conversational drill, conceived as being useful or or- namental for the struggle, and more of the character of an intellectual study of the modern European mind in its history and literature. So also in the natural sciences, the lower schools will doubtless one day do a large part of what now the colleges are doing; much of that mere observation and memory, namely, which is not beyond the capa- city of the ordinary boy or girl of high- school age. One college study there is, in partic ular, which may be expected to make great advances in its scope and methods. It is a study which has for a long time appeared on all the catalogues, but which, so far as any adequate develop- ment is concerned, is still in its infancy. This study, the History of English Lit- erature, has too largely consisted in the mere memorizing of disconnected facts and dates as found in some one or two text-books. And so far as the real au- thors of our literature have been studied at all, it has been with much too exclu- sive a regard to philology. Even in this comparatively superficial aspect of the subject, its study has been confined, commonly, to a few poets of the early period. The outside shell of literature, the language, has been taught with much acumen and nice scholarship; but the substance, the thing itself, has been neglected. It remains to be seen what educating force there will prove to be in the proper study of this subject when it shall include the history of English thought, of which English literature is only the expression; and when it shall bring the student face to face with the best minds of modern as well as of ancient times. E. I?. Sill. HERMIONE. I. The Lost Magic. WHITE in her snowy stone, and cold, With azure veins and shining arms, Pygmalion doth his bride behold, Rapt on her pure and sculptured charms. AhI in those half-divine old days Love still worked miracles for men; The gods taught lovers wondrods ways To breathe a soul in marble then. 216 Ilermione. [August, He gazed, he yearned, he vowed, he wept. Some secret witchery touched her breast; And, laughing April tears, she stepped iDown to his arms and lay at rest. Dear artist of the storied land! I too have loved a heart of stone. What was thy charm of voice or hand, Thy secret spell, Pygmalion? IL influences. IF quiet autumn mornings would not come, With golden light, and haze, and harvest wain, And spices of the dead leaves at my feet; If sunsets would not burn through cloud, and stain With fading rosy flush the dusky dome; If the young mother would not croon that sweet Old sleep-song, like the robins in the rain; If the great cloud-ships would not float and drift Across such blue all the calm afternoon; If night were not so hushed; or if the moon Might pause forever by that pearly rift, Nor fill the garden with its flood again; If the world were not what it still must be, Then might I live forgetting love and thee- lI- The Dead Letter. THE letter came at last. I carried it To the deep woods unopened. All the trees Were hushed, as if they waited what was writ, And feared for me. Silent they let me sit Among them; leaning breathless while I read, And bending down above me where they stood. A long way off I heard the delicate tread Of the light-footed loiterer, the breeze, Come walking toward me in the leafy wood. I burned the page that brought me love and woe. At first it writhed to feel the spires of flame, Then lay quite still; and oer each word there came Its white ghos~t of the ash, and burning slow Each said: You cannot kill the spirit; know A Stranger in the Cit11. 211 That we shall haunt you, even till heart and brain Lie as we lie in ashes all in vain. IV. The Song in the Night. IN the deep night a little bird Wakens, or dreams he is awake: Cheerily clear one phrase is heard, And you almost feel the morning break. In the deep dark of loss and wrong, One face like a lovely dawn will thrill, And all night long at my heart a song Suddenly stirs and then is stilL Andrew Hedbrook. A STRANGER IN THE CITY. His name was Golden. He had been in town two days. He was tall and gaunt, with a shock of gray hair, and a voice like an ice.wagon rumbling over a cobble-stone pavement. It was in the parlor of Mrs. Grangers board- ing house in Jay Street, Albany. Only Golden, our genial landlady, and my- self were present. As we gathered around the winter evening fire, Golden continued his nar- rative. He had already told us that he was brought up under the eaves of the Green Mountains, that his sister Jane had inspired him while he was yet a boy with a desire for education, and that he had with her help managed to get half-way through college. Con- tinning his story, he said: It was that shortness of funds that brought me to Albany thirty-one years ago. The understanding was that I might take a stop-off ticket for two years; and then, with plenty of money, which I expected to earn in the mean time, Jane and I calculated that the rest of my college course would be a splendid run, ending with a magnifi- cent finish in black broadcloth on Com- mencement day, my clothes thereto- fore having been satinet and fustian. You ought to understand first where I came from. Perhaps you have never been on the Green Mountains. I might as well tell you that what you cannot see of the kingdoms of this world and the glory of them from the top of old Mansfield is not worth talking about. On one side you have New Hampshire and the White Mountains, and on the other Vermont and Lake Champlain and the Adirondacks. That tells the whole story, although remarks are in order, if any one is so disposed. I might suggest, as an item of interest, that the mountain itself is covered with rocks, spruce-trees, and hedgehogs. Our folks lived at the foot of Mans- field, on the Vermont side. We called it twenty miles to Burlington, on Lake Champlain, and that was our road out 1885.]

P. Deming Deming, P. A Stranger in the City 217-227

A Stranger in the Cit11. 211 That we shall haunt you, even till heart and brain Lie as we lie in ashes all in vain. IV. The Song in the Night. IN the deep night a little bird Wakens, or dreams he is awake: Cheerily clear one phrase is heard, And you almost feel the morning break. In the deep dark of loss and wrong, One face like a lovely dawn will thrill, And all night long at my heart a song Suddenly stirs and then is stilL Andrew Hedbrook. A STRANGER IN THE CITY. His name was Golden. He had been in town two days. He was tall and gaunt, with a shock of gray hair, and a voice like an ice.wagon rumbling over a cobble-stone pavement. It was in the parlor of Mrs. Grangers board- ing house in Jay Street, Albany. Only Golden, our genial landlady, and my- self were present. As we gathered around the winter evening fire, Golden continued his nar- rative. He had already told us that he was brought up under the eaves of the Green Mountains, that his sister Jane had inspired him while he was yet a boy with a desire for education, and that he had with her help managed to get half-way through college. Con- tinning his story, he said: It was that shortness of funds that brought me to Albany thirty-one years ago. The understanding was that I might take a stop-off ticket for two years; and then, with plenty of money, which I expected to earn in the mean time, Jane and I calculated that the rest of my college course would be a splendid run, ending with a magnifi- cent finish in black broadcloth on Com- mencement day, my clothes thereto- fore having been satinet and fustian. You ought to understand first where I came from. Perhaps you have never been on the Green Mountains. I might as well tell you that what you cannot see of the kingdoms of this world and the glory of them from the top of old Mansfield is not worth talking about. On one side you have New Hampshire and the White Mountains, and on the other Vermont and Lake Champlain and the Adirondacks. That tells the whole story, although remarks are in order, if any one is so disposed. I might suggest, as an item of interest, that the mountain itself is covered with rocks, spruce-trees, and hedgehogs. Our folks lived at the foot of Mans- field, on the Vermont side. We called it twenty miles to Burlington, on Lake Champlain, and that was our road out 1885.] 218 A Stranger in the City. [August, into the world. A Vermonter who did business in Albany managed it with some of your city men so that I got a place as teacher in one of your public schools. And then down I came, as unsophisticated as you can imagine, but desiring and resolving to be the best and most faithful instructor in the world. IL had never seen a large place before; I was a stranger in the city. But I am happy to report that my teaching was a success. I liked my scholars, and they liked me. I must state, however, another point which was not so favorable. I will preface it by saying that you have a habit of black- ening characters here without much hesitation. Public men are usually the sufferers. Perhaps I was a public man in a very small way. But however that may have been, my point is that guileless and innocent as I was, I had not been here quite nine months when I got a slap with the tar-brush that marked me, apparently, for life, and scared me almost out of my senses. I do not say how far human beings were to blame in my case. Perhaps the total depravity of inanimate things had something to do with it. You have noticed that depravity of all kinds is of a blacker dye in political capitals than elsewhere. What I am trying to get down to is this: they charged me here with steal- ing. That was what it amounted to. It seems ridiculous, but it is true. The idea that I had stolen thirteen dollars in bank bills out of the office of my friend Captain Brown, who was a ship- per down on the dock, took possession of the minds of my scholars and their parents and others. The first hint I had of it was from my pupils. They began to treat me with disrespect amounting almost to contempt, and some of them made allusions to pirates and to Captain Brown which I did not see the force of. When information was asked for, they evaded my inquiries. It was impossi ble for me to understand the situation. Day by day, however, it became more certain that something was wrong, al- though I had no idea what it was. I finally ascertained what the trou- ble was from a Vermont man named Avery, whose acquaintance I had made in the city. He did not seem inclined to tell me when I first questioned him, but finally disclosed the facts. It ap- peared that Captain Brown had been sitting in his office one morning with thirteen dollars before him upon his desk, waiting to pay the money to a mechanic, who was to come at an ap- pointed hour. In the mean time the captain was reading a volume that you may have heard of. It is entitled The Pirates Own Book. It is illustrated with hideous woodcuts, and the narra- tives are of a painful and revolting char- acter. It is due to Captain Brown to say that he was not reading such a work solely for his own amusement. He was lamenting the fact that his nephew, Orlando Smith, should have a fondness for such literature. The boy, who was seventeen years of age and remarka- bly vigorous, was wild enough and bad enough without such reading. Just as the captain was observing a picture in the book which represents a mans severed head, he heard an unusual noise outside, on the river or the dock. He placed the thirteen dollars in bills between the pages, closed the book upon them, and leaving the volume, with the money thus protected, on his desk, went out and walked to the brink of the river. He was absent fifteen minutes, but did not at any time lose sight of his office door. Your humble servant, on his morning walk, was the only individual who entered that door. So the captain said; and when he re- turned to his office it was empty, and the book and the money were gone. As I frequently dropped in to say good morning and ask the news, my friend Brown thought nothing of it when he 1885.] A Stranger in the City. 219 saw me step in, and out again immedi- ately. I had not seen him because he was partially hidden behind some boxes piled on the wharf for shipnient. He had permitted me to go on my way without making his proximity known. It was inferred that I took the book and the money. As no one else had entered the office during the captains absence, the inference seemed to be un- avoidable. But the captain was a gen- erous man, and considering my youth and position, had intended to keep the matter a secret. It had, however, leaked out, perhaps through his family, or through the mechanic who had come to Browns office for his money that morning, only to learn that it had dis- appeared. The people had got hold of the story in some way, and were sus- pecting me. As Avery related these circumstances I became hot with anger. The idea that any one should dare to suspect me of stealing seemed wicked, incredible, and vile. My first impulse was to hasten to Brown and demand of him, in the upbraiding tone of injured in- nocence, whether he was not ashamed of his outrageous and dastardly charge against my sacred integrity. And if he was not, I yearned for the moment to come when I should see him wither beneath the scorn and contempt which I would pour out upon his miserable soul. Avery cooled me down. I think that my flaming eyes and the demon- strations I made must have convinced him of my innocence; but he did not think they would have that effect upon the captain. He suggested that if I pitched into Brown, as I had threatened, I would shortly find myself in jail. The circumstances would justify my arrest at any moment. Avery hinted that he had already talked with Captain Brown about my affair, and that if I wished to get clear I had better not provoke a man who was already sore over the loss of thirteen dollars. He remarked that the evidence was squarely against me, and that while this might be my misfortune and not my fault, it would be rash and foolish to disregard it. I was compelled to feel that even Avery was not quite clear in reference to my innocence, although I think, upon the whole, he believed me. Yet it was puzzling. The money had dis- appeared from the office, and no one but myself had been there. It was not easy to blame even Avery for his doubts. As I reflected upon these circum- stances and realized the situation, a very uncomfortable feeling stole over me. The shyness of friends was accounted for, and the mystery in the air was no longer without explanation. The dejec- tion which I began to experience was not lessened by the information which Avery volunteered, that Captain Brown would have consented to make complaint against me, and would have permitted my arrest, had it not been that he was a special friend of the man who had pro- cured for me my situation as teacher. It appeared that only friendship had saved me from jail. As the result of Averys statement of the situation and his advice, I was re- duced to a condition of pitiable tremor. After I left him to go my room, it seemed to me that every eye in the street was boring into me. When I reached the small house which J called home, and had ascended to the close and dingy apartment in the third story which was mine (by the week), I found a letter on my table. The terms of that epistle were simple. I was directed to close my school at the earliest convenient day, and without further notice. The information was also conveyed that my services would not he required in the future. The let- ter was properly signed, and amounted to a very curt dismissal. A Stranger in the City. 220 It was Saturday (and no school) when I got that news. What I suffered that day and the following Sunday, as I sat alone in my room, no mortal tongue can tell. I was, in point of fact, only a poor country boy, puffed-np with a little col- lege learning, and crying not only for my own sorrow, but for the injury to sister and mother and home. Of course you think you would not have suffered as I did. It is generally supposed that a person who is innocent will, when ac- cused, be brave and defiant. But that is not true. It is the innocent who feel the keenest anguish. Ask any experi- enced criminal lawyer and he will tell you so. I never have endured more in my life than on the two days to which I have alluded. Monday, at noon, I dismissed the school, telling them that I should no longer be their teacher, and venturing to say a few words of farewell. But their sneering faces made it almost im- possible. They departed without saying good-by, and some of them hooted as they went out of the door. I struggled hard to be manly and brave and not give way in the presence of the scholars whom I loved so well. But in truth I was cut to the heart. I have not told you how I had toiled for them, and had not counted my health or life dear to me, that I might succeed in teaching them and being their true friend. This was my reward. It gives me a chill even yet to think of it. And now I come to another point. I have said that the scholars did not bid me farewell; but there was one excep- tion. As I sat there at my desk, suffer- ing and trying not to show it, a girl about fifteen years of age, with a hand- some, sensitive face, brown hair, and bright hazel eyes, came back and stood looking at me, and biting her handker- chief, and seeming very sad and mourn- ful. It was Phcebe Smith, the sister of Orlando, and niece of Captain Brown. It had been my way and perhaps my [Angnst, nature to be rather dignified as a teach- er. I had treated Phcebe as if she were a small girl; but she was really quite tall and womanly. When she stood and gazed at me in that wondering and mournful way .1 knew that she expected me to say something. It touched me deeply to see that there was one who was willing to show me kindness. I asked, as cheerfully as I could, Well, Phcnbe, do you wish to say good-by? She did not come nearer nor offer to shake hands, but with her eyes fixed upon me continued to bite her handker- chief. Finally I asked again, trying to smile, Would you like to say good-by? She just shook her head and kept biting her handkerchief as if she were a little girl. Something began to come up in my throat as I looked at her. At last she opened her mouth and said with a kind of gulp, I do not believe you took that money, Mr. Golden. I felt my face growing scarlet. I saw Pho~be put her handkerchief to her eyes. Then my lips began to quiver, and the first I knew I broke down, and throwing my arms on the desk be- fore me I buried my face on them. Some one came to the door and called, Phcebe, Pho~be, and away she went; and that was the end of my school. You can see for yourselves, friends, the position in which I was placed. Here I was in a large city, bearing a stinging disgrace. Our folks had always been very particular. There was not so much as a speck on the reputation of the Goldens. I had calculated to be high up in the matter of a shining name. Sister Jane and I had hoped I might be a minister of the gospel. That was my dream. A thousand times I had longed, as I walked my lonely round on our little farm and on the mountain, to engage in some way in the great battle with the world. And here 1885.] I was in the midst of the conflict, and it was going dead against me. A thing had happened which was not dreamed of in my philosophy. If it had been the loss of health or friends, or the certainty of my own speedy death, I think I could have borne it well. All those troubles I had calculated upon. But when my good name was touched, I shrank and withered like Jonahs gourd. I had not learned the lesson that a mans rep- utation is in part the gift of God, and may be taken away at any moment. I find that this is a strange doctrine to many men. Job was the only one who believed it in his time and section of the country. I had never thought of it as really applicable except in the past among the martyrs. Of course I had supposed in a vague way that some such thing was true, but that was very differ- ent from experiencing and believing it. I have always been glad that I learned the lesson when I was young. Perhaps some men are not called upon to learn it at all in this life; but if so, I think they die without their education being finished. I am aware that there is a philosophy which says that a man (or boy) may be superior to adversity. That was the doctrine which delighted me and be- came my stay and support in college. Perhaps there is no better system for a learned professor with a comfortable salary. But when it comes to being turned out of a public school, I think the philosophy needs bracing. I dis- tinctly remember that it did not sustain me after my scholars were dismissed for the last time, and Phcebe Smith had gone home. Having locked the schoolhouse door and got to my room, I reflected upon the strange events that had occurred. I did not know what to do. That day passed, and then another, and then a week, without activity on my part. I scarcely went out, except early in the morning to walk by the river in a place 221 not much frequented. Thinking mat- ters over, I gradually and very pain- fully came down from my high hopes, and decided that it would not do to go away, but that I must in a modest and manly fashion face the situation in which I found myself. It was a trying conclusion to come to. To think, inno- cent as I was, of going through life as a black sheep was hard. But I made up my mind to it; and I thought that a quiet place in a machine-shop under Avery, who was a boss, would be about my size. Of course you will perceive that I took an exaggerated view of the horrors of my position. But I was sensitive, inexperienced, and alone. It has never been possible for me to blame myself severely for the discour- aging view I took of my life at that time. In memory, I see myself as I was then, often crying in my sleep until my sobs awoke me. I remember the dank and sickly air of the summer nights, and the stifling heat of the crowded city. That I had been dis- graced and thrown aside, and that my greatest hopes in life were cut off, was, at any rate, a great reality to me. For what chance was there for a minister of the gospel who was known as a thief? And what chance was there to disprove the charge, amid a crowd of strangers, who had judged the case on evidence, and who now shunned me as if I were a leper? Perhaps I imagined more than was true. Yet I think it would not have been very unwise to have learned a trade. What would have happened in that direction if something else had not happened, I will not un- dertake to say. But something else did happen. The summer heats were coming on, and the close and tainted atmosphere and city food and mental suffering brought me down so that I took to my bed with a raging fever. The doctor pronounced it a severe case, and what took place after that I do not A Stranger in the City. 222 A Stranger in the City. [August, remember. I know that in some way Phwbe Smith was with me more or less, and that Jane came, and on the whole I had a serious time of it. But I pulled through, and in August, while the heat was still dreadful, and my room like an oven, Jane took me home. That sum- mer in the city, with the sickness, is still, in my recollection of it, like a nightmare. As soon as we reached Vermont I was better, and in a few weeks the country surroundings and quiet rest restored my physical frame, although I was still somewhat haggard with anxiety. Jane had got the facts of my great trouble from Phcebe. We talked mat- ters over. I could see that my poor sister was dreadfully hurt by my ill- fortune. When the cool September days came I seemed to drink in new life, and the gloom which had been gathering upon me, in part passed away. Mother and Jane would not listen to the idea that I must give up my plan of life because of the occurrence at Albany. They tried to have it that my views upon that point were ridiculous and morbid. At times they seemed so to me; but then, as I reflected, the facts would push themselves obstinately into the fore- ground. I did not feel that I could justify myself in standing before the world as a religious teacher, with such a record. It was true in our place as in most country places, that nothing pertaining to any of the people could be long un- known. Janes going to Albany after me and all the reasons for it were well understood by our immediate neighbors and many other people of the town. I thought most of them took sides with me in the matter. Yet who could tell? To determine that I would go out among my friends and face opinion re- quired courage. I endeavored each day to steel my heart and gain strength to meet the trial. I formed some very good resolutions, but did not carry them out. There was one point in regard to which I was decided and firm. It was my fixed intention to return to Albany and busy myself in a machine-shop, and meet the enemy in that silent, persever- ing way. It seemed to me that if I did not, the thought of the stain upon my record would haunt me forever. My disposition was to attack the falsehood and fight it down, if it took a lifetime. Jane was strenuously opposed to this. She said that she had not toiled for my education to have me throw it away. It was apparent that she had the ad- vantage in the argument. She claimed that it was wrong for me to shrink from contact with friends as I did. When I pleaded for delay to grow stronger before pushing out into social life, she would not heed my excuses. I could not resist her pleadings. Jane arranged that I should lead the union, week-day, conference-meeting, at our schoolhouse, on Thursday, the seven- teenth day of September, and I con- sented to do it. The day of the month and all the circumstances are impressed upon my mind. I dreaded that ap- pointment more than any other of my whole life; and I am not quite sure that Jane was right in pushing me up to it. It would be very hard for me, even now, to stand before the people with a charge of stealing existing against me. Nevertheless, I was right in deciding to yield to Janes entreaties. It was a matter of conscience with me. I did not let her know that it kept me awake nights. On Monday, before the important Thursday, I went out of the house and across the pasture, and up upon some rocks with my Bible. I desired to study a subject for the meeting. There was a place where the September sun was reflected, and it was warm and bright. It had been my retreat for 1885.] A Stranger in the City. 223 several days. I had been trying hard to find out how to agree with Jane about my course in life. On this occa- sion that subject kept forcing itself into my mind in spite of my efforts to ban- ish it. But I had rid myself of such thoughts for the time, and had just settled down to the Bible lesson, when I heard a noise. I looked up and there was Jane coming over the grass from the house. She was calling aloud, and almost screaming as she ran. Jane al- ways was a little nervous, but I had never seen her act quite like that before. I sat and looked at her for a while and listened. I saw that there was something more than common the matter, and so I got up and went down off the rocks on to the grass and walked toward her. When I came near she was crying, and as I reached her she threw herself on the ground, seemingly out of breath, her face twitching, and her lips working inartic- ulately. Presently she managed to find her voice, and then she cried out, Oh, Sam, Sam, they have found the money, they have found the money! With this she held an open letter to- wards me and a piece cut from a news- paper. Orlando Smith had been lost at sea and his chest had come home, and in it they had found the book and the money all safe, packed away with other books and wrapped in a piece of brown paper. In a minute I understood it. Orlando had run away, to go to sea, the very day the book and the money disappeared, and he had in some way got possession of them and had taken them with him. I never could remember exactly how I spent the next five minutes after I had learned of this. Probably I was on the grass, crying. I remember that soon the sunshine seemed brighter than be- fore, and an old familiar look, that I had long missed, came back upon the mountain. The valley again resumed that restful appearance which had been one of its greatest charms in my boy- hood; and a spiritual light which was new to me began to dawn. From where we were I could dimly see Burlington. One of my first thoughts was that I could go there now without fear. After a little while we went to the house and saw mother, who seemed ten years younger than she had been when I started out that morning. She was a still kind of woman, whose feelings were very strong and deep. The news that the book and the money had been found was not long in spread- ing through our town. One copy of the Albany newspaper which gave an ac- count of the matter was taken in our neighborhood, so that some of the peo- ple learned of it in that way, and some received the facts from Jane. When Thursday evening came I went to the conference meeting in a very happy frame of mind. I had slept soundly and eaten heartily for the first time since my sickness. I hardly think, as a mat- ter of fact, I did anything very wonder- ful in the way of a speech that evening, but I became enthusiastic and forgot myself. As I was speaking and looking into the eyes of the people, I got talk- ing fast, and then in some way they were in tears. I had no idea of being pathetic or eloquent, but I presume my feeling of thankfulness was apparent. Somehow, that talk made my reputation in the town. The people said I had a gift, and that preaching ought to be my occupation. Here I reach a stage in my narrative where explanation is in order. The first point is to show how it happened that Orlando got into the office that morning and obtained possession of his copy of The Pirates Own Book, and the thirteen dollars inclosed in it, without being seen by his uncle. The newspaper presented a theory upon that subject revealing some curious facts and circumstances. It appeared in the first place that Cap- 224 A Stranger in tI~e City. [August, tam Brown had a defect in his right eye which rendered that important organ substantially useless. But it was ad- mitted by all his neighbors and acquaint.. ances that his left eye was uncommonly bright and efficient, so that he was an excellent watchman. The newspaper remarked, however, that there was a scientific fact in regard to the vision of a single eye, not generally known. It was this: In the normal eye of every person there is a blind spot, a little to- ward the outer angle from the axis of vision. This blind spot (of which we are wholly unconscious) may readily be detected by the aid of two large dots lo- cated to the right and left on a white page, and three inches apart. Hold the page, as in reading, about twelve inches from the face. Close the right eye and look intently at the dot to the right with the left eye. The dot to the left will mysteriously vanish. It is covered by the blind spot. The experiment may be varied in many ways. Small black buttons or even nickels (if the adjust- ment of distances is exact) may be used with success. Objects on all sides of the dot (or button, or nickel) will be perceived out of the corner of the eye, but the dot itself seems to have melted into the white paper. If you look across a street and have the arrangement of distances in the same proportion as in the experiment I have suggested, a win- dow or a door can be made to disappear in the same mysterious manner. A man with only one eye is of course greatly surprised upon learning of this de- fect in his vision. He may think that he perceives the entire side of a house when in fact there is a place several feet in diameter which entirely escapes him. The newspaper stated that Captain Brown had become convinced that this defect in his vision, of which he was un- aware until it was demonstrated to him, had prevented him from seeing Orlando on the important occasion in question. You will readily imagine that Jane and I delighted in the curious experi- ment described so minutely in the news- paper. We found it entirely successful with every one who tried it, and a mat- ter of amusement and surprise to all the neighbors. No one had ever heard of the blind spot before. But it was found a very complete and satisfactory solution of the mystery. Here, perhaps, I ought to pause. Having presented a pleasing picture of my deliverance, the fitness of things warns me not to interfere with it. But it is important to tell the whole truth in this matter, and I shall not forbear. I am sorry to announce that the joy- ful intelligence which lifted the dark shadow from my life was not in reality true, although its falsity was not discov- ered until years had passed away. In point of fact, neither the book nor the money which had been lost was found. The story which had been published in the newspaper, and which we had hugged to our hearts and rejoiced over and cried over, and from which I had gained health and vigor, was based upon a set of fallacious circumstances, curious- ly devised and falsely manufactured for my especial benefit. In behalf of my hap- piness and with a view to my relief, a pious trick, if there is such a thing, had been played by a kind-hearted girl. You can say that the presence of political and legislative management in this city had dulled her moral sense, if that is your view. I do not attempt to place the responsibility. All I affirm is, that a fraud which made every person who was interested believe that the book and the money had been recovered was planned by the brain and executed by the hands of Pha~be Smith. In considering the act of which I am about to tell you, I think it right that you should remember how young she was, and reflect upon the motive which induced her to resort to deception. She believed in my innocence, and had seen as 1885.] A Stra~4ger in the City. 225 perhaps as no one else could (except my mother or my sister Jane) the anguish I had been made to suffer. However wrong it may have been to deceive, it was certainly very noble to wish so ear- nestly to save me from deep sorrow. The plan Phoebe adopted was simple and effective. She secured another copy of The Pirates Own Book, and wrote Orlandos name in it, imitating his hand- writing, and adroitly placed it in his chest with money of her own, when, af- ter his loss, the chest came back from sea and before it was supposed to have been opened. I have already stated that Orlando ran away the very day the book and the money disappeared. This fact gave great plausibility to Phoebes deception. For- tunately for my peace of mind, I did not know of her plot in my behalf until ad- ventitious circumstances revealed it, long subsequent to the events I have related. Neither was it made known to any one. The secret was profoundly buried by Phoebe in her own breast. I have been amazed when contemplating the breadth and completeness of her deception, viewed in connection with her youth and the sincerity of her heart. It would seem that from her own recollection of the lost volume, and from the captains description of the money, she so succeed- ed in duplicating both, that no thought ever occurred to any one that the sub- stituted articles were not the originals. Besides putting the book and the money so skillfully in the chest where they were discovered, she made the suggestion ex- plaining the probable manner of the loss, which impressed itself upon Captain Brown and all the friends, and upon the newspaper reporter and the public, as the truthful explanation of the occur- rence. As one of the consequences of subse- quent investigation, I am able to go back in the course of my narrative and state to you what poor Phoebe was doing when I was sorrowing over the dark calamity VOL. LVI. No. 334. 15 that had fallen upon my career. Her friends found out, long afterward, how she passed through various difficulties in obtaining thirteen dollars. A dealer in second-hand volumes identified, by his small label and price mark, the copy of The Pirates Own Book which she had purchased at his store and made use of as I have described. This searching and identification took place after Phoebes death, and nearly four years after she was my pupil. You can imagine what a curious task and labor of love it was for her asso- ciates and friends to trace out the in- genious goodness and strange deceit which had marked the achievement which she had buried from the eyes of the world. The hidden life of this young girl was found to be very in- teresting. It came to light, in tracing the course of Phoebes scheme, that her main anx- iety had been to find some reasonable hypothesis that would account for the pretended fact that Orlando visited the office of his uncle and secured the book without being observed. When once the book and money were discovered in the chest, of course that left the bur- den of accounting for the mistake that, apparently, had been made, upon the shoulders of Captain Brown. It was for him to explain, if he could, how he had failed to see Orlando. Phoebe evidently dreaded this point, and made preparations of a subtle and curious nature to furnish her uncle with an excuse. It appeared that she had first taken into the account the fact I have already mentioned, that the captain had a defect in his right eye. And ndw I come to the point where Phoebe, as it seems to me, showed her greatest skill and power of combination. You may remember to have seen a curious book, found in many school-libraries, entitled Brewsters Natural Magic. In that work, which reveals, in a very plain way adapted to the minds of the young, 226 A Stranger in the Cit~. [August, some of the wonders of science, Phoebe found an account of the blind spot in the eye, and the experiment demon- strating it, as I have described. Her application of it was ingenious. The first item remembered about it is that soon after the news of the loss of Or- lando had been received, and while they were still waiting for the return of his chest, the blind-spot experiment came into vogue with Phoebe and her friends. It is remembered that Phoebe Smith first called attention to it, and devised various changes to render it more interesting. Notwithstanding her youth, and the benevolent motive which influenced her, Phoebe died without having made a revelation of the deception she had practiced. I think we can understand how, in a moral atmosphere where suc- cessful political management is regarded with approval, she might have been led to associate such deceit in a good cause with virtue. I have been confirmed in this view by the fact that certain friends of hers have expressed to me their sense of the superlative merit of her effort in my behalf. Some of the wo- men contemplated her heroism with wonder and tearful admiration. They made mention of her sacrifice of truth and veracity for me as the loftiest possible example of praiseworthy, wo- manly devotion. To do such a deed as she had done in my behalf, and pass away from earth without any mention of it, seemed to them an exhibition of human goodness that was extremely bright and dazzling. I am compelled to think that these kind friends admired her benevolence and its success all the more because of the trick involved in it. I hope not, but it has appeared so to me as I have talked with them about it. You may smile at this, but the whole matter strikes me as very serious. It seems wonderful to me that my happi- ness for years, and, humanly speaking, my plan of life and my usefulness, were dependent upon the deception of this young girl. All these phases were discussed by us when the genuine Orlando copy, so to speak, of The Pirates Own Book was actually found, an event which occurred soon after Phoebes death, when the old office was pulled down for the purpose of rebuilding. There was then revealed behind the wain- scoting, directly back of where the cap- tains desk had stood, the identical vol- ume which had made the trouble, with the thirteen dollars in bills still undis- turbed between the pages. It was re- membered also that the roller of a large map which reached along the wall had sometimes been hit by a loose cleat on the old office door, and it appeared that the roller thus moved must have pushed the book off the desk into an opening there was in the rough boarding. About that time the captain confessed that he had always dimly felt that the money found in Orlandos chest was not ex- actly the money which had been lost. It was not until this revelation brought to light the true copy of the book and the real state of the case that Phoebes benevolent scheme was suspected and investigated. It was then that her goodness was so commended by those who had been her associates. I do not say it was wrongly commended. In- deed, I would be an ungrateful wretch if I could entertain the shadow of a thought against her. I try to think that only the kindness and heroism and love were Phoebes, and that the influ- ences which had poisoned the moral at- mosphere around her were responsible for the deception. P. Deming. 1885.] An Interlude. 227 AN INTERLUDE. AN IMAGINARY CONVERSATION, SUPPOSED TO BE FOUND AMONG THE UN PUBLISHED PAPERS OF WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. I. SHAKSPERE AND ANNE HATHAWAY SHAKSPERE. ANNE. Yes, the happy poems are the best. But there is one happy thing that even you would never be able to tell, with all your art. SHAKS. And what is that, blue-eyes? ANNE. You could never tell how happy it makes me to have you back again from London. Only a month but it seemed a year. How ever did I let you go! SHAKS. Anne, there is something I do not like to tell you Nay, do not start. ANNE. Will! SHAKS. Look not so aifrighted; it is only that they won from me a promise to come again at Michaelmas. Nay, girl, t is not a thing to sob at. ANNE. It has come. I knew I never could hold you. SHAKS. T is but for a little while. Why, that is my brave wife: lift your sweet face; let me wipe the tears away. ANNE. No, let them run. The heart will maybe ache the less for them. SHAKS. So long a silence? Prithee, speak to me. What do those blue-bell eyes behold in the distance that should make them so heavy? T is but for a month, or two or not a year, at most. Morrow part, and morrow meet, Makes a merrie parting, sweet! Speak, I say! what is it you see? ANNE. I see the time that was to come. Do you not remember, sitting in the little brier-rose garden at Shottery, how I used to say, It can never last! For something some augury such as foreboding women know would sud- denly make my heart faint and heavy. And you would stop my mouth Let be I must needs cry a little when I re- member. SHAKS. Fie, fie Are you a grown woman, or a child in arms ? Well, what is the new fret, now? ANNE. The letter! SHAKS. Anne, Anne, are you luna- tic? what letter? ANNE. That will say, I am writing to tell you our separation must be final. SHAKS. Anne! (Ah, these poor fond fools!) Wife, I say! (She has een swooned away.) II. SOUTHAMPTON AND ANNE S. ANNE. Ay, I had his letter. The hand was Shakspere, but the voice was some good, virtuous, prying, devilish friend of his. SOUTH. Nay, woman, affront me not with your fierce looks. I did not see him when he wrote it, nor ever advised him touching its purport. Be still! I came all the way hither to confer with your reason, not to bear with your pas- sions. ANNE. I know well what you have advised him. A womans wit needs no second-sight to discern her loves enemy. You prate to him of your wily right and wrong. It is a thing of conscience, for- sooth, to give me up. The poor prece- dents of the commonalty you put for the eternal laws of Gods mercy. I tell you Heaven talks closer with a womans heart than with all the cunning custom- mongers of the world. God gave me

An Interlude 227-230

1885.] An Interlude. 227 AN INTERLUDE. AN IMAGINARY CONVERSATION, SUPPOSED TO BE FOUND AMONG THE UN PUBLISHED PAPERS OF WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. I. SHAKSPERE AND ANNE HATHAWAY SHAKSPERE. ANNE. Yes, the happy poems are the best. But there is one happy thing that even you would never be able to tell, with all your art. SHAKS. And what is that, blue-eyes? ANNE. You could never tell how happy it makes me to have you back again from London. Only a month but it seemed a year. How ever did I let you go! SHAKS. Anne, there is something I do not like to tell you Nay, do not start. ANNE. Will! SHAKS. Look not so aifrighted; it is only that they won from me a promise to come again at Michaelmas. Nay, girl, t is not a thing to sob at. ANNE. It has come. I knew I never could hold you. SHAKS. T is but for a little while. Why, that is my brave wife: lift your sweet face; let me wipe the tears away. ANNE. No, let them run. The heart will maybe ache the less for them. SHAKS. So long a silence? Prithee, speak to me. What do those blue-bell eyes behold in the distance that should make them so heavy? T is but for a month, or two or not a year, at most. Morrow part, and morrow meet, Makes a merrie parting, sweet! Speak, I say! what is it you see? ANNE. I see the time that was to come. Do you not remember, sitting in the little brier-rose garden at Shottery, how I used to say, It can never last! For something some augury such as foreboding women know would sud- denly make my heart faint and heavy. And you would stop my mouth Let be I must needs cry a little when I re- member. SHAKS. Fie, fie Are you a grown woman, or a child in arms ? Well, what is the new fret, now? ANNE. The letter! SHAKS. Anne, Anne, are you luna- tic? what letter? ANNE. That will say, I am writing to tell you our separation must be final. SHAKS. Anne! (Ah, these poor fond fools!) Wife, I say! (She has een swooned away.) II. SOUTHAMPTON AND ANNE S. ANNE. Ay, I had his letter. The hand was Shakspere, but the voice was some good, virtuous, prying, devilish friend of his. SOUTH. Nay, woman, affront me not with your fierce looks. I did not see him when he wrote it, nor ever advised him touching its purport. Be still! I came all the way hither to confer with your reason, not to bear with your pas- sions. ANNE. I know well what you have advised him. A womans wit needs no second-sight to discern her loves enemy. You prate to him of your wily right and wrong. It is a thing of conscience, for- sooth, to give me up. The poor prece- dents of the commonalty you put for the eternal laws of Gods mercy. I tell you Heaven talks closer with a womans heart than with all the cunning custom- mongers of the world. God gave me 228 An interlude. [August, my husband, and you would push him from me for your circles shallow tra- ditions, poor scruples, scribbled on perishable parchment, and taken for Heavens mandates writ on tables of stone. SOUTH. Rail on! but I am a better friend to him than you with what you call your love. I counsel him for his gain: you would hold him from it for your pleasure. ANNE. So I have stung the true color of it into light, at last! You make it a virtue to him of a Sunday, but a Mon- day morning and all the other days it is his gain! You paint it shrewdly to him, I ween: the out-worn country wo- man, among the clods, as it were, the fall of the leaf, as it were, Hob- bin the sheep-boy, and Clobbinet that minds the curds! SOUTH. Come, woman! The mood becomes you not. You are een better favored in honest speech. Leave flout- ing to the court. ANNE. If it were truth you told him but I know the town. I could trail my velvet at my grandams there as well as any. I say, I know the town, and I know my worth. The silk robe still hides the shallows better than any homespun. Under the tricked bearing and the pretty phrase will my Shakspere find the deeper fountains of his art? Not so it was never so. They may gloss life better, but we live it here. He had never been my poet had you reared him there. It was these stars that drew him, these country skies that fed him honey- dew. SOUTH. And Anne Hathaway? ANNE. I care not for your discourte- sies. The thing is greater to me than that I should care. It was Anne Hath- away that knew his thought ay, and answered it. He was my poet, before ever he descended to become your patch- ANNE. You will never hear them. They are mine alone. SOUTH. What! you have verses writ by him? If this purse this ruby ANNE. Court fool! And you thought your trinkets would buy hearts blood? SOUTH. You have not destroyed them? ANNE. Nay, they are gathered in my heart. But the paper yea, sooth, the paper of them was burned the day the letter came. SOUTH. The letter! was it not pure reason in the letter? It is the right 1 do, he said. ANNE. So you did see the letter! Oh, the honorable courtier and brave gentleman! SOUTH. After it was writ I saw it. Thou knowest, he said to you, it is the right I do, and thou must do thy share. ANNE. My share! Ay, I shall do my share. SOUTH. Plague on your crying! Hear but straight reason, I say. ANNE. Well you have come from my husband: I will hear. SOUTH. Your husband? Where is the husband you were married to in secret, years before? Turn not away. It is foul wrong, says Shakspere says he not well ? for me to take his place. ANNE. His place? Where is his place! Did he not leave me . a green girlof his own free pleasure? Right! what know I of right save justice and mercy to Gods creatures! I think the things the world names right are but the pretexts for following its own sweet desires. To forgive ones enemies to be faithful to ones friends what priests canon dares contravene such right as this? Adieu! and tell my husband nay, tell him naught from me, for to him I am naught. Or tell him, till my heart is broken, it is all his, er of plays. SOUTH. I faith, I would fain hear and his alone. those poems! [Goes in. 1885.] An Interlude. 229 SOUTH. Wild words from a wild creature, and with distempered gesture. And yet, it is a clear soul, and a wo- manly withal. If I were Shakspere I know not. III. FROM THE WIFE TO THE HUSBAND. A LETTER. DEAR WILL: And so you think our separation must be final? But how can it be final till love be dead? Final for our little life it may easily be, but when the winter of these brief necessities shall awake to endless summer-time, what room is there then for separations? You do not wish it, do you? Yet I know that now it is better so. You must follow the clue that is in your hand. You have the round of illu- sions and disillusions to complete. But something tells me you will never find your mate till you come back to me. I know that I am lesser than you: I know that I am older; and yet I am not old. And there is something in my bosom that will refuse to grow old so long as you are to be lived for. I have not told you my thoughts in these months past. My heart has been full with what I would not speak, lest I seem to hold you back from your better for- tune. If I have whispered it on my pillow, if I have called it aloud on the night wind in the solitary fields, I knew it could never reach you to do you harm. God forgive me if sometimes I have wished it might, so it would bring you back to my arms. Your friend said it were noblest in me to make you forget me. Well, perchance I am trying. It may be this pursuit is but a subtlety to weary you of me, grounded on this: that he who seeks is never sought. Nay, what if it were still a shrewder subtlety, this very telling you thereof? You said once I was subtle. Do you remember? And I said it was a vile phrase, it was French, and I would have none of it. Ah, the little affectionate familiar jests we had together the slow talks we had, mingled with confident quietness: must it all have come to naught? Have the words all gone like frosty breath into the air? Is there nothing, nothing, and never to be anything? Can such a past just die, and have no consequent, as in a desert a call that was not an- swered and that dies away forever? And you? You will meantime be hap- py. Never say not I knew it long ago. Do I wish it? Not now, not yet. But I shall wish it, in better and larger moments. Then~ I will wish you only your own hearts desire; hoping noth- ing, only that some day in some far-off world I may stand near, if unseen, and see your gladness, and be so pure at last that I shall be glad in that alone. Farewell and remember best, oh most best believe it. ANNE S. Iv. A SECOND LETTER. To MY FRIEND THAT WAS MINE, W. S. It was a silly letter that I wrote be- fore: such as women will still be writing, when they use their wits to follow their feeling, not to lead it. It was a true letter, too, for I meant it all; but this it would have been wiser to mean: Im- primis Lovers still love most hotly when they are long apart. How rede you that riddle? Why, thus: we are not so perfect as the imagination bodies us out, delicately touching his colors on our image. Day by day the absent grows more beautiful, wiser, more pat to our desire. I know that through the silence I shall grow to seem to you what I am not. But look not back from your path. I know your needs. I can fore- tell what your nature is capable to an- swer to. You are only right when you cut loose from a past that had no out- 230 Miss Ingelow and Mrs. Walford. [August, look. Among a thousand things unat- tainable to my nature belongs your life. If ever aspiration flags, and memory goes feeling backward after old illusions, appeal from rosy fancy to daylight fact. Let us think of each other as we would in the commonplace life of the house. Whatever in feature or form is insigni- ficant, whatever in the disposition is harsh and untunable, whatever in the mind is incapable, these we must see, if we would see the very truth; the lit- tle jangles of life as well the joys; the self-seeking, the indolences, the animal solicitations that are mixed with all our clay. Not in order that we may hate each other; but to take that cheerful and reasonable view that leaves the heart light and the mind clear. So might we be comrades, taking and giving what help we can; nor blind to the better looks of comelier persons, nor to the freshness of younger ones, nor the vigor of haler ones, the wit of sprightlier ones, the deeper plummet of wiser ones. So may each love only as Cordelia said she loved: So much as you are, so much as you are worth withal. We were not worthy to live together if we are not able to live well apart. It doth spoil lifes reasonableness when the overflowing heart must een flood the brain and blur its clarity. I am content, in one regard, if my lovers passion goes away from me, drawn, like a flame in the wind, toward another, if only it carry away the veil of illusion through which my lover saw me. I would that we knew each other at last, in true light and shadow, with all our lack and ails, nothing extenuated, and yet all seen as by a kindly comrade. And you that went from my arms as a cold and merely friendly lover will come back to my hands a warm and loving friend. If the years pass heav- ily, it is no matter: they will bring that day. If they pass swiftly and hasten on old age, it is no matter: they will bring that day. And for that I wait. A. S. MISS INGELOW AND MRS. WALFORD. THERE appears to be a peculiar and perennial fascination, for people of our race at least, about. the novel of English life as such. We Americans feel it with especial force, perhaps, just as we feel the fascination of the actual Eng- lish life, because there we find people altogether such as ourselves, our next of spiritual and intellectual kin, speak- ing our language, informed with our in- stincts, moved by our own very senti- ments and aspirations, and all firmly based upon stable (or seemingly stable) social conditions, surrounded by a mel- low and harmonious environment, with a background of landscape as appropri- ate to the figures that move in it as the austere hills, pure skies, and feathery trees of Perugino to his abstracted saints, or the rose and golden atmosphere of Venice, to ducal fetes and ecclesiastical processions. We are hard at work among ourselves just now, expending a huge amount of energy and talent, in trying to prove that we also, in America, have a distinct school of fiction; trying to make finished pictures out of the great mass we undoubtedly have of new and striking, but heterogeneous and unclas- sified material. It is of no use; we can but make sketches as yet, and jot down memoirs pour servir. Crystals do not readily form in a boiling liquid. Life must be still for an instant, at least, be- fore it can be even successfully photo- graphed.

Harriet Waters Preston Preston, Harriet Waters Miss Ingelow and Mrs. Walford 230-242

230 Miss Ingelow and Mrs. Walford. [August, look. Among a thousand things unat- tainable to my nature belongs your life. If ever aspiration flags, and memory goes feeling backward after old illusions, appeal from rosy fancy to daylight fact. Let us think of each other as we would in the commonplace life of the house. Whatever in feature or form is insigni- ficant, whatever in the disposition is harsh and untunable, whatever in the mind is incapable, these we must see, if we would see the very truth; the lit- tle jangles of life as well the joys; the self-seeking, the indolences, the animal solicitations that are mixed with all our clay. Not in order that we may hate each other; but to take that cheerful and reasonable view that leaves the heart light and the mind clear. So might we be comrades, taking and giving what help we can; nor blind to the better looks of comelier persons, nor to the freshness of younger ones, nor the vigor of haler ones, the wit of sprightlier ones, the deeper plummet of wiser ones. So may each love only as Cordelia said she loved: So much as you are, so much as you are worth withal. We were not worthy to live together if we are not able to live well apart. It doth spoil lifes reasonableness when the overflowing heart must een flood the brain and blur its clarity. I am content, in one regard, if my lovers passion goes away from me, drawn, like a flame in the wind, toward another, if only it carry away the veil of illusion through which my lover saw me. I would that we knew each other at last, in true light and shadow, with all our lack and ails, nothing extenuated, and yet all seen as by a kindly comrade. And you that went from my arms as a cold and merely friendly lover will come back to my hands a warm and loving friend. If the years pass heav- ily, it is no matter: they will bring that day. If they pass swiftly and hasten on old age, it is no matter: they will bring that day. And for that I wait. A. S. MISS INGELOW AND MRS. WALFORD. THERE appears to be a peculiar and perennial fascination, for people of our race at least, about. the novel of English life as such. We Americans feel it with especial force, perhaps, just as we feel the fascination of the actual Eng- lish life, because there we find people altogether such as ourselves, our next of spiritual and intellectual kin, speak- ing our language, informed with our in- stincts, moved by our own very senti- ments and aspirations, and all firmly based upon stable (or seemingly stable) social conditions, surrounded by a mel- low and harmonious environment, with a background of landscape as appropri- ate to the figures that move in it as the austere hills, pure skies, and feathery trees of Perugino to his abstracted saints, or the rose and golden atmosphere of Venice, to ducal fetes and ecclesiastical processions. We are hard at work among ourselves just now, expending a huge amount of energy and talent, in trying to prove that we also, in America, have a distinct school of fiction; trying to make finished pictures out of the great mass we undoubtedly have of new and striking, but heterogeneous and unclas- sified material. It is of no use; we can but make sketches as yet, and jot down memoirs pour servir. Crystals do not readily form in a boiling liquid. Life must be still for an instant, at least, be- fore it can be even successfully photo- graphed. 1885.] Miss Ingelow and Mrs. Walford. But after all, our appetite for English fiction, though seemingly more account- able, is hardly more omnivorous than that of the English themselves. It is doubtful whether any known method of computation would suffice accurately to estimate the number of three-volume novels which issue from the British press in the course of a single year. Those which are caught up and repro- duced by our shrewd raiders constitute but a small fraction of the whole. I had once the honor of being conducted by a great scholar through the Bodleian Library; not the noble and charming old reading-room, with its venerable alcoves and beautiful ceiling, but that vast magazine of letters which lies be- low it. The Bodleian, as the reader knows very well, is one of two or three great libraries, which claim, for reasons best known to themselves, a copy of every published book. Accordingly, after following our Savio gentile through broad realms of science and long reaches of history, through the halls appropri- ated to the immortalities of Greece and Rome, and those others consecrated to that lore of the Orient which he him- self has done so much to illuminate and impart, we came upon a sort of terrain vague of seemingly illimitable extent, entirely occupied by the English novels, mostly in three volumes, of the last twenty or thirty years. What a lim- bo! There they swarmed: in triple rows upon the walls, and crowded stacks upon the floors; their backs brave with gold, their sides clad in all the colors of the spectrum, and reflecting amusingly enough the fluctuations of fashion in hue, from the crude blues, arsenic greens, and sickly groseilles of the Second Em- pire, through a brief period of brazen Bismarck brown, to the dim tints of the aesthetic revival. But their bravery did but intensify their obscurity. Titles and names of authors were alike unknown to fame. This innumerable multitude of fine new books was as the leaves of 231 last years forest, or the uncounted dust of what Mr. Fitzgerald calls yester- days ten thousand years. Nevertheless, as the depth of the leaf- mould measures in some sort the vigor of the forest, so this enormously exces- sive supply of a certain class of light reading is, in itself, indicative of an immense demand. The many fail, the few succeed; therefore where the many succeed, what wonder if an infinite number fail? It must needs be; so I said to myself at the time, as we trav- ersed those gayly lined catacombs, and so I have often reflected since, that all those three-volume futilities aimed, at least, at depicting the sort of life which is fullest of interest, the dearest, most intime, most desirable of all, to the nations comprising the greatest readers (I do not say the greatest students) in the world. And so it is; and the fact is to our races credit, upon the whole. For the truer the art, the more sympathetic and impartial the temper of the would-be drai~iatist of that English life the very thought of which gives des. vapeurs to the ordinary Gaul, the more likely he will be to picture a state of society founded upon veracity and braced by honor, enlivened by humor and by varied intellectual interests, refined by a sin- cere humanity, and sweetened by an un- dercurrent of simple and unfeigned re- ligion. Grief and crime he will treat since treat of them he must, and ex- tensively, in any complete picture of any known society with a just serious- ness and delicacy; with a certain grave frankness also, since the one thing of which he is constitutionally and utterly incapable is the innuendo. If this should seem too optimistic a view to the in- veterate reader of a certain sensational class of modern English novels, let him reflect how very ephemeral, if intense, for the moment, is the interest of those productions; what need their authors feel, to put them forth in rapid succes 232 Miss Ingelow and Airs. Walford. [August, sion; and how truly what we have said applies, in the main, to the work of the greatest artists of all, and to the large majority of the classics of English fic- tion: to Richardson and Scott and Miss Austen; to Dickens and Thackeray; to George Eliot and John Shorthouse. Let him compare, but for a moment, the kind and degree of emotion with which he read for the first time, and has often, it may be, re-read, the tale of the fall of Effie Deans, or the fate of Hetty Sorrel, or the flight with her early lover of Barnes Newcomes unhappy wife, with the complex sentiments which are evi- dently required of him in view of the ordeal of Richard Feverel and the sac- rifice of Miss Brown, and he will see clearly what we mean by insisting upon the plain manliness and moral simplicity of legitimate English fiction of the high- est order. Its cleanliness is fundamen- tal; the sources of its most enduring interest all open, and therefore inno- cent. Just at present, however, we have no concern with the very great masters, except by way of indicating the tone which they have happily given to a ~ery extensive literature. There are plenty of those of the second and even third order, to whose modest art we are indebted for an incalculable amount of cheerful solace and wholesome amuse- ment. A little while ago we had occa- sion to consider the voluminous and va- ried productions of Mrs. Oliphant; and since then our attention has been di- rected to the work of two other Eng- lish female novelists of moderate pre- tension, but, as it seems to us, of very marked merit, to Jean Ingelow and the marvelously clever author of Mr. Smith and The Babys Grandmother. They both belong to what may be called the school of Miss Austen; that is to say, they rely for the inter- est of their work on the minute study of certain frequent and probable, nay, in some cases, flagrantly commonplace types of character; and on the homely but harmonious accessories, and (with certain exceptions in Miss Ingelows case, to be noted hereafter) the natural and unforced combinations, and evolu- tions, and eventualities of the every-day life of English gentlefolk and their de- pendents. They are essentially femi- nine writers both, seldom taxing their powers with the effort to depict scenes which must, almost of necessity, lie out- side the range of a ladys experience. When a woman does this successfully, witness George Eliots ale-house and election scenes, and hundreds in the works of that other great George, across the Channel, and many even in those of Mrs. Oliphant, it constitutes one of the most signal proofs of ex- ceptional power. When she tries it and does not succeed, she furnishes an equally signal measure of her limita- tions. These two show a wise modesty in usually refraining from the attempt; although Mrs. Walford has proved that she can make men of the world talk naturally among themselves, which is, in itself, no small achievement for any woman. Miss Ingelow has always seemed to us to suffer, as a novelist, from the obstinate reluctance of the world to ac- cord to any individual the possession of more than one kind of ability. Do we not all naturally take it as a sort of im- pertinence or affront, at the least, as evidence of a very grasping disposition, when one who has fairly established his claim to the honors of a certain specialty asks for our suffrages in a new direc- tion? Miss Ingelow was a poet, a minor poet to be sure, but extremely popular as such. Perhaps none but minor poets are ever largely popular in their own day. It must be secretly grievous to a man of the highest poetic aims and sensibilities to have produced poems as widely read and universally ad- mired as Hiawatha or The Light of Asia! Miss Ingelow, however, had opened a 1885.] Miss Ingelow and Mrs. Walford. 233 slender vein of poesy which was all her own. She had written a few ballads and lyrics which had instantly found their place, and will probably always retain it, in all standard collections of the gems of English song. She had developed a certain originality of rhyme and rhythm, and had shown a graceful command of a quaint, sometimes a trifle too quaint, English vocabulary. It was this which secured her the honor of poor Fly-Leaf Calverleys most delight- ful raillery, but she shared that honor with the Laureate and Mr. Browning, which might, one would think, have contented anybody. But Miss Ingelow was not content. She tried her hand at childrens tales, and produced, in Mopsa the Fairy, a really charming fantasy, where many of the best qualities of her poetry were found allied to a certain artless charm of transparent and direct prose diction, where indeed some of her most ex- quisite poetical bits first appeared, as captions to the chapters, or songs sung by the characters. Her first attempts at the portrayal of actual English life were less successful. They may be found in a small volume characteristi- cally entitled Studies for Stories, curi- ous and interesting chiefly as revealing the serious and systematic manner in which Miss Ingelow went to work to win her laurels in prose fiction. These little sketches are exactly what they profess to be, studies: conscientious efforts at the delineation of scparate figures; attentive observation of salient characteristics, with usually an effort, a little too pronounced and palpable, at deducing a moral from their inter- action. The lady was evidently bent on mastering an untried art, and was not in the least shy about letting the pub- lic perceive the humility of her first attempts. Several years as many as seven or eight at the least must have elapsed between the publication of these preliminary sketches and the appear- ance of Miss Ingelows first novel proper, Off the Skelligs. It was im- mediately evident that her studies had borne fruit. The opening chapters of Off the Skelligs possess an entirely fresh and quite extraordinary charm. The childhood of Tom and Dorothea Graham is less profoundly studied, no doubt, than that of Tom and Maggie Tulliver, but it is in a wholly different genre, and what with the quaintness of the juvenile types portrayed, and the exceptional character of their surround- ings, it is hardly less fascinating in its way than that immortal chronicle. The picture of those two precocious but perfectly simple, babyish, and uncon- scious mites of humanity Snap and Missy, the boy of eight and the girl of six declaiming scenes from Shake- speare in their nursery, and wran- gling over the rules of a universal lan- guage of their own invention, is alto- gether captivating. They had a literary mother, poor things, who was endeavor- ing to make money by her pen, shut up in the solemn and inviolable privacy of a remote chamber; and we feel a lively sympathy with the superstitious emo- tions of the nurse, who found some- thing awful in their play-acting, and with the consternation of the successive tutors who were engaged to superintend this untimely intellectual development, and of whom the varying degrees of dis- may are most amusingly described : In due time the tutor made his ap- pearance. He came in with sufficient assurance. He heard us read we lisped horribly. He saw us write our writing was dreadful. He seemed a good youth enough. That he was very young was evident; we had been told that he had just left Kings Col- lege, London. So we treated him with great deference, and whatsoever he did, we admired. Thus, when he whistled while mending our pens, and when he cut his initials on the wooden desk, we thought these acts proofs of superiority. 234 AIis8 Ingelow and A1~s. Walford. [August, He, however, did not seem as well pleased with us, for he had encouraged us to talk that he might discover what we knew, and he shortly began to look hot, uncomfortable, and perplexed. Finally he remarked that it was time to shut up shop, asked if there were any rabbits on the common, and affably decreed that we might come out with him and show him about. Off we all set, first to the mill for a dog, then to the heath, when finding our new friend gracious and friendly, we shortly began to chatter, and ex- plain various things to him, and to argue with one another. At last we sat down. Our tutor sank into silence, whistled softly, and stared from one of us to the other. Snap, in the joy of his heart, was de- scribing our new language, and oh, audacious act! was actually asking him whether he would like to learn it. Not a word did he say, but a sort of alarm began to show itself in his face; and at length, at the end of a sharp argument between us, he start- ed up and exclaimed, I say! there s something wrong here a child of six and talk about a strong preterite! Good gracious! So I tell her, said Snap. She ought to know better than to expect all our verbs to have strong preterites. Come home, young ones, said our tutor. We rose, and he set off at a steady pace; we sneaked behind, aware that something was wrong. We wondered why he went so fast, for he was evi- dently tired and often wiped his fore- head with his handkerchief. At the cottage door he met my mother. I hope you have had a pleasant walk, she said. Oh, yes, thank you! at least not exactly. It s it s not exactly what I expected. And he left on the following day. The successor of this craven youth was not so easily routed. He was, as it afterward appeared, hopelessly in love with the squires daughter, and so had a personal motive for lingering in that forsaken neighborhood. Enter new tutor, introduced by my mother, a tall cheerful young man, followed by two dogs. His countenance expressed great amusement, and when mamma had retired, he looked at us both with considerable attention, while his dogs lay panting at his feet with their tongues out. As for me, I was dreadfully abashed, and felt myself to be a kind of impostor, who must carefully conceal what I was, or the new tutor would run away. Come here, said the new tutor to Snap, and let the little fellow come, too. Oh, she s a girl, I remember. Well, come here, both of you, and let me see what you are like. You, num- ber one, I suppose, are at the head of this class? Yes, sir, said Snap. What s your name, youngster? Tom Graham, sir. Now, you just look at me, will you. I hear you are a very extraordi- nary little chap. I am very extraordi- nary myself. I shall never give double lessons when Jam angry. Encouraged by the gay tone of his voice, I looked up, on which he said, And what can you do, little one, hey? Being for once abashed, I shrank behind Snap, but was pulled out by the tutors long arm and set on his knee, while Snap, at his desire, gave an ac- count of his acquirements and of my own. After this, the dogs were sent out, and the new tutor began to examine our books, and speedily won our love by the clear manner in which he ex- plained and illustrated everything. In the course of the morning it came out that I did not know how to work. Not know how to work, and begin Greek, he exclaimed. Where s the nurse? Fetch her in I 1885.] Mzss ingelow and Mrs. Walford. 235 In came nurse, curtseying. Why, Mrs. What s-your-name, said our tutor, I understand that this young lady cannot work. Nurse, taken by surprise, stam- mered out some excuse. It 5 a very great neglect, pro- ceeded our tutor. Fetch some of your gussets and things and let her begin directly. Now, sir? said nurse. To be sure! Set her going and I 11 superintend. I can thread a needle with any man.~ Sir, she has nt got a thimble. It is a decided thing that she must have a thimble? Oh, yes, sir, that it is. Mr. Smith was discomfited by thi.s information, but not for long. Three days after, as Snap and I were playing on the common, we saw him strolling toward us with a large parcel under his arm. Come here, you atom, he said to me. I have something to show you. So I came, and crouched beside him, for he had seated himself on the grassy bank, and he had very shortly unfolded to my eyes one of the sweetest sights that can be seen by a little girl. It was a doll, a large, smiling wax doll. Beside it, he spread out several pieces of gay print and silk and ribbon. He had bought them, he said, at the town, and moreover he had bought me a thimble. To ask mammas help would have been of little use, and he scorned to ask that of nurse; but, by giving his mind to the task, and making his own in- dependent observations, he designed, by, the help of his compasses, several gar- ments for the doll, and these in the course of time he and I made, thereby giving exceeding satisfaction to the ser- vants and family at the mill, who used furtively to watch his proceedings with great amusement. The moral of this piquant scene is not mentioned, but it is happily unmis- takable. To develop consistently, and with interest, the characters of these rather abnormal little beings would seem to be about as difficult a task as a nov- elist could essay, but Miss Ingelow ac- quits herself of it, as far as the girl, at least, is concerned, triumphantly. Tom is a disappointment, but the au- thors art cannot be said to fail here, for so he would almost inevitably have been in real life. His brilliant boyhood had no suite. His marvelous mental power was accompanied by a correspond- ing moral weakness, which dragged him, eventually, as far behind his fellows as he had originally started in advance of them; and all that astonishing promise of his days of innocence remained but a rather heart-sickening memory. The tragedy is not striking and terrible, like that in which the lives of George Eliots brother and sister were involved, but how true it is to common experience, and the level tenor of lifes ordinary woe! Dorothea, on the other hand, be- comes a very proper little heroine, with- out ever losing her originality or her fascination. In her learned humility and gentle audacity, her fine mixture of spirit and softness, and her almost comi- cal unconsciousness of her own personal charms, she remains always and unmis- takably, the fairy-like Missy of the strong preterites and the Shakespeare recitals, and one of the oddest and most engaging of all modern ing6nues. The preservation of her artless charm is the more remarkable, in that it is al- ways she who tells her own and her brothers story, and that is a nice art indeed which can make a na~f character reflect itself without injury to its own na~vet6. Even Dickenss Esther Sum- merson is priggish and self-righteous at times, but this mignonne Dorothea, not at all. Miss Ingelows poetic and dramatic powers find scope in the really thrill- ing description of the wreck off the 236 Miss Ingelow and Mj-s. Walford. [August, rocks from which the novel takes its name; and properly enough, since its true love-story begins then and there; but it is in depicting the daily life at Wigfield that she first fully makes good her claim to be reckoned among the vivid and successful delineators of Eng- lish domesticity. Affluent without os- tentation; pure, healthful, and humane; pious without austerity or pretension; courteous and generous and gay; mo- notonous, yet always mildly amusing, this is that life of sweet decorum, of sobriety rather than of dullness, in which we do so well to take what seems by moments, even to ourselves, an inex- plicable delight. This is that true be- atitude of blameless Philistinism, equally removed from the exotic vices and the barbaric expensiveness, chronicled with so much gusto by Lord Beaconsfield and Ouida, and the fantastic tricks played before high heaven by certain small but highly conscious coteries, im- portant chiefly through their imperti- nence, and conspicuous by their absur- dity. Miss Ingelow lingers too long over the pleasant life at Wigfield for the symmetry of her tale. There is too much about the elder brothers philanthropies and there are too many of the younger brothers jokes; yet we speak for our- selves in averring that she never posi- tively fatigues her reader, who is glad when the course of the story returns to that quiet place, after the somewhat forced episode of the heroines attempt- ed labors in the London slums. The weak part of Off the Skelligs is its plot. That a person even a very small and self-distrustful person of Dorotheas delightful common sense should have engaged herself to the volatile and in- significant, though amusing Valentine, when she had really given her heart to the staid and slightly magnificent Giles is hardly to be credited, and the man- ner in which the true lovers of the story are involved in the misunderstanding which delays their bliss implies even more than the elaborate imbecility usu- ally displayed in such cases. Miss Ingelow appears clearly to have perceived that her first novel had no proper intrigue, and to have resolved, come what might, to remedy this defect in her subsequent efforts. But first, she could not resist the temptation to de- velop a little further the fortunes of her first-born characters, for whom she had naturally conceived a lively affection, and whose existence had probably as- sumed for her a sort of importunate objectivity. The experiment is always a doubtful one. It cannot be said either to have failed or to have succeeded com- pletely, in the by no means common- place story entitled Fated to be Free. Once more the authors lively imagina- tion supplies her with a novel and high- ly picturesque opening to her tale. She introduces a strange set of characters, living in antiquated fashion in an out-of- the-world nook, who prove, however, to have relations of the most important kind with some whom we have already seen in Off the Skelligs, moving in the broad daylight of every-day life. She devises a secret, which she is so anxious not to reveal prematurely that she can hardly be said ever to reveal it satisfactorily, and with the proper dramatic effect. She broaches a moral; and of all gravest questions, the one here involved is the everlastingly staggering question of the relations between necessity and free- will! This is the way in which our author looks at it, and thus offers her suggestion for the reconcilement of the irreconcilable. An unalterable destiny gives us liberty of moral choice. We are subject to fate, but to a fate which makes us to a certain extent free. Val- entine, the light, sparkling, incorrigible Valentine, who would so gladly have yielded himself wholly to the swaying of citcumstance, Valentine was forced to take the responsibility of his own course, to say with a categorical yes or no 1885.] Miss Ingelow and Mrs. Walforci. 237 whether he would enter upon his tempt- ing but tainted and virtually forbidden inheritance; and clearly to perceive at the last, just as his vain young life was slipping from him, that it had been so, and that his fate had been to have his fate in his own hands. The story is a short and rather sad one, though bright- ened by much unforced light talk, and lively nonsense of young and happy people, but the authors genuine artistic instinct suffices to make it consistent and shapely, and, in fine, it has its charm. By the time, however, that Fated to be Free was concluded, Miss Ingelow had become possessed, or so we divine, by certain definite theories about novel- making which she was impatient more fully to develop. First of all, the truism that truth is stranger than fiction seems to have impressed itself upon her mind with new and extraordinary force. She is struck, as most of us have been, at one time or another, by the notion that if we would but remember what we hear, and dared tell what we actually know, it would become apparent that strange coincidences and grotesque com- binations do frequently occur even in the most ordinary and conventional lives. The most probable defect of the novel of comfortable English life is, naturally, a lack of incident; but it is possible to conceive, even within these highly prop- er bounds, of a situation so strange that incidents in abundance would inevita- bly grow out of it. Accordingly, still with the same happy and engaging care- lessness about making her experiments in public, Miss Ingelow set herself reso- lutely, as it would seem, to conjure up situations of this kind, and did actually contrive two, which, so far as we know, had never been thought of before, and proceeded to work them out, like prob- lems, in Sarah de Berenger and I2~on John. The conception of the former is the more entirely novel A poor woman, of extraordinary character, the wife of a convict just transported for fourteen years, unexpectedly falls heir to a mod- est competence; and in order to secure it, for the benefit of her two baby girls, from the possible future claims of their worthless father, she assumes different names for herself and for them, takes the position of their servant, and brings them up as litt