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The Atlantic monthly. / Volume 74, Note on Digital Production 0074 000
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The Atlantic monthly. / Volume 74, Issue 441 Galaxy, Atlantic Atlantic Monthly Co. Boston July 1894 0074 441
The Atlantic monthly. / Volume 74, Issue 441, miscellaneous front pages i-iv

THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY A MAGAZINE OF iitcraturc, ~cicncc, ~vt, anl j3outtc~3 VOLUME LXXIV. BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 1894 4 716 97 A COPYRIGHT, 1894, B~ HOUGHTON, 1~1IFFLIN AYD COMPANY. The Riverside Press, Cam bridqe, Mass., U. S. A. Electrotyped and Printed by H. 0 Hongliton & Conipany. CONTENTS. PAGE Academic Treatment of English, The, N. B. Scudder 688 Africa, Cardinal Lavigeries Work in North, William Sharp 214 African Exploration and Travel . . . 554 America, Altrurin, and the Coast of Bohe- nun American Influence over England, The Growth of, J. ill. Ludlow 618 Architecture of & hoolhouses, Sn~gestions on time, C. howard Walker . . . . 825 August Birds in Cape Breton, Frank Belles 158 Books Illustrated and Decorated . . . 412 Boswells Proof-Sheets, George Birlebeck Hill 657 Cape Breton, August Birds in, Frank Belies Cardinal Lavigeries Work in North Af- rica, William Sharp 214 Chevedale and Down Again, Up, Charles Stewart Davison oo2 Christmas Angel, The, Harriet Lewis Bradley 778 Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at an English Country House, Sir Edward Strachey . . ... . Church Communion Tokens, Alice Mierse Earle City, TIse Mayor and the, harvey N. S heporel City on the Housetops, The Coleridges Introdnation to the Lake Dis- trict, Myron B. Beetoa College Graduate and Puhlia Life, The, Theodore Roosevelt Comisular Serviae. some Evils of our, Al- bert Ii. JVashbm~rn Daytona, On the Beach at, Bradford Tor- rey Dozy hours, In the, Agnes Repplier Dmnas of the Hour, A Ebner-Eschenhach, Marie von . Enterprising Scholni, An, Haii iet Waters Preston and Louise Dodge Fair Exchange, A, A. if. Ewell . For their Brethrens Sake, Grace Howard Peirve French Aid in American Independence Genius, Time New Criticism of, Aline Gorren Germany. The New Storm anti Stress in, Kuno Froacke Ghosts, Agnes Repplier Girlhood of an Autocrat, The, Susan Coelz Gl~a~, The H of, Ek Belles Growth of American Influence over Eng- land, The. J. Mi. Ladlou. Hadriamma Ode to his Soul, William Everett Hakata, At, Lnfcadio hlearn Heartsease. Alive Brown His Honor, Ellen ilfavkubin Holmes, Dr., The Editor Jacksons Administratiomm, In, Lucy Lee Pleasants . . Jal)aimese Diary, From my, Lafvadio Hearn Keats, John, A Reading in the Letters of, Leon II. Vinveimt Kidnapped Bride, The, Mary Hartwell Catherwood Lanier. Sidney, Letters of, Willinni B. Thayer 14, 181 729 210 85 28 95 255 241 66 103 268 260 386 194 340 128 794 408 741 166 47 618 669 510 505 463 831 755 609 399 326 PAG La Salette, Our Quinzaine at, Anna Pierrepont Mchlvaine 527 Literary Love - Letters: A Modern Ac- count, Robert W. hherrick 814 Love and Art, Ellen Olney Kirk 27 Lucratius, R. Y. Tyrreil 56 Man and Men in Nature 541 Marcella and Penshroke . . 272 Maurice Maeterlinck: A Dramatic Impres sionist, Richard Burton 672 Mayor ammd the City, The, hharcey N. Shepard Medi val Towns of England, The . . 547 Modest Excellence 119 Monetary Reform imi Santo Domin~o, J. Laurence Laughlin 107 Mormming at the Old Sugar Mill, A, Brad- ford Torrey 373 Naw Criticism of Genius, The, ;lline Gor- ren 794 New Storm and Stress in Germarmy, The, Kane Fraucke 408 Octogenarian, Retrospect of an, George E. Elt iS 452 Old Baston Mary: A Reemmenmbrance, Jo- siah Flynt 18 Old-Time Sorosis, An, Henry Baldwiu . 748 On the Beach at Daytona, Bradford Torrey 66 Our Quinzaine at La Salette, Anna Pierre- pent chlvaine . . 527 Pater, Walter, Some Personal Reminis- cences of, H7illiani Sharp 801 Pembroke, Marcnlla and . . . . . . 272 Philip and his Wife, Margaret Deland 1, 145, Philosophy of Sterne, The, henry 289, 433 ifericiii Childs 521 Plato Cluh, From the Reports of the, Her bert Austin Aikins 359, 470 Playwrights Novitiate, A, Miriam Coles Harris 515 Pole, Reginald, Harriet Waters Preston and Louise Dodqe 41, 763 Pontiacs Lookort, Mary Hartwell Cath- II Chld Mer win al Horsemen, enry is 201 Railway War, The, Henry .1. Fletcher. 534 Reading imi time Letters of John Keats, A, Leon Ih. Vincent 399 Recollections of Stammton under Johnson, Henri~ L. Dawes 494 Red Bridal, The, Lafvadio Hearn . . . 74 Religion of Gotama Buddha, The, Wil ham Davies 334 Retrospect of an Octogenarian, George E. Ellis 452 Rosa. A Story of Sicilian Customs, G. Pitrh 624 Rus in Urhe, Edith if. Thomas . . . . 308 Russian Holy City. A, Isabel F. hlapgood 430 Santo Dommn~o, Momsetary Reform in, J. Laurence Laughlin 107 Schoolhouses, Suggestions on the Architec- ture of, C. howard Walker 825 Sewards Attitude toward Comproumise and Secession, 18601861, Frederic Ban- Sidil~, People, Some Recent Studies of the . . .... . 838 Sorosis, An Old-Time, Henry Baldwia 748 Stamsley, Dean Stantoms umider Jolsason, Recollections of, Ihenry L. Dawes 494 iv Sterne, The Philosophy of, Henry Childs Mernin Tammany Points the Way, Henry Ohilds Mericin Tante Catrinette, Kate Ohopin Tautphmus, Baroness, M. L. Thompson To an English Friend Al Mamoen, Clinton Scollard . And Ghosts Break np their Graves, John Vance Gheney Ave atque Vale, Graham A. Tomson Indian Summer, John Vance Cheney Kitten, The, Marion Couthoey Smith Land of My Dreams, Louise G1handler Afoul- ton Contents. Travels Here and There 834 521 Trunspeter, The, Mary Hallocle Foote 577, 721 Voices from Afar, Edith M. Thomas . 252 680 Washington Hop Field, In a, Lonise Her- 368 rick Wall 379 114 Whittiers Life and Poetry 93 790 POETRY. 46 Lark-Songs, The, Af. A. de Wolfe howe, Jr 747 Moosilauke, Edna Dean Proctor . . . 180 494 On Leaving Winchester: MDCCCXCI., 358 Louise Imogen Cuiney 102 640 Onondaga Mother and Child, An, Duncan 671 Campbell Scott 325 To-Morrow and To-Morrow, Stuart Sterne 94 514 Venice, Samuel V. Cole 9 CoxTiunuTons CLUn. Artist of the Monostich Again, The. 2$8 Lady Tramp, A As Others See 860 Last of the Great Poets of France, The At the Inn of the Bear 570 Marchioness, The Cuban and Academician 573 Natural History for Street Boys Discomforts of Luxury, The: A Specula- Old -Time Politician, The tion 423 Organ Interlude, An Discord versus harmony 2 Over-Refined Pronunciation . 1)oua Ferentes 720 Postscript to a Letter, A Election to the French Academy, Au 140 Restaurant Am6ricasn Franklins Our Lady of Auteuil 858 Silent Partner Frieudship as an Old Story 6 Songs with Variations Gifts 142 Story of the Street Continued, The Horse-Car Psychics 851 Two Encounters ImI)ressions of the Theatre 423 Two Stools Italian Grace Notes 429 Under the Golden Rose It Goes without Saying 429 BOOKS REVIEWED. Bessire, Emile: Eu Bretagne . . . . . 836 Blennerhassett, Rose, and Lucy Sleeman: Adventures in Mashonaland 559 Bradley, G. G. See Prothero, Rowland E. Capuana, L.: Lu Paesane 842 Century Gallery, The 414 Chatelain. Heli: Folk-Tales of Angola. . 562 Common Prayer, The Book of, with Deco- rative Borders hy Bertrans G. Goodline 414 Doniol, Henri: Histoire de la Participation de la France I l~tahlissemeut des ~tats Unis dAm~rique 128 Drummond. Henry: The Lowell Lectures on the Ascent of Man . . . . . . . 542 Ebuer - Eseheubach, Marie von: Unsliha- bar; Margarete; Drei Novellen; Para- beln, Mii.rclien und Gedichte; Glaubens los 261 Field, Henry M.: The Barbary Coast . . 556 Garnett. Richard: Poems 120 Green Mrs. J. R. : Town Life in the Fif- teenth Century 48 Henley, W. E.: London Voluntaries . . 124 Hhhnel, Lieutenant Ludwig von: Discov ery of Lakes Rudolf and Stefanie . . 561 Howard, B. Donjas: Life with Trans-Si- heriun Savages 835 Howells, W. I).: A Traveller from Altruria 701 Howells, W. D.: The Coast of Bohemia . 704 Johnston. James: Reality versus Romance in South Central Africa . . . . . . 557 Kidd. Benjamin: Soci~ 1 Evolution . . . 545 Lucas, C. P.: A historical Geography of British Colonies. Volume III. West Af rica 557 Malory, Sir Thomas: Lu Morte Darthur. Illustrated by Aubrey Beardsley . . . 413 Merriam, Florence A.: My Summer in a Mormon Village 837 Miller, Olive Theme: A Bird-Lover in the West 837 Morin, Louis: French Illustrators . . 415 Norman, Henry: The Real Japan . . 834 Pickard, Samuel T. : Life and Letters of John Greenleaf Whittier 693 Pitrb, Giuseppe: Bibliografia delle Tradi- zioni Popolari dell Italia 838 Prothero, Rowland E., and G. G. Bradley: The Life and Correspondence of Arthur Peurhyn Stanley, late 1)ean of Westmin- ster 125 Selous, F. C.: Travel aud Adventure in Southeast Africa 558 Sleeman, Lucy. See Blenuerhassett, Rose. Stanley, Henry M.: My l)ark Companions and their Strange Stories 562 Stuhlmaun, Dr. Franz: Mit Eusia Pasehia ins Herz von Afrika 560 Thaxter, Celia: An Island Garden. Illus- trated by CI~ilde Hassain 412 Ver~a, C. : I)on Candeloro e C 842 S,XTar(l, Mrs. hlumpbry: Mareella . . . 272 Weyman, Stanley J., The Works of . 269 Whittier, John Greenleaf, The Complete Poetical Works of. Cambridbe Edition 693 Wilkins, Mary E.: Pembroke 272 Comment on New Books 133, 275, 415, 562, 704, 845 856 712 855 571 714 718 717 138 426 431 715 284 574 428 853

Margaret Deland Deland, Margaret Philip and his Wife 1-14

THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY: ~a IJtfrn~aPnc of JLiteratuit, ~cience, art, an~ ~ohtiu~. VOL. LXXI V.JULY, 1894.No. CCGCXLL -4-- PHILIP AND HIS WIFE. xx. OLD CHESTER liked Roger Carey and approved of him; although, indeed, one involved the other, for Old Chester never did anything so ill judged as to like where it could not approve. But even though Roger had won regard, his departure had not been entirely a regret. After all, a love affair is a pretty Uiing to watch; but there are other matters in the world, and those who are not lovers, only com- monplace folk, must keep their feet upon the earth. Miss Susan Carr said she should be glad when Lyssie could put her mind on her choir-practicing again; Dr. Laven- dar felt that one or txvo families in the upper village needed visiting; and as for Mrs. Drayton but Mrs. Draytons opinion can easily be taken for granted. She did, however, confide to her step- daughter that things had been very much upset by the engagement. I have been much shaken by it, much shaken, she said. Of course, I have not had, have not expected, my usual comforts; but then I ye been glad to contribute my discomfort to Lyssies hap- piness. It is a little bitter to think that a poor, miserable, useless invalid like me has nothing to give except discomfort. At least, your contribution has been unstinted, Cecil said sweetly; but her face was dull, and she turned away from her stepmother, feeling for once no de- sire to torment her. It was the morning after Roger had gone. Cecil was very restless; she came down to see Lyssie for the mere occupa- tion of moving about. Oh, how glad I am to get rid of him! she thought once or twice. To have company at such a crisis as had come into her life might well seem in- tolerable. It was no wonder that she drew a deep breath and said, Thank Heaven, he s gone! and braced her- self for the struggle which was at hand. Yet she was restless. One is always restless when ones company goes, she explained to herself. Perhaps it was because with the departure of her guest departed also those commonplaces which pad the sharpnesses of life to us all. The necessary smile, the formal gayety, the mere requisites of eating and drink- ing, cover decently many things, among the rest that naked and primal passion which underlies existence; a passion which, smouldering long, had sprung into flame in that talk between the husband and wife, the passion of self - preser- vation, with its terror and bitterness and horrible intensity! Cecil may have missed the comfort of the commonplace, or she may have missed the man, with his daily impetuous revolt of indifference, followed by the flattery of his daily sub- jugation. But she did not stop to ana- lyze her state of mind; in fact, in those next few terrible days days of discus- sion, of incrimination, of violent dis- agreement about Molly on the part of the husband and wife she forgot every- thing except the lust of strife. Yet she 2 Philip and his Wife. had felt the vague and restless discom- fort of missing Roger Carey, of miss- ing a man whom she had known but a little while, a man who was her sisters lover! There was, however, nothing apparent in the relations of Mr. and Mrs. Shore which could start a ripple of excitement in Old Chester. They met once a day at the dinner table, with Molly sitting chat- tering between them; themselves quite silent to each other. This gave no par- ticular ground for comment; the maids only said, She s got the sulks again, and Philips man remarked that he was a fool not to settle her. Of course, alone, they did talk, these two. Neither spared any truth to the other. It is only when they are hus- band and wife that two human souls can achieve absolute cruelty. Until they were able to agree upon something, it was obviously best to keep up appearances; and so Philip and Cecil saw each other at dinner every night, and listened to Molly, and talked to her, and despised each other. For, oddly enough, now that Philip had put his de- sire into words, his feeling for his wife dropped to a lower plane. He recog- nized this, but said to himself that it was because of what she revealed of herself in these terrible interviews; the subtilty of his meeting her upon the lower ground of self-interest escaped him. Each was fighting for the possession of the child. Philip stood by his first opinion, that Molly should spend half of the year with each of them; Cecil vio- lently refused to listen to such a propo- sition: and there the matter stood, while the long, still August days gave place to the yellow haze of September. Meantime, the excitement about Lys- sic having subsided, life in Old Chester slipped back into its ordinary channels of sleepy self-satisfaction. Even at the rectory the tension had relaxed a little. Mr. Joseph was still uncertain about Mr. Pendletons will; to be sure, he might [July, have found out, but the idea of going to the probate court to make the necessary examination offended him. Dr. Laven- dar, aware that at least the momentous question had not been asked, was very conciliatory, and full of conversation about Miss Susan Carr. Mr. Joseph ac- cepted the friendliness, and, when he came home on Saturdays, walked in the garden at sunset and looked at the holly- hocks, just as usual; but his kind heart knew its own bitterness. Yet with the bitterness was a strange, new happiness, for with opposition his mild regard for Mrs. Pendleton had begun to glow and deepen; and faintly, like the thrill of spring in November sunshine, the ardors of youth and love began to stir in his blood. He thought of his weekly visit to Old Chester with a perceptible heart- beat; and when he walked home with her from the chdir-practicing, there was a haze before his eyes that hid the wrin- kles about her temples, the sharp lines around her tight little mouth, the shrewd- ness of her light eyes; he saw again the plump girl, silly and silent, who, twenty years before, blushing and giggling, slid into an engagement and out of it with- out a quicker heart-beat or falling tear. Old Chester, said Mr. Joseph, upon one of these occasions, as they paced along together in the pleasant Septem- ber dusk, is very fortunate to have such an addition to its social circle this winter as you will be, maam. We are some- what narrow, I fear, and need widen- ing. Exactly! Mrs. Pendleton agreed. I assure you, I feel it a privilege to return to Old Chester from the less agreeable, if more worldly life of Mer- cer, Mr. Lavendar continued. But I suppose the stage journey tries you a good deal as you grow older? Mrs. Pendleton said sympathetically. Mr. Joseph looked dashed, though only for a moment. I am older, he said, in one way, but not, my dear Mrs. Pen- (lieton in every way. My heart, as the 1894.] Philip and his Wfe. 3 poet says, is ever young, ever young; and I think he adds, fresh. Of that, however, I am not certain. But Mrs. Pendleton preferred to talk about Mercer rather than about Mr. Lay- endars heart. I suppose (not that I am inquisitive; I have no curiosity, but I m so impulsive that I speak just what comes into my mind), I suppose your income must be quite large, for you to live in Mercer? Her interest in him touched him very much. No, maam, no; not large, but sufficient; and we expect it to be great- ly augmented when my brothers book is published. Mr. Lavendars heart was beating tu- multuously; a declaration trembled upon his lips, but the curb of honor held it back. He must know about that will first. With admirable self-restraint he tried to talk of less personal things, the choir, the weather, the difference of the seasons now and in his youth; and that led Mrs. Pendleton to remark that she and Susy Carr were soon coming to Mercer to do some autumn shopping. Wednesday a week we are coming, she said; and Mr. Joseph asked eagerly if he might have the honor of waiting upon them in town, and escorting them to the shops. Mrs. Pendleton consented, with a neat smile, and he left her, deter- mined to learn at once whether he were free to address her For I may have a chance in Mercer, he thought, palpitating. This visit to Mercer had been ar- ranged nearly a month before, when Susan Carr, in one of those moments of rash good nature common to us all, had promised to shop with Mrs. Pen- dleton. When the day of fulfillment came, Miss Susan was as miserable as we all are when our amiable weaknesses come home to roost. The . night before the fatal Wednesday she looked hopeful- ly at a threatening sky; but the morn- ing was full of placid sunshine, and she sighed, and said to herself, Well, Susan Carr, it s your own fault! which com- forted her as much as such statements do. She thought of all the things to be done upon the farm; all the things she might do about the house; nay, even the books she would read, the letters she would write, if only she could stay at home. For there is perhaps no moment when we so much appreciate our homes as the moment of departure from them upon some rashly accepted invitation. Miss Susan put on a short, stout skirt, for she could not endure the thought of any clothing of hers touching those nasty streets; and her oldest bonnet, because the stage ride was dusty; and her wa- terproof cloak, for fear it might rain. Thea she took down from the top shelf in the spare-room wardrobe a large bag with Susy worked on one side in brown and yellow worsteds: this was to be filled with the commissions with which she had taken kindly pains to burden herself. Can I do any shopping for you in Mer- cer? she had asked everybody; and the result was that when she climbed into the coach with Mrs. Pendleton, she was naming over on her fingers a dozen er- rands for other people. Lilac ribbons for Fanny Draytons wrapper; patterns of red flannel for the Sewing Society; six silk handkerchiefs for Jane Temples Mr. Dove I think I must write the others down, said Miss Susan, or else I 11 forget em. Exactly, Mrs. Pendleton agreed. Mrs. Pendleton looked verypretty: her bonnet had fine hemstitched lawn strings that looked like a clergymans bands; her hair, with its sleek waves, came down in loops upon her pink cheeks; her round, fresh face was rounder and fresher for the spreading black veil that seemed to take up a great deal of room; a stiff fold even touched Miss Susans cheek now and then, or fell forward in a wiry shade across the little window of the coach. Mrs. Pendleton took very good care of her crape; she had been heard to say that she had never let a tear fall 4 Philip and his Wje. [July, on that veil, for fear of spotting it; she said that spotted crape was pure care- lessness, and a disrespect to the dead. She plaited the hem gently between her fingers as she answered Miss Susan Yes, it s a very good plan to write things down; I always do, and especial- ly to-day. I ye so many things to think of. She sighed as she spoke. You see, my dear Miss Carr, I m going to lighten. Lighten? Exactly, my grief. And there is so much to see to, for everything must be consistent. You must nt have a black- bordered handkerchief when you take off your veil; and it s the same with gloves, they must be stitched with white. I think, in such a matter, one should strive to be consistent, but it s very puz- zling. Miss Susan said she supposed so. Oh, dear me, yes; and I ye had so much experience in it! I was in lilacs for my dear mother when my dear fa- ther died, and of course I went at once into crape; and I d hardly gotten into half again when aunt Betty went, and that set me back with jets, no crape. I was married when I d just begun to wear black and white, and had put my note, paper into a narrow edge, just for an aunt, you know, and then my dear, dear husband! Miss Carr looked sympathetic. Of course, Mrs. Pendleton ended, drying her eyes on a handkerchief still in grief, then I was in black all through; I did nt wear a white collar for three months; even my petticoats were black lawn, I do assure you. Miss Susan murmured something ap- pro~riate, and sighed. Susan Carr had lived too long and had too many griefs not to know that grief, that most pre- cious possession, subsides; not to know that there is a pathetic instant when the mourner recognizes that life still holds some interest for him; that the world is still beautiful, though but a year ago nay, a month ago he had thought it but the blackness of darkness! It is an instant of terror, of remorse, and of fearful joy. Susan Carr knew this; and she looked at the widow with that pity for the little creatures littleness which only large and tender souls can feel, for this strange moment had come very soon to Mrs. Pendleton. It was a pleasant September day: there was a scent of wood smoke in the still air; in the fields along the turn- pike road the corn had been cut, and stood upon the yellowing stubble in great tufted shocks which rustled if a rabbit went springing past, or a faint wind stirred the dry, sword-like leaves the brook, which kept in friendly fash- ion close to the road, had dwindled in its shallow bed, and left bare the flat, worn stones which a month before had been covered with the dash and foam of hurrying water; the woods were yellow- ing a little, and a soft haze hung all across the smiling valley. The stage jogged along in a cloud of dust, or rumbled under covQred bridges, where, from between the dry, creaking planks, lines of dust sifted down upon the sunny water below, and from the openings in the roofs streaks of pow- dery sunshine fell like bars across the gloom, making the horses swerve a little to avoid them. As they pulled up the hills, Jonas pounded with the butt end of his whip on the wide tire, to keep time to a monotonous, jolting song: So there, now, Sally, I kiss ye once again; So there, now, Sally, Dont kiss no other men! Mrs. Pendleton chattered steadily. Miss Susan, her color deepening and her eyes downcast, thought of her last ride in the coach with her impatient and ardent lover. At least, she thought of it until she fell asleep. Occasionally her head nodded forward; but Mrs. Pendletons remarks rarely needed more elaborate answers. 1894.] Philip and his Wife. 5 Did Miss Susan know if Dr. Laven- dar were dependent upon his salary, or did he have an independent income? How old was he? How much did she suppose Joseph Lavendar was worth? I in sure I dont know! said Miss Susan loudly. After that Mrs. Pendleton was silent, and sighed once or twice; then, with an effort to change the subject, she began to talk about her works. I mean to give a copy of the Thoughts to Philip Shores little girl. Miss Susan opened her eyes at the sound of Philips name. Oh, is it a childs book? No, oh, dear me, no; it is for grown persons; but there are lessons in it for all. Though it is very delicate, nothing which a child might not read; and to show the character of Thoughts Mrs. Pendleton took the trouble to re- cite a poem about a little girl who went to the spring with A long-lipped pitcher of lovely shape. The moral, she told Miss Susan, was de- tached, to impress it upon the mind, thus: MORAL. So if you chance to make a sad mistake On any lovely summer morn, And pretty dish or long-lipped pitcher break, Be snre, my dear, and tell mamma t is done. You see, a book like that will be good for that poor little Shore child, Mrs. Pendleton ended, waving her veil back. She is sadly neglected. Neglected? Molly? said Miss Su- san hotly. She has the best father in the world, and and her mother is very fond of her, and Exactly, Mrs. Pendleton broke in, nodding her head; but it s hard on a child to be brought up by a father and mother who are not united. Oh, indeed, I think you must allow that I know them best, Susan Carr said stiffly. Mr. and Mrs. Shore are both very reserved people, but but they are devoted to Molly, she ended lamely. She felt as though she wanted to shake Mrs. Pendleton. It serves me right for promising to go to Mercer with her! she thought, and looked at the floor so forbiddingly that conversation flagged. She would not look up until they entered Mercer; and when she did, as the stage stopped, it was to see Jo- seph Lavendar, his face beaming with a friendly smile that turned the corners of his blue eyes into a network of wrinkles. My dear Miss Susan, pray take my hand! he begged, pulling open the stage door, and letting the hinged steps drop with a clatter. His happiness was apparent in his very voice. Susan Carr bad not a word to say. She got out, and watched him offer Mrs. Pendleton the same courtesy; she felt rigid, and when she tried to smile she had that consciousness of the stiffness of the muscles about her lips that most of us know in those moments when we try to assume enjoyment when we have it not. She flashed a stern and suspicious glance at the little widow cowering by her side, who whispered, Oh, I hope it was all right? I knew it would give the poor man pleasure; though nothing can come of it, I m afraid. Of course nothing can come of it, Miss Susan replied, so loudly that Mrs. Pendleton shrank, and said, Sh-h-h! But it makes no difference to me. I m going to make a call. You can go to the shops with Mr. Lavendar. Oh, wont that be too marked? re- monstrated Mrs. Pendleton, under her breath. And consider my errand, too! Oh, that is quite marked. I wish it to be marked, said Susan Carr dryly I 11 leave Mrs. Peudle- ton to you, Joseph, she said malicious- ly, turning to the nervous and happy es- cort. You can take her to Whites and Eatons, they are the best shops; and I 11 meet you at one or the other of them before we go to the hotel for din- ner. We d better have dinner at half past two, I think. 6 Philip and his Wife. [July, And then she tramped off, with the heavy, swinging step that comes only from having walked between the fur- rows of new-ploughed fields. Of course she told him I was com- ing! she said to herself, angry at Mrs. Pendletons meddling and Josephs per- sistence; but with her anger was a cer- tain pride in being so ardently sought. When she had made her call, she tried to find some interest and pleasure in her shopping; but her heart was hot at the memory of Mrs. Pendletons perfidy, and heavy with the thought of Joseph Lavendars disappointment. Nor did she feel more cheerful when, across the street, she caught sight of the two cul- prits talking so earnestly that they did not see her. Indeed, she even expe- rienced that unreasonable resentment which comes to the best of women when they see a rejected lover consoling him- self. Yet that did not prevent her, when they met at dinner at the hotel, from putting Mrs. Pendleton between herself and Joseph; and when, later, grudging- ly enough, she went with them to make some further purchases, from using Mrs. Pendleton as a protector, and placing her in the middle as they walked down the street. But her conscience reproached her for her severity to them both, and when the stage started she tried to apologize to Mrs. Pendleton for her neglect. I in afraid I seemed a little ungracious, but I really had to go and see some people; and I knew Mr. Lavendar would be as good a guide as I. Mrs. Pendleton shook her head hope- lessly. Oh, I never supposed you were not going to be with me, or I should nt have let him meet me, she said. But Miss Carr would not pursue the subject; she did not want to talk about Mr. Joseph. She said she must put down her accounts. Yet even while she was adding up her columns of figures, and counting out everybodys change, she was wretched at the thought of her unkindness to her too devoted lover. Indeed, when she got home, and sat down to her solitary supper table, and heard Ellen scolding her for looking tired, she was almost ready to cry, to think how she had hurt his feelings. She did not follow Ellens report of the days happenings very closely: Miss Lyssie Drayton had gone to the upper village on an errand; Ellen be- lieved that the child would work herself to death over those shiftless people in the upper village. Mrs. Dove had had a whole hind quarter of lamb cooked for Mr. Tommys dinner; Ellen did nt see how ever cold meat was used up in that house, they had so many joints. We dont cook no whole hind quarters, El- len said; but we believe willful waste is woeful want. Mr. Philip went away on the afternoon stage; did Miss Susan know he was going? And then Ellen stopped, and coughed a little, and said there was a tablecloth in last weeks wash that needed darning. He aint looking real good, Miss Susan? Miss Carr came out of her remorse with a start. Oh, I think he s pretty well, she said. Well, Mr. Philip was never what you d call pious, Ellen commented, shaking her head, so I m sure I d like to see him comfortable in this world; but Mrs. Shores Rosa was in to - day, and well, I dont know! she says they had words last night. Poor Mr. Philip! Well, he s gone; and Rosa says that he wont be in no hurry to come back. Dear me, I dont know how it will end. Miss Susans heart was in her throat, yet she waited for Ellen to finish before telling her, sharply, that she did not know what she was talking about, and that Mr. Philip was very well; and why should nt he go away on business? Miss Carr had thought that Ellen had more sense; she thought she was crazy! and she might go and get some hot tea. This is cold 7, 1894.] Philip and his Wife. as a stone, said Miss Susan; and you are very foolish, Ellen. So people are beginning to see it! she said to herself, with a groan, as Ellen disappeared with the teapot. But Miss Carr did not realize that this was not the beginning of the seeing which she deplored. If she had only known it, Ellen had seen it long before she had; and so had Esther and Betsey, and half a dozen other Esthers and Betseys. It was only the little thrill of excitement caused by Mr. Shores abrupt departure which made their knowledge come to the surface. He did nt know he was going last night, John had declared. Well, they had an awful row after dinner, said Rosa. And then the cook bet John a larded sweetbread against a handkerchief ( A good bemsl3itched one; none o yer cot- ton ones, now, mind! ) that Mr. Shore would sulk for a week before he would come back. And it was this specula- tion, shared with Old Chester domestics, which caused Ellens overflow of gossip, and made Miss Susan say that people were beginning to see it. We rarely realize how astoundingly complete is our servants knowledge of us and of our friends. Our weaknesses belong to them, our errors and our mis- fortunes; we are to them what the thea- tre and the latest novel, nay, what other peoples scandals are to us. And though poor Susan Carr shrank from believing it, it was just about this time that all Old Chester, through the lowly medium of the Shores servants, began to know how bad, bow very bad things were up in the big house on the hill. xx. Tbere had, indeed, as Miss Susans Ellen hinted, been words between Mr. and Mrs. Shore; and the result, which had so surprised and interested his kitchen, was that Philip had taken the stage the next afternoon and gone to town. When are you going away? Cecil had said to her husband, suddenly, at dinner, after John had left the room. Or shall we leave you here? I am going abroad next mouth with Molly, and I want to close the house. Mamma, is Eric going? Molly clamored. Polly, run upstairs and bring me a box of cigars that is on the table in my room, Philip said, his face pale, his fingers tightening upon the stem of his wineglass. When she had gone, he mut- tered between his teeth, without looking at his wife, I will answer you when we are alone. Cecil cut a peach, smiling. I m not sure that it is proper for us to be alone. Do you think Mrs. Drayton would chape- ron me, if I asked her? Oh, arrange, of course, about the money you will want; you must nt deprive your art student of his income.~~ This is not decent, before the child! he said passionately. Father, Molly called from the first landing, running her hand back and forth across the balusters to make believe that she was playing on a harp, there is nt any box of cigars here. Father, may I take some cologne out of your green bottle? Yes. Look in my dressing-room for the cigars, Philip called back. Cecil put her peach down; she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing like a tigers. Very well, then, you under- stand: I take Jjiliolly with me. Listen! If you try to divide her time, I 11 carry it through every court in the land, and I 11 tell everything! I dont care! I m going to leave America, so I dont mind the scandal. Besides, people will think you are mad; not a fit guardian, you know. Father, Molly said cheerfully, com- ing downstairs one foot at a time, with 8 Philip and his W~fr. [July, the box of cigars in her arms, I put some cologne on your cigars to make them smell sweet. It was like a keen edge laid against some tense chord. Philips face, set with anger, suddenly quivered; then his eyes blurred. But Cecil rose, with a passionate exclamation. Molly, leaning against her father, was pulling out the cologne - soaked cigars with all the pride of the benefactor. Just smell em! Oh, father, may Eric go on the ship? Do you want Eric to go, darling? Cecil said. Then come here to mamma, and she 11 tell you all about it. And Molly joyously deserted her fa- ther, and ran to hang on her mothers hand and chatter about her dog. Later, when the child had gone to bed, Philip came into the parlor, where his wife was reading. I am going to town to-morrow he began. To see your lawyer? Cecil inter- rupted sardonically. Yes. I want you to give me your word of honor not to go away in my ab- sence. Cecil laughed. Oh, Philip, how melodramatic! Give me your word. I had nt thought of abducting her, she assured him; that sort of thing is nt my style. I much prefer you to find out from your lawyer how absurd you are to suppose that you have any claim. And then she took up Monsieur, Madame, et B6b~, and he went away. How silly in him to make all this fuss! she thought, looking absently over the top of tIme book; but I suppose I must consult somebody. And later in the evening, half reluc- tantly, half eagerly, she wrote to Mr. Roger Carey, saying that she wished to consult him on a matter of business. As she sealed the letter, she remembered, with some annoyance, that she did not know his address. She could find out from Lyssie; and yet, oddly enough, she did not want to ask Lyssie. So the letter stood on her writing-desk for a day or two; stood there, in fact, after Philip had consulted his lawyer, and had learned that, as he had supposed, if the question of the disposition of Molly were pressed to a legal decision, she would un- doubtedly be given to her m6ther. The court does not recognize your subtilties, Shore, his lawyer told him, and looked as though he would like to add his own opinion on the subject. But his clients face did not encourage him. Philip Shore did not go back at once to Old Chester. He must, he told him- self, be alone to meet the question of giving up Molly to her mother or giv- ing up his convictions. Nor did he com- municate with his wife; and, her letter to Roger still unsent, Cecil was ignorant of the legal probabilities. She was not exactly anxious about them, but she was irritated at the delay. If there were go- ing to be any complication, she wanted to know it. Roger Carey could tell her; and yet some strange instinct made her still delay to ask Lyssie for his address; perhaps an unconscious application of the Mosaic command that at least one shall not seethe a kid in its mothers milk. She explained this reluctance to herself by saying that Lyssie would wonder why she was writing to him. And there s no use in telling her until the last mo- ment, she thought, softening. Poor Lys! she 11 be so distressed. The grief of it all to Lyssie was in her mind, as, in the small jewel of a room which she used as a morning-room, she sat, after dinner, idly looking at a pile of unan- swered letters on her writing-desk. A little fire was burning on the hearth, repeating itself in faint gleams on the dark furniture, in the sconces high up between the windows, and in the long mirror that, divided by gilded pilasters, hung lengthwise above the mantel. To Lyssie, pushing the door open, and coming smiling into the room, it had never looked more peaceful: the flicker- 1894.] Philip and his W~fr. 9 ing fire; Eric on the white rug before the hearth, his great nose between his paws; Molly asleep on a sofa in a dusky corner; and Cecil sitting at her desk, writing, perhaps to Philip. Lyssie, poor child, hoped it was to Philip; she had been greatly troubled of late by Ce- cils manner to her husband. Am I interrupting you, Ccci? she said gayly. Mother seemed so bright this evening that I thought I d run up for a little while. Esther escorted me. No, kitty; it s very nice to have you, Cecil said, in a preoccupied way, getting up from her desk, and letting Lyssie kiss her before sinking down into a chair before the fire. Oh, shut the door, will you, dear? There is a draught on Molly. I thought Molly went to bed at eight? Lyssie commented, as she closed the door. She did nt want to, to-night. But she d be so much more com- fortable in bed than lying here with her clothes on, Alicia urged; for Mollys face was flushed and troubled, and she moved uneasily in her sleep. I like her near me, Cecil said calmly. Lyssie opened her lips to protest, but apparently thought better of it, and be- gan to talk of other things. She told Cecil that Eliza Todds baby had died that afternoon. I never saw death be- fore, she said, her voice a little awed, but it was nt dreadful. The poor lit- tle thing was so sick and so tired, and it just stopped breathing, that was all. I was holding it on my lap, and I did nt know until poor Eliza said, Oh, she s gone! Poor Eliza! It s really the best thing that could have happened, though, Cecil returned gravely. Poor little Eliza! I suppose she cries just as much as though she had not six other empty stomachs to think about. When is it to be buried? Do you think she would be pleased if I sent her some flowers? Alicia looked at her lovingly. How sweet in you to think of it! Yes, in- deed she would. The funeral is to be to-morrow. And then they were silent a little while, until Lyssie asked her sis- ter if she had been out.. It s been a perfect day. You lazy thing, I believe you ye just poked over the fire all day! I ye read a very bad French novel, Cecil assured her; that is exercise enough. I feel it my duty to keep up my French when I m in the country. I suppose a bad book is better exer- cise than a good one? Lyssie retorted. I dont see any use in reading bad books, Ceci. That s because you ye never done it, my dear. Well, Alicia returned, hesitating, Roger said once that he thought Now, Lyssie, for Heavens sake, dont be the kind of woman who is for- ever quoting what he says! Your own opinions are good enough. They are not as good as Rogers, and I dont know anybody elses that are, either! Oh well, Cecil declared, you must nt talk so much about him! If you are forever talking of his superhuman vir- tues, you 11 make people hate him. I hate him now, a little. Then you are a very narrow-minded person, Lyssie said placidly, sitting down on the rug in front of the fire, and dragging Erics head over into her lap. Wake up. old fellow! she command- ed, squeezing his black nose with her two pretty hands. Eric flopped his tail heavily, and opened one eye, and then dozed again. To prevent your hating Roger, I 11 change the subject. When does Philip come home? I dont know, Cecil replied; and then added, yawning, and I m sure I dont care.~~ Lyssies face sobered. She was so happy herself for she had Roger that the pity of it all made the tears spring to her eyes. She came and knelt down at Cecils side, putting her arms 10 Philip and his Wife. [~July, around her sisters waist and kissing her shoulder softly. Ceci darling, you know you ought nt to say those things. Even if they were true, they ought not to be said. Cecil, clasping her hands behind her head, and smiling with a dubious droop of the corner of her mouth, looked down at the sensitive, quivering face before her. Lys dear, Philip and I are going to separate. So, naturally, I dont concern myself as to his movements. Separate? Lyssie repeated vague- ly, separate? Why why, what do you mean? To separatemeans to live apart, or- dinarily. What! I I dont understand, Alicia said faintly. Cecil, what do you mean? Cecil, you dont mean sepa- rate? She grew white to her lips. Why, Lys, you surely have nt thought us such a united pair? Cecil said, surprised. Alicias speechless pal- lor troubled her; she put her arm about the girls waist. Come, now, you must nt be so upset. I did nt mean to tell you just yet, but there is really no rea- son why you should nt know; only you must nt be so upset about it. And dont speak of it, please. She paused, and patted Alicias head. Why, you poor little thing! Oh, Cecil, it is nt true? You are not telling me the truth? My dear, Cecil answered impatient- ly, of course it s true; it is nt a sub- ject on which I should romance. Now, please dont cry, Lys; it always makes me cross to have people cry.~~ Alicia lifted her face, and caught at Cecils wrists with trembling hands, lean- ing heavily against her. You cant be in earnest? Its wicked! Leave Philip? It s wicked. Cecil! . Cecil frowned. If you are going to be so silly, I m sorry I told you. But I thought perhaps you could help me about ~olly. Philip has an idea that he wants her part of the time, a sort of King Solomon arrangement, you know. Of course I shant allow it. But he will probably make a dreadful fuss. I thought you might advise him to have more sense; but you just sit there and cry! I tell you, I 11 be much happier when it s all settled. I m going to take Molly abroad, and Ill be very happy. Cecil, said Alicia faintly, do you mean that you and Philip are going to be Divorced? Cecil ended dryly. No, that s horrid and public. Be- sides, we neither of us want to marry anybody el Dont! Alicia put her hands over her ears. You must nt speak, you must nt think such things! Oh, I She stopped; she had no protests, no arguments, nothing but horror. We dont want to marry again, Cecil went on calmly, at least, I m sure I dont; I ye had enough of it! But I simply cannot endure Philip any longer. And I suppose that is exactly the way he feels about me. Which real- ly, Lys I dont want to be egotistical, but really, that is very odd in Philip. So we are going to separate. I shall go abroad with Molly. Oh, dont sit there and weep, Lyssie! Cecil got up angrily, pushing past Ali- cias crouching figure, and going over to Molly, who, asleep, was looking, in spite of the cushions, very uncomfortable, cramped by her clothing and the straight lines of the sofa. Cecil Shore knelt down beside the child, the anger in her eyes melting into the passion, not of motherhood, but of the mother, the dam. Her voice trembled with caresses: Sweet! Sweet! Sweet! Open your little eyes, my own, open your eyes! She pushed her arm under the pillow and drew Molly towards her, gath- ering her two small hot hands in one of hers, pressing them against her lips, her throat, her bosom, in a fierce caress. Molly, kiss mamma! kiss mamma! Molly stirred, and sighed, and burrowed 1894.] Philip and his W~fe. 11 her head in her mothers breast. Cecil, panting, and with passionate, inarticulate murmurs, devoured the little neck with kisses; she strained the soft body against her, so that Molly struggled and gasped, and then opened her eyes, and said with the heavy tongue of slumber, Dont! and pushed out her arms, fretting to be asleep again. I m so discomfortable, she said. Alicia looked at her sister, then turned away her eyes; why, she could not have said. It was not because this outburst of maternal love was sacred; on the con- trary, it was not even human; it fright- ened her, it almost shocked her. Mamma, you squeeze me so tight, Molly complained. Cecil! Alicia burst out sharply, dont! Cecil, rocking back and forth, looked over her shoulder and smiled, with a tight- ening of her lips. Well, do you think I would give her up? Then, as if fa- tigued, with a smiling sigh, her arms re- laxed; and Molly, with a catch at her mothers dress to save herself, slipped to the floor, and stood on her unsteady lit- tle legs, blinking with bewildered, sleepy eyes at her mother and aunt. Then she turned as though to climb on the sofa again, but Cecil restrained her gently. No, darling; you must go to bed now, kitty. I 11 call Rosa. Molly whimpered, and broke into a fretful wail. Dont, Precious; mamma does nt like little girls who cry! and, half im- patiently, she pushed the child towards the door. Take her, Rosa! Molly, if you dont stop, I 11 punish you. She put her fingers in her ears, and came back to her chair before the fire. Does nt a shriek like that go through you? Now, Lys, I want to say just one thing about what we were speaking of. There is no use making yourself miser- able over it. I shall be much more com- fortable. I have our beloved fathers example, you know, and You must nt say those things to me! Alicia interrupted, with indignant grief. It reflects upon my mother as well as papa, and I wont hear it. Well, then I have nt his example, if that pleases you better. It is original sin. But what I wanted to say is, dont say anything about it, please, until I ye made my final arrangements. It may be a week or two yet, she ended, frowning. ILyssie did not answer; the child was too heartsick for any more words. Ce- cil began to walk restlessly about the room; once she stopped as though about to speak, but checked herself, and went over to her desk, and seemed to arrange some letters ; then, suddenly, as though the words had broken free from her will, she said, standing with her back to Alicia, Oh where is your Mr. Carey, Lys? What is his address? I ye got to write to him on business. For once Rogers name woke no happy consciousness in Alicia Draytons face; she gave the address, and then, with a quivering lip, stammered, brokenly, some- thing of duty, of Molly, of Philips good- ness. Oh, Cecil, say you wont leave him! But Cecil drew back impatiently. Ach! your face is all wet, she cried, rubbing her cheek. Good-night, Cecil, Lyssie said, in a low voice, and kissed her, and went away. XXII. As she walked home through the dark- ness, the sense of her own helplessness in this dreadful matter fell upon Alicia Drayton like some tangible despair. Her most agonized efforts beat against her sisters flippancy like wind against some crystal barrier. Oh, if Cecil would only listen tome! she said to herself. But she wont; she never has! Alicia did not cry ; she was too terrified for tears. When she reached home, she was so 12 Philip and his Wife. [July, absorbed that she did not notice the traces of tears upon her mothers cheek, although Mrs. Draytons elaborate con- cealment of them might well have called her attention to them. She went silent- ly about her task of arranging things for the night: she rolled Mrs. Draytons thin hair into a thicket of curl papers, and put the shade before the night lamp, and said, gently, yes or no to this or that sighing question; then she kissed her mother good-night, and turned to go away. But a smothered sound arrested her, and she came back. What is it, dear? Did you call me? Oh no, no; it does nt matter; it s nothing. Go to bed. Dont mind me, and Mrs. Drayton sobbed faintly. But Alicias grave patience did not re- lax iuto any girlish burst of tenderness. What s the matter, mother darling? Your head does nt ache, does it? You are so absorbed now, Lyssie, in your own happiness, of course I dont ex- pect you to think about me. I ye been crying here alone all the evening, while you ye been enjoying yourself at Cecils. Not that it matters; I m glad to have you enjoy yourself. I know you are, dear, Lyssie said simply. But I m so sorry anything troubles you. Wont you tell me what it is? She knelt down by the bedside, and, lifting Mrs. Draytons hand to her lips, kissed the finger tips once or twice, gently. What troubles you, mother dear? Were you lonely? It was the first time in her life that Alicia had felt that sense of effort in showing affection which is such pain to a tender heart. I m always lonely, Mrs. Drayton reminded her severely. I know, Alicia said sympathetical- ly. But maybe papa will be home soon. I really think, from his last letter, that he is stronger, and perhaps he will soon be able to come back. Mrs. Drayton caught her breath, and sat up in bed excitedly. I dont know why you say so! I dont think so at all! she cried shrilly. What makes you say such things? Why, I only thought perhaps he might, Lyssie began to explain, weari- ly ; that was all. Then why do you startle me so? demanded Mrs. Drayton, sinking back on her pillows, and panting, the tears of anger and relief glittering suddenly in her eyes. You speak of his coming home, and then you you just disap- point me! As if I did nt suffer enough from his absence, without having my nerves shattered in this way! I m sorry, dear; I did nt mean to. And I m sure I m unhappy enough without your making me more so. I m very unhappy; I in a great sinner. At this Alicia at once resigned her- self to an hours battle with hysteria; she knew too well the various phases through which her mother must pass in struggling with a sense of sin, before finding com- fort in the bosom of her Heavenly Fa- ther. She was never impatient with or suspi- cious about these struggles; she was only tender, with a tenderness which kept her reverent even of those peculiar phrases with which Mrs. Drayton was apt to clothe her religious emotions. We some- times grow impatient of such phrases unless we have love like little Lyssies; yet, after all, there is not one of them but once was body to a living thought. A human heart must have beat its way through a terrible or uplifting experience in those words, a soul found them the portal to eternal things. Long since the life has gone out of the phrase, though its dead body still goes about among the churches, and thrusts itself into formal prayers, and comes at last to he what one might call spiritual slang upon the lips of persons like Mrs. Drayton. Yet for its beginnings of truth let us be reverent of it, as Lyssie was. I ye lost my sense of intimacy with God, said Mrs. Drayton. 1894.] Philip and his Wife. 13 Do you feel sick, mother? Alicia asked anxiously. Sick I said Mrs. Drayton, with a reproachful look. Do you think a sense of sin is a matter of digestion? No; of course I m not sick any more than I al- ways am. I ye done wrong; and my Heavenly Father is showing me that He is offended with me. I dont believe you have done any- thing very bad, dear, Alicia comforted her; but but you know, mother, if you are sorry, why it s all right. Lyssie had never been able to speak her mothers religious language; she could not talk of Gods forgiveness; she could only say it would be all right. Not at all! Mrs. Drayton retorted. You dont understand, Lyssie, what a high ideal I have. When one has walked with God daily, and then then does something which makes Him hide the light of his countenance, why, it s it s trying, said Mrs. Drayton, weeping. And I have sinned, I acknowledge that. And now I suffer from the with- drawal of his favor. Alicia murmured some appropriate word; she wondered how soon she might, without offense, suggest a sleeping-pow- der. The knowledge of Cecils intention hung over her as such an appalling reali- ty that it was an effort to speak or think of anything else. Mrs. Drayton still wept. She said she must get up, and kneel and pray again. He will be displeased with me unless I kneel down, she sighed. Alicia combated this gently. You d take cold, dear; please dont. And and God understands. Well, I shall just tell Him you would nt let me! I tell Him everything, you know; and I ask Him for everything I want, too. I wish you d do that, Lys- sie. I just say, Now, Lord, I leave this in your hands; I want it, and I know you 11 attend to it. And He always does. I said that when I wanted the parlor sofa covered, and you remember how you found the covering in the garret? Yet, kind as He is, I ye I ye displeased Him! Oh, I m very unhappy! Lyssie consoled and comforted; but all the while she was searching, passion- ately, for some help for Cecil and Philip. She did not hear the meaning in Mrs. Draytons moans and sighs of repentance, until, suddenly, the sin which kept the poor lady from an intimacy with God was put in half a dozen clear words. It was not that she had been impatient with Esther last Tuesday; it was not that she had left Lyssies dear papas letter un- answered for three days (and there was not a single word in it to lead anybody to think he was coming home, Lyssie would please remember that) ; it was not even that she had seemed to criticise Dr. Lavendar to Susy Carr. Alicia knew all these sins well. It was something which, as the whimpering woman told it, made a look come into Lyssies face that turned her mother sober, and brought a note of reality into her voice. You said you would nt get married while I was very ill, Lyssie. You pro- mised, do you remember? Yes, I remember, Lyssie answered patiently. Roger would nt have want- ed me to. You need nt have asked me to promise, mother. But Mrs. Drayton could not hear so delicate a reproach. Well, she fal- tered, her heart beating hard with ex- citement and interest, well, I - oh, of course I know it was a dreadful sin, but I was so unhappy. I had made up my mind, before I asked you, that if you would nt promise, I oh! I should commit suicide. Alicia was silent. Take take my own life, Mrs. Drayton explained tremulously. I had Esther get me a little bottle of laudanum from Mr. Tommys. I said it was for a toothache. Well, so it was. You remem- ber I had a toothache? But I did nt use it all, and so I meant, if you would nt promise, to to Oh, I suppose it was a great sin? 14 Letters of Sidney Lanier. [July, Alicia put her hand across her eyes. Oh, mother! she said faintly. It was really too bad that poor little Lyssie did not know how meaningless is this vain and silly threat from the lips of an hysterical woman. Yet perhaps, if she had known, she could have found no wise answer. To receive such state- ments with the laugh they justly pro- voke is seldom beneficial; to take them seriously is an outrage upon truth; to point out their selfishness and silliness re- sults, generally, in an outcry against the hardness of the listener. Alicia Drayton, covering her face with her hands, only said, half whispering, Oh, mother, mo- ther! if you loved me, you could nt think such thoughts. Why, it s just because I love you! cried Mrs. Drayton, growing shrill and frightened. I dont see how I can live when you get married and go away. I thought I d much better die; and so, if the Lord did nt think it wise to remove me, I thought I d just do it myself. I thought And thus and thus she babbled on; Alicia listening silently. It was a long time before things were peaceful enough for the tired girl to creep away to her room. She forgot to light her candle; she sat down in the dark, her hands folded listlessly in her lap; once her breath caught in a long sigh. After a while she took Rogers last letter out of her pocket and held it tightly, as though it were the strong clasp of his hand, full of comfort and assurance. She could not understand all this misery, and pain, and puzzle; but Roger loved her! She held on to that, while she felt the shock and surge of hu- man passion all about her sweet young life; while she saw Hate hidden by a shallow wash of flippancy, like a scum of foam and froth over treacherous sands; and Selfishness lying like a dreadful rock below the currents of daily living, ready to make shipwreck of the hopes and hap- piness of young souls like hers. It was as though the bad world suddenly lifted the veil from its face and laughed. Alicia Drayton hid her eyes, and kissed her lovers letter, and had no prayer but his name repeated over and over. At last, when the night was far gone, she got up and lit her candle, and wrote to him. It was only a cry that some- thing dreadful had happened, something dreadful for Cecil. She would not tell him what, but would he not come? Now! He could help things, she thought, if there were any help. But oh, come, come and help Cecil. She will tell you all about it, and I know you will help her. Margaret Deland. LETTERS OF SIDNEY LANIER. I. PERENNIALLY interesting, and too often tragic, is the record of the world with its poets. For the Poet is an em- bodied Ideal, sent into the world to re- buke its commonplace aims and to leaven its dull, brute mass. He feels its griefs, he sees its needs, he publishes the ever- lasting Truth and Beauty which alone can bring it peace; yet the world does not at first listen to him, or listens only to mock. The truth he utters, though it be from everlasting, seems new and strange and difficult; it shatters the old comfortable traditions; it compels to thought and action; it rouses souls long coffined in indolent conventions. But from change which involves effort the world instinctively shrinks purblind, though it know well that it can see but dimly till its cataract be couched, yet it

William R. Thayer Thayer, William R. Letters of Sydney Lanier 14-28

14 Letters of Sidney Lanier. [July, Alicia put her hand across her eyes. Oh, mother! she said faintly. It was really too bad that poor little Lyssie did not know how meaningless is this vain and silly threat from the lips of an hysterical woman. Yet perhaps, if she had known, she could have found no wise answer. To receive such state- ments with the laugh they justly pro- voke is seldom beneficial; to take them seriously is an outrage upon truth; to point out their selfishness and silliness re- sults, generally, in an outcry against the hardness of the listener. Alicia Drayton, covering her face with her hands, only said, half whispering, Oh, mother, mo- ther! if you loved me, you could nt think such thoughts. Why, it s just because I love you! cried Mrs. Drayton, growing shrill and frightened. I dont see how I can live when you get married and go away. I thought I d much better die; and so, if the Lord did nt think it wise to remove me, I thought I d just do it myself. I thought And thus and thus she babbled on; Alicia listening silently. It was a long time before things were peaceful enough for the tired girl to creep away to her room. She forgot to light her candle; she sat down in the dark, her hands folded listlessly in her lap; once her breath caught in a long sigh. After a while she took Rogers last letter out of her pocket and held it tightly, as though it were the strong clasp of his hand, full of comfort and assurance. She could not understand all this misery, and pain, and puzzle; but Roger loved her! She held on to that, while she felt the shock and surge of hu- man passion all about her sweet young life; while she saw Hate hidden by a shallow wash of flippancy, like a scum of foam and froth over treacherous sands; and Selfishness lying like a dreadful rock below the currents of daily living, ready to make shipwreck of the hopes and hap- piness of young souls like hers. It was as though the bad world suddenly lifted the veil from its face and laughed. Alicia Drayton hid her eyes, and kissed her lovers letter, and had no prayer but his name repeated over and over. At last, when the night was far gone, she got up and lit her candle, and wrote to him. It was only a cry that some- thing dreadful had happened, something dreadful for Cecil. She would not tell him what, but would he not come? Now! He could help things, she thought, if there were any help. But oh, come, come and help Cecil. She will tell you all about it, and I know you will help her. Margaret Deland. LETTERS OF SIDNEY LANIER. I. PERENNIALLY interesting, and too often tragic, is the record of the world with its poets. For the Poet is an em- bodied Ideal, sent into the world to re- buke its commonplace aims and to leaven its dull, brute mass. He feels its griefs, he sees its needs, he publishes the ever- lasting Truth and Beauty which alone can bring it peace; yet the world does not at first listen to him, or listens only to mock. The truth he utters, though it be from everlasting, seems new and strange and difficult; it shatters the old comfortable traditions; it compels to thought and action; it rouses souls long coffined in indolent conventions. But from change which involves effort the world instinctively shrinks purblind, though it know well that it can see but dimly till its cataract be couched, yet it Letters of Sidney Lanier. dreads the operation, and puts it off from day to day. Sloth is so pleasant, though it take the guise of modern commercial restlessness, which keeps only the lower activities in nervous agitation, and leaves all the higher to drowse unused! To them the Poet speaks; them the Ideal will permeate at last; the new truth, the added beauty, will be acknowledged, and the tardily grateful world will build mon- uments or dedicate shrines to its ethereal benefactor. Meanwhile, tbe Poet must live, at least long enough to deliver his message. His wares are indeed without price, but he must exchange them for food and rai- ment, or die. Yet how many measures of corn will the world give for a sheaf of his sonnets, how many yards of cloth for his odes? It has not yet learned that it needs them; it does not set on them even the value that it sets on quaintnesses and curiosities. So it usually happens that the Poets gifts are free gifts, which the great, practical, dollar-jingling world can no more pay for than for rainbows or star- beams or the inexhaustible benefits of sun- shine. Milton came to it with his Para- dise Lost, and it gave him the price of a yearling heifer in return; Dante it paid nothing. The Poet must drudge, there- fore, in the worlds way, his winged feet must blister in the common treadmill, ere he can earn his scant supply of bread and apparel. Hampered by poverty, burdened by neglect, he may be; but these are not all the obstacles Fate bids a man over- come before he proves himself worthy of the hallowed title of Poet: ill health, too, may weigh him down, ill health, which means the constant struggle of the physi- cal to bind and silence the spiritual. The record of our American poets is remarkably free from these tragic ele- ments. Of the New England band, Emerson, Whittier; Longfellow, Lowell, and Bryant, whatever their early con- flict with poverty and a slighting world, and whatever their transient infirmities, all lived to a ripe and honored age, and heard the grandchildren of the contem- poraries of their youth call them master. Of the others, Poe died, the victim of his wayward passions, before he had done his work, but not before his talents had been recognized; Whitman, though ill requited in money, enjoyed for a quarter of a century a revenue of notoriety which compensated him, so peculiarly greedy of applause, for what else he lacked; but Sidney Lanier, the youngest in the bro- therhood of our poets, suffered the accu- mulated ills of poverty, neglect, disease, and premature death. His experience proved that in our time, as in the past, the world is slow to appreciate its best. Nearly twenty years have elapsed since the publication of Corn, the poem which revealed to a few the presence of a new poet; it is more than a dozen years since Sidney Lanier died, under the pines of North Carolina: yet, because he was a true poet, we are coming to pay heed to him; acquaintance with his works makes us wish to know more about his life, and the stray fragments which have hitherto been given lead us back to find new mean- ings in his works. I foresee that erelong his right to rank among the few genuine poets of America will not be questioned; that he is the most significant figure in our literature since the Civil War is a conclusion likely to be accepted when his work and his personality are fairly un- derstood. My purpose is not, however, to write a eulogy nor a critical estimate: it is my privilege to introduce a series of letters in which Lanier tells his own story, and which furnishes the public, for the first time, with intimate glimpses of him during the most important years of his life. To whatever rank in literature critics may finally assign him matters lit- tle to us; the weighty fact now is that his worth, both as poet and man, is un- deniable, and that therefore it behooves us to learn more about him, in whom we shall behold again the rare spectacle of an embodied Ideal in its passage through an unresponsive world. 1894.1 15 16 Letters of Sidney Lanier. [July, Sidney Lanier was born in Macon, Ga., February 3, 1842. The Laniers were French Huguenots, who took refuge in England in Elizabeths time, and attained, at her court and that of the Stuarts, to distinction in music and painting. The founder of the American branch came to Richmond, Va., in 1716. Laniers mo- ther, Mary Anderson, was of Scotch de- scent. So far as heredity counted, there- fore, he had behind him, on both sides, pious ancestors, and it may not be too fanciful to suppose that he drew from those far-off, art-loving Huguenot fore- runners the beginnings of his own exqui- site sensibility to art. Of this sensibility he early showed signs, music especially having a wonderful power over him. At fourteen he entered Oglethorpe College, where he got such education as was to be obtained at a small Southern semi- nary before the Rebellion. Graduating with highest honors in 1860, he accepted a tutorship, but in the following year, at the outbreak of the war, he enlisted in the first regiment of Georgia Volun- teers, and served till 1864, when, being in command of a blockade runner, he was taken prisoner and confined at Point Lookout. In February, 1865, he was exchanged, and made his way on foot back to Macon, where he broke down with the first serious premonitions of con- sumption. The exposures in the army, the rigor of his imprisonment, he had passed the winter months at Point Look- out with only summer clothes to wear, had weakened his constitution, and a tendency to consumption, inherited from his mother, warned him thus early that to live he must struggle. Upon his recovery he was employed as a clerk at Montgomery, Ala., and in 1867 he published, in New York, Tiger Lilies, a novel into which he wove some of his war experiences, and which better deserves to be unearthed than do many of the firstfruits of genius. That same year he married Miss Mary Day, of Macon. Thenceforth, through all his wanderings he was blessed with the coIn- panionship of one who firmly believed in his powers, and who cheered alike his years of disappointment and of illness. Doubly precarious was his existence: his ill health prevented him from pursuing any occupation long, and his straitened means forced him to accept uncongenial employments, if only he might thereby earn bread. We find him teaching school at Prattville, Ala., and then for several years, at his fathers urgent request, prac- ticing law at Macon, till in 1872 the con- dition of his lungs drove him to San An- tonio, Texas, in search of a climate in which he might safely live. In the fol- lowing spring, however, lie returned to Georgia, and in December, 1873, he went to Baltimore, where he was engaged to play the first flute in the Peabody Or- chestra. These are but the externals of his early life: to know how, aniid such vicis- situdes, his genius had developed we should need to have recourse to his diary and letters to his family, and to other material that will some day be the basis of an adequate biography. But we know already enough to say that his flowering as a poet was neither sudden nor casual. From his youth up, Music and Poetry had been equally his mis- tresses, and for a long time there was doubt as to which would predominate. As a boy, he could play almost any in- struinent, and he has recorded how, after improvising on the violin, he would be rapt into an ecstasy which left his whole frame trenibhing with the exhaustion of too tense delight. In the army, his flute had been his constant companion, and it had endeared hiimm to his captors at Point Lookout. Yet all tbis while he had felt the growing conipulsion of poetry within him; he had planned a drama, and oc- casionally written verses. Neither sick- ness nor drudgery could long turn him from the deepest craving of his spirit. Conscious of his powers, he yet had, what is perhaps the rarest talent in men 1894.] Letters of Sidney Lamer. 17 of his temperament, the talent of wait- ing. The mission of poet, as he con- ceived it, transcends all others ; he knew that the innate poetic faculty would not suffice for its fulfillment unless it were reinforced by character and by know- ledge. So he refrained from miniature utterance. Day by day, he wrote to his wife in February, 1870, from my snow and my sunshine, a thousand vital elements rill through my soul. Day by day, the secret deep forces gather, which will presently display themselves in bend- ing leaf and waxy petal, and in useful fruit and grain. Again,~ from Texas, he wrote: All day my soul hath been cutting swiftly into the great space of the subtle, unspeakable deep, driven by wind after wind of heavenly melody. The very inner spirit and essence of all wind - songs, bird - songs, passion - songs, folk-songs, country-songs, sex-songs, soul- songs, and body-songs hath blown upon me in quick gusts like the breath of pas- sion, and sailed me into a sea of vast dreams, whereof each wave is at once a vision and a melody. Conscious of his powers, therefore, he had nevertheless patience to await their ripening. Feeling that the highest mis- sion had been entrusted to him, he seems to have said to himself, like Milton: I was confirmed in this opinion, that he who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things ought himself to be a true poem; that is, a composition and pattern of the best and honorablest things; not presuming to sing high praises of heroic men or famous cities, unless he have in himself the experience and practice of all that which is praiseworthy. To break away from the law against his fathers advice, and to seek support from his art among strangers, required resolution which only his loyalty to art could justify. In Baltimore his flute brought him a bare maintenance, and left him leisure for study and for poetry. He felt that the time had come when he VOL. LXXIV. NO. 441. 2 might open his lips. A long poem, Corn, took shape, aiid he hoped to find in New York an editor who would pub- lish it; but a visit to that city only served to teach him the wooden-headedness of many persons who were leaders there in literary matters. Yet he was not dis- couraged, nor did the rebuff sour him. I remember, he writes, that it has always been so; that the new man has always to work his way over these Alps of stupidity, much as that ancient gen- eral crossed the actual Alps, splitting the rocks with vinegar and fire, that is, by bitterness and suffering. D. V., I will split them. . . . The more I am thrown against these people here, and the more reverses I suffer at their hands, the more confident I am of beating them finally. I do not mean, by beating, that I am in opposition to them, or that I hate them, or feel aggrieved with them; no, they know no better, and they act up to their light with wonderful energy and consistency. I only mean that I am sure of being able, some day, to teach them better things and nobler modes of thought and conduct. A few months later, in Lippincotts Magazine for February, 1875, Corn was published. Read after twenty years have proved its staying powers, we do not wonder that here and there a discern- ing reader at once recognized the merits of that poem; for in it we plainly see Laniers credentials from the Muse. Nevertheless, recognition came slowly, but it came from persons whose opin- ion confirmed his unflinching yet unpre- sumptuous belief in his poetic mission. First among these was Mr. Gibson Pea- cock, the friend to whom the following series of letters was written. Mr. Pea- cock was the editor of the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, a newspaper in which, under his direction, literary and artistic matters were treated seriously at a time when it was rare for Philadelphia jour- nals so to treat them. In these days he would be called an editor of the old 18 Letters of Sidney Lanier. [July, school, since he had had a college edu- cation, had read widely the best English literature, was familiar with the modern languages, had traveled far in this coun- try and in Europe, and had cultivated himself not less in music and in dramatic criticism than in books. Having read Corn in Lippincotts, he wrote an enthu- siastic notice of it in the Evening Bulle- tin ; and this notice speedily brought him a letter from Lanier, the first in this collection, and ere many weeks they met. From their meeting ripened a friendship strong and honorable on both sides, as these letters will show. Though Mr. Peacock was a man of extreme reserve, and the elder by twenty years, yet nei- ther age nor reserve hindered his affec- tionate interest from manifesting itself to Lanier, who, in turn, rejoiced at find- ing a friend who was also competent to criticise and to suggest. Through Mr. Peacock, Lanier became acquainted with Charlotte Cushman, with Bayard Taylor, and with many an- other of the appreciators of art and lit- erature who in those days frequented the little parlors in Walnut Street. How inspiring and helpful this intercourse was to Lanier we may guess when we remember that until now, though past thirty, he had been seeking health and a livelihood in places which, stricken by the havoc of conquest, had little time or means for culture. Amid hostile con- ditions he had cherished his Ideal, and now he found, what every genuine soul craves, friendship and appreciation. There was no danger of his becoming spoiled; the sympathy he received was far removed from flattery. To Miss Cush- man he was especially drawn, as were all who had the privilege of knowing well that generous and brave spirit, and to Mrs. Peacock, whose voice of wonder- ful range and beauty, and whose sym- pathetic nature, made her doubly attrac- tive to him. He could now feel that though fame still lingered, and though the daily struggle for existence must be met, there was a little circle of friends whose commendation he could trust, and upon whose affection, liberal and sin- cere, he could at all times rely. At the Peacocks he more than once found shel- ter in distress. There, during the Cen- tennial year, he was tenderly nursed through an illness which brought him very near the grave; there, his visits were always welcome. Laniers letters to Mr. Peacock tell so fully his plans and wanderings be- tween 1875 and 1880 that it is unne- cessary to add biographic details here. During those years there was no other correspondent to whom he so freely wrote out of his heart. These letters not only admit us into the fellowship of a poet, but they also disclose to us a man whose life was, in Miltons phrase, a true poem. Here is nothing to ex- tenuate, nothing to blot: the poet and the man are one. My purpose in ed- iting has, accordingly, been to retain whatever reveals aught, however slight, of the man, in order that the portrait of Laniers personality, unconsciously drawm by himself, should be as complete as possible; and whatever does not me- fer to this will at least illustrate the con- ditions by which am embodied Ideal, a Poet, so recently found himself beset in this world of ours. I know not where to look for a series of letters which, in bulk equally small, relate so humanly and beautifully the story of so precious a life. 64 CENTRE STREET, BALTIMORE, MD., Januarq 26th, 1875. Mv DEAR SIR: A very lovely friend of mine Mrs. F. W. has been so gra~ cmous as to transmit to me, through my wife, your first comments on my poem Corn, in Lippincotts, which I had not seen before. The slip appears to be cut from the Bulletin of 16th or 17th. I cannot resist the impulse which urges me to send you my grateful ac- knowledgments of the poetic insight, the heartiness and the boldness which 1894.] Letters of Sidney Lamer. 19 display themselves in this critique. I thank you for it, as for a poets criticism upon a poet. Permit me to say that I am particu- larly touched by the courageous inde- pendence of your review. In the very short time that I have been in the hands of the critics, nothing has amazed me more than the timid solicitudes with which they rarefy in one line any en- thusiasm they may have condensed in another, a process curiously analo- gous to those irregular condensations and rarefactions of aim which physicists have shown to be the conditions for pro- ducing an indeterminate sound. Many of my critics have seemed if I may change the figure to be forever con- ciliating the yet-unrisen ghosts of possi- ble mistakes. Froni these you separate yourself toto ccelo: and I am thoroughly sure that your method is not only far more worthy the dignity of the critical office, but also far more helpful to the young artist, by its bold sweeping-away of those sorrowful uncertain mists that arise at times out of the waste bitterness of poverty and obscurity. Perhaps here is more feeling than is quite delicate in a communication to one not an old personal friend: but I do not hesitate upon propriety, if only I may convey to you some idea of the admiration with which I regard your manly position in my behalf, and of the earnestness with which I shall always consider myself Your obliged and faithful friend, SIDNEY LANIER. March 2nd, 18Th. DEAR MR. PEACOCK: I write a line to say that business will probably call me to Philadelphia in a day or two, and that I particularly desire to go with you and Mrs. Peacock to Theodore Thomas Symphony Concert on Friday night. If you have no other engagement for that evening, pray set it apart graciously for me: who am already tingling with the anticipated double delight of yourselves and of music. Many thanks for the Bulletin contain- ing the Sonnet. I am gratified that you should have thought the little poem worth republishing. I have not now time to say more than that I am always Your friend, SIDNEY LANIER. March 24th, 1875. A thousand thanks for your kind and very thoughtful letter. I should have gone to Philadelphia in acceptance of your invitation to meet Miss Cush- man, although much tied by engage- ments here, and in ill condition of health to go anywhere, had I not expected to meet her here in April. Your an- nouncement of her illness gives me sin- cere concern, and I will be thankful to you if you will keep me posted as to her progress in recovery. I wrote her a short time ago, to care of her bankers in New York: but fear she has been too ill to read my letter. I have the delightful anticipation of seeing you again, for a day or two, ere- long: but cannot tell whether it will be in two or three weeks. My plans de- pend on the movements of others; and as soon as they become more definite you shall know them. Pray tell your good Mrs. Peacock that I am much better, and, though in daily fight against severe pain, am hard at work. About four days ago, a cer- tain poem which I had vaguely ruminated for a week before took hold of me like a real James River ague, and I have been in a mortal shake with the same, day and night, ever since. I call it The Symphony: I personify each instru- nient in the orchestra, and make them discuss various deep social questions of the times, in the progress of the music. It is now nearly finished; and I shall be rejoiced thereat, for it verily racks all the bones of my spirit. Did you see Mr. [Bayard] Taylor? Tell me about him. I cannot tell you 20 Letters of Sidney Lanier. [July, with what eagerness I devoured Felix Holt. For perfect force-in-repose, Miss Evans (or, I should have said, Mrs. Lewes) is not excelled by any writer. Pray convey my warm regards to Mrs. Peacock, and keep that big, heart- some Max Adeler 1 in remembrance of his and Your friend, SIDNEY LANIER. BRuNswIcK, GA., April 18th, 18Th. M~ DEAR MRS. PEACOCK: Such a three days dolce far niente as I m hav- ing! With a plenty of love, wifes, bairns, and brothers, and no end of trees and vines, what more should a work- battered man desire, in this divine atmos- phere which seems like a great sigh of pleasure from some immense Lotos in the vague South? The little house, by one of whose windows I am writing, stands in one corner of an open square which is surrounded by an unbroken forest of oaks, of all manner of clambering and twining things, and of pines, not the dark, gloomy pines of the Pennsylvania mountains, but tall masses of vivid em- erald all in a glitter with the more bril- liant green of the young buds and cones; the sun is shining with a hazy and ab- sent-minded face, as if he were thinking of some quite other star than this poor earth; occasionally a little wind comes along, not warm, but unspeakably bland, bringing strange scents rather of leaves than of flowers; the mocking-birds are all singing, but singing sotto voce, and a distant cock crows as if he did nt mean to crow, but only to yawn luxuriously; an old inauma over in the neighborhood is singing, as she sets about washing in her deliberate way, something like this: Adaqio. ___ persistently rejecting all the semitones of the D minor in which she is singing (as I have observed all the barbaric music does, as far as it can), and substituting the stronger C~ for the C~ and now my little four-year-old comes in from feeding the pony and the goat, and writhes into my lap, and inquires with great interest, Papa, can you whistle backwards? by which I find, after a puzzled inquiry, that he means to ask if I can whistle by drawing my breath in, instead of forcing it out, an art in which he proceeds to instruct me with a great show of superi- ority; and now he leaves, and the whole world is still again, except the birds lazy song and old maumas monotonous croon- ing. I am convinced that God meant this land for people to rest in, not to work in. If we were so constituted that life could be an idyll, then this were the place of places for it; but being, as it is, the hottest of all battles, a man might as well expect to plan a campaign in a dream as to make anything like his best fight here. Pray write me how Miss Cushman seemed on the morning after the reading. She was so exhausted when I helped her from the carriage that I fear her strength must have been severely taxed. My ad- dress for a month hence will be at Jack- sonville, Fin.: I leave for that place on Wednesday (day after to-morrow), and shall make it headquarters during all my ramblings around the flowery State. These lonesome journeys which are the necessities of my unsettled existence make me doubly grateful for the de- lightful recollections which form my com- panions along the tiresome miles, and for which I am indebted to you. Believe, my dear Mrs. Peacock, that they are al- ways with me, and that I am always your, and Mr. Peacocks, Sincere friend, SIDNEY LANIER. the Hurly-Burly, Elbow Room, and other hu- morous works. 1 The pseudonym of Charles Heber Clark, at that time an editor of the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, and the author of Out of 1894.] Letters of Sidney Lanter. 21 BRUNSWICK, GA., June 16th, 18Th. I am just stopping here a day, after the woods of Florida. I have all your letters. Out of what a liberal sky do you rain your gracious encouragements upon me! In truth, dear friend, there is such large sweep and swing in this shower- after-shower of your friendliness, it comes in such big rhythms of generosities, it is such a poem of inner rains, that I can- not at all get myself satisfied to meet it with anything less than that perfect rose of a song which should be the product of such watering. I think I hear one of these growing now down in my soul yon- der, somewhere: presently the green calyx of silence shall split,.., and you shall see your flower. Your notice of The Symphony has given a great deal of pleasure to my fam- ily as well as to me. It has been exten- sively copied in the Southern papers, and adopted by editors as expressing their views of the poem. Mr. [Bayard] Taylors letter brings me a noble prospect of realizing an old dream. I had always a longing after him, but I have never dared indulge it more than one indulges what one con- siders only a pet possibility; so that now when I behold this mere shadow of a meeting assume the shape of an actual hand-shaking in the near future, it is as when a man wakes in the morning and finds his Dream standing by his bed. After August, when my present en- gagement will terminate, my motions will entirely depend on whatever income- bringing work I may succeed in finding. Within three weeks from this time, I will however be en route to New York: and you must write me as soon as you receive this addressing me at Macon, Ga. your programme for that time, if you re going to be out of Philadelphia. I shall look you up ubicunque in Anglid, wher- ever you may be. The Symphony was published in Lippin- cotts Magazine, June, 1875. May I beg that you will cause Mr. Taylor to address me to your own care, or, if you are to leave town before I get there, to care of the Bulletin? I will write my own plans more definitely in a few days. Pray accept this photograph.2 Of course you will see that, instead of be- ing an average of my phiz, it is the best possible single view thereof, and is for that reason much better looking than I am, but it will serve to remind you and my dear Mrs. Peacock of Your friend, SIDNEY L. PHILADELPHIA, PA., July 31st, 1875. If you have ever watched a shuttle, my dear friend, being violently knocked backward and forward in a loom, never settled for an instant at this end before it is rudely smacked back to the other, you will possess a very fair idea of the nature of my recent travels. I do not know how many times I have been from North to South in the last six weeks; the negotiations about the Florida book and the collection of additional material for it have required my presence at widely- separated points often; and as my em- ployer is himself always on the wing, I have sometimes had to make a long chase in order to come up with him. I believe my wanderings are now ended, however, for a time, and as the very first of the many blessings which this cessation of travel will bring to a tired soul, I count the opportunity to send a line which will carry my love to you and to your other you. Lippincott has made what seems to be a very fair proposition to print the Flor- ida book, taking an interest in it which I think practically amounts to about one half. I am going to add to it, by way of appendix, a complete Guide-book to Florida; and as this feature ought of it- self to secure some sale among the fif- 2 The photograph is reproduced in the vol- nine of Laniers poems published by Charles Scribuers Sons in 1884. 22 Letters of Sidney Lanier. [July, teen or twenty thousand annual visitors, I am induced to hope that my employer may be reimbursed for his entire outlay, though I keep in mind, what they all tell me, that the publication of any book is a mere lottery, and baffles all prophecy as to its success. Two chapters of the book, one on St. Augustine in April, and one on The Oclawaha River, are to ap- pear in the Magazine, October and No- vember numbers. I will probably leave here to-day, and my address for a month hence will be 195 Dean St., Brooklyn. Your package of letters was handed me duly at the Bul- letin office. I was ready to murder some- body, for pure vexation, when I learned there that I had just missed you by about two hours; it would have been such a comfort to have seen your two faces be- fore you left. Many thanks for Mr. Taylors letter. I do hope I may be able to see him during the next month. Do you think a letter from me would reach him at Mattapoisett? For his estimate of my Symphony seems to me so full and gen- erous that I think I will not resist the temptation to anticipate his letter to me. I will write also to Mr. Calvert to-inor- row; his insight into a poets internal working, as developed in his kind notice of me in the Golden Age, is at once won- derful and delightful. The next number of Lippincotts will contain four sonnets of mine in the Shakespearian metre. I sincerely hope they are going to please you. You will be glad to know that The Symphony meets with continuing favor in various parts of the land. My month in Brooklyn will be full of the very hardest work. I will be em- ployed in finishing and revising tbe Flor- ida book, many of the points in which demand very careful examination. In August my railroad employment termi- nates. My friend Miss Stebbins has sent me a letter of introduction to her brother, who is chairman of the Board of Trus- tees of the new College of Music in New York. I am going to see if they will found a chair of the Physics of Music and give it me. I can scarcely describe to you how lovely my life would seem if I could devote the balance of it to such lectures as would properly belong to a professorship of this nature, and to my poetry. So, now, you know all about me: tell me how you and Mrs. Peacock fare through the summer. What is Cushings Island? A small one, broken, with water dashing up all around you, and a clean, sweet wind airing your very souls? I wish it might be, for your sakes, and I hope you are both getting strong and elastic. Write me straightway all about yourselves. I beg that each of you will deliver a loving message for me to the other: and that you will both hold me always as Your faithful friend, SIDNEY LANIER. 195 DEAN STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y., August lOt/i, 1875. Your letter of the 8th, enclosing Mc- Clellans, reached me a few moments ago. Accept my thanks for both. Your syren-song of the beauties of your Island is at once tempting and tan- talizing. When you say you think I would be tempted to come, if I could imagine the enchanting views from this house, you make me think of that French empress who wondered how the stupid canaille could be so obstinate as to starve when such delicious pdtk could be bought for only five francs apiece. Cushings Island, my dear friend, is as im- possible to me, in the present state of the poetry-market, as a dinner at Verys was to a chiffonnier: all of which I would nt tell you, both because it is personal and because poverty is not a pleasant thing to think about at Cushings Island, except for the single controlling reason I A resort in the harbor of Portland, Me. 1894.] Letters of Sidney Lernier. 23 that I cannot hear your thinking that I could come to you, if I would. And all of which you are to forget as soon as you have taken in the whole prodigious conclusiveness of it, and only remember so far as to consider yourselves charged to breathe enough sea-air (hea- vens, how I long for it!) for all three of us; as Ars~ne Houssaycs friend with the big appetite said, on sitting down and finding that the gentleman who had been invited to dine with him was unavoidably absent, Well, I will eat for us both, and then proceeded actually to do it, helping himself twice at each course. I will probably see you, though, in Philadelphia, when you come: and that is some consolation. BROOKLYN, September 9th, 1875. Will you be in Ph about the 13th or 14th next? Business calls me there at that time; and I wish to know if I m go- ing to have the pleasure of seeing you. I can only scrawl a line. My work has been rudely interrupted by a series of troublesome h~morrhages, which have for some time prevented me from read- ing or speaking, as well as from writing. I m crawling back into life, however, and hope to be at work in a few days. BROOKLYN, N. Y., September 24th, 1875. How bright you made my little visit to Philadelphia, a sort of asteroid to cir- cle round my dark. But I havent more than lust time now to thank you for the letter and papers which you forwarded, and to tell you to address me henceforth at the Westminster Hotel, New York City, where I go presently, being now in the bitter agonies of moving, packing and the like dreadful bores. A letter from Miss Stebbins informs me that they are all safely at Lennox and our dear Miss Cushman improving. One can entrust ones message to a blue sky like this mornings; consider this lovely day to be the salutation of Your friend, SIDNEY L. PARKER HousE, Bosvou, MAss., November 4th, 1875. On arriving here at six oclock in the morning, half frozen and very sleepy, I found a pleasant room with a glowing fire ready for me, and so tumbled into bed for another snooze before the world should rise. About nine I rose again; and while I was in puns naturalibus midst of the very crisis and perilous cli- max of ablution came a vivacious tap at my door; I opened the same, with many precautions: and behold, my eyes which were all in lather, what time my beard was in strings that shed streams around my path, and, as it were, writ my name in water wherever I walked rested on the bright face of my good Charlotte Cushman shining with sweet- ness and welcome. I had expected to find her all propped up in pillows; and was therefore amazed to see how elastic was her step, and how strong and bright she is in all particu- lars. She sleeps beautifully (she says), and as we meet at the breakfast table each morning she is fairly overflowing with all manner of bright and witty and tender sayings, although in the midst of them she rubs the poor swollen arm that gives so much trouble. Altogether, there can be no question as to her temporary benefit, nor as to the permaneiit gain resulting from the good digestion, the healthy appetite, the sound sleep, and the control of pain which her physician has secured for her. I believe that she is at least half - convinced that he is going to cure her; he tells her so, continually, and does not seem to enter- tain the shadow of a doubt of it. I have seen him twice for a few moments: and can say that he interests me very much, because his theory which he makes no concealment of whatever is, as far as he has been able in our very short talks to expound it to me, at least new, bold, and radical, while I do not perceive that he gives any sign of being a mere char- latan. I heard last night, at the Wednes 24 Letters of Sidney Lanier. [July, day Night Club (where Mr. Coolidge was kind enough to invite me), all sorts of stories about him, many of which I do not doubt to be true. So that, on the whole, I am still waiting a little for the draw- ing-out which I intend to bring to bear on him, before I allow myself to make a final judgment about him. Meantime there can be no question of Miss Cush- mans genuine improvement; and her in- tercourse with the young physician seems to have been very satisfactory to her. I have not yet written a line of my India papers: and am going at it this morning, tooth and nail. Will you take the trouble to ask the Librarian of the Ph~ Library if I may keep the two books I have, for a couple of days longer? If he refuses, I will ask you to telegraph me, so that I may get them back in time. Mr. Taylor, whom I saw for a few moments in New York, asked after you both very particularly: Miss Cushman is now secluded with the physician, else I am sure she would send messages to you. As for me, dear friend, my thoughts go to you as thickly as these snowflakes which are now falling outside my win- dow, and alas, as silently, for lack of expression. But I feel sure that you know I am always Your friend, S. L. BosToN, November 10th, 1875. I scrawl a hasty note, just as I am leaving, to beg that you will hand the two books which I have to-day sent you by express to the Librarian, with my thanks for his kind permission to keep them over the time. They were very useful to me. Our friend Miss Cushman is suffering a good deal of pain every day, but appears to keep up her general health steadily. Ive had several talks with her doctor; and I would not be surprised if he really cured her. I find him not at all a quack, at least not an ignorant one; he is quite up to the most advanced ideas in his profession. But I have not time now to say more. I go directly to Macon, except one day in New York, and will be at home for two weeks, then to Baltimore for the winter, to resume my old place as first flute in the Orchestra. God bless you both, says your friend, S. L. 66 Cic~rxnc STREET, BALTIMORE, MD., December 16th, 1875. Yours enclosing three dollars came to me safely; and I should have immedi- ately acknowledged it, had I not been over head (literally) and ears in a sec- ond instalment of my India papers for which the magazine was agonizedly wait- ing. Possibly you may have seen the January number by this time; and it just occurs to me that if you should read the India article, you will be wondering at my talking coolly of strolling about Bombay with a Hindu friend. But Bhima Gandharra (Bhi via was the name of the ancient Sanscrit hero The Son~ of the Air, and Gandharra means A Heavenly ]Iliusician) is only another name for Imagination which is cer- tainly the only Hindu friend I have; and the propriety of the term, as well as the true character of Bhima Gandharra and the insubstantial nature of all ad- ventures recorded as happening to him and myself, is to be fully explained in the end of the last article. I hit upon this expedient, after much tribulation and meditation, in order at once to be able to make something like a narrative that should avoid an arid encyclopedic treatment, and to be perfectly truthful. The only plan was to make it a pure jen desprit; and in writing the second paper I have found it of great advantage. I have nt heard a word of the Florida book beyond what you sent me; God have mercy upon its soul, I suppose it will be (as the judge says when the black cap is on) hanged by the neck until it is dead, dead, dead. I have with me my Charley, cetat. 1894.] Letters of Sidney Lanter. 25 seven, the sweetest, openest, honestest lit- tle man was ever built. I find him splen- did company; and I wish you might see him at this moment, with his long lashes fringing the full oval eyes, profoundly slumbering in bed where I have but ten minutes ago tucked him in and kissed him good-night. I have a charming letter from C. C. [Charlotte Cushman], but through all the fair things she says to me I can detect the note of physical pain, and the poor sweet soul is evidently suffering greatly. It does not now look like I shall be able to see you, as I had hoped at Xmas. I wish I had some method of telling you with what deep satisfaction I reflect upon you both, and with what delight I would find myself able to be to you, in some fair act as well as in all fair words, Your faithful friend, S. L. 66 CENTRE STREET, BALTIMORE, MD., January 18th, 1876. For several weeks past all my minutes have been the property of others, and I have in vain tried to appropriate a little one to you. The enclosed 1 will show you partly what I have been doing. I am not at liberty~to mention the matter; but you will keep it until the interdict against publicity is removed. The Centennial Commission has invited me to write a poem which shall serve as the text for a Cantata (the music to be by Dudley Buck, of New York) to be sung at the opening of the Exhibition, under Thomas direction. All this is to be kept secret. I ye written the enclosed. Necessarily I had to think out the musical concep- tions as well as the poem, and I have briefly indicated these along the margin of each movement. I have tried to make the whole as simple and as candid as 1 First draught of the Cantata, to be sung at the opening of the Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia. Portions of this and the follow- ing letter were printed as an appendix to the Poems, 1~84. a melody of Beethovens; at the same time expressing the largest ideas possi- ble, and expressing them in such a way as could not be offensive to any modern soul. I particularly hope you 11 like the Angels Song, where I have endeavored to convey, in one line each, the philoso- phies of Art, of Science, of Power, of Government, of Faith, and of Social Life. Of course, I shall not expect that this will instantly appeal to tastes peppered and salted by Swinburne and that ilk; but one cannot forget Beethoven, and somehow all my inspirations came in these large and artless forms, in simple Saxon words, in unpretentious and pure- ly intellectual conceptions; while never- theless I felt, all through, the necessity of making a genuine song and not a rhymed set of good adages out of it. I adopted the trochees of the first move- ment because they compel a measured, sober, and meditative movement of the mind; and because, too, they are not the genius of our language. When the trochees cease, and the land emerges as a distinct unity, then I fall into our na- tive iambics. I am very anxious you should think it worthy. If your Maria shall like it, I shall not feel any fear about it. BALTIMORE, January 25th, 1876. Your praise, and your wifes, give me a world of comfort. I really do not be- lieve anything was ever written under an equal number of limitations; and when I first came to know all the con- ditions of the poem, I was for a moment inclined to think that no genuine work could be produced under them. As for the friend who was the cause of the compliment, it was, directly, Mr. Tay- lor.2 I knew nothing of it whatever un- til Mr. T. wrote me that it had been 2 In answer to inquiries, Senator Hawley, president of the Centennial Commission, writes: The Centennial Commission, with the assent of the Board of Finance, made me a committee of one on all matters of ceremony, the most im 26 Letters of Sidney Lctnier. [July, settled to invite me. Indirectly, I fancy are largely concerned in it; for it seems from Mr. Taylors account that General Hawley was very glad to have me do the work, and I fancy this must have been owing much to the reputation which you set a-rolling so recently. If you should see anything about the India papers, I particularly desire to get it; for I fancy that Mr. Kirk was not quite as pleased with them as with other works of mine, and I would therefore hail any sign of their popularity. I do not have time to read any papers; life is getting so full to me that I scarcely know how I am going to win through the next two months work. After that, though, there is a charm- ing possibility ahead of me, which holds the frequent sight of yom among its de- lights. (None of this to be mentioned yet.) When Theodore Thomas passed through here a few days ago, to my great surprise he told me that his orchestra would probably be increased during the summer, and that he would like me to take the additional flute in it. I bad played several duos with his first flute, Wehner, and it is to his voluntary recommendation that I owe the offer. It would be very charming for me; and is such a compliment to a player wholly un- taught as I am, and but recently out of the country, that I m indulging myself in considerable gratification over it. portant of which were the exercises on Opening Day and the great celebration on the Fourth of July. Of course I did not presume to act with- out the best advice I could get. My warm, patriotic, and eminently unselfish adviser and friend in the matter was Bayard Taylor. I easily selected Theodore Thomas to take charge of the music, and a great orchestra and a great chorus were secured. I wanted a hymn from Lowell, who begged off, as the phrase is, or Whittier. I visited both, and finally secured Mr. Whittier, who wrote the charming hymn you may recollect. We then selected the mu- sical composers, Mr. Paine and Mr. Dudley Buck, and decided, very likely upon the sug- gestion of Thomas, that we should have a can- tata, or some sort of a composition of that de- scription. It was Mr. Taylor who first brought Mr. Buck writes me that he has now completed his sketches for the Cantata, and is going at once to the work of scor- ing it for orchestra and voices. He seems immensely pleased with the text, and we have gotten on together with perfect har- mony during the process of fitting to- gether the words and the music, which has been wholly accomplished by letter. By the way, there are two alterations which I think I have made since your copy was sent you. They are: Now praise to Gods oft-granted grace, Now praise to mans undaunted face; the two underscored words having been added; and the last four lines which did not roll with enough majesty to suit me have been entirely remodelled, to read thus Then, Music, from this height of time my Word unfold: In thy large signals all mens hearts Mans Heart behold: Mid-heaven unroll thy chords as friendJy flags unfurled, And wave the worlds best lovers welcome to the world. Pray make these alterations in your copy. Also in the Huguenot stanza, in- stead of Toil een when brother-wars write Toil when wild brother-wars, etc. So, God bless you both. ~ BALTIMORE, April 11th, 18~6. By a miraculous burst of hard work since early this morning, I ye managed Mr. Lanier to my attention. I believe I knew as much as this, that there was a promising writer of that name. We were anxious to se- cure participation from the Southern States. Mr. Taylor and I talked the matter over very carefully, and he showed me, I think, some writings of Mr. Laniers, but I relied very large- ly upon his judgment, and decided to invite Mr. Lanier. We were all of us always glad that we had done so. The Cantata was some- what unusual in style and character; that is to say, it was original, but it was charmingly so, and both Buck and Thomas thought it very remarkably adapted to our needs. I saw some- thing of Mr. Lanier, but not much. What I did see impressed me very favorably, and I have a very kind and tender recollection of that gen- tleman. 1894.] Letters of Sidney Lctnwr. 27 to get ready a few minutes before time for me to start, and I devote those to sending you a line which may convey to you how sorry I was to miss you yester- day. You will care to know that Mr. Kirk gave me three hundred dollars for the poem, but that includes book-copy- right and all. Write me at Exchange Hotel, Montgomery, Ala. If you only knew what an uplifting you have always been to your friend, S. L.! MACON, GA., April 27th, 1876. May and I ran over here yesterday from Montgomery, Ala., where I have been spending the time since I saw you, with my brothers family and my own. My father lives here; and we are to re- main about five days, when May returns to the children at Montgomery, and I hasten back to Philadelphia. I there- fore hope to see you within a week. I ye been such a subject and helpless victim of ovation among the good people of these regions that the time has never seemed to come when I could answer your good letter. The Southern people make a great deal more of my appoint- ment to write the Cantata-poem than I had ever expected, and it really seems to be regarded by them as one of the most substantial tokens of reconciliation yet evinced by that vague tertium quid which they are accustomed to represent to themselves under the general term of the North. I am astonished, too, to find what a hold Corn has taken upon all classes. Expressions come to me, in great number, from men whom I never supposed accessible by any poetry what- ever; and these recognitions arrive hand [-in-hand] with those from persons of the highest culture. The Tribune no- tice of the Cantata has been copied by a great many Southern papers, and I think it materially assisted in starting the poem off properly; though the people here are so enthusiastic in my favor at present Psalm of the West, Lippincotts Magazine, June, 1876. that they are quite prepared to accept blindly anything that comes from me. Of course I understand all this; and any success seems cheap which depends so thoroughly on local pride as does my present position with the South; yet, in view of the long and bitter struggle which I must make up my mind to wage in carrying out those extensions of poetic Forms about which all my thoughts now begin to converge, it is pleasant to find that I have at least the nucleus of an audience which will be willing to receive me upon the plane of mere blind faith until time shall have given a more scien- tific basis to their understandings. I have seen a quotation (in the Balti- more Bulletin, which indignantly takes up the cudgel in my behalf) of one sen- tence from The , which makes me suppose that I have had a harsh recep- tion from the New York papers gener- ally, in the matter of the Cantata-text. The Bulletin represents The as say- ing that the poem is like a communica- tion from the spirit of Nat Lee through a Bedlamite medium. Nothing rejoices me more than the inward perception how utterly the time, and the frame of mind, are passed by in which anything of this sort gives me the least disturbance. Six months ago this would have hurt me, even against my will. Now it seems only a little grotesque episode, just as when a few minutes ago I sat in my fathers gar- den, here, and heard a catbird pause, in the midst of the most exquisite roulades and melodies, to mew, and then take up his song again. What a fearsome long screed, and all about Me! But it is not with the least malice prepense: you are to reflect that I ye just stolen away, from a half dozen engagements, to my fathers office, in an unspeakable spring morning, to send you a little message out of my heart, wherein, truly, whenever I think of you, there is always instantly born a spring full of gardens, and of song-birds that never mew. 28 I hope so soon to kiss the hands of your two ladies that I send no further mes- sages now save the old one that I am always their and your friend, S. L. XVEST CHESTER, PA., October 4th, 1876. I had expected to be in Philadelphia to-day, and to answer your kind inquiries in person. But some of those hateful things mildly called circumstances be- yond ones control prevented, and I send a note to say how much obliged we have been by your thoughtful communications from Brunswick. Our advices from Mr. Day, which had been delayed in some way, now arrive regularly. I returned from Baltimore late on Saturday. Mr. Gilman, Prest of Johns Hopkins University, received me with great cordiality. I took tea with him on Thursday, and he devoted his en- tire evening to discussing with me some available method of connecting me with the University officially. The main dif- ficulty was in adjusting the special work which I wish to do to the existing scheme of the institution. I found that Mr. Gilman was familiar with all my poems, and he told me that he h~d thought of inviting me to a position in the University last winter, but did not know whether I had ever pursued any special studies. He had been greatly at- tracted by the Cantata, and its defence. It was finally agreed that a proposition should be made to the Trustees to create for me a sort of nondescript chair of [July, Poetry and Music, giving me leave to shape my lectures into any mould I de- sired. He is to choose whatever time may seem suitable to him, in which to broach the project: and will then write me the result. I have no doubt of his sincere desire for the favorable consum- mation of the business; and inasmuch as the most happy relations have heretofore existed between him and the Trustees, it would seem that the prospect is good. I am better than when you saw me last, but still suffering much with cough. May is much worn with nursing Harry, who has been quite troublesome of nights. I hope you are both well. I m trying hard to get May off to Ph~ again soon, for a day and a night; the tonic of see- ing or hearing anything beautiful seems to have a wonderful effect on her. She joins in loving messages to you both. The hope of filling that nondescript chair of Poetry and Music hovered be- fore Lanier during that summer and autumn, but in spite of Laniers fitness and of President Gilmans inclination the offer was not made. Later, indeed, three years later, when the poets sands were almost run, the trustees of the University gave Lanier an appointment, and he delivered two courses of lectures with such conspicuous success that, after his death, Johns Hopkins University hon- ored him with a memorial tablet, and has been glad to be associated with his rising fame. William~ R. flhctyer. THE CITY ON THE HOUSETOPS. ABOVE the narrow, crowded streets of the tenement-house district there is a city of housetops, which alone enjoys the pure air and the sunlight, and turns its face upward to the sky. This sky Mrs. Laniers father. is no longer circumscribed, as it appears when seen in long, horizontal sections from the street below, but unlimited, without measure either as to depth or extension. Not the sky over the prison, the Russian writer, Dostoyevsky, The Guy on the Housetops.

The City on the Housetops 28-35

28 I hope so soon to kiss the hands of your two ladies that I send no further mes- sages now save the old one that I am always their and your friend, S. L. XVEST CHESTER, PA., October 4th, 1876. I had expected to be in Philadelphia to-day, and to answer your kind inquiries in person. But some of those hateful things mildly called circumstances be- yond ones control prevented, and I send a note to say how much obliged we have been by your thoughtful communications from Brunswick. Our advices from Mr. Day, which had been delayed in some way, now arrive regularly. I returned from Baltimore late on Saturday. Mr. Gilman, Prest of Johns Hopkins University, received me with great cordiality. I took tea with him on Thursday, and he devoted his en- tire evening to discussing with me some available method of connecting me with the University officially. The main dif- ficulty was in adjusting the special work which I wish to do to the existing scheme of the institution. I found that Mr. Gilman was familiar with all my poems, and he told me that he h~d thought of inviting me to a position in the University last winter, but did not know whether I had ever pursued any special studies. He had been greatly at- tracted by the Cantata, and its defence. It was finally agreed that a proposition should be made to the Trustees to create for me a sort of nondescript chair of [July, Poetry and Music, giving me leave to shape my lectures into any mould I de- sired. He is to choose whatever time may seem suitable to him, in which to broach the project: and will then write me the result. I have no doubt of his sincere desire for the favorable consum- mation of the business; and inasmuch as the most happy relations have heretofore existed between him and the Trustees, it would seem that the prospect is good. I am better than when you saw me last, but still suffering much with cough. May is much worn with nursing Harry, who has been quite troublesome of nights. I hope you are both well. I m trying hard to get May off to Ph~ again soon, for a day and a night; the tonic of see- ing or hearing anything beautiful seems to have a wonderful effect on her. She joins in loving messages to you both. The hope of filling that nondescript chair of Poetry and Music hovered be- fore Lanier during that summer and autumn, but in spite of Laniers fitness and of President Gilmans inclination the offer was not made. Later, indeed, three years later, when the poets sands were almost run, the trustees of the University gave Lanier an appointment, and he delivered two courses of lectures with such conspicuous success that, after his death, Johns Hopkins University hon- ored him with a memorial tablet, and has been glad to be associated with his rising fame. William~ R. flhctyer. THE CITY ON THE HOUSETOPS. ABOVE the narrow, crowded streets of the tenement-house district there is a city of housetops, which alone enjoys the pure air and the sunlight, and turns its face upward to the sky. This sky Mrs. Laniers father. is no longer circumscribed, as it appears when seen in long, horizontal sections from the street below, but unlimited, without measure either as to depth or extension. Not the sky over the prison, the Russian writer, Dostoyevsky, The Guy on the Housetops. 1894.] The City on the housetops. 29 says, in one of his stories of exile, but another, far-off, free sky, forgetting that it is just the sky over the prison that seems immeasurable by contrast, the only thing to speak to the poor prison- ers of the liberty that exists completely nowhere in the world, unless it be in mens minds. Wherever mens affairs the strange thing we call civilization, fathered, some say, by commerce bring them together in compact coinmu- nities, in which each one struggles for space to stand upright among his neigh- bors, there the sky, better than elsewhere, fulfills its peculiar mission of recalling the infinite to mens souls. The sky over a great city, provided it be not so ob- scured by smoke as no longer to seem a sky at all, has more to confide to its devotees than even a sunset in the high Alps, or the rising of the moon at sea. When I recall my moments (they are moments rather than hours) passed on the housetop, whether in the fresh clearness of an autumn morning or in the fierce glow of a summer noontide, it is the sky, broad, blue, and luminous, that furnishes the dominant note to my recollections; the glorious sense of ex- pansion coming as an exhalation from all that limitless azure, which acted like an intoxicant after the almost breathless confinement of the life below stairs. Few among the loiterers on the Bowery or along the thronged East Side thor- oughfares know of this region, which has been all but crowded out of their expe- rience by the tall buildings and the queer sky - tracks of the elevated railways. Now and then, when people talk of a mysterious comet, or when a kite strays so far into the boundless blue as to be- come an object of curiosity, one may see bloated faces turned searchingly to the sky, suggesting by the blindness of their gaze poor moles that burrow all their lives in the dank earth. But they who know the housetops are not thus deprived of natures widest privilege. This city of the housetops has a life of its own, distinct from that of the city down below there between the squares of tall houses. Even in the winter this life does not cease altogether, but in the summer it expands, until it includes most of the leisure existence of the tenement dwellers in the neighborhood. The families living in a house have a com- mon right to the roof, and the commu- nistic ideal of sharing all things together comes nearest to realization there. As a matter of fact, the families living in the lower stories of a house visit but lit- tle the aerial city. The city of the street has superior attractions for them, lying as it does at their door or before their window; and if the house has a high stoop, they will take their station here, and watch for the flotsam and jet- sam that the tide of human travel brings sooner or later to their feet. It is a less depraved taste that brings people, of a summer evening, to the starlit precincts of the city on the housetops. One is not secure there from occasional bickerings; but the presence of night is more ap- preciable, there is opportunity for closer intimacy, the disturbance from the street reaches one only in faint gusts, and there is less grating of the merely individual upon the consciousness of the universal. Do not suppose I mean that the people who prefer the street are really de- praved! But we roof - dwellers the devils roosters, as the French idiom 1 most incorrectly describes us cannot help looking down a little upon those of our neighbors who are either in continual fear of fire, or else dislike the fatigue of climbing five flights of stairs. But it is time to particularize concern- ing the city on the housetops. We can- not go at all deeply into its topography, but we feel that we are describing it accurately when we say that it is very varied; nothing like its sudden ups and downs is known in cities where streets usurp the place of platforms open to heaven. Its highways are better adapted 1 Percher an diable, to dwell in an attic. 30 The City on the Housetops. [July, to cats than to men; but this does not inconvenience its human inhabitants, who seldom want to go anywhere. And if they did, are there not fire-escapes, and does not the law say that they shall be kept free of obstructions ? The law is not very carefully observed, doubtless from a general feeling that indiscrimi- nate intercommunication via the fire-es- capes would be a blessing very much dis- guised. The principal structures of the city on the housetops are the chimneys, sky- lights, and little hutlike out - buildings bearing resemblance to the deck-cabins on some ships, which shelter the stairway leading to the house below, and permit, when the door is left open, a draught of air to penetrate the hallways. Many of the housetops are surrounded by a high wooden fence with projecting poles from which the clotheslines are suspend- ed. Here and there one finds an im- provised roof-garden, its green shrubs and potted plants occupying a corner between high brick walls. The city abounds in good views. The Brooklyn Bridge is in sight, its long, low arch be- tween the great Gothic piers spanning an arc in the sky, firm and distinct, an imperial roadway by day, studded with stars at night. High buildings and church spires lift their heads on all sides, and flags are streaming from a score of poles. Thick columns and thin spirals of smoke ascend from hundreds of chim- neys. Over there is the river: in faint outline one can see the sharp bow of a ship, with a piece of the rigging; the smoke of a steamboat or tug hangs like a dusky cloud across the face of the tall buildings on the Brooklyn shore; the hoarse whistles of the ferryboats an- nounce each arrival and departure. At sunset, distant windows catch the reflec- tion of the suns rays, and gleam as if the interior of the house were ablaze. Bits of gilding and some unpainted tin roof take up the glow, which only passes completely when the sun has sunk be- hind the outspread sea of houses in the west. The nearer prospect is crowd- ed with a confusion of detail. Like a vast forest, the chimneys and clothesline poles crop up on every hand, the differ- ence in elevation of the various houses lending an aspect of variety to their growth. On the clotheslines are spread out all the family linen, and how much besides! dresses, rugs, quilts, carpets, and underwear; the white garments gleam in the sunshine, all flutter in the breeze. The parapets, cornices, and pro- jections of other houses; the interlacing lines of telegraph wires; the quaint min- arets and queer gewgaws of the newer tenements designed to appeal to an Ori- ental taste, all these interrupt the line of the horizon, and lend variety and ani- mation to the citys outline. Ones gaze may rest upon objects miles away, which the clear atmosphere renders quite con- spicuous and distinct, or it may fall upon the narrow, well-like court, crowd- ed with fire - escapes and clotheslines, which opens at ones feet. Down there are a few square feet of damp, ill-smell- ing, badly-paved courtyard, in the gloom of which some little children are at play. A single spear of green grass has un- dertaken, with rare courage and perse- verance, to grow in one of the interstices between the paving - blocks, and merry voices, raised in glee over its discovery, rise to the housetop. The children are nearly always merry, and they are per- haps the principal inhabitants alike of the city on the housetops and of the stag- nant courts at its feet. During the day, the women and chil- dren, except for the occasional presence of a painter, a carpenter, or a roof- mender, have the city on the housetops to themselves. The clothes are put out to dry, if it is wash-day. If not, there are carpets to be beaten, various house- hold preparations to be made. The lit- tle girls, when home from school in the middle of the day, help their mothers, or watch the baby, to see that it does 1894.] The Gity on the Housetops. 31 not creep too near one of those abrupt precipices in which the city on the house- tops abounds. Sad accidents occur now and then, although not so frequently as one would think probable. A periodical visitor is the line-man, a young fellow who mounts the gaunt poles from which the clotheslines are suspended to the windows opposite, climbing up by means of the big iron nails which serve as pegs upon which to tie the lines. His lusty shout of Line up! informs the neigh- bors that now is the time to get their lines attached, and familiar conversa- tions and exchanges of greeting mark the progress of his ascent. His acquaint- ance is a large one, and his social func- tion important. Resort to these clothes- line poles is sometimes had by small boys in search of a temporary retreat before an irritated relative. The little boys fly their kites; and this is one of the gayest, most delightful amusements to all who really understand what amusement is. One can never visit the city overhead, unless perhaps at the dead of night, with- out becoming aware of several kites sky- larking about in his own immediate azure. They are subject to strange, abrupt evo- lutions, or rather revolutions, with their strings in the control of such irresponsi- ble young masters. Sometimes one un- dertakes, perversely enough, to act for itself, and then it frequently gets caught and tangled up in a telegraph wire, where it hangs limp and forlorn, like some gigantic wounded bird of prey, helpless to extricate itself, and piteous to look upon. But when it sails clear and free, with a graceful streamer in its wake, there is no sight more gracious and encouraging. Among the kites circle the pigeons, of which there are many everywhere. I have a friend (we have never spoken) who devotes most of his life to enticing them to alight upon his own particular housetop. He is a tall, athletic young fellow, whom I have never seen with hat, coat, or waistcoot. He wears knee- breeches, and one shapely calf is clad in a black stocking; the other now we are coming to the sad part of the story is but a stump, the foot and leg half- way to the knee having suffered amputa- tion, probably while he was still a child. Every pleasant day he spends on a roof neighboring my own, watching incessant- ly the pigeons in their flight, cooing to them and whistling low, with an interest that seems never to flag. His agility is remarkable; he clambers like a cat, and, with the aid of a long pole, passes from one housetop to another on a very differ- ent level. He prefers to take his station high upon a wooden fence built to separate two housetops, his maimed limb twined tightly round the topmost bar, so as to leave the stump invisible, while his foot rests upon a lower support. In this po- sition he seems a young Apollo, his lithe, youthful figure, without a flaw or any symptom of deficiency, outlined against the clear sky, while every movement, in- stinct with vigor and grace, betrays a vivid interest in all about him. His face, too, is suggestive of the sun-gods, not of the Apollo of the nymphs and lyre, and I catch myself thinking of him as the incarnation of the sunlight. In an hour he is up and down many times, always returning to his exalted perch, whence he can look over most of the neighboring roof-trees. Standing up there alone in the sky, as it were all day long, for days and weeks, months and years, perhaps, with half the city spread at his feet, what must be his outlook upon life! Alas, poor fellow, he is bound to earth and compar- ative inactivity by that painful deficiency of his, and it is well for him that the pigeons can occupy so much of his time. I have seen him, standing aloft on his single leg, brandish his long pole with superb energy and strength, while the birds went whirring away. Some of them always returned, and I used to be puzzled to explain their preference for the roof where they seemed exposed to 32 The City on the Housetops. [July, the constant interference of this young tyrant of the housetops. Perhaps, I thought, they know his misfortune and their own security. But at last I found the clue to this wonder that daily renews itself in front of my windows. These pigeons that constantly alight on this par- ticular roof, and as often depart from it again, are plainly decoys, and their young owner is engaged in a business, that of pigeon-stealing. The birds that fall into his hands find their way, in all proba- bility, to the bird-fanciers shop, two blocks away, where one sees pigeons and rabbits in the window, and where these innocent creatures are made the pretext of corrupting children sometimes as in- nocent as they. Here, then, is a drama of the housetops that has reached its many hundredth performance, and is not yet acted to its close. What shall we say of its hero, whom I lightly com- pared to the sun-god? Is he, perhaps, a symbol for one of those other forces that in nature and in human society make, all unconsciously, for death when most they seem instinct with brilliancy and life? We know not, and we shall not know. What is sure is that his en- ergy and strength must find an outlet; and in this case more of pity than of blame must attach to their useless ex- penditure. The pigeons, meanwhile, will generally contrive to elude him, and the whir of their wings will long be a feature of the city on the housetops. During the dinner hour, and in mid- summer through the early hours of the afternoon, when the sun is scorching the tin roofs with its rays, the city on the housetops is deserted. But let a thun- der shower come up and cool off the burning roofs, then after it is over the people will return to enjoy the momenta- ry freshness, and to look around upon the world that has just received such a duck- ing. I have seen some little boys make their appearance, on a hot day in August, in the very midst of a thunder shower, and fully prepared to enjoy it. There were three of them, and they were guilt- less of a garment amongst them. They took their shower bath with delight, and chased one another about among the chim- neys and clotheslines, with the lightning flashes playing around them. Their gam- bol ended only when the storm ceased, and they disappeared, by this time shiver- ing, down the hatchway. Late in the afternoon is the grand- fathers hour. Old men, the days labor at an end, come up to the city on the housetops to smoke their pipes and enjoy an hour of peace before descending into the close, often crowded rooms where the night must be spent. One hears from every direction the factory whistles pro- claiming the cessation of work for an- other breathing-space, and down below the streets are filled with a long, black procession of men and women, lads and maidens, returning from the labor of the day. From one of the open windows of a tall tenement in the opposite street come the plaintive strains of an old vio- lin, into which a young fellow seeks to infuse the poetry that is budding in his soul. His efforts are a little primitive, but now and then such things as Little Annie Rooney or a few bars of Com- rades struggle to recognition. All the while the west is slowly reddening, and a reflected glow suffuses the eastern sky. Long bars of crimson, suggesting the heavy dashes at the end of a chapter in an authors manuscript, rest with an as- pect of finality over the western horizon of housetops. These fade in their turn, losing themselves in a flood of color that passes from orange into burnished gold, ending in a dull rusty glow. Then the evening comes; and in sum- mer this is the fashicnable hour for the denizens of the housetops. It is less stifling up there than in the houses, or in the streets below. Often there is a breeze, generally from the south, with a whiff of the ocean in its breath. Then the scene on the housetops becomes am- mated. Whole families are encamped up The City on the Housetops. there ; there is singing, stories are told, sometimes there is dancing. Musical in- struments are not at all rare, and the ac- cordion is chief among them. Now and then the merriment of separate parties becomes extinct; all pause to listen to a single voice that rises high and distinct above the hubbub. Sometimes it is a hymn of the synagogue, caroled forth upon the night by a boys quavering voice; sometimes it is an air from an operetta, delivered in stentorian tones by a professional man singer. The ap- plause, when the performance is over, comes from every roof in the neighbor- hood. When there is a saloon on the block, and what block is without its drinking-house ? sounds of carousal make their way, from time to time, to the city on the housetops. An impromptu orchestra, in attendance at some wedding or birthday festivity in the brilliantly lighted apartments of a family on the block, gladdens with its strains the hearts of tired mortals on the roof. Sometimes a burst of mad melody, full of the weird cadence and passionate abandon that characterize the dance-mu- sic of the peasantry of eastern Europe, awakens sad memories or passionate longing in some immigrant ( green- horn, the older immigrants call him) lately come from some far-off country. The poor Jew who finds his way straight from the immigrant station on Ellis Island to one of the innumerable sweat- ers dens of this neighborhood breathes for an hour, perhaps, the air of the night, and gazes about him at the strange city that his toil leaves him no oppor- tunity to investigate. Perhaps he does not even care to do this, the dull, hard grind deadening all sentiment of curi- osity in his soul. Wild, unthinking gay- ety alone can arouse him from the leth- argy in which his life is wrapped. Late into the night the merriment lasts; and then, when good-nights have been said, only about one half of the com- pany descend to take their rest indoors. VOL. LXXIV. NO. 441. 3 The others roll themselves in sheets and blankets, and prepare for a night under the stars. A thunder shower coming up in the middle of the night disperses them, and there is a great noise of scuf- fling and running, as each one awakes to take up his bed and walk with it. Be- tween two and three oclock of a fine morning, the moon looks down upon a bivouac of shrouded motionless figures, and the city on the housetops is turned into a shining necropolis. Little children and women sleep thus in the open air, sometimes on the roof, sometimes on their own fire-escape; but the majority of the out-of-door sleepers are young men, ac- customed all their lives, many of them, to hard bunks and uneasy surroundings. The glow of a cigar or a cigarette from one of these shapeless heaps of bedding might disturb the nights slumber of an apprehensive person. Dawn comes to awaken them early, for the most part, but it is no uncommon sight to see their outstretched forms when the sun already rides high in the sky~ Other men and women pass in and out among them without disturbing them; and when they awake and open their arms to the day, no complicated toilet awaits them; they are half clothed already, and a few in- stinctive touches do the rest. Do not shake your head, and reflect sadly upon the low, uncivilized state of these primi- tive beings, 0 cultivated reader! Cir- cumstances do not always admit of dain- tiness, but you will do wrong to assume, on this account, that refinement is absent from the soul. Volumes are written every year concerning the overcrowding of the poor, and it is commonly taken for granted that this overcrowding leads to immorality and vice. Among the weak and vicious it is so; but we have only to appeal to our general experience of hu- manity to know that in the majority of cases it must act rather as a safeguard against immorality. Where even one in a family lives well, the rest are re- strained from abasing themselves in his 1894.1 33 34 The City on the Hou8etops. [July, or her sight. So even the weak, who if left to themselves could scarcely resist temptation, are sustained by the constant society of some person whose strength they are enabled to share. In even the worst of tenements there are families that live decently; nay, some that live beautifully, in a sense that would be lit- tle understood among their betters. Vice is not excluded from the city on the housetops, but it is not more repellent there than in the comfortable homes of the rich. When the autumn comes, if you live in a neighborhood where there are many Hebrews, you will discover a new fea- ture in the city on the housetops. It is the season of the Jewish Succoth, or Harvest-Home. On the surrounding roofs they have erected little huts, or arbors, covered with boughs of hemlock and cedar, and inclosed on the sides with rugs, mats, and curtains. Within, there is room for a table and two or three chairs. Here sits the head of the family, often a patriarch with flowing white beard, and takes his food, which is brought to him by the women, while he returns thanks to God for his bounty. Often the chill wind whistles uncomfort- ably about the corners and through the chinks of his extemporized abode, but the old man continues his devotions, seem- ingly oblivious to the cold. The chil- dren in the streets and worshipers in the synagogues carry large palm branches and Adams apples as symbols of the earths fruitfulness. When they can ob- tain autumn leaves, these are sprinkled about the arbors on the housetops. In the European villages whence these peo- ple come, the arbors are built in the open, at the rear of their houses, or on the skirt of some wood; sometimes, also, on the roof-trees. Here, in crowd- ed New York, the earth is already too much cumbered with buildings to allow room for them, and they are built, ac- cordingly, in the city of the roofs and chimney-pots, where, besides, there are pure air and sunlight to remind people of the blessings for which they are offer- ing thanksgiving. Few enough of these blessings do they ever experience, the poor Jews, in their laborious and con- fined lives. But they cling to this cere- monial of their agricultural ancestors as they cling to every other tradition and ceremony of the race. Long condemned to live in crowded cities, all connection with the land having been denied them, as constituting a danger to the state, what wonder if the spirit of barter and money-getting has entered into the soul of these people so long excluded from the wide communion of open field and flowing river? For centuries the Jew has been thrown back upon money as the one means of obtaining immunity to enjoy the ordinary privileges of life. Shall we wonder at the exorbitant value our ancestors have taught him to set upon it? We have glanced, from our window, upon the city on the housetops under many of its aspects. We have seen it prostrate beneath the burning rays of the summer sunshine, awakening to life as the afternoon waned to its close, grow- ing animated in the evening, and lying mute and extended under the tranquil stars. We have seen it, for a moment, in the crisp air of autumn, when a pecu- liar people are preparing to make it the scene of their religious festivities and worship. We shall see it again in its winter aspect, when a coverlid of snow softens a thousand inequalities, and adds a new picturesqeness to the familiar out- look. We have noted, very hastily, and leaving too much to be desired for ade- quacy, a few of the manifestations of its life. It is time now to close our window and draw to the blinds. In the lamp- light, over a book that has abstracted our thoughts from the realm of the actual, we shall begin to ask ourselves whether the city that has just been de- scribed has any existence in reality. The mind, at such moments, dwells in an 1894.] Pontiacs Lookout. 35 atmosphere of its own, and what is not immediately present before it is quickly relegated to a class of phenomena ex- perienced, but not realized. It is easy enough, in this case, to go to the win- dow and convince ourselves anew that the city on the housetops has an objec- tive existence. There, indeed, it lies, much as we left it, beneath the gray starlight. The night is a damp one, and its silent precincts are abandoned to the cats, those stealthy night-watchmen, whose mysterious peregrinations lead them many times in and out among the manifold obstructions of the housetops. But the mood has changed, and we are no longer disposed to regard as in any way poetic or romantic this deserted realm upon which the starlight falls with so desolate a chill. Prosaic, almost sordid, our eyes disclose it to us; yet a reality, so far as we can distinguish the real, and conveying consolation, by reason of the social instinct that is in us all, as the haunt of living men, one of the shift- ing scenes of their activity on earth. PONTIACS LOOKOUT. JENIEVE LALOTTE came out of the back door of her little house on Macki- nac beach. The front door did not open upon either street of the village; and other domiciles were scattered with it along the strand, each little homestead having a front inclosure palisaded with oaken posts. Wooded heights sent a growth of bushes and young trees down to the pebble rim of the lake. It had been raining, and the island was fresh as if new made. Boats and bateaux, drawn up in a great semicircle about the crescent bay, had also been washed; but they kept the marks of their long voyages to the Illinois Territory, or the Lake Superior region, or Canada. The very last of the winterers were in with their bales of furs, and some of these men were now roaring along the upper street in new clothes, exhilarated by spending on good cheer in one month the money it took them eleven months to earn. While in hyvernements, or winter quarters, and on the long forest marches, the allowance of food per day, for a winterer, was one quart of corn and two ounces of tallow. On this fare the hardiest voyageurs ever known threaded a pathless continent and made a great traffic possible. But when they returned to the front of the world, that distrib- uting point in the straits, they were fiercely importunate for what they con- sidered the best the world afforded. A segment of rainbow showed over one end of Round Island. The sky was dull rose, and a ship on the eastern horizon turned to a ship of fire, clean - cut and poised, a glistening object on a black bar of water. The lake was still, with black- ness in its depths. The American flag on the fort rippled, a thing of living light, the stripes transparent. High pink clouds were riding down from the north, their flush dying as they piled aloft. There were shadings of peacock colors in the shoal water. Jenieve enjoyed this sunset beauty of the island, as she ran over the rolling pebbles, carrying some leather shoes by their leather strings. Her face was eager. She lifted the shoes to show them to three little boys playing on the edge of the lake. Come here. See what I have for you. What is it? inquired the eldest, gazing betwixt the hairs scattered on his face; he stood with his back to the wind. His bare shins reddened in the wash of

Mary Hartwell Catherwood Catherwood, Mary Hartwell Pontiac's Lookout 35-46

1894.] Pontiacs Lookout. 35 atmosphere of its own, and what is not immediately present before it is quickly relegated to a class of phenomena ex- perienced, but not realized. It is easy enough, in this case, to go to the win- dow and convince ourselves anew that the city on the housetops has an objec- tive existence. There, indeed, it lies, much as we left it, beneath the gray starlight. The night is a damp one, and its silent precincts are abandoned to the cats, those stealthy night-watchmen, whose mysterious peregrinations lead them many times in and out among the manifold obstructions of the housetops. But the mood has changed, and we are no longer disposed to regard as in any way poetic or romantic this deserted realm upon which the starlight falls with so desolate a chill. Prosaic, almost sordid, our eyes disclose it to us; yet a reality, so far as we can distinguish the real, and conveying consolation, by reason of the social instinct that is in us all, as the haunt of living men, one of the shift- ing scenes of their activity on earth. PONTIACS LOOKOUT. JENIEVE LALOTTE came out of the back door of her little house on Macki- nac beach. The front door did not open upon either street of the village; and other domiciles were scattered with it along the strand, each little homestead having a front inclosure palisaded with oaken posts. Wooded heights sent a growth of bushes and young trees down to the pebble rim of the lake. It had been raining, and the island was fresh as if new made. Boats and bateaux, drawn up in a great semicircle about the crescent bay, had also been washed; but they kept the marks of their long voyages to the Illinois Territory, or the Lake Superior region, or Canada. The very last of the winterers were in with their bales of furs, and some of these men were now roaring along the upper street in new clothes, exhilarated by spending on good cheer in one month the money it took them eleven months to earn. While in hyvernements, or winter quarters, and on the long forest marches, the allowance of food per day, for a winterer, was one quart of corn and two ounces of tallow. On this fare the hardiest voyageurs ever known threaded a pathless continent and made a great traffic possible. But when they returned to the front of the world, that distrib- uting point in the straits, they were fiercely importunate for what they con- sidered the best the world afforded. A segment of rainbow showed over one end of Round Island. The sky was dull rose, and a ship on the eastern horizon turned to a ship of fire, clean - cut and poised, a glistening object on a black bar of water. The lake was still, with black- ness in its depths. The American flag on the fort rippled, a thing of living light, the stripes transparent. High pink clouds were riding down from the north, their flush dying as they piled aloft. There were shadings of peacock colors in the shoal water. Jenieve enjoyed this sunset beauty of the island, as she ran over the rolling pebbles, carrying some leather shoes by their leather strings. Her face was eager. She lifted the shoes to show them to three little boys playing on the edge of the lake. Come here. See what I have for you. What is it? inquired the eldest, gazing betwixt the hairs scattered on his face; he stood with his back to the wind. His bare shins reddened in the wash of 36 Pontiacs Lookout. [July, the lake, standing beyond its rim of shin- ing gravel. Shoes, answered Jenieve, in a note triumphant over fate. What s shoes? asked the smallest half-breed, tucking up his smock around his middle. They are things to wear on your feet, explained Jenieve; and her red- skinned half-brothers heard her with in- credulity. She had told their mother, in their presence, that she intended to buy the children some shoes when she got pay for her spinning; and they thought it meant fashions from the Fur Companys store to wear to mass, but never suspected she had set her mind on dark-looking clamps for the feet. You must try them on, said Jenieve, and they all stepped experimentally from the water, reluctant to submit. But Je- nieve was mistress in the house. There is no appeal from a sister who is a father to you, and even a substitute for your living mother. You sit down first, Fran~ois, and wipe your feet with this cloth. The absurdity of wiping his feet be- fore he turned in for the night tickled Fran~ois, though he was of a strongly aboriginal cast, and he let himself grin. Jenieve helped him struggle to encom- pass his lithe feet with the c~Iumsy bro- gans. You boys are living like Indians. We are Indians, asserted Fran~ois. But you are French, too. You are my brothers. I want you to go to mass looking as well as anybody. Hitherto their object in life had been to escape mass. They objected to increas- ing their chances of church-going. Moc- casins were the natural wear of human beings, and nobody but women needed even moccasins until cold weather. The proud look of an Iroquois taking spoils disappeared from the face of the young- est, giving way to uneasy anguish. The three boys sat down to tug, Jenieve go- ing encouragingly from one to another. Fran~ois lay on his back and pushed his heels skyward. Contempt and rebellion grew also in the faces of Gabriel and Toussaint. They were the true children of Fran~ois Iroquois, her mothers sec- ond husband, who had been wont to lounge about Mackinac village in dirty buckskins and a calico shirt having one red and one blue sleeve. He had also bought a tall silk hat at the Fur Com- panys store, and he wore the hat under his blanket when it rained. If tobacco failed him, he scraped and dried willow peelings, and called them kinnickinnick. This worthy relation had worked no in- crease in Jenieves home except an in- crease of children. He frequently yelled around the crescent bay, brandishing his silk hat in the exaltation of rum. And when he finally fell off the wharf into deep water, and was picked out to make another mound in the Indian burying- ground, Jenieve was so fiercely elated that she was afraid to confess it to the priest. Strange matches were made on the frontier, and Indian wives were com- moner than any other kind; but through the whole mortifying existence of this Indian husband Jenieve avoided the sight of him, and called her mother steadily Mama Lalotte. The girl had remained with her grandmother, while Fran~ois Iroquois carried off his wife to the In- dian village on a western height of the island. Her grandmother had died, and Jenieve continued to keep house on the beach, having always with her one or more of the half-breed babies, until the plunge of Fran~ois Iroquois allowed her to bring them all home with their mother. There was but one farm on the island, and Jenieve had all the spin- ning which the sheep afforded. She was the finest spinner in that region. Her grandmother had taught her to spin with a little wheel, as they still do about Quebec. Her pay was small. There was not much money then in the coun- try, but bills of credit on the Fur Com- panys store were the same as cash, and 1894.] Pontiacs Lookout. 37 she managed to feed her mother and the Indians family. Fish were to be had for the catching, and she could get corn meal and vegetables for her soup pot in partial exchange for her labor. The luxuries of life on the island were air and water, and the glories of evening and morning. People who could buy them got such gorgeous clothes as were brought by the Company. But usually Jenieve felt happy enough when she put on her best red homespun bodice and petticoat for mass or to go to dances. She did wish for shoes. The ladies at the fort had shoes, with heels which clicked when they danced. Jenieve could dance better, but she always felt their eyes on her moccasins, and came to regard shoes as the chief article of ones attire. Though the joy of shoeing her bro- thers was not to be put off, she had not intended to let them keep on these pre- cious brogans of civilization while they played beside the water. But she sud- denly saw Mama Lalotte walking along the street near the lake with old Michel Pensonneau. Beyond these moving fig- ures were many others, of engag6s and Indians, swarming in front of the Fur Companys great warehouse. Some were talking and laughing; others were in a line, bearing bales of furs from bateaux just arrived at the log-and-stone wharf stretched from the centre of the bay. But all of them, and curious women peep- ing from their houses on the beach, par- ticularly Jean Bati McClures wife, could see that Michel Pensonneau was walking with Mama Lalotte. This sight struck cold down Jenieves spine. Mama Lalotte was really the heaviest charge she had. Not twenty minutes before had that flighty creature been set to watch the supper pot, and here she was, mincing along, and fixing her pale blue laughing eyes on Michel Pensonnean, and bobbing her curly flaxen head at every word he spoke. A daugh- ter who has a marrying mother on her hands may become morbidly anxious; Jenieve felt she should have no peace of mind during the month the coureurs-de- bois remained on the island. Whether they arrived early or late, they had soon to be off to the winter hunting-grounds; yet here was an emergency. Mama Lalotte! called Jenieve. Her strong young fingers beckoned with authority. Come here to me. I want you.~~ The giddy parent, startled and con- scious, turned a conciliating smile that way. Yes, Jenieve, she answered obediently, I come. But she contin- ued to pace by the side of Michel Pen- sonnean. Jenieve desired to grasp her by the shoulder and walk her into the house; but when the world, especially Jean Bati McClures wife, is watching to see how you manage an unruly mother, it is ne- cessary to use some adroitness. Will you please come here, dear Mama Lalotte? Toussaint wants you. No, I dont! shouted Toussaint. It is Michel Pensonnean I want, to make me some boats. The girl did not hesitate. She inter- cepted the couple, and took her mothers arm in hers. The desperation of her act appeared to her while she was walking Mama Lalotte home; still, if nothing but force will restrain a parent, you must use force. Michel Pensonneau stood squarely in his moccasins, turning redder and redder at the laugh of his cronies before the warehouse. He was dressed in new buckskins, and their tawny brightness made his florid cheeks more evident. Michel Peiisonneau had been brought up by the Cadottes of Sault Ste. Marie, and he had rich relations at Cahokia, in the Illinois Territory. If he was not as good as the faniily of Fran~ois Iroquois, he wanted to know the reason why. It is true, he was past forty and a bachelor. To be a bachelor, in that region, where Indian wives were so plenty and so easily 38 Pontiacs Lookout. [July, got rid of, might bring some reproach on a man. Michel had begun to see that it did. He was an easy, gormandizing, good fellow, shapelessly fat, and he never had stirred himself during his month of freedom to do any courting. But French- men of his class considered fifty the limit of an active life. It behooved him now to begin looking around; to prepare a fireside for himself. Michel was a good clerk to his employers. Cumbrous though his body might be, when he was in the woods he never shirked any hardship to secure a specially fine bale of furs. Mama Lalotte, propelled against her will, sat down, trembling, in the house. Jenieve, trembling also, took the wooden bowls and spoons from a shelf and ladled out soup for the evening meal. Mama Lalotte was always willing to have the work done without trouble to herself, and she sat on a three-legged stool, like a guest. The supper pot boiled in the centre of the house, hanging on the crane which was fastened to a beam overhead. Smoke from the clear fire passed that richly darkened transverse of timber as it ascended, and escaped through a hole in the bark roof. The Fur Company had a great building with chimneys; but poor folks were glad to have a cedar hut of one room, covered with bark all around and on top. A fire-pit, or earthen hearth, was left in the centre, and the nearer the floor could be brought to this hole, with- out danger, the better the house was. On winter nights, fat French and half- breed children sat with heels to this sunken altar, and heard tales of massacre or privation which made the family bunks along the wall seem conches of luxury. It was the aboriginal hut patterned after his Indian brothers by the Frenchman; and the succession of British and Amer- ican powers had not yet improved it. To Jenieve herself, the crisis before her, so insignificant against the background of that historic island, was more impor- tant than massacre or conquest. Mama, she spoke tremulously, I was obliged to bring you in. It is not proper to be seen on the street with an engag6. The town is now full of these bush-lopers. Bush-lopers, mademoiselle! The little flaxen-haired woman had a shrill voice. What was your own father? He was a clerk, madame, main- tained the girls softer treble,~ and al- ways kept good credit for his family at the Companys store. I see no difference. They are all the same. Fran~ois Iroquois was not the same. As the girl said this she felt a powder-like flash from her own eyes. Mama Lalotte was herself a little ashamed of the Fran~ois Iroquois alli- ance, but she answered, He let me walk outside the house, at least. You allow me no amusement at all. I cannot even talk over the fence to Jean Bati Mc- Clures wife. Mama, you do not understand the danger of all these things, and I do. Jean Bati McClures wife will be cer- tain to get you into trouble. She is not a proper woman for you to associate with. Her mind runs on nothing but match- making. Speak to her, then, for yourself. I wish you would get married. I never shall, declared Jenieve. I have seen the folly of it. You never have been young, com- plained Mama Lalotte. You dont know how a young persoii feels. I let you go to the dances, argued Jenieve. You have as good a time as any woman on the island. But old Michel Pensonneau, she added sternly, is not settling down to smoke his pipe for the remainder of his life on this doorstep.~~ Monsieur Pensonnean is not old. Do you take up for him, Mama La- lotte, in spite of me? In the girls rich brunette face the scarlet of the cheeks deepened. Am I not more to you than Michel Pensonneau or any other engag6? 1894.] Pontiacs Lookoitt. 39 He is old; he is past forty. Would I call him old if he were no more than twenty? Every one cannot be only twenty and a young agent, retorted her elder; and Jenieve s ears and throat reddened, also. Have I not done my best for you and the boys? Do you think it does not hurt me to be severe with you? Mama Lalotte flounced around on her stool, but made no reply. She saw peep- ing and smiling at the edge of the door a neighbors face, that encouraged her insubordinations. Its broad, good - na- tured upper lip thinly veiled with hairs, its fleshy eyelids and thick brows, ex- pressed a strength which she had not, yet would gladly imitate. Jenieve Lalotte, spoke the neigh- bor, before you finish whipping your mother you had better run and whip the boys. They are throwing their shoes in the lake. Their shoes! Jenieve cried, and she scarcely looked at Jean Bati Mc- Clures wife, but darted outdoors along the beach. Oh, children, have you lost your shoes? No, answered Toussaint, looking up with a countenance full of enjoyment. Where are they? In the lake. You did nt throw your new shoes in the lake? We took them for boats, said Ga- briel freely. But they are not even fit for boats. I threw mine as far as I could, ob- served Fran~ois. You cant make any- thing float in them. She could see one of them stranded on the lake bottom, loaded with stones, its strings playing back and forth in the clear water. The others were gone out to the straits. Jenieve remembered all her toil for them, and her denial of her own wants that she might give to these half-savage boys, who considered no- thing lost that they threw into the lake. She turned around to run to the house. But there stood Jean Bati McClures wife, talking through the door, and en- couraging her mother to walk with cou- reurs - de bois. The girls heart broke. She took to the bushes to hide her weep- ing, and ran through them towards the path she had followed so many times when her only living kindred were at the Indian village. The pine woods received her into their ascending heights, and she mounted towards sunset. Panting from her long walk, Jenieve came out of the woods upon a grassy open cliff, called by the islanders Pontiacs Lookout; because the great war chief used to stand on that spot, forty years before, and gaze southward, as if he never could give up his hope of the union of his people. Jenieve knew the story. She had built playhouses here, when a child, without being afraid of the old chiefs lingering influence; for she seemed to understand his trouble, and this night she was more in sympathy with Pontiac than ever before in her life. She sat down on the grass, wiping the tears from her hot cheeks, her dark eyes brooding on the lovely straits. There might be more beautiful sights in the world, but Jenieve doubted it; and a white gull drifted across her vision like a moving star. Pontiacs Lookout had been the spot from which she watched her fathers bateau disappear behind Rouiid Island. He used to go by way of Detroit to the Canadian woods. Here she wept out her first grief for his death; and here she stopped, coming and going between her mother and grandmother. The cliff down to the beach was clothed with a thick growth which took away the terror of falling, and many a time Jenieve had thrust her bare legs over the edge to sit and enjoy the outlook. There were old women on the island who could remember seeing Pontiac. Her grandmother had told her how he looked. She had heard that though his bones had been buried forty years beside 40 Pontiacs Lookout. [July, the Mississippi, he yet came back to the Lookout every night during that summer month when all the tribes assembled at the island to receive money from a new government. He could not lie still while they took a little metal and ammunition in their hands in exchange for their country. As for the tribes, they enjoyed it. Jenieve could see their night fires begin to twinkle on Round Island and Bois Blanc, and the rising hubbub of their carnival came to her like echoes across the strait. There was one grow- ing star on the long hooked reef which reached out from Round Island, and fig- ures of Indians were silhouetted against the lake, running back and forth along that high stone ridge. Evening coolness stole up to Jenieve, for the whole water world was purpling; and sweet pine and cedar breaths, humid and invisible, were all around her. Her trouble grew small, laid against the granite breast of the is- land, and the woods darkened and sighed behind her. Jenieve could hear the shout of some Indian boy at the distant village. She was not afraid, but her shoulders contracted with a shiver. The place be- gan to smell rankly of sweetbrier. There was no sweetbrier on the cliff or in the woods, though many bushes grew on al- luvial slopes around the bay. Jenieve loved the plant, and often stuck a piece of it in her bosom. But this was a cold smell, striking chill to the bones. Her flesh and hair and clothes absorbed the scent, and it cooled her nostrils with its strange ether, the breath of sweetbrier, which always before seemed tinctured by the sun. She had a sensation of moving sidewise out of her own person; and then she saw the chief Pontiac standing on the edge of the cliff. Jenieve knew his back, and the feathers in his hair which the wind did not move. His head turned on a pivot, sweeping the horizon from St. Ignace, where the white man first set foot, to Round Island, where the shameful fires burned. His hard, set features were silver color rather than copper, as she saw his profile against the sky. His arms were folded in his blan- ket. Jenieve was as sure that she saw Pontiac as she was sure of the rock on which she sat. She poked one finger through the sward to the hardness un- derneath. The rock was below her, and Pontiac stood before her. He turned his head back from Round Island to St. Ignace. The wind blew against him, and the brier odor, sickening sweet, poured over Jenieve. She heard the dogs bark in Mackinac village, and leaves moving behind her, and the wash of water at the base of the island which always sounded like a small rain. Instead of feeling afraid she was in a nightmare of sorrow. Pontiac had loved the French almost as well as he loved his own people. She breathed the sweetbrier scent, her neck stretched for- ward and her dark eyes fixed on him; and as his head turned back from St. Ig- nace his whole body moved with it, and he looked at Jenieve. His eyes were like a cats in the pur- ple darkness, or like that heatless fire which shines on rotting bark. The hoar- frosted countenance was noble even in its most brutal lines. Jenieve, without knowing she was saying a word, spoke out: Monsieur the chief Pontiac, what ails the French and Indians? Malatat, answered Pontiac. The word came at her with force. Monsieur the chief Pontiac, repeat- ed Jenieve, struggling to understand, I say, what ails the French and Indians? Malatat! His guttural cry rang through the bushes. Jenieve was so startled that she sprung back, catching herself on her hands. But without the least motion of walking he was far west- ward, showing like a phosphorescent bar through the trees, and still moving on, until the pallor was lost from sight. Jenieve at once began to cross herself. She had forgotten to do it before. The rankness of sweetbrier followed her some 1894.] Pontiacs Lookout. 41 distance down the path, and she said prayers all the way home. You cannot talk with great spirits and continue to chafe about little things. The boys shoes and Mama Lalottes lightness were the same as forgotten. Jenieve entered her house with dew in her hair, and an unterrified freshness of body for whatever might happen. She was certain she had seen Pontiac, but she would never tell anybody to have it laughed at. There was no candle burn- ing, and the fire had almost died under the supper pot. She put a couple of sticks on the coals, more for their blaze than to heat her food. But the Mack- inac night was chill, and it was plea- sant to see the interior of her little home flickering to view. Candles were lighted in many houses along the beach, and amongst them Mama Lalotte was proba- bly roaming, for she had Left the door open towards the lake, and the boys voices could be heard with others in the direction of the log wharf. Jenieve took her supper bowl and sat down on the doorstep. The light cloud of smoke, drawn up to the roof - hole, ascended behind her, forming an azure gray curtain against which her figure showed, round-wristed and full-throated. The starlike camp fires on Round Island were before her, and the incessant wash of the water on its pebbles was company to her. Somebody knocked on the front door. It is that insolent Michel Penson- neau, thought Jenieve. When he is tired he will go away. Yet she was not greatly surprised when the visitor ceased knocking and came around the palisades. Good - evening, Monsieur Crooks, said Jenieve. Good - evening, mademoiselle, re- sponded Monsieur Crooks, and he leaned against the hut side, cap in hand, where he could look at her. He had never yet been asked to enter the house. Jenieve continued to eat her supper. I hope monsieur your uncle is well? My uncle is well. It is nt necessary for me to inquire about madame your mother, for I have just seen her sitting on McClures doorstep. Oh, said Jenieve. The young man shook his cap in a restless hand. Though he spoke French easily, he was not dressed like an engagt~, and he showed through the dark the white skin of the Saxon. Mademoiselle Jenieve, he spoke suddenly, you know my uncle is well established as agent of the Fur Company, and as his assistant I expect to stay here. Yes, monsieur. Did you take in some fine bales of furs to-day? That is not what I was going to say. Monsieur Crooks, you speak all lan- guages, dont you ? Not all. A few. I know a little of nearly every one of our Indian dialects. Monsieur, what does malatat mean? Malatat? That s a Chippewa word. You will often hear that. It means good for nothing. But I have heard that the chief Pon- tiac was an Ottawa. The young man was not interested in Pontiac. A chief would know a great many dialects, he replied. Chippewa was the tongue of this island. But what I wanted to say is that I have had a seri- ous talk with the agent. He is entirely willing to have me settle down. And he says, what is the truth, that you are the best and prettiest girl at the straits. I have spoken my mind often enough. Why should nt we get married right away? Jenieve set her bowl and spoon inside the house, and folded her arms. Monsieur, have I not told you many times? I cannot marry. I have a f am- ily already. The young agent struck his cap impa- tiently against the bark weather-board- ing. You are the most offish girl I 42 ever saw. A man cannot get near enough to you to talk reason. It would be better if you did not come down here at all, Monsieur Crooks, said Jenieve. The neighbors will be saying I am setting a bad example to my mother. Bring your mother up to the Fur Companys quarters with you, and the neighbors will no longer have a chance to put mischief into her head. Jenieve took him seriously, though she had often suspected, from what she could see at the fort, that Americans had not the custom of marrying an entire family. It is really too fine a place for us. Young Crooks laughed. Squaws had lived in the Fur Companys quarters, but he would not mention this fact to the girl. His eyes dwelt fondly on her in the darkness, for though the fire behind her had again sunk to embers, it cast up a little glow; and he stood entirely in the star-embossed outside world. It is not safe to talk in the dark: you tell too much. The primitive instinct of truth- speaking revives in force, and the re- straints of anothers presence are gone. You speak from the unseen to the un- seen over leveled barriers of reserve. Young Crooks had scarcely said that place was nothing, and he would rather live in that little house with Jenieve than in the Fur Companys quarters without her, when she exclaimed openly, And have old Michel Pensonneau put over you! The idea of Michel Pensonneau tak- ing precedence of him as master of the cedar hut was delicious to the American, as he recalled the engag6s respectful slouch while receiving the usual bill of credit. One may laugh, monsieur. I laugh myself; it is better than crying. But it is the truth that Mama Lalotte is more care to me than all the boys. I have no peace except when she is asleep in bed. Pontiacs Lookout. [July, There is no harm in Madame La- lotte. You are right, monsieur. Jean Bati McClures wife puts all the mis- chief in her head. She would even learn to spin, if that woman would let her alone. And I never heard any harm of Michel Pensonneau. He is a good enough fellow, and he has more to his credit on the Companys books than any other engag6 now on the island. I suppose you would like to have him sit and smoke his pipe the rest of his days on your doorstep? No, I would nt, confessed the young agent. Michel is a saving man, and he uses very mean tobacco, the cheapest in the house. You see how I am situated, mon- sieur. It is no use to talk to me. But Michel Pensonneau is not going to trouble you long. He has relations at Cahokia, in the Illinois Territory, and lie is fitting himself out to go there to settle. Are you sure of this, monsieur? Certainly I am, for we have already made him a bill of credit to our corre- spondent at Cahokia. He wants very few goods to carry across the Chicago portage. Monsieur, how soon does he intend to go? On the first schooner that sails to the head of the lake; so he may set out any day. Michel is anxious to try life on the Mississippi, and his three years engagement with the Company is just ended. I also am anxious to have him try life on the Mississippi, said Jenieve, and she drew a deep breath of relief. Why did you not tell me this before? How could I know you were inter- ested in him? He is not a bad man, she admitted kindly. I can see that he means very well. If the MeClures would go to the Illinois Territory with him But, Mon 1894.] sieur Crooks, Jenieve asked sharply, do people sometimes make sudden mar- riages? In my case they have not, sighed the young man. But I think well of sudden marriages myself. The priest comes to the island this week. Yes, and I must take the children to confession. What are you going to do with me, Jenieve? I am going to say good-night to you, and shut my door. She stepped into the house. Not yet. It is only a little, while since they fired the sunset gun at the fort. You are not kind to shut me out the moment I come. She gave him her hand, as she always did when she said good-night, and he prolonged his hold of it. You are full of sweetbrier. I did nt know it grew down here on the beach. It never did grow here, Monsieur Crooks. You shall have plenty of it in your garden, when you come home with me. Oh, go away, and let me shut my door, monsieur. It seems no use to tell you I cannot come. No use at all. Until you come, then, good-night. Seldom are two days alike on the is- land. Before sunrise the lost dews of paradise always sweeten those scented woods, and the birds begin to remind you of something you heard in another life, but have forgotten. Jenieve loved to open her door and surprise the east. She stepped out the next morning to fill her pail. There was a lake of translu- cent cloud beyond the water lake: the first unruffled, and the second wind- stirred. The sun pushed up, a flattened red ball, from the lake of steel ripples to the lake of calm clouds. Nearer, a schooner with its sails down stood black as ebony between two bars of light drawn across the water, which lay dull and bleak towards the shore. The ad- 43 dition of a schooner to the scattered fleet of sailboats, bateaux, and birch canoes made Jenieve laugh. It must have arrived from Sault Ste. Marie in the night. She had hopes of getting rid of Michel Pensonneau that very day. Since he was going to Cahokia, she felt stinging regret for the way she had treated him before the whole village; yet her mother could not be sacrificed to politeness. Except his capacity for marrying, there was really no harm in the old fellow, as Monsieur Crooks had said. The humid block-house and walls of the fort high above the bay began to glisten in emerging sunlight, and Jenieve determined not to be hard on Mama La- lotte that day. If Michel came to say good-by, she would shake his hand her- self. It was not agreeable for a woman so fond of company to sit in the house with nobody but her daughter. Mama Lalotte did not love the pine woods, or any place where she would be alone. But Jenieve could sit and spin in solitude all day, and think of that chill silver face she had seen at Pontiacs Lookout, and the floating away of the figure, a phos- phorescent bar through the tree s,andof that spoken word which had denounced the French and Indians as good for no- thing. She decided to tell the priest, even if he rebuked her. It did not seem any stranger to Jenieve than many things which were called natural, such as the morning miracles in the eastern sky, and the growth of the boys, her dear torments. To Jenieves serious eyes, trained by her grandmother, it was not as strange as the sight of Mama Lalotte, a child in ma- turity, always craving amusement, and easily led by any chance band. The priest had come to Mackinac in the schooner during the night. He com- bined this parish with others more or less distant, and he opened the chapel and began his duties as soon as he arrived. Mama Lalotte herself offered to dress the boys for confession. She put their Pontiacs Lookout. 44 Pontiacs Lookout. [July, best clothes on them, and then she took out all her own finery. Jenieve had no suspicion while the little figure preened and burnished itself, making up for the lack of a mirror by curves of the neck to look itself well over. Mama Lalotte thought a great deal about what she wore. She was pleased, and her flaxen curls danced. She kissed Jenieve on both cheeks, as if there had been no quarrel, though unpleasant things never lingered in her memory. And she made the boys kiss Jenieve; and while they were sad- dened by clothes, she also made them say they were sorry about the shoes. By sunset, the schooner, which had sat in the straits all day, hoisted its sails and rounded the hooked point of the opposite island. The gun at the fort was like a parting salute, and a shout was raised by coureurs-de-bois thronging the log wharf. They trooped up to the fur warehouse, and the sound of a fiddle and the thump of soft-shod feet were soon heard; for the French were ready to celebrate any occasion with dancing. Laughter and the high excited voices of women also came from the little ballroom, which was only the office of the Fur Company. Here the engag6s felt at home. The fiddler sat on the top of the desk, and men lounging on a row of benches around the walls sprang to their feet and began to caper at the violins first invitation. Such maids and wives as were nearest the building were haled in, laughing, by their relations; and in the absence of the agents, and of that awe which goes with making your cross-mark on a paper, a quick carnival was held on the spot where so many solemn contracts had been signed. An odor of furs came from the packing-rooms around, mixed with gums and incense-like whiffs. Added to this was the breath of the general store kept by the agency. Tobacco and snuff, rum, chocolate, calico, blankets, wood and iron utensils, firearms, West India sugar and rice, all sifted their invisible essences on the air. Unceiled joists showed heavy and brown overhead. But there was no fireplace, for when the straits stood locked in ice and the island was deep in snow, no engag6 claimed admission here. He would be a thousand miles away, toil- ing on snowshoes with his pack of furs through the trees, or bargaining with trap- pers for his contribution to this month of enormous traffic. Clean buckskin legs and brand-new belted hunting - shirts whirled on the floor, brightened by sashes of crimson or kerchiefs of orange. Indians from the reservation on Round Island, who hap- pened. to be standing, like statues, in front of the building, turned and looked with lenient eye on the performance of their French brothers. The fiddler was a nervous little Frenchman with eyes like a weasel, and he detected Jenieve Lalotte putting her head into the room. She glanced from figure to figure of the dancers, searching through the twilight for what she could not find; but before he could call her she was off. None of the men, except a few Scotch - French, were very tall, but they were a handsome, muscular race, fierce in enjoyment, yet with a languor which prolonged it, and gave grace to every picturesque pose. Not one of them wanted to pain La- lottes girl, but, as they danced, a joy- ful fellow would here and there spring high above the floor and shout, Good voyage to Michel Pensonnean and his new family! They had forgotten the one who amused them yesterday, and re- membered only the one who amused them to-day. Jenieve struck on Jean Bati Mc- Clures door, and faced his wife, speech- less, pointing to the schooner ploughing southward. Yes, she s gone, said Jean Bati McClures wife, and the boys with her. The confidante came oat on the step, and tried to lay her hand on Jenieves shoulder, but the girl moved backward from her. 1894.] Pontiacs Lookout. 45 Now let me tell you, it is a good thing for you, Jenieve Lalotte. You can make a fine match of your own to-mor- row. It is not natural for a girl to live as you have lived. You are better off without them. But my mother has left me! Well, I am sorry for you; but you were hard on her. I blame you, madame! You might as well blame the priest, who thought it best not to let them go unmarried. And she has taken a much worse man than Michel Pensonneau in her time. My mother and my brothers have left me here alone, repeated Jenieve; and she wrung her hands and put them over her face. The trouble was so over- whelming that it broke her down before her enemy. Oh, dont take it to heart, said Jean Bati McClures wife, with ready interest in the person nearest at hand. Come and eat supper with my man and me to- night, and sleep in our house if you are afraid. Jenieve leaned her forehead against the hut, and made no reply to these neighborly overtures. Did she say nothing at all about me, madame? Yes; she was afraid you would come at the last minute and take her by the arm and walk her home. You were too strict with her, and that is the truth. She was glad to get away to Cahokia. They say it is fine in the Illinois Terri- tory. You know she is fond of seeing the world. The young supple creature trying to restrain her shivers and sobs of anguish against the bark house side was really a moving sight; and Jean Bati McClures wife, flattening a masculine upper lip with resolution, said promptly, I am going this moment to the Fur Companys quarters to send young Mon- sieur Crooks after you. At that Jenieve fled along the beach arid took to the bushes. As she ran, weeping aloud like a child, she watched the lessening schooner; and it seemed a monstrous thing, out of nature, that her mother was on that little ship, flee- ing from her, with a thoughtless face set smiling towards a new world. She climbed on, to keep the schooner in sight, and made for Pontiacs Lookout, reckless of what she had seen there. The distant canvas became one lean- ing sail, and then a speck, and then no- thing. There was an afterglow on the water which turned it to a wavering pavement of yellow-pink sheen. In that clear, high atmosphere, mainland shores and islands seemed to throw out the evening purples from themselves, and thus to slowly reach for one another and form darkness. Jenieve bad lain on the grass, crying, 0 Mama Fran~ois Toussaint Gabriel! But she sat up at last, with her dejected head on her breast, submitting to the pettiness and treachery of what she loved. Bats flew across the open place. A sudden rank- ness of sweetbrier, taking her breath away by its icy puff, reminded her of other things, and she tried to get up and run. Instead of running she seemed to move sidewise out of herself, and saw Pontiac standing on the edge of the cliff. His head turned from St. Ignace to the reviving fires on Round Island, and slow- ly back again from Round Island to St. Ignace. Jenieve felt as if she were chok- ing, but again she asked out of her heart to his, Monsieur the chief Pontiac, what ails the French and Indians? He floated around to face her, the high ridges of his bleached features catch- ing light; but this time he showed only dim dead eyes. His head sunk on his breast, and Jenieve could see the fronds of the feathers he wore traced indistinctly against the sky. The dead eyes searched for her and could not see her; he whis- pered hoarsely to himself, Malatat! The voice of the living world calling 46 Al JUfamoun. her name sounded directly afterwards in the woods, and Jenieve leaped as if she were shot. She had the instinct that her lover must not see this thing, for there were reasons of race and religion against it. But she need not have feared that Pontiac would show himself, or his long and savage mourning for the destruction of the red man, to any descendant of the English. As the bushes closed behind her she looked back: the phosphoric blur [July, was already so far in the west that she could hardly be sure she saw it again. And the young agent of the Fur Com- pany, breaking his way among leaves, met her with both hands; saying gayly, to save her the shock of talking about her mother: Come home, come home, my sweet- brier maid. No wonder you smell of sweetbrier. I am rank with it myself, rubbing against the dewy bushes. Mary JJartwell Catherwood. AL MAMOUN. BAGDAD5 palms looked tall in the tide Of Tigris, tawny and swift and wide; Bagdads minarets gleamed and glowed In the sun that burned in its blue abode; Bagdads life made rumble and jar In booth and highway and bright bazaar; Bagdads monarch lolled in the dusk Of the citron shade, mid the scent of musk, And around him sat the makers of rhyme, Come from many a distant clime; For song by him was held as a boon, Al Miarnoun, The son of the great Haroun. From lands of cold and lands of time sun He hearkened the poets, one by one, Giving a portion of praise to each, And a guerdon of gold with his pearls of speech; Spreading a luscious banquet there In the languid, richly-perfumed air; Plucking from luxurys laden stem The royal wealth of its fruit for them; Bidding the soul of the grape be brought To kindle the bosom to happy thought; Speeding the amber afternoon, Al Miamoun, The son of the great Haroun. And on through the starhit purple hours The sound of song was heard in the bowers; The zither and lute would blend and blur And tangle with notes of the dulcimer;

Clinton Scollard Scollard, Clinton Al Mamoun 46-47

46 Al JUfamoun. her name sounded directly afterwards in the woods, and Jenieve leaped as if she were shot. She had the instinct that her lover must not see this thing, for there were reasons of race and religion against it. But she need not have feared that Pontiac would show himself, or his long and savage mourning for the destruction of the red man, to any descendant of the English. As the bushes closed behind her she looked back: the phosphoric blur [July, was already so far in the west that she could hardly be sure she saw it again. And the young agent of the Fur Com- pany, breaking his way among leaves, met her with both hands; saying gayly, to save her the shock of talking about her mother: Come home, come home, my sweet- brier maid. No wonder you smell of sweetbrier. I am rank with it myself, rubbing against the dewy bushes. Mary JJartwell Catherwood. AL MAMOUN. BAGDAD5 palms looked tall in the tide Of Tigris, tawny and swift and wide; Bagdads minarets gleamed and glowed In the sun that burned in its blue abode; Bagdads life made rumble and jar In booth and highway and bright bazaar; Bagdads monarch lolled in the dusk Of the citron shade, mid the scent of musk, And around him sat the makers of rhyme, Come from many a distant clime; For song by him was held as a boon, Al Miarnoun, The son of the great Haroun. From lands of cold and lands of time sun He hearkened the poets, one by one, Giving a portion of praise to each, And a guerdon of gold with his pearls of speech; Spreading a luscious banquet there In the languid, richly-perfumed air; Plucking from luxurys laden stem The royal wealth of its fruit for them; Bidding the soul of the grape be brought To kindle the bosom to happy thought; Speeding the amber afternoon, Al Miamoun, The son of the great Haroun. And on through the starhit purple hours The sound of song was heard in the bowers; The zither and lute would blend and blur And tangle with notes of the dulcimer; 1894.] The Home of Glooseap. 47 And above and over and through it all Would soar and swell, or would fail and fall With the dreamful lull of the dying word, An ecstasy voiced from the throat of a bird. So, leashed by the love of song, would he, Praising the poets and poesy, Linger till night had neared its noon, Al iJiamoun, The son of the ~reat Haroun. With crumbling mosque and with toppling tomb Have vanished Bagdads beauty and bloom, While a far, faint breath on the lips of fame Is all we know of the monarchs name. But rather to him than his mightier sire Oer gulfs of time shall the song aspire; For song to the lover of song is due, Though centuries darken with rust, and strew With mosses, the marble above his head. And so, in the land of the happy dead, May song still stir with its blissful boon Al Miamoun, The son of the great Haroun. THE HOME OF GLOOSCAP. Clinton Seollard. THERE are siren voices at Jngonish. I can say this with confidence, because I heard one, and it rings in my ears now, and will ring there as long as mem- ory lasts. I was lying on the sunlit sand outside the cobblestone wall of In- gonish South Bay beach, dreaming. To my right rose the red, forest-capped wall of Smoky, on my left was Middle Head, and behind me many a mountain side walled in the valley. Suddenly, the heavens, the bluffs, and the mountains gave out a sound which made my heart stand still. It had the force of thunder and the pitch of agony. I was told af- terwards that the first time the sound startled Ingonish was at night, and that people fled from their houses or fell upon their knees, thinking the day of reckoning had come. Springing to my feet, I saw, coming slowly past the cliffs of Smoky and towards the lighthouse at the pier, a good - sized steamer. It was the Harlaw, from Halifax via the Bras dOr lakes, on her way to New- foundland. As I lay upon the sand, I had been dreaming of a voyage across those sixty miles of sea to the rock-bound island just out of sight below the oceans cheek. The Harlaws siren had ban- ished the dream in more senses than one. To take the steamer now was impossible, arid only by that steamer could I go to Newfoundland. The next morning, consequently, we turned our faces towards home, and start- ed southward. Mr. Gillies also turned his face towards home, and started south- ward; the difference being that in his case home was at Ingonish, northward,

Frank Bolles Bolles, Frank The Home of Glooscap 47-56

1894.] The Home of Glooseap. 47 And above and over and through it all Would soar and swell, or would fail and fall With the dreamful lull of the dying word, An ecstasy voiced from the throat of a bird. So, leashed by the love of song, would he, Praising the poets and poesy, Linger till night had neared its noon, Al iJiamoun, The son of the ~reat Haroun. With crumbling mosque and with toppling tomb Have vanished Bagdads beauty and bloom, While a far, faint breath on the lips of fame Is all we know of the monarchs name. But rather to him than his mightier sire Oer gulfs of time shall the song aspire; For song to the lover of song is due, Though centuries darken with rust, and strew With mosses, the marble above his head. And so, in the land of the happy dead, May song still stir with its blissful boon Al Miamoun, The son of the great Haroun. THE HOME OF GLOOSCAP. Clinton Seollard. THERE are siren voices at Jngonish. I can say this with confidence, because I heard one, and it rings in my ears now, and will ring there as long as mem- ory lasts. I was lying on the sunlit sand outside the cobblestone wall of In- gonish South Bay beach, dreaming. To my right rose the red, forest-capped wall of Smoky, on my left was Middle Head, and behind me many a mountain side walled in the valley. Suddenly, the heavens, the bluffs, and the mountains gave out a sound which made my heart stand still. It had the force of thunder and the pitch of agony. I was told af- terwards that the first time the sound startled Ingonish was at night, and that people fled from their houses or fell upon their knees, thinking the day of reckoning had come. Springing to my feet, I saw, coming slowly past the cliffs of Smoky and towards the lighthouse at the pier, a good - sized steamer. It was the Harlaw, from Halifax via the Bras dOr lakes, on her way to New- foundland. As I lay upon the sand, I had been dreaming of a voyage across those sixty miles of sea to the rock-bound island just out of sight below the oceans cheek. The Harlaws siren had ban- ished the dream in more senses than one. To take the steamer now was impossible, arid only by that steamer could I go to Newfoundland. The next morning, consequently, we turned our faces towards home, and start- ed southward. Mr. Gillies also turned his face towards home, and started south- ward; the difference being that in his case home was at Ingonish, northward, 48 and that he faced it across a painful snarl of his own legs and arms, as he hung for dear life to the back of the wagon - seat, while I walloped his thin horse and enjoyed the comforts of the drivers cushion. Over the ferry, up Smoky, away from the home of the raven and the sweet charms of Ingonish, on, on, on we went, mile after mile, until the thin horse wearied of life, and the snarls in Mr. Gilliess legs caused him to groan aloud. At times I ventured on conversation with Mr. Gillies. When I spoke, and my quavering intonations reached his ears, a reverberating Sorr- r-r? was usually hurled at me with such force as to banish, momentarily, all idea of what it was I meant to say. An opinion from me was always indorsed by Mr. Gillies in one of two ways: warm- ly, by Jist; less confidently, by Aye yi yi, uttered with outward fer- vor. In an endeavor to learn something of the fauna of the country, I inquired whether the porcupine was found near Ingonish. Gillies assented promptly. I then asked how much one weighed when full grown. This staggered him, but af- ter a pause he said, Which kind of pine was you speaking of, sorr? Mr. Gilliess horse was not endearing in his qualities. In the first place, he was named Frank, a circumstance I mentally resented; but what was more to the point, he had an evident desire to spill us over the steepest bank he could find. When we were passing a most dangerous unfenced slide on Smoky, where a misstep meant a plunge hun- dreds of feet down into a rocky ravine, Gillies regaled us with a story of Franks overturning the Gillies family on a river bank, breaking the sleigh to pieces all right, and then bolting for home. As Frank and his wagon constituted the only conveyance within twenty miles that could carry three persons, it was not alone love of life which made me watch the beast with unceasing solicitude. Thanks to vigilance and the whip, he [July, carried us down Smoky, past Big Rorys, Sandy McDonalds, and so on to the val- ley of Indian Brook, where we planned to stay the night at Angus McDon- alds. Standing on the bridge above Indian Brook, we saw the best fisherman on the north shore casting his sixty-foot line with unerring hand over the dark pool from which he had just taken a three-pound trout. In his creel lay also a five-pound trout, and his man whis- pered to us that a ten-pound sahnon had been taken by the same magic line that morning. Battles between big salmon, or trout, and man armed with his cob- web line and tiny hook command ad- miration, but they make the inane hook- ing of six-inch trout in our New England brooks seem contemptible. The next morning I was up and dressed at half past three, standing on Angus McDonalds doorstep, and rejoi- cing in the sense of lightness, purity, and strength which comes at dawn. When Gabriel blows his trumpet, I hope he will select the moment before sunrise for his summons. Eastward, the placid sea reached away towards Newfoundland, St. Pierre, and the red sun. Newfoundland and St. Pierre were hiding behind the curve of the sea, but the sun was climbing above it, and peering, dim-eyed, through the fog. Westward, beyond a dew-drenched swale, rose the hills covered with balsam, black spruce, and white spruce. Dark- ness still pervaded the woods, for the sun was too dim to illuminate their pin- nacles, or even to gild the sea or tint the sails of the fishing-smacks, already sev- eral miles from shore. Sheep and cows stood in the curving meadow, and a young bull, their leader, looked at me more sleepily than sullenly as I passed him. The dew was cold on the grass, and it soaked my feet; but the dew and its chill were part of the hour, so serene and pure, quite as much as were the whistle of a crossbill which flew past overhead, and the matins of the juncos The Home of Glooscap. 1894.] The ILme of Glooseap. 49 which they were singing in their forest cloisters. I crossed the meadow, and followed the road through the spruces and over the bridge above Indian Brook. A narrow footpath led from the further end of the bridge up the northern bank of the stream. Now it passed through groves so dark and silent that night seemed still supreme; then it came out into twilight at the edge of the bank above the water, and showed me that, little by little, it was climbing above the pools and rapids as it followed the chan- nel back into the mountains. After walking for half an hour, I came to a sharp bend in the river, which had previously been flowing east, but which here came from the north, emer- ging from between steep cliffs, to roar and foam over a sloping bed of broken rock. Above the music of the rapids I could hear the splash of a cascade, and by peering through the trees I could see the white form of a water- fall, half concealed by the foliage on the other bank. A tributary stream ap- proached Indian Brook at this point, and fell from a hilltop into a mossy basin among the large trees on the western shore. To gain a nearer view of its beauty, I clambered and slid down the high, steep bank, to the brow of which the path had brought me. On reaching the level of the water, I realized more fully the nature of the place I was in. High forest - clad hills rose on every side, inclosing the river, so that its only method of escape was through deep rifts cut into their slopes. The part of the stream which I had followed consisted of broad and deep pools of brownish water alternating with rapids. . Sometimes, one bank was of rock, and the other of gravel; sometimes, both shores, although steep, were wooded almost to the edge of the current. Looking upstream, I saw that the scenery above me was even more striking than that below. The river came from between abrupt rocky walls. Its waters were deep, slow, and foam- VOL. LXXIV. NO. 441. 4 flecked. They came out of a vale of shadows, and I knew, on the word of an Ingonish fisherman, that somewhere with- in those shadows there was a waterfall, singularly beautiful, though unknown save to a few. Directly in front of me, the story of the river seemed to be told on a small scale. Far up against the sky was a dip or notch in the mountain wall. Through it came the brook which joined the river at my feet. To reach this lower level the dancing waters must fall as many yards as they advanced. Their last leap made the cascade whose splashing filled the glen with music. I forded the icy river, and entered the chamber in the side of the western bank which held the cascade, and its screen of trees, ferns, and mosses. Since leaving the open meadow by the sea and entering the dark forest, I had felt the spell of the wilderness resting upon me, the sense of age, beauty, purity, persistent force; all existing or working without man s knowledge or approval, yet being the very essence of this dewy land of twilight. On coming to this grotto of rushing wa- ters, Nature seemed for the moment to find a voice with which to tell of her wonderful power. The falling spray was singing of the sea from which it had been taken into heaven, and to which it was hastening back after a new life. Its cycle is but the emblem of all ebb- ing and flowing life. The spell of the wilderness grew stronger upon me, and when, suddenly, I thought how many wearied souls there were in great cities who would love to see this beautiful, hidden spot, something akin to shame for my own race came also into my mind. If man came here, would he not destroy? His foot would trample, his hand deface, and finally he would cut down the firs, blast out the rock, choke the salmon with sawdust, and leave the glen to fire and the briers which follow flame. It is always so; those of us who love nature and the beautiful are only 50 The Home of Glooscap. [July, the few, sure to be thrust aside by the many who value bread or riches higher than the fair earths bloom. Leaving the cascade, I climbed the hill over which it fell, until I reached a level terrace about two hundred feet above the river bed. There was no path here, so I simply pushed on northward, following the general direction of the gorge, and listening for the heavy rum- ble of Indian Brook Falls. The for- est through which I was walking close- ly resembled northern New Hampshire timber. Here were white spruces with long, slender, light - colored cones point- ing downwards; black spruces with dark cones, also pendent; balsam firs with erect purplish cones ; hemlocks, pines, yellow birches, big, clean-limbed beeches, a few maples and poplars, and the mountain ash. I saw juniper, but no hobblebush. Hastening through the dimly lighted vistas, I was startled by a loud, angry cry which rang out suddenly among the treetops. I stopped, and peered upwards. Another scream echoed from the hills, and two great birds with fierce and eager eyes swooped towards me, pausing among the branches to watch me with hostile curiosity. Their coloring and size made me confident that they were goshawks. When a smaller hawk, holding a squir- rel in its clutch, flew into a neighboring tree, one of the goshawks hurled itself upon the intruder and drove it from view. They would have liked to expel me in the same way, and their startling cries and resentment made me feel as though I had no place or part in their great solitude. Nevertheless I pushed on, feeling somewhat as one does who invades a cathedral by night, and hears his clumsy footsteps protested by the echoes in the vaulted roof. An hour and a half, or more, after leaving Angus McDonalds, I heard the booming sound of the Indian Brook Falls. pushing through the last screen of fallen timber and underbrush, I gained the crumbling edge of cliff over- hanging the river. Far beneath, the foam-flecked water crept along the bot- tom of a dark, narrow cafion. It passed away southward between lofty walls of rock, above which stood the forest and the higher slopes of the mountains. The space into which I was looking was a vast, circular pit, a pothole of enormous size worn in the rock by whirling wa- ter during unnumbered ages. Its height seemed to be as great as its diameter, and either would be measured by hun- dreds of feet. Although at high water Indian River doubtless covers the whole bottom of this punch bowl, at this time a long, slender sandspit projected from the western wall to the middle of the dark brown pool. It was an index fin- ger pointing towards the falls, whose solemn music made sky and mountain vibrate in perpetual unison. The northern curve of the rock basins wall was broken by a narrow, perpen- dicular rift reaching from the sky down to within sixty or eighty feet of the sur- face of the pool. This was the door through which Indian Brook had, since the time of glaciers, sprung from the bosom of the mountain, and by which it was now pouring its compressed mass, with a single motion, into the dark depths of the basin. Looking through the rift, I could discern only a few yards of flat water racing towards its fall, and black walls of rock scowling upon the mad stream which swept past them. These walls rose to meet the spruce for- est; the forest sloped far upwards to meet the pale blue sky, and the slen- der points of the highest trees were now faintly touched by the morning sun. There was no trace of man in this soli- tude, yet it was eloquent with beauty and power. What the high altar is to the dimly lighted cathedral, this hollow in the heart of the Cape Breton bills is to the wilderness which surrounds it. The altar is the focus for every eye, every moving lip, every prayerful heart. This vale of falling waters is the focus of the 1894.] The Home of Glooscap. 51 beautiful lines of the mountains, down which sunlight and shadows steal in turn, along which brooks hurry to the river, and through which the moving life of the forest takes its way. The ancient hemlock bends towards it, the falling boulder plunges downwards to it, and the wind, coming through the em- brasures and over the ramparts of the mountains, blows to it, ruffling the tree- tops in passing. The altar is the focus of mans senses and thoughts, but it is only an emblem even to him. This scene of beauty is a focus of Natures deepest and purest life; and though in it man has no place, it does not on that account lack meaning or significance. Man is a masterful figure in the drama of creation, but he is not all, nor even half, what the world has long been taught to consider him. Perhaps he has been studied too much; certainly Nature, un- spoiled by his greed, has not been stud- ied enough or loved enough. Standing alone in that fair solitude, as much alone as on some atoll in a distant sea, I felt as though I might know man better, see him in stronger contrasts and clearer lights, if I could live apart from him longer in such still, calm, holy places as Indian Brook cafion. As I walked swiftly back to Angus McDonalds, the sunlight grew strong in the woods, and shone kindly on the amber waters of the river. A hot day was beginning, and I sighed to think of the twenty - five - mile drive to Baddeck, sighed not only on my own account, but on account of Gilliess legs and back bent and doubled under the seat, and on account of the horse, Frank, and the whip. Something which had pervaded the woods in the early morning twi- light had gone out of them now. The enchantment of the wilderness seemed left behind, localized in and near those beautiful falls. Scolded by Hudsons Bay chickadees and three-toed woodpeckers, I hurried on to the highway, the mead- ow, and the view of the sparkling sea. Yes, Frank was already harnessed, and the twenty-five-mile drive waiting to be begun. When Frank brought us to the valley of the Barasois, we decided to turn in- land, avoiding Torquil McLeans ferry, Englishtown, and the east side of St. Annes Bay, in order to see the pictur- esque North River country, which could be reached by ascending the Barasois a few miles, and then passing behind St. Annes Mountain, so as to approach the bay from the westward. This we did successfully, and arrived at Baddeck by supper time. The bridge by which this road crosses North River is one of the most remarkable objects in Cape Breton. Fairly good roads characterize the neigh- borhood. They are good enough to lead a driver to expect sound bridges, but in- stead he finds death-traps. This partic- ular bridge is very long, and upon much of it the flooring is laid parallel to the direction of the bridge. The ancient planks have decayed, until many holes have been made in them large enough for a horses foot to pass through, while in long sections of the bridge the spaces between the planks are so wide that first one wheel, and then another, slips down, until the hub strikes. Needless to say, we walked across that bridge, while Gillies and Frank danced and pranced onward before us; Gillies distracted to keep his toes away from Franks hoofs, and Frank distracted to keep his hoofs away from the holes in the planks. The next two days were rainy: Sun- day, while we rested in Baddeck, and Monday, when we bade farewell to the Bras dOr. In a drizzle we steamed from Baddeck to Grand Narrows, I recall a flock of ducklings swimming madly away from the steamer; we breakfasted at the Narrows, I remember seeing a heron catching frogs in a meadow; in a drizzle we crossed the Strait of Canso, I recall a group of young Micmac In- dians coasting down a slippery bank to the waters edge, crawling up and coast- 52 The Home of Glooscap. [July, ing (that is, sitting) down again, until fog hid them from us, and us from them; still in drizzle we passed Tracadie with its Trappist monastery, and Antigonish with the pretentious cathedral of the Bishop of Arichat; in drizzle hours came and hours went, until, late in the afternoon, we passed through the Cobe- quid Mountains, which I recall as gaunt hillsides swept by cloud, steam, smoke, and stinging rain; and then we were dropped in the wilderness, near a dirty tavern, at a place called Springhill Junc- tion. Drizzle and cinders were here, too; but my mind awoke from a semi-coma- tose condition as soon as we left the train. The possibility of having to spend a night at the Lorne, or the Forlorn, or whatever the terrible tavern was called revived my rain-sodden faculties, and I began to ask questions: Is there a train away from here to-night? Yes, one to Springhill. How soon will it go? Dont know; when the conduc- tor pleases, or when he is wired to go. Then I found the conductor. How soon do you start? Dont know. Am waiting for orders. Why not start now? Train two hours late from St. John; may have to wait for it. Will you wait until I get supper? Oh yes, certainly. Go ahead; no hurry. After supper we entered our train, which consisted of a big engine and one car, which was baggage and third-class combined. We were at the mercy of the Cumberland Coal Company, which owns a bit of road running from its mines at Springhill north five miles to meet the Intercolonial rails in the wil- derness where we were waiting, and south twenty-seven miles to Parrsboro on the Basin of Minas, near Blomidon. Darkness was coming, yet still we wait- ed. Presently a message came. The coal king or his viceroy had perhaps fin- ished his supper, and remembered to re- lease us. Yes, we were to wait no longer for the Moncton train, but to start for Springhill. The road was ballasted with soft coal dust; even the hollows were filled with wasted fuel, which was cheap- er for the purpose than gravel. The conductor came in, and I asked him about Springhill. What was it like? A coal-mining town, with thousands of miners, pits, shafts, dirt, poverty, and the memory of the horror of three years ago, when scores of widows and hundreds of fatherless children wept and wailed round the pit mouths after the explosion which suffocated their bread - winning husbands and fathers. And must we stay there all night? He hesitated. Perhaps not; an engine may be run down to Parrsboro with some freight cars. But the lady? and he looked inquiringly at my wife. Soon, through the dismal rain and smoke, we saw the flaring lights near the pits, and heard the throbbing heart of the great mine-pump. A few dim lamps burned in streets or dingy win- dows, but the town looked smothered in wet coal dust and misery. A whisper came in my ear, Better to ride to Parrsboro on the engine than to spend a night here; and my heart assented. We and our trunk were turned out upon the dirty platform, and lanterns were held close to us while Springhill inspected its unwilling guests. I pleaded with the railway men, the conductor, the engineer, and the fireman. Might we not ride on the engine, in a freight car, somewhere, anywhere, rather than stay here? They consented, and an engine came clanging out of the blackness, with a freight car attached. Into this freight car we and our trunk were put, and left there in utter darkness, alone with the steam-steed, and he ready to leap southward on his wet rails the moment hand touched the lever. The rain splashed on the roof, wind wailed through sheds and cars near us, flames flickered round the pits mouth, and the throbbing pump kept on with its wearisome pulsation, until our hearts and lungs seemed forced to keep time 53 1894.] The Home of Glooscap. with its rhythm. Then a lonesome watchman came and talked to us, and left a lantern, which sputtered, smoked, and xvent out. After a long interval a big miner came and sat with us. He told gruesome tales of the explosion. Them doctors they had were to blame for many a good mans death. They looked at the boys as they hoisted them up from the pit, and said Dead, when they war nt no more dead than we be this night. They did nt know what they was talkin about. Some of us took a young fellow they said was dead, and we covered him over with dust and let him lie till the damp was drawn out of him, and he s walkin round with the best of us to-day. The damp was in them, that was all, and the doctors did not know how to draw it out. The mans deep voice was full of mournful feeling, the darkness added pathos to his story, and the pump with its never-ending beat seemed to bear witness to all he said. More than an hour had passed, and still we sat and waited; but the end was near. The en- gineer passed, and gave a word of cheer. Then the conductor climbed in beside us, and we were off. It might have been down the bottomless pits own mouth that we were tearing, for all that eye or ear could tell. Forest hemmed us in, and intense darkness hung over us. Oc- casionally, when coal was hurled into the fire, a spasm of red light passed over the whizzing gloom outside; but it only made our eyeballs weary, for we could distinguish nothing. Perhaps we went a mile a minute; perhaps not. Freight cars have no tender springs, yet the motion was not especially uncomfortable until we began to slow up on nearing Parrsboro. Then dislocation was threat- ened; but a moment later we were using our trunk as a step to dismount on, and saying a cheerful good-night to our com- panions. Parrsboi~o harbor at low tide is a sight to behold. Coming from the Bras dOr, where the tide rises only a few inches, to the head of the Bay of Fundy, where it rises thirty feet, made us feel as though something must be wrong with us or the moon. The wharves reared themselves upon a forest of slimy piles, and far be- low them, reclining in all kinds of pos- tures upon the mud, were sailing-vessels of various sizes. A schooner, ready for launching at two P. M., was perched upon such a height that it was easier to be- lieve that it was to be launched into space than into water whieh was to come from some unknown point, and in a few hours fill this empty harbor to its brim. However, the tide came in, not like a tidal wave, with a solid front, a hiss, a roar and rush, as I had always imagined Fundy tides to appear, but little by lit- tle, as though it were trying to catch us unawares in its horrid depths. Of course we saw the launch, and felt a thrill as the clumsy little tub darted down the greased track, and became rather a grace- ful creature whea fairly afloat. The tubs first step in the world was not wholly dignified. When the last prop had been knocked from under her, and she still sat motionless in her bed of cold grease, the master workman cried out, Shake her up, boys! And forthwith the five-and-twenty urchins on her decks rushed up the rigging, and swayed and yelled, until their kicking gave the de- sired start to her career. The launch was on August 15, and it was on the following morning, immedi- ately after breakfast, that we resumed our journey by driving across the neck of land which leads from Parrsboro to Parrsboro Pier and Partridge Island. We wished to reach the shore of the Minas Channel at a point where we could look directly down the Bay of Fundy be- tween Cape Split and Cape Sharp. The mingling of sea and land in this region affords endless temptation for sketching. If it were a part of the United States instead of being, nationally, neither fish, flesh, nor good red herring, it would be 54 The Home of Glooscap. [July, one of the favorite resorts of our amateur artists and summer tourists. As mat- ters stand, Blomidon on the one shore, with its forest-crowned palisades reach- ing down to Cape Split, and on the other Partridge Island, with sculptured rocks around which the tides of Fundy surge and eddy; Cape Sharp, red-walled and spruce-capped ; and even Parrsboro itself, where one must eat and sleep, are places hard to reach promptly and comfortably. We had been forced to storm Parrsboro by night in a rain-soaked freight car. We escaped from it by a steamer so tiny and primitive in form that I wondered whether it had not in years past seen ser- vice as a towboat in New York harbor. From the hillside above Minas Chan- nel we saw several large ships lying at anchor in the protected water between Cape Sharp on our right, westward, and Partridge Island on our left, eastward. The tide was coming in beyond them, and even at a distance the channel seemed like a river flowing from Fundy into Minas Basin. To gain a nearer view of it, and a slightly different outlook, we drove along the shore until we reached Parrsboro Pier, which is in a sheltered nook under the lee of Partridge Island. The tiny tub which was to take us across to the Blomidon side lay at the foot of the pier, waiting for the tide to lift it high enough for passengers to find it. From the pier a ridge of pebbles runs across to Partridge Island, and on this natural causeway we strolled over to natures Mont St. Michel, with its grottoed cliffs rising on high from the raging waters, and its dark pinnacles of spruce piercing the sky. A winding avenue leads through moss-bearded trees to the islands sum- mit, ending upon a grassy shelf where the rocks overhang the channel, and where either folly or courage is need- ed to induce the visitor to stand upon the dizzy brink and look down, down, into the hurrying, eddying tide below. My childish imaginings of Fundy tides were all satisfied here, if they had been disappointed in Parrsboro harbor. The eager rush, whirl, and hiss of that vast mass of water, as it surged past, told of the limitless strength of old ocean, far away at Fundys mouth, heaving and pushing its way into bay and channel, basin and cove, with woe and destruction for anything opposing its mad progress. Cape Split and Cape Sharp seemed monuments to the passion and cruelty of this tide. Sharp, on the northern side of the channel, rears its mangled face, and tells of ages of horrid contest with tides and storms, grinding ice be- low, and cleaving, wedging ice above. Split, on the southern side, is a perpet- ual reminder of the Micmac legends of the deeds of Glooscap. A huge fragment of the palisades cliffs which reach from Blomidon seven miles along the Minas Channel to Split appears at a distance to have broken from the pro- jecting end of the cape, and to lean out- ward over the bay, its sharp sides rising to a toothlike point. A broad section of cliff next to it is also separated from the mass of the palisades by a deep cleft. The Micmac story runs that Glooscap, angry with the monster beaver for build- ing a dam from Blomidon across the Minas Channel, freed the end of the dam on the northern or Parrsboro shore, so that the released waters, rushing to- wards Fundy, swung the dam round vio- lently, thus forming the palisades, and leaving the broken end showing at Cape Split. A shrill whistle summoned us from Partridge Island to the deck of the Evangeline, as the steam tub is called which sails from Parrsboro Pier, across the mouth of Minas Basin, under Blo- midon, past the Pereaux shore, and into Kingsport, whence a branch railway runs to Kentville. When a series of whistles had gathered together upon the Evangelines deck all the floating pop- ulation within hearing of the pier, amounting in all to seven souls, we puffed out past Mont St. Michel into the 1894.] The Home of Glooscap. 55 Fundy maelstrom. Why I did not fol- low the forcible example of some of the passengers and retire to the dark inte- rior of the tub for secluded misery, I know not; but I did not, and, moreover, I was not seasick a moment during the pitching and tossing which lasted until we approached Kingsport. The fury of the water which surrounded us was marvelous, considering that there were no great waves, and no storm to make waves. True, the wind blew hard, and cold rain beat upon us spitefully, sting- ing like hail; but it was not the wind which made the fury of the sea. Look- ing westward down the Minas Channel in the direction of Fundy, we saw boil- ing, whirling, eddying water coming to- wards us. We felt it, too; for when a great whirl struck the tub, its stern fell off, and its head swung round a dozen points from the true course. The visi- ble movement of separate masses of the water reminded me of White Mountain rivers in freshet time. It was uncanny, out there miles from land, to have the sea open and allow a great gush of wa- ter to rise up and spread itself out as though forced from a submarine duct. The Evangeline struggled hard with the swift current, but it carried her far out of the direct course towards Blomidon, and it was only by repeated rallies that we were kept from being swept well out into Minas Basin. As we neared Blomidon the distinctive outlines of the noble bluff were lost. The sturdy profile fell back into line with the palisades, and it was hard to say just what part of the cliffs which we were passing furnished the bold features so familiar from a distance. A moment later, Cape Split and the distant pali- sades passed from view, then Cape Sharp was concealed, and soon the profile of Blomidon began to grow again, as all that lay northward aiid westward of it was hidden behind its simple but severe contour. Our ever ready guide, philosopher, and friend remarked, before we had fair- ly set foot on Kingsport Pier, that sel- dom though it might be that man stood on Partridge Island in the morning and on the top of Blomidon in the afternoon, he wished us, nevertheless, to accomplish the feat. Accordingly, dinner at the cosi- est little hotel in Nova Scotia was treated with scant courtesy, and we were soon speeding over red mud roads towards Blomidon. In one place, which I re- membered puzzling over, through my glass, from the Lookoff, three weeks be- fore, we had our choice of driving along the top of an old Acadian dike, or of following the level of the reclaimed pr~ just inside of it. Like our New Eng- land stone walls, the Acadian dikes are a monument to the patience of the i~iak- ers of America. It is wearisome to consider the millions of hours of labor buried in such memorials. After crossing the Pereaux valley we drew near to Blomidon, and saw the narrow red beach and water-worn cliffs extending far out into the Minas waters. The tide was falling, and by the time we had climbed the height and returned a broad beach would invite us to explore its sticky expanse, in search of minerals of many colors. So to the top we drove, easily, for the road was well made and not steep, at least in New Hampshire eyes. Although we were now but half a thousand feet above the waves, while at Cape Smoky we had been twelve hundred, Blomidon held its own in our hearts, and sent thrills through us by its views, westward, of the Bay of Fundy, now brilliant with sunlight; of Isle au Haut, a blue cloud in the midst of the most distant sparkling waters; and east- ward, of the fair Minas Basin, bounded on the one hand by the Cobequid Moun- tains, and on the other by Grand Pr4, the Gaspereaux and the hills above the Avon, yet reaching between the two to the horizon line at the point where we knew Truro lay. The top of Blo- midon is not the abode of storm winds 56 Lucretius. [July, alone, for two houses stand upon it, and the laughter of children rings cheerily among the evergreen groves. Much of it is pasture land, and not for cows alone, as I discovered when a huge sow came charging down upon me with hungry gruntings. The view, taken as a whole, was much like that from the Lookoff, so we spent only a few moments on the summit, and then hastened to the beach below. The road led directly down to the edge of the sea; so, defying Fundy tides, knowing this one to be still falling, we drove along the beach, until our horse s feet became balls of red mud, and the wagon wheels threatened to turn no more. Then we left the horse tethered to a stone, and picked our way beneath the sculptured cliffs, searching for amethyst, jasper, agates. and salmon-colored masses of fibrous gypsum. The cliffs were soft red sandstone with many layers of gray intermingled, and erosion had worn their faces into columnar forms of singular grace and beauty. At intervals, hun- dreds of pounds weight of gypsum had dropped upon the shore, and been beat- en into fragments by the sea. The beach was about half red mud, and half small stones and pebbles. Of pretty stones we could have carried home a ton, but of crystals or minerals of real interest we found few. The shore is as carefully gleaned for amethyst as Musketaquid meadows are for arrowheads. Dewy twilight surrounded us before we could tear ourselves away from the fascination of the towering cliffs, red beach, purple shallows, and lapping waves. When we climbed back into the wagon, it was with the feeling that the spell of Blomidon and Smoky, of Minas Basin and the Bras dOr, was broken at last, and that our faces were set in ear- nest towards Chocorua. Frank Bolles. LUCRETIUS. EPICUREANISM is no longer a hypothe- sis or a doctrine. It is a name given to a mans character, not to his beliefs. It is an elegant malady of the soul, a laziness and self-indulgence glorified by culture and refinement, a term devised to mitigate the word selfish when applied to the well-to-do, a euphemism for inca- pacity when it is not too ungraceful, just as kleptomania is a euphemism for dis- honesty when dishonesty has plainly no motive. Epicureanism now awakens no enthusiasm and seeks to make no prose- lytes. But though Epicureanism is dead, it by no means follows that the poem of Lucretius is only a baseless fabric of er- rors, possessing an interest merely as an example of a certain brilliant and high- ly fascinating vagary of a very finely touched spirit. The part of the book that is dead is the system. The inner impulse which rends the veil of the old husk, and comes forth as a living flash of light, is the enthusiasm of the poet, his genuine pride in the train of flow- ery clauses in which he sets forth the sober majesties Of settled sweet Epicurean life, and his abiding awe for the unchange- able laws of Nature. But above all things else, that which keeps the work instinct with life is the fine frenzy which clothes every argument, however dry or abstruse, with the varied hues of fancy, and which makes the poem like nothing else in literature, if we except our own Tennysons Two Voices, which, though on a very minute scale compared with the six books On the Constitution of

R. Y. Tyrrell Tyrrell, R. Y. Lucretius 56-66

56 Lucretius. [July, alone, for two houses stand upon it, and the laughter of children rings cheerily among the evergreen groves. Much of it is pasture land, and not for cows alone, as I discovered when a huge sow came charging down upon me with hungry gruntings. The view, taken as a whole, was much like that from the Lookoff, so we spent only a few moments on the summit, and then hastened to the beach below. The road led directly down to the edge of the sea; so, defying Fundy tides, knowing this one to be still falling, we drove along the beach, until our horse s feet became balls of red mud, and the wagon wheels threatened to turn no more. Then we left the horse tethered to a stone, and picked our way beneath the sculptured cliffs, searching for amethyst, jasper, agates. and salmon-colored masses of fibrous gypsum. The cliffs were soft red sandstone with many layers of gray intermingled, and erosion had worn their faces into columnar forms of singular grace and beauty. At intervals, hun- dreds of pounds weight of gypsum had dropped upon the shore, and been beat- en into fragments by the sea. The beach was about half red mud, and half small stones and pebbles. Of pretty stones we could have carried home a ton, but of crystals or minerals of real interest we found few. The shore is as carefully gleaned for amethyst as Musketaquid meadows are for arrowheads. Dewy twilight surrounded us before we could tear ourselves away from the fascination of the towering cliffs, red beach, purple shallows, and lapping waves. When we climbed back into the wagon, it was with the feeling that the spell of Blomidon and Smoky, of Minas Basin and the Bras dOr, was broken at last, and that our faces were set in ear- nest towards Chocorua. Frank Bolles. LUCRETIUS. EPICUREANISM is no longer a hypothe- sis or a doctrine. It is a name given to a mans character, not to his beliefs. It is an elegant malady of the soul, a laziness and self-indulgence glorified by culture and refinement, a term devised to mitigate the word selfish when applied to the well-to-do, a euphemism for inca- pacity when it is not too ungraceful, just as kleptomania is a euphemism for dis- honesty when dishonesty has plainly no motive. Epicureanism now awakens no enthusiasm and seeks to make no prose- lytes. But though Epicureanism is dead, it by no means follows that the poem of Lucretius is only a baseless fabric of er- rors, possessing an interest merely as an example of a certain brilliant and high- ly fascinating vagary of a very finely touched spirit. The part of the book that is dead is the system. The inner impulse which rends the veil of the old husk, and comes forth as a living flash of light, is the enthusiasm of the poet, his genuine pride in the train of flow- ery clauses in which he sets forth the sober majesties Of settled sweet Epicurean life, and his abiding awe for the unchange- able laws of Nature. But above all things else, that which keeps the work instinct with life is the fine frenzy which clothes every argument, however dry or abstruse, with the varied hues of fancy, and which makes the poem like nothing else in literature, if we except our own Tennysons Two Voices, which, though on a very minute scale compared with the six books On the Constitution of 1~94.] Lucretius. 57 Nature, shows unmistakably this rare aptitude for shutting reasons up in rhyme. Lucretius has exercised a powerful at- traction, on the one hand, on students of language, who meet in his poem Latin at a most interesting epoch, before it has lost the insouciance of childhood, but after it has outgrown the helplessness of infancy. On the other hand, free- thinkers have congratulated themselves that they have found in Lucretius an ally, and have eagerly welcomed him into their camp. The philologists, lost in ad- miratioii of the vase, have hardly tasted the strong wine which it holds. The philosophers have clutched the fruit be- cause they thought it was forbidden, and have not paused to admire the stately branches or the lustrous leaves of the tree on which it grows. But beside these there is room for a greater interest, both literary and psychological, in this High Priest of atheism, this Apostle of irreligion, who thunders against inspira- tion like one inspired, and who shows all the rapt devotion of a Stephen iii his denial of immortality, all the fervor of a Bossuet while he scatters to the winds the last perished leaves of human hope. We must, therefore, on the very threshold of our inquiry into the mind of Lucretius, investigate his relation to- wards God and religion. I have called Lucretius an atheist. I am aware that, technically, this is a misnomer; for Lu- cretius provided in his system for the existence of the gods. But why did he recognize gods? What were his gods? And what was the religion which he so bitterly assailed? Epicureanism, which explained the origin of our ideas by the theory that material images of things (simulaerct), disengaged from external objects, struck our senses, and thus became cognizable by us, was forced to rise from the idea of God which we find within us to the 1 In the absence of any really worthy met- rical version of the poem, I have used nearly existence of gods tbemselves. Thus, Lu- cretius was compelled, by his physical theories adopted from Democritus and Leucippus, to recognize gods. But no- thing is more formidable to the mind than the conception of a power which is outside and beyond ourselves, which is malevolent to us, and which we cannot resist. Such a power were the ancient gods to Lucretius; and the eagerness with which he goes out of his way to rail against their conventional attributes, and to protest against their supposed providence, suggests to us not so much a philosophic inquirer into the truth of a dogma, or even a fervid preacher de- molishing a heresy, as some mediawal enthusiast who believes himself to be possessed by a devil, or to be in perpet- ual struggle with a devil for the life of his soul; whose reason is convinced that he is saved, but whose whole spirit shud- ders at the thought of damnation; a St. Simeon Stylites who strives and wrestles till he dies, or one of those whose curse it is to suffer half the devils lot, Trembling, but believing not. For Lucretius is ever and anon haunted by the fear that we may haply find the power of the gods to be unlimited. 1 The religion against which Lucretius protested was grotesque beyond belief. Without going back so far as the Iliad, where we find thai~ human affairs are going all awry, and that this is because Zeus and the other gods have gone to spend a couple of weeks with the Ethiopi- ans, and there is no one to look after the affairs of the world; without trespass- ing beyond the bounds of serious and unquestioned history, we see the Ro- man and the Carthaginian fleets facing each other, ready for the most critical struggle iii which Rome has yet been involved. We find the whole Roman armament intent on the question whe- ther the sacred chickens will feed. Can always the vigorous and literal prose transla- tion of Munro. 58 Lucretius. [July, we wonder that a really serious nature refused, impatiently, to sympathize with the religious sentiment which felt horror at the impiety of Appius, who very nat- urally threw the abstemious hens over- board, with the remark that if they would not eat, they might drink? The Roman religion, which was originally, as in other Aryan. nations, worship of the powers of Nature, never assumed the rich mantle of poetry and legend with which the Greek mythology early adorned itself. It took the stamp of the national character, and lay chiefly in rigorous observances, show- ing much fear, little respect, and no love for the gods. The Roman legends are prosaic and monotonous, nearly always taking the form of a hero or benefactor, who shows his superhunian quality by a fire which plays innocuously about his head, as in the case of Ascanius in the }Eneid, and who finally vanishes, as Ro- mulus disappeared (non comparuit) in the narrative of Livy. The sole discovery of Rome in religion is represented by the Indigitamenta, or lists of gods attending every moment of mans life, from the cradle to the grave. Vaticanus presides over the infants first cry, and Fabulanus over his earliest attempt at articulate speech. Educa teaches him to eat, Po- tina to drink, and Cuba to sleep. His goings-out and his comings-in are the spe- cial care of Abeona and Adeona. The gods of the Roman pantheon are inconve- niently numerous. Petronius makes the witty, wicked Quartilla remark that the place is so densely populated with gods that there is hardly room for the men. Some of the deities are mere abstrac- tions, like Salus Populi, Securitas Sa~- culi. Reli~iio comes from the same root as diligentia, and means regularity. There is no Greek for it; certainly not ~ELo-L& LLfLovLa or EvcrE/3LcL. The people would stone the gods if they offended them, like those savages who thrash their idols when they come home after an un- successful hunt. At the death of the beloved Germanicus the people rose in fury, and threw volleys of stones at the temples of the gods. Ovid tells us how Numa bargained so shrewdly with Jove that the god at last smiled and gave him his way. Cicero relegates religion to the province of his wife, and Ciesar, the Pon- tifex Maximus, denies the immortality of the soul before the Senate. The Senatus- consultuin de Bacchanalibus gives us a glimpse of the shocking immorality which sometimes polluted the Roman ritual; and we even read of human sacrifices after Cannie. Hence, perhaps, the ter- rible earnestness with which Lucretius reflects on the sacrifice of Iphigenia, a fair maiden foully murdered by a parent, a maiden more meet for the marriage bed than the bier, that the fleet might have good hap: such crimes could re- ligion prompt, Tantum Religio potuit suadere malorum. Against this shallow, barren, and some- times horrible faith, what wonder that Lucretius should seize the first weapon that came to hand, against a theory of divine government which, according to him, had its rise, not in reason, logic, or instinct, but in disgraceful, groveling fear! This was the foul religion under which human life lay crushed, a horrid monster lowering over mankind from the sky, against which the Greek first dared to raise his head, and which now lies trampled under the feet of the elect, a victory, cries Lucretius, that lifts man to the sky! What wonder that he should feel indignant that beings like the ancient gods should have assigned to them such a stately home as the firma- ment, in which revolve The Moon, and the Light of the Day, and the Night with its solemn fires! Bound, therefore, as we have seen, by his physical theory to find a place for the gods in his system, he gave them a lotus-land in The lucid interspace of world and world. He treated them as we treat the Nawabs 1894.] Lucretius. 59 and Nizams of India, whom we surround with all the means of luxurious self- indulgence, in the well-grounded confi- dence that they will accept this condi- tion in lieu of real power. Lucretius is mistaken in praising Epicurus for his originality. Every one knows that Epi- curus borrowed his physics from Demo- critus, and his ethics from Aristippus. His originality lay only in subordinating in his system physics to ethics, and abol- ishing Providence in the interests of hu- manity. Lucretius, following him, estab- lished a court of gods who reign, but do not govern, to whom, when he addresses them in prayer, he whispers, as Voltaire said that Spinoza did, Je soup~onne entre nous que vous n existez pas. These fain~ant gods are no gods, and it is only technically inaccurate to speak of Lucretius as an atheist. We shall see how some idea of Providence forces its way, in spite of his system, into his natu- rally religious mind. For the present we will leave this part of the subject, first quoting the splendid verses in which he gives to these gods lip-service in exchange for the ill-used powers which he has taken away from them: The nature of the gods must ever in itself of necessity en- joy immortality together with supreme repose, far removed and withdrawn from our concerns; for, exempt from every pain, exempt from all dangers, strong in its own resources, not wanting aught of us, it is neither gained by favors nor moved by anger.~, The spirit of this sublime passage is finely caught and blended with a Ho- meric strain in Tennysoiis Lucretius: The Gods, who haunt The lucid interspace of world and world, Where never creeps a cloud, or moves a wind, Nor ever falls the least white star of snow, Nor ever lowest roll of thunder moans, Nor sound of human sorrow mounts to mar Their sacred everlasting calm! So little was Epicurus believed to have really provided a place in his system for God that Christianity has used against the pagan deities the weapons of Epi~ curus; and we read that in the time of Diocletian the treatise of Cicero, De Di- vinatione, inspired as it was by Epicu- rean principles, was, by command of the Emperor, burned along with the Bible, both being held to be equally inimical to paganism. Epicureanism arose at a time when poetry, art, eloquence, and all free in- stitutions languished under the Mace- donian protectorate of Greece. It lent itself to the enervated mind of the na- tion by the easiness of its acquisition and the simplicity of its tenets. Epicurean- ism actually discouraged learning, both literary and scientific, and took no trou- ble even to defend its own doctrines. Its voluptas led merely to apathy. Its physi- cal system excited no interest among its adherents, arid was adopted merely to f a- cilitate the denial of an overruling Pro- vidence and of a future life. Towards the end of the Roman Republic, Epicure- anism prevailed mainly among the upper classes. That thoughtless and voluptu- ous aristocracy which then was stepping so gayly to its destruction grasped the system as a relief from the fear of death, but found that the philosophy which only promised annihilation instead had no power to give real comfort. Even Lu- cretius turns but a haggard eye on his heaven, bare of real gods, and peopled by indifferent voluptuaries. That is a despairing cry of his that there is no- thing immortal but death. ( Mortalem vitam mors immortalis ademit.) When Lucretius took up this dead-alive system, his eager spirit made the dry bones live. He breathed upon the system of Epicu- rus, and created a soul under the ribs of death. Enthusiasm, even when it takes the form of despair, is the keynote of the poem. Epicurus discourages the passion of love as tending to introduce an ele- ment of disquietude into that calm ex- istence which is his ideal. Lucretius 60 Lucretiu~. [July, throws himself upon the passion with the fury of a wild beast, and seems to rend the limbs of some material victim. Nearly as fierce is his hatred for ambi- tion, and still more intense his loathing for superstition. The feeling of convic- tion with which the early Christians heaped contempt on all foregoiiig sys- tems seems cold and lymphatic beside the ardor of Lucretius in proclaiming his faith, and contemning all other wis- dom as filthy rags. He was a god, a very god (deus ille fuit deus), he ex- claims of Epicurus, in the beginning of the fifth book. The fabled inventions of Ceres and Bacchus, the labors of Her- cules, are as nothing. Man cannot live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the month of Epicu- rus. He discovered what is more sus- taining than bread and wine. And what monster slain by Hercules was so foul and ugly as Religion? The poet boasts that, like a bee, he sucks the honeyed words of Epicurus ; that it is his de- light to watch through calm nights over his masters scrolls, and in sleep to dream of them. Even the poverty of his native tongue (patrii sermonis eges- tas) but seldom gives him pause. The rudest instrument is good enough for the miner who has just struck a vein of gold. Like a true enthusiast, he exults most in the dullest part of his work. When he treats of the atoms, their col- ors and movement, he is ecstatic over his discoveries, made by labor, oh, so sweet! He dismisses objections with disdainful curtness. This is folly (desipere est)~is a common retort, and he claims for the doctrines which he preaches a certitude greater than that of the oracles of Apollo. The Psalmist speaks of the beauty of holiness, and the Christian hymn cries, The veil that hides thy glory, rend. But Lucretius goes beyond them. He even fears lest the dazzling radiance of Epicurean truth might blind those to whom it should be too suddenly revealed. He hesitates to rend the veil that hides its glory. He regards with trembling awe and half- averted face the traiisflguration of Epi- curus through the medium of words. When one reads the rapturous verses in which he describes his task of making a harsh truth less bitter, likening him- self to one who smears with honey the rim of the cup of medicine which the child must drink, one cannot but be as- tonished at the energy of his conviction. The language of Epicurus is as gentle as the life which it inculcates. Epicurus, as well as his successors, breathes the calm of Omar Khayy~im, the apathy of the East. It is better to lie than to sit; it is better to sit than to stand; it is bet- ter to be idle than to stretch forth the hands to work. But Lucretius is like a physician who, in recommending his patient perfect rest, should rush at him, shake him, fling him on a bed, and shriek at him, Dont stir! Lucretius puts himself into a violent heat with his exhortation to us to keep ourselves per- fectly cool. Well did Statius speak of the towering passion of Lucretius (furor arduus Lucreti). His book is indeed a passionate scroll written over with lamentation and woe. The third book of the poem stalks through the valley of the shadow of death. Its theme is the blackness of death (inortis nigror), from the fear of which he longs to emancipate man. Like the hapless author of The City of Dread- ful Night, he tells his fellow - men that though the Garden of Life be wholly waste, the sweet flowers withered, and the fruit trees barren, over its wall hang ever the rich, dark clusters of the Vine of Death, within easy reach of the hand which may pluck of them when it will. He proffers then One anodyne for torture and despair, The certitude of Death, which no reprieve Can put off long; and which, divinely tender, But waits the out~tretchd hand to promptly render That draught whose slumber nothing can bereave. 1894.] Lu cretiws. 61 The good tidings of great joy, that there is no life beyond the grave, he announces in a spirit of exultation. I see, he cries, all the inmost springs of nature, in the rapt ecstasy of Rossettis Blessed Damozel, who leaned out over the gold bar of heaven, and saw Time like a pulse beat fierce Through all the worlds. Lucretius looks back in awe on what he has already proved a world constructed by the fortuitous concourse of atoms, and utterly dissociated from the gods who luxuriate in an idle beatitude. He revels in the thought of death and the grave, but he treats with all the scorn of a He- brew prophet the carpe diem philosophy which Horace has taught us to regard as the natural expression of Epicurean- ism. Other Epicureans pass over the topic of death lightly, and bid us not to think of it, or to think of it as little as we may. Lucretius, like Walt Whitman is in love with delicate Death, and calls his disproof of a future life The fruit of toil so long, and oh, so sweet! The following verses, in which the simi- larity of the theme suggested the use of the metre of Tennysons Two Voices, show Lucretius in a milder mood; not crying, 0 death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? not putting under his feet, as Virgil sang, All forms of fear, inexorable doom, And all the din that rises from Hells maw but rather whispering, Comfort ye, comfort ye my people; gently consoling his fellow-sufferers, and proffering them quiet counsel : No more shall look upon thy face Sweet spouse, no more with emulous race Sweet children court their sires embrace. To their soft touch right soon no more Thy pulse shall thrill; een now is oer Thy stewardship, Death is at the door. One dark day wresteth every prize From hapless man in hapless wise; Yea, een the pleasure of his eyes. Thus men bewail their piteous lot, Yet should they add, T is all forgot; These things the dead man recketh not. Yea, could they knit for them this chain Of words and reasons, men might gain Some dull narcotic for their pain; Saying, The dead are dead indeed; The dead, from all heart-sickness freed, Sleep, and shall sleep and take no heed. Lo, if dumb Nature found a voice, Would she bemoan, and not make choice rro bid poor mortals to rejoice? Saying, Why weep thy wane, 0 man? Wert joyous een when life began, When thy youths sprightly freshets ran Nay, all the joys thy life eer knew As poured into a sieve fell through, And left thee but to ruil and rue. Go, fool, as doth a well-filld guest Sated of life: with tranquil breast Take thine inheritance of rest. Why seekest joys that soon must pale Their feeble fires, and swell the tale Of things of naught and no avail? Die, sleep! For all things are the same; Though spring iiow stir thy crescent frame, T will wither: ull things are the same. It is very strange, this minor chord of ennui, all things are the same, and the sad, sad word in vain (nequid- quam), which so often recur in the midst of his fervid and glad evangel; which intrude as uninvited guests at his feast of reason, and cast ashes on the train of flowery clauses in which he has en- shrined his honeyed precepts. It was his fierce attack on the belief in a future life which drew down on Lu- cretius the implacable enmity of the Christian writers, and which whelmed him under a conspiracy of silence on the part of his Roman contemporaries and successors. Virgil and Horace make al- lusions to him which show that they deeply admired him, but they never men- tion his name. Ovid only says that his work will not be forgotten (to give the 62 Lu cretius. [July, sense of the Ovidian passage in the words of Tennyson) till this cosmic order everywhere Shatterd into one earthqnake in one day Cracks all to pieces. Cicero indeed wrote of him, in his Epp. ad Q. Fr. ii. 9 (11), that his work was marked by brilliant flashes of genius, and yet by excellent art, a passage which shows Ciceros perfect literary judgment, but which his editors have for the most part perverted by inserting a non, and making Cicero thus deny brilliancy to his illustrious contemporary. The other wri- ters and thinkers of Rome have regarded the poem as some triste bidental, some spot blasted with lightning. As the an- cient Romans fenced off the place which Jove had smitten with his thunderbolt, lest some unwary footstep should trespass on a region accursed of God, so they kept aloof and closed their ears to the som- bre strain which breathed the stern note of defiance of death. The statement of Jerome that Lucretius was maddened by a love-philter and perished by his own hand, and the other record, that he died on the day when Virgil assumed the toga of manhood, are myths of the kind so frequent in the ancient world, and have no weight save in so far as they suggest the wrath of the gods which ought to have pursued the author of the poem On the Constitution of Nature, and mark the fact that Lucretius was, as it were, the literary godfather of the poet who wrote the Georgics. We must call to mind certain points of view which greatly mitigate the au- dacity of the Lucretian assault on the doctrine of a future life. This belief was not firmly held even by the most orthodox thinkers of his time. Cicero acknowledges that the letter which Sul- picius sent him on the occasion of his daughter Tullias death embraces every source of consolation which the case ad- mitted; yet there is no allusion in that letter to the comfort which would have been afforded by the belief in the hap- piness of Tullia in another state. If, writes Sulpicius, a sad if if the dead have any consciousness, the girl will be grieved to think that you per- severe in obstinate grief. In a letter written a few months after, to Torquatus, Cicero speaks of death, if it should befall him in that troublous time, as being anni- hilation (sine ullo sensu). Even Seneca, long after the time of Lucretius, calls the immortality of the soul a beautiful dream (bellum somnium), and describes its champions as asserting rather than proving a most acceptable doctrine. The traditional pictures of the future abodes of the blest and the damned were uni- versally discredited. Future life, even when regarded as possible, was the ob~ ject, not of hope, but of fear. At best it was a sphere of ennui and inaction. The open rebels against Zeus had at least the dignity of suffering, but the rank and file of the dead languished in a world which was but a pale shadow of this, a world without hope or aim, a land of darkness as darkness itself, and of the shadow of death, without any order, and where the light is as darkness. Even the heroic Achilles (Odyssey xi. 488) sees nothing comfortable in a future life. Rather would I live upon the soil as the hireling of another, with a land- less man that had no great livelihood, than bear sway among all the dead that are gone. Such was the pale realm whose walls Lucretius battered with such fierce exultation, walls to which no trembling hopes looked up as to an abid- ing city, or a treasure house where rust and moth corrupt not, and where thieves cannot break through and steal. A brilliant French critic, M. Patin, has used a striking phrase about the poet of Epicureanism. He says there is in Lucretius an anti-Lucretius who is forever pulling him back from the ex- treme consequences of his theory, and forcing him into conclusions more in ac- cordance with his ardent and enthusias- tic temperament. It will be opportune 1894.] Lucretius. 63 here to glance at some of the manifesta- tions of the anti-Lucretius in Lucretius. As Lucretius deprives the gods of all influence over Nature, he is obliged to account for the existence of Nature by a fortuitous concourse of atoms. But here we are surprised to meet with expressions quite inconsistent with this cold materialism. What have princi- ples, conditions, laws (rationes, fcvdera, leges), to do with the freaks 4 blind Chance? How can Nature be called creatrix or gubernans, creative or regulative, if she is bound fast in the fetters of Fate? We have even Fortu- ma gubernans in i. 108. What is this but a deus (or dea) cx machina, who brings about the d6nouement of a drama which else would have had a lame and impotent conclusion indeed? In vi. 640 he ascribes to Nature those volcanic con- vulsions which he elsewhere expressly dissociates from divine influence. And what but divine influence is the hidden power (vis abdita), of which he says that it constantly tramples on human grandeur, and is seen to tread under its heel and make sport for itself of the in- signia of human power? Nature presented by Lucretius as a mo- ther in ii. 990 again appears as a cruel stepmother in v. 778, where she is de- scribed as casting the newly born infant, naked and weeping, on the inhospitable shore of life, more helpless than the brutes, and more able to feel and de- plore its helplessness; then fostering the growth of tares and all noxious weeds, and trying to wrest from wretched man the scanty portion of the earth which she has granted him wherefrom to ex- tract a meagre sustenance by the sweat of his brow. Everywhere Nature has the attributes of will and personality. Again, he subtilizes the soul, the soul of the soul, up to the very verge of spirituality. It is from his vivid and beautiful illustra- tions of the interdependence of body and soul that Virgil has taken two fine passages: that in which Dido sought the light of heaven, and groaned when she found it; and that in which the fin- gers of the dying man twitch with the longing to grasp the hilt of the sword again. Above all, in the clinamen of the atoms, or the causeless deviation of the atom-stream from the right line, we have an active, intelligent principle thrusting itself, in spite of his materialism, into his system. In the words of De Musset, Ma1gr~ nous vers le ciel ii faut tourner lee yenx. He is not a fatalist. He recognizes a nameless force (vis nominis e~pers), which he finely calls an influence torn from the grasp of Necessity (fatis avolsa voluntas), and which is not un- like Matthew Arnolds postulate of a tendency that makes for ~ The very language of Lucretius is tinged with a deep religious fervor which re- minds us of Milton. We recall the hid- eous hum of the oracles when we read of the awful state in which the image of the divine mother of the gods is car- ried through with lauds, and how she mutely enriches mortals with a blessing not expressed in words. Indeed, if the philosophy of Lucretius can be described as a poisonous plant at all, it is at least one of those venomous flowers which supply healing influences, too. There is nothing in his system of morality which can shock us except some of his theories with regard to the passion of love; and in extenuation of them we must remem- ber how coarsely the spirit of the time regarded womanhood. Moreover, we can hardly be wrong in seeing in the poet himself evidences of the pangs of disprized love animating him with a furious hatred of the passion itself. J2fls master, Epicurus, looked on it but as a disturbing influence; Lucretius assailed it as a bane and a curse. Not his the tears that love can die; his rather to heap shards, flints, and pebbles on the grave of love. He has a delight like that of Dean Swift in showing the seamy 64 Lucrettus. [July, side of the passion; and indeed, in this respect strongly reminds us of the great Irishman whose bones moulder in St. Patricks Cathedral in Dublin, whose heart, as his epitaph says, cruel indig- nation now no longer rends. As Thack- eray says of Swift, so we may well say of Lucretius, What a vulture it was that tore the heart of .that giant! The true charge against Epicureanism is not that it debases morality, or makes divine philosophy Procuress to the lords of hell, but that it tends to extinguish energy by enfeebling the springs of action. Accord- ing to it, passion and action are alike fol- ly; there is no virtue but egotism; the true wisdom is apathy. The extraordi- nary originality of Lucretius is shown in the strenuous spirit which he breatbes into this flaccid and lymphatic creed. We seem to see a St. Anthony fiercely fight- ing the passions that fiercely tear him; a St. Simeon Stylites who has not succeed- ed in quenching his ambition, but only in giving it another object, passionate in the vaunting of his victory over himself, and leaping with all the ardor of a young lover into the arms of his passionless bride, divine Tranquillity. It may seem strange that Lucretius should have chosen verse as the vehicle of his teaching, especially as Epicurus wrote in prose, and condemned poetry on principle. However, he had the prece- d~ent of Xenophanes and Empt~docles, and, among his own countrymen, that of En- nius, who translated Epicharmus. He tells us that his design was to make a harsh truth less bitter. Do we not find in our own time the novel forced into the service of some particular school of religious thought, and do we not meet certain purists who condemn novel-read- ing as a practice, but make an excep- tion in favor of such works of fiction as embellish and promote those particular church principles which they themselves affect? In the poem of Lucretius, beside cer tam amusingly puerile speculations, we find real contributions to knowledge, which science - now accepts, and which were truly remarkable discoveries in the time of the poet. Among the most crude is his theory of the causes of sleep, in the fourth book, to which he carefully bespeaks the attention of his readers in some very fine verses. Another passage of amusing naivet6 is that in which he seeks to account for the terror mani- fested by the lion in the presence of the cock. A good Epicurean does not hesitate in his choice between science and his sys- tem. Polyarnus, on his conversion to Epi- cureanism, declared his conviction that there was no such thing as geometrical proof. Catholicism was once as thorough- going. I have myself seen an old edition of Newtons Principia, by a learned abb4, who took care to explain in his preface that though the conclusions of Newton constituted a good discipline for the ex- ercise of the mental faculties, and there- fore might be studied with profit, yet they must not be regarded as true, inas- much as a bull of the holy father had spoken of the sun as revolving round the earth. In a similar spirit, Lucretius, after setting forth a theory of the anti- podes with amazing scientific accuracy, rejects it as a fond thing vainly in- vented (vanus error). The sanie theory was afterwards repudiated by the Chris- tian Church. It is remarkable how spec- ulative beliefs sometimes, so to speak, change sides. Here we have Epicurean- ism and early Christianity arrayed hand in hand against history and science. So, again, Lucretius believes in a final de- struction of the world, while the reli- gion of his time held that it would be eternal. It is now the orthodox who maintain the Lucretian view, and the free-thinkers who take the other side. These considerations should teach us that we ought not either to embrace a scien- tific theory because we think we recog- nize in it an ally to religion, or to reject 1894.] Lucretius. 65 it as a suspected foe. Ajax tells us, in a pathetic passage of the play of Sophocles, how sad experience has taught him that we should look on our friends as those who may one day be our enemies, and on our enemies as those whom time may yet draw to our hearts. Such ought to be the attitude of the true friend of religion towards scientific theories. He should consider only their absolute worth. About their relation to religion he may be mistaken, or the friend of yesterday may be the foe of to-morrow. It is indeed food for deep reflection when we observe the intense interest and confidence which this mighty intelligence feels in the childish physical theory which he has embraced. It is to him a source of ever new and ever present delight. The pool of water in the street fills him with wonder and awe. It is but a few inches deep, yet to the eye its profundity is that of the reflected heavens. Like this is the mind of Lucretius himself. The most trivial things become invested with a sombre sublimity, an august big- ness, as soon as they begin to reflect his majestic spirit. In contrast with the absurd specula- tions which we have been considering, it will be interesting to point to places in which Lucretius or his predecessors have really anticipated modern scientific re- search. Lucretius recognizes that in a vacuum every body, no matter what its weight, falls with equal swiftness; that the atmosphere is material; that in youth the repair of the tissues is greater than the waste, the contrary being the case in old age. The circulation of the sap in the vegetable world is known to Lucretius; and he describes falling stars, aerolites, etc., as the unused material of the universe. But, far above and beyond these par- ticular anticipations of modern thought, we have in the whole a4tomistic theory what is now the basis of the molecular hypothesis, which latter adds the exist- ence of chemical as well as mechanical changes among the atoms, but leaves the VOL. LXXIV. NO. 441. 5 general conception the same. Snow and fire, according to Lucretius, come from different combinations of the same atoms, just as a tragedy and a comedy are made of the same letters differently disposed. Finally, the Darwinian natural selection, struggle for existence, and survival of the fittest are distinctly adumbrated in book v. 873: They (the creatures unfit for existence) doubtless became the prey of others, unable to break through the bonds of fate by which they were con- fined, until Nature caused that species to disappenr. Decidedly the most remarkable feature in the whole poem is the solemn beauty of imagery and language into which he bursts in unfolding his thorny specula- tions. Examples of this are abundant, and an excellent instance is the passage so exquisitely reproduced in Tennysons Lucretius when he celebrates The all-generating powers and genial heat Of Nature, when she strikes through the thick blood Of cattle, and light is large, and lambs are glad, Nosing the mothers udder, and the bird Makes his heart voice amid the blaze of flowers.~~ I know of no poem except Tennysons Two Voices in which the same wealth of poesy is enlisted to explain and beautify abstruse argument. Nearly every verse of the Two Voices illustrates this exqui- site marriage of poetry and logic. Here are a few specimens of the picturesque in the Latin poet: With death there is ever blending the wail of infants newly born into the light. And no night has ever followed day, no morn ever dawned on night, but hath heard the mingled sounds of feeble infant wailings and of the lamentations that follow the dead and the black funeral train; the wiles and force and craft of the faithless sea; the treacherous, alluring smile of the calm ocean; the shells that paint the lap of earth; and now, shaking his head (a fine touch), the aged peasant laments that the toil of his hands has 66 On the Beach at Daytona. [July, come to naught; then all those vapors gather together above, and, taking shape as clouds on high, weave a canopy be- neath the firmament. Lucretius has won his place among the great poets of the world. He has survived the anathemas of zealots and the plaudits of the enemies of religion. We now see how religious is the irre- ligion of this Titan. We hear not the sneers of the encyclop~edist, but the high words of Prometheus on the Caucasus. At last the world has learned that in- trepid audacity combined with noble sin- cerity may have a beauty which is like the beauty of holiness. At last Lucretius lifts His golden feet on those empurpled stairs That climb into the windy halls of heaven. We see in him a sage who dwells on the lofty vantage ground of science, and from his philosophic observatory looks down with disdain on the petty interests of the world. But he looks down on the world with a godly joy (divina voluptas) and a holy awe (horror). And we see in him an eager student of Nature, who has been raised by a naturally religious cast of mind, through cold and intangible ab- stractions to which he tried in vain to cling, raised out of Nature, and up to Natures God. 1?. Y. fIyrrell. ON THE BEACH AT DAYTONA. THE first eight days of my stay in Daytona were so delightful that I felt as if I had never before seen fine wea- ther, even in my dreams. My east win- dow looked across the Halifax River to the peninsula woods. Beyond them was the ocean. Immediately after break- fast, therefore, I made toward the north bridge, and in half an hour or less was on the beach. Beaches are much the same the world over, and there is no need to describe this one Silver Beach, I think I heard it called except to say that it is broad, hard, and, for a pleasure-seekers purpose, endless. It is backed by low sand-hills covered with impenetrable scrub, oak and palmetto, beyond which is a dense growth of short-leaved pines. Perfect weather, a l)erfect beach, and no throng of people: here were the conditions of happiness; and here for eight days I found it. The ocean itself was a solitude. Day after day not a sail was in sight. Looking up and down the beach, I could usually see somewhere in the distance a carriage or two, and as many foot passengers; but I often walked a mile, or sat for half an hour, without being within hail of any one. Never were airs more gentle or colors more exquisite. As for birds, they were surprisingly scarce, but never wanting altogether. If everything else failed, a few fish-hawks were sure to be in sight. I watched them at first with eager interest. Up and down the beach they went, each by himself, with heads pointed downward, scanning the shallow water. Often they stopped in their course, and by means of laborious fiappings held themselves poised over a certain spot. Then, per- haps, they set their wings and shot down- ward clean under water. If the plunge was unsuccessful, they shook their fea- thers dry and were ready to begin again. They had the fishermans gift. The sec- ond, and even the third attempt might fail, but no matter; it was simply a ques- tion of time a~d patience. If the fish was caught, their first concern seemed to be to shift their hold upon it, till its head pointed to the front. That done, they shook themselves vigorously and started I-

Bradford Torrey Torrey, Bradford On the Beach at Daytona 66-74

66 On the Beach at Daytona. [July, come to naught; then all those vapors gather together above, and, taking shape as clouds on high, weave a canopy be- neath the firmament. Lucretius has won his place among the great poets of the world. He has survived the anathemas of zealots and the plaudits of the enemies of religion. We now see how religious is the irre- ligion of this Titan. We hear not the sneers of the encyclop~edist, but the high words of Prometheus on the Caucasus. At last the world has learned that in- trepid audacity combined with noble sin- cerity may have a beauty which is like the beauty of holiness. At last Lucretius lifts His golden feet on those empurpled stairs That climb into the windy halls of heaven. We see in him a sage who dwells on the lofty vantage ground of science, and from his philosophic observatory looks down with disdain on the petty interests of the world. But he looks down on the world with a godly joy (divina voluptas) and a holy awe (horror). And we see in him an eager student of Nature, who has been raised by a naturally religious cast of mind, through cold and intangible ab- stractions to which he tried in vain to cling, raised out of Nature, and up to Natures God. 1?. Y. fIyrrell. ON THE BEACH AT DAYTONA. THE first eight days of my stay in Daytona were so delightful that I felt as if I had never before seen fine wea- ther, even in my dreams. My east win- dow looked across the Halifax River to the peninsula woods. Beyond them was the ocean. Immediately after break- fast, therefore, I made toward the north bridge, and in half an hour or less was on the beach. Beaches are much the same the world over, and there is no need to describe this one Silver Beach, I think I heard it called except to say that it is broad, hard, and, for a pleasure-seekers purpose, endless. It is backed by low sand-hills covered with impenetrable scrub, oak and palmetto, beyond which is a dense growth of short-leaved pines. Perfect weather, a l)erfect beach, and no throng of people: here were the conditions of happiness; and here for eight days I found it. The ocean itself was a solitude. Day after day not a sail was in sight. Looking up and down the beach, I could usually see somewhere in the distance a carriage or two, and as many foot passengers; but I often walked a mile, or sat for half an hour, without being within hail of any one. Never were airs more gentle or colors more exquisite. As for birds, they were surprisingly scarce, but never wanting altogether. If everything else failed, a few fish-hawks were sure to be in sight. I watched them at first with eager interest. Up and down the beach they went, each by himself, with heads pointed downward, scanning the shallow water. Often they stopped in their course, and by means of laborious fiappings held themselves poised over a certain spot. Then, per- haps, they set their wings and shot down- ward clean under water. If the plunge was unsuccessful, they shook their fea- thers dry and were ready to begin again. They had the fishermans gift. The sec- ond, and even the third attempt might fail, but no matter; it was simply a ques- tion of time a~d patience. If the fish was caught, their first concern seemed to be to shift their hold upon it, till its head pointed to the front. That done, they shook themselves vigorously and started I- 1894.] On the Beach at Daytona. 67 landward, the shining white victim wrig- gling vainly in the clutch of the talons. I took it for granted that they retired with their quarry to some secluded spot on the peninsula, till one day I happened to be standing upon a sand-hill as one passed overhead. Then I perceived that he kept on straight across the peninsula and the river. More than once, how- ever, I saw one of them in no haste to go inland. On my second visit, a hawk came circling about my head, carrying a fish. I was surprised at the action, but gave it no second thought, nor once ima- gined that he was making me his pro- tector, till suddenly a large bird dropped rather awkwardly upon the sand, not far before me. He stood for an instant on his long, ungainly legs, and then, show- ing a white head and a white tail, rose with a fish in his talons, and swept away landward out of sight. Here was the os- preys parasite, the bald eagle, for which I had been on the watch. Meantime, the hawk too had disappeared. Whether it was his fish which the eagle had picked up (having missed it in the air) I cannot say. I did not see it fall, and knew nothing of the eagles presence until he fluttered to the beach. Some days later, I saw the big thief emblem of American liberty play his sharp game to the finish. I was cross- ing the bridge, and by accident turned and looked upward. (By accident, I say, but I was always doing it.) High in the air were two birds, one chasing the other, a fish-hawk and a young eagle with dark head and tail. The hawk meant to save his dinner if he could. Round and round he went, ascending at every turn, his pursuer after him hotly. For aught I could see, he stood a good chance of escape, till all at once another pair of wings swept into the field of my glass. A third is in the race! Who is the third, Speeding away swift as the eagle bird? It was an eagle, an adult, with head and tail white. Only once more the osprey circled. The odds were against him, and he let go the fish. As it fell, the old eagle swooped after it, missed it, swooped again, and this time, long before it could reach the water, had it fast in his claws. Then off he went, the younger one after him. They passed out of sight behind the trees of an island, one close upon the other, and I do not know how the con- troversy ended; but I would have wa- gered a trifle on the old white-head, the bird of Washington. The scene reminded me of one I had witnessed in Georgia a fortnight before, on my way south. The train stopped at a backwoods station; some of the pas- sengers gathered upon the steps of the car, and the usual bevy of young negroes caine alongside. Stand on my head for a nickel? said one. A passenger put his hand into his pocket; the boy did as he had promised, in no very profes- sional style, be it said, and with a grin stretched out his hand. The nickel glis- tened in the sun, and on the instant a second boy sprang forward, snatched it out of the sand, and made off in triumph amid the hilarious applause of his fellows. The acrobats countenance indicated a sense of injustice, and I had no doubt that my younger eagle was similarly affected. Where is our boasted honor among thieves? I imagined him asking. The bird of freedom is a great bird, and the land of the free is a great country. Here, let us hope, the parallel ends. Whether on the banks of Newfoundland or else- where, it cannot be that the great repub- lic would ever snatch a fish that did not belong to it. I admired the address of the fish- hawks until I saw the gannets. Then I perceived that the hawks, with all their practice, were no better than land lub- bers. The gannets kept farther out at sea. Sometimes a scattered flock re- mained in sight for the greater part of a forenoon. With their long, sharp wings and their outstretched necks, like loons, but with a different flight, they were rakish - looking customers. Some- 68 On the Beach at Daytona. [July, times from a great height, sonaetimes from a lower, sometimes at an incline, and sometimes vertically, they plunged into the water, and after an absence of some seconds, as it seemed, came up and rested upon the surface. They were too far away to be closely observed, and for a time I did not feel certain what they were. The larger number were in dark plumage, and it was not till a white one appeared that I said with assurance, Gannets! With the bright sun on him, he was indeed a splendid bird, snowy white, with the tips of his wings jet black. If he would have come in- shore, like the ospreys, I think I should never have tired of his evolutions. The gannets showed themselves only now and then, but the brown pelicans were an every-day sight. I had found them first on the beach at St. Augustine. Here at Daytona they never alighted on the sand, and seldom in the water. They were always flying up or down the beach, and, unless turned from their course by the presence of some suspicious object, they kept straight on just above the breakers, rising and falling with the waves; now appearing above them, and now out of sight in the trough of the sea. Sometimes a single bird passed, but commonly they were in small flocks. Once I saw seventeen together, a pret- ty long procession; for, whatever their number, they went always in Indian file. Evidently some dreadful thing would happen if two pelicans should ever travel abreast. It was partly this unusual or- der of march, I suspect, which gave such an air of preternatural gravity to their movements. It was impossible to see even two of them go by without feeling almost as if I were in church. First, both birds flew a rod or two, with slow and stately flappings; then, as if at some preconcerted signal, both set their wings and scaled for about the same dis- tance; then they resumed their wing strokes; and so on, till they passed out of sight. I never heard them utter a sound, or saw them make a movement of any sort (I speak of what I saw at Daytona) except to fly straight on, one behind the other. If church ceremonials are still open to amendment, I would suggest, in no spirit of irreverence, that a study of pelican processionals would be certain to yield edifying results. No- thing done in any cathedral could be more solemn. Indeed, their solemnity was, so great that I came at last to find it almost ridiculous; but that, of course, was only from a want of faith on the part of the beholder. The birds, as I say, were brown pelicans. Had they been of the other species, in churchly white and black, the ecclesiastical effect would perhaps have been heightened, though it is hard to conceive how that were possible. Some beautiful little gulls, peculiarly dainty in their appearance (Bonapartes gulls they are called in books, but surf gulls would be a prettier and apter name), were also given to flying along the breakers, but in a manner very different from the pelicans; as different, I may say, as the birds themselves. They, too, moved steadily onward, north or south as the case might be, but fed as they xvent, dropping into the shallow water between the incoming waves, and rising again to escape the next breaker. The action was characteristic and graceful, though often somewhat nervous and hur- ried. I noticed that the birds commonly went by twos, but that may have been nothing more than a coincidence. Be- side these small surf gulls, never at all numerous, I usually saw a few terns, and now and then one or two rather large gulls, which, as well as I could make out, must have been the ring-billed. It was a strange beach, I thought, where fish- hawks invariably outnumbered both gulls and terns. Of beach birds, properly so called, I saw none but sanderlings. They were no novelty, but I always stopped to look at them: busy as ants, running in a 1894.] On the Beach at Daytona. 69 body down the beach after a receding wave, and the next moment scampering back again with all speed before an in- coming one. They tolerated no near approach, but were at once on the wing for a long flight up or down the coast, looking like a flock of snow-white birds as they turned their under parts to the sun in rising above the breakers. Their manner of feeding, with the head pitched forward, and a quick, eager movement, as if they had eaten nothing for days, and were fearful that their present bit of good fortune would not last, is strong- ly characteristic, so that they can be re- cognized a long way off. As I have said, they were the only true beach birds; but I rarely failed to see one or two great blue herons playing that r6le. The first one filled me with surprise. I had never thought of finding him in such a place; but there he stood, and before I was done with Florida beaches I had come to look upon him as one of their most constant habituk. In truth, this largest of the herons is well-nigh omnipresent in Flor- ida. Wherever there is water, fresh or salt, he is certain to be met with, sooner or later; and even in the driest place, if you stay there long enough, you will be likely to see him passing overhead, on his way to the water, which is nowhere far off. On the beach, as everywhere else, he is a model of patience. To the best of my recollection, I never saw him catch a fish there; and I really came to think it pathetic, the persistency with which he would stand, with the water halfway to his knees, leaning forward expectantly toward the breakers, as if he felt that this great and generous ocean, which had so maiiy fish to spare, could not fail to send him, at last, the morsel for which he was waiting. But indeed I was not long in perceiv- ing that the Southern climate made pa- tience a comparatively easy virtue, and fishing, by a natural consequence, a favor- ite avocation. Day after day, as I crossed the bridges on my way to and from the beach, the same men stood against the rail holding their poles over the river. They had an air of having been there all winter. I came to recognize them, though I knew none of their names. One was peculiarly happy looking, almost radiant, with an educated face, and only one hand. His disability hindered him, no doubt. I never saw so much as a sheep- head or a drum lying at his feet. But inwardly, I felt sure, his luck was good. Another was older, fifty at least, sleek and well dressed. He spoke pleasantly enough, if I addressed him; otherwise he attended strictly to business. Every day he was there, morning and after- noon. He, I think, had better fortune than any of the others. Once I saw him land a large and handsome speckled trout, to the unmistakable envy of his brother anglers. Still a third was a younger man, with a broad-brimmed straw hat and a taciturn habit; no less persevering than Number Two, perhaps, but far less successful. I marveled a lit- tle at their enthusiasm (there were many beside these), and they, in their turn, did not altogether conceal their amusement at the foibles of a man, still out of Bed- lam, who walked and walked and walked, always with a field-glass protruding from his side pocket, which now and then he pulled out suddenly and leveled at no- thing. It is one of the merciful amelio- rations of this present evil world that men are thus mutually entertaining. These anglers were to be congratu- lated. Ordered South by their physi- cians, as most of them undoubtedly were, compelled to spend the winter away from friends and business, amid all the discomforts of Southern hotels, they were happy in having at least one thing which they loved to do. Blessed is the invalid who has an outdoor hobby. One man, whom I met more than once in my beach rambles, seenied to devote himself to bathing, running, and walk- ing. He looked like an athlete; I heard him tell how far he could run without 70 On the Beach at Daytona. [July, getting winded; and as he sprinted up and down the sand in his scanty bathing costume, I always found him a pleasing spectacle. Another runner there gave me a half-hour of amusement that turned at the last to a feeling of almost painful sympathy. He was not in bathing cos- tume, nor did he look particularly ath- letic. He was teaching his young lady to ride a bicycle, and his pupil was at that most interesting stage of a learners career when the machine is beginning to steady itself. With a very little assist- ance she went bravely, while at the same time the young man felt it necessary not to let go his hold upon her for more than a few moments at once. At all events, he must be with her at the turn. She plied the pedals with vigor, and he ran alongside or behind, as best he could; she excited, and he out of breath. Back and forth they went, and it was a relief to me when finally he took off his coat. I left him still panting in his fair ones wake, and hoped it would not turn out a case of loves labor s lost. Let us hope, too, that he was not an invalid. While speaking of these my compan- ions in idleness, I may as well mention an older man, a rural philosopher, he seemed, whom I met again and again, always in search of shells. He was from Indiana, he told me with agree- able garrulity. His grandchildren would like the shells. He had perhaps made a mistake in coming so far south. It was pretty warm, he thought, and he feared the change would be too great when he went home again. If a mans lungs were bad, he ought to go to a warm place, of course. He came for his stomach, which was now pretty well, a capital proof of the superior value of fresh air over proper food in dyspep- tic troubles; for if there is anywhere in the world a place in which a delicate stomach would fare worse than in a Southern hotel, of the second or third class, may none but my enemies ever find it. Seashell collecting is not a pa- nacea. For a disease like old age, for instance, it might prove to be an allevi- ation rather than a cure; but taken long enough, and with a sufficient mixture of enthusiasm, a true sine qua non, it will befound efficacious, I believe, in all ordinary cases of dyspepsia. My Indiana man was far from being alone in his cheerful pursuit. If stran- gers, men or women, met me on the beach and wished to say something more than good-morning, they were sure to ask, Have you found any pretty shells? One woman was a collector of a more businesslike turn. She had brought a camp-stool, and when I first saw her in the distance was removing her shoes, and putting on rubber boots. Then she moved her stool into the surf, sat upon it with a tin pail beside her, and, leaning forward over the water, fell to doing something, I could not tell what. She was so industrious that I did not venture to disturb her, as I passed; but an hour or two afterward I overtook her going homeward across the peninsula with her invalid husband, and she showed me her pail full of the tiny coquina clams, which she said were very nice for soup, as indeed I knew. Some days later, I found a man collecting them for the market, with the help of a horse and a cylindrical wire roller. With his trou- sers rolled to his knees, he waded in the surf, and shoveled the incoming water and sand into the wire roller through an aperture left for that purpose. Then he closed the aperture, and drove the horse back and forth through the break- ers till the clams were washed clear of the sand, after which he poured them out into a shallow tray like a long bread- pan, and transferred them from that to a big bag. I came up just in time to see them in the tray, bright with all the colors of the rainbow. Will you hold the bag open? he said. I was glad to help (it was perhaps the only useful ten minutes that I passed in Florida); and so, counting quart by quart, he 1894.] On the Beach at Daytona. 71 dished them into it. There were thirty odd quarts, but he wanted a bushel and a quarter, and again took up the shovel. The clams themselves were not canned and shipped, he said, but only the juice. Many rudely built cottages stood on the sand-hills just behind the beach, espe- cially at the points, a mile or so apart, where the two Daytona bridge roads come out of the scrub; and one day, while walking up the beach to Ormond, I saw before me a much more elabo- rate Queen Anne house. Fancifully but rather neatly painted, and with a stable to match, it looked like an exotic. As I drew near, its venerable owner was at work in front of it, shoveling a path through the sand, just as, at that mo- ment (February 24), thousands of Yan- kee householders were shoveling paths through the snow, which thqn was re- ported by the newspapers to be seventeen inches deep in the streets of Boston. His reverend air and his long black coat pro- claimed him a clergyman past all possi- bility of doubt. He seemed to have got to heaven before death, the place was so attractive; but being still in a body ter- restrial, he may have found the meat market rather distant, and mosquitoes and sand-flies sometimes a plague. As I walked up the beach, he drove by me in an open wagon with a hired man. They kept on till they came to a log which had been cast up by the sea, and evidently had been sighted from the house. The hired man lifted it into the wagon, and they drove back, quite a stirring ad- venture, I imagined; an event to date from, at the very least. The smaller cottages were nearly all empty at that season. At different times I made use of many of them, when the sun was hot, or I had been long afoot. Once I was resting thus on a flight of front steps, when a three-seated carriage came down the beach and pulled up op- posite. The driver wished to ask me a question, I thought; no doubt I looked very much at home. From the day I had entered Florida, every one I met had seemed to know me intuitively for a New Englander, and most of them I could not imagine how had divined that I came from Boston. It gratified me to believe that I was losing a little of my provincial manner, under the influence of more extended travel. But my pride had a sudden fall. The carriage stopped, as I said; but instead of inquiring the way, the driver alighted, and all the occupants of the carriage proceeded to do the same, eight women, with baskets and sun- dries. It was time for me to be starting. I descended the steps, and pulled off my hat to the first comer, who turned out to be the proprietor of the establishment. With a gracious smile, she hoped they were not frightening me away. She and her friends had come for a days picnic at the cottage. Things being as they were (eight women), she could hard- ly invite me to share the festivities, and, with my best apology for the intrusion, I withdrew. Of one building on the sand-hills I have peculiarly pleasant recollections. It was not a cottage,but had evidently been put up as a public resort; especially, as I inferred, for Sunday-school or parish picnics. It was furnished with a plat- form for speech - making (is there any foolishness that men will not commit on sea beaches and mountain tops ?j, and, what was more to my purpose, was open on three sides. I passed a good deal of time there, first and last, and once it shel- tered me from a drenching shower of an hour or two. The lightning was vivid, and the rain fell in sheets. In the midst of the blackness and commotion, a single tern, ghostly white, flew past, and toward the close a bunch of sanderlings came down the edge of the breakers, still look- ing for something to eat. The only other living things in sight were two young fel- lows, who had improved the opportunity to try a dip in the surf. Their color in- dicated that they were not yet hardened to open-air bathing, and from their ac 72 On the Beach at Daytona. [July, tions it was evident that they found the ocean cool. They were wet enough be- fore they were done, but it was mostly with fresh water. Probably they took no harm; but I am moved to remark, in passing, that I sometimes wondered how generally physicians who order patients to Florida for the winter caution them against imprudent exposure. To me, who am no doctor, it seemed none too safe for young women with consumptive ten- dencies to be out sailing in open boats on winter evenings, no matter how warm the afternoon had been, while I saw one case where a surf bath taken by such an invalid was followed by a day of prostra- tion and fever. We who live here, said a resident, dont think the water is warm enough yet; but for these North- em folks it is a great thing to go into the surf in February, and you cant keep them out. The rows of cottages of which I have spoken were in one sense a detriment tothe beach; but on the whole, and in their present deserted condition, I found them an advantage. It was easy enough to walk away from them, if a man want- ed the feeling of utter solitude (the beach extends from Matanzas Inlet to Mosquito Inlet, thirty - five miles, more or less); while at other times they not only fur- nished shadow and a seat, but, with the paths and little clearings behind them, were an attraction to many birds. Here I found my first Florida jays. They sat on the chimney-tops and ridgepoles, and I was rejoiced to discover that these unique and interesting creatures, one of the special objects of my journey South, were not only common, but to an extraor- dinary degree approachable. Their ex- treme confidence in man is one of their oddest characteristics. I heard from more than one person how easily and in almost no time they could be tamed. if indeed they needed taming. A resident of Hawks Park told me that they used to come into his house, and stand upon the corners of the dinner table waiting for their share of the meal. When he was hoeing in the garden, they would perch on his hat, and stay there by the hour, unless he drove them off. He never did anything to tame them except to treat them kindly. When a brood was old enough to leave the nest, the parents brought the youngsters up to the door- step as a matter of course. The Florida jay, a bird of the scrub, is not to be confounded with the Florida, blue jay (a smaller and less conspicuous- ly crested duplicate of our common North- ern bird), to which it bears little resem- blance either in personal appearance or in voice. Seen from behind, its aspect is peculiarly striking; the head, wings, rump, and tail being dark blue, with an almost rectangular patch of gray set in the midst. Its beak is very stout, and its tail very long; and though it would attract attention anywhere, it is hardly to be called handsome or graceful. Its notes such of them as I heard, that is are mostly guttural, with little or no- thing of the screaming quality which dis- tinguishes the blue jays voice. To my ear they were often suggestive of the Northern shrike. On the 23d of February I was stand- ing on the rear piazza of one of the cot- tages, when a jay flew into the oak and palmetto scrub close by. A second glance, and I saw that she was busy upon a nest. When she had gone, I moved nearer, and waited. She did not return, and I de- scended the steps and went to the edge of the thicket to inspect her work: a bulky affair, nearly done, I thought, loosely constructed of pretty large twigs. I had barely returned to the veranda be- fore the bird appeared again. This time I was in a position to look squarely in upon her. She had some difficulty in edging her way through the dense bushes with a long, branching stick in her bill; but she accomplished the feat, fitted the new material into its place, readjusted the other twigs a bit here and there, and then, as she rose to depart, she looked 1894.] On the Beach at Daytona. 73 me suddenly in the face and stopped, as much as to say, Well, well! here s a pretty go! A man spying upon me! I wondered whether she would throw up the work, but in another minute she was back again with another twig. The nest, I should have said, was about four feet from the ground, and perhaps twenty feet from the cottage. Four days later, I found her sitting upon it. She flew off as I came up, and I pushed into the scrub far enough to thrust my hand into the nest, which, to my disappointment, was empty. In fact, it was still far from completed; for on the 3d of March, when I paid it a farewell visit, its owner was still at work lining it with fine grass. At that time it was a comfortable-looking and really elaborate structure. Both the birds came to look at me as I stood on the piazza. They perched together on the top of a stake so narrow that there was scarcely room for their feet; and as they stood thus, side by side, one of them struck its beak several times against the beak of the other, as if in play. I wished them joy of their expected progeny, and was the more ready to believe they would have it for this little display of sportive sentimentality. It was a distinguished company that frequented that row of narrow back yards on the edge of the sand-hills. As a new-coiner, I found the jays (sometimes there were ten under my eye at once) the most entertaining members of it, but if I had been a dweller there for the summer, I should perhaps have altered my opinion; for the group contained four of the finest of Floridian songsters, the mocking-bird, the brown thrasher, the cardinal grosbeak, and the Carolina wren. Rare morning and evening con- certs those cottagers must have. And besides these there were catbirds, ground doves, red - eyed chewinks, white - eyed chewinks, a song sparrow (one of the few that I saw in Florida), savanna sparrows, myrtle birds, redpoll warblers, a phcebe, and two flickers. The last- named birds, by the way, are never backward about displaying their tender feelings. A treetop flirtation is their special delight (I hope my readers have all seen one; few things of the sort are better worth looking at) ; and here, in the absence of trees, they had taken to the ridgepole of a house. More than once I remarked white- breasted swallows straggling northward along the line of sand-hills. They were in loose order, but the movement was plainly concerted, with all the look of a vernal migration. This swallow, the first of its family to arrive in New Eng- land, remains in Florida throughout the winter, but is known also to go as far south as Central America. The purple martins which, so far as I am aware, do not winter in Florida had already begun to make their appearance. While crossing the bridge, February 22, I was surprised to notice two of them sitting upon a bird-box over the draw, which just then stood open for the passage of a tug- boat. The toll-gatherer told me they had come from some place eight or ten days before. His attention had been called to them by his cat, who was trying to get up to the box to bid them welcome. He believed that she discovered them within three minutes of their a~rrival. It seemed not unlikely. In its own way a cat is a pretty sharp ornithologist. One or two cormorants were almost always about the river. Sometimes they sat upon stakes in a patriotic, spread-eagle (American eagle) attitude, as if drying their wings, a curious sight till one be- came accustomed to it. Snakebirds and buzzards resort to the same device, but I cannot recall ever seeing any North- ern bird thus engaged. From the south bridge I one morning saw, to my great satisfaction, a couple of white pelicans, the only ones that I found in Florida, though I was assured that within twenty years they had been common along the Halifax and Hillsborough rivers. My birds were flying up the river at a good 74 The Red Bridal. [July, height. The brown pelicans, on the other hand, made their daily pilgrimages just above the level of the water, as has been already described, and were never over the river, but off the beach. All in all, there are few pleasanter walks in Florida, I believe,than the beach-round at Daytona, out by one bridge and back by the other. An old hotel-keeper a rural Yankee, if one could tell anything by his look and speech said to me in a burst of confidence, Yes, we ye got a climate, and that s about all we have got, climate and sand. I could not entirely agree with him. For myself, I found not only fine days, but fine pro- spects. But there was no denying the sand. Bradford Torrey. THE RED BRIDAL. FALLING in love at first sight is less common in Japan than in the West; partly because of the peculiar constitu- tion of Eastern society, and partly be- cause much sorrow is prevented by early marriages which parents arrange. Love suicides, on the other hand, are not in- frequent; but they have the particu- larity of being nearly always double. Moreover, they must be considered, in the majority of instances, the results of improper relationships. Still, there are honest and brave exceptions; and these occur usually in country districts. The love in such a tragedy may have evolved suddenly out of the most innocent and natural boy-and-girl friendship, and may have a history dating back to the child- hood of the victims. But even then there remains a very curious difference between a Western double suicide for love and a Japanese jishi. The Oriental suicide is not the result of a blind, quick frenzy of pain. It is not only cool and methodical; it is sacramental. It in- volves a marriage of which the certifi- cate is death. The twain pledge them- selves to each other in the presence of the gods, write their farewell letters, and die. No pledge can be more profoundly sacred than this. And therefore, if it should happen that, by sudden outside interference and by medical skill, one of the pair is snatched from death, that one is bound by the most solemn obliga- tion of love and honor to cast away life at the first possible opportunity. Of course, if both are saved, all may go well. But it were better to commit any crime of violence punishable with half a hundred years of state prison than to be- come known as a man who, after pledg- ing his faith to die with a girl, had left her to travel to the Meido alone. The woman who should fail in her vow might be partially forgiven; but the man who survived a j3shi through interference, and allowed himself to live on because his pur- pose was once frustrated, would be re- garded all his mortal days as a perjurer, a murderer, a bestial coward, a disgrace to human nature. I knew of one such case but it is not good to talk about! I would rather try to tell the story of an humble love affair which happened at a village in one of the eastern provinces. I. The village stands on the bank of a broad but very shallow river, the stony bed of which is completely covered with water only during the rainy season. The river traverses an immense level of rice- fields, open to the horizon north and south, but on the west walled in by a range of blue peaks, and on the east by a chain of low wooded hills. The vil- lage itself is separated from these hills

Lafcadio Hearn Hearn, Lafcadio The Red Bridal 74-85

74 The Red Bridal. [July, height. The brown pelicans, on the other hand, made their daily pilgrimages just above the level of the water, as has been already described, and were never over the river, but off the beach. All in all, there are few pleasanter walks in Florida, I believe,than the beach-round at Daytona, out by one bridge and back by the other. An old hotel-keeper a rural Yankee, if one could tell anything by his look and speech said to me in a burst of confidence, Yes, we ye got a climate, and that s about all we have got, climate and sand. I could not entirely agree with him. For myself, I found not only fine days, but fine pro- spects. But there was no denying the sand. Bradford Torrey. THE RED BRIDAL. FALLING in love at first sight is less common in Japan than in the West; partly because of the peculiar constitu- tion of Eastern society, and partly be- cause much sorrow is prevented by early marriages which parents arrange. Love suicides, on the other hand, are not in- frequent; but they have the particu- larity of being nearly always double. Moreover, they must be considered, in the majority of instances, the results of improper relationships. Still, there are honest and brave exceptions; and these occur usually in country districts. The love in such a tragedy may have evolved suddenly out of the most innocent and natural boy-and-girl friendship, and may have a history dating back to the child- hood of the victims. But even then there remains a very curious difference between a Western double suicide for love and a Japanese jishi. The Oriental suicide is not the result of a blind, quick frenzy of pain. It is not only cool and methodical; it is sacramental. It in- volves a marriage of which the certifi- cate is death. The twain pledge them- selves to each other in the presence of the gods, write their farewell letters, and die. No pledge can be more profoundly sacred than this. And therefore, if it should happen that, by sudden outside interference and by medical skill, one of the pair is snatched from death, that one is bound by the most solemn obliga- tion of love and honor to cast away life at the first possible opportunity. Of course, if both are saved, all may go well. But it were better to commit any crime of violence punishable with half a hundred years of state prison than to be- come known as a man who, after pledg- ing his faith to die with a girl, had left her to travel to the Meido alone. The woman who should fail in her vow might be partially forgiven; but the man who survived a j3shi through interference, and allowed himself to live on because his pur- pose was once frustrated, would be re- garded all his mortal days as a perjurer, a murderer, a bestial coward, a disgrace to human nature. I knew of one such case but it is not good to talk about! I would rather try to tell the story of an humble love affair which happened at a village in one of the eastern provinces. I. The village stands on the bank of a broad but very shallow river, the stony bed of which is completely covered with water only during the rainy season. The river traverses an immense level of rice- fields, open to the horizon north and south, but on the west walled in by a range of blue peaks, and on the east by a chain of low wooded hills. The vil- lage itself is separated from these hills 1894.] The Red Bridal. 75 only by half a mile of ricefields; and its principal cemetery, the adjunct of a Buddhist temple, dedicated to Kwannon- of-the-Eleven-Faces, is situated upon a neighboring summit. As a distributing centre, the village is not unimportant. Besides several hundred thatched dwell- ings of the ordinary rustic style, it con- tains one whole street of thriving two- story shops and inns with handsome tiled roofs. It possesses also a very picturesque ujigctmi, or Shint5 parish temple, dedicated to the Sun-Goddess, and a pretty shrine, in a grove of mulber- ry-trees, dedicated to the Deity of Silk- worms. There was born in this village, in the seventh year of Meiji, in the house of one Uchida, a dyer, a boy called Tar5. His birthday happened to be an akin- nichi, or unlucky day, the seventh of the eighth month, by the ancient Calen- dar of Moons. Therefore his parents, being old - fashioned folk, feared and sorrowed. But sympathizing neighbors tried to persuade them that everything was as it should be, because the calendar had been changed by the Emperors or- der, and according to the new calendar the day was a kitszt-nichi, or lucky day. These representations somewhat lessened the anxiety of the parents; but when they took the child to the ujigami, they made the gods a gift of a very large pa- per lantern, and besought earnestly that all harm should be kept away from their boy. The kannushi, or priest, repeated the archaic formulas required, and waved the sacred ~ohei, paper cut to represent spirits, above the little shaven head, and prepared a small amulet to be suspend- ed about the infants neck; after which the parents visited the temple of Kwan- non on the hill, and there also made offer- ings, and prayed to all the Buddhas to protect their first-born. IT. When Tar5 was six years old, his par- ents decided to send him to the new elementary school which had been built at a short distance from the village. Tar~s grandfather bought him some writing- brushes, paper, a book, and a slate, and early one morning led him by the hand to the school. Tar5 felt very happy, because the slate and the other things delighted him like so many new toys, and because everybody had told him that the school was a pleasant place, where he would have plenty of time to play. Moreover, his mother had promised to give him many cakes when he should come home. As soon as they reached the school, a big two-story building with glass win- dows, a servant showed them into a large, bare apartment, where a serious- looking man was seated at a desk. Tar~s grandfather bowed low to the serious- looking man, and addressed him as Sen- sei, and humbly requested him to teach the little fellow kindly. The Sensei rose & ip, and bowed in return, and spoke cour- teously to the old man. He also put his hand on Tar5s head, and said nice things. But Tar5 became all at once afraid. When his grandfather had bid him good-by, he grew still more afraid, and would have liked to run away home; but the master took him into a large, high, white room, full of girls and boys sitting on benches, and showed him a bench, and told him to sit down. All the boys and girls turned their heads to look at Tar5, and whispered to each other, and laughed. Tar5 thought they were laughing at him, and began to feel very miserable. A big bell rang; and the master, who had taken his place on a high platform at the other end of the room, ordered silence in a tremendous way that terrified Tar5. All became quiet, and the master began to speak. Tar~i thought he spoke most dreadfully. He did not say that school was a pleasant place: he told the pupils very plainly that it was not a place for play, but for hard work. He told them that study was painful, but that they must study 76 The Red Bridal. [July, in spite of the pain and the difficulty. He told them about the rules which they must obey, and about the punishments for disobedience or carelessness. When they all became frightened and still, he changed his voice altogether, and began to talk to them like a kind father, promising to love them just like his own little ones. Then he told them how the school had been built by the august com- mand of His Imperial Majesty, that the boys and girls of the country might be- come wise men and good women, and how dearly they should love their noble Emperor, and be happy even to give their lives for his sake. Also he told them how they should love their parents, and how hard their parents had to work for the means of sending them to school, and how wicked and ungrateful it would be to idle during study hours. Then he began to call them each by name, asking questions about what he had said. Tar5 had heard only a part of the masters discourse. His small mind was almost entirely occupied by the fact that all the boys and girls had looked at him and laughed when he had first entered the room. And the mystery of it all was so painful to him that he could think of little else, and was therefore quite un- prepared when the master called his name. Uchida Tar6, what do you like best in the world ? Tam3 started, stood up, and answered frankly, Cake. All the boys and girls~again looked at him and laughed; and the master asked reproachfully, Uchida Tar5, do you like cake more than you like your parents? Uchida Tar5, do you like cake better than your duty to His Majesty our Em- peror? Then Tar5 knew that he had made some great mistake; and his face be- came very hot, and all the children laughed, and he began to cry. This only made them laugh still more; and they kept on laughing until the master again enforced silence, and put a similar question to the next pupil. Tar5 kept his sleeve to his eyes, and sobbed. The bell rang. The master told the children they would receive their first writing-lesson during the next class hour from another teacher, but that they could first go out and play for a while. He then left the room; and the boys and girls all ran out into the school yard to play, taking no notice whatever of Tar3. The child felt more astonished at being thus ignored than he had felt before on finding himself an object of general attention. Nobody except the master had yet spoken one word to him; and now even the master seemed to have forgotten his existence. He sat down again on his little bench, and cried and cried; trying all the while not to make a noise, for fear the children would come back to laugh at him. Suddenly a hand was laid upon his shoulder; a sweet voice was speaking to him; and, turning his head, he found himself looking into the most caressing pair of eyes he had ever seen, the eyes of a little girl about a year older than he. What is it? she asked him ten- derly. Tar5 sobbed and snuffled helplessly for a moment, before he could answer: I am very unhappy here. I want to go home. Why? questioned the girl, slipping an arm about his neck. They all hate me; they will not speak to me or play with me. Oh no! said the girl. Nobody dislikes you at all. It is only because you are a stranger. When I first went to school, last year, it was just the same with me. You must not fret. But all the others are playing; and I must sit in here, protested Tar5. Oh no, you must not. You must come and play with me., I will be your playfellow. Come! Tar~3 at once began to cry out loud. 1894.] The Red Bridal. 77 Self-pity and gratitude and the delight of new-found sympathy filled his little heart so full that he really could not help it. It was so nice to be petted for crying. But the girl only laughed, and led him out of the room quickly, because the little mother soul in her divined the whole situation. Of course you may cry, if you wish, she said; but you must play, too! And oh, what a de- lightful play they played together! But when school was over, and Tar5s grandfather came to take him home, Tar5 began to cry again, because it was necessary that he should bid his little playmate good-by. The grandfather laughed, and ex- claimed, NVhy, it is little Yoshi, Miyahara O-Yoshi! Yoshi can come along with us, and stop at the house awhile. It is on her way home. At Tar5s house the playmates ate the promised cake together; and 0- Yoshi mischievously asked, mimicking the mas- ters severity, Uchida Tar5, do you like cake better than me? III. O-Yoshis father owned some neigh- boring rice lands, and also kept a shop in the village. Her mother, a samuraz, adopted into the Miyahara family at the time of the breaking up of the military caste, had borne several children, of whom O-Yoshi, the last, was the only sur- vivor. While still a baby, O-Yoshi lost her mother. Miyahara was past mid- dle age, but he took another wife, the daughter of one of his own farmers, a young girl named Ito 0-Tama. Though swarthy as new copper, 0-Tama was a remarkably handsome peasant girl, tall, strong, and active; but the choice caused surprise, because 0-Tama could neither read nor write. The surprise changed to amusement when it was dis- covered that almost from the time of en- tering the house she had assumed and maintained absolute control. But the neighbors stopped laughing at Miya- haras docility when they learned more about 0-Tama. She knew her hus- bands interests better than he, took charge of everything, and managed his affairs with such tact that in less than two years she had doubled his income. Evidently, Miyahara had got a wife who was going to make him rich. As a step- mother she bore herself rather kindly, even after the birth of her first boy. O-Yoshi was well cared for, and regu- larly sent to school. While the children were still going to school, a long-expected and wonderful event took place. Strange tall men with red hair and beards foreigners from the West came down into the valley with a great multitude of Japanese la- borers, and constructed a railroad. It was carried along the base of the low hill range, beyond the ricefields and mulberry groves in the rear of the vil- lage; and almost at the angle where it crossed the old road leading to the tem- ple of Kwannon, a small station-house was built; and the name of the village was painted in Chinese characters upon a white signboard erected on the plat- form. Later, a line of telegraph poles was planted, parallel with the railroad. And still later, trains came, and shrieked, and stopped, and passed, nearly shak- ing the Buddhas in the old cemetery off their lotus-flowers of stone. The children wondered at the strange level ash-strewn way, with its double lines of iron shining away north and south into mystery; and they were awe- struck by the trains that came roaring and screaming and smoking, like storm- breathing dragons, making the ground quake as they passed by. But this awe was succeeded by curious interest, an interest intensified by the explanations of one of their school - teachers, who showed them, by drawings on the black- board, how a locomotive engine was made; and who taught them, also, the 78 The Red Bridal. [July, still more marvelous operation of the telegraph, and told them how the new western capital and the sacred city of Ky5t~i were to be united by rail and wire, so that the journey between them might be accomplished in less than two days, and messages sent from the one to the other in a few seconds. Tar5 and O-Yoshi became very dear friends. They studied together, played together, and visited each others homes. But at the age of eleven O-Yoshi was taken from school to assist her step- mother in the household; and thereafter Tar5 saw her but seldom. He finished his own studies at fourteen, and began to learn his fathers trade. Sorrows came. After having given him a little brother, his mother died; and in the same year, the kind old grandfather who had first taken him to school followed her: and after these things the world seemed to him much less bright than before. No- thing further changed his life till he reached his seventeenth year. Occasion- ally he would visit the house of the Mi- yahara, to talk with O-Yoshi. She had grown np into a slender, pretty woman; but for him she was still only the merry playfellow of happier days. Iv. One soft spring day, Tar5 found himself feeling very lonesome, and the thought came to him that it would be pleasant to see O-Yoshi. Probably there existed in his memory some constant re- lation between the sense of lonesomeness in general and the experience of his first schoolday in particular. At all events, something within him perhaps that a dead mothers love had made, or per- haps something belonging to other dead people wanted a little tenderness, and he felt sure of receiving the tenderness from O-Yoshi. So he took his way to the little shop. As he approached it, he heard her laugh, and it sounded wonder- fully sweet. Then he saw her serving an old peasant, who seemed to be quite pleased, and was chatting garrulously. TaP3 had to wait, and felt vexed that he could not at once get O-Yoshis talk all for himself; but it made him a little happier even to be near her. He looked and looked at her, and suddenly began to wonder why he had never before thought how pretty she was. Yes, she was really pretty, more pretty than any other girl in the village. He kept on looking and wondering, and always she seemed to be growing prettier. It was very strange; he could not under- stand it. But O-Yoshi, for the first time, seemed to feel shy under that earnest gaze, and blushed to her little ears. Then Tar5 felt quite sure that she was more beautiful than anybody else in the whole world, and sweeter, and better, and that he wanted to tell her so; and all at once he found himself angry with the old peasant for talking so much to O-Yoshi, just as if she were a common person. In a few minutes the universe had been quite changed for Tar5, and he did not know it. He only knew that since he last saw her O-Yoshi had be- come divine; and as soon as the chance came, he told her all his foolish heart, and she told him hers. And they won- - dered because their thoughts were so much the same; and that was the be- ginning of great trouble. V. The old peasant whom Tar5 had once seen talking to O-Yoshi had not visited the shop merely as a customer. In ad- dition to his real calling he was a pro- fessional nak~do, or match-maker, and was at that very time acting in the service of a wealthy rice dealer named Okazaki Yaicbiri3. Okazaki had seen O-Yoshi, had taken a fancy to her, and had commissioned the nak5do to find out everything possible about her, and about the circumstances of her family. Very much detested by the peasants, and even by his more immediate neigh- 1894.] The Red Bridal. 79 bors in the village, was Okazaki Yaichir~. He was an elderly man, gross, hard-fea- tured, with a loud, insolent manner. He was said to be malignant. He was known to have speculated successfully in rice during a period of famine, which the peasant considers a crime, and never for- gives. He was not a native of the ken, nor in any way related to its people, but had come to the village eighteen years before, with his wife and one child, from some western district. His wife had been dead two years, and his only son, whom he was said to have treated cruelly, had suddenly left him, and gone away, no- body knew whither. Other unpleasant stories were told about him. One was that, in his native western province, a furious mob had sacked his house and his godowns, and obliged him to fly for his life. Another was that, on his wed- ding night, he had been compelled to give a banquet to the god Jiz3. It is still customary in some provinces, on the occasion of the marriage of a very unpopular farmer, to make the bride- groom feast Jiz3. A band of sturdy young men force their way into the house, carrying with them a stone image of the divinity, borrowed from the high- way or from some neighboring cemetery. A large crowd follows them. They de- posit the image in the guest-room, and they demand that ample offerings of food and of sak~ be made to it at once. This means, of course, a big feast for themselves, and it is more than danger- ous to refuse. All the uninvited guests must be served till they can neither eat nor drink any more. The obligation to give such a feast is not only a public rebuke; it is also a lasting public dis- grace. In his old age, Okazaki wished to treat himself to the luxury of a young and pretty wife; but in spite of his wealth he found this wish less easy to gratify than he had expected. Various families had checkmated his proposals at once by stipulating impossible condi tions. The Headman of the village had answered, less, politely, that he would sooner give his daughter to an oni (de- mon). And the rice dealer would proba- bly have found himself obliged to seek for a wife in some other district, if he had not happened, after these failures, to notice O-Yoshi. The girl much more than pleased him; and he thought he might be able to obtain her by making certain offers to her people, whom he supposed to be poor. Accordingly, he tried, through the nak5do, to open nego- tiations with the Miyahara family. O-Yoshis peasant stepmother, though entirely uneducated, was very much the reverse of a simple woman. She had never loved her stepdaughter, but was much too intelligent to be cruel to her without reason. Moreover, O-Yoshi was far from being in her way. O-Yoshi was a faithful worker, obedient, sweet- tempered, and very useful in the house. But the same cool shrewdness that dis- cerned O-Yoshis merits also estimated the girls value in the marriage market. Okazaki never suspected that he was going to deal with his natural superior in cunning. 0-Tama knew a great deal of his history. She knew the extent of his wealth. She was aware of his un- successful attempts to obtain a wife from various families, both within and with- out the village. She suspected that O-Yoshis beauty might have aroused a real passion, and she knew that an old mans passion might be taken advantage of in a large number of cases. 0-Voshi was not wonderfully beautiful, but she was a really pretty and graceful girl, with very winning ways; and to get an- other like her, Okazaki would have to travel far. Should he refuse to pay well for the privilege of obtaining such a wife, 0-Tama knew of younger men who would not hesitate to be generous. He might have O-Yoshi, but never upon easy terms. After the repulse of his first advances, his conduct would betray him. Should he prove to be really en- 80 The Red Bridal. [July, amored, he could be forced to do more than any other resident of the district could possibly afford. It was therefore highly important to discover the real strength of his inclination, and to keep the whole matter, in the mean time, from the knowledge of O-Yoshi. As the repu- tation of the nak5do depended on profes- sional silence, there was no likelihood of his betraying the secret. The policy of the Miyahara family was settled in a consultation between O-Yoshis father and her stepmother. Old Miyahara would have scarcely pre- sumed, in any event, to oppose his wifes plans; but she took the precaution of persuading him, first of all, that such a marriage ought to be in many ways to his daughters interest. She discussed with him the possible financial advan- tages of the union. She represented that there were, indeed, unpleasant risks, but that these could be provided against by making Okazaki agree to certain pre- liminary settlements. Then she taught her husband his r6le. Pending nego- tiations, the visits of Tar5 were to be ~ncouraged. The liking of the pair for each other was a mere cobweb of senti- inent that could be brushed out of ex- istence at the required moment; and meantime it was to be made use of. That Okazaki should hear of a likely young rival might hasten desirable conclusions. It was for these reasons that when Tar5s father first proposed for O-Yoshi in his sons name, the suit was neither accepted nor discouraged. The only immediate objection offered was that O-Yoshi was one year older than Tar5, and that such a marriage would be con- trary to custom, which was quite true. Still, the objection was a weak one, and had been selected because of its apparent unimportance. Okazakis first overtures were at the same time received in such a manner as to convey the impression that their sin- cerity was suspected. The Miyahara refused to understand the nak5do at all. They remained astonishingly obtuse even to the plainest assurances, until Okazaki found it politic to shape what he thought a tempting offer. Old Miyahara then declared that he would leave the matter in his wifes hands, and abide by her decision. 0-Taina decided by instantly rejecting the proposal, with every appearance of scornful astonishment. She said un- pleasant things. There was once a man who wanted to get a beautiful wife very cheap. At last he found a beautiful woman who said she ate only two grains of rice every day. So he married her; and every day she put into her mouth only two grains of rice; and he was happy. But one night, on returning from a journey, he watched her secretly through a hole in the roof, and saw her eating monstrously, devouring moun- tains of rice and fish, ai~d putting all the food into a hole in the top of her head under her hair. Then he knew that he had married the Yama-Omba. 0-Tama waited a month for the re- sults of her rebuff, waited very con- fidently, knowing how the imagined value of something wished for can be increased by the increase of the difficulty of getting it. And, as she expected, the nak5do at last reappeared. This time Okazaki approached the matter less con- descendingly than before, adding to his first offer, and even volunteering se- ductive promises. Then she knew she was going to have him in her power. Her plan of campaign was not compli- cated, but it was founded upon a deep instinctive knowledge of the uglier side of human nature; and she felt sure of success. Promises were for fools; legal contracts involving conditions were traps for the simple. Okazaki should yield up no small portion of his property be- fore obtaining O-Yoshi. VI. Tar~s father earnestly desired his sons marriage with O-Yoshi, and had tried 1894.] The Red Bridal. 81 to bring it about in the usual way. He was surprised at not being able to get any definite answer from the Miyahara. He was a plain, simple man; but he had the intuition of sympathetic natures, and the unusually gracious manner of 0-Tama, whom he had always disliked, made him suspect that he had nothing to hope. He thought it best to tell his suspicions to Tar5, with the result that the lad fretted himself into a fever. But O-Yoshis stepmother had no intention of reducing Tar5 to despair at so early a stage of her plot. She sent kindly worded messages to the house during his illness, and a letter from O-Yoshm, which had the desired effect of reviving all his hopes. After his sickness, he was graciously received by the Miyahara, and allowed to talk to O-Yoshi in the shop. Nothing, however, was said about his f a- thers visit. The lovers had also frequent chances to meet at the ujigami court, whither O-Yoshi often went with her stepmothers last baby. Even among the crowd of nurse-girls, children, and young mothers, they could exchange a few words without fear of gossip. Their hopes received no further serious check for a month, when 0-Tama pleasantly proposed to Tar5s father an impossible pecuniary arrange- ment. She had lifted a corner of her mask, because Okazaki was struggling wildly in the net she had spread for him, and by the violence of the struggles she knew the end was not far off. O-Yoshi was still ignorant of what was going on; but she had reason to fear that she would never be given to Tar5. She was becom- ing thinner and paler. Tarii one morning took his child bro- ther with him to the temple court, in the hope of an opportunity to chat with O-Yoshi. They met; and he told her that he was feeling afraid. He had found that the little wooden amulet which his mother had put about his neck when he was a child had been broken within the silken cover. VOL. LXXIV. xo. 441. 6 That is not bad luck, said O-Yoshi. It is only a sign that the august gods have been guarding you. There has been sickness in the village; and you caught the fever, but you got well. The holy charm shielded you: that is why it was broken. Tell the kannushi to-day: he will give you another. Because they were very unhappy, and had never done harm to anybody, they began to reason about the justice of the universe. Tar3 said: Perhaps in the former life we hated each other. Perhaps I was unkind to you, or you to me. And this is our punishment. The priests say so. O-Yoshi made answer with some- thing of her old playfulness: I was a man then, and you were a woman. I loved you very, very much; but you were very unkind to me. I remember it all quite well. You are not a Bosatsu, returned Tar~, smiling despite his sorrow; so you cannot remember anything. It is only in the first of the ten states of Bosatsu that we begin to remember. How do you know I am not a Bo- satsu? You are a woman. A woman can- not be a Bosatsu. But is not Kwan-ze-on Bosatsu a woman? Well, that is true. . . . But you love me, you say; and a Bosatsu cannot love anything except the Ky5. Did not Shaka have a wife and a son? Did he not love them? Yes; but you know he had to leave them. That was very bad, even if Shaka did it. But I dont believe all those stories. . . . And would you leave me, if you could get me So they theorized and argued, and even laughed betimes: it was so plea- sant to be together. But suddenly the girl became serious again, and said : Listen! . . . Last night I had a dream. I saw a strange river, and the 82 The Red Bridal. [July, sea. I was standing, I thought, beside the river, very near to where it flowed into the sea. And I was afraid, very much afraid, and did not know why. Then I looked, and saw there was no water in the river, no water in the sea, but only the bones of the Buddhas. But they were all moving, just like water. ~Then again I thought I was at home, and that you had given me a beautiful gift-silk for a kimono, and that the ki- mono had been made. And I put it on. And then I wondered, because at first it had seemed of many colors, but now it was all white; and I had foolishly folded it upon me as the robes of the dead are folded, to the left. Then I went to the homes of all my kinsfolk to say good-by; and I told them I was going to the Meido. And they all asked me why; and I could not tell them. That is good, responded Tar5 it is very lucky to dream of the dead. Perhaps it is a sign we shall soon be hus- band and wife. This time the girl did not answer; neither did she smile. Tar5 was silent a minute; then he added: If you think it was not a good dream, Yoshi, whisper it all to the nan- ten plant in the garden: then it will not come true. But on the evening of the same day Tar5s father was notified that Miyahara O-Yoshi was to become the wife of Oka- zaki Yaichir5. VII. 0-Tama was really a very clever wo- man. She had never made any serious mistakes. She was one of those excel- lently organized beings who succeed in life by the perfect ease with which they exploit inferior natures. The full ex- perience of her peasant ancestry in pa- tience, in cunning, in crafty perception, in rapid foresight, in hard economy, was concentrated into a perfect machinery within her unlettered brain. That ma- chinery worked faultlessly in the environ- ment which had called it into existence, and upon the particular human material with which it was adapted to deal, the nature of the peasant. But there was another nature which 0-Tama un- derstood less well, because there was nothing in her ancestral experience to elucidate it. She was a strong disbe- liever in all the old ideas about char- acter distinctions between samurai and heimin. She considered there bad never been any differences between the mili- tary and the agricultural classes, except such differences of rank as laws and customs had established; and these had been bad. Laws and customs, she thought, had resulted in making all peo- ple of the former samurai class more or less helpless and foolish; and secretly she despised all shizoku. By their in- capacity for hard work and their abso- lute ignorance of business methods, she had seen them reduced from wealth to misery. She had seen the pension-bonds given them by the new government pass from their hands into the clutches of cunning speculators of the most vulgar class. She despised weakness; she de- spised incapacity ; and she deemed the commonest vegetable seller a much su- perior being to the ex-Kar5 obliged in his old age to beg assistance from those who had formerly cast off their foot gear and bowed their heads to the mud when- ever he passed by. She did not consid- er it an advantage for O-Yoshi to have had a samurai mother: she attributed the girls delicacy to that cause, and thought her descent a misfortune. She had clearly read in O-Yoshis character all that could be read by one not of a superior caste, among other facts, that nothing would be gained by needless harshness to the child; and the implied quality was not one that she disliked. But there were other qualities in O-Yo- shi that she had never clearly perceived, a profound though well-controlled sen- sitiveness to moral wrong, an unconquer- able self-respect, and a latent reserve of will power that could triumph over any 1894.] The Red Bridal. 83 physical pain. And thus it happened that the behavior of O-Yoshi, when told she would have to become the wife of Okazaki, duped her stepmother, who was prepared to encounter a revolt. She was mistaken. At first the girl turned white as death. But in another moment she blushed, smiled, bowed down, and agreeably as- tonished the Miyahara by announcing, in the formal language of filial piety, her readiness to obey the will of her parents in all things. There was no further appearance even of secret dissat- isfaction in her manner; and 0-Tama was so pleased that she took her into confidence, and told her something of the comedy of the negotiations, and the full extent of the sacrifices Okazaki had been compelled to make. Furthermore, in addition to such trite consolations as are always offered to a young girl be- trothed without her own consent to an old man, 0-Tama gave her some really priceless advice how to manage Okazaki. Tar5 s name was not even once men- tioned. For the advice O-Yoshi dutifully thanked her stepmother, with graceful prostrations. It was certainly admirable advice. Almost any intelligent peasant girl, fully instructed by such a teacher as 0-Tama, might have been able to support existence with Okazaki. But O-Yoshi was only half a peasant girl. Her first sudden pallor and her subse- quent crimson flush, after the announce- ment of the fate reserved for her, were caused by two emotional sensations of which 0-Tama was far from suspecting the nature. Both represented much more complex and rapid thinking than 0-Tama had ever done in all her calcu- lating experience. The first was a shock of horror ac- companying the full recognition of the absolute moral insensibility of her step- mother, the utter hopelessness of any protest, the virtual sale of her person to that hideous old man for the sole motive of unnecessary gain, the cruelty and the shame of the transaction. But almost as quickly there rushed to her consciousness an equally complete sense of the need of courage and strength to face the worst, and of subtlety to cope with strong cunning. It was then she smiled. And as she smiled, her young will became steel, of the sort that severs iron without turning edge. She knew at once exactly what to do, her samu- rai blood told her that; and she plotted only to gain the time and the chance. And she felt already so sure of triumph that she had to make a strong effort not to laugh aloud. The light in her eyes completely deceived 0-Tama, who de- tected only a manifestation of satisfied feeling, and imagined the feeling due to a sudden perception of advantages to be gained by a rich marriage. - - It was the fifteenth day of the ninth month; and the wedding was to be celebrated upon the sixth of the tenth month. But three days later, 0-Tama, rising at dawn, found that her step- daughter had disappeared during the night. Tar5 Uchida had not been seen by his father since the afternoon of the previous day. But letters from both were received a few hours afterwards. VIII. The early morning train from Ky~t6 was in; the little station was full of hur- ry and noise, clattering of geta, hum- ming of converse, and fragmentary cries of village boys selling cakes and lunch- eons: Kwashi yoros! Sushi go- ros! BentV goros! Five minutes, and the geta clatter, and the banging of carriage doors, and the shrilling of the boys stopped, as a whistle blew and the train jolted and moved. It rumbled out, puffed away slowly northward, and the little station emptied itself. The po- liceman on duty at the wicket banged it to, and began to walk up and down the sanded platform, surveying the silent ricefields. Autumn had come, the Period of 84 The Red Bridal. [July, Great Light. The sun-glow had sudden- ly become whiter, and shadows sharper, and all outlines clear as edges of splin- tered glass. The mosses, long parched out of visibility by the summer heat, had revived in wonderful patches and bands of bright soft green over all shaded bare spaces of the black volcanic soil; from every group of pine-trees vibrated the shrill wheeze of the tsuku-tsuku-b~shi; and above all the little ditches and ca- nals was a silent flickering of tiny light- nings, zigzag, soundless flasbings of em- erald and rose and azure-of-steel, the shooting of dragonflies. Now, it may have been due to the extraordinary clearness of the morning air that the policeman was able to per- ceive, far up the track, looking north, something which caused him to start, to shade his eyes with his hand, and then to look at the clock. But, as a rule, the black eye of a Japanese policeman, like the eye of a poised kite, seldom fails to perceive the least unusual happening within the whole limit of its vision. I remember that once, in far-away Oki, wishing, without being myself observed, to watch a mask - dance in the street before my inn, I poked a small hole through a paper window of the second story, and peered at the performance. Down the street stalked a policeman, in snowy uniform and havelock; for it was midsummer. He did not appear even to see the dancers or the crowd, through which he walked without so much as turning his head to either side. Then he suddenly halted, and fixed his gaze exactly on the hole in my sh~iji; for at that hole he had seen an eye which he had instantly decided, by reason of its shape, to be a foreign eye. Then he en- tered the inn, and asked questions about my passport, which had already been examined. What the policeman at the village station observed, and afterwards report- ed, was that, more than half a mile north of the station, two persons had reached the railroad track by crossing the rice- fields, apparently after leaving a farm- house considerably to the northwest of the village. One of them, a woman, he judged, by the color of her robe and girdle, to be very young. The early ex- press train from T5ky5 was then due in a few minutes, and its advancing smoke could be perceived from the station plat- form. The two persons began to run quickly along the track upon which the train was coming. They ran on out of sight round a curve. Those two persons were Tar5 and O-Yoshi. They ran quickly, partly to escape the observation of that very po- liceman, and partly so as to meet the T5ky5 express as far from the station as possible. After passing the curve, how- ever, they stopped running, and walked, for tbey could see the smoke coming. As soon as they could see the train it- self, they stepped off the track, so as not to alarm the engineer, and waited, hand in hand. Another minute, and the low roar rushed to their ears, and they knew it was time. They stepped back to the track again, turned, wound their arms about each other, and lay down cheek to cheek, very softly and quickly, straight across the inside rail, already ringing like an anvil to the vibration of the hur- rying pressure. The boy smiled. The girl, tightening her arms about his neck, spoke in his ear: For the period of two lives, and of three, I am your wife; you are my hus- band, Tar~i Sama. Tar5 said nothing, because almost at the same instant, notwithstanding frantic attempts to halt a fast train without air- brakes in a distance of little more than a hundred yards, the wheels passed through both, cutting evenly, like enormous shears. TX. The village people now put bamboo cups full of flowers upon the single grave- stone of the united pair, and burn incense- sticks, and repeat prayers. This is not 1894.] The 3lctyor and the City. 85 orthodox at all, because Buddhism or- bids j~shi, and the cemetery is a Buddhist one; but there is religion in it, a re- ligion worthy of profound respect. You ask why and how the people pray to those dead. Well, all do not pray to them, but lovers do, especially unhappy ones. Other folk only decorate the tomb and repeat pious texts. But lovers pray there for supernatural sympathy and help. I was myself obliged to ask why, and I was answered simply, Because those dead suffered so much. So that the idea which prompts such prayers would seem to be at once more ancient and more modern than Bud- dhism, the Idea of the eternal Reli- gion of Suffering. Lafcadio Hearn. THE MAYOR AND THE CITY. THERE is no more striking anomaly in American politics than the changes which have taken place and now are happening in our town and municipal governments. The little democracies which our Pilgrim and Puritan ancestors established on these shores, unseen or unheeded by the king and his Parliament, were the best school for developing the faculties, for stimu- lating public spirit, and for training in self - restraint, intelligence, and love of freedom, the world has ever known. To these town governments of New England more than to anything else are due the supremacy of the English in America, and the failure of the French to hold their own during the long struggle for the possession of Canada. In the next and harder struggle, that for indepen- dence of Great Britain itself, the towns again had a decisive part. When Fran- cis Bernard, the royal governor, obedient to his instructions from home, prorogued the Assembly, and left the province of Massachusetts without a legislature, the king and his ministers thought that by this course they had deprived the patri- ots of their opportunity for concerted ac- tion, and that they could nip in the bud the incipient rebellion. And so it would have proved had it not been f6r the town meetings, which were the real fountains of power; so that in place of one general assembly the royal governor found he had to deal with two hundred or more local assemblies, small, indeed, for the most part, but self-reliant, aggressive, trained to the consideration of public affairs, and ready for action. After the Revolution, town meetings continued for nearly fifty years to be the only form of local government in New England, and it was not until about the close of the first quarter of the present century that a break occurred, when Bos- ton reluctantly became a city. Since then, cities which originally were towns have multiplied rapidly, until to-day consider- ably more than one half of the people have been gathered into municipalities. The pressure upon the legislatures of dif- ferent States for municipal charters has led to the enactment of general laws, un- der which any community reaching the prescribed limit may, by the vote of its citizens, cease to be a town, and become a city. Such an event is usually cele- brated by the ringing of bells and the noise of cannon. It is a day of rejoi- cing. There is another side, however, to the shield. The little democracy is dead. The people no longer govern themselves. They only choose those who are to gov- ern them. No more gatherings, with speeches and discussions on roads and bridges and schools, but only once a year a minute or two given in which to drop into the ballot-box a slip of paper con-

Harvey N. Shepard Shepard, Harvey N. The Mayor and the City 85-94

1894.] The 3lctyor and the City. 85 orthodox at all, because Buddhism or- bids j~shi, and the cemetery is a Buddhist one; but there is religion in it, a re- ligion worthy of profound respect. You ask why and how the people pray to those dead. Well, all do not pray to them, but lovers do, especially unhappy ones. Other folk only decorate the tomb and repeat pious texts. But lovers pray there for supernatural sympathy and help. I was myself obliged to ask why, and I was answered simply, Because those dead suffered so much. So that the idea which prompts such prayers would seem to be at once more ancient and more modern than Bud- dhism, the Idea of the eternal Reli- gion of Suffering. Lafcadio Hearn. THE MAYOR AND THE CITY. THERE is no more striking anomaly in American politics than the changes which have taken place and now are happening in our town and municipal governments. The little democracies which our Pilgrim and Puritan ancestors established on these shores, unseen or unheeded by the king and his Parliament, were the best school for developing the faculties, for stimu- lating public spirit, and for training in self - restraint, intelligence, and love of freedom, the world has ever known. To these town governments of New England more than to anything else are due the supremacy of the English in America, and the failure of the French to hold their own during the long struggle for the possession of Canada. In the next and harder struggle, that for indepen- dence of Great Britain itself, the towns again had a decisive part. When Fran- cis Bernard, the royal governor, obedient to his instructions from home, prorogued the Assembly, and left the province of Massachusetts without a legislature, the king and his ministers thought that by this course they had deprived the patri- ots of their opportunity for concerted ac- tion, and that they could nip in the bud the incipient rebellion. And so it would have proved had it not been f6r the town meetings, which were the real fountains of power; so that in place of one general assembly the royal governor found he had to deal with two hundred or more local assemblies, small, indeed, for the most part, but self-reliant, aggressive, trained to the consideration of public affairs, and ready for action. After the Revolution, town meetings continued for nearly fifty years to be the only form of local government in New England, and it was not until about the close of the first quarter of the present century that a break occurred, when Bos- ton reluctantly became a city. Since then, cities which originally were towns have multiplied rapidly, until to-day consider- ably more than one half of the people have been gathered into municipalities. The pressure upon the legislatures of dif- ferent States for municipal charters has led to the enactment of general laws, un- der which any community reaching the prescribed limit may, by the vote of its citizens, cease to be a town, and become a city. Such an event is usually cele- brated by the ringing of bells and the noise of cannon. It is a day of rejoi- cing. There is another side, however, to the shield. The little democracy is dead. The people no longer govern themselves. They only choose those who are to gov- ern them. No more gatherings, with speeches and discussions on roads and bridges and schools, but only once a year a minute or two given in which to drop into the ballot-box a slip of paper con- 86 The JJliayor and the City. [July, taming a list of names. The burdens of government, it is true, are taken off the shoulders of the citizen, but also there have gone the educative and quickening impulses of self-government. The little community has ceased to be a democracy, and has become a republic by represen- tation. Loss of interest in the affairs of the community has followed, as a rule, and loss of responsibility for their condition. Nearly all the citizens go to town meet- ing, since there each man may have his say; but a lessening portion go to the polling - booths of a city. It is inevi- table that a man shall feel less interest in the marking of a piece of paper to elect those who are to decide questions for him than he would feel in the deci- sion of the same questions by himself and his fellow-townsmen in open and earnest discussion. The town meetings of Bos- ton were notable, among other things, for the numbers who came to them. No citi- zen, whether minister, merchant, magis- trate, mariner, carpenter, or whatever his trade, voluntarily stayed away. On the other hand, in the municipal election of last year, at least one citizen out of every. three who were entitled to vote did not care to give even the little time required, and therefore stayed away from the polis. The change from a town to a city is not considered, in the contemplation of the law, to be the discontinuance of one public corporation, and the establish- ment of another as its successor. It is a change only in the organization of the existing corporation, so that the inhab- itants may choose representatives who shall meet to deliberate instead of them- selves. In fact, in Massachusetts at least, as held by its highest court, it is not with- in the power of the legislature to abolish the town system. It sets up, in place of the selectmen and citizens, the mayor and aldermen and common council. The mayor of a city is not altogether an ex- ecutive officer, but rather a president or chairman, like the moderator of the town meeting, whose position he has taken. His duties, very largely, are ministerial, and he may be compelled to perform them by writ of mandamus. The duties of the aldermen and councilmen are in part executive, like those of the selectmen whom they have succeeded, and in part legislative, like those of the inhabitants of the town when gathered in their annual meeting. The form of organization of the city of Boston was copied from that of Lon- don, which was established early in the thirteenth century; from that of New York, which received its charter in 1665; from several other charters which had been granted by the king to large towns outside of New England, and from those granted by the legislature of Connecticut after the Revolution. As the earliest departure in Massachu- setts from the ancient system of town government, it was much debated at the time, both within the town and in the state convention which proposed the amendment to the Constitution to pro- vide for the incorporation of cities. The proposal to apply to the legislature for a charter was carried by a majority of only 640, and its acceptance by 900. The charter was draughted by Lemuel Shaw, afterwards the chief justice of the commonwealth, and provides that the mayor and aldermen shall be one board, the mayor presiding and having the right to vote, with the general exec- utive powers of selectmen; and all the other powers of the town or its inhabi- tants shall be exercised by the mayor, aldermen, and common council, by con- current vote, each board having a nega- tive upon the other. The mayor, as,the presiding officer of the board of abjer- men, named, as a rule, the members of its own committees, and also of such other committees as were joined to mem- bers from the common council as joint committees; and the custom was soon established, and followed for thirty years, of naming himself as the chair- 1894.] The liiliayor and the City. 87 man of all the most important commit- tees. In this way he came to exercise a far more powerful influence upon the management of affairs than had been at first contemplated. In 1854, however, by a revision of the charter, his author- ity was largely curtailed. The execu- tive powers of the mayor and aldermen as one board were vested in the alder- men alone; and while the mayor could make certain appointments, subject to their approval, they acquired full con- trol of the police, fire, and health depart- ments, the markets, streets, and licenses, with no right to veto on the part of the mayor unless their action involved an ex- penditure of money. This system of government, by means of a council exercising both executive and legislative powers, continued with little change up to the year 1870. Most matters in the beginning were not only considered, but carried out as well, by the action of the whole body; and as the city grew in population and wealth, the changes introduced were, the appoint- ment of committees to consider a iiew matter and make report to the council for its action, and the election of some officials to administer the affairs of cer- tain departments, under the direction of the committees. In time, however, the duties, which had been performed gratu- itously and from public spirit, were felt to be arduous, and to require too large a sacrifice of ones personal occupation; and it followed inevitably either that the public duties were neglected, or that the substantial and busy citizens of the com- munity no longer were willing to be coun- cilmen. The commencement of the change, which has gone on since with increasing rapidity, was in an act of the legislature, in 1870, establishing a board of street commissioners, to be elected by the peo- ple for a term of three years, and trans- ferring to this board all the powers which had been vested in the aldermen relntiv~, to laying out, altering, or discontinuing streets; and also, with true Anglo-Saxon inconsistency, transferring to it another wholly incongruous matter, namely, the power to abate taxes. In 1871 a department for the survey and inspection of buildings, its chief to be appointed by the mayor with the ap- proval of the council, and his assistants by himself with the approval of the mayor, was established by the legisla- ture; and the following year, by ordi- nance, the care of the public health was taken from the aldermen, and given to a board of three commissioners, to be ap- pointed by the mayor with the approval of the council; though the cleaning of streets and the collecting of ashes, a work employing many men, were retained for a joint committee. In 1873 the fire de- partment was reorganized, and its con- trol was taken from the city council, and vested in a board of three commission- ers, to be appointed by the mayor with the approval of the council, with author- ity to appoint all other officers and fix their compensation, an extent of power which had not up to that time been given by the council to any department or city official. Further and much larger changes were suggested that year by the very emi- nent commission which was appointed by the mayor to consider the revision of the charter; but the people were not then ready for these changes, though many have since been adopted. In 1875 the legislature provided for three park com- missioners, to be appointed by the mayor with the approval of the council, to take lands, lay out public parks, and make rules for their government; and in the same year all the powers of the council relative to supplying the city with water were conferred upon three commission- ers. Reaction, as usual, followed these changes, so that many expressions of doubt were heard on all sides as to the policy of creating any more commis- sions and giving any more power to the mayor. The schemes which had been 88 The 3fayor and the City. [July, put forth to limit municipal suffrage, and to transfer the more important duties of the city to officers approved by the gov- ernor, found little favor with the people. Nevertheless, three years later, the con- trol of the police and of the liquor traffic was taken from the council, and vested in three commissioners, to be appointed by the mayor with its approval. In 1884 the legislature divided the city into districts for the election of aldermen, in place of the election of all by the city as a whole, as had been the custom up to that time; and in the following year the whole executive power of the city was given by the legislature to the mayor, with the appointment of all officers and boards, and the council and its commit- tees and members were forbidden to take any part in executive or administrative business. So died the first form of municipal government, as had died, a half-century earlier, the town government which it had succeeded, and both at the hands of the legislature. A popular assembly, elected by the people, took away from that portion of the constituency which lived within the borders of Boston their right to the direct control of their town affairs, and subsequently took away from their representatives, the city council, the successor of the town meeting, the control of the larger part of the affairs which formerly were discussed and de- termined in arid by the town meeting. The mayor is clothed with greater pre- rogatives and more important powers and privileges than belong to the gov- ernor of the commonwealth, and indeed to many kings and princes. For the time being, and within a prescribed territory, be is a C~esar, responsible for the exer- cise of his authority only to the people at the close of his term of office. He may, of course, be a wise and beneficent ruler, but none the less it is the rule of a despot, altogether without those checks and guards which our fathers thought to be essential. This radical change, however, did not stay the hand of the State. In the same year~ 1885, it gave the control of th& po- lice to a board appointed by the governor, and provided that all expense for the maintenance of buildings, the pay of the police, and all incidental expenses in- curred in the administration of the said police shall be paid by the city of Bos- ton upon the requisition of said board. This statute is a marked departure in New England politics, not so much in the appointment of municipal officers by the State as in the curtailing of the power over the local purse, which had been absolute in the town meeting, and up to that time, except in the case of schools, in the council. The exception relative to schools had not been intentional on the part of the legislature, and the towns have continued to exercise as full con- trol over the expenditures for schools as over those for bridges or roads or any other branch of town administration. In cities, however, as the members of the school committee were not responsible to the city council, which succeeded to the town meeting, and as they were au- thorized to make contracts with teachers, both the custom and the right grew to be established for the school committee to bind the city by such contracts, even though beyond the appropriation of the city council and the tax levy thereunder. There was no long delay in the follow- ing of this example. Within a few days an act was passed authorizing another board to take land and erect a court- house, and requiring the city to pay therefor, without any limitation as to the cost of the land. In 1887 this board was authorized to require the city to issue bonds to an amount not exceeding $2,500,000, and in 1892 the authority was still further enlarged. The government of Boston, as al~ pre- sent established, is sufficiently inconsistent and illogical to satisfy the most inveter- ate disciple of Anglo-Saxon institutions, and so far removed from the spirit and 1894.] The Afayor and the City. 89 beliefs of the patriots who won our in- dependence as a nation that there can be little doubt it would be altogether ab- horrent to them. The city council may enact ordinances, but the police, upon whom it depends to enforce them, are beyond its control, and, so far as it is concerned, may do as they please with reference thereto. The city council must determine the tax levy, and cause the same to be collected; but some depart- ments may spend as much as they please, without any regard whatever to the esti- mates or appropriations upon which the tax levy was based, and the government cannot call them to account therefor. On the one hand, the government is com- manded to pay whatever the police and school boards demand, without limita- tion; and on the other, it is forbidden to raise the taxes for these or other peirposes beyond a fixed percentage; as also it must issue bonds when required so to do by the Courthouse Commis- sioners, and yet it is forbidden by law to borrow in all more than a fixed per- centage. It is a very interesting if com- plicated condition of things which would arise, if some day these absolute coin- mands and prohibitions should come into conflict, as well they might, and the re- quisitions from boards and departments, over which the city government had no jurisdiction, should exceed not only the appropriations, but also the possibility, under the statutes, to tax or borrow. We should not consider it fair or reasonable to hold the directors of a corporation to very strict account for the management of its finances, if some of its officers could spend or contract debts as they pleased, without regard to the wishes of the di- rectors, and without any responsibility to them for so doing; and it is just to bear this in mind when we have occasion to criticise our city council as now consti- tuted. To understand how far like changes have taken place in other portions of ou~ country, and how general has been the ten- dency to put the executive beyond legisla- tive control, it is important to consider briefly the governments of a few other representative cities. The mayor of New York has larger power than the mayor o1~ Boston so far as his appointments are concerned, inas- much as they do not require confirma- tion; but in another respect he is less fortunate, as the law authorizes the gov- ernor of the State to suspend or remove him from office. The aldermen of the city of New York levy the taxes and cause them to be collected; but it is an empty privilege, as the amount has been determined, and apportioned also, by a board of estimate, which is neither chosen nor controlled by them, and the findings of which they cannot vary in the slightest detail. Wherever history records the growth of free institutions, the struggle begins in the effort to give the control of the public purse to the re- presentatives of the people, and by and through such control is the full measure of liberty at length attained. Here, on the contrary, we find in a republic the control of the purse taken~ from the representatives of the people, and given over, absolutely and without appeal, to an executive board. The legislative branch of the government cannot spend nor borrow, nor contract debts, nor loan the credit of the city, but these things. exe done by the mayor and his subor- dinates. It is as if the Constitution of the United States should provide that salaries, expenses of departments, cost of public buildings, appropriations for the army and navy, and the amount and kind of currency and bonds should be determined by the President and his Cabinet, and that Congress must record and execute their order. We must go back to the so-called Parliaments of France under the old r~gime to find anything like this condition of affairs, where the executive legislates, and the legislature is content to receive, record, and obey. 90 The Mayor and the City. [July, The mayor of Chicago presides at all meetings of the city council, which con- sists of himself and aldermen, though he does not vote except in case of a tie, but has the veto power, extending to items of appropriations; and he appoints, with consent of the aldermen, all muni- cipal officers except the clerk, attorney, and treasurer; and can remove them, giving his reasons theref or to the alder- men, though if they disapprove of such removal by two-thirds vote, the officer is restored to his place. The council pre- scribes the duties of all municipal offi- cers, and fixes their compensation, which cannot be altered during their term of office. A limitation upon the powers of the council, which is unknown in New England, is found in the provision that it shall not grant to any steam or horse railroad company a right to lay down tracks in the street except upon the petition of more than one half the owners of the abutting lands. Another anomaly is that the courts are author- ized to inquire into charges of miscon- duct or misfeasance on the part of the mayor or other municipal officer; and if, upon indictment, the accused is found guilty, to remove him from office. The charter of the city of St. Louis is an illustration of the tendency pre- vailing in some sections of the West, though not to the same extent now as a few years ago, to put into the organic provision for the government of a city~ as its charter, or of a State, as its con- st~tution, details for the procedure and conduct of the legislative bodies, which usually have been left wholly to their dis- cretion. The Municipal Assembly of St. Louis consists of two houses: the Council of Thirteen, chosen on a general ticket for four years, one half retiring biennial- ly; and the House of Delegates, consisting of one member from each ward for two years. Each member of the Assembly receives a salary of $300 a year, and also his reasonable expenses, as approved by the body of which he is a member. The mayor, comptroller, auditor, treasurer, collector, president of Board of Asses- sors, and president of Board *KF~ublic Improvements, are elected for f~ur years. The mayor is ex officio pres~ident of the police commissioners, the remaining four members being appointed for four years each by the governor of the State. The schools are in charge of a board of twenty-one, seven elected on a general ticket, and fourteen by districts, each for four years. The Assembly, by a two- thirds vote of the memb& s-elect of each house, may create other offices than those named in the charter, and by~ a three- fourths vote may distribute the powers and duties, in part or in whole, of any of the offices therein provided; but the mayor has final authority to settle all disputes between city officers as to their powers and duties. All other officers than those already named are appointed f or four years by the mayor at the,be- ginning of the third year of his own term. No officer, elected or appointed, can be in arrears for taxes, or in any way indebted to the city, or in any state or federal position; and he must give bond for the faithful performance of his duties, and devote to them his whole time. Any elected officer, including the mayor, may be removed by a two-thirds vote of all the members of the council, or, excepting the mayor, may be sus- pended by him and removed by a ma- jority of the council, and any appointed officer may be removed by the mayor or council. Upon the suspension of any elected officer, the mayor must present charges to the council, which, upon hear- ing, may sanction his action by a ma- jority vote; otherwise, the suspended officer is reinstated. Whenever the mayor removes an appointed officer, the council fills the vacancy by election; and whenever the council removes an ap- pointed officer, the mayor fills the va- cancy without the confirmation of the council. All other appointments made by the mayor require the confirmation of 1894.] The llfayor and the City. 91 a majority of the members of the coun- cil; and if the mayor fails, within ten days from the rejection of a nomination to make another, the council proceeds to elect. It is interesting to note with how much care and skill the temptation to make a removal, so as to secure the office for some friend or political follower, is guarded against by the provision that when the removal is made by ~he mayor, he shall have no voice in the selection of a successor; and when the removal is made by the council, the mayor is not obliged to ask its confirmation of his appointment. A vote of a majority of the members elected by both houses, taken by ayes and nays, is necessary to pass a bill or to concur in amendment thereto, or to adopt the report of a conference commit- tee. All bills must be signed by the pre- siding officer in open session, and read at length, and the mayor has ten days after passage by both houses in which to give his approval or disapproval. He also may object to items of appropria- tions, and may approve portions only of a bill. A bill returned without his ap- proval passes if it receive the vote of two thirds of the members-elect in the house to which it is returned, and the majority of the votes of the members of the other house; the votes in both cases being taken by ayes and nays. The Assembly has the sole power and authority to give to persons or corpora- tions the right to construct railways, and to control the fares, hours, and frequen- cy of the trips; and it may sell the franchise, and impose a per capita tax or a tax on the gross receipts. It also en- acts general plans for the construction of streets, and all subdivisions of property thereafter made, and all improvements of the same must be in conformity thereto. It cannot compromise any claim or dis- pute except by an aye and nay vote of two thirds of the members of both houses. In the State of California, the consti- tution provides that all legislation must be general in its scope; though, so far as this applies to cities, it is easy to make an act special by the division into classes according to their populations, so that only one of them San Francisco, shall be in the first class. The Municipal Corporation Bill of the year 1883 makes the council of San Francisco consist of two bodies, each twelve in number, called aldermen and assistant aldermen, and provides to the last detail for the organiza- tion of the several departments, the num- ber and duties of the subordinates, and the salaries both of themselves and of their superiors. It carries these restric- tions still further in the provision that nei- ther the council nor any officer can exer- cise any other power or authority than is expressly named in the act, and submits all disputes between officers as to their respective duties to the final decision of the city attorney. No general appropria- tion bill can be passed, but each one must be for a specific purpose and a specific sum. Members of the council are ineli- gible to any other office, and they can- not reduce the compensation of any em- ployee whose salary is within their power to determine during his term of office. The Supreme Court of the State has held that while in Great Britain municipal corporations exist for the most part by prescription, and while in New England the towns preceded the organization of the States, and may have some powers and privileges which cannot be taken away without their consent, in California all charters depend absolutely upon the legislature, and may be changed or re- voked at its sole will and pleasure. The political code of the State contains pro- visions, under which cities may be organ- ized, which are logical and harmonious in their general terms, though in the details they frequently depart from the restrictions made at first. For instance, each city is to have legislative, execu- tive, and judicial powers, with the first vested in a common council, the last in a police court, and the executive in 92 like ilfayor and the City. [July, the mayor and his subordinate officers. Nevertheless, the mayor is president of the council, which must consent to all of his appointments. An excellent restric- tion is found in one of the provisions, that in granting authority to any gas or water company to lay pipes in the city, it shall reserve the right to grant similar privileges to other like companies. The improvement of streets is entered upon in general under the provision, which is found so usually in the Western States, that a petition must be presented there- for by more than half of the owners of property fronting upon the street, and that the whole cost of the improve- ment shall be levied upon the abutting owners. New Orleans, the largest of the South- ern cities, is a good type of all of them; and when we take into account its situ- ation, its varied history, and the nation- alities of the population, we are surprised to find in its form of organization so little differing from that with which we are familiar elsewhere. There are the wards, the common council, the mayor, and the several departments, under like names and with like duties as in Puri- tan New England. The charter of New Orleans is a model of clear, concise, and logical statement, and in comparative- ly few paragraphs enumerates the pow- ers, privileges, and restrictions which so often, in Northern and Western States, are expanded into as many pages. The council is a single body, with the mayor as its presiding officer, having a right to take part in its business, but with no vote except in the case of a tie. He can veto a resolution, or an ordinance, or any item of an appropriation, which then can be passed only by a two-thirds vote. He can suspend any municipal officer, reporting his reasons therefor to the council, which body can, by its approval, remove such officer, or, by its disapproval, restore him to his office. His term is four years, as is also that of the treasurer, comptroller, and commissioner of public works, who, like himself, are elected by the people. All ordinances and resolutions must lie over one week after presentation, and the ayes and nays must be recorded on their final passage. No member of the council can hold any other office, or be interested, either directly or indirectly, in any business coming before it. It must make up the budget of revenue and expenses in detail, with separate and distinct items for each part. It can im- peach the mayor or any other elected officer, and, if it shall find him guilty, remove him from office. It also may remove any officer elected by it, and is given full and complete authority to or- ganize all departments, and regulate the number, duties, and salaries of the clerks employed tfterein. The appointments and removals, however, to and from clerk- ships are by the chiefs of the respective departments. It is not unusual to find, in the con- stitutions of States and in the charters of cities, the provision that the legislative body shall not decrease the salary of cer- tain specified officers during their term of office; but here we find the opposite provision, namely, that the council can- not increase any salary during the term of the incumbents office. Another un- usual provision, though common enough in the Old World, is the farming out annually of the collection of delinquent taxes. Neither the council nor any mu- nicipal officer can make a contract or purchase unless the same has been au- thorized previously by ordinance, and runs to the lowest bidder. Estimates for work are submitted to the council, which modifies them at its discretion, and then the contract for doing it must be given by the comptroller to the low- est bidder. The hiring of any of the city property is open to public competi- tion, and must be given to the highest bidder, as must also all street railroad franchises. Neither can the council nor any municipal officer make a contract un- less there is at the time actual money in The Jlayor and the City. the treasury to meet it. The first attack upon the control of its departments by the city was made relative to the police, a favorite subject of transfer, during the past twenty years, from municipal to state control. In 1888 a police board was organized, to consist of six com- missioners, with the mayor as presid- ing officer and having the casting vote. They serve, however, without salary, are elected by the council, and may be re- moved by the mayor for misconduct. The whole control of the police depart- ment is given to the board, including the appointment of all officers and the promulgation of rules and regulations, and the council cannot reduce the esti- mates of the board below the sum of $150,000 a year. Some excellent provi- sions of the act are those which require all applicants for appointments to pass a civil service examination, that vacan- cies shall be filled by promotion only, and that the tenure of office shall be during good behavior. Last year the legislature passed an act which is both novel and characteristic, namely: Officers and members of the city government are commanded to at- tend personally to the duties of their offices, and are prohibited from absent- ing themselves from New Orleans ex- cept by permission from the council. The changes which have taken place and are happening in American town and municipal governments find their culmination in the city of Washington; and no more remarkable anomaly is re- corded in history than this, that the capital of a republic should have its own government vested in an absolute des- potism; for an administration is none the less a despotism, while it continues, because there is a limitation to the pe- riod of the existence of its particular members, and because this existence de- pends upon the will of another; upon which will, however, the people of Wash- ington have no legal influence of any kind. The residents of this city cannot vote for members of Congress, which en- acted the form of its government, nor for the President, who appoints the three commissioners controlling it. These commissioners are authorized to appor- tion the receipts as they please, for the support of schools, for the fire and police departments, and for all the other busi- ness of the District of Columbia; to spend contingent funds at their discretion; to make police regulations ; to condemn land; to appoint school-teachers, dental examiners, policemen, firemen, and other officers, agents, and employees; to bor- row money in anticipation of taxes; to consolidate offices, reduce the number of employees, remove them from office; to levy and assess taxes, collect the same, make sales of property for non-payment of taxes, make all contracts for public works, give permits for street railway companies, electric lines, gas and water pipes; and generally to do all those things which ordinarily are done by a mayor and council; and the people and taxpayers of the city of Washington and of the District of Columbia have not the least voice in determining how much they shall pay for their government, or who shall constitute the same. It is true, this method has given to our capital an excellent and economical administration; but this is the plea of every despotism, that security and efficiency are better provided thereby. It is true also that we are much more likely to get an efficient and vigorous administration of affairs, whether public or private, by giving it wholly into the charge of a competent and energetic man, with the largest pow- ers, and especially with the sole right to select his own assistants; and there is very little danger to the security of life or property therefrom when so much publicity is given to official actions as newspapers now furnish. Undoubtedly, by such means we can obtain an ex- cellent, economical, secure, and efficient administration of a municipality, of a commonwealth, or of a nation; but these 1894.] 93 94 To-Jiforrows and To-iliforrows. [July, things are not the whole purpose of pop- ular institutions nor of representative government, and they are not even the highest purpose. The administration of affairs by the centralized government of Russia is perhaps more vigorous and efficient than that by the representative Parliament of Great Britain; neverthe- less, no one now will contend that the former is better for the people and for humanity than the latter. If so, our fathers, in their contention for political freedom, made a most serious blunder. In marked contrast with these ten- dencies in our republic is the method followed in monarchical and aristocratic Great Britain, where the mayor has no appointive power or special executive duties, but simply is a member of the common council, and its presiding offi- cer. Our idea of a mayor outside the council, as a sort of rival power, would appear in England incomprehensibly ab- surd. We seek the impossible govern- ment by a council and a mayor at the same time, giving arbitrarily greater power sometimes to one, and sometimes to the other, and not infrequently dis- trusting both, and conferring adminis- trative power upon special boards and commissions. Unquestionably, a central organization is necessary for the good government of every municipality; and while in the United States we seek to obtain it by choosing from time to time an absolute dictator under the title of mayor, a method highly unrepubli- can, in Great Britain it is obtained by the choice of a central elective council, controlling the government of the city throughout all of its departments, a meth- od highly republican. Harvey N. Shepctrd. TO-MORROWS AND TO-MORROWS. To-MoRRows and to-morrows stretch a gray Unbroken line of shore; but as the sea Will fret and gnaw the land, and stealthily Devour it grain by grain, so day by day Times restless waters lap the sands away, Until the shrinking isle of life, where we Had pitched our tent, wholly engulfed shall be, And swept far out into eternity, Some morn, some noon, some night, we may not say Just how, or when, or where! And then, what then? O cry unanswered still by mortal ken! This only may we know, how far and wide That precious dust be carried by the tide, No mote is lost, but every grain of sand Close-gathered in our Fathers loving Hand, And made to build again somehow, somewhere Another Isle of Life, divinely fair! Stuart Sterne.

Stuart Sterne Sterne, Stuart To-Morrow and To-Morrow 94-95

94 To-Jiforrows and To-iliforrows. [July, things are not the whole purpose of pop- ular institutions nor of representative government, and they are not even the highest purpose. The administration of affairs by the centralized government of Russia is perhaps more vigorous and efficient than that by the representative Parliament of Great Britain; neverthe- less, no one now will contend that the former is better for the people and for humanity than the latter. If so, our fathers, in their contention for political freedom, made a most serious blunder. In marked contrast with these ten- dencies in our republic is the method followed in monarchical and aristocratic Great Britain, where the mayor has no appointive power or special executive duties, but simply is a member of the common council, and its presiding offi- cer. Our idea of a mayor outside the council, as a sort of rival power, would appear in England incomprehensibly ab- surd. We seek the impossible govern- ment by a council and a mayor at the same time, giving arbitrarily greater power sometimes to one, and sometimes to the other, and not infrequently dis- trusting both, and conferring adminis- trative power upon special boards and commissions. Unquestionably, a central organization is necessary for the good government of every municipality; and while in the United States we seek to obtain it by choosing from time to time an absolute dictator under the title of mayor, a method highly unrepubli- can, in Great Britain it is obtained by the choice of a central elective council, controlling the government of the city throughout all of its departments, a meth- od highly republican. Harvey N. Shepctrd. TO-MORROWS AND TO-MORROWS. To-MoRRows and to-morrows stretch a gray Unbroken line of shore; but as the sea Will fret and gnaw the land, and stealthily Devour it grain by grain, so day by day Times restless waters lap the sands away, Until the shrinking isle of life, where we Had pitched our tent, wholly engulfed shall be, And swept far out into eternity, Some morn, some noon, some night, we may not say Just how, or when, or where! And then, what then? O cry unanswered still by mortal ken! This only may we know, how far and wide That precious dust be carried by the tide, No mote is lost, but every grain of sand Close-gathered in our Fathers loving Hand, And made to build again somehow, somewhere Another Isle of Life, divinely fair! Stuart Sterne. 95 1894.] Coleridges Introduction to the Lake District. COLERIDGES INTRODUCTION TO THE LAKE DISTRICT. THERE is a very characteristic letter of Coleridges, written from Keswick the day after his arrival, with his family, July 24, 1800, at Greta Hall, from Nether Stowey, Somerset County. This removal was the result of his coniing to know Wordsworth, whom he had first met three years earlier, when Coleridge was twenty-five and Words- worth twenty-seven years of age, the beginning of one of the most notable friendships in literary annals; the impor- tance of which to those men personally, as well as in its influence in the field of literature, is not easily estimated. They kindled instantaneously; and in each the effect was characteristic. Coleridges be- ing burst into unwonted radiance and splendor, not, alas, to endure, so far as poetical achievement was concerned. A lambent flame suffused the spirit of Wordsworth. Self - centred as he was, and preeminently sufficient unto himself, lie entered upon an intercourse with Coleridge which, in those plastic years, was of profound significance. Their meeting wa~ brought about through Wordsworths little venture in publica- tion, Descriptive Sketches. It fell un- der Coleridges eye during his last year at Cambridge, and awoke at once his en- thusiasm. He did not hesitate to pro- claim the rising of a new star above the poetical horizon. Such welcome as he gave was appreciation enough, it would seem, to bear even a less doughty soul than that of Wordsworth over the wide blank of neglect he was to traverse; and we all feel a glow of gratitude for the ringing cheer of young Coleridge at the very beginning of the race. The baseless fabric of the vision of Pantisocracy had just faded, and left not a rack behind; but it had beamed with glorious iridescent hues for a time, in the early Bristol days, upon Cole- ridge, Southey, and Lovell, poets all, who had married three Graces, the Fricker sisters, the first converts of the new re- velation, a parallel to Mahomets ex- perience. There was at least one other convert, George Burnet, who, embold- ened by so promising an augury, pro- posed to a fourth sister, but was prompt- ly rejected! The local habitation of the communistic experiment was to be in America, of course, the home in suc- ceeding years of innumerable spiritual brotherhoods, and where else but in the primitive wilds upon the banks of the Susquehanna? It might have been as well in Xanadu. where Alph, the sa- cred river, ran. Joseph Cottle, the gen- erous friend of the young Pantisocrats, shrewdly saw that they knew almost no- thing of the conditions of life in that particular locality, but had fixed upon it mainly from the liquid musical flow of the Indian name! There were very practical ideas to be entertained by Coleridge of a certain lit- tle community of three, when Hartley, his eldest child, was born. He removed to Nether Stowey, near the residence of his stanch friend Thomas Poole; and Wordsworth and his sister took a house at Alfoxden, near by. Together the poets roamed over the breezy hill country looking out upon the Bristol Channel. The fount of poetry was unintermittent; and ever near them was that rare spirit of appreciation, Dor- othy Wordsworth. No poet ever had attendant genius more helpful. With poetical enthusiasm, and original power, too, of no mean order, she was all her life content transcendently happy, ra- ther to merge every thought in her brothers work. There was much revo- lutionary plotting in the poetical field; how revolutionary, we, with our can- ons so largely the result of the cogita

Myron B. Benton Benton, Myron B. Coleridge's Introduction to the Lake District 95-102

95 1894.] Coleridges Introduction to the Lake District. COLERIDGES INTRODUCTION TO THE LAKE DISTRICT. THERE is a very characteristic letter of Coleridges, written from Keswick the day after his arrival, with his family, July 24, 1800, at Greta Hall, from Nether Stowey, Somerset County. This removal was the result of his coniing to know Wordsworth, whom he had first met three years earlier, when Coleridge was twenty-five and Words- worth twenty-seven years of age, the beginning of one of the most notable friendships in literary annals; the impor- tance of which to those men personally, as well as in its influence in the field of literature, is not easily estimated. They kindled instantaneously; and in each the effect was characteristic. Coleridges be- ing burst into unwonted radiance and splendor, not, alas, to endure, so far as poetical achievement was concerned. A lambent flame suffused the spirit of Wordsworth. Self - centred as he was, and preeminently sufficient unto himself, lie entered upon an intercourse with Coleridge which, in those plastic years, was of profound significance. Their meeting wa~ brought about through Wordsworths little venture in publica- tion, Descriptive Sketches. It fell un- der Coleridges eye during his last year at Cambridge, and awoke at once his en- thusiasm. He did not hesitate to pro- claim the rising of a new star above the poetical horizon. Such welcome as he gave was appreciation enough, it would seem, to bear even a less doughty soul than that of Wordsworth over the wide blank of neglect he was to traverse; and we all feel a glow of gratitude for the ringing cheer of young Coleridge at the very beginning of the race. The baseless fabric of the vision of Pantisocracy had just faded, and left not a rack behind; but it had beamed with glorious iridescent hues for a time, in the early Bristol days, upon Cole- ridge, Southey, and Lovell, poets all, who had married three Graces, the Fricker sisters, the first converts of the new re- velation, a parallel to Mahomets ex- perience. There was at least one other convert, George Burnet, who, embold- ened by so promising an augury, pro- posed to a fourth sister, but was prompt- ly rejected! The local habitation of the communistic experiment was to be in America, of course, the home in suc- ceeding years of innumerable spiritual brotherhoods, and where else but in the primitive wilds upon the banks of the Susquehanna? It might have been as well in Xanadu. where Alph, the sa- cred river, ran. Joseph Cottle, the gen- erous friend of the young Pantisocrats, shrewdly saw that they knew almost no- thing of the conditions of life in that particular locality, but had fixed upon it mainly from the liquid musical flow of the Indian name! There were very practical ideas to be entertained by Coleridge of a certain lit- tle community of three, when Hartley, his eldest child, was born. He removed to Nether Stowey, near the residence of his stanch friend Thomas Poole; and Wordsworth and his sister took a house at Alfoxden, near by. Together the poets roamed over the breezy hill country looking out upon the Bristol Channel. The fount of poetry was unintermittent; and ever near them was that rare spirit of appreciation, Dor- othy Wordsworth. No poet ever had attendant genius more helpful. With poetical enthusiasm, and original power, too, of no mean order, she was all her life content transcendently happy, ra- ther to merge every thought in her brothers work. There was much revo- lutionary plotting in the poetical field; how revolutionary, we, with our can- ons so largely the result of the cogita 96 Coleridges Introduction to the Lake District. [July, tions of those two obscure young men wandering, in 1797, over the Quantock Hills, cannot readily appreciate. This, as we know, was the blossoming time of Coleridges life, as his fellow - poet was afterwards wont to say; and during this period nearly all his important poems were written. The humble stone cottage is still standing where The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, the first part of Chris- tabel, Kubla Khan, and much else were composed, so far as this was done under other roof than the blue canopy. The little copartnership volume, Lyr- ical Ballads, destined to a long future, bearing, even, the seeds of a new po- etical literature, was printed. The public was totally ignorant of its exist- ence. Cottle, its publisher, soon after- wards retiring from business, sold out to a London house, and the copyright of this volume was given back to him as abso- lutely valueless. To-day a specimen of that first edition will bring nearly its weight in gold. In the autumn of 1799, Coleridge made his first trip to the north of Eng- land, and on a pedestrian excursion with Wordsworth and his sailor brother John, who were among their native hills, pene- trated the wild beauties of Westmoreland and Cumberland. This was soon after the memorable winter sojourn of the poets in Germany. The halcyon days of Stowey and sea- ward Quantocks heathy hills were at an end; and Coleridge came with his wife and the precocious Hartley (he had buried a promising child, Berkeley, in Nether Stowey) to Keswick. Words- worth and his sister were just settled in their cottage at Grasmere; and the twelve miles distance now between the friends, it was anticipated, would be only temporary. Greta Hall is a large, rambling house, with no picturesqueness of structure, but occupying a fine situation upon a little eminence in the outskirts of the village. The room in which I write commands six different landscapes, Coleridge says in one of his letters: the two lakes, the vale, the river and the mountains, and mists, and clouds, and sunshine make endless combinations, as if heaven and earth were forever talking to each other. The place was owned by a re- tired wagoner, a man of unique charac- ter, who, by hard labor, and pennies and pennies, as Coleridge said, had earned a modest estate, had educated himself, and had collected a good libra- ry, a special tidbit, we may be sure, for his new tenant in that back country. Lamb, who visited the Coleridges with his sister in the summer of 1801, a trip which he enjoyed hugely, inveterate cockney that he was, describes the study at Greta Hall, with its great blaz- ing fire: a large, antique, ill - shaped room, with an old-fashioned organ, never played upon, big enough for a church; shelves of scattered folios; an .ZEolian harp; and an old sofa, half bed. There seemed to be dawning now the happiest years of Coleridges life. A rainbow of promise spanned the far hea- vens, and perpetually lured him to dreams of the unattainable. How near then was the dark shadow creeping toward his pathway! The happy flow of the early days in Keswick is very evident in his letters of the period. There have been few more charming letter-writers than Coleridge. In their free spontaneity, his letters range over wide fields, from rollicking humor to depths of philosophical insight; but after all, their peculiar charm is the ge- nial human quality of the writer which pervades them, his affectionateness and unrefiecting generosity. He was always the improvisator. With his pen in hand, the familiar friends figure in his minds eye not that vague, stony, composite portrait, the general public, which al- ways seemed to benumb his fingers and scatter his forces was an inspiration second only to the fireside companion, or one of those small groups, such as he 1894.] Coleridges Introduction to the Lake District. 97 had always entranced, from the time of the inspired charity boy of Christs Hospital to the mellow days of his old age. In whatever company, learned or unlearned, Coleridge seems always to have made an instant impression of ge- nius. In his early manhood, the host of the Salutation and Cat, with a shrewd eye to increase of custom, offered him free entertainment only to come and talk! Many writers of fame appear loath to waste their sweetness on the desert air outside of copyright inclosures. Cole- ridge was lavish of his wealth. He scat- tered his gold and jewels on every side. The unpublished letter to which I have alluded, here given, shows something of his joyful and ebullient spirits in writing to his friends. It is nddressed, Mr. Tobin, Junr., Berkeley Square, Bristol. Friday, July 25, 1800. From the leads on the housetop of Greta Hall, Keswick, Cumberland, at the present time in the occupancy and usufruct-pos- session of S. T. Coleridge, Esq., Gentle- man-poet and Philosopher in a mist. Yes, my dear Tobin, here I am, with Skiddaw behind my back; the Lake of Bassenthwaite, with its simple and ma- jestic ease of mountains, on my right hand; on my left, and stretching far away into the fantastic mountains of Borrowdale, the Lake of Derwentwater; straight before me a whole camp of giants tents, or is it an ocean rushing in, in billows that, even in the serene sky, reach halfway to heaven? When I look at the feathery top of this scoun- drel pen, with which I am making de- sperate attempts to write, I see (in that slant direction) the sun almost setting, in ten minutes it will touch the top of the crag; the vale of Keswick lies be- tween us. So much for the topography of the letter; as to the chronology, it is half past seven in the evening. I left Wordsworth yesterday; he was tolerably well, and meditates more than his side permits him even to at- tempt. He has a bed for you; but I VOL. LXXIV. NO. 441. 7 absolutely stipulate that you shall be half the time at Keswick. We have house- room enough, and I am sure I need say nothing of anything else. What should prevent you from coming and spending the next brace of months here? I will suppose you to set off in the second week of August, and Davy will be here in the first week of September at the farthest; and then, my dear fellow, for physio- pathy and philelentherism sympathy lemonaded with a little argumentpun- ning and green pens with bacon, or very ham; rowing and sailing on the lake (there is a nice boat obsequious to my purposes). Then, as to chemistry, there will be Davy with us. We shall be as rich with reflected light as yon cloud which the sun has taken to his very bosom! When you come, I pray you do not forget to bring Bartrams Travels with you. Where is John Pinny? He talked of accompanying you. Wordsworth builds on his coming down this autumn; if I knew his present address, I would write to him. Wordsworth remains at Grasniere till next summer (perhaps longer). His cottage is indeed in every respect so delightful a residence, the walks so dry after the longest rains, the heath and a silky kind of fern so luxuri- ous a bedding on every hilltop, and the whole vicinity so tossed about on those little hills at the feet of the majestic mountains, that he moves in an eddy; he cannot get out of it. In the way of books, we are extraor- dinarily well off for a country place. My landlord has a respectable library, full of dictionaries and useful modern things; ex. gr., the Scotch Encyclop~- dia, the authors of which may the devil scotch, for toothless serpents that poison with dribble! But there is at some dis- tance Sir Wilfred Lawsons magnificent library, and Sir Wilfred talks of calling upon me, and of course I keep the man in good humor with me, and gain the use of his books. 98 Coleridges Introduction to the La/ce District. LJuly, Hartley retains his love to you; he talks often about you. I hear his voice at this moment distinctly; he is below in the garden, shouting to some fox- gloves and fern, which he has trans- planted, and telling them what ~he will do for them if they grow like good boys! This afternoon I sent him naked into a shallow of the river Greta; he trembled with the novelty, yet you can- not conceive his raptures. God bless you! I remain, with affectionate esteem, Yours sincerely, S. T. COLERIDGE. I open the letter, and make a new fold, to tell you that I have bit the wafer into the very shape of the young moon that is just above the opposite hill. The superscription of this letter, with its sportive red crescent still adhering to the time-stained sheet, is ambiguous. It may have been to James W. Tobin, Esq., a prosperous citizen well known to the coterie of young aspirants in litera- ture and science in Bristol. But another of that name, John Tobin, was near Coleridges age, and both he and Cole- ridge were stirred by the wave of sci- entific enthusiasm set in motion by Dr. Beddoes lectures; and it was through them that they made the acquaintance of a certain obscure young man by the name of Humphry Davy, whom the doc- tor had engaged to assist in his chemical experiments, and especially in the Pneu- matic Institute, a project founded in the sanguine expectation that a great pana- cea for the ills that flesh is heir to would be found in the inhaling of the new won- der, nitrous oxide gas. This was doomed to failure; but Davys experiments and discoveries won him immediate fame. He was venturesome to hardihood, and it was John Tobin who was with him in one nearly fatal experiment with carbu- reted hydrogen. In the meeting of Coleridge and Davy each seems to have made a very vivid impression upon the other. One effect was highly characteristic. I attended Davys lectures, Coleridge said after- wards, to increase my stock of meta- phors! Whether or no the letter I have given was to John Tobin, it was probably he while ostensibly practicing law in Lincolns Inn, but devoting himself with intense ambition to dramatic composi- tion of whom Coleridge, in later life, gave some droll reminiscences. I used to be much amused with Tobin and God- win, he said. Tobin would pester me with stories of Godwins dullness; and upon his departure, Godwin would drop in just to say that Tobin was more dull than ever! Dullness was not wont to be alleged against the oracular Wil- liam Godwin by his admiring circle, nor is the aspersion to be taken seriously in regard to the young lawyer of literary aspirations. But in Coleridges friend- ships it was not always the intellectual interchange that was prominent. Only that his affections were engaged, or a spark of good-fellowship kindled, that was enough to unlock the costliest apart- ment in this spacious intellect. Wit- ness the body of profoundly interesting letters to Joseph Allsop, a man of no- ble instincts and great heart, but a soul so childlike in its simplicity that he could take in sober earnest such tomfoolery as Lambs, when he once told Allsop that he had advised Coleridge to make the lines near the opening of Christabel inoffen- sive to fastidious readers in this wise: Sir Leoline, the baron round, Hath a toothless mastiff hound; but that Coleridge showed no alacrity in altering! 1 John Tobins life was a pathetic in- stance of the irony of fate in the matter of literary deserts. One play after an- other which he offered was rejected; and at last, his health failing, he embarked for 1 Mr. Hall Caine is mistaken in attributing, in his excellent Life of Coleridge, this brilliant emendation to Allsop. 1894.] Coleridges Introduction to the Lake District. 99 the West Indies; but he died when scarce- ly out of sight of his native shore. He had left the manuscript of The Honey- moon; it was brought out in the Drury Lane Theatre, and won instant success. It is a singular fact that this, the only work by which the author is remembered, has kept its hold upon the stage until the present day. One untoward circumstance of Cole- ridges situation was his isolation from intellectual companionship. There are hints of this in one or two of his letters. Of books, too, for this Goliath of read- ers, there was a paucity. It was only during the last year or two of his stay in the Lake District, and while lie was publishing, in his funny way, The Friend, that he had access to De Quinceys rich collection. Coleridge would sometimes have at the Wordsworths, with whom he was staying, as many as five hundred vol- umes which De Quincey avers he had bor- rowed of him! He could not give up the country and the lazy reading of old folios, he told Stewart, who, just before his coming to Keswick, had held out a liberal offer of copartuership on the Morn- ing Post, no, not for many times the sum named. Sir Wilfred Lawson had a magnifi- cent library; but this was eighteen miles away, and, moreover, consisted chiefly of works on natural history. Sir Wilfreds hobby was the collection of wild ani- mals. On one occasion, the master of the beasts at the Exeter Change sent him a bear, with a letter of minute directions as to its care and treatment, and, after signing himself, added this postscript. Permit me, Sir Wilfred, to send you n buffalo and a rhinoceros. As neat a postscript as I ever heard, remarks Coleridge; the tradesman-like cool- ness with which those pretty little ani- mals occurred to him just at the finish- ing of his letter. There was little for Coleridge in the way of books or society among the gen- try or other of his neighbors; but no lack of the kind was very deeply felt at first, amidst the charms of the scenery on every side of his home. He was under a constant exhilaration. The fascination of the mountains grew upon him. They put on their immortal interest first, he says, when we have resided among them, and learned to understand their language, their written characters and in- telligible sounds, and all their eloquence, so various, so unwearied. There was a spell which drew him forth in all condi- tions of weather. In simple earnest- ness, I never find myself alone within the embracement of rocks and hills, be writes to Josiah Wedgwood, butmy spirit careers, drives, and eddies, like a leaf in autumn; a wild activity of thoughts, ima- ginations, feelings, and impulses of mo- tion rises up from within me. There may be noted many varying im- pressions of this scenery upon the minds of Coleridge and Wordsworth. In Cole- ridge it awoke a mental adumbration all his own. It touched a secret spring that unlocked what treasures, what reminis- cences of other worlds than that before his eyes! He showed often a close and discriminating observation, but he did not linger studiously with outward nature. His gaze was intensely introspective. A beautiful scene served to set in motion a vast concourse of images, and aroused that marvelous dream-power, that mystic depth of intuition, which made him a poet who in magic of subtile spiritual in- timations is surpassed by no other. The most interesting fact to us of Coleridges coming to the Lake District is that he immediately undertook the completion of Christabel. For a while all efforts to woo his spirit into the old mood were unsuccessful. The depres- sion of his recent intemperate labors on Wallenstein was upon him. He had brought the voluminous manuscript of Schillers drama with him from Ger- many, and, shutting himself in London lodgings, had completed that remark- able poetic translation within six weeks. 100 Coleridges Introduction to the Lake District. [July, The wind from Skiddaw and Borrow- dale was often as loud as wind need be, this was his highly characteristic pre- paration, and many a walk in the clouds and mountains did I take; but all would not do. He had found the natcde soluni of Christabel among these clouds and mountains, the poem conceived, and partly written, before he had seen with bodily eyes this dreamland of natu- ral beauty! Here stood the castle of Sir Leoline; and somewhere, From Bratha Head to Wyndermere, Christabel, in the dim forest, met the stately demon-lady, Geraldine, most beautiful to see. Where else but among the Langdale Pikes, in Dungeon-ghyll so foully rent, and in the shadowy depths of Borrow- dale, could have been the scene of the weird story? And, With ropes of rock and bells of air, were not the echoes still sounding over the mystic vales? Within a few weeks Coleridge man- aged to shake off his lethargy, and he composed the second part of the poem. An alien spirit at his side reached over and wrote, in invisible ink, at the foot of the manuscript, Finis. Coleridge, in after life, was wont to detail his complete conception of the poem; but a spell was always upon him, and the golden day never dawned when he could again take up the task. It be- came famous in manuscript form; and fortunate were those who were privileged to listen to the wondrously interpreta- tive recitation of the poem from the lips of the author. It was not published un- til 1816. Even then strangely enough, after its wide appreciation in literary circles it met with little but contempt and depreciation (a notable piece of im- pertinence was Hazlitts verdict in the Edinburgh Review), and its author with abuse. The removal of Coleridge to the Lake District marked a climax; with every- thing apparently propitious in the change, it led directly to the supreme tragedy of his life. This turned upon the loss of his health. It is possible that the cli- mate did not agree with him; but early in his residence he seems to have brought upon himself, by careless exposure in in- clement weather, he would even take long rambles in the mountains in the midst of wild storms, a condition of acute rheumatism and gout which was marked by excruciating inflammation of the eyes, swelling of joints and muscles, with all duly attendant neuralgic tortures. The antidote which he was duped into using became, alas, his tyrant; and for a term of years he was under its mastery. At last, however, the inherent nobleness of his character asserted itself. We all know the beautiful picture of Coleridge in the last eighteen years of his life, surrounded by the best men of his time, including particularly the as- piring spirits of the younger generation, who drank in those inspired monologues the account of which has always piqued the interest of those who have only the reverberations of their fame. The Cole- ridge of those days a man of the same ardent affections, still the same genial companion, and with all those intellectual qualities which affected with a sense of wonder, almost of the miraculous, every one who saw him was separated by a great gulf from the Coleridge who came to the Lake District in 1800. His poet- ical production ceased abruptly after the breaking down of his health. The mag- nificent ode Dejection, written in 1802, marks a sad boundary. The grand organ strains of this pathetic poem are weight- ed with a depth of tragic import. It was a momentous personal experience which found expression at the very be- ginning of a period extending through years of great depression and general disaster in his life. The poem empha- sizes, too, the turning-point of his liter- t894.] Coleridges Introduction to the Lake District. 101 ary career. Thenceforth he was ab- sorbed in the evolution of his profound philosophical ideas. He had, even in his boyhood, as he says, bewildered himself in metaphysics. Still, there was a long and blessed interval, he reflects, dur- ing which my natural faculties were al- lowed to expand, and my original tenden- cies to develop themselves; my fancy, and the love of nature, and the sense of beauty in forms and sounds. Some- thing of this happy interregnum lingered for the first year or two of the Keswick life. Within a few weeks after Coleridges family were settled in Greta Hall, his third son, Derwent, was born, and named, patriarchal fashion (Genesis xxx. 11), from the beautiful lake spreading before his opening eyes. He was to become a clergyman, learned, wonderful in linguis- tic acquirements, and the revered head of St. Marks College, a straiter Church- man by far than his father ever was. He died in 1883. Sara, two years younger, was the only daughter; she was the editor of her fathers works, and displayed re- markable talents, an estimable, hard- headed lady, with no heritage of genius. Southey came with his family in 1803 to occupy the large house in partnership with his brother - in - law; and thence- forward, through his long, industrious life as a literary worker, the place was identified with his name. But no dis- tinction pertains to Greta Hall equaling the circumstance that under its roof Christabel and Dejection were written. The next year Coleridge went to Malta, in a vain pursuit of health. After his return, three years later, his stay in the Lake District was irregular, and about 1810 came to an end. Coleridge left little impress of his per- sonality in a legendary way. But his resi- dence in Keswick and Grasmere was long enough to include him in the so-called Lake School of poets, a popular delu- sion generated by the rancorous stupid- ity of the writers of the Edinburgh Re- view. That there was no such school was sufficiently apparent, alone, from Southeys being named with Wordsworth as one of its leaders, Southey, whose poetry, such as it is, would seem far enough remote from the others to pre- clude that classification by the dullest critic. But there was a very real and practical effect of the abuse which had periodical vent under this nickname. Even now, no generous spirit can avoid a twinge of indignation in recurring to the detraction which seriously injured for many years the prosperity of the lives of such men as Wordsworth and Cole- ridge. In lesser ways, even, the influ- ence of the great literary magnate was potent; it penetrated the bucolic shades of those mountain valleys where the poets had made their home, and actually served to diminish the respect held for them by their neighbors, whether gentry or yeomen! The situation was certainly not without its humorous aspect. Hartley the strange, strange boy, exquisitely wild, as his father writes of him, who moves in a circle of light of his own making was the Coleridge who was to become identified with the Lake District. He was four years old when brought there; and for the half-century, nearly, of life which remained to him it was his home. He inherited too large a dower of his fathers weaknesses; but along with that came no meagre portion of his genius, as his desultory literary remains, especially the wonderful beauty of his sonnets, testify. For those who are curious in matters of heredity there is a singular story of a coincidence in the lives of this father and son. I have referred to the experience of the former at the Salutation and Cat, where his elo- quence was found so valuable a help to the landlords till. When Hartley came to manhood, far in the north of Eng- land, an innkeeper in the Lake District made to him precisely the same offer which had been made to his father, free entertainment, if only ho would 9 102 On Leaving Winchester. [July, come and talk! Hartley had his fathers geniality and good - comradeship. He came far closer to the lives and hearts of the dalesmen among whom he lived than even Wordsworth, their poet-spokesman did. The remark of an old Westmore- land dame to the Rev. Derwent Coleridge and his pupil, onr fellow-countryman, the late Augustus Swift, on occasion of a pedestrian tour together, when the venerable clergyman visited the scenes of his youth, was not very valuable in the way of higher criticism in the poetic line ; but it attests to the impression left by Hartley upon his rustic neighbors. Hartla Cauldridge, she said to them, wrut better pomes na Muster Wardswuth! .lJfyron B. Benton. ON LEAVING WINCHESTER: MDCCCXCI. A PALMERS kiss upon thy mossy marge, My oriel city, whence the soul hath sight Of passional yesterdays, all gold and large, Arising to enrich our narrow night! Though others bless thee, who so blest before Hath pastured from the violent time apart, And laved in supersensual light the heart Alone with thy magnificent No More? Sweet court of roses now, sweet camp of bees! The hills that lean to thy white bed at dawn Hear, for the clash of raging dynasties, Laughter of boys about a branchy lawn. Hast thou a stain? Let ivy cover all; Nor seem of. greatness disinhabited, While spirits in their wonted beauty tread By Itchen ford, by Wolveseys idle wall. Unwearied may thy lucid water leap, And nigh thy towers the nesting wood-dove dwell; Be lenient winter, and long moons, and sleep Upon thee; but on me the sharp Farewell. Happy art thou, 0 clad and crowned with rest! Happy the shepherd (would that I were he!), Whose early way is step for step with thee, Whose old cheek lies on thine immortal breast. Louise I?nogen Guiney.

Louise Imogen Guiney Guiney, Louise Imogen On Leaving Winchester: MDCCCXCI 102-103

102 On Leaving Winchester. [July, come and talk! Hartley had his fathers geniality and good - comradeship. He came far closer to the lives and hearts of the dalesmen among whom he lived than even Wordsworth, their poet-spokesman did. The remark of an old Westmore- land dame to the Rev. Derwent Coleridge and his pupil, onr fellow-countryman, the late Augustus Swift, on occasion of a pedestrian tour together, when the venerable clergyman visited the scenes of his youth, was not very valuable in the way of higher criticism in the poetic line ; but it attests to the impression left by Hartley upon his rustic neighbors. Hartla Cauldridge, she said to them, wrut better pomes na Muster Wardswuth! .lJfyron B. Benton. ON LEAVING WINCHESTER: MDCCCXCI. A PALMERS kiss upon thy mossy marge, My oriel city, whence the soul hath sight Of passional yesterdays, all gold and large, Arising to enrich our narrow night! Though others bless thee, who so blest before Hath pastured from the violent time apart, And laved in supersensual light the heart Alone with thy magnificent No More? Sweet court of roses now, sweet camp of bees! The hills that lean to thy white bed at dawn Hear, for the clash of raging dynasties, Laughter of boys about a branchy lawn. Hast thou a stain? Let ivy cover all; Nor seem of. greatness disinhabited, While spirits in their wonted beauty tread By Itchen ford, by Wolveseys idle wall. Unwearied may thy lucid water leap, And nigh thy towers the nesting wood-dove dwell; Be lenient winter, and long moons, and sleep Upon thee; but on me the sharp Farewell. Happy art thou, 0 clad and crowned with rest! Happy the shepherd (would that I were he!), Whose early way is step for step with thee, Whose old cheek lies on thine immortal breast. Louise I?nogen Guiney. 1894.] In the Dozy Hours. 103 IN THE DOZY HOURS~ MONTAIGNE and Howells Letters, says Thackeray, are my bedside books. If I wake at night, J have one or other of them to prattle me to sleep again. They talk about themselves forever, and dont weary me. I like to hear them tell their old stories over and over again. I read them in the dozy hours, and only half remember them. In the frank veracity of this last con- fession there lies a pleasant truth which it is wholesome to hear from such excel- lent and undisputed authority. Many people have told us about the advantage of remembering what we read, and have imparted severe counsels as to ways and means. Thackeray and Charles Lamb alone have ventured to hint at the equal delight of forgetting, and of returning to some well-loved volume with recol- lections softened into an agreeable haze. Lamb, indeed, with characteristic impa- tience, sighed for the waters of Lethe that he might have more than his due; that he might grasp a double portion of those serene pleasures of which his was no niggardly share. I feel as if I had read all the books I want to read, he wrote disconsolately to Bernard Barton. Oh! to forget Fielding, Steele, etc., and read em new! This is a wistful fancy in which many of us have had our share. There come moments of doubt and discontent when even a fresh novel fills us with shivery apprehensions. We pick it up reluctant- ly, and look at it askance, as though it were a dose of wholesome medicine. We linger sadly for a moment on the brink; and then, warm in our hearts, comes the memory of happier hours when we first read Guy Mannering, or The Scarlet Letter, or Persuasion; when we first for- got the world in David Copperfield, or raced at headlong speed, with tingling veins and bated breath, through the mar- velous Woman in White. Alas! why were we so ravenous in our youth? Like the Prodigal Son, we consumed all our fortune in a few short years, and now the husks, though very excellent husks in- deed, and highly recommended for their nourishing and stimulating qualities by the critic doctors of the day, seem to our jaded tastes a trifle dry and savorless. If only we could forget the old, beloved books, and read em new~~ ! With many this is not possible, for the impres- sion which they make is too vivid to be obliterated, or even softened, by time. We may re - read them, if we choose. We do re-read them often, for the sake of lingering repeatedly over each familiar page, but we can never read em new. The thrill of anticipation, the joyous pur- suit, the sustained interest, the final satis- faction, all these sensations of delight belong to our earliest acquaintance with literature. They are part of the sunshine which gilds the halcyon days of youth. But other books there be, and it is well for us that this is so, whose tran- quil mission is to soothe our grayer years. These faithful comrades are the bed- side~ friends whom Thackeray loved, to whom he returned night after night in the dozy hours, and in whose gen- erous companionship he found respite from the fretful cares of day. These are the volumes which should stand on a sacred shelf apart, and over them a bust of Hermes, god of good dreams and quiet slumbers, whom the wise an- cients honored soberly, as having the best of all guerdons in his keeping. As for the company on that shelf, there is room and to spare for poets, and novel- ists, and letter-writers; room for those large, still books so dear to Tenny- sons soul, and for essays, and gossipy memoirs, and gentle, old-time manuals of devotion, and ghost lore, untainted by

Agnes Repplier Repplier, Agnes In the Dozy Hours 103-107

1894.] In the Dozy Hours. 103 IN THE DOZY HOURS~ MONTAIGNE and Howells Letters, says Thackeray, are my bedside books. If I wake at night, J have one or other of them to prattle me to sleep again. They talk about themselves forever, and dont weary me. I like to hear them tell their old stories over and over again. I read them in the dozy hours, and only half remember them. In the frank veracity of this last con- fession there lies a pleasant truth which it is wholesome to hear from such excel- lent and undisputed authority. Many people have told us about the advantage of remembering what we read, and have imparted severe counsels as to ways and means. Thackeray and Charles Lamb alone have ventured to hint at the equal delight of forgetting, and of returning to some well-loved volume with recol- lections softened into an agreeable haze. Lamb, indeed, with characteristic impa- tience, sighed for the waters of Lethe that he might have more than his due; that he might grasp a double portion of those serene pleasures of which his was no niggardly share. I feel as if I had read all the books I want to read, he wrote disconsolately to Bernard Barton. Oh! to forget Fielding, Steele, etc., and read em new! This is a wistful fancy in which many of us have had our share. There come moments of doubt and discontent when even a fresh novel fills us with shivery apprehensions. We pick it up reluctant- ly, and look at it askance, as though it were a dose of wholesome medicine. We linger sadly for a moment on the brink; and then, warm in our hearts, comes the memory of happier hours when we first read Guy Mannering, or The Scarlet Letter, or Persuasion; when we first for- got the world in David Copperfield, or raced at headlong speed, with tingling veins and bated breath, through the mar- velous Woman in White. Alas! why were we so ravenous in our youth? Like the Prodigal Son, we consumed all our fortune in a few short years, and now the husks, though very excellent husks in- deed, and highly recommended for their nourishing and stimulating qualities by the critic doctors of the day, seem to our jaded tastes a trifle dry and savorless. If only we could forget the old, beloved books, and read em new~~ ! With many this is not possible, for the impres- sion which they make is too vivid to be obliterated, or even softened, by time. We may re - read them, if we choose. We do re-read them often, for the sake of lingering repeatedly over each familiar page, but we can never read em new. The thrill of anticipation, the joyous pur- suit, the sustained interest, the final satis- faction, all these sensations of delight belong to our earliest acquaintance with literature. They are part of the sunshine which gilds the halcyon days of youth. But other books there be, and it is well for us that this is so, whose tran- quil mission is to soothe our grayer years. These faithful comrades are the bed- side~ friends whom Thackeray loved, to whom he returned night after night in the dozy hours, and in whose gen- erous companionship he found respite from the fretful cares of day. These are the volumes which should stand on a sacred shelf apart, and over them a bust of Hermes, god of good dreams and quiet slumbers, whom the wise an- cients honored soberly, as having the best of all guerdons in his keeping. As for the company on that shelf, there is room and to spare for poets, and novel- ists, and letter-writers; room for those large, still books so dear to Tenny- sons soul, and for essays, and gossipy memoirs, and gentle, old-time manuals of devotion, and ghost lore, untainted by 104 In the Dozy Hours. [July, modern research, and for the lying, readable histories, which grow every year rarer and more beloved. There is no room for self-conscious realism pick- ing its little steps along; nor for social- istic dramas, hot with sin; nor ethical problems, disguised as stories; nor he- roes of complex, psychological interest, whatever they may mean; nor inartic- ulate verse; nor angry, anarchical re- formers; nor dismal records of vice and disease parading in the covers of a novel. These things are all admirable in their way, but they are not the books which the calm Hermes takes under his benign protection. Dull, even, they may be, and provocative of slumber; but the road to fair dreams lies now, as in the days of the heroes, through the shining portals of ivory. Montaigne and James Howell, then, were Thackerays bedside favorites, the Perigourdin gentleman, and the priggish little clerk of King Charless Council; and with these two dear old friends he whiled away many a mid- night hour. The charm of both lay, per- haps, not merely in their diverting gos- sip, nor in their wide acquaintance with men and life, but in their serene and enviable uncontentiousness. Both knew how to follow the sagacious counsel of Marcus Aurelius, and save themselves a world of trouble by having no opinions on a great variety of subjects. I sel- dom consult others, writes Montaigne placidly, and am seldom attended to; and I know no concern, either public or private, which has been mended or bet- tered by my advice. Ah! what a man was there! What a friend to have and to hold! What a courtier, and what a country gentleman! It is pleasant to think that this embodiment of genial tolerance was a contemporary of John Calvins; that this fine scholar, to whom a few books were as good as many, lived unfretted by the angry turbulence of men all bent on pulling the world in their own narrow paths. What wonder that Thackeray forgave him many sins for the sake of his leisurely charm and wise philosophy! In fact, James Howell, the priggish little clerk, was not with- held by his priggishness from relating a host of things which are hardly fit to hear. Those were not reticent days, and men wrote freely about matters which it is perhaps as healthy and as agreeable to let alone. But Howell was neverthe- less a sincere Churchman as well as a sincere Royalist. He was sound through- out; and if he lacked the genius and the philosophy of Montaigne, he was his equal in worldly knowledge and in tol- erant good temper. He heard, enjoyed, and repeated all the gossip of foreign courts, all the severe jests which passed from lip to lip. He loved the beauty of Italy, the wit of France, the spirit of the Netherlands, and the valor of Spain. The first handsome woman that earth ever saw, he tells us, was made of Venice glass, as beautiful and as brittle as are her descendants to-day. Moreover, Eve spake Italian, when Adam was seduced; for in that beguil- ing tongue, in those soft, persuasive accents, she felt herself to be most ir- resistible. There is really, as Thackeray well knew, a great deal of pleasing informa- tion to be gathered from the Familiar Letters, and no pedagogic pride, no spirit of carping criticism, mars their delightful flavor. The more wonderful the tale, the more serene the composure with which it is narrated. Howell sees in Holland a church monument where an earl and a lady are engraven, with three hundred and sixty-five children about them, which were all delivered at one birth. Nay, more, he sees the two basins in which they were chris- tened, and the bishops name who did it, not yet two hundred years ago; so what reasonable room is left for doubt? He tells us the well-authenticated story of the bird with a white breast which vis- ited every member of the Oxenham fain- 1894.] In the Dozy Hours. 105 ily immediately before death; and also the choice history of Captain Coucy, who, dying in Hungary, sent his heart back to France, as a gift to his own true love. She, however, bad been forced by her father into a reluctant and un- happy marriage; and her husband, in- tercepting the token, had it cooked into a well - relished dish, which he per- suaded his wife to eat. When she had obeyed, he told her, in cruel sport, the ghastly nature of the food; but she, in a sudden exaltation of joy, and with a far-f etchd sigh, cried, This is a pre- cious cordial indeed, and so lickd the dish, saying, It is so precious that t is pity to put ever any meat upon it. So she went to her chamber, and in the morning she was found stone dead. Did ever rueful tale have such trium- phant ending? Of other letter-writers, Charles Lamb and Madame de S6vign6 are perhaps best suited for our dozy hours, because they are sure to put us into a good and amiable frame of mind, fit for fair slum- ber and the ivory gates. Moreover, the bulk of Madame de S~vign6s corre- spondence is so great that, unless we have been very faithful and constant readers, we are likely to open into some- thing which is new to us; and as for Lamb, those who love him at all love him so well that it matters little which of his letters they read, or how often they have read them before. Only it is best to se- lect those written in the meridian of his life. The earlier ones are too painful, the later ones too sad. Let us take him at his happiest, and be happy with him for an hour; for, unless we go cheerfully to bed, the portals of horn open for us with sullen murmur, and fretful dreams, more disquieting than even the troubled thoughts of day, flit batlike round our melancholy pillows. Miss Austen is likewise the best of midnight friends. There stand her nov- els, few in number and shabby with much handling, and the god Hermes smiles upon them kindly. We have known them well for years. There is no fresh nook to be explored, no forgotten page to be revisited. But we will take one down, and re-read for the fiftieth time the his- tory of the theatricals at Mansfield Park; and see Mr. Yates ranting by himself in the dining-room, and the indefatigable lovers rehearsing amorously on the stage, and poor Mr. Jlushworth stumbling through his two-and-forty speeches, and Fanny Price, in the chilly little school- room, listening disconsolately as her cousin Edmund and Mary Crawford go through their parts with more spirit and animation than the occasion seems to demand. When Sir Thomas returns, most inopportunely, from Antigua, we lay down the book with a sigh of gentle satisfaction, knowing that we shall find all these people in the morning just where they belong, and not, after the fashion of some modern novels, spirited overnight to the antipodes, with a breakneck gap of months or years to be spanned by our drooping imaginations. Sir Walter Scott tells us, with tacit approbation, of an old lady who always had Sir Charles Grandison read to her when she felt drowsy; because, should she fall asleep and waken up again, she would lose no- thing of the story, but would find the characters just where she had left them, conversing in the cedar-parlour. It would be possible to take a refreshing nap did our sympathy allow us such an alleviation while Clarissa Harlowe is writing, on some tiny scraps of hidden paper, letters which fill a dozen printed pages. Lovers of George Borrow are wont to claim that he is one of the choicest of bedside comrades. Mr. Birrell, indeed, stoutly maintains that slumber, healthy and calm, follows the reading of his books just as it follows a brisk walk or rattling drive. A single chapter of Borrow is air and exercise. Neither need we be very wide awake when we skim over his pages. He can be read 106 In the Dozy Hours. [July, with half-closed eyes, and we feel his stir and animation pleasantly from with- out, just as we feel the motion of a carriage when we are heavy with sleep. Peacock is too clever, and his cleverness has too much meaning and emphasis for this lazy delight. Yet, nevertheless, The Misfortunes of Elphin is an engaging book to re-read if one knows it well already in moments of drowsy satis- faction. Then will the convivial humor of Seithenyn ap Seithyn awake a sym- pathetic echo in our hearts, shorn for the nonce of all moral responsibility. Then will the roar of the ocean surging through the rotten dikes make the warm chimney corner doubly grateful. Then is the reader pleased to follow the for- tunes of the uncrowned prince among a people who, having no pamphleteering societies to demonstrate that reading and writing are better than meat and drink,~~ lived without political science, and lost themselves contentedly in the gross- ness of beef and ale. Peacock, more- over, in spite of his keenness and viril- ity, is easily forgotten. We can read him new, and double our enjoyment. His characters seldom have any sub- stantiality. We remember the talk, but not the talkers, and so go blithely back to those scenes of glad good-fellowship, to that admirable conservatism and that caustic wit. Let us, then, instead of striving so strenuously to remember all we read, be grateful that we can occasionally forget. Mr. Samuel Pepys, who knew how to extract a fair share of pleasure out of life, frankly admits that he delighted in seeing an old play over again, because he was wise enough to commit none of it to memory; and Mr. Lang, who gives his vote to Pepyss Diary as the very prince of bedside books, the one which may send a man happily to sleep with a smile on his lips, declares it owes its fit- ness for this post to the ease with which it can be forgotten. Your deeds and misdeeds, he writes, your dinners and kisses, glide from our recollections, and being read again, surprise and amuse us afresh. Compared with you, Montaigne is dry, Boswell is too full of matter; but one can take you up anywhere, and i~nywhere lay you down, certain of being diverted by the picture of that compan- ion with whom you made your journey through life. . . . You are perpetually the most amusing of gossips, and, of all who have gossiped about themselves, the only one who tells the truth. And the poets allied with Hermes and happy slumber, who are they? Mr. Browning is surely riot one of the kindly group. I would as lief read Mr. George Merediths prose as Mr. Brownings verse in that hour of effortless enjoyment. But Wordsworth holds some placid moments in his keeping, and we may wander on simple errands by his side, taking good care never to listen to philosophy, but only looking at all he shows us, until our hearts are surfeited with pleasure, and the golden daffodils dance drowsily be- fore our closing eyes. Keats belongs to dreamier moods, when, as we read, the music of his words, the keen creative magic of his style, lure us away from earth. We leave the darkness of night, and the grayness of morning. We cease thinking, and are content to feel. It is an elfin storm we hear beating against the casement; it is the foam of fairy seas that washes on tbe shore. Blissfully havened both from joy and pain, wrapped in soft, slumberous satisfaction, we are but vaguely conscious of the en- chanted air we breathe, or of our own unutterable well - being. There is no English poem, save only Christabel, which can lead us like The Eve of St. Agnes straight to the ivory gates, and waft us gently from waking dreams to the mistier visions of sleep. But there are many English poets Herrick, and Marvell, and Gray, and Cowper, and Tennyson who have bedside verses for us all. Herrick, indeed, though breath- ing the freshness of morning, is a de 1894.] lJlionetctry Reform in Santo Domingo. 107 lightful companion for night. He calls us so distinctly and seductively to leave, as he did, the grievous cares of life; to close our ears to the penetrating voice of duty; to turn away our eyes from the black scaffold of King Charles; and to watch, with him, the blossoms shaken in the April wind, and the whitethorn of May time blooming on the hills, and the sheen of Julias robe, as she goes by with laughter. This is not a voice to sway us at broad noon, when we are striving painfully to do our little share of work; but Hesperus should bring some respite even to the dutiful, and in our dozy hours it is sweet to lay aside all labor, and keenness, and altruism. Adonis, says the old myth, fled from the amorous arms of Aphrodite to the cold Queen of Shadows who could promise him nothing but repose. Worn with pas- sion, wearied of delight, he lay at the feet of Persephone, and bartered away youth, strength, and love for the waters of oblivion and the coveted blessing of sleep. Agnes Repplier. MONETARY REFORM IN SANTO DOMINGO. THE recent action of the government of Santo Domingo in establishing an en- tirely new coinage system has an interest not only as being that of the first of the Spanish-American countries to create a single gold standard, but also as bearing on the solution of the problem which has long confronted India, and now confronts many other silver-using countries. The action of the Dominican government on this question is of an importance out of all proportion to its area and population. Instead of seeing its income, paid in silver, diminish in purchasing power with the steady fall in the value of silver, fol- lowed by inevitable loss of public credit and domestic bankruptcy, this coura- geous government has intelligently grap- pled with the difficulty, and made for it- self a stable currency, and a stable basis of exchange with Europe and the United States. Having had a share in devising the system, it seemed to me well to put on record an account of the reform. The problem of this reform presented many difficulties; only that scheme would be acceptable which was adapted to the situation as it existed. An ideal scheme 1 Its area is about 17,000 square miles, aud its population about 400,000. It occupies the was not looked for. Not only must a means of profit be furnished to the gov- ernment as a reason for its adoption, but it must commend itself to the public as a means of prosperity and as a libera- tion from existing evils. When also tak- iug into account the resistance of un- thinking minds to accepting a new kind of money, it must be confessed that the solution of the problem was far from easy. Nor was it easy to suit correct monetary principles to practical condi- tions, when the latter were inflexible. The persistence of monetary habits must not be overlooked. The old money of account was the Mexican dollar; while the exchanges with gold-using countries of Europe and the United States were bewilderingly unstable, and must be re- duced to the stability of gold. That is, silver must, for many reasons, remain the money most in use, while at the same time it must have an absolutely fixed re- lation to gold, or foreign exchange would again fluctuate so as to make business only a matter of betting. When the special steamer carrying our party arrived at Puerto Plata, the eastern two thirds of the island, the western third of which is Haiti.

J. Laurence Laughlin Laughlin, J. Laurence Monetary Reform in Santo Domingo 107-114

1894.] lJlionetctry Reform in Santo Domingo. 107 lightful companion for night. He calls us so distinctly and seductively to leave, as he did, the grievous cares of life; to close our ears to the penetrating voice of duty; to turn away our eyes from the black scaffold of King Charles; and to watch, with him, the blossoms shaken in the April wind, and the whitethorn of May time blooming on the hills, and the sheen of Julias robe, as she goes by with laughter. This is not a voice to sway us at broad noon, when we are striving painfully to do our little share of work; but Hesperus should bring some respite even to the dutiful, and in our dozy hours it is sweet to lay aside all labor, and keenness, and altruism. Adonis, says the old myth, fled from the amorous arms of Aphrodite to the cold Queen of Shadows who could promise him nothing but repose. Worn with pas- sion, wearied of delight, he lay at the feet of Persephone, and bartered away youth, strength, and love for the waters of oblivion and the coveted blessing of sleep. Agnes Repplier. MONETARY REFORM IN SANTO DOMINGO. THE recent action of the government of Santo Domingo in establishing an en- tirely new coinage system has an interest not only as being that of the first of the Spanish-American countries to create a single gold standard, but also as bearing on the solution of the problem which has long confronted India, and now confronts many other silver-using countries. The action of the Dominican government on this question is of an importance out of all proportion to its area and population. Instead of seeing its income, paid in silver, diminish in purchasing power with the steady fall in the value of silver, fol- lowed by inevitable loss of public credit and domestic bankruptcy, this coura- geous government has intelligently grap- pled with the difficulty, and made for it- self a stable currency, and a stable basis of exchange with Europe and the United States. Having had a share in devising the system, it seemed to me well to put on record an account of the reform. The problem of this reform presented many difficulties; only that scheme would be acceptable which was adapted to the situation as it existed. An ideal scheme 1 Its area is about 17,000 square miles, aud its population about 400,000. It occupies the was not looked for. Not only must a means of profit be furnished to the gov- ernment as a reason for its adoption, but it must commend itself to the public as a means of prosperity and as a libera- tion from existing evils. When also tak- iug into account the resistance of un- thinking minds to accepting a new kind of money, it must be confessed that the solution of the problem was far from easy. Nor was it easy to suit correct monetary principles to practical condi- tions, when the latter were inflexible. The persistence of monetary habits must not be overlooked. The old money of account was the Mexican dollar; while the exchanges with gold-using countries of Europe and the United States were bewilderingly unstable, and must be re- duced to the stability of gold. That is, silver must, for many reasons, remain the money most in use, while at the same time it must have an absolutely fixed re- lation to gold, or foreign exchange would again fluctuate so as to make business only a matter of betting. When the special steamer carrying our party arrived at Puerto Plata, the eastern two thirds of the island, the western third of which is Haiti. 108 Albnetary Reform in Santo Domingo. [July, situation had culminated in a state of great excitement. In the previous twenty days the silver prices of goods had ad- vanced about thirty per cent. Here was a curious monetary phenomenon. The advocates of silver have confidently de- clared that silver has not fallen as re- gards goods, but that gold has risen as regards both silver and goods. On this point the experience of Santo Domingo is worth examining. To Americans it is of practical interest; for the Dominicans purchase very largely of American goods, pork, flour, macaroni, soap, and the like. Bought at prices in the United States based on gold, these articles had been sold to retail dealers in Santo Domingo on credit often as long as nine months, and at prices payable in Mexican silver dollars. The experiment, moreover, was not interrupted by any accidents or ex- traneous influences. It was the silver standard in its simplest form. The Mex- ican dollar was not the coin of Santo Domingo, and so it circulated only ac- cording to its intrinsic value as silver. It was given no fictitious value; no con- nection with gold or with any other kind of currency enhanced its desirability, or created any discrimination against it. It was receivable at the custom-houses, and for all payments; there was no other circulating medium. What was the outcome? The result was to have been expected. The Mexican silver dol- lar was worth only the value of the 377.4 grains of pure silver contained in it. When silver fell in the bullion mar- ket, so fell the value of silver in the Mexican dollar; and prices consequently rose. That prices did not rise earlier, 1 E. Benj. Andrews, Quarterly Journal of Economics, June, 1894, page 323. 2 A Chinaman in Puerto Plata, ignorant of the rise of prices decided upon by the larger merchants, found, to his amazement and delight, that his stock of rice and other goods was sell- ing remarkably well; indeed, his sales for the day had exceeded any previous record. Leav- ing his empty shelves, he went to an importer to replenish his stock. ile then discovered that or adapt themselves more flexibly to the changes in the value of silver relatively to gold in the outside world, is easily accounted for by the friction existing in the methods of doing business in a coun- try removed from rapid communication with other counitries, and by the torpid habits of mind among large classes of people. A few men dominated the trade of the country; and these fatuously be- lieved that silver must rise again. At last, however, the fall convinced the most conservative, and it was followed by a sctuve qwi pent, in which the wealthy looked out for themselves, and the igno- rant lost,2that which generally happens in fluctuations originating in an unstable currency. The annoyances and losses arising from a fluctuating rate of exchange with gold-using countries formed a large ele- ment in the situation. Indeed, this mat- ter is one which is regarded by bimetal- lists as sufficiently grave to be used as an argument for their theory. The ex- periment of Santo Domingo, therefore, deserves watching as a means of correct- ing this difficulty, especially as no resort was made to bimetallism in the system adopted. The fluctuations in silver had produced the fluctuations in exchange; and business calculations even for the near future were made hopelessly uncer- tain. Exchange on New York is quoted in tbe number of Mexican dollars neces- sary to buy 100 gold dollars. When exchange was quoted at 185 or 208, it meant that 185 or 208 Mexican dollars were regarded as the equivalent of 100 gold dollars.8 It can be easily under- he could not buy new goods for anything like the price at which he had already sold. By this inductive method he learned to hate silver. ~ Consequently, Dominican exchange on New York fluctuated with the price of Mexican dol- lam in the New York market. During my stay in Santo Domingo city, Mexican dollars were quoted at 48 cents in New York; and the ex- change being obtained by dividing 100 by 48, this would give about 208. 1894.] 3fonetary Reform in Santo Domingo. 109 stood, therefore, how business suffered. A sugar-planter, marketing his raw sugar in New York, would draw against the shipment a bill, and sell that in Santo Domingo for the Mexican silver with which to pay his laborers. If, as hap- pened, in a period of two months Mex- ican dollars fell from 56 to 48 cents in New York, he might find himself with a less number of Mexican dollars in re- turn for his sugar than he would have had, had he waited. On the other hand, since he pays his laborers in silver, by a fall in silver he gets more dollars in sil- ver in exchange for his bill, and thus pays for his labor a less part of the pro- duct. In such a case the laborer loses. But producers who export their products generally gain, because they sell in gold- using countries, and pay their expenses in silver. The growers of coffee, cacao, tobacco, and sugar, consequently, were in the main unfavorably affected, under the old silver r6gime, only by the uncertainty as to the future. The classes, however, who suffered most were the laborers, and the dealers in imported goods of general consump- tion. Merchants, for example, import- ing cotton goods from gold-using coun- tries, on credit, were under obligations to pay in gold, on settling accounts at the end of the period of credit. In Santo Domingo the importers sell to small dealers, who distribute goods directly to consumers. These small dealers sell on credit, often for as long as nine months, and they pay the importers in silver. Clearly, when silver was paid in nine months after purchase of goods, the loss from the lessened value of silver fell upon the merchants who were obliged to settle accounts in gold. Many articles are imported, and as the class of those engaged in distributing goods is very large, compared with producers, the dis- tress was widespread; and in the minds of all it was clearly associated with its real cause, the fall in silver. The goods did not change in prices relatively to gold; silver changed relatively to the goods as well as to gold, as every one knew. As before said, the laborer generally suffered most. He it was who, being less familiar with monetary operations, could not foresee trouble and ward it off; and he also, being the recipient of wages cus- tomarily fixed at sixty or seventy - five cents in Mexican coin, was the victim of the rise of prices. His wages did not go as far as before. The fall of silver, in short, lowered his real wages. Hence it was no wonder that the agitation for reform secured a strong support among the natives of the country, who were mainly to be found in the working and trading classes. And it was equally nat- ural that the sugar-planters and export- ing classes, who were largely foreigners, should be inclined to look unfavorably upon monetary reform. The latter, moreover, were also affected in other ways; not only did they suffer by a rise of wages, but the establishment of a gold standard brought with it an increase of duties. The Dominican revenue is obtained almost entirely from customs, which are collected, under a contract with the gov- ernment, by an American company known as the San Domingo Improvement Com- pany. These duties, having been in the past payable in Mexican dollars, were a diminishing source of revenue, and a diminishing means of paying gold inter- est on bonds held in Europe and Amer- ica. So that the government found it- self interested in any plan which would increase the revenues, and would pre- vent the steady decline in the income at its disposal. A stable standard of pay- ment, instead of a steadily shrinking one, would enable the budget to be planned with some certainty as to its future out- come. The same reasons which led the government to favor a reform of the nionetary system led the sugar-planters, who paid an export duty and some mi- nor fees connected therewith, to look 110 ilfonetary Reform in Santo Domingo. [July, upon the reform as equivalent to an in- crease of taxation. And so it was: on all imports, also, the duties finally agreed upon in gold, although a less per- centage in gold than they had been in silver, were not lowered in percentage to the extent to which they were raised by the change from silver to gold. It will be seen by this explanation of the existing status that the monetary reform was mixed up with the profits of the deal- ers in exchange (who gained by higher charges needed to cover fluctuations), with the ra~te of duties on imports and exports, and with the financial condition of merchants and laborers. The settle- ment of the money question, therefore, was involved in the settlement of many other large financial questions. Such being the situation, the prac- tical problem was to devise a monetary scheme which, while based upon cor- rect principles, should yet fit the exist- ing facts. It must furnish a stable par of exchange; it must not violate the monetary habits of the people; it must provide silver as the money in general use; it must protect the silver money from all fluctuations of the metal; and yet it must provide a profit for the gov- ernment. The scheme which was pro- posed to meet all these requirements was enacted in March, 1894, with the provision that the law should go into ef- fect June 1. The law embodying the system is brief and compact. The characteristic part of this scheme was a frank recognition of the fluctuat- ing and unstable character of silver as a money metal, and a determination to treat all silver coins purely as subsidi- ary coinage. The silver dollar piece, of 380 grains of pure silver, was treated exactly as the halves, quarters, or other subsidiary coins. It was clear they Chap. I. Art. 3: The legal and monetary unit of the republic shall be the gold dollar. The legal weight of the gold dollar shall be 25.8 grains Troy, of which 23.22 grains shall could riot circulate at a value higher than the intrinsic value of the silver in them, any more than irredeemable pa- per, unless a provision for redemption were enacted that would give a fixed value to silver, like that given to any redeemable paper. Just as a simple piece of paper, of no value in itself, can be made to circulate at par in gold, provided it can be exchanged at any time on demand for gold, so it was held that 380 grains of silver, costing only fifty cents in gold, could be made to circulate at par for one hundred cents in gold, provided this amount of silver could be exchanged on demand for gold. This was the pivotal part of the whole scheme; and with the provisions for re- demption went the necessary restrictions as to the quantity of silver in circulation. By this means, silver was provided for general use; and yet it was given stabil- ity by a system of prompt redemption. The monetary unit adopted agreed with the prepossessions of the people. The peso, or dollar, had long been their customary coin; and for this reason, among others, a French plan to introduce the five-franc piece had previously mis- carried. The people had the friendliest confidence in the American republic, and had lost all fears of annexation. Hence the proposal to adopt coins of the same size and weight as those of the United States met with general ap- proval; so that in this way the legal and monetary unit came to be the same as the American gold dollar. But only twenty-dollar, ten-dollar, and five-dollar gold pieces were to be coined, leaving to the silver coins the field for all de- nominations below five dollars. In this way, the ordinary money in circulation, among a people not dealing in large sums, must necessarily be silver. Al- though the gold coins are of exactly the be pure gold; of the silver dollar, 422~ grains Troy, of which 380 grains shall be pure silver in each dollar. A 1894.] Monetary Reform in Santo Domingo. 111 same weight, fineness, and diameter as those of the United States, the silver coins are made heavier than ours. For many reasons of policy, it was decided to make the new Dominican silver dol- lar heavier than any current silver dol- lar, as may be seen by the following comparison of their pure silver contents: United States dollar Japanese yen . Mexican dollar Old trade dollar (U. S.) New Dominican dollar 371.25 grains. 374.4 377.4 378 380 In its intrinsic value, therefore, the Dominican silver dollar must always be worth more than its brother dollars; but in the new system this advantage is more nominal than real. If the intrin- sic value of the silver in the dollar was fifty cents, and that in the American coin was only forty-seven cents, and yet both were maintained at one hundred cents by a system of redemption, the differ- ence in actual weight was of no impor- tance. A system of redemption can give circulation at par to a dollar, no matter whether its intrinsic value is fifty cents or twenty cents. In this lay the interest in the whole scheme. It pro- vided for all the silver needed by the country in exchanges, at least where transactions were below five dollars, and even for larger amounts; and yet it pro- vided that this silver should not fluctuate relatively to gold. The silver borrowed, by the possibility of instant redemp- tion, from gold a value sufficient always to augment its own value to a level with the value of gold. The merit of the scheme is to be found here. This method did not rely on the divine right of silver to be used equally with gold, at any chance ratio which might be adopted by this or that country; and yet it se,eured all the silver needed for 1 There was no reason for following the ex- ample of the United States in 1853, in redu- cing the weight of a dollar of subsidiary coins from 371.25 grains (the weight of the dollar) to 345.6 grains (the weight of two halves, four trade, while at the same time it prevent- ed all possible fluctuations, either in the currency or in foreign exchanges, due to changes in the value of silver. The government did not set for its aim to keep up the value of silver, but, with given facts regarding gold, silver, trade, foreign exchange, and revenue, it aimed to establish the best and most stable me- dium of exchange possible. The silver coins are all of the same proportional weight as the silver dollar, thus treating the dollar, as well as the quarter dollar or ten-cent piece, on the principles of subsidiary coinage, and all alike. The provisions by which redemption of silver by gold w~s secured may be quoted: ART. 14. In view of the lack of a mint, or mints, by the government of the republic, it is authorized to create a Fiscal Agency for the minting, issuance, and redemption of its coin, and for the maintenance at par in gold of the silver and other coins of the national coinage. For which purpose this Agency shall have its principal office in the capital city of Santo Domingo, and agencies in Puerto Plata, Sanchez, and Santiago. ART. 16. The dollar and the other silver coins and minor coins, provided they have the weight and fineness which is indicated in Chapter First of this mone- tary law, shall be exchangeable at their face value for Dominican gold coins in sums of not less than five dollars, on presentation at the offices of the Fiscal Agency or of the Banco Nacional. If, by reason of any extraordinary or unexpected demand for the redemp- tion of silver coins by gold, the stock of gold in reserve in the treasury of the Fiscal Agency or of the Bank, or of any of their branches, should become quarters, etc.), which is our present law. The conditions of 1853 are no longer in existence; nor do the same reasons hold to-day. The standard of all Dominican coins was made .9 fine. 112 Monetary Reform in Santo Domingo. [July, exhausted, said Agency, or establish- inent, or branch may tender as payment in said redemption a draft on a finan- cial institution in New York which shall have been approved by the government, payable in the gold coin of the United States of America, and of equal value to the sum exchangeable, at sixty days after sight, together with interest at the rate of six per centum per annum. It is to be observed that the self-inter- est of the government is here enlisted in maintaining a strict redemption of sil- ver, and a circulation of the silver coins at par with gold. The two general prin- ciples under which subsidiary coinage is regulated are, (1) redemption, and (2) limitation of quantity. For Santo Do- mingo, of course, there could not be a free coinage of silver, and also a redemption in gold. The amount of gold and silver coin- age is, therefore, limited by the discre- tion of the government. But the require- ment for redemption in reality fixes the amount of silver coins which can be kept in circulation; for if any attempt be made to put out an excessive quantity, the ex- cess will be presented for redemption, being thus automatically adjusted. In this way the plan provides against an undue extension of the silver circulation. As to the supply, it might be asked how the silver coins will be furnished in a quantity sufficient for the demands of the community. The supply of coins is provided by direct outlay of the govern- ment; but the gain of the government from the seigniorage is such as to stimu- late it to put out all that will circulate. The more put in circulation, the more profit from seigniorage to the govern- ment; and the government will not be slow to use this opportunity. Every dollar of silver, costing to coin, at the present price of silver, about fifty cents, is paid out by the government at its face value for one hundred cents in gold. This profit of one half on the whole of its silver coinage, however, is dependent entirely on the maintenance of redemp tion in gold. If silver coins are not kept at par in gold, then their value falls, and the profit on seigniorage pro tanto vanishes. This explains why it is for the interest of the government to keep the redemption system intact. On every million dollars of silver coins is- sued it gains a profit of half a million dollars. The only deduction from this gain is the interest on the reserve fund of gold required to be kept on hand for redemption purposes; but this reserve need never be large, unless there is an attempt to issue silver beyond the amounts needed for circulation. At the very beginning, of course, tests of the ability to redeem may be more or less frequent, until confidence is firmly estab- lished in the new system of coinage. It is to the interest of the government, also, to exclude all foreign silver coins, and to push its own silver circulation into all the channels of business. Hence the familiar Mexican dollar, on which the business habits have so long been based, must be driven from use; and yet monetary habits are very persis- tent. The coinage law, therefore, did not rely on sentiment, but created a plan by which it became more profitable to use the Mexican dollar in other coun- tries than in Santo Domingo AnT. 12. . . . As soon as the Exec- utive Power shall have advised the pub- lic that the new national coinage is ready for circulation, then the Mexican silver dollar shall be receivable for pay- ment of fiscal duties, only at a value of five cents below its intrinsic value in the markets. The result is that, as the cost of shipping Mexican dollars to New York is about three cents, there is a profit of at least two cents on sending them out of the country. The process of passing from a r6gime of Mexican silver to one of gold is large- ly of a practical nature, and does not pre- sent considerations of a kind to enter into a coinage law. But several provisions were introduced to touch this point 1894.] Jilonetary Reform in Santo Domingo. 113 ART. 12. All debts, both public and private, which have been created before the expiration of the first thirty days that follow the promulgation of the pre- sent law, shall be payable in the same money in which they may have been contracted. The debts that are contract- ed after the thirty days from the pro- mulgation of this law shall be payable in the new coins, as follows The gold coins shall be a legal in- strument for the payment of any sums whatever. It is established, neverthe- less, that until the coins created by the present law are coined and ready for circulation, the public and private debts, including fiscal and municipal taxes, may be payable in current silver money, which shall be received at a rate of fifty- five cents of the gold dollar for each Mexican silver dollar or current silver in actual circulation. This rate of fifty-five cents is estab- lished so long as the Mexican dollar is quoted in the market of New York at forty-eight cents, as at present; but in case there is a fall, or other fluctuation, the Contaduria General of Finance shall fix daily the rate of exchange for the payment of fiscal duties. Another class of difficulties arising from a change of prices to a gold basis can be worked out only by individuals for themselves. The laborer, for in- stance, now gets sixty or seventy-five cents a day in Mexican silver. How much should he get of the new money, which will buy twice as much? It is evident that the laborer starts out with the initial advantage. The presumption is that he will ask for the same number of cents for his daily wages, and it will hardly be likely that the daily stipend can be cut down to thirty or forty cents in gold, although that would buy as much as the old wages It is not easy to obtain labor; hence workingmen can demand and secure most of the advance. This makes clear why the masses of people generally favored a gold stan- dard. And it makes clear, also, why sugar - planters and large employers of labor would naturally oppose the reform. These classes, moreover, had to pay an export duty of twenty-five cents per hun- dred pounds; if this remained, and gold payments were established, it doubled the duties. And here there was a good deal of friction, resulting in a compromise, by which duties in general were reduced in percentage, until the actual level was about that established before the serious fall in silver. Importers and exporters had been gaining in recent years, as silver fell, by the lessened burden of duties, while the revenues of the state had been in that proportion diminishing. The modifications in the new tariff rates were, therefore, in the nature of a resto- ration of the original status. It might be asked, finally, How are the means to be found to furnish the new coinage? The first burden must fall, of course, on the revenues; but, as must have been seen, the sums taken from the revenues to pay for the coin- age would be only in the nature of an advance. Since the new coinage system provided a profit to the government, it could not be in any sense a burden upon the revenues. Not only did the country get relief from what was crushing trade, not only was exchange prevented from fluctuation, not only was the credit of the country and the value of its bonds increased, but the government gained a large profit on the seigniorage, while the country was enabled to go on quietly using silver in its retail transactions. The scheme is simple and compact. Its merits, whatever they are, arise from fol- lowing correct monetary principles. J. Laurence Lauyhlin. VOL. LXXIV. No. 441. 8 114 Baroness Tautphceus. [July, BARONESS TAUTPJREUS. BEFORE me lies a large black-edged German faire part, which reads as fol- lows It has pleased Almighty God to call to him- self our beloved grandmother, great-grand- mother, mother-in-law, aunt, and grandaunt, JEMIMA BARONESS TAUTPHGIUS, Born Montgomery, Widow of Royal Chamberlain and Minis terial Counsellor, Who this night, at half past one oclock, after long suffering, was called away from this earth- ly life in the eighty-sixth year of her age. Munich, Modena, Naples, Dublin, Landshut, November 12, 1893. RICHARD BARON TAUTPEcEUS K. B. Kammerer and Oherst Lieutenant. In the name of the mourners. The body will be taken to Unterwassen bei Marquardstein, and there, on the 15th of No- vember, interred in the family vault. Long before I had the honor and p~ea- sure of the personal acquaintance of the Baroness Tautph~us, I knew, through mutual friends, a great deal about her, about her method of work, her tastes, her daily life in those Bavarian Alps which she loved so well, and has so well described. I knew even the arrangement of the morning-room in which she usu- ally wrote, when at Schloss Marquard- stein, and which, situated in one of the towers of the castle, and overhanging a grim precipice and wild mountain val- ley, was a veritable nid daigle, so my informant said. When, some years ago, I went to Mu- nich to spend the winter, I counted upon seeing Madame de Tautpha~us as a mat- ter of course, so that it was a great dis- appointment to me to hear that she had withdrawn absolutely from society, had given up her old apartment, and had taken another in one of the new suburbs of Munich, in order to be at a distance from the court and the court circle, and to be free to indulge her grief (she was then a widow) in solitude. Her oldest friends did not see her in those days, or saw her but very rarely, and her seclu- sion was deeply regretted. One of these friends, Fraulein von P , a retired maid of honor, who had had many inter- esting experiences in her long life (she was then eighty), was full of anecdote and reminiscence, and had much to tell of Madame de Tautpheus, of the beauty and grace for which she had been re- markable in her youth, of the immense admiration she had excited at court and in the court circle during the two win- ters preceding her marriage, and of the strenuous opposition made to that mar- riage by her English relatives. This opposition had its origin, as Fraulein von P said, not in any objection to Baron Tautphceus himself, who was a good and honorable man, as well as a nobleman and a gentleman, but rather in the feeling that a woman endowed with so many advantagesbirth, beauty, accomplishments, and rare gifts ought to have made a more brilliant alliance. The marriage, however, proved a very happy one, and for forty-eight years she lived such a peaceful life as falls to the lot of few; then sorrow came upon her as an armed man, and in one fortnight she lost her husband and her son. This son (the only child she ever had) was for years ambassador from Bavaria to the Vatican. He married an Italian lady (the Baroness Sonnino), by whom he had two daughters, who were very young girls at the time of their fathers death, and all that remained to their grand- mother of the shipwreck of her earthly hopes. When I was in Munich, a year and a half had passed since these deep sor- rows. The younger Madame de Taut- pkeus had married again, but the elder still lived in retirement, and barred her

M. L. Thompson Thompson, M. L. Baroness Tautphoeus 114-119

114 Baroness Tautphceus. [July, BARONESS TAUTPJREUS. BEFORE me lies a large black-edged German faire part, which reads as fol- lows It has pleased Almighty God to call to him- self our beloved grandmother, great-grand- mother, mother-in-law, aunt, and grandaunt, JEMIMA BARONESS TAUTPHGIUS, Born Montgomery, Widow of Royal Chamberlain and Minis terial Counsellor, Who this night, at half past one oclock, after long suffering, was called away from this earth- ly life in the eighty-sixth year of her age. Munich, Modena, Naples, Dublin, Landshut, November 12, 1893. RICHARD BARON TAUTPEcEUS K. B. Kammerer and Oherst Lieutenant. In the name of the mourners. The body will be taken to Unterwassen bei Marquardstein, and there, on the 15th of No- vember, interred in the family vault. Long before I had the honor and p~ea- sure of the personal acquaintance of the Baroness Tautph~us, I knew, through mutual friends, a great deal about her, about her method of work, her tastes, her daily life in those Bavarian Alps which she loved so well, and has so well described. I knew even the arrangement of the morning-room in which she usu- ally wrote, when at Schloss Marquard- stein, and which, situated in one of the towers of the castle, and overhanging a grim precipice and wild mountain val- ley, was a veritable nid daigle, so my informant said. When, some years ago, I went to Mu- nich to spend the winter, I counted upon seeing Madame de Tautpha~us as a mat- ter of course, so that it was a great dis- appointment to me to hear that she had withdrawn absolutely from society, had given up her old apartment, and had taken another in one of the new suburbs of Munich, in order to be at a distance from the court and the court circle, and to be free to indulge her grief (she was then a widow) in solitude. Her oldest friends did not see her in those days, or saw her but very rarely, and her seclu- sion was deeply regretted. One of these friends, Fraulein von P , a retired maid of honor, who had had many inter- esting experiences in her long life (she was then eighty), was full of anecdote and reminiscence, and had much to tell of Madame de Tautpheus, of the beauty and grace for which she had been re- markable in her youth, of the immense admiration she had excited at court and in the court circle during the two win- ters preceding her marriage, and of the strenuous opposition made to that mar- riage by her English relatives. This opposition had its origin, as Fraulein von P said, not in any objection to Baron Tautphceus himself, who was a good and honorable man, as well as a nobleman and a gentleman, but rather in the feeling that a woman endowed with so many advantagesbirth, beauty, accomplishments, and rare gifts ought to have made a more brilliant alliance. The marriage, however, proved a very happy one, and for forty-eight years she lived such a peaceful life as falls to the lot of few; then sorrow came upon her as an armed man, and in one fortnight she lost her husband and her son. This son (the only child she ever had) was for years ambassador from Bavaria to the Vatican. He married an Italian lady (the Baroness Sonnino), by whom he had two daughters, who were very young girls at the time of their fathers death, and all that remained to their grand- mother of the shipwreck of her earthly hopes. When I was in Munich, a year and a half had passed since these deep sor- rows. The younger Madame de Taut- pkeus had married again, but the elder still lived in retirement, and barred her 1894.] Baroness Tautpha3us. 115 door to the outer world. The Fates, however, were kind to me, kind to my lifelong love of her, and some weeks later she sent for me to come and see her. She lived then in an apartment in the Weissenburger Strasse, a remote and very uninteresting quarter of the town. Within, her apartment was pretty and elegant, arranged with much taste, and kept with the most scrupulous neatness. She usually sat on a sofa near a west- ern window, and close by, on the wall at right angles to the sofa, hung a por- trait of her in her beautiful youth. It represented her in a ball dress of white satin, her dark chestnut hair falling in rich ringlets on each side of her lovely face. Not every woman of seventy- eight could bear such proximity, but Madame de Tautphrus had no reason to fear it; she was still delightful of as- pect, and in looking at her one only felt that the beauty of her old age differed in kind, hut not in degree, from that of her youth. It may not be amiss to quote here her own unflattering portrait of herself in the Initials: A. Z. was a pale, dark-haired person, neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin, neither hand- some nor ugly. Now, at seventy-eight, she was slight and graceful, and she looked petite, but I do not think she was belo~v the mid- dle height. She always dressed in black, black silk usually, with a lace cap, and all the appointments of her toilet were delicate and dainty, but with nothing salient that Ii can now recall. Her voice was soft and pleasant, her smile sweet, her manner singularly graceful and gen- tle, and both in looks and hearing she seemed much younger than her real age. All her childhood and early youth had been passed among clever and brilliant people, and she spoke with peculiar plea- sure of her visits to her relatives the Edgeworths, and said that cousin Maria was one of the most interesting people that it was possible to know. More than once, as she talked of the past; of all she had seen, heard, read; of her delight in intellectual society, in art, in music, ir~i the splendor of the great world, and of her equally great, if not greater delight in her mountain solitude, and in the society of those peasants she so well described, more than once, as her eyes sparkled, and her cheek glowed, and she looked almost like a young wo- man, I wondered if she had not (all unconsciously, of course, for she was the least self-conscious of women) described herself in describing Nora, that most fas- cinating of her heroines. The Initials was written some time af- ter her marriage, and the incident de- scribed in the first chapter, the delivery to the wrong person of the note pru- dently written in general terms, and with equal prudence signed only with in- itials, was literally true. I think she said that Hamilton was one of Lord Bloom- fields sons. But only the situations were true. Hamilton, indeed, was her own creation, and so was Hildegarde, and the Mr. Bloomfield in question, though he lodged with a bourgeois German fam- ily, and frequently amused Madame de Tautpkeus with their doings, (lid not marry one of the daughters. She im- plied that Hildegarde was one of her favorite creations, and I told her that I had often heard it said, both in Austria and Bavaria, that Hildegarde, though a possible character, was not possible amid such surroundings; in fact, that the bour- geoisie could not have produced her. Madame de Tautphwus laughed at this, and said that it was an old objection to Hildegarde, and that she herself must confess to having no close personal ac- quaintance with the Munich bourgeoisie9 but that ee~tait plus fort quelle. TIme truth is, she added, Hildegarde was real to me, and real in just such a home. I had to place her there. The Initials was begun, and a great part of it written, during a winter she and her husband spent in the Bavarian highlands. She used to read each chap- 116 Baroness Tautplueus. [July, ter aloud to her husband as she finished it, and he admired with all his heart. When she had written five or six chap- ters, she decided to try to publish it, and as soon as the book was done she sent it to London. It was immediately accepted by the publisher to whom it was submitted; and it is fortunate that she hit upon so competent a judge, be- cause she said very emphatically that her character was peculiar in some respects, and that, had the book been refused, she would never again have tried to publish it, and in all probability would never have written anything else. Happily, the publisher she had chosen was en- dowed not only with excellent taste, but with much promptitude in action. The Initials appeared very speedily, and the immense admiration which it excited was a source of great pleasure to her husband and herself, and, with a little smile of satisfaction, to my people in England as well. She said that when she began Cyrilla, she had not intended to make the story so tragic, but that the minor key deep- ened with her own interest in her work, and she then decided to give it a deep- er motive than that of the Initials; even when half through the book, the manner of Ruperts death was not clear to her, or whether he or Cyrilla should die first. A famous trial for murder, however, which at that time profoundly interested the German public, supplied her with the situation she lacked, and the fate of the innocent victim approved itself to her mind as that appointed for Rupert. From that time the end of the story lay spread outbefore her, inexorable as destiny; she could not hold her hand. Apropos of this, I told her that, a few months be- fore, I had read an account of the trial to which she alluded, in a book which contained a collection of famous crimi- nal trials, and that the compiler men- tioned that when the volume went to press (thirty-five years after the trial had taken place) the original of Zorndorff was still alive and still in the fortress of Spandau, to which he had been con- demned for life; and after a little cal- culation we found that he might even then be living, and working out a pun- ishment than which none was ever more deserved. The day we talked so long about Cy- rilla, I happened to say th~t I thought Rupert von Adlerkron at once the most heroic and most lovable of modern ima- ginary heroes. But, I added, laughing, you have much to answer for in putting forth such an impossibly delightful ideal. How many girls must have fallen hope- lessly in love with Rupert; and you know that your conscience must make you say, with Jago, There is no such man! She smiled and shook her head, and an- swered that she had known one man, at least, who was as good as Rupert. I saw her glance at a miniature which hung on the wall, above the sofa on which we were sitting, and a moment afterward she took it down and put it into my hand. It was an oval picture, and represented an officer in Bavarian uniform, with brown hair and mustache, and beautiful dark blue eyes. I knew it was her husbands portrait, and ventured to say that I had always imagined he must have been some- thing like Rupert. Well, she answered, with a sad smile, in his courage, and the equabil- ity and brightness of his temperament, he was like Rupert. In the forty-eight years we lived together, I never had an angry word from him. Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. If he had lived, this would have been the golden wedding day, she said, in the lowest possible voice. Later in the afternoon (we were still discussing Cyrilla), she told me what I had never heard before, that her pub- lisher, after the first two editions were exhausted, had urged her to prepare another and a different Cyrilla by re- modeling the last chapters and giving the story a happy ending. His reason 1894.] Baroness TLautphceus. 117 for this was that he had been besieged with letters protesting against the tragic fate of the lovers, and entreating that they might be married and live happy ever after. Rather unwillingly, Ma- dame de Tautpheus made the desired changes; but I think she said that the Cy- rilla with the happy ending ran through only one edition. I have never been able to procure a copy of this edition. Once, when we were talking about Quits, I told her that I had spent part of the preceding October in Partenkir- chen with my two little girls; that we went to all Noras haunts; that we sat beside the spring where Torp proposed to her; and were so imbued with the spirit of the place that, in writing to my son, who was then at school in England, I found myself saying, We went to Noras lodging to-day, etc. Madame de Tautphwus listened to this rhapsody in silence, and when I had quite finished, said calmly, But it is not there at all, you know. Oh! I exclaimed, in deep disap- pointment. Do you mean to say that Partenkirchen is not the scene of Quits ? Not at all the scene, she answered, smiling. I know that the general public has decided that it is, but I do not know why. But at least, I urged, at least, Arthur Nixon was buried in the church- yard in Partenkirchen? It corresponds in every respect to your description! Not more than half a dozen other graveyards which I know equally well, she rejoined. I know the Bavarian Alps and the Tyrol well, and I had many places in my mind when I wrote Quits. But surely, I persisted, being, ab- surdly enough, unwilling entirely to give up Partenkirchen, surely you must ad- mit that Partenkirchen looks as if it were the village in which Nora lodged? Really, nothing is wanting. Where, then, is the lake ? she asked, with a little laugh. And I was forced to confess myself beaten, and to describe our fruitless search for the lake, much to her amuse- ment. We afterward talked long about Quits, and she told me that the character of Torp was a favorite bit of work; that she had taken great pains with it, as she wished to produce a typical Englishman of the best class, with all his fine quali- ties, and the defects inseparable from these qualities; and the most charming arch smile lit up her face as she said, I must think that I succeeded with Torp, for after Quits was published I had sev- eral very angry letters from some Eng- lish cousins of mine, any one of whom might have sat (with some slight changes) for the portrait of Torp, and every one of them reproached me in no measured terms for putting a fellow into a book. So you see they fitted the cap upon them- selves. She also spoke with deep feeling of the intelligent appreciation accorded her work by Americans, and of the plea- sure and encouragement which it had afforded her to have such a vast and sympathetic audience; and she added that in former years, while at her sum- mer residence (Schloss Marquardstein, near Salzburg), she used to have fre- quent visits from Americans, who were all so thoroughly up in her books that it was impossible not to feel encouraged as well as flattered. Her husband greatly enjoyed these visits. He had evidently been very proud as well as fond of his brilliant and famous wife, and she laughed as she spoke of one visit in particular, of which he had done the honors in an original fashion. One morning, not many years af- ter the publication of Quits, two very pretty American girls, accompanied by their governess, presented themselves at Schloss Marquardstein. If I recollect aright, they were not furnished with let- ters of introduction, but they were so charming that they carried the entrance 118 Baroness Tautphceus. [July, by storm, in a pleasant girlish fashion, and they were received, and kept, I think, to an early dinner or afternoon tea, per- haps both. The point of the story, how- ever, lies in the way in which Baron Tautphnus entertained them. Madame de Tautplueus was not very well, and was quite unable to bear the fatigue of a long day with either strangers or friends, so her husband proposed to drive them to some points of interest in the neigh- borhood. They were gone for hours, and at last, quite late in the afternoon, they returned. The three Americans were flushed and radiant, and after pro- fuse thanks they bade farewell and de- parted; but all through the evening Baron Tautphceus kept bursting into peals of laughter, without any ostensible cause. At last his wife implored him to share the joke. Oh, he said, with a fresh laugh, it has been indeed a delightful day! I do like Americans. Those girls were so pretty, and so enthusiastic. Their governess, too, such a clever woman, and they all knew your books so well; Quits, for example, by heart! Well, my dear, you have never been willing to say ex- actly where the scene of Quits was laid, so I have done so. The pretty girls have enjoyed theniselves extremely. I took them to the house where Nora lodged, and to the house where Torp lodged. We went to the graveyard where Arthur lies buried, to Florians shop, to Fran Cramers, to the lake, to the mill. I even pointed out the spring where Torp surrendered, and made his famous proposal! It was very naughty of him, but he so enjoyed a joke, concluded Madame Tautph4eus, with that sweet smile of hers, arch and sad at once. She has told the story of At Odds in the preface, where she speaks of the in- terest with which she listened to the reminiscences of the troublous times in which she has laid the scene of the book. She never considered At Odds equal to her other books. She was in very deli- cate health all the time she was writing it, and the narrative proceeded but slow- ly, with frequent halts, as she was obliged to lay it aside sometimes for weeks, and even months. During this time (two or three years, if I remember correctly) she was a great deal in Meran, where she went for the grape cure; and the local coloring, always so admirable in her books, is so here, as is also the historical part of the story, which was carefully studied on the spot. Her delicate health, which lasted some years after At Odds was finished, was a reason for not writ- ing again. Her husband was extremely anxious about her, and as the physicians had strenuously advised her to live in the open air, he enforced their injunction rigidly. For ten years she lived idle and continually out of doors, until her health was ret~stablished; but even then her husband vigorously opposed her writ- ing much, he was so afraid that the stoop- ing over the desk would bring on the delicacy of chest which had so much alarmed him. I once asked why, when more years had passed, and her health was restored, she had not written; and she answered that when she wrote her four books she was really impelled, as it were, to do so, because they haunted her imagination ; that she had then obeyed a certain imperious necessity for expression; but that afterward, if she had written, it must have been urged either by pressing necessity or ambi- tion, or by a desire to escape from her- self. I had, she said, none of those reasons to spur me. My life was very happy, very full of interest in every way. I had always liked reading and studying better than writing. Perhaps I was also a little lazy, she wound up, with a smile. I have now mentioned all she said to me about her books, except one thing, that her gain from them had been very small, and that for many years she had received nothing. When the furor for 1894.] lJlodest Excellence. 119 them was at its height, on a snowy day in the depth of winter, a London pub- lisher made his appearance at her coun- try place, and presented a paper already prepared for her signature. In this pa- per she made over all her rights in her books to him, in consideration of a sum which then seemed a large one, but which she had lived to discover miserably in- sufficient. She evidently regretted this transaction, but observed that neither she nor her husband knew anything of com- mercial affairs, and could not suspect that the one in question would involve so heavy a loss. I have said that her son was for years ambassador from Bavaria to the Vatican. It is strange that she should never have gone to Italy. Of that loveliest of lands she knew practically nothing, although she was learned even very learned in Italian literature, and had an almost if not quite perfect command of the lan- guage. She had always intended to go to Italy; but now that her son was dead, and she was close upon seventy- nine years of age, she spoke of the long- projected Italian journey as of a past and lost possibility, admitting that the time for it was among the things that were. She lived much in the past, I think, and the varied and precious memories which crowded her thoughts may per- haps have done something to alleviate the sombre solitude in which she lived, a solitude which at that time was shared only by her old servants, who were evi- dently devotedly attached to her. I saw her for the last time on a bleak, bitter day in January, 1888. The suburb in which she had elected to live, the new Weissenburger Strasse, was as banal and dreary as it was possible to be. The snow fell silently outside, and from her drawing-room window the prospect over timber yards, and new, common- place, boxlike houses, all covered with snow was unutterably depressing, just one remove from squalor, and only not vulgar because so dreary. Madame de Tautphceus said that she had once spent a summer, the first after her bereave- ment, in this detestable spot. (The ad- jective is mine, not hers.) Some of her own relations were with her, and the days passed; for when in deep trouble, the more disagreeable the surroundings, the better. Just before I took my leave, she jumped up, with the peculiarly quick, graceful motion which was so character- istic of her, and more like a young girl than a woman long past seventy, and saying, I want to show you something, went to her writing-table and took out two photographs. One was of Schloss Marquardstein, the other of a church, A sad place to me, for under the altar of that church lies our family vault. Here, on the 15th of November, 1893, her long pilgrimage over, tWe worn frame; which in life had held such a treasure of all womanly virtues as well as high and rare intelligence, was laid to rest beside the dust of her husband and her son. 211. L. Thompson. MODEST EXCELLENCE. Two volumes of miscellaneous verse, tinguished yet not very widely known issued in the last days of the last year, writers, curiously unlike each other, but suggest thoughts to the ambitious and im- having this in common: that their lives patient. They represent, in some sort, one now, and the other long ago ma- the mental diversions of two highly dis- ture have been singly devoted to that

Modest Excellence 119-120

1894.] lJlodest Excellence. 119 them was at its height, on a snowy day in the depth of winter, a London pub- lisher made his appearance at her coun- try place, and presented a paper already prepared for her signature. In this pa- per she made over all her rights in her books to him, in consideration of a sum which then seemed a large one, but which she had lived to discover miserably in- sufficient. She evidently regretted this transaction, but observed that neither she nor her husband knew anything of com- mercial affairs, and could not suspect that the one in question would involve so heavy a loss. I have said that her son was for years ambassador from Bavaria to the Vatican. It is strange that she should never have gone to Italy. Of that loveliest of lands she knew practically nothing, although she was learned even very learned in Italian literature, and had an almost if not quite perfect command of the lan- guage. She had always intended to go to Italy; but now that her son was dead, and she was close upon seventy- nine years of age, she spoke of the long- projected Italian journey as of a past and lost possibility, admitting that the time for it was among the things that were. She lived much in the past, I think, and the varied and precious memories which crowded her thoughts may per- haps have done something to alleviate the sombre solitude in which she lived, a solitude which at that time was shared only by her old servants, who were evi- dently devotedly attached to her. I saw her for the last time on a bleak, bitter day in January, 1888. The suburb in which she had elected to live, the new Weissenburger Strasse, was as banal and dreary as it was possible to be. The snow fell silently outside, and from her drawing-room window the prospect over timber yards, and new, common- place, boxlike houses, all covered with snow was unutterably depressing, just one remove from squalor, and only not vulgar because so dreary. Madame de Tautphceus said that she had once spent a summer, the first after her bereave- ment, in this detestable spot. (The ad- jective is mine, not hers.) Some of her own relations were with her, and the days passed; for when in deep trouble, the more disagreeable the surroundings, the better. Just before I took my leave, she jumped up, with the peculiarly quick, graceful motion which was so character- istic of her, and more like a young girl than a woman long past seventy, and saying, I want to show you something, went to her writing-table and took out two photographs. One was of Schloss Marquardstein, the other of a church, A sad place to me, for under the altar of that church lies our family vault. Here, on the 15th of November, 1893, her long pilgrimage over, tWe worn frame; which in life had held such a treasure of all womanly virtues as well as high and rare intelligence, was laid to rest beside the dust of her husband and her son. 211. L. Thompson. MODEST EXCELLENCE. Two volumes of miscellaneous verse, tinguished yet not very widely known issued in the last days of the last year, writers, curiously unlike each other, but suggest thoughts to the ambitious and im- having this in common: that their lives patient. They represent, in some sort, one now, and the other long ago ma- the mental diversions of two highly dis- ture have been singly devoted to that lVliodest Excellence. sort of inconspicuous yet sound and price- less work which does so much to pre- serve intact, amid a faithless and per- verse generation, the high tradition of English letters. Of all the inquiring American students who are under endless obligation to the Keeper of Printed Books in the British Museum, for help, encouragement, and il- lumination of their special subjects, not many, we suppose, are apt to think of him as a poet. They were the scrapbooks of the sixties which absorbed the exquisite but anonymous Ballad of the Boat, and those are consequently elderly hearts in which The stream was smooth as glass, we said: Arise and let s away, is bound to awaken sentimental memo- ries. The younger men know Dr. Rich- ard Garnett chiefly as a generous com- pendium of all manner of humane lore; some have haply experienced his rather formidable powers of literary criticism and witticism; a few may have grasped the fact that he is not only about the best of living biographers, but one of the most brilliant of living story-tellers; hardly one, and for good reason, ever gives a thought to the solid, learned, and yet splendid character of the world of self- effacing work which he has done for the British Encyclop~dia and the Dictionary of National Biography. Now he has made a collection from the poems of some forty years, about a third of which including the beautiful Ballad afore- said first appeared in a tiny volume published in 1858, without the authors name, and entitled Primula. It is interesting to compare these two editions, divided by a full generation of time. There is hardly a trace of revi- sion in the later, and none was needed. The first and the last thought of one who turns over the new volume, ever so idly, must needs be, How exceedingly 1 Poems. By RICHARD GARNETT. Lon- don: Elkin Mathews & John Lane; Boston: Copeland & Day. 1893. classic, in structure and effect, English verse can be made; and what a mys- terious and enduring charm there is, after all, about that absolute symmetry of poetic form which is sometimes de- rided as academic! The moral is, that though classic, these verses are not cold, any more than Horace is cold; and they are often as gay, though certainly never as gross, as those of the Augustan poet. Frhere is a jet of inspiration in many of them, and a pungency of meaning not invariably present in the lawless liltings of our younger impressionist bards. In fact, there could hardly be a better de- scription of the best of Dr. Garnetts lyrics than that which he himself has unconsciously given in the elegiac cou- plet entitled The Lyrical Poem: Passion the fathomless spring, and words the precipitate waters, Rhythm the hank that hinds these to their musical hed. This, it will be observed, is an almost faultless elegiac ; not, for the rest, the most difficult of classic metres to trans- fer to a modern tongue. But it is a no- table fact, and goes, I think, indirectly to show how perfectly natural to him- self the seemingly studied manner of the poet really is, that when he pur- posely adopts a measflre from the an- tique, he is by no means always as suc- cessful as in the finished lines just quoted. The sapphics in which he la- ments the last poems of Sappho herself are not particularly good even for English sapphics; while, on the other hand, his translations into the simplest of Eng- lish metres, out of the Greek Anthology, first published in 1869, and not in- cluded in the present volume, are in one respect, at least, that of never blunt- ing the delicate and nimble wit of the original, about the most satisfying ever made. Here is a consummate paraphrase of the familiar farewell of Lais to her mirror : Venus, from Lais, once as fair as thou, Receive this mirror, useless to me now; 120 [July,

Richard Garnett: Poems Books Reviewed 120-124

lVliodest Excellence. sort of inconspicuous yet sound and price- less work which does so much to pre- serve intact, amid a faithless and per- verse generation, the high tradition of English letters. Of all the inquiring American students who are under endless obligation to the Keeper of Printed Books in the British Museum, for help, encouragement, and il- lumination of their special subjects, not many, we suppose, are apt to think of him as a poet. They were the scrapbooks of the sixties which absorbed the exquisite but anonymous Ballad of the Boat, and those are consequently elderly hearts in which The stream was smooth as glass, we said: Arise and let s away, is bound to awaken sentimental memo- ries. The younger men know Dr. Rich- ard Garnett chiefly as a generous com- pendium of all manner of humane lore; some have haply experienced his rather formidable powers of literary criticism and witticism; a few may have grasped the fact that he is not only about the best of living biographers, but one of the most brilliant of living story-tellers; hardly one, and for good reason, ever gives a thought to the solid, learned, and yet splendid character of the world of self- effacing work which he has done for the British Encyclop~dia and the Dictionary of National Biography. Now he has made a collection from the poems of some forty years, about a third of which including the beautiful Ballad afore- said first appeared in a tiny volume published in 1858, without the authors name, and entitled Primula. It is interesting to compare these two editions, divided by a full generation of time. There is hardly a trace of revi- sion in the later, and none was needed. The first and the last thought of one who turns over the new volume, ever so idly, must needs be, How exceedingly 1 Poems. By RICHARD GARNETT. Lon- don: Elkin Mathews & John Lane; Boston: Copeland & Day. 1893. classic, in structure and effect, English verse can be made; and what a mys- terious and enduring charm there is, after all, about that absolute symmetry of poetic form which is sometimes de- rided as academic! The moral is, that though classic, these verses are not cold, any more than Horace is cold; and they are often as gay, though certainly never as gross, as those of the Augustan poet. Frhere is a jet of inspiration in many of them, and a pungency of meaning not invariably present in the lawless liltings of our younger impressionist bards. In fact, there could hardly be a better de- scription of the best of Dr. Garnetts lyrics than that which he himself has unconsciously given in the elegiac cou- plet entitled The Lyrical Poem: Passion the fathomless spring, and words the precipitate waters, Rhythm the hank that hinds these to their musical hed. This, it will be observed, is an almost faultless elegiac ; not, for the rest, the most difficult of classic metres to trans- fer to a modern tongue. But it is a no- table fact, and goes, I think, indirectly to show how perfectly natural to him- self the seemingly studied manner of the poet really is, that when he pur- posely adopts a measflre from the an- tique, he is by no means always as suc- cessful as in the finished lines just quoted. The sapphics in which he la- ments the last poems of Sappho herself are not particularly good even for English sapphics; while, on the other hand, his translations into the simplest of Eng- lish metres, out of the Greek Anthology, first published in 1869, and not in- cluded in the present volume, are in one respect, at least, that of never blunt- ing the delicate and nimble wit of the original, about the most satisfying ever made. Here is a consummate paraphrase of the familiar farewell of Lais to her mirror : Venus, from Lais, once as fair as thou, Receive this mirror, useless to me now; 120 [July, lJfodest Excellence. For what despoiling Time has made of me I will not, what he marred I cannot, see. A little farther on in the same book, we find among the acknowledged imita- tions, which are simply signed R. G., this, which is almost more Greek than the versions themselves Heaven only knows, false fair, which of ns both Most freqnent mocks it, with a fragile oath: Thou, swearing thou wilt never more de- ceive; Or I, that I will never more believe. This has all the playfulness of the Hellenic spirit at its brightest. Here, on the other hand, from the later vol- nine, though still among the reprints from the earliest of all, is a noble spe- cimen of Dr. Garnetts graver manner: AGE. I will not rail, or grieve when torpid eld Frosts the slow-journeying blood, for I shall see The lovelier leaves hang yellow on the tree, The nimbler brooks in icy fetters held. Methinks the aged eye that first beheld The fitful ravage of December wild Then knew himself indeed dear Natures child, Seeing the common doom, that all compelled. No kindred we to her belov~d broods, If, dying these, we drew a selfish breath; But one path travel all her multitudes, And none dispute the solemn Voice that saith: Sun, to thy setting; to your autumn, woods; Stream, to thy sea; and man, unto thy death! It is also interesting to observe, by the way, how early the singer of so many years had mastered the main difficulties of the sonnet form. Since then, he has carried this exercise to a pitch of ex- traordinary refinement; and the latest work of his with which the present wri- ter is acquainted certain translations of Spanish and Italian sonnets, and espe- cially of some of the more subtle and evasive of Petrarchs does all that it seems possible ever to do in the way of naturalizing their exotic beauties. In the racy prose volume of satiric fables, published in 1888 under the title of The Twilight of the Gods, and Other Tales, Dr. Garnett compels some of the more precious foibles of the present day to masquerade under classic names, and with the scenery and decoration of a bygone world. Others have attempted the same feat before him, but who has ever achieved it in a manner at once so erudite and so mirth-provoking as his? It is marvelous to us that this delightful book should have had so slight a vogue, and that so few, comparatively, among our jaded and worried contemporaries should ever have realized what a gran diaertimento it offers them. Can it be that these demure narratives are really too witty for their time and place; that their keen merriment is too Aristophanic, or Lucianic, or what not, for a period in which Oxford dons have been known to shake their sides over Rudder Grange and The Innocents Abroad? But whatever arnende may really be due from a dull generation to this pol- ished jester, it is always we Americans who owe him most; for we have, as a nation, in all living England, no truer and more discriminating friend than he. Far from him, at all times, the cheap and hackneyed sneer at our crudity, the captious disparagement of our best and most serious effort, which, for some utterly mysterious reason, is more than ever the mode, just now, among British critics of things American. Dr. Garnett has recorded his manly protest against the pettiness of all this, beside offering the most superb of apologies for our own palpable shortcomings, in the sonnet TO AMERICA AFTER READING SOME UNGENEROUS CRITICISM. What though thy Muse the singers art essay With lip now over-loud, now over-low? T is but the augury that makes her so Of the high things she hath in charge to say. How shall the giantess of gold and clay, Girt with two oceans, crowned with Arctic snow, 1894.] 121 122 iJiliodest Excellence. [July, Sandaled with shining seas of Mexico, Be pared to trim proportion, in a day? Thou art too great! Thy million - billowed surge Of life bewilders speech, as shoreless sea Confounds the ranging eye, from verge to verge, With mazy strife, or smooth immensity. Not soon, or easily, shall thence emerge A Homer or a Shakespeare worthy thee. Even more fully and forcibly, he has written in the same sense in his preface to the edition of Lowells Essays includ- ed in the Camelot Classics; though here it seems to us that he almost overstates the case in our favor, when he pro- nounces the well - equipped American critic even better placed for the full es- timate of an English masterpiece be- cause he stands a little further from his subject than the Englishman himself. Dr. Garnett goes far, however, toward proving the converse of his proposition in his own charming Life of Ralph Waldo Emerson (1889), a signal achieve- ment in its highly sympathetic appre- ciation of certain American qualities and conditions which appear to bewilder the ordinary Englishman more than any other foreigner. How one who never saw it should so exactly have divined that unique and ingenuous Concord milieu, at once the creation of Emersons genius and its necessary complement, is indeed a mystery. Dr. Garnett reproduces it as perfectly, moves in it as freely and happily, as if his home had been on Monument Street, and his family vault in Sleepy Hollow. Certain of its as- pects tickle his sense of humor; and how should they not? Have they not minis- tered to the private glee of all of us, though tears of grateful affection were never far from our eyes when we laughed? To our thinking, this is not only the best of Dr. Garnetts long series of admira- ble biographies, but it has, in its perfect symmetry and noble candor, a distinc- tion which it does not lose when placed beside the thorough and grave life by Cabot, the clean - cut, quick study by Holmes, and ranking as a piece of clear and speaking portraiture with the grace- ful filial reminiscences of Dr. Edward Emerson himself. We have touched, almost at random, upon a few only of the more salient as- pects of a many - sided and vigorous talent; not attempting anything like a comprehensive estimate, or even a com- plete catalogue, of Dr. Garnetts works. Let us turn now to his younger contem- porary, very much more a child of the age than he ever was, and anything rather than an apologist for America, which he professes warmly to hate, but whose name, for reasons that will ap- pear, associates itself naturally enough with that of Dr. Garnett. Of all the virile and brilliant work which Mr. William Henley has given to the world, there is very little which he himself seems to have cared to preserve in a permanent form. Three of the extremely striking plays which he wrote in collaboration with Robert Louis Ste- venson first issued separately, and in that form much sought after by the bibliophile were reprinted in one vol- ume about a year ago. There is another small volume of critical essays, mostly brief, trenchant but not unkindly, highly suggestive; as good as the best contem- porary French work, and much resem- bling it in the rather uncommon quali- ties of penetration and lucidity. There are two tiny books of verse, and that is all. This is extraordinary reserve, a reserve which some of our popular writers would do very well to imitate, but in which we sincerely hope that Mr. Hen- ley will not persevere. The Views and Reviews are dedicated to The Men of the Scots Observer, with which, and with its reincarnation, the National Observer, Mr. Henleys name has always been identified, and where the majority of these papers first appeared. The idea of reprinting them in their present form did not originate with their author, nor was the selection made by him. But he consented to re 1894.] .2llodest Excellence. 123 vise them, and they seem to us, in their present form, abundantly to fulfill his modest hope that they will be found to have that unity which comes of method and an honest regard for letters. Their thoroughness is unobtrusive, their charm is unfailing, and they are absolutely sane. We have noted, in the whole book, only one little lapse of memory, and that is iu the very impressive summing-up of Tol- st6y: If he chose, he could be as keen a satirist and as indefatigable a student of the meannesses and the minor miser- ies of life the toothaches and the pim- ples of existence as Thackeray. But he does not choose. Surely Mr. Henley had forgotten his Anna Kar6nine when he wrote this, the protuberant veins on her husbands dry and soulless hands, the maddening cracking of his finger- joints! And did not the lover of that unhappy lady have a toothache pre- cisely a toothache at a very inop- portune moment, so that the undignified malady had a distinct influence on her doom? It is not that we can always agree with Mr. Henleys estimates or accept his judgments without an appeal. We love him for his love of Scott and Dumas pare, but his Thackeray is not ours, nor can we quite admit either his Meredith or his Disraeli. But he never fails to refresh and stimulate. One goes back to him with a sense of relaxation, from much of the irrelevant stuff which is proffered us in the way of literary criti- cism, and he may always be re-read with profit. Let us be frivolous, and try a Sors Hentictna, culling a quotatiou from the page at which the small book may choose to open. Here it is, the last para- graph of the paper on Homer and The- ocritus It is a relief to turn from the dust and din and clatter of modern life, with its growing trade in heroes and its pov- erty of men, its innumerable regrets and ambitions and desires, to this immense tranquillity, this candid and shining calm. They had no Irish question then, you can reflect, nor was theology invented. Men were not afraid of life nor ashamed of death, and you could be heroic with- out a dread of clever editors, and liospi- table without fear of rogues, and dutiful for no hope of illuminated scrolls. Odys- seus disguised as Irus is still Odysseus and august. How is it that Mr. Glad. stone in rags and singing ballads would be only fit for a police station; that Lord Salisbury hawking cocoanuts would in- stantly suggest the purhicus of Petticoat Lane? Is the fault in ourselves? Can it be that we have deteriorated so much as that? Nerves, nerves, nerves. . These many centuries the world has had neuralgia, and what has come of it is that Robert Elsmere is an ideal, and the bleat of the sentimentalist might almost be mistaken for the voice of living Eng- land. The Three Plays will also be found very good reading, though they were pro- fessedly written for the stage, and not the closet. Beau Austin and Deacon Bro- die have been subjected to the test of representation, and have borne it better than the majority of modern English dra- mas. Admiral Guinea has never been seen. It is the most original of the three, but it contains two rOles as difficult as they are alluring. Pending the discov- ery of an ideal pair to play these two remarkable parts, Mr. Henley has resist- ed many overtures, and in fact has ob- stinately declined to have the piece acted at all. It is one more instance of that self-restraint which we began by noting, and which receives fresh illustration from his verse. In his poetry, if anywhere, a man is expected to let himself go, but Mr. Henleys anxiety always appears to be lest he should reveal himself too freely. To the memorable series of poems In Hospital he has prefaced this motto from Balzac: On ne saurait dire h quel point un homme, seul dans son lit et malade, devient personnel. The proud 124 Jifodest Excellence. [July, and touching apology was not needed. What strikes the reader most in these mortal lullabies of pain, the r& um6 of an in-patients tragic experience from entrance to discharge, is the inexhausti- ble sympathy for others, the perpetual effacement of self. There is nothing in all the fine series of hospital lyrics, so rich in compassion, so disdainful of com- plaint, which is quite as personal as the following, included among the sup- plementary pieces in the same volume: Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: am the captain of my soul. Take next, by way of contrast, a spe- cirnen of Mr. Henley in his merry mood. The title, Of the Frowardness of Wo- man, will prepare us to find him holding high Tory views on a certain importunate question : All the idols are overthrowing, Man the end of his reign descries. Maids are clamoring, wives are crowing, Widows thrill with a wild surmise. Those one follows and those one flies, The loth to be won, and the willing to woo, Look at the world with longing eyes. Nothing is left for the men to do. Pulpit and platform overflowing, Ready the scheme of things to revise, See them eager, militant, knowing! Write, plead, wrangle, philosophize! Answer papers, and vote supplies, Wield a racquet, handle a cue, Paint, fight, legislate, theorize. Nothing is left for the men to do. Cora s riding and Lilian s rowing, Celias novels are books one buys; Julias lecturing, Phillis is mowing, Sue is a dealer in oils and dyes, Flora and Dora poetize; Jane s a bore and Bee is a blue, Sylvia lives to anatomize. Nothing is left for the men to do. The envoy is distinctly malicious, but it must not be suppressed : Prince, our past on the dust-heap lies! Saving to scrub, to bake, to brew, Nurse, dress, prattle, and scandalize Nothing is left for the men to do. It is always a little rash to change the title of a book. The public feels that its own rights are infringed. When Mr. Henley, a little more than a year ago, made a second collection of his poems, he named it from the fiery Song of the Sword. Now we have a new edition of the same book, much rearranged, some- what enlarged, a little improved, and it is called LondonYoluntaries. The latter is unquestionably the better title, since it emphasizes what is most original in the new volume. The Song of the Sword has been essayed by many, from King Olafs favorite minstrel onward; but the Voluntaries describe with matchless fidel- ity some of the more impressive aspects of the monster town. It is with a sense of something like suffocation that one who knows his London reads the following: Out of the poisonous East, Over a continent of blight, Like a maleficent Influence released From the most squalid cellarage of hell, The Wind-Fiend, the abominable The hangman wind that tortures temper and light Comes slouching, sullen and obscene, Hard on the skirts of the embittered night, And, in a cloud unclean Of excremental humors, roused to strife By the operation of some ruinous change Wherever his evil mandates run and range Into a dire intensity of life, A craftsman at his bench, he settles down To the grim job of throttling London Town. This movement of the Voluntaries is 1 London Voluntories. By W. E. HENL~v. London: David Nutt. 1893.

W. E. Henley: London Voluntaries Books Reviewed 124-125

124 Jifodest Excellence. [July, and touching apology was not needed. What strikes the reader most in these mortal lullabies of pain, the r& um6 of an in-patients tragic experience from entrance to discharge, is the inexhausti- ble sympathy for others, the perpetual effacement of self. There is nothing in all the fine series of hospital lyrics, so rich in compassion, so disdainful of com- plaint, which is quite as personal as the following, included among the sup- plementary pieces in the same volume: Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: am the captain of my soul. Take next, by way of contrast, a spe- cirnen of Mr. Henley in his merry mood. The title, Of the Frowardness of Wo- man, will prepare us to find him holding high Tory views on a certain importunate question : All the idols are overthrowing, Man the end of his reign descries. Maids are clamoring, wives are crowing, Widows thrill with a wild surmise. Those one follows and those one flies, The loth to be won, and the willing to woo, Look at the world with longing eyes. Nothing is left for the men to do. Pulpit and platform overflowing, Ready the scheme of things to revise, See them eager, militant, knowing! Write, plead, wrangle, philosophize! Answer papers, and vote supplies, Wield a racquet, handle a cue, Paint, fight, legislate, theorize. Nothing is left for the men to do. Cora s riding and Lilian s rowing, Celias novels are books one buys; Julias lecturing, Phillis is mowing, Sue is a dealer in oils and dyes, Flora and Dora poetize; Jane s a bore and Bee is a blue, Sylvia lives to anatomize. Nothing is left for the men to do. The envoy is distinctly malicious, but it must not be suppressed : Prince, our past on the dust-heap lies! Saving to scrub, to bake, to brew, Nurse, dress, prattle, and scandalize Nothing is left for the men to do. It is always a little rash to change the title of a book. The public feels that its own rights are infringed. When Mr. Henley, a little more than a year ago, made a second collection of his poems, he named it from the fiery Song of the Sword. Now we have a new edition of the same book, much rearranged, some- what enlarged, a little improved, and it is called LondonYoluntaries. The latter is unquestionably the better title, since it emphasizes what is most original in the new volume. The Song of the Sword has been essayed by many, from King Olafs favorite minstrel onward; but the Voluntaries describe with matchless fidel- ity some of the more impressive aspects of the monster town. It is with a sense of something like suffocation that one who knows his London reads the following: Out of the poisonous East, Over a continent of blight, Like a maleficent Influence released From the most squalid cellarage of hell, The Wind-Fiend, the abominable The hangman wind that tortures temper and light Comes slouching, sullen and obscene, Hard on the skirts of the embittered night, And, in a cloud unclean Of excremental humors, roused to strife By the operation of some ruinous change Wherever his evil mandates run and range Into a dire intensity of life, A craftsman at his bench, he settles down To the grim job of throttling London Town. This movement of the Voluntaries is 1 London Voluntories. By W. E. HENL~v. London: David Nutt. 1893. 1894.] Dean Stanley. 125 appropriately prefaced by the direction Largo e rnesto. But there is a London soher~o as well, from which we cull a picturesque passage For earth and sky and air Are golden everywhere, And golden with a gold so suave and fine The looking on it lifts the heart like wine. Trafalgar Square 7 The fountains volleying golden glaze Gleams like an angel-market. High aloft Over his couchant Lions in a haze Shimmering and bland and soft, Our Sailor takes the golden gaze Of the saluting sun, and flames superb As once he flamed it on his ocean round. But it is time to stay the hand in quo- tation, and we will even let the reader es- cape the literary moral half promised at the beginning of these desultory remarks. Who knows but jt may have pointed it- self in the course of them? DEAN STANLEY. DEAN STANLEY died in 1881, and a series of obstacles, narrated in the pre- face to his Life and Correspondence, prevented till now the publication of any full record of his career. The reader has the advantage in a better perspec- tive; a period of thirteen years is long enough to permit the softening of some outlines, the depression of some inci- dents which loomed up mightily at the time they occurred, but not too long to permit the fading of a strong character which rises out of the pages of this full memoir with a distinctness of personal- ity almost as great as belonged to the man whose life Stanley made so con- tributory to English thought. Stanleys Arnold was a model biography in its full yet restrained portraiture ; Pro- theros Stanley has to do with a char- acter no less marked than that of Ar- nold, but set in a much more complex frame of circumstance. Arnold, more- over, was but forty-seven when he died; Stanley, born ten years later thaii Ar- nold, was sixty-six when he died; and the most emphatic impression made by the book before us is of the abundance of a life led in the very centre of Eng- lish thought and action. Mr. Prothero, 1 The Lfe and Correspondence of Arthur Penrhyn Stanleq, late Dean of Westminster. By ROWLAND E. PROTHERO and G. G. BRADLEY. with a candor not always to be found in a biographer, and with a fidelity which implies loyalty to truth, and not partisanship, has used a great many lines in drawing Stanleys portrait, more, perhaps, than a greater artist would have required; but the result is worth tile pains taken. We could have dispensed with some of the delightful letters of travel, if we could have had more de- tails of Stanleys intercourse with men, as, for example, in the Revision Com- mittee; for when a mans writings are so considerable and so interpretative as Stanleys, the biographers task is rather to draw upon material not thus accessi- ble to readers; and in the great variety of Stanleys social intercourse lay the opportunity for a fresh illustration of his character. Mr. Prothero also devotes himself with perhaps too great assiduity to comment on Stanleys theological posi- tion. Yet, after all the minor criticism one may make, these two volumes con- stitute all honorable monument to the memory of a man who was conspicuous in his gelleratioll rather than eminent, who exercised a strong personal influ- ence rather than left a great impress upon his time, but who, by virtue of his In two volumes. New York: Charles Scrib- ners Sons. 1894.

Dean Stanley 125

1894.] Dean Stanley. 125 appropriately prefaced by the direction Largo e rnesto. But there is a London soher~o as well, from which we cull a picturesque passage For earth and sky and air Are golden everywhere, And golden with a gold so suave and fine The looking on it lifts the heart like wine. Trafalgar Square 7 The fountains volleying golden glaze Gleams like an angel-market. High aloft Over his couchant Lions in a haze Shimmering and bland and soft, Our Sailor takes the golden gaze Of the saluting sun, and flames superb As once he flamed it on his ocean round. But it is time to stay the hand in quo- tation, and we will even let the reader es- cape the literary moral half promised at the beginning of these desultory remarks. Who knows but jt may have pointed it- self in the course of them? DEAN STANLEY. DEAN STANLEY died in 1881, and a series of obstacles, narrated in the pre- face to his Life and Correspondence, prevented till now the publication of any full record of his career. The reader has the advantage in a better perspec- tive; a period of thirteen years is long enough to permit the softening of some outlines, the depression of some inci- dents which loomed up mightily at the time they occurred, but not too long to permit the fading of a strong character which rises out of the pages of this full memoir with a distinctness of personal- ity almost as great as belonged to the man whose life Stanley made so con- tributory to English thought. Stanleys Arnold was a model biography in its full yet restrained portraiture ; Pro- theros Stanley has to do with a char- acter no less marked than that of Ar- nold, but set in a much more complex frame of circumstance. Arnold, more- over, was but forty-seven when he died; Stanley, born ten years later thaii Ar- nold, was sixty-six when he died; and the most emphatic impression made by the book before us is of the abundance of a life led in the very centre of Eng- lish thought and action. Mr. Prothero, 1 The Lfe and Correspondence of Arthur Penrhyn Stanleq, late Dean of Westminster. By ROWLAND E. PROTHERO and G. G. BRADLEY. with a candor not always to be found in a biographer, and with a fidelity which implies loyalty to truth, and not partisanship, has used a great many lines in drawing Stanleys portrait, more, perhaps, than a greater artist would have required; but the result is worth tile pains taken. We could have dispensed with some of the delightful letters of travel, if we could have had more de- tails of Stanleys intercourse with men, as, for example, in the Revision Com- mittee; for when a mans writings are so considerable and so interpretative as Stanleys, the biographers task is rather to draw upon material not thus accessi- ble to readers; and in the great variety of Stanleys social intercourse lay the opportunity for a fresh illustration of his character. Mr. Prothero also devotes himself with perhaps too great assiduity to comment on Stanleys theological posi- tion. Yet, after all the minor criticism one may make, these two volumes con- stitute all honorable monument to the memory of a man who was conspicuous in his gelleratioll rather than eminent, who exercised a strong personal influ- ence rather than left a great impress upon his time, but who, by virtue of his In two volumes. New York: Charles Scrib- ners Sons. 1894.

Rowland E. Prothero and G. G. Bradley: The Life and Correspondence of Arthur Penrhyn Stanley, late Dean of Westminster Books Reviewed 125-128

1894.] Dean Stanley. 125 appropriately prefaced by the direction Largo e rnesto. But there is a London soher~o as well, from which we cull a picturesque passage For earth and sky and air Are golden everywhere, And golden with a gold so suave and fine The looking on it lifts the heart like wine. Trafalgar Square 7 The fountains volleying golden glaze Gleams like an angel-market. High aloft Over his couchant Lions in a haze Shimmering and bland and soft, Our Sailor takes the golden gaze Of the saluting sun, and flames superb As once he flamed it on his ocean round. But it is time to stay the hand in quo- tation, and we will even let the reader es- cape the literary moral half promised at the beginning of these desultory remarks. Who knows but jt may have pointed it- self in the course of them? DEAN STANLEY. DEAN STANLEY died in 1881, and a series of obstacles, narrated in the pre- face to his Life and Correspondence, prevented till now the publication of any full record of his career. The reader has the advantage in a better perspec- tive; a period of thirteen years is long enough to permit the softening of some outlines, the depression of some inci- dents which loomed up mightily at the time they occurred, but not too long to permit the fading of a strong character which rises out of the pages of this full memoir with a distinctness of personal- ity almost as great as belonged to the man whose life Stanley made so con- tributory to English thought. Stanleys Arnold was a model biography in its full yet restrained portraiture ; Pro- theros Stanley has to do with a char- acter no less marked than that of Ar- nold, but set in a much more complex frame of circumstance. Arnold, more- over, was but forty-seven when he died; Stanley, born ten years later thaii Ar- nold, was sixty-six when he died; and the most emphatic impression made by the book before us is of the abundance of a life led in the very centre of Eng- lish thought and action. Mr. Prothero, 1 The Lfe and Correspondence of Arthur Penrhyn Stanleq, late Dean of Westminster. By ROWLAND E. PROTHERO and G. G. BRADLEY. with a candor not always to be found in a biographer, and with a fidelity which implies loyalty to truth, and not partisanship, has used a great many lines in drawing Stanleys portrait, more, perhaps, than a greater artist would have required; but the result is worth tile pains taken. We could have dispensed with some of the delightful letters of travel, if we could have had more de- tails of Stanleys intercourse with men, as, for example, in the Revision Com- mittee; for when a mans writings are so considerable and so interpretative as Stanleys, the biographers task is rather to draw upon material not thus accessi- ble to readers; and in the great variety of Stanleys social intercourse lay the opportunity for a fresh illustration of his character. Mr. Prothero also devotes himself with perhaps too great assiduity to comment on Stanleys theological posi- tion. Yet, after all the minor criticism one may make, these two volumes con- stitute all honorable monument to the memory of a man who was conspicuous in his gelleratioll rather than eminent, who exercised a strong personal influ- ence rather than left a great impress upon his time, but who, by virtue of his In two volumes. New York: Charles Scrib- ners Sons. 1894. 126 Dean Stanley. [July, strong sympathies, his generous nature, and the positions which he occupied, never can be left out of account in any assessment of the England of to-day. The external incidents of his career follow in swift and mounting succession. Born of an ancient family, the son of a clergyman who became Bishop of Nor- wich, early satisfying his passion for travel, a boy at Rugby when Arnold was setting his stamp upon impressionable youth, a student at Oxford when the University was stirred by a great eccle- siastical revival, secretary to the com- mission which was long engaged in re- forming the higher education of England, tutor of University College, canon of Canterbury, professor of ecclesiastical history in the University, canon of Christ Church, the chosen companion of the Prince of Wales in his journey to Egypt and Palestine, married to a lady high in the favor of the Queen, established at Westminster as dean, in a position practically independent of ecclesiastical control, such a career stated in mere outline has power to arrest the attention; and when one considers further the wide range of Stanleys travel, the scope of his familiar acquaintance~ and the deep security of his domestic life both before and after marriage, one sees the rich possibilities of a life so led. It was because Stanley gave freely that he received freely. His achieve- ments as a student, less in the formal academic way than in the eager essays at high literary expression, had already marked him among his fellows, at first in school, afterward in college. His Life of Arnold showed him a literary artist of no mean order, and his successive publications attested both the fecundity of his mind, and those qualities of ap- preciation, of vivid reproduction, which are acceptable in the field of nature, but far more keenly enjoyed when the ma- terial wrought upon is human history, and especially that history concerned with the ideas which underlie action. If Maurice, in the same day and genera- tion, was the prophet who disclosed the thought of God in human history, Stan- ley was the poet who reconstructed that which had been treated as sacred history, so that its humanity was restored, and its sanctity made to be resident in it, not imposed upon it. It was by his Sinai and Palestine and his Jewish Church that Stanley acquired the widest repute, and the constructive, imaginative art of these books is likely to keep them alive among the people when more exact scholarship demands a treatment severer and more critical. But these books, though the deposit of his observation and reflection in travel and study, hardly suffice to account for the popularity of Stanley, and for the great interest which attaches to his personality, an interest which these two volumes of Mr. Protheros labor clearly attest, and in a large degree explain. A single word may perhaps set this forth, but it is a large word. Stanleys patriotism was the rock upon which his fame was built. The patriotism of an intellectual man who was also a Churchman, who stood publicly for an order, yet never aggrandized that order, was something very fine in its quality and passionate in its lofty fervor. It did not expend itself in phrases, but was as deep-seated as life itself. It is possible to look at the term noblesse oblige until it becomes the synonym for a pharisaic compla- cency; but when a man whose familiar associations are with those who inherit rank and power strikes hands, by force of his nature, with those who are shut out from power or feel the weight of the classes above them, and does this with- out any sense of condescension, and with no consciousness of separation from his own order, we may justly say that he reckons himself under a common obliga- tion. Stanley caught fire from Arnolds enthusiasm for a church and state which knew no dividing barrier. All the dia- lectics in the world could not serve either 1894.] Dean Stanley. 127 of these men to make their proposi- tion logically whole; but Stanley, unlike Arnold, who shot pamphlets at the mark, expended a life of restless energy in demonstrating in his own person how a great idea may dominate the soul, and tinge every part of ones activity. The deanship of Westminster was a vantage ground for a man so possessed, but it was also the natural and just landing- place of one with Stanleys patriotic pas- sion. That it was, so to speak, the only official post in England where a man with Stanleys ideas could put them into official expression may intimate that a general acceptance of these ideas was not practicable; but it would be truer to say that the sentiment which dominated the Dean of Westminster was one en- tirely possible to Englishmen, whatever might be their theories of church and state; that Stanleys sentiment was in- finitely more precious than his theory; and that the conspicuous use which he made of his opportunities served in the public mind very much as the colors of a forlorn hope. When Stanley forbade the use of the abbey to the Pan-Angli- can Synod because it was in plan and purpose sectarian, though catholic in name, and opened its pulpit to noncon- formists and laymen because he desired it to be the meeting-house of the Eng- lish nation, he involved himself in a net- work of casuistic discussion, but his sin- gleness of mind was vindicated. There was much that was imaginative, but there was more of lofty, comprehensive conception of national being in the whole attitude which he took toward English historic life, and the life of contempo- rary England. His delight in pageant, his amplification of trivial coincidences, his quick sense of occult comparisons, were the exuberant manifestations of a nature which was profoundly loyal, and gave itself nnceasingly to every effort which looked toward nuity and solidar- ity. It was impossible, one might say, for a mind so instinctively unifying in all its operations, so highly associative in its constitution, to act otherwise; but the impelling power which drove all these mental forces in the direction of national well-being was not intellectual, it was emotional; the passion of patri- otism was a steadily burning flame, and every activity was kindled by it. It is hard for an ardent American, especially of the educated class, to read attentively such a book as this without a passing envy of the conditions under which a career like Stanleys was con- summated. At first blush, there seems so much greater concentration of oppor- tunity, so much closer connection be- tween the man and the nation. Stanley seems almost to have given one hand to the Queen, the other to the workman, and to have held both firmly in his grasp. The personal element is notice- able, and the firmer texture of society makes every stroke of a mans work more evident. Instead of a vast area of manifold interests, isolated in great measure from each other, an island, with one controlling nervous centre; instead of a group of loosely organized religious bodies, an establishment, with its roots for better or worse in the very soil of the social and political world ; instead of a multitudinous company of local magnates, a compact body of legislators, whose concern is both local and imperial. It is no wonder that, as one compares the two countries, the possibility of mak- ing ones personality tell upon national well-being in the United States seems inconsiderable beside that offered to in- genuous youth in England. Dissipation of energy appears to be the rule in one case, concentration of power in the other. It would be a weak nature, however, which would be discouraged by such a superficial survey. Cathedrals, vener- able universities, great estates, a highly organized society, these have strong attractions, especially for those who look at them in the distance, from a fore- 128 French Aid in American Independence. [July, ground which is encumbered by the un- ordered materials of a new community. Stronger still is the power of attraction in a varied and immemorial history whose monuments are all about one, and whose institutions appeal to ones vener- ation. But there is another side to all this. The young American whose start in life may be regarded as somewhat parallel to that of Stanley, so far as so- cial position and educational opportunity are concerned, has an outlook which may well stir him. The very breadth of his horizon carries with it a splendid summons. There is a conception of pa- triotism which, like Stanleys, draws its inspiration from deeper sources than party or order. No one, gifted like him with historic imagination and the power of generalization, need be at a loss for material from which to construct the real entity of the United States out of the discordant elements which so easily strike the casual observer; and seeing a nation in its highest destiny is to invest all ones own purposes of service with a noble quality. To be in with the mak ing of a country gives more zest than to be a conserver; and in the application of his personal power to the accomplish- ment of great ends lies the true source of that constant spring which sets the young man in a large place. The pic- torial circumstance of Stanleys career is as nothing to the deep spiritual con- ditions of his habit of mind; and the young American, inspired by his life, may hold lightly the circumstances of the very contemporaneous society in which he is set, when he considers how far freer are his motions, how much less dependent he is on place and station, and how liberal is the measure of his own opportunities of expression. After all, to be a person, and to be at the cen- tre of things, demands freedom, and we suspect that this freedom in thought, in self-expression through words and ac- tion, is the birthright of the educated American in a sense in which it is de- nied the educated Englishman; for this very reason it calls for a higher type of patriotism, a loyalty to ideas even more than to persons and institutions. FRENCH AID IN AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. ANY lingering idea that but for La- fayette, or the enthusiasm excited by him, the French government would not have assisted America, and that that government was actuated by generous sympathy for the oppressed, ought to be dispelled by an elaborate work which shows, from the archives of the Paris Foreign Office, why and how that assist- ance was rendered. M. Doniol, as di- rector of the Imprimerie Nationale, was anxious to send to the Paris Exhibition of 1889 a specimen of its productions, and he obtained the permission of his Histoire de la Participation de la France l~ lttablissement des Ptats- Unis dAmerique. superiors to relate the diplomatic history of French aid to America. He has ac- cordingly issued five bulky quartos, only three of which appeared in time for that exhibition; but the French Academy did not wait for the completion of the work, to award him, in 1890, its Gobert histo- ry prize. The typography is admirable, but the paper, strange to say, is of that indifferent quality which, in the opinion of connoisseurs, condemns nearly all the French books of our day to an existence shorter than the span of human life. In a minute and painstaking narrative, Par HENRI DoKIoL. In five volumes. Paris: A. Picard. 188692.

French Aid in American Independence 128

128 French Aid in American Independence. [July, ground which is encumbered by the un- ordered materials of a new community. Stronger still is the power of attraction in a varied and immemorial history whose monuments are all about one, and whose institutions appeal to ones vener- ation. But there is another side to all this. The young American whose start in life may be regarded as somewhat parallel to that of Stanley, so far as so- cial position and educational opportunity are concerned, has an outlook which may well stir him. The very breadth of his horizon carries with it a splendid summons. There is a conception of pa- triotism which, like Stanleys, draws its inspiration from deeper sources than party or order. No one, gifted like him with historic imagination and the power of generalization, need be at a loss for material from which to construct the real entity of the United States out of the discordant elements which so easily strike the casual observer; and seeing a nation in its highest destiny is to invest all ones own purposes of service with a noble quality. To be in with the mak ing of a country gives more zest than to be a conserver; and in the application of his personal power to the accomplish- ment of great ends lies the true source of that constant spring which sets the young man in a large place. The pic- torial circumstance of Stanleys career is as nothing to the deep spiritual con- ditions of his habit of mind; and the young American, inspired by his life, may hold lightly the circumstances of the very contemporaneous society in which he is set, when he considers how far freer are his motions, how much less dependent he is on place and station, and how liberal is the measure of his own opportunities of expression. After all, to be a person, and to be at the cen- tre of things, demands freedom, and we suspect that this freedom in thought, in self-expression through words and ac- tion, is the birthright of the educated American in a sense in which it is de- nied the educated Englishman; for this very reason it calls for a higher type of patriotism, a loyalty to ideas even more than to persons and institutions. FRENCH AID IN AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. ANY lingering idea that but for La- fayette, or the enthusiasm excited by him, the French government would not have assisted America, and that that government was actuated by generous sympathy for the oppressed, ought to be dispelled by an elaborate work which shows, from the archives of the Paris Foreign Office, why and how that assist- ance was rendered. M. Doniol, as di- rector of the Imprimerie Nationale, was anxious to send to the Paris Exhibition of 1889 a specimen of its productions, and he obtained the permission of his Histoire de la Participation de la France l~ lttablissement des Ptats- Unis dAmerique. superiors to relate the diplomatic history of French aid to America. He has ac- cordingly issued five bulky quartos, only three of which appeared in time for that exhibition; but the French Academy did not wait for the completion of the work, to award him, in 1890, its Gobert histo- ry prize. The typography is admirable, but the paper, strange to say, is of that indifferent quality which, in the opinion of connoisseurs, condemns nearly all the French books of our day to an existence shorter than the span of human life. In a minute and painstaking narrative, Par HENRI DoKIoL. In five volumes. Paris: A. Picard. 188692.

Henri Doniol: Histoire de la Participation de la France a l'Establissement des Estats-Unis d'Amerique Books Reviewed 128-133

128 French Aid in American Independence. [July, ground which is encumbered by the un- ordered materials of a new community. Stronger still is the power of attraction in a varied and immemorial history whose monuments are all about one, and whose institutions appeal to ones vener- ation. But there is another side to all this. The young American whose start in life may be regarded as somewhat parallel to that of Stanley, so far as so- cial position and educational opportunity are concerned, has an outlook which may well stir him. The very breadth of his horizon carries with it a splendid summons. There is a conception of pa- triotism which, like Stanleys, draws its inspiration from deeper sources than party or order. No one, gifted like him with historic imagination and the power of generalization, need be at a loss for material from which to construct the real entity of the United States out of the discordant elements which so easily strike the casual observer; and seeing a nation in its highest destiny is to invest all ones own purposes of service with a noble quality. To be in with the mak ing of a country gives more zest than to be a conserver; and in the application of his personal power to the accomplish- ment of great ends lies the true source of that constant spring which sets the young man in a large place. The pic- torial circumstance of Stanleys career is as nothing to the deep spiritual con- ditions of his habit of mind; and the young American, inspired by his life, may hold lightly the circumstances of the very contemporaneous society in which he is set, when he considers how far freer are his motions, how much less dependent he is on place and station, and how liberal is the measure of his own opportunities of expression. After all, to be a person, and to be at the cen- tre of things, demands freedom, and we suspect that this freedom in thought, in self-expression through words and ac- tion, is the birthright of the educated American in a sense in which it is de- nied the educated Englishman; for this very reason it calls for a higher type of patriotism, a loyalty to ideas even more than to persons and institutions. FRENCH AID IN AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. ANY lingering idea that but for La- fayette, or the enthusiasm excited by him, the French government would not have assisted America, and that that government was actuated by generous sympathy for the oppressed, ought to be dispelled by an elaborate work which shows, from the archives of the Paris Foreign Office, why and how that assist- ance was rendered. M. Doniol, as di- rector of the Imprimerie Nationale, was anxious to send to the Paris Exhibition of 1889 a specimen of its productions, and he obtained the permission of his Histoire de la Participation de la France l~ lttablissement des Ptats- Unis dAmerique. superiors to relate the diplomatic history of French aid to America. He has ac- cordingly issued five bulky quartos, only three of which appeared in time for that exhibition; but the French Academy did not wait for the completion of the work, to award him, in 1890, its Gobert histo- ry prize. The typography is admirable, but the paper, strange to say, is of that indifferent quality which, in the opinion of connoisseurs, condemns nearly all the French books of our day to an existence shorter than the span of human life. In a minute and painstaking narrative, Par HENRI DoKIoL. In five volumes. Paris: A. Picard. 188692. French Aid in American Independence. avowedly modeled on Mignets Spanish Succession, and without any attempt at brilliancy, M. Doniol has utilized the works of his predecessors, including Ban- crofts extracts from English and German archives. Indeed, while maintaining that Bancroft exaggerates the sympathy of Frederick the Great with America, and while resolutely controverting his view of the peace negotiations, M. Doniol ac- knowledges that the American historian is substantially accurate as regards French policy. The work will be a necessary auxiliary to future writers on the War of Independence, for it is rich in docu- ments of unimpeachable authority; but its conclusions will not be universally ac- cepted. It is not unlikely that a Spaniard, exploring his national records, would vin- dicate Grimaldi and Florida-Blanca from the many reproaches here cast on them, while an American would certainly chal- lenge the judgment passed on Jay and Adams; and on the decisions of Congress. The fact is that M. Doniol holds a brief on behalf of the Comte de Ver- gennes, who, the son of an obscure pro- vincial judge, filled various foreign em- bassies from 1740 to 1768, and was at the head of the Foreign Office from 1774 till his death in 1787. Vergennes is the hero of the work; Maurepas, old and cautious after twenty-five years disgrace for an epigram on Madame la Pompa- dour, and Louis XVI., pliable and inex- perienced, being his nominal masters, but his usually docile associates. Ver- gennes is always right, whereas nearly everybody else is frequently or systemat- ically wrong. We say nearly every- body, for Washington is described as never forgettinghis obligations to France, and Franklin is absolved, on the score of gout, from the bad faith imputed to his colleagues in 1783, though rralleyrand would probably have asked, as in an ana- logous case, What motive has he for having the gout? As for Spain, she has sometimes to be checked, more often to be urged on. She is bent on compen VOL. LXXIV. NO. 441. 9 sation for her intervention, and does not always inform her faithful ally of the en- emys secret overtures. But France is all along disinterested. She merely wants to rid herself of that humiliating clause of the treaty of 1763 which prescribed the demolition of the fortifications of Dunkirk, and entitled England to station a commissary there to watch against any reconstruction, a commissary who cav- iled even at repairs to the quays. She is allowed the benefit of extenuating cir- cumstances when, protesting to England her strict neutrality, she gives the colo- nists what Vergennes himself styles clan- destine support; advancing a million francs for war supplies, and inducing Spain to do the same; employing the dramatist Beaumarchais to pose as ship- ping contractor, and meeting Englands remonstrances against the departure of his vessels from Nantes by orders of de- tention carefully timed to arrive too late. Now, although Vergennes is certainly overrated by M. Doniol, he did show te- nacity of purpose, and he achieved his aim of weakening England. Internation- al ethics do not condemn a nation for wreaking revenge on an arrogant rival, and Vergennes unquestionably did what seemed best for his countrys interest. It is by no means clear, moreover, that the French Revolution, which he did not live to see, but which expatriated and ruined his sons, was hastened by American independence. It is true that French officers who had served in Amer- ica returned home with ideas of liberty, but Lafayettes prominence in the Revo- lution was very transient. The cost of the war may have accelerated the finan- cial deadlock which necessitated the sum- moning of the States - General in 1799, but if so it merely hastened an inevitable break-down. Assuming, however, that the French monarchy was well advised in helping America, M. Doniol manifestly goes too far in maintaining that a more honest, devoted, and noble attitude, from first to 1894.1 129 130 French Aid in American independence. [July, last, has rarely been offered to the judg- inent of history. He is positively in- censed with American statesmen for be- ing suspicious of French designs, and for signing the peace preliminaries before notifying Vergennes; thereby, as he con- tends, preventing Spain from recover- ing Gibraltar. Yet, by his own showing, France, like every other power, like Spain coveting the left bank of the Mississippi, like Prussia piling Austrian schemes on the Bavarian succession, like the league of neutrals anxious to share in American trade, was aiming at her own advantage. True, she did not seek the reacquisition of Canada, partly be- cause she considered it impracticable; partly because she underrated its value, as she had done when leaving it al- most undefended; mainly because she wished it to be, by continuing in English hands, a thorn in the side of the United States, rendering them dependent on her friendship; but she sought to get a share of American trade, to humble England, and to regain in Europe the prestige lost by the partition of Poland, in which she had been allowed no voice. Of sympathy with colonial emancipation there is not and could not be a syllable in Vergenness dispatches. France had her West In- dia colonies, which she wished to retain; and she was not apprehensive of any movement for independence, for at home as in the colonies there was taxation without representation. So exclusively bent, indeed, was Vergennes on French interests that at the outset he wished the Americans to be put down; for he had adopted the opinion of Lord North, that the rising was incited or fomented by the parliamentary opposition in order to regain office, and he feared that Chat- ham, returning to power, would not merely pacify the colonists, but would attack France. He accordingly pro- mised the strictest neutrality. Yet in 1775 he told Lord Stormont, the Brit- ish ambassador at Paris, that on hearing, at his Constantinople embassy, in 1763, of the French cession of Canada, he predicted that the colonies, thus released from fear of French neighbors, would demand independence; and he niust have known that Pontleroy, the spy sent by the French government across the Atlantic in 1764, had distinctly prophe- sied such independence. Vergennes, however, feared, or affected to fear, that the colonists, if successful, would covet the French and Spanish possessions, and he even foreboded that they would eventually allow no European power a foot of soil in the New World. This was certainly taking a long look ahead. He soon abandoned the desire for Brit- ish success, his next sentiment being that Englands troubles in America would prevent her from disturbing Europe, and he chuckled at the sight of England tearing herself to pieces. Then, in August, 1775, he dispatched a secret en- voy, bearing the very appropriate name of Bonvouloir, to hold out a promise of French aid, and he advised Louis XVI. to give clandestine assistance. Here are his Reflections in 1775 : By responding to the request of the colonies, and assuming the assistance given by us to be effective, the following advantages appear likely to result: (1.) The power of England will be dimin- ished, and our own correspondingly in- creased. (2.) Her trade will suffer an irreparable loss, whereas ours will be the gainer. (3.) It is very probable that in the course of events we may recover a portion of the possessions in America which the English have taken from us, such as the Newfoundland fishery, the Gulf of St. Lawrence, Cape Breton, etc. We do not speak of Canada. Turgot, who, like the other ministers, had, in April, 1776, to give his opinion on this proposal, enunciated broad views on the uselessness of colonies in general, on the certainty in all cases of ultimate independence, and on the advantages of free trade; but we need quote, for our present purpose, only this short passage: 1894.] French Aid in American Independence. 131 The most desirable event in the in- terest of the two crowns [France and Spain] would be that England should overcome the resistance of her colonies and force them to submit to her yoke; because if they were subjugated merely by the ruin of their resources, England would lose the advantages hitherto de- rived by her, whether during peace, from the increase of her trade, or whether dur- ing war, from the use she could make of their forces. If, on the other hand, the vanquished colonies should preserve their wealth and population, they would pre- serve the courage and desire of inde- pendence, and would oblige England to employ part of her forces in preventing them from another insurrection. The policy of covert assistance was thus formally adopted twelve months be- fore Lafayettes departure for America, which event thus falls into its true per- spective as a simple episode, rather un- pleasant than otherwise to Vergennes, because giving England a fresh ground of complaint. As it was, the Comte de Guines, at London, had amply to justify Sir Henry Wottons definition of an am- bassador as a man sent to lie abroad for the good of his country. He had to make protestations of neutrality, or even of unfriendliness to the insurgents, though Vergennes warned him against committing these to writing, lest they should be paraded before Parliament, and should discourage the Americans, who might take them seriously. He had also to affirm that Vergennes was utterly ignorant of the object of Franklins ar- rival in France, although Vergennes in- genuously added that he did not expect this to be believed. Guines, according- ly, spoke contemptuously of Franklin as a mere scientist. England was not, how- ever, deceived by these equivocations, for she had bought over Edward Bancroft, who wormed out his secrets from the un- suspecting Silas Deane. In the summer of 1776 Vergennes was on the point of unsheathing the sword, and he urged these considerations on Spain The connection which the war would form between France and North Amer- ica would not be one of those transient bonds occasioned by momentary exigen- cies, and then vanishing away. No in- terests could divide two peoples com- municating with each other only by sea; the necessary commercial relations which would arise between them would form a tie, if not perpetual, at least of long duration, which, stimulating French in- dustry, would bring to our ports those commodities, more necessary than pre- cious, which America produces, which she formerly poured into English ports, and which, by feeding the industry of that nation, have done so much towards raising her to that astonishing degree of wealth to which we see her arrived. It is doubly an advantage when the increase of national industry tends to the reduc- tion of that of the rival power. But the battle of Long Island induced Vergennes to defer the declaration of war; for he inferred that the campaign would be long and chiefly naval, and he feared that the French fleet was as yet unequal to it. He consequently persuad- ed Spain to continue the policy of se- cret assistance, justifying this by the pre- cedent of Queen Elizabeths aid to the Dutch. Let us, he wrote on the 5th of November, 1776, insure, if possible, the separation of Englands North Ameri- can colonies. Her trade narrowed and reduced, and her finances more burden- some, her power will be correspondingly weakened, and she will be rendered less proud and restless. France and Spain could then congratulate themselves on having achieved more than the conquest of a rich province. By the summer of 1777, France, having completed her na- val preparations, was anxious to forestall England in declaring war, but Spain, who had formerly been eager for it, now obstinately held back. Grimaldi had been succeeded by Florida - Blanca, who was 132 French Aid in American Independence. [July, apprehensive that England, abandoning the contest with the insurgents, would seek compensation by attacking Spanish America. He also urged that the United States might become formidable even to their benefactors. Vergennes, in com- bating this objection, acknowledged that they might one day become powerful, but maintained that thirteen self-govern- ing States would be too much absorbed in their local concerns to be dangerous to outsiders. The English possession of Canada, moreover, would be a guaran- tee against their rupture with two pow- ers which had gratuitously obliged them, a rupture which would be repaying benefits by the blackest ingratitude. But Vergenness representations were ineffec- tual; and though in February, 1778, he concluded a treaty with America, and as the first sign of hostilities sent the Dun- kirk commissary about his business, Spain held back till April, 1780. M. Doniol, in order to make his work complete, has thought it necessary to give an account of French military operations, thus decided upon by a very common- place king in the sick-room of an aged mm- ister[Maurepas],whose frivolous qualities alone were perceived by his contempora- ries, on the report of a minister [Ver- gennes] of almost obscure birth. But he might perhaps have dispensed with this, for on such matters he does not pretend to have anything new to tell us. He is not, apparently, quite conscious how conclusively he has shown that France studied solely her own interest, both in her clandestine and in her open aid to America. Just as, in 1745, she assisted the Pretender, wishing him to win the Scotch crown only that he should be a thorn in Englands side, and a dependent on herself; just as, in 1798, she invaded Ireland, not to benefit the Irish, but to strike a blow at England; just as, in 1859, she sought to supplant Austrian ascen- dency in Italy; so, in 1778, her object was to weaken England. Even Lafa- yette, though in his memoirs the lapse of nearly half a century had thrown a halo over the past, ackn~wledges that he was anxious to see French humiliations avenged; and it is tolerably clear that enthusiasm for liberty did not impel him to his expedition, but was imbibed by him in America, and was brought back to France by him as by other French officers. England, in precisely the same way, assisted the Spaniards against Na- poleon; she claiming no gratitude, and they feeling none. It is true that Yer- gennes, after the war was well over, spoke of having seized the moment for assisting an oppressed nation, with a well-founded hope of effecting its deliv- erance; but this was an afterthought. He then shared, or affected to share, in that popular sympathy for young Amer- ica of which he had shown no trace dur- ing the war. He may have by that time been disappointed with the material re- sults of the campaign, and may have felt the necessity of justifying by some bril- liant result the expenditure of so much blood and treasure. However this may be, M. Doniols charges of breach of faith against the American negotiators for peace are, to say the least, exaggerated. They may have been unduly suspicious as to French disinterestedness. Knowing how France had equivocated with England during the period of secret aid, they were natu- rally on their guard against her in the settlement of accounts. They could not know as well as we know, from the dis- patches now first published, that France had no thought of recovering Canada, and was little disposed to support Spanish claims to the monopoly of the Mississippi. America could not be expected to prolong the war for the sake of Gibraltar, which Vergennes mistakenly, we believe imagined that England would have given up. France was not left in the lurch, as M. Doniol alleges, for she had disavowed all idea of territorial aggrandizement, de- manding only the restitution of Tobago, Pondicherry, and several other small de 1894.] Comment on New Books. 133 pendencies, together with the annulling of the Dunkirk clause, as to which there could be no difficulty, for England was sensible of the folly of such a standing affront to national dignity. The war had therefore ceased to have any purpose. By way of moral, M. Doniol remarks, The inspirations of selfishness in the relations of states seem to be dictated by an inevitable law which should be engraven on the frontispiece of every new nation. But this cuts both ways. Selfishness made France oppose the fed- eral Constitution, for she desired to see America permanently weak, that it might be a satellite revolving round her; where- as it was Englands interest that the new commonwealth should be strong enough to be independent of the support of her rival. Talleyrand may be deemed cyni- cal, but he took the world as he found it when, writing from Philadelphia, in 1795, to Lord Lansdowne, who, as Lord Shelburne, had concluded the peace of 1783, he said, The Americans do not deny, indeed, that but for France they would not have succeeded in becoming independent, but they know too much of politics to believe in the virtue called gratitude between nations. They know that disinterested services are alone en- titled to that pure sentiment, and that there are no such services between states. Or, as Mr. Lecky said recently of wars for ideas, I distrust greatly these ex- plosions of military benevolence. They usually end in ways which are not those of a disinterested philanthropy. COMMENT ON NEW BOOKS. History and Biography. Sources of the Constitution of the United States, consid- ered in Relation to the Colonies and Eng- lish History, by C. Ellis Stevens. (Mac- millan.) Mr. Stevens is the first writer to devote a whole volume to the purpose of showing in a scholarly and yet untechnical way how the American Constitution is a direct outgrowth of English and colonial precedents. After two excellent introduc- tory historical chapters, he takes each branch of the government in turn, legis- lative, executive, and judicial, tracing it from its beginnings in English history down to the American Revolution, and concludes with a chapter showing the intimate connec- tion between the Bill of Rights and the first ten amendments to the Constitution. While preceded in this field by several writers, notably Mr. Hannis Taylor, Mr. Stevens aims at a far greater complete- ness, and his work will undoubtedly, as a result of its readable and at the same time comprehensive character, serve well as a university textbook. It is, however, in no sense an original contribution to constitu- tional history, for in every page Mr. Stevens shows his dependence upon the work of previous students; and it is to be regretted that since the work was to be so largely a compilation, the author did not go further, and by incorporating in his text some of the most important documents to which he refers a step which would not by any means produce a bulky volume render his work a more complete and useful hand- book. Memoirs of Chancellor Pasquier. Translated by Charles E. Roche. Vol. II. (Scribners.) The second volume of these memoirs strengthens the impression pro- duced by the first, that the work is de- stined permanently to take a very high place among the really authoritative histories and biographies of the Napoleonic epoch. This volume is concerned with the downfall of the Empire, beginning as it does with the Russian campaign, and ending with the first evacuation of Paris by the allied ar- mies. The state of feeling among the min- isters from whom the brief unfrequent bulletins, no matter how skillfully worded, could not long conceal or even much ob- scure the reality of disaster following disas- ter, while the terrible final conscriptions

Comment on New Books 133-138

1894.] Comment on New Books. 133 pendencies, together with the annulling of the Dunkirk clause, as to which there could be no difficulty, for England was sensible of the folly of such a standing affront to national dignity. The war had therefore ceased to have any purpose. By way of moral, M. Doniol remarks, The inspirations of selfishness in the relations of states seem to be dictated by an inevitable law which should be engraven on the frontispiece of every new nation. But this cuts both ways. Selfishness made France oppose the fed- eral Constitution, for she desired to see America permanently weak, that it might be a satellite revolving round her; where- as it was Englands interest that the new commonwealth should be strong enough to be independent of the support of her rival. Talleyrand may be deemed cyni- cal, but he took the world as he found it when, writing from Philadelphia, in 1795, to Lord Lansdowne, who, as Lord Shelburne, had concluded the peace of 1783, he said, The Americans do not deny, indeed, that but for France they would not have succeeded in becoming independent, but they know too much of politics to believe in the virtue called gratitude between nations. They know that disinterested services are alone en- titled to that pure sentiment, and that there are no such services between states. Or, as Mr. Lecky said recently of wars for ideas, I distrust greatly these ex- plosions of military benevolence. They usually end in ways which are not those of a disinterested philanthropy. COMMENT ON NEW BOOKS. History and Biography. Sources of the Constitution of the United States, consid- ered in Relation to the Colonies and Eng- lish History, by C. Ellis Stevens. (Mac- millan.) Mr. Stevens is the first writer to devote a whole volume to the purpose of showing in a scholarly and yet untechnical way how the American Constitution is a direct outgrowth of English and colonial precedents. After two excellent introduc- tory historical chapters, he takes each branch of the government in turn, legis- lative, executive, and judicial, tracing it from its beginnings in English history down to the American Revolution, and concludes with a chapter showing the intimate connec- tion between the Bill of Rights and the first ten amendments to the Constitution. While preceded in this field by several writers, notably Mr. Hannis Taylor, Mr. Stevens aims at a far greater complete- ness, and his work will undoubtedly, as a result of its readable and at the same time comprehensive character, serve well as a university textbook. It is, however, in no sense an original contribution to constitu- tional history, for in every page Mr. Stevens shows his dependence upon the work of previous students; and it is to be regretted that since the work was to be so largely a compilation, the author did not go further, and by incorporating in his text some of the most important documents to which he refers a step which would not by any means produce a bulky volume render his work a more complete and useful hand- book. Memoirs of Chancellor Pasquier. Translated by Charles E. Roche. Vol. II. (Scribners.) The second volume of these memoirs strengthens the impression pro- duced by the first, that the work is de- stined permanently to take a very high place among the really authoritative histories and biographies of the Napoleonic epoch. This volume is concerned with the downfall of the Empire, beginning as it does with the Russian campaign, and ending with the first evacuation of Paris by the allied ar- mies. The state of feeling among the min- isters from whom the brief unfrequent bulletins, no matter how skillfully worded, could not long conceal or even much ob- scure the reality of disaster following disas- ter, while the terrible final conscriptions 134 were bringing home to every family the horror, and not the glory of war is very clearly indicated in MI. Pasquiers rather unemotional narrative. His is usually the story of an especially calm, self-contained, keen-eyed observer and participator, though there are moments in his record of these fateful years when he becomes almost im- passioned. To many readers, we think, the attraction of these memoirs will be the greater in that they are written from the standpoint of a highly placed civilian, for of military annalists of the time there has been no lack. Sir William Phips devant Quebec, Histoire dun Si~ge, par Ernest Myrand. (Demers & Fr~re, Quebec.) Mr. Myrand has collected the contemporaneous accounts of Phipss expedition, both French and English, and a large number of other documents which throw light upon the movement. Amongst other matters, he re- counts the curious error by which one of Lavaters pictures did service as a portrait of Frontenac. The Christian Recovery of Spain, being the Story of Spain from the Moorish Conquest to the Fall of Granada (7111492 A. D.), by Henry Edward Watts. The Story of the Nations Series. (Putnams.) This volume will take a high place in the series to which it belongs, not only by rea- son of its excellent quality~ but because it is the first attempt to tell in a connected form, for the general reader, the confused and often perplexing story of the kindred though constantly warring nations of the Peninsula, who at last were united rather through the accidents of war and policy than by deliberate choice. It is, in short, an epitome of the history of the formation of the Spanish nation. Mr. Watts has brought judgment and skill as well as abundant knowledge to the performance of his difficult task, and he readily distin- guishes between the more and less impor- tant, and can severely condense without failing to be lucid and readable. Among other things, the reader will gain from the. book a clear comprehension of the reasons why the Moors were able to hold some of the fairest portions of the country for near- ly eight centuries ; and it should help him to recognixe how the long contest with the Moslem was destined to leave a per- manent and in some ways ominous impress on the national character. The Story of Japan, by David Murray, Ph. D., LL. D. [July, The Story of the Nations Series. (Put- nams.) The writer gives an outline of the history of Japan from its mythical period to the downfall of feudalism and the estab- lishment of constitutional government. As authorities in preparing the book, he ac- knowledges special obligations to the in- valuable aid afforded by the Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan, and he has also used the works of Chamberlain and other favorably known writers. His some- time residence in Japan and knowledge of the character of its people enable him to handle his material intelligently, and he has produced a well-proportioned and thor- oughly readable book. The illustrations to the volume are unusually interesting. Fiction. In Direst Peril, by David Christie Murray. (Harpers.) The hero of this melo- dramatic tale is a soldier of fortune, whose sword is always at the service of oppressed peoples ; so that, naturally, after falling in love with the half-English daughter of an Italian patriot, he rescues that unfortunate gentleman from an Austrian dungeon, and becomes an ardent champion of The Cause. There is a liberal measure of treasons, strat- agems, and spoils, as the story goes on, and the principal actor tells his tale with consid- erable spirit, and in a straightforward and generally readable fashion. The Building of the City Beautiful, by Joaquin Miller. (Stone & Kimball, Cambridge and Chicago.) A strange man and a stranger woman chance to meet by the Needles Eye in the walls of Jerusalem. They love each other, and decide that the world must be rebuilt upon the principles of the Sermon on the Mount. The mans attempt at city-building outside San Francisco dismally fails, and the wo- mans, in a desert near no city, marvelously succeeds, since at every turn she chooses the wiser way. The story is nothing beyond a framework on which to array many beliefs regarding the general miserableness of pre- sent conditions and theories for their bet- terment. The spirit of it all is earnest, if visionary, and the poems at the beginnings of the chapters are characteristic, crude in many lines, but often distinctly telling. John Ingerfield, and Other Stories, by Jerome K. Jerome. (Holt.) Taught by painful experience, Mr. Jerome, in his pre- face, warns his readers and critics that three of the five tales contained in this little vol- ume are serious. Two of the three so de & mment on New Books. * 1894.] signated show that the author, as a short- story writer, can do good work quite apart from that of the professional humorist. John Ingerfield, the tale of a politely in- different husband and wife, to whom love and death come as they labor together in a fever-stricken district in eighteenth-century London, is told naturally, sympathetically, and with artistic reserve, while The Woman of the Smter, in which the hero, in a ,series of letters, shows the gradual approach of madness, an element of supernaturalism be- ing skillfully blended therewith, is, after its kind, clever and effective. Dr. Latimer, a Story of Casco Bay, by Clara Louise Burn- ham. (Houghton.) The attractiveness of this book is not so much in the story, which has few concealments, as in the bright, playful narrative of details. The author is refined, has good taste, and wishes to make her characters happy. She succeeds not only in this, but in drawing the reader on, and making him share in the pleasure of her company. Dream Life and Real Life, a Little African Story, by Olive Schreiner. (Roberts.) This small book contains two short stories besides the one that gives it its title ; nor are they, like the first, tales for children. The second, The Womans Rose, is a capital antidote for the belief that women have small trust in one another; and the third, in its few strokes, draws with no little force the effect the love of one man had upon the lives of two women. The Sticket Minister and Some Common Men, by S. R. Crockett. (Macmillan.) To Rob- ert Louis Stevenson the author dedicates these stories of that gray Galloway land, where, about the graves of the Martyrs, the whaups are crying ; and so racy of the soil are the sketches that one would prob- ably need to be a fellow-Galwegian to give them the fullest appreciation. But that will not, we think, prevent a general and cordial recognition of their good qualities. The work of the minister of a rural parish, the kirk and its preachers, naturally play an important part in these tales, but not more so than would needs be the case in any Scottish studies so lifelike as these. The book is marked by keen, but at the same time sympathetic insight, a graphic touch, humorous perception, and simple, unaffected pathos. The last is especially noteworthy in the brief but admirable sketch The Heather Lintie, the story of 135 the life and death of a very humble verse- maker. The Story of Margr~del, being the Fireside History of a Fifeshire Family, by David Storrar Meldrum. (Putnams.) A tale of the first quarter of this century, giving the closing annals of a well-to-do burgher family of Kirkcaldy, a town chiefly known to American readers as having been the home of Marjorie Fleming. The wri- ters undoubted cleverness is best shown in his realistic pictures of life in the old Fifeshire seaport, the somewhat melodra- matic story of the doom of the Oliphants though at times not without a certain ef- fectiveness being loosely and rather art- lessly constructed, and distinctly labored in movenmeut. The Prisoner of Zenda, by Anthony Hope. (Holt.) The incidents of this story are scarcely more probable than those of the tales of former days, begin- ning, Once upon a time. But, viewed in this light, the ingenious plot, the liveliness and spirit of the narrative, and its read- able style will undoubtedly cause the his- tory of three mysterious months in the life of Rudolf Rassendyll an English gentle- man who for that space of time personates the King of Ruritania, and wins the heart of that monarchs beautiful cousin to win favor with the summer reader. For Honor and Life, by William Westall. (Har- pers.) The story of a very youthful gentle- man of the heroic and ever-faithful Swiss Guard. A survivor from the ruthless slaugh- ter of his companions-in-arms, he seeks one place of concealment after another, per- forms many valiant deeds, and has various hairbreadth escapes, one of the last and most thrilling being from the Conciergerie itself. It is a tale of adventure pure and simple, and as such is fairly well con- structed and told, moves rapidly, and is never dull. As it will prove most attrac- tive to young readers, whether it be spe- cially intended for them or no, it may be added that it is wholesome in tone and rea- sonably accurate historically. In Har- pers Franklin Square Library, recent num- bers are Cord and Creese, by James De Mille, published twenty-five years ago, when the author of time Dodge Club had a good reputation for amusing people, and C. D. Warners A Little Journey in the World, which has a lively cover, whereon two of the travelers are setting forth. Religion and Philosophy. Nobiscum Deus, Comment on New Books. 136 the Gospel of the Incarnation, by William Frederic Faber. (Randolph.) A series of studies in the essentials of Christian faith, with a view to reducing all to the lowest possible terms ; that is, to find the heart of the creeds in the following of Jesus Christ, and the basis for Christianity in personal allegiance. Still, granting all that Mr. Fa- ber says, there remains the great problem of social Christianity which does present the question, How is this simple faith to be translated into a life lived with other men? Scripture Testimony concerning the Oth- er World, in Seven Discourses, by the Rev. James Reed. (American New Church Tract and Publication Society, Philadelphia.) A little book of short sermons, giving the Swedenborgian interpretation of Bible texts relating to heaven and hell and future happiness. Messrs. Randolph & Co. are the American publishers of a series of little manuals issued, with the sanction of the General Assembly of the Scottish Church, for the use of Guilds and Bible Classes. The series is edited by the Right Rev. A. H. Charteris and the Rev. J. A. MCly- mont, and the first four volumes published are: The Church of Scotland, a Sketch of its History, by the Rev. Pearson MAdam Muir; Handbook of Christian Evidences, by Alexander Stewart, D. D.; The New Testament and its Writers, by the Rev. J. A. MClymont, B. D. ; and Life and Con- duct, by the Very Rev. J. Cameron Lees, D. D., LL. D. The names of the editors and authors sufficiently attest the excellent quality of these handbooks, which are well adapted for their proposed use, being sys- tematic in arrangement, and lucid, concise, and readable in style. They are notice- ably undogmatic in tone, and show the catholicity of spirit characteristic of so many of the leaders of the Scottish Estab- lished Church. I, Myself, by James Lo- gan Gordon. (Little-Book Publishing Co., Boston.) The author is strangely charmed by sound. He delights to point out such likenesses and differences as those existing between an idle brain and a brainless idol, hard-thinking and hair-shrinking, educa- tion and headucation, a tinker and a thinker. His little book is a series of talks on individuality. Consolation, by the Rev. Chauncey Giles. (American New Church Tract and Publication Society, Philadel- phia.) Mr. Giles was a minister of the [July, Church of the New Jerusalem, and the ten- ets of that church have affected him in his habits of thought ; but this little book is not, except in a very mild degree, based on those tenets ; it is the ripe wisdom of a man of warm nature and experience. As such it is mellow and helpful, touched with divine feeling, but human and full of a sane, robust thought. Nature and Travel. Letters to Marco, by George D. Leslie, R. A. (Macmillan.) These are bona fide letters, extending over a period of eight years, addressed by the writer to his friend and fellow-Academi- cian, Mr. H. Stacy Marks, to whom grati- tude is due for suggesting their publication. Mr. Leslie modestly disclaims any attempt to do something after however long after Gilbert White, or the possession of scientific knowledge, but he loves nature for its own sake, and has the trained eye of an artist. In the most natural and agree- able manner, the reader comes to know his pleasant garden on the Thames, at Walling- ford, with its old-fashioned flowers; the birds that live in it, unmolested in summer, and thoughtfully cared for in times of win- ter scarcity ; the fish in the river flowing by; even the insect life is not unchronicled, nor, of course, the humors and accomplish- ments of various domestic peLs. While the letters are mostly concerned with the writers own domain, there are occasional sketches of excursions farther afield, and many coun- try interests have passing notice. The volume is fittingly illustrated with repro- ductions of the pen-and-ink drawings which were inserted in the letters. The annual reports of the Missouri Botanical Garden, published at St. Louis by the Trustees, have more than local interest, and are some- thing besides the customary statistical sum- maries. The fifth, just issued, contains re- ports for 1893, the fourth annual Flower Sermon, this time by Bishop Dudley, Pro- ceedings at the Fourth Annual Banquet of the Trustees, and a group of Scientific Pa- pers by Mr. Trelease, the Director of the Garden, and his associates. It is pleasant to see Mr. Shaws great gift taking hold of the affections of the people, and making it- self also a centre of scientific energy. Studies of Travel, by Edward A. Freeman. I. Greece. II. Italy. (Putuams.) These attractive little volumes are made up of papers first published in the Saturday Re- Comment on New Book8. Comment on New Books. view, the Guardian, and the Pall Mall Ga- zette, which have been collected and edited by the writers daughter. It need not be said that they differ widely from the ordi- nary, or indeed the extraordinary travel sketch. While in certain respects, espe- cially those in which most travelers are egotistic, they are curiously impersonal, they exhibit the authors mental character- istics and methods as a student and wri- ter with great distinctness. Everything is seen with the eye of an historian and ar- chieologist; everywhere there is evidence of knowledge both wide and profound, nor is there wanting the occasional familiar al- lusion to, or illustration drawn from, mat- ters probably darkly obscure to many even of his client ale. These brief studies often seem like notes for more elaborate work, and they will prove abundantly suggestive to scholarly readers. The Memoirs and Travels of Mauritius Augustus, Count de Benyowsky, in Siberia, Kamchatka, Japan, the Liukiu Islands, and Formosa. From the Translation of his Original Manu- script (17411771). By William Nicholson, F. R. 5., 1790. Edited by Captain Pasfield Oliver. The Adventure Series. (T. Fisher Unwin, London; Macmillan, New York.) That Benyowsky was an adventurer in both senses of the word may be reason enough to place his memoirs in an Adventure Se- ries, but we fail to find such excitement and interest in his romance founded upon fact as would make its publication seem a thing to be desired. Had he written a plain, unadorned tale of his remarkable ex- periences, it would doubtless have had, in a way, a permanent value; but his imagina- tion was of an ordinary quality, and the account of his valor, of his all-fascinating and commanding personality, and of his greatness and magnanimity follows a very conventional pattern, and soon palls upon the reader. The editor, in his introduction, takes pains to sift the true from the false in the memoirs, and gives the titles of va- rious books which the writer used in con- structing the narrative of his voyage. He also sketches the known facts regarding Benyowskys life. Rambles in Historic Lands, by Peter J. Hamilton. (Putnams.) The writer gives a somewhat circumstan- tial account of a four months wedding tour on the well-traveled roads of England and the Continent. A great deal of useful and instructive information is imparted about tolerably well-known matters, and the book throughout is monotonously commonplace. Four Centuries After, or, How I Dis- covered Europe, by Ben Holt. A record of travel, wherein the writer, from the first page to the last, strenuously endeavors to prove himself an American Humorist of the newspaper variety. Literature and Criticism. The Ethics of Literary Art, by Maurice Thompson. (Hartford Seminary Press, Hartford, Conn.) Mr. Thompson was asked to lec- ture before the Hartford Theological Sem- inary, and the matter of his three lectures he has published in this little volume. It is worth while to hear what a man of let- ters, who is poet, novelist, and critic, has to say on the fundamental principles of his art, and Mr. Thompson adds to his other qualifications that of frankness of speech. It would be possible to contravene some of his positions, but one is thankful for the vigorous sweep of his criticism. The first part has been issued of Bibliographica, an ingenious quarterly, whose exact age is pre- dicted from the outset. It is to be in twelve numbers, and yet there is no ap- pearance from the contents of the first number that the editors design to make it more than the random collection of papers on subjects covered by the title. Mr. Charles I. Elton writes a most interesting account of Christina of Sweden and her Books, Mr. Andrew Lang throws off one of his bantering papers on Names and Notes in Books, and these are the removes. The heavier dishes are: A Copy of Celsus from the Library of Grolier, by W. Y. Fletcher ; Thoinans Les Relicurs Fran~ais, by S. T. Prideaux; La Bibliophilie Mo- derne, a French essay by Octave Uzanne; and two or three other specialized papers. Some interesting woodcuts and colored designs add to the attractiveness of this book - lovers luxurious quarterly. (Im- ported by Scribners.) The fourth vol- ume of the new edition of Pepyss Diary (George Bell & Sons, London ; Macmillan, New York) extends from January 1, 1663 64, to June 30, 1665, eighteen not specially eventful months in the diarists life, during which his ability and diligence in his office steadily increase his estate as well as the esteem in which he is held by those in au- thority. He of course has his seasons of 1894.] 137 138 The Contributors Club. [July, living under vows, but the penitence in the intervals of laxity grows noticeably less as worldly conditions improve. But more se- rious days to come are foreshadowed in one of the closing entries: This day, much against my will, I did see two or three houses marked with a red cross upon the doors, and Lord, have mercy upon us writ there; which was a sad sight to me, being the first of the kind that, to my re- membrance, I ever saw. The unabridged diary constantly deepens our sense of what may almost be called the pitiless veracity of the most complete self-portraiture in all literature. Two more numbers of The Temple Shakespeare (J. M. Dent & Co., London; Macmillan, New York) are, The Merry Wives of Windsor and Two Gentle- men of Verona. The Chandos portrait and a view of the interior of Stratford Church showing the bust are the frontispieces ; very brief prefaces and scanty notes, with good glossaries, furnish the equipment of these attractive little volumes. We do not greatly admire the head-hues. Poetry. Miss Christina Rossettis charm- ing fancy Goblin Market has been reissued, with designs by Laurence Housman. (Mac- millan.) It is a genuine fairy tale in verse which conquers the tendency it creates to run into monosyllabic insipidity. Children may have it read to them without discover- ing it was not written for them, and with- out wearying the reader. There are few better examples of imagination strength- ening fancy. THE CONTRIBUTORS CLUB. A Postscript THE opening paper of the Con- to a Letter. tributors Club for May was one which acted on me as did a rainbow in the sky on Wordsworth. It is a letter which every one must enjoy, save perhaps the one to whom it is addressed. The name of that one may be legion, as the paper seems to imply, in which case the remedy made and provided of old can hardly be improved upon. With the general tenor and temper of the Letter to a Friend from the Far West no fault can be found. If it be severe, its severity is found to spring from its absolute justice. At the same time, one or two of those who put on the toga virilis, Consule Quincio Planco, may remember, with the acute sen- sibilities of boyhood, when, in many forms and distressing frequency, a like epistle was constantly coming across the water to the shores of the New World. The letter bore the signature at one time of Mrs. Frances Trollope (leonum arida nutrix), of the Rev. Sydney Smith, of Captain Marryat IR. N., and lastly of a pleasing writer of fic- tion who visited the States, was welcomed with effusion, was dined, wined, and made free of the American sherry cobbler, but who did not obtain the international copy- right for which his soul longed. Where- upon he uttered his protest in the name of one Martin Chuzzlewit, a protest which does not read altogether unlike the letter of my brother Contributor. Therein it was more than hinted that the prevailing tone of American conversation addressed to the traveling Briton, and to which he was ex- pected to listen, even as the Contributor now listens, was of the same sort as that indulged in by the far West. The style of Mr. Chuzzlewit differed from that of our letter-writer, much as the downright cut and thrust of a cutlass differs from the delicate and deadly flashing of a rapier in the hands of a master. One can recall many more like examples of the yearning desire to expose and rebuke the same fault which was supposed to be insvitable in those who had learned the Eng- lish tongue afar from the sound of the bells of Bow. This fact, which is easily proved from history, leads up to a generalization here offered for the consideration of the Club. It is that the nations or races on the east- ern side of a north and south boundary line have not understood nations or races on the western side. On the other hand, the pro- gressed and progressive Westerner does un- derstand his Eastern neighbor. The Italian does not comprehend the Frenchman as the Frenchman comprehends the Italian. The

Contributor's Club Contributor's Club 138-144

138 The Contributors Club. [July, living under vows, but the penitence in the intervals of laxity grows noticeably less as worldly conditions improve. But more se- rious days to come are foreshadowed in one of the closing entries: This day, much against my will, I did see two or three houses marked with a red cross upon the doors, and Lord, have mercy upon us writ there; which was a sad sight to me, being the first of the kind that, to my re- membrance, I ever saw. The unabridged diary constantly deepens our sense of what may almost be called the pitiless veracity of the most complete self-portraiture in all literature. Two more numbers of The Temple Shakespeare (J. M. Dent & Co., London; Macmillan, New York) are, The Merry Wives of Windsor and Two Gentle- men of Verona. The Chandos portrait and a view of the interior of Stratford Church showing the bust are the frontispieces ; very brief prefaces and scanty notes, with good glossaries, furnish the equipment of these attractive little volumes. We do not greatly admire the head-hues. Poetry. Miss Christina Rossettis charm- ing fancy Goblin Market has been reissued, with designs by Laurence Housman. (Mac- millan.) It is a genuine fairy tale in verse which conquers the tendency it creates to run into monosyllabic insipidity. Children may have it read to them without discover- ing it was not written for them, and with- out wearying the reader. There are few better examples of imagination strength- ening fancy. THE CONTRIBUTORS CLUB. A Postscript THE opening paper of the Con- to a Letter. tributors Club for May was one which acted on me as did a rainbow in the sky on Wordsworth. It is a letter which every one must enjoy, save perhaps the one to whom it is addressed. The name of that one may be legion, as the paper seems to imply, in which case the remedy made and provided of old can hardly be improved upon. With the general tenor and temper of the Letter to a Friend from the Far West no fault can be found. If it be severe, its severity is found to spring from its absolute justice. At the same time, one or two of those who put on the toga virilis, Consule Quincio Planco, may remember, with the acute sen- sibilities of boyhood, when, in many forms and distressing frequency, a like epistle was constantly coming across the water to the shores of the New World. The letter bore the signature at one time of Mrs. Frances Trollope (leonum arida nutrix), of the Rev. Sydney Smith, of Captain Marryat IR. N., and lastly of a pleasing writer of fic- tion who visited the States, was welcomed with effusion, was dined, wined, and made free of the American sherry cobbler, but who did not obtain the international copy- right for which his soul longed. Where- upon he uttered his protest in the name of one Martin Chuzzlewit, a protest which does not read altogether unlike the letter of my brother Contributor. Therein it was more than hinted that the prevailing tone of American conversation addressed to the traveling Briton, and to which he was ex- pected to listen, even as the Contributor now listens, was of the same sort as that indulged in by the far West. The style of Mr. Chuzzlewit differed from that of our letter-writer, much as the downright cut and thrust of a cutlass differs from the delicate and deadly flashing of a rapier in the hands of a master. One can recall many more like examples of the yearning desire to expose and rebuke the same fault which was supposed to be insvitable in those who had learned the Eng- lish tongue afar from the sound of the bells of Bow. This fact, which is easily proved from history, leads up to a generalization here offered for the consideration of the Club. It is that the nations or races on the east- ern side of a north and south boundary line have not understood nations or races on the western side. On the other hand, the pro- gressed and progressive Westerner does un- derstand his Eastern neighbor. The Italian does not comprehend the Frenchman as the Frenchman comprehends the Italian. The 1894.] Frenchman does not comprehend the Eng- lishman as the Englishman comprehends the Frenchman. An Englishman does not understand the Americans as an Ameri- can does the English. This assertion can he tested. A Frenchman may go to live in Italy, and become wholly a man of Italy in all his ways, hahits, and life. An Eng- lishman who chooses to do so may live in France, and hecome in all respects more intensely Gallic than the French them- selves. An American will become so Angli- cized that he is detected only by his excess of minute and photographic copying. It was said of a packet-master who sailed to Liverpool in the palmy days of the old Black Ball and Dramatic lines, and who spent his retired leisure in study, that he was an encyclopiedia with the leaf turned down at the article England. But an Italian in France, a Frenchman in England, an Englishman in America, never loses the stamp of exile. He cannot lay aside the traces of his nationality. He could not if he would, he would not if he could. What does this spring from? The want of comprehension is not due to intellectual incapacity. As a rule, when the civilization of a race is at its meridian line, that which lies heyond is in comparison insperfect, and remains so. The concentrated power of a race as it ripens reaches a splendid devel- opment which is not repeated. Other peo- ples may have a glory of their own, hut that whicli follows in the old way is only an afterglow of reflection and imitation. The Italy of its prime brought forth men who, for far-reaching powers of many-sided achievement, have never been surpassed on the European stage. They were men whose works attest them, and whose renown is not due to the accident of being first in the field. When modern artists can build and paint and carve like Leonardo and Giotto, Brunellesehi and Angelo, and be at the same time statesmen, scholars, poets, ora- tors, and warriors, one may begin to draw comparisons of intellectual superiority. So, too, the Frenchmans quickness of percep- tion, his grasp of formative philosophy, his clear-cut and incisive expression, still stand in brilliant contrast to the Englishmans somewhat confused habit of thought and slowness in logical theorizing. Yet the Eng- lishmans downright and sturdy thorough- ness, his magnificent mastery of the needed 139 facts of daily life, still shine in contrast to the shifty expediencies, and hasty, almost infantile clutching at results, unheeding the wise patience in the choice of methods which has marked so much of American progress. The law of life on this planet is that the younger must depend on the elder culture, and to gain any special and peculiar excel- lence must begin by importing from across its eastern frontier tools and skill. ~ It has to go back to the original sources. Melius est petere fontes quam sectari rivos. The difference is not intellectual, then, but moral. The Italy of Machiavelli, of Borgia, of the Venetian Councils, of the Papal Courts, of the ceaseless strifes of Bianchi and Neri, the Italy of the dagger and the poisoned chalice, could not com- prehend the chivalrous sense of honor, the supreme thirst for glory, of the braver but ruder France. The Frenchman has never yet quite mastered the secret of the Eng- lishmans devotion to duty and to law. And so, again, the Englishman is perplexed at the Americans passion for freedom, with his instinctive acquiescence in the rule of ma- jorities. The Englishman is the creature of precedent, the bond-slave of convention- ality which rests on established authority. He resembles, in his moral constitution, the picture in Tennysons Palace of Art As in strange lands a traveller walking slow, In doubt and great perplexity, A little before moon-rise hears the low Moan of an unknown sea; And knows not if it he thunder, or a sound Of rocks thrown down, or one deep cry Of great wild beasts; then thiuketh, I have found A new land, but I die. The American would change this last line, A new land, and I live. Writing in behalf of our friend of the far West, while admitting that the lecture administered to him is duly deserved, and should prove salutary, I venture to sug- gest that this very idea of the vastness and untrammeled resources of the West which he vaunts has, while intellectually it is most inadequately grasped and bun- glingly expressed, a moral force which we of the East do not comprehend. It domi- nates him with a sense of requirement which goes beyond the precedents and rules of the past. His sense of bigness and vast- ness of numbers, which seeks its symbol- ism and expression in the very crude and even offensive way in which he puts it, f/ike Contributors Club. 140 is a stirring of a blind force within, try- ing to grow up to its surroundings with- out as yet knowing how that is to be done. He must import from the East, his East, all which it has gathered from the past, and learn its value. But to this he must apply his own occidentalism to test its worth, which worth, he feels, rests in its applicabil- ity to the needs of the masses; that is, to men dwelling in large spaces and in great numbers. As the chevaliers of France drew from Milan and Florence and Venice the armor, the weapons, and the engineering tactics wherewith to win battles and capture fenced cities, while the grave senates of the Italian republics were hiring condottieri and Swiss mercenaries to defend their gonfalons and man their walls ; as England sought its scholars and teachers and literary themes from the Continent, that it might remould them to the purer and nobler conditions of English household life ; so America has had to look back again and again to the elder world from which it emigrated, but has continually surprised and bewildered that world by applying what it obtained to the broader problem of self-government. Yet again in his turn, the Eastern Ameri- can has founded all his ideas and schemes of polity upon the Old-World tradition of the local community. The township is the central unit of authority, and all rule, county, state, national, has been simply the expansion of this into groups of townships. The Western American, with his experi- ences of frequent and ready removal, of vast spaces through which a population is thinly and unequally distributed, and of means of communication as complete on the large scale as they are imperfect on the small, is in training for a different moral attitude which must work out into new theories concerning the ordering of the body politic. The instincts of the Eastern American point to the local community as the focal centre of duty and responsibility the instincts of the Western American stretch out along the parallels of latitude, with the equatorial belt as the base line of their development. Guyot, in his Physical Geography, has brought out this idea by showing how the configuration of the Asian continent gave form to the primal institutions of clan and caste, which the European continent broke up into races and nationalities. These, again, [July, poured into the new matrix of the Ameri- can world, began to fuse once more into homogeneous and large communities. The American motto, E Pluribus Unum, has a broader and deeper and higher meaning than the federation of the States. The West- erners brag of the capacities and advan- tages of his section is distinctly different from the local vaunting on the other side of the water, from the Pisans sneer at Genoa, the Neapolitans gibe at Palermo, the Florentines taunt at Venice. The Old- World motive is local pride, the pride of the citizen that the excellence he magnifies is his, belongs by tenancy in common to him. The Western motive is joy that he, as a Westerner, belongs to it. Permit me now, my dear fellow-Contribu- tor, to whom I wish to offer my thanks for the pleasure with which I have read and re-read your paper, to venture the adding of a postscript. I do this with the caveat that my sex is not to be inferred from the use of this feminine device, nor is this to be held as an assumption that the most important part of the letter is here. To our friend from the far West, I wish to say Try to enter into your true position. What moves you, whether you are aware of it or not (probably not), is your sense of mem- bership of the human family. Strive to fit yourself for this responsibility. Do not fancy that you have already attained or are already perfect. Understand that all the past is yours, written for your learn- ing. As you shall master that, you will be made ready for the wider application looked for at your hands. But remem- ber, when you say that Jenks of Denver is the worlds greatest painter, that Von Gansfeder of Sioux City is the supreme poet, and that Hicks of Seattle is the champion barber of the ages, you practi- cally profess yourself a finished expert and critic in pictorial, literary, and tonsorial achievement. Make your claim good, and we shall humbly be ready to turn over to you the readjustment of the moral and sociological balance of the callings of the painter, the writer, and the hair-dresser. An Election A little of everything that to tlie French makes French history enters Academy. into the election of new mem- bers to the French Academy. The first at- tempt to give a successor to Tame brought into the field all the intellectual forces The Contributors Club. The Contributors Club. 1894.] which fight the battle of the new against the old. New and old are relative terms in the flow of French humanity, and there is much curving of currents and set- ting back of the tide. Tame did not treat the French Revolu- tion tenderly; not even the tradition which separates the reforms of 1789 from the bloody era beginning with 1792. The gray- heads among the Immortals men like iI~mile Ollivier, with his reputation as a Bonapartist minister at the time of the d~b6icle, and as the lay theologian of what was once liberal Catholicism sucked in reverence for the essential work of the Re- volution with their mothers milk. To all these it was important that the views of the dead philosopher of history should not be given official sanction in the person of his successor. Now this is what Madame Tame partic- ularly desired. She even had in her minds eye the proper disciple of her dead husband to fill his chair in the Academy. This was M. Albert Sorel, who has treated of Europe during the great Revolution in notable vol- nines not unworthy of the master. He is a laureate of the Academys grand prix Gobert, given for the most eloquent mor- ceau of French history published during the two years preceding the award; and he is already a member of the Academy of Moral and Political Sciences. Another than Madame Tame had a spe- cial reason for desiring to bring into the Academy a man of M. Sorels stamp. This was the Vicomte de Yogii~, who is one of the youngest, but also one of the most influen- tial Academicians. His opening of French minds to Russian literature and Neo-Cath- olicism has made him the completest repre- sentative of young France in the learned body. He was a reverent friend, rather than a close disciple, of Tame. But he had a bone of contention to pick with M. Ollivier. Two years ago, the Emperors grand prix of the French Institute (the five Academies united) for 20,000 francs had to be conferred by the Academy proper. Vogih~, who was on the committee, and whose Neo-Catholicism is nothing if not catholic, pronounced in favor of Elis~e Re- clus, whose mammoth G& ~ographie Univer- ~elle was already approaching completion. This was a worse spectre to raise before the Academy than Zola himself. The red flag 141 of the Commune, after which the Reclus brothers had been sentenced to transporta- tion (commuted by President Thiers at the request of Charles Darwin and other Eng- lish men of science), had been made still more lurid by the black banner of the An- archist movement, over which II~lis~e Reclus has presided ever since the death of Baku- nin. M. Ollivier, in full academical ses- sion, delivered himself of a morsel of elo- quence worthy of the days of an older and more pompous r6gime: The Academy would dishonor itself by giving the great prize to this man whose hands are still stained with blood. It would be our first smile bestowed on the Commune. The Academy was won; and M. de Vogii~ would not be displeased at a Christian re- venge which should seat beside Emile 01- livier, author of Solutions Politiques et So- ciales, M. Sorel, whose Neo-Republican appreciation of the Revolution knows no enthusiasm for the principles of 1789. M. Sorel had not presented his name for this first election. The question was how to save the place for him by rendering the election null. Womans wit, with the help of the many friends of Tame, found the way. Four candidates had offered themselves: Henry Houssaye, who has written of the closing days of the Napoleonic epic; I~mile Mont~gut, who has translated Shakespeare; Anatole Leroy-Beanlien, who has expounded general views on such particular subjects of the day as Russia, the Semites, and the Pope; and last of all, that unruly disciple of Tame (as Paul Bourget is the orderly one), whom the dead Academician, during life, had done all in his power to make a perpetual candi- date, and nothing more, tinile Zola. Zola, in conformity with the tactics he had hitherto adopted, also presented himself for the simultaneous election of a successor to Mazade, the chroniqueur of the Revue des Deux Mondes. For the chair of Tame he did not receive one vote, doubtless out of respect to the man who led the Academical stam- pede in favor of Pierre Loti when Zolas candidature first presented itself as a spectre full of possibilities. The claims of the other candidates so evenly balanced each other that the election had to be declared off. This postponement at least made M. Sorels candidature possible, which was all that could be hoped for the time being. Meanwhile, Zolas friends had concen 142 trated their forces on the election to the place of Mazade. The Academy, still true to the tradition left them by Tame, prompt- ly elected to the vacant chair the poet De Heredia. But Zola, whose brutal blurting out of the legitimate consequences of Tames philosophy has chiefly embittered the Aca- demicians against him, received eleven votes as against two when he began the long and unequal fight. It was now said that M. Alexandre Dumas, who has been carrying on the campaign in favor of his friend, was adopting new tactics quite capable of cir- cumventing finally the ntmost wit of the opposing Academicians. Zolas candidature wns to remain inevitable until he should be elected. But, as each election came, his friends were to spy out the land, and give their voices in the end to that candidate who would on future occasions vote for Zola. This, it was also said, had already been the case with Pierre Loti, thus defeat- ing Tames own plan in making the stam- pede which elected him; and it was sure to be the same with Dc Heredia. At this rate, after a few more deaths of Academicians, the apostle of Naturalism was to grow by positive process into an Immortals chair, in spite of Bruneti~re, whom the University students, in their Lenten brawls of 1894, have made to represent the opposition to Zola in the Academy just as he has been the relentless critic of Naturalism in his books. It still remained to secure the proper suc- cession to the chair of Tame. M. Houssayc had the most chances in his favor, and was supposed to be an especial friend of Ma- dame Tame. But he now quietly presented his name for the chair of Voltaire, which Maxime Ducamps death had meanwhile conveniently left vacant. He would not, like Arsi~ne, the elder of his name (the name is really Housset), remain for forty years the forty-first Academician. This transference of his candidature was also said to be the work of Madame Tame. To face the situation thus created, Jules Claretie and Fran~ois Copp~e, who love not I~mile Ollivier more, but Tame and Vogih~ less, had the bright idea of nominating M. Spuller, Minister of Public Instruc- tion and of Worship in the Casimir-Perier ministry. His literary baggage is of the slightest, scarcely more than a sober volume which he made up in studying Lamennais, The Contributors Club. [July, the ill-known philosopher, who was an intel- lectual force in the second quarter of this century far more violent, and more potent even, than Tame has been at the centurys end. No one could accuse M. Spuller, the friend of Gambetta, of being a reactionary. Yet he has appreciated respectfully the vi- tal influence of Lamennais in the regenera- tion of French Catholicism (which the un- easy abbe left, however, to eat his heart away in the hopelessness of a socialist pantheism). His declaration of the new spirit of the government of the Republic in dealing with the Church was also thought to have made him a persona greta at the Vatican. Since Bishop Dupanloup forsook the Academy, in his indignation at the elec- tion of the positivist and atheist Littr~ (who ended contrariwise by dying a Cath- olic), the Church has not been supposed to count for much among the Forty Immor- tals. But here, as elsewhere, French Rad- icalism has been losing ground of late. Moreover, a single vote would be of some importance. Now, the new record of Min- ister Spuller would secure for him, besides M. Ollivier, the vote of Monseigneur Per- rand, the only ecclesiastic in the Academy. (By a strange irony of fate he is Bishop of Autun, which was Talleyrands see before he unfrocked himself.) But before all this could come to a head, the government had been surprised by the Radicals into the prosecution of the Archbishop of Lyons, which made the new spirit suddenly to be of scarce a penny-whistles worth so far as the Academy may go. Thus the situation again remained open to the best efforts of the friends of M. Sorel and Madame Tame. The whole story, in connection with so grave a body, takes one irresistibly back to the councils of the early Christian Church of Carthage, where it was said that every schism had its mother. [As this page goes to press comes the news of the election of MM. Bourget and Sorel.] Gifts. There is a delightful story, which we owe to Charles Levers splendid niendacity, of an old English lady who sent to Garibaldi, during that warriors confinement at Varignano, a portly pincush- ion well stocked with British pins. Her en- thusiastic countrywomen had already sup- plied their idol with woolen underwear, and fur-lined slippers, and intoxicating bever- ages, and other articles equally useful to an The Contributors Club. abstemious prisoner of war in a hot climate; but pins had been overlooked until this thoughtful votary of freedom offered her tribute at its shrine. Absurd though the tale appears, it has its counterparts in more sober annals, and few men of any prominence have not bewailed at times their painful popularity. Sir Wal- ter Scott, who was the recipient of many gifts, had his fair share of vexatious expe- riences, and laughs at them somewhat rue- fully now and then in the pages of his journal. Eight large and very badly painted landscapes, in great gilded frames, were given him by one most amiable and ac- complished old lady. She had ordered them from an impoverished amateur whom she desired to befriend, and then palmed them off on Sir Walter, who was too gentle and generous to protest. A more whim- sical subject of affliction was the presen- tation of two emus by a Mr. Harmer, a settler in Botany Bay, to whom Scott had given some useful letters of introduction. I wish his gratitude had either taken a different turn, or remained as quiescent as that of others whom I have obliged more materially, writes Sir Walter in his journal. I at first accepted the creatures, conceiv- ing them, in my ignorance, to be some sort of blue and green parrots, which, though I do not admire their noise, might scream and yell at their pleasure, if hung up in the ball among the armor. But your emu, it seems, stands six feet high on his stocking soles, and is little better than a kind of cassowary or ostrich. Hang them! They might eat up my collection of old arms, for what I know. Finally, like the girl who was converted at a revival, and who gave her blue ribbons to her sister because she knew they were taking her to hell, Scott got himself out of the scrape by passing on the emus, as a sort of feudal offering, to the Duke of Buc- cleugh, and leaving that nobleman to solve as best he could the problem of their main- tenance. The whole story is very much like the experience of Mr. James Payns lawyer friend, to whom a grateful orphan sent from the far East a dromedary, with the pleasant assurance that its hump was considered extremely delicate eating. As this highly respected member of the Lon- don bar could not well have the dromedary butchered for the sake of its hump, even if he had yearned over the dish, and as he was equally incapable of riding the beast to his office every morning, he considered himself fortunate when the Zodlogical Gar- dens opened their hospitable gates, and the orphans tribute disappeared therein, to be seen and heard of no more. Charles Lamb, on the other hand, if we may trust the testimony of his letters, ap- pears to have derived a keen and kindly pleasure from the more reasonable and modest presents of his friends. Perhaps, like Steele, he looked upon it as a point of morality to be obliged to those who en- deavored to oblige him. Perhaps it was easy for one so lovable to detect the honest affection which inspired these varied gifts. It is certain we find him returning genial thanks, now to Hazlitt for a pig, now to Wordsworth for a great armful of po- etry, and now to Thomas Allsop for some Stilton cheese, the delicatest, rainbow- hued, melting piece I ever flavored. He seems equally gratified with an engraving of Pope sent him by Mr. Procter, and with another pig, a dear pigmy, he calls it, the gift of Mrs. Bruton. Nor is it only in these letters of acknowledgment wherein courtesy dispenses occasionally with the companionship of truth that Lamb shows himself a generous recipient of his friends good will. He writes to Wordsworth, who has sent him nothing, and expresses his frank delight in some fruit which has been left early that morning at his door There is something inexpressibly plea- sant to me in these presents, be it fruit, or fowl, or brawn, or what not. Books are a legitimate cause of acceptance. If pre- sents be not the soul of friendship, they are undoubtedly the most spiritual part of the body of that intercourse. There is too much narrowness of thinking on this point. The punctilio of acceptance, methinks, is too confined and strait-laced. I could be content to receive money, or clothes, or a joint of meat from a friend. Why should he not send me a dinner as well as a des- sert? I would taste him in all the beasts of the field, and through all creation. Therefore did the basket of fruit of the juvenile Talfourd not displease me. It is hard not to envy Talfourd when one reads these lines. It is hard not to envy any one who had the happiness of giving fruit, or cheese, or pigs to Charles 1894.] 143 144 The Contributors Club. Lamb. How gladly would we all have brought our offerings to his door, and have gone away with bounding hearts, exulting in the thought that our pears would deck his table, our pictures his wall, our books his scanty shelves I People seldom read a book which is given to them, observes Dr. Johnson, with his usual discouraging acu- men; but Lamb found leisure, amid heavy toil, to peruse the numerous volumes which small poets as well as big ones thought fit to send him. He accepted his gifts with a charming munificence which suggests those far-off, fabulous days when presents were picturesque accessories of life ; when hosts gave to their guests the golden cups from which they had been drinking; and sultans gave their visitors long trains of female slaves, all beautiful, and carrying jars of jewels upon their heads; and Merlin gave to Gwythno the famous hamper which mul- tiplied its contents an hundredfold, and fed the starving hosts in storm-swept Ca- redigion. In those brave years, large- hearted men knew how to accept as well as how to give, and they did both with an easy grace for which our modern methods offer no adequate opportunity. Even in the veracious chronicles of hagiology, the old harmonious sentiment is preserved, and puts us to the blush. St. Martin sharing his cloak with the beggar at the gates of Tours was hardly what we delight in calling prac- tical ; yet not one shivering outcast only, but all mankind would have been poorer had that mantle been withheld. King Canute taking off his golden crown, and laying it humbly on St. Edmunds shrine, stirs our hearts a little even now ; while Queen Victoria sending fifty pounds to a deserving charity excites in us no stronger sentiment than esteem. It was easier, per- haps, for a monarch to do a gracious and a princely deed when his crown and sceptre were his own property instead of belonging to the state ; and picturesqueness, ignore it as we may, is a quality which, like distinc- tion, fixes the worlds ideals. These noble and beautiful benefactions, however, are not the only ones which linger pleasantly in our memories. Gifts there have been, of a humble and domestic kind, the mere recollection of which is a contin- ual delight. I love to think of Jane Aus- tens young sailor brother, her own par- [July. ticular little brother, Charles, spending his first prize money in gold chains and topaze crosses for his sisters. What prettier, warmer picture can be called to mind than this handsome, gallant, light- hearted lad handsomer, Jane jealously insists, than all the rest of the family bringing back to his quiet country home these innocent trophies of victory? Surely it was the pleasure Miss Austen felt in that topaze cross, that little golden chain, which found such eloquent expression in Fanny Prices mingled rapture and distress when her sailor brother brought her the amber cross from Sicily, and Edmund Ber- tram offered her, too late, the chain on which to hang it. It is a splendid reward that lies in wait for boyish generosity when the sister chances to be one of the immortals, and hands down to generations of readers the charming record of her gratitude and love. By the side of this thoroughly English picture should be placed, in justice and in harmony, another which is as thoroughly German, Rahel Varahagen sending to her brother money to bring him to Berlin. The letter which accompanies this sisterly gift is one of the most touching in litera- ture. The brilliant, big-hearted woman is yearning for her kinsmans face. She has saved the trifling sum required through many unnamed denials. She gives it as generously as if it cost her nothing. Yet with that wise thrift which goes hand in hand with liberality, she warns her brother that her husband knows nothing of the mat- ter. Not that she mistrusts his nature for a moment. He is good and kind, but he is also a man, and has the customary short- sightedness of his sex. He will think, she writes, that I have endless resources, that I am a millionaire, and will forget to economize in the future. Ah, painful frugality of the poor Father- land ! Here is nothing picturesque, nor lavish, nor light - hearted, to tempt our jocund fancies. Yet here, as elsewhere, the generous soul refuses to be stinted of its joy; and the golden crown of King Canute is not more charming to contem- plate than are the few coins wrested from sordid needs, and given with a glad munifi- cence which makes them splendid as the ransom of a prince.

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The Atlantic monthly. / Volume 74, Issue 442 Galaxy, Atlantic Atlantic Monthly Co. Boston August 1894 0074 442
Margaret Deland Deland, Margaret Philip and his Wife 145-158

THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY: ~ fr1aga~ni~ of 1Lit~rature, ~ciencc, art, an~ ~oIitic~. VOL. LXXIV. A UGUST, 1894. No. CCCCXLIL PHILIP AND HIS WIFE. XXIII. THE post that brought to Roger Carey Lyssies terrified and confused appeal brought also a brief communication from Mrs. Shore. She was anxious to cox~sult Mr. Carey on business; could he run down to Old Chester for a day or two? She would be greatly indebted to him if he could spare the time to come. As it happened, Roger really could not spare the time very well, and a stern sense of duty might have made him write to Lyssie, with anxious regret, that he could not possibly leave his office at what chanced to be an important moment; but Mrs. Shores summons, couched in business terms, gave him an excuse with which to silence his conscience for steal- ing a day off with Alicia. I ye got to go, he assured himself, his face beaming with satisfaction. Business is business; but 1 11 stay over Sunday, and maybe Lyssie will be willing not to go to church this once ; and then she 11 tell me what troubles her, he thought, a little amused, but tender. Roger had forgotten his vague self-reproach for something he had not done on the day that he had last seen Lyssie and her sister, and he was aware now of nothing but eagerness to see his sweetheart again. I 11 take the Friday afternoon stage, he told himself, with great delight. It happened that Mr. Joseph Laven- dar took tbe same stage, and he, with instant hospitality, insisted that Mr. Ca- rey, instead of putting up at the village tavern, should come to the rectory. My brother will be delighted to see you, he said, delighted! Roger, alarmed at the prospect of the rectory, and morning and evening wor- ship, and no food to speak of, protested that the tavern was very comfortable; that he was in town on business, and would be much occupied; that he could not think of bothering Dr. Lavendar: in fact, he offered all those excuses with which we try to evade undesired hospi- tality, and which never save us. Mr. Lavendar pooh-poohed them all. My brother 11 be delighted, he insist- ed, beaming. And Roger, with a sigh for the free- dom of the tavern, declared that, in that case, he should be delighted, too; and so it was settled. Mr. Lavendar was honestly glad to see the young man, because he was a young man, and in love, and on his way to Old Chester, three things calculated to arouse a kindly sentiment in the mind of Joseph Lavendar; but he suddenly re- membered that Mr. Carey was also a cousin of Mrs. Pendletons, and he was at once conscions of a distinctly warmer feeling for him. As they sat side by side on the box seat, he scanned Roger furtively over the rims of his spectacles, and seemed to find the inspection satis- factory. He liked the young mans gray clothes; he liked his straw hat; he liked his clean-shaven face, his strong mouth, his keen eye. He has a look of Aman- da, Mr. Joseph thought sentimentally, 146 Philip and his W~fc. [August, indifferent to the claims of blood on the part of the late Mr. Pendleton. They did not talk very much. Roger, until the long, slow jog in the sunshine made him sleepy, was wondering what on earth Mrs. Shore could want of him; and the other had his own affairs to think of. Mr. Joseph sighed once or twice, and looked at his companion as though about to speak. Yet they were more than half- way to Old Chester before, in the most casual way in the world, though with a flurried note in his voice which Roger might have noticed had he been less sleepy, Mr. Lavendar began to say some- thing of his young friends interesting relative Mrs. Pendleton. He spoke of her writings, her garden, her pleasing and most feminine manners, and then he ventured the criticism that she must he somewhat lonely, being (comparatively) a stranger in Old Chester. Roger yawned, and said, Well, yes, he supposed so. Then there was a little silence, after which the older man observed, hurriedly, that the afternoon was charming, and he wondered that so agreeable a lady had not married again. Yes, said Roger, glancing off across the russet fields. It surprises me a little, Mr. Laven- dar remarked, and paused to cough gen- tly behind his hand, that she has not made another choice; though perhaps it is a little soon to think of it, and I am certain that your relative would observe every propriety. However, I have no doubt she will make another choice at some time? Very likely, Roger agreed absent ly. He had waked up enough to say to himself again, But why does she send for me? Where s Woodhouse? He looks after their affairs. I wonder if Shore advised it? He di~I not notice how instantly the furtive anxiety had cleared from Mr. Lavendars face, nor how he drew a full breath, and smiled, and began to talk to the stage-driver with a certain excited gayety. When Mr. Carey climbed down at Ali- cia s door, and said he should not come to the rectory until late, for he thought Mrs. Drayton would give him some sup- per, Mr. Lavendar hardly protested. His mind was too full of the conclusion he had drawn from the young mans assent to his statement that Mrs. Pendleton would no doubt make another choice. rhat settles the question of the will, he thought, his heart beating hard. For the rest of the evening he thought of no- thing else, even while the preface to the chapters which were to be written upon The Relation of Precious Stones to the Science and Practice of Medicine was being read aloud to him, and while he told his brother all the Mercer news. After supper, as usual, the brothers played dominoes, with Danny snuggled close beside Dr. Lavendar, who was con- stantly addressing the little grizzled dog with fierce epithets, and threatening that he would give him away to the first per- son who would take hhn. You are a scoundrel, sir I his master assured him, edging forward in his chair to make more room for him. Go on, Joey, it s your draw. You re slow, boy! Mr. Joseph drew. Ah brother Jim, he said, continuing to draw, I spoke I should say, young Carey spoke of my friend Mrs. Pendleton. You recall your fear that she might be ham- pered, as you might say, by the will of the late Mr. Pendleton? Dr. Lavendar, about to mark his gains with a broken match upon an old crib- bage board, looked up, his jaw dropping. Young Carey said, Mr. Joseph went on (still drawing) lie said that but I wont trouble you with what he said; only, brother Jim, I wished you to know that there are strong probabilities that the impediment which you mentioned does not exist. But nine hundred and ninety-nine 1894.] Philip and his Wife. 147 other impediments do! cried Dr. Lay- endar, choking. I am not aware of them, said Mr. Joseph, with dignity; but lie breathed hard, and drew three more dominoes very rapidly. Have you asked her yet? the bro- ther demanded. ( 1101(1 on! How many are you going to draw?) Mr. Lavendar checked himself and apologized; beginning, with a shaking hand, to arrange a fence of dominoes like a Druid circle about the altar of a double six. I have nt asked her yet; but now I mean to. I dont think we need pursue this subject; it is painful for us both. The result will be painful for you, sir! Dr. Lavendar answered loudly. But if Ephraim is joined to his idols, I suppose one must let him alone; only I should like to say one thing, and then we 11 drop the subject. Are you pre- pared to live on your wife, sir? I have my profession, returned poor Mr. Joseph, matching a five, and turning off the snaky line to the left; but lie quiv- ered under the thrust. Well, said Dr. Lavendar, throwing himself back in his chair so suddenly that Danny squeaked, and scrambled out from under his arm, in my young days, a young man would nt have had the face to go to a rich woman and say, I can earn my coach fare, maarn, and a dollar or two beside, but I 11 be obliged to you if you will marry me. But never mind, never mind. Things have changed since then. James ! ~~WTell, he would nt, Dr. Lavendar said tremulously. Then he opened and shut his lips several times before he succeeded in adding, I didnt mean that, Joey. You make me seem irritable sometimes; but not at all; I am mere- ly impatient. Of course you earn your living. But I dont like her, Joey; thats the fact. She threw you over once; she d do it again. You ye no right to say that, brother Jim, Mr. Joseph said; then, the gibe about his money still rankling, he went on with some spirit And beside. it is nt as though I were a money-hunter; not at all. I have something beside my profes- sion. There s the income we shall have from the book. Dr. Lavendar was silent. He got up, and went over to the manteisheif and filled his pipe, forgetting to light it; then he came shuffling back. It s your draw, he said, and stroked Dannys ears violently. I I, of course, expect a good income from my book. But you ye no right to reckon on that. It belongs to me. Mr. Joseph did not speak. Dr. Lay- endar played excitedly; the tears stood in his eyes. Dont you want a light, Jim? his brother said, and got up and brought a live coal in the tongs; and then they played in silence. Joseph Lavendar could hardly see. If he did not match his dominoes, his brother let it pass. You ye no right to reckon on that: Mr. Joseph said it over and over. He forgot Mrs. Peudleton. Such a threat had no bearing upon his purpose, but it broke his heart. Jims book Jims income he had no right to reckon on them! He played on blindly; he felt as though he hated Mrs. Pendleton for this grief; but he matched a double, and turned and twisted the long line across the slippery top of the table, and made no protest. It was a dreadful evening to these two brothers: they wished Roger Carey would come in; they could not meet each others eyes as they sat there alone, and it would be something to have the young man to talk to and to look at. But he did not come; and by and by, at half past nine to the minute, they went out together to look, as usual, at the thermonieter, and to mark the tem- perature upon a sheltered clapboard at one end of the porch, where a line of such marks showed the age of the habit. [August, 148 Philip and his TV~fc. Then they had prayers; after which, still as usual, they together conducted Danny to his bed in the barn, and blew out the lights. They put a candle and a match upon the hail table for Mr. Carey, and left the door on the latch. Then they said good-night, and each shut himself up in Ins room. Both of them were awake when, the night half over, Roger Carey entered, and, with careful stealth, climbed the stairs to his bedroom. XXIV. When Alicias first delight at seeing her lover had worn off, her face set- tled into anxious lines. But she was in- capable of putting into words, even to him, the dreadful thing, the shame- ful thing, as she thought it, which had happened to her sister; all that she told him, the color coming up into her face, and even her slender neck flushing, was that something troubled Cecil and Philip. I m sure you can help them, she said. Roger did not press her for any ex- planation. Very well, dear, I 11 do my best, he told her gently, and saw the painful color ebb, and her clear eyes meet his again. He was very gentle with her, as one is with a child whose modesty is a beautiful ignorance; but it removed him very far away from her. In his own mind he smiled a little. They ye quar- reled, I suppose, he thought, and Lys- sic, bless her little heart! wants me to reconcile them. But I cant do anything. The fellow who tries to mediate between husband and wife is a fool. But why in the world did she send for me? It cant be this squabble? And when, directly after supper, he left Lyssie, with the promise of an early return, and went up to Mrs. Shores, he was still in the dark as to why he had been summoned to Old Chester. No, Mr. Shore was not at home, he was told. Mrs. Shore was in, yes; the servant would find out whether she would see Mr. Carey. Roger, waiting, received a leaping welcome from Eric, and re- sponded as warmly. You old scamp! he said lovingly, as the dog showed that beautiful and joyous affection which the human creature is as unworthy to re- ceive as he is incapable of experiencing in himself. But all the while he was listening intently for a step upon the stairs, and he was aware that he was breathing quickly. Then the maid came to say, Would Mr. Carey please go up to Mrs. Shores sitting-room ? She did not rise to meet him, but she smiled, and held out her hand without speaking. That reception of smiling si- lence is strangely flattering. Roger felt it so now. You see I come at once, he said. You are very good, she answered cordially; and then said something of the bore of a stage ride, and asked him if he had had dinner, and would he not have a glass of wino? No, thank you, Roger said. The situation itself was suddenly like ~vine to him. He could not hold his eyes away from her. Behind her, high on the wall, a cluster of candles burned in an old sconce, and a shower of soft light fell on her bronze hair, wrapped in two noble braids about her head; at her sug- gestion, he threw a fresh log upon the fire, and when, with a leaping rush of sparks, the small flames curled about it as tremulously as the fingers of a play- er about the neck of his mandolin, the light shone on her face, and glimmered in a square topaz that caught the lace together at her throat, and spread itself in a sheen upon her lap. Cecil talked, in her slow voice, a voice that had color in it, of this or that: told him Molly was in despair to have to go to bed without seeing him; laughed a little at the invitation from the rectory; said Eric had pined for him. 1894.] Philip and his Wife. 149 Eric, outside, heard his name, and rapped on the door with his tail. Roger an- swered recklessly and gayly. He had no longer any curiosity to know why she had sent for him; he was here, and he could look at her, and that was enough. He said to himself that he had never seen a more splendid creature. She was not Mrs. Philip Shore to him; still less was she Lyssies sister: she was a splendid creature. Yes, Cecil continued, it is very good in you to come so promptly. I have some business matters I want to put into your hands, Mr. Carey. Mr. Shore and I are going to separate. The blood flew to Roger Careys face. Tf7iat? Yes. Oh, I dont mean that I am going to need your professional services. Did you have a vision of the divorce court? iNo ; we are most amicable, Mr. Shore and I. We are a perfect Darby an(l Joan in the way in which we agree about this. We are going to live apart; that s all. What I wanted to ask you was only a question about Molly. And I want you to take care of my money, too, if you will? Her words were like a dash of water in his face; he dropped abruptly from that haze of impersonal appreciation of the sulendid creature to keen interest and very honest dismay. His friends wife was going to leave him! Oh, Mrs. Shore, he cried, this is very dreadful! It is why, it is incred- ible Surely you dont mean its only a passing impulse; you cant mean Yes, Cecil answered quietly, I do mean it, Mr. Carey. I need not bother you with my reasons, but I do mean it. But I dont understand! You ye had some difference, I suppose; and now you think Oh, Mrs. Shore, it s impossible! You must let me see Philip and tell him you think better of it. You must let me do something. You are very kind, Cecil said, with an annoyed look, but it s all settled, thank you very much. I merely wished to ask you one or two questions. I 11 answer any questions I can, but first please let me say how distressed and shocked I am at what you tell me. Of course, if if Philip has offended you in any way Oh, not at all. We have nothing against one another, except each the existence of the other. Oh yes ; the daily aggravation of Philips good exam- ple has been very trying. My dear Mr. Carey, we are bored; that is all. Roger was too dumfounded at the folly of it for words; his face grew rigid with consternation. I thought you believed in separa- tion? Cecil said. Did nt you say the Todds ought to separate? Or no; it was Mr. Shore who said that; I had forgot- ten. But you certainly told me you be- lieved in separation. Under some circumstances I do. The Todds ought nt to live together, perhaps, hut such a separation ought to be made by the State for the State, not by themselves for any selfish reasons. But how ridiculous to speak of such a thing! You and Philip are educated and responsible people, who propose to do an absolutely wicked thing, for appar- ently no reason or motive whatever! Oh, we have very exalted reasons, Cecil answered, with a slight smile. Mr. Shore knows that that I no longer adore him; Loves young dream is over, so to speak, so on high moral grounds we think it right to part. Her color deepened as she spoke, and there was an instants silence between them. Then Roger said, constrainedly, some- thing about false ideas of morality. Its all very well to hide the fact un- der fine sentiments; but I tell you what it is, it is a case of the Emperor in Hans Andersens story, who said he was so finely dressed: do you remember what the child cried out? I dont care how exalted your reasons and Philips are, the real naked fact is selfishness. 150 Philip and his Wife. [August, But I refuse to think it possible that you will do such a thing. It s only an impulse, as I said. Will you not author- ize me to go to see Philip and tell him that you think better of it? You would like to arrange a recon- ciliation, would nt you? she said drolly. Do you want Molly to fall ill, and then join our hands over her cradle? Or shall one of us die, to give freedom to the other, and uncomfortably remorseful love result? No, Mr. Carey; the dra- matic does nt happen. Molly is very robust, thank Heaven, and neither Mr. Shore nor I mean to commit suicide Roger interrupted her, frowning. This is too grave a matter for flippancy. Let me discuss it with you seriously. But even while he discussed it the old excitement crept over him, this time with a shadowy terror in it; his earnestness held a singular note of fright. He did not want Cecil Shore to be free! Her husband must not set a trap for him in this way! Every argument of conven- tionality, of duty to Molly, of ecclesias- tical force, was hot upon his lips. She could not, he declared, find a word of complaint against Philip; Philip was the best fellow in the world. He sternly bade her realize her husbands worth. He was convinced, he said, that the fault was hers, if Philip, for this preposterous reason which she had given, wished to leave her. You are a selfish woman, he said, he was bending forward, one hand behind him, gripping the arm of his chair, the other outstretched, almost touching hers in his excitement, yet never unconscious enough really to do it, you are a selfish woman, and you are flippant, which is worse. Even now you are flippant. Here is a matter of awful seriousness, and you regard it or you pretend to regard it lightly, and from a simply selfish point of view. Roger was battling for his friend with all his heart, but he looked all the while he could not take his eyes away from her at this beautiful woman, who, de spite the matter of which they were speaking, was again only a beautiful woman to him. But defense of her husband was an insult to Cecil. She flung out at him that she only wished to consult him about Molly, unless, of course, being Mr. Shores friend, he did not wish to advise her? In which case she would consult some one else. I am here to advise you, whether you want it or not, he returned; now just listen to me, please. He stood up in front of her, one hand in his pocket, the other emphasizing his curt words. There shall be no question about Mol- ly; you and Shore will both do your duty, and keep a home for her. His indignation, his apparent feeling that her views and reasons were beneath argument, his evident and rude belief that if she would only behave herself like an intelligent woman Philip would be willing to give up this mad and wicked plan, made Cecil furious. She was not for a moment impressed by the value of anything he said. It is not impossible that this was because of its insincerity. He was arguing as he believed, but not because he believed it. He was arguing from absolute, dismayed selfishness. As for Molly, he said, I cant help telling you frankly that I consider you the last person in the world to take charge of her; you spoil her, you amuse yourself with her, you neglect her, just as it hap- pens to suit you. Mr. Carey, you force me to remind you that I have not asked your opinion about my conduct, I Well, I m sorry to appear to thrust my opinion upon you, but it s certainly just as well you should know what peo- ple will think and say if you carry out this preposterous idea. Upon my word, Mrs. Shore, it is amazing to me that a man of Philips integrity, and a woman of well, of as much horse sense, in the long run, as you have, can seriously con- sider such a thing! I shall tell Philip Philip and his Wife. 151 1894.] that he 11 sacrifice Molly if he carries out an abstract idealism (of course that s what it is in him), because she will be left without his influence. It s the only influence for good the child has, he end- ed, looking at her severely. She defended herself as well as she could, but his words beat her like whips. In spite of her anger and her pride, she cowered; tears, even, rose in her eyes. You are very unjust you are very unjust, she murmured. On the contrary, I am only just; I tell you the truth. As for your having Molly, yes, I suppose she would be given to you, if you did anything so wicked as to push this matter to a ques- tion of law. Unfortunately, the court would not take cognizance of the fact that you are an unfit woman to be en- trusted with her. But there must nt be such a question; you must go back to your husband, and you must remember you re his wife. This matter of fling- ing off an obligation because it is nt agreeable is vicious and pernicious, I dont care what the ideals are! Ideality can be responsible for damnable crimes. He spoke with that brutal indifference as to his choice of words that a man re- serves for men, and for the woman who loves him. It did not strike either of them at the time, but he did not excuse his indignant excitement on the ground of his approaching connection with the family. He stood looking down at her, his chin set, his eyes narrowing in a certain ag- gressive masculinity that made all the woman in her shrink. You ought to be nshamed of yourself! he said. Sbe rose; his words and the jarring anger of his voice were as tangible as a grip upon her wrists, pulling her to her feet before him. Dont say such things, dont talk to me that way. It s done. I cant help it. It s done. I wish you would help me instead of talking that way.~~ He said, breathlessly, that he was help- ing her when he told her she must not leave her husband; for Mollys sake, for for My heavens! Philip Shore s a fool! he burst out. But instantly, as though a quick rein tightened upon him, he again stammered something of duty. Promise me to do your duty! I 11 think over what you ye said, she answered faintly. She felt as though he had compelled the words; she was afraid of him. Her breath came in a sob, and she swayed a little as though about to fall. You are faint! he said quickly. Her arms fell along his own stretched out to support her; he felt her warm, swaying weight upon his breast; their eyes met in one full, pulsating look, met with a clash of exultant shame, and dropped, cowering. Cecil drew back violently, flinging her hands behind her as though she had touched fire. Neither spoke. Roger Carey trembled to his soul. I I beg your pardon; I thought you were faint A spark from the fire leaped suddenly out across the hearth and fell on the white rug at their feet. How that wood does snap! he said, breathless. Yes yes; it s a nuisance to have it snap so. Oh, are you must you go? I think so. Yes. I will see you to-morrow. Good-night. Good-night. xxv. No, it was so late when I left Mrs. Shores, I thought I d better not come in. Oh, Roger, could you make things straight? Oh, is nt it dreadful that she should have thought of such a thing? I felt sure you d show her how wrong it was. Well, I said everything I could think of. Yes, I produced some effect. I had a note from her this morning, and 152 Philip and his Wife. [August, Oh, interrupted Lyssie, wont you please begin at the beginning? Tell me everything! I m so worried. But there was singularly little to tell. She promises to reconsider it, he said. There s her letter; read it, if you want to. She just says she will reconsider it. Lys, after I left Mrs. Shores, I took a walk. That s another thing that made me late. The fact was, I wanted to think. About this, I suppose ? About you. The color came into Lyssies face, and she smiled, in spite of the grief of the world. You might have found a better subject! They were in the parlor; Lyssie near the window, for the room was (lark with a steady sweep of rain against the glass, and she was busy with a bit of sewing. Outside there was a glimpse of a frosted garden standing forlornly in the mist; there was a yellow litter of fallen leaves under the chestnuts, and in the sodden border a single blot of scarlet, where a late geranium burned bravely in spite of its pallid hanging leaves. Once or twice a drop splashed down the chimney and sputtered on the hearth; but the fire flamed cheerily, with a low murmur of sap, and Eric lay comfortably in front of it, steaming a little, and twinkling up at Roger from under anxious, deprecatory brows. He met me in the village, and he would come, Roger explained, and touched the dogs big nose with his foot. Come, wake up, old man! Eric lifted one eyebrow, and flopped his tail, but he had no intention of mov- ing. What a beastly day it is! said Roger; he was wondering whether he looked as stupid as he felt. Yes, Lyssie assented, glancing up from her sewing. Just see this yellow leaf the rain has beaten against the win- dow! It s too bad about our walk, but perhaps it will clear by this afternoon. I dont believe it will, Roger re- marked gloomily; and then he came and sat down by Lyssies little work~table, and took her scissors and began to snip off bits of thread; when reproved for such untidy ways, he built the spoois into pyr- amids, and then drummed on the table to make them totter and fall. He had nothing to say of Cecil and Philip, except that it was all perfectly absurd, and just a passing impulse. It will come out all right, he told her impatiently. Oh, Roger, are you sure? Lyssie entreated, ready to cry with the relief of it. She wished he would be a little more exl)licit, but she would not tease him with questions; perhaps he felt that such a matt~r ought not to be spoken of. Roger knocked all the spools down at a blow, and rose, and stirred Eric up, roll- ing him over with his foot, and worrying him with grumbling affection. It s beastly, this rain, he announced again; which made Alicia l)ut (lown her work and say with decision, We will go out to walk. You dont mind the rain, do you? I dont. And it will be plea- santer than staying in the house. Roger brightened up at once, but pro- tested faintly You might get damp; your niother will think J am insane. Of course you must nt go out in the rain. We can talk here just as well. I want to tell you what it was that I thought about you last night. If this suggestion of a confidence by the quiet fireside was any temptation to Alicia, she did not betray it. Damp? What does that matter! I d love a walk in the rain; and she silenced him by running away to get her cloak. Left alone, Roger stood moodily by the window and looked out at the rain. The fact was, he had decided, after a nights sleep, that when he had left Mrs. Shore, the night before, he had taken himself too seriously. There was certainly no doubt about it, he had taken himself too seriously. He had gone down through Cecil Shores 1894.] Philip and his Wife. 153 silent house, out into the amber dusk of the moonlit autumnal night, half drunk with excitement. All the man, for one glowing moment, had spoken in his eyes all the woman had answered in hers and then had come the speechless outcry of fear and triumph, the ringing silence for those words of the habit of conven- ti onality neither of them had heard. When he had shut the door behind him, he stood for a moment on the porch, staring into the night and breathing heavily. The stone steps were wet with mist; there was a scent of dead leaves and damp earth. In the house behind him some one closed a window; and he caught his breath with a start, as though he were awakening. Mechanically lie walked across the terrace, and down along the flagged path to the pool. There was a light gauze of mist over the water, and the fallen leaves under the two old pop- lars were heavy with moisture. At the sound of his step along the path, the frogs stopped suddenly their bell-like clangor, and there was a splash somewhere under the mist, and then silence. Roger sat down on the stone bench, and passed his hand over his eyes. Good Lord! suppose I had kissed her? His danger made him shiver. A breath of colder air canie straying across the pool, and touched his hands, clasped list- lessly between his knees. Yes: she had leaned against his breast ; he had felt the satin warmth of her arm along his wrist. Again the blood leaped in his temples, be felt hot pulses in his fingers; he drew in his lips, and his eyelids drooped into a smile that drove the soul out of his face. Ah, that swaying weight in his arms! He exulted, even while he cowered at the danger he had been in; but he lifted his wrist to his lips and kissed it savage- ly~ and cursed himself, with a laugh, for a fool. Well, I did nt. But damn Philip Shore! Then the shame of it grew upon him, and that inescapable fright which comes with the recognition of a possibility. His self-knowledge struck him insolently in the face. But I did nt do it! lie in- sisted sullenly. He almost forgot Cecil, as he thus came to himself and saw his possibilities before him ; his friends wife had only opened the door to facts. He could forget the doorkeeper, face to face with the drunken crew whom she had ad- mitted. In his dismay, he had no con- cern for any dismay that she might feel. A little later, to protect her in his thoughts, he decided that she was unaware of that hot impulse of his, and that he had read no consent in her eyes; but jusf at that moment, in the mist under the pophars, he did not think of her at all. But how keenly aware Cecil had been of it all! When Roger Carey closed the door, and the flames of the candles swerved and bent, and then burned in a pointed gleam, she had stood quite still for a moment. She looked down at the charred bit of wood on the rug, and even pushed it away with her foot, and stooped as if to see whether the rug were burned. Then she walked the length of the room with violent haste, and stood, panting. Suppose be had kissed me? What could I have done? Why did nt he? He s not a fool. She came back to the fire, and leaned her arms along the mantelpiece, resting her forehead on them. She felt herself smile and blush; and she shut her eyes and closed her teeth upon ber lip. She stood there a long time, longer than Roger Carey sat on the bench under the poplars. And when at last a log smoul- dered through, and fell apart with a soft crash of sparks, the light shone on a face stained by tears and full of a strange terror. She went over to her writing-desk, and hunted among the litter of notes and pa- pers, and found some telegram blanks. But she sat there a long time, making 154 Philip and his Wffe. [August, idle marks upon her blotting paper, be- fore she wrote: Pray come back to Old Chester at once. Important. Then she addressed it to her husband. Cecil Shore, too, had had a glimpse of her possibilities ; all her instincts and traditions revolted in alarm. She fled to cover; she summoned her husband. Lyssie Lyssie Lyssie! she said to herself, her face hot with shame. Oh, lie is good! she thought. She had decided swiftly that Philip should give up his foolery, and she her freedom, be- cause Roger Carey was good. She did not reason about it, but she wanted to meet him on his own level. It was curious that, as he fell, he lifted her. Yet, absorbed in the selfishness of remorse, and nothing may be more selfish than remorse, Roger, sitting there on the stone bench, had not a thought for her, except perhaps of dull dislike. But all that amazement and shame had been last night. By daylight things looked different; so different that, stand- ing there at the window, in Lyssies par- lor, grumbling at the rain, he assured himself that he had not been guilty of the slightest impropriety ; all the world might know that, seeing Mrs. Shore about to faint, he had supported her, and that he had come within an ace of kissing her! So long as he did nt do it, what an ass he had been to feel himself dis- honorable! Good Lord, if a man is to agonize because he has had the impulse to kiss a pretty xvoman, he had best go into a monastery at once! He was mo- rosely amused at himself. He had been too intense; and the reaction was an ir- ritated conviction that he was a fool. It was this irritation which made it an ef- fort to speak on a certain subject to Lys- sie: he had made up his mind to ask her to be married at once; and then, as he put it to himself, clear out, and let the Shores settle their own messes. He had not, in this connection, the slightest impulse to confess to Alicia his expe- rience of the night before. Confession would be as absurd as his remorse had been; he never thought of it; if he had, it would have been to say that Lyssie would not understand, in which he would probably have been correct. No, he was not going to confess; he was only going to catch at her tender hand to save himself from his possibilities. He did mean, however, to say that lie was not good enough to tie her little shoes; and having told so much truth as that, he would feel, like the rest of his sex, that he was square with his conscience. That such statements only enhance his virtue in his beloveds eyes never troubles a man. Roger Carey, to protect himself, was going to beg Lyssie to name the day. Now, when a man wants to urge a speedy marriage on the girl lie loves, he may well hold her hand in his, and per- haps kiss the finger tips, softly, and slip an arm around her waist to bring her shy face close to his, that lie may hear her whisper, Yes yes; if you wish it! But any action seemed an effort to Roger; he was dull, he acknowledged listlessly; it would be easier to tramp along in the rain and hold an umbrella over Lyssies head, and be perhaps just a little matter of fact. He was glad to start out; the fresh air would brighten hiini up, he thought. The street was quite deserted. Dr. Lavendars old hooded gig, sagging on its C springs, went slowly past them, leaving wheel-ruts full of running yellow water; the shaggy fetlocks of the little old blind horse came up from each step with a pnll, and went squashing down again into the mud. Well, well, said Dr. Lavendar over the rubber apron, are nt you young folks allowed to stay indoors to-day? Mr. Carey, you re welcome to my study, if Lyssie wont give you her parlor. What weather! What weather! Is nt it funny, said Alicia, as the 1894.] Philip and his W~fr. 155 gig bobbed along ahead of them, that old people dont seem to see the pleasure of walking in the rain? It depends on whether they are walk- ing with their girls, Roger explained. No, it s pleasant anyhow! Rogers girl declared. Her young face was wet with mist, and glowing with the color of a peach blossom; her eyes were shining under the dark brim of her hat. Lyssie, do you know what I was thinking about, I mean when I took that walk, last night? I told you I was to tell you what I was thiukino going about. Lyssies face sobered. Cecil? No! Why should I think of of Mrs. Shore? Oh, you me~ n oh, about that? That 11 come out all right, he said, frowning. I was thinking of you, Lyssie. Look here: this thing of seeing you for a day, and then going off for a month, is prepostero~is. I cant stand it. Lets put a stop to it. What do you say? This is the 28th of October; cant it be on the 1st of December? That s Wednesday. I looked it up on the cal- endar. Cant what be? cried Lyssie. Why, you dont mean Roger, you are crazy! I never was more sane. Lyssie, listen! Dont laugh. And please say yes. What are you talking about? she said. I never heard of anything so ab- surd; you might as well ask me to fly! And then she sobered a little. It s simply impossible, you know. In a nionth? If you had said a year, I should have laughed. I should have laughed if I had said a year! Be serious, Lys. Lots of peo- ple are married when they have nt been engaged as long as we have. There s no reason to wait. It s just waste of time. Let s begin to be happy. I know of a house, and I can have it all in order by the ist of December. In the first place, you could nt. It takes ever so much longer to put a house in order Oh dear! she interrupted herself, would nt it be lovely? All the domesticity of the sweet woman stirred in her, just as some womens eyes lighten when they look at the picture of a baby. Yes, it takes a long time to put a house in order; but that is nt the question. I could nt, possibly, Roger. Could nt what? Be married, she said, looking up at him with clear, sweet eyes, but with the pretty coror deepening suddenly in her face. Oh, I could nt for ever so long. Roger looked at her blankly, standing still, and holding the umbrella over his own head. What do you mean? Cant be mar- ried for a long time? Dear, consider! He was very gentle. Her shyness seemed so exquisite. He had no idea of her reason. It was not until they began to climb the hill on the further side of Old Chester that he realized that her un- willingness was on account of her mother. I m young, she said; I can wait. Well, but what about me? he asked, in the simplicity of his astonishment. Then Alicia looked at him with pa- thictic anxiety in her eyes that her ideal should not fail her. Would nt it he just thinking of ourselves, if we got married now? I m sure I dont know who else ought to be thought of! And look here: you may have a right to sacrifice your own life, but do you think you have a right to sacrifice mine? And thats what you will do, you little saint! Lys- sic darling, if the ist of December is too soon, really and seriously, why of course I 11 not urge. I 11 put it off a month, or even two months. Alicia was silent with dismay. They had stopped on the top of the hill, and turned to look down into the valley~ ly- ing in a gray mist. The low sumacs that fringed the road were still burning their small red torches, but they had dropped 156 Philip and his ~ [August, a carpet of yellow leaves upon the path. Eric, very muddy, and panting, flung himself down to rest; no doubt he thought of the fire and the rug, and decided that his two young friends were fools. All Rogers listlessness had gone; Ali- cias resistance made her more charming than he had ever seen her. As they walked back, he began again, so confi- dently that her little sad interruption, It s impossible, Roger, was like the steel to his flint. But it brought love as well as anger into his voice. I believe you d like to put it off a year! he declared. A year? returned Alicia, sighing. There s no use thinking of a year; per- haps in two, in three In three years! Oh, Roger, dont! Somebody will hear. Roger, listen. Why is nt it hap- piness enough to go on a little while as we are? You know I love you. I hope you do, he answered meanly. You know it. And I dont see why that is nt enough, just to know I love you. Well. it is nt, Roger said, half mollified by her voice and words; and he proclaimed a dozen reasons to the contrary; in his earnestness, he almost touched the true reason: I need you, Lyssie. But mother needs me, and She 11 need you forever, if you re going to let that come into it, he inter- rupted angrily, again forgetting to hold the umbrella over her head, and gesticu- lating with it to emphasize his words. Besides, I need you as no mere mother can. Alicia was silent. Roger talked on until they reached home, and then he paused long enough to take off her rubbers and scold her for being damp. Erics feet must be wiped before he can come into the house, said Lyssie absently, and went to get a cloth. Roger, looking cross and worried, wiped the great paws; and Lyssie, watch- ing him, laughed nervously at the dogs serious expression, and his sudden affec- tion in trying to lick his friends cheek; but Roger never smiled. Then they went into the parlor, and Roger put a log on the fire, and Alicia took up the bellows and sent a puff of flame and smoke crackling up the chimney, and the discussion went on as though there had been no inter- rt1ption. You say your mother needs you. Dear, I need you. Your husband needs you, Lyssie. The sudden color throbbed in her face, hut she did not answer. Roger could not see how she was trembling, for she held the bellows hard to keep her fingers steady. And see the effect of your unreason- ableness, he went on: you make me well, annoyed at your mother. Of course it is nt fair ; but I cant help it. Alicia looked at him hopelessly. I dont seem able to put it right, or else you would nt feel so. Oh, I think it would kill her if I got married now. Kill her! said Roger, and paused, for it would scarcely do to express his belief that there was no such luck to be expected. Kill her! Why, look here: in the first place, she has all the wonder- ful vitality of the invalid; it would nt kill her at all. She d be awfully inter- ested; and it s the best thing in the world for hypochon I mean for people sick as she is, to be interested. It makes them forget themselves. And then she d enjoy coming to visit us sometimes, and Visit us? Lyssie broke in blankly. Why, said Roger, as blankly, you did nt think she d live with us? And then they looked at each other. If you wish it, of course, Roger hastened to say, but in his own mind he added, Good Lord! I had thought so when the time came, Lyssie faltered. Dear, with all due regard for your 1894.] Philip and his Wife. 157 mother, and you know I m very fond of her, but as a matter of common sense, I do think it is a mistake for people to have their mothers-ia-law live with them. I mean any mother-in-law, even a nice one I m not making this per- sonal to Mrs. Drayton. Lyssie, please dont think I mean to be unkind! he ended, ia a burst. I in very fond of her, you know. Lyssie drew in her breath, and looked away from him. I d say it of my own mother, if she were alive, lie protested, and she was an angel. But she never would have wanted to live with us; she had too much sense, he floundered on. I dont want to thrust my mother on any one, said Alicia. I had thought she would have a home with us; but never mind. Roger was silent for a moment; then he told her, as courteously as though he were not engaged to her, Your wish settles it, my darling. And of course your mother is always welcome in my house. But if she is to come to us, you must see th4t there s no reason why we should nt be married at once. There s every reason, Roger. For one thing, she 11 have to get used to the idea of leaving her own home. It would be dreadful for her. I have nt even dared to propose it to her yet. But I will. I promise you I will. And per- haps in two years, or a little more Roger tramped back and forth across the room. Eric sprang up joyfully, and capered to the door; but nobody noticed him, and lie subsided under the piano. Lyssie, the young man demanded, standing before her, with his hands in his pockets, have you made any promise to your mother about this thing? I said something once. But that has nothing to do with it. It is nt because of niy proniise. It s because I must nt. Well, may I ask how long you are going to prefer your mother to me? Oh, Roger! You need nt say Oh, Roger! That s what it amounts to; but Lys- sie, dont, dont push me off this way! There s so much uiicertainty; and I do need you. Dont push me off! His voice trembled. Lyssie, her fingers quite cold, her voice breaking, came up to hini, and put her hands on his shoulders. I 11 have to tell you. I did nt mean to, but Ill have to tell you. Then you 11 understand. And with her face flaming with shame and pain, she told him of Mrs. Draytons threat of suicide. Roger Carey listened, grimly, at first; then he swore under his breath; then he laughed, with the exuberance of gleeful relief and contempt. You poor blessed child! dont you know what that s worth? Just that! and he snapped his fingers. Kill her- self? She 11 outlive us both; they al- ways do! He would have kissed her, though he was still irritated; but she was rigid, and drexv away from him stiffly. You must at say such things. You have no right to say such things. You are cruel! Her anger lasted only long enough to kindle his; he was already out of pa- tience. He said something bitter about selfishness, and that sort of love, and having been mistaken, no doubt, in her feeling for him. He did not mean what he said, but, unfortunately, the ef- fect of such statements is not ia propor- tion to their sincerity. Alicias face whitened and whitened. These two young persons, with the little work-table between them, and Erics head poking itself under Alicias nervous hand and upsetting Rogers tottering columns of spools, looked into each others eyes, and used words like swords, while each declared the other wrong. Then I am to understand that you dismiss me ? said Roger Carey. You shall not put it upon me! Lys- sie cried piteously. It is nt my fault. You are perfectly selfish about it. I 158 August Birds in Gi{pe Breton. [August, am doing what is right. Of course our engagement is broken, but it is nt my fault! Of course not; there s no fault about it. You simply choose between your mother and me. I dont blame you; I d be the last person in the world to blame you. I always told you I was nt worthy of you, and I suppose now you ye discovered it for yourself. Lyssie was silent. Well, good-by. I Oh well, there s no use talking! Good-by. Roger swung himself out of the door and out of the house without another look. He had never been so much in love with her before. Eric jumped up with a great bound; the work-table rocked, and all the spools went rolling about on the floor; then lie whined, and scratched, and looked at Alicia, and whined again. She, with poor trembling hands, and with the breath catching in her young throat, opened the front door, and the dog, impatient for his friend, rushed past her, and went bounding with splen- did leaps out into the rain. Margaret Deland. AUGUST BIRDS IN CAPE BRETON. AFTER traveling for two weeks through Cape Breton, on rail, steam- boat, wagon, and my own legs, I felt sure that its distinctive tree was the spruce, its prevailing flower the eye- bright (Euphrasia officinalis), and its most ubiquitous bird the junco. Cer- tainly, three more cheerful, sturdy, and. honest elements could not be woven into every-day life, and they seem to me to be emblematic of the island province and its people. The junco was every- where, in sunshine and in rain, at gray dawn and after dewy eve; in the spruces which watched the sea at Ingonish, and in the early twilight of inland Loch o Law. He, she, and the infant juncos were at the roadside, in the fields, in the pastures, on the mountain top, and by the trout pool, and they were always busy, happy, and treating their neighbors as they liked to have their neighbors treat them, like brothers. These neighhors included song sparrows, whitetbroats, grass finches, yellow-ramped and black- and - white creeping warblers, black- capped and Hudsonian titmice, some of the thrush family, and occasionally pine siskins. Of the thrushes, the robin was by far the most numerous, noisy, and generally distributed. He was not, however, a bird of the lawn, the orchard, and the shade tree by the house door, but by preference a dweller in larch swamps and spruce thickets, secluded river beds and upland forests. He was the first bird in every lonely grove or deep wood vista to give a note of alarm and warn- ing to the neighborhood; and the first to respond to a cry of fear or pain ut. tered by any other bird. The hermit thrush was present in fair numbers, and blessed the woods and pastures with his anthem. I saw Swainsons and gray- cheeked thrashes, bat the catbird and thrasher were apparently unknown, as was also the veery. The robins conduct made me feel as though he were not one and the same with the common New Eng- land dooryard birds, but of a race as dif- ferent from theirs as the Cape Breton Highlanders stock is from that of the matter - of - fact Scotch mechanic of the cities. The people round Loch Ainslie and between Cape Smoky and St. Annes Bay speak and think Gaelic; an(l the robins in the Baddeck and Margaree

Frank Bolles Bolles, Frank August Birds in Cape Breton 158-166

158 August Birds in Gi{pe Breton. [August, am doing what is right. Of course our engagement is broken, but it is nt my fault! Of course not; there s no fault about it. You simply choose between your mother and me. I dont blame you; I d be the last person in the world to blame you. I always told you I was nt worthy of you, and I suppose now you ye discovered it for yourself. Lyssie was silent. Well, good-by. I Oh well, there s no use talking! Good-by. Roger swung himself out of the door and out of the house without another look. He had never been so much in love with her before. Eric jumped up with a great bound; the work-table rocked, and all the spools went rolling about on the floor; then lie whined, and scratched, and looked at Alicia, and whined again. She, with poor trembling hands, and with the breath catching in her young throat, opened the front door, and the dog, impatient for his friend, rushed past her, and went bounding with splen- did leaps out into the rain. Margaret Deland. AUGUST BIRDS IN CAPE BRETON. AFTER traveling for two weeks through Cape Breton, on rail, steam- boat, wagon, and my own legs, I felt sure that its distinctive tree was the spruce, its prevailing flower the eye- bright (Euphrasia officinalis), and its most ubiquitous bird the junco. Cer- tainly, three more cheerful, sturdy, and. honest elements could not be woven into every-day life, and they seem to me to be emblematic of the island province and its people. The junco was every- where, in sunshine and in rain, at gray dawn and after dewy eve; in the spruces which watched the sea at Ingonish, and in the early twilight of inland Loch o Law. He, she, and the infant juncos were at the roadside, in the fields, in the pastures, on the mountain top, and by the trout pool, and they were always busy, happy, and treating their neighbors as they liked to have their neighbors treat them, like brothers. These neighhors included song sparrows, whitetbroats, grass finches, yellow-ramped and black- and - white creeping warblers, black- capped and Hudsonian titmice, some of the thrush family, and occasionally pine siskins. Of the thrushes, the robin was by far the most numerous, noisy, and generally distributed. He was not, however, a bird of the lawn, the orchard, and the shade tree by the house door, but by preference a dweller in larch swamps and spruce thickets, secluded river beds and upland forests. He was the first bird in every lonely grove or deep wood vista to give a note of alarm and warn- ing to the neighborhood; and the first to respond to a cry of fear or pain ut. tered by any other bird. The hermit thrush was present in fair numbers, and blessed the woods and pastures with his anthem. I saw Swainsons and gray- cheeked thrashes, bat the catbird and thrasher were apparently unknown, as was also the veery. The robins conduct made me feel as though he were not one and the same with the common New Eng- land dooryard birds, but of a race as dif- ferent from theirs as the Cape Breton Highlanders stock is from that of the matter - of - fact Scotch mechanic of the cities. The people round Loch Ainslie and between Cape Smoky and St. Annes Bay speak and think Gaelic; an(l the robins in the Baddeck and Margaree 1894.] August Birds in Gape Breton. 159 woods speak and think a language of the forest and the glen, not of the lawn. One evening, as I lay on the sandy shore of Loch Ainslie, close to the mouth of Trout Brook, the spotted sandpipers of the lake told me a secret of their lit- tle lives which seemed well worth know- ing. The evening air was full of rural music: the tinkle-tankle of cowbells; the clatter of tiny sheep-hoofs speeding over the wooden bridge; the complaining of geese. homeward bound, by the roadside; and the harsh, rattling cries of the king- fishers, which, half a dozen strong, perse- cuted the small fry of Trout Brooks lim- pid waters. A school of big trout could be seen lying sluggish at the bottom of the brook, and their little kinsfolk were jump- ing freely in all parts of the quiet water. Tiny flies hovered over the pools; and if they touched, or almost touched, the wa- ter, agile fish flung themselves into the air after them. Again and again I cast my feathered fly upon the ripples; but as no answering rise pleased my expectant nerves, I tossed my rod aside, and drift- ed on towards evening with the stream of life and light and color flowing over me. The bell-cow came to the stream and drank, then passed slowly up the road homewards; a lamb, whimpering, followed his woolly parent to the fold; the geese, with outstretched necks and indig- nant heads, scolded all who passed them; and suddenly an eagle with mighty wing came sailing towards me across broad Ainslies ripples, bound for his mountain loneliness. The sun had sunk below the western hills, hills from whose sea- ward side Prince Edward Island could be seen as a long, low haven for a sinking sun to rest upon; the sky was radiant with color, and the lakes slightly ruffled surface took the color and glorified it in countless moving lines of beauty. From the gold sky and over the gold water the black eagle came eastward, swiftly and with resistless flight. Nearer and nearer he came, until his image dwelt for a mo- ment in the still stream, then vanished as he swept past above the bridge, and bore onward to the dark hills clad in their spruces and balsams. He seemed like the restless spirit of the day departing be- fore the sweet presence of sleepy nighL Below the bridge, Trout Brook runs a score of rods between sandy beaches to a bar which half cuts it oft from the lake. Upon this bar sandpipers were gathering by twos and threes, until their numbers attracted my attention. I strolled slow- ly towards them, crossing wide levels of sand, from which coarse grasses, sedges, and a few stiff-stalked shrubs sprung in sparse growth, and upon which a few clusters of rounded stones broke the even- ness of the beach. As I drew near the margin of the lake the sandpipers rose, peep-sweeting as they flew, and with deeply dipping wings vibrated away over the water; heading at first towards the fading sunset, then sweeping inshore again, and alighting within an eighth of a mile of me on the curved beach. No- ticing that some of the birds had risen from among the grasses above the line of wave-washed sand, I lay down upon the ground, with the hope that some of them might return, and perhaps come near me. Scarcely had my outlines blended with the contour of the shore when the clear peep, peep, peep of the little teeterers was heard on both sides, as they came in from distant points along the shore. Sometimes twenty birds were in sight at once, flying low over the water, apparently guided by a common impulse to gain the part of the beach near which I was concealed. I lay motionless, my head resting upon my arm, only a few inches above the sand. As I lay thus, the grasses rose like slender trees against the pale tinting of the August sky, and lake, distant hill, and sky all took on more emphatic tones, and appeared to have firmer and more significant outlines. Slowly the light faded, and the line of clearest color shrank to narrower and narrower limits along the distant hills. I had almost forgotten the birds, although 160 August Birds in Gape Breton. [August, small squads of them kept passing, or wheeling in upon the shining edge of wet sand nearest me. Suddenly a white ob- ject glided among the grass stems, only a few feet from my face. It paused and teetered, then slid along out of sight into a thicket of grasses. I sharpened my vision and hearing, and found that all around me tiny forms were moving among the weeds, and that groups of birds seemed to be collecting in answer to low calls which suggested the warm, comfortable sound which young chickens make as they nestle to sleep under their mother. The sandpipers were going to bed in the grass forest, and I was lying in the midst of their dormitory, like sleepy Gulliver among the Lilliputians. I might have remained quiet longer had the peeps and I been the only living creatures on the Trout Brook beach, but mosquitoes and gnats were present, and the waving grass tips tickling my face made them appear even more numerous than they really were. So at last, when stars began to appear in the sky, I rose abruptly to my feet. Had I exploded a mine, the whir and rush which followed my arising could not have been more sudden. It was really startling, for in a second the air was filled with fright- ened birds flying from me towards the lake. How many there were I cannot say, nor even guess, but it seemed to me that all the sandpipers which patrolled the sandy shores of Ainslie must have been gathered together on that one small area of beach, bent on finding safety or a feeling of security in close association through the night hours. Once or twice I have met the Hudsons Bay titmouse in the Chocorua country in winter, but I had never seen him ut numbers or in summer until I rcachcd Cape Breton, and found him perfectly at home in its pasture and roadside thick- ets as well as in the deep forest. He is a cheaper edition of the common chick- adee, who, on the same ground, excels him in many ways. His voice is feebler and husky. What he says sounds com- mouplace, and his manner of approach lacks the vigilant boldness of the black- cap. His brown head is readily distin- guished from the black crown of his more sprightly relative, though it is likely to be looked at closely merely to confirm the impression already conveyed by his voice that he is not the common chicka- dee, but a new friend well worth know- mug. Apparently, in Cape Breton, he out- numbered our common titmouse by five or six to one, yet the blackcap was gen- erally distributed, and was as numerous near Ingonish as farther south. Of the blackcaps friends, the white and the red breasted nuthatches, I saw nothing. Once at Margaree Forks I heard the quank of the red-breasted, but I failed to see the speaker, and had the note been les~ peculiar I should have doubted really having heard it. About sunset on August 5, I was seated in an evergreen thicket a mile or more back of the village of Baddeck. By squeaking I had drawn near me a mob of whitethroats, juncos, both kinds of chickadees, ruby-crowned kinglets, and of warblers the yellow - rumped, black- throated green, Nashville, black - and- white creeping, and the gorgeous black- and-yellow, as well as robins, a purple finch, and some young flickers. Sud- denly I heard an unfamiliar bird note, a harsh, loud call, which, without much consideration, I attributed to geese, great numbers of which are kept by the Cape Breton farmers. After an interval of several minutes the cries were repeated, and this time it occurred to me that geese were not likely to be wandering in a hackniatack swamp just at sunset, especially as the sky foretold rain and the wind was backing round into the east. So I left my thicket in search of the maker of the strange sounds. A path led through the larches to a clear- ing surrounded by a typical Cape Breton fence, or serial woodpile, which appeared to be built on the Kentucky principle 1894.] August Birds in (ape Breton. 161 of being horse high, pig low, and bull proof, and consequently impregnable to turkeys, geese, and sheep. The moment I emerged from the trees a fine marsh hawk rose from the ground and floated away out of sight. While watching him, a flash of white on the fence drew my eyes to the edge of the woods, and there, to my delight, I saw five of the most charming denizens of the great northern forests, birds in quest of which I had traveled miles through the New Hamp- shire mountain valleys, always in vain. As I turned, one of these beautiful crea- tures, with wings widespread and tail like a fan, was sailing just above, but paral- lel with, the fence. He paused upon it, looked towards me with his large, fear- less eyes, and then noisily tapped a knot in the upper pole with his beak. Moose birds at last! I exclaimed, and at oimce felt the strongest liking for them. There was nothing in their appearance to con- fuse them with their wicked cousins the blue jays; in fact, I found my instincts rebelling at the idea of both being Cor- videe. Their large rounded heads had no sign of a crest, and the white on the crown and under the chin gave them a singularly tidy look, as though their gen- tle faces were tippeted. Their plumage as a whole was Quaker-like in tone, so that, considering their demure and gentle bearing, the name Whiskey Jack, ap- plied to them by the lumbermen, seemed to me absurdly inappropriate. While I watched these birds, they moved slowly along the fence towards the swamp, coming nearer and nearer, and finally passing within about fifty feet of me. One of them was a young bird, with but little white on his dusky brown head; two others were females, also less white than the males. Finally they vanished in the swamp, the last bird going upstairs on a dead tree in true jay fashion, and then plunging, head foremost, into the shadows of the grove beneath. As I left the larches behind me, the same strange, harsh cry echoed froni its depths, and I VOL. LXXIV. NO. 442. 11 accepted it as the moose birds prophecy of impending rain. It is an odd fact that these birds die if they become chilled af- ter being wet in a heavy rain, and on this occasion they were undoubtedly seeking dense foliage to protect them from the storm which began a few hours later. Of the Cape Breton warbiers, the black-and-yellow were among the most numerous, and by all means the most bril- liant in plumage. Wheiiever I called the birds together, the magnolias were sure to appear, their gleaming yellow waist- coats showing afar through the trees, and contrasting with their dark upper plum- age and the cool gray of their caps. One male redstart seemed the most richly marked bird of his species that I had ever met with. The black extended much lower on the breast than usual, and the vermilion which lay next it burned like a hot coal. Summer yellowbirds were common in the meadow borders, where Maryland yellowthroats also abounded; a single black-throated blue warbler ap- peared to me near Baddeck; one anx- ious mother Blackburnian scolded me in the dark forest near the falls of Indian Brook; and a few Canadian fly-catching warblers flashed in and out among their dark evergreen haunts in various parts of the island. Watching ever so eagerly, I failed to see any blackpolls, Wilson black- caps, bay-breasted, mourning, or yellow redpoll warblers, and it seemed strange to miss entirely the oven birds, chest- nut-sided, pine-creeping, and Parula war- blers, so readily found near Chocorua. These species may be known to Cape Bre- ton, but they could hardly have escaped my notice had they been abundant. Years ago, when houses and barns were less often or less thoroughly paint- ed than they are now, and when over- hanging eaves were comnion, the eaves swallow was a familiar bird in New England. Now the youthful nest-robber thinks of the mud-nest builder as a rare bird, one for whose eggs he is willing to travel many a mile. In all the Cape Bre 162 August Bitds in Cape Breton. [August, ton country, where barn swallows abound, I saw but one colony of eaves swallows, and that was in a place so dirty and dreary I regret that these charming birds must always recall it to my mind. Scottsville may the spirit of cleanliness some day come with sapolio and Paris green to cleanse it lies at the head waters of Southwest Margaree, within sight of the point where that restless river leaves Loch Ainslie. Opposite the village store stands an unpainted building with ample eaves, and on its northern side, crowded into a space al)out thirty feet long, were one hundred of the retort-shaped mud nests of the eaves swallows. They were placed one above another, often three deep. Their bottle-mouths were pointed upwards, downwards, to left, or right, or towards the observer, as the overcrowd- ing of the tenements made most con- venient. While some of the older nests were symmetrical, others were of strange shapes, dictated by the form of the build- ing-site left to them. Bank swallows were abundant, almost every available cutting being riddled with their holes. Near Baddeck I found one hole in a bank overhanging the waves of Bras dOr, at a point where every passing wagon must have made thunder in the ears of the tiny occu- pants of the nest, which was literally under the highway. I was attracted to this nest by seeing a bird enter it. The Bay of Fundy pours its terrible tides into the Basin of Minas, and the Bloini- don region presents to the turbulent wa- ters which rush into the basin not only vast expanses of red mud which are left bare at low water, but also cliffs of rock or red clay which resist the surging waves at high tide. In the earth cliffs, which stand as straight as brick walls above the floods, the bank swallows find houses just to their liking, and from the cliffs of Pereaux to the waving grass of Grand Pr~ the little fleets of these birds flit back and forth hour by hour in the warm sunlight, or veer and tack close to the waves when chilly fogs come in from Fundy. Of the chimney swift I saw little. He was in Cape Breton, but not in large numbers, and one or two farmers and fishermen said that he was a bird that built in hollow trees, and seeired not to know that in these times the chimney is supposed to be his chosen home. Night hawks were abundant, especially in the streets of Baddeck, where, in the twi- light, which no lamp-post rises to injure, these swift and silent fliers darted in and out among the heads of the passers- by, to the hewildernient of those quick enough to see them. Probably, if I had visited Cape Breton in June or early July, I should have heard the whippoor- will; for ~vhen I whistled his song, the dwellers by sea or inland lake said, Oh yes, we have that bird. He sings at night. To me, however, he said nothing, nor did the humming-bird con- descend to make its small self known farther north than the Basin of Minas, which is a hundred miles or more from Cape Breton. Still, when I asked those who had gardens full of gayly tinted flowers if they knew the humming-bird, they always replied, Yes, the one with the beautiful red throat; which made me wonder why they never saw the fe- male ruby-throat with her more modest coloring of green and white. When I said that the junco was the distinctive bird of Cape Breton, I had in mind one rival claimant who certain- ly pervades the island with his pIesence. I well remember descending, just at sun- set, into the exquisite glen of Loch o Law, the most satisfying piece of inland scen- ery which I saw in all Cape Breton. As the road bent around the wooded border of the lake, seven large blue birds rose from one end of the lake, and flew, in a straggling flock, down to a spot remote from the road. They looked like king- fishers, but I thought I had Learned from experience that, around small mountain lakes, kingflshers hunt singly in August. 18M.J Angst Bird. in Clap. Brtor~ 168 Nevertheless they were kingfisher., and theywerehuntinginaflock. Afew hours before, at Middle River, where trout lie in shallow sunlit water over a yeUow andy bottom, I had a king- fisher hover above a point in the stream for several minutes. A rival flew don upon him and drove him away; but be- fore my hone could walk across the iron bridge above the river he was back again, hovering, kingbird-like, over the same spot. At Baddeck, the kingfisher. perched upon the telegraph wires, or as- sumed statuesque poses upon the tips of slender masts of pleasure boats at anchor. There appeared tobe no point on the Bras dOr or the fresh-water lakes and rivers of the island where kingfisher. were not twenty or thirty times as abundant as they are in northern New England. The osprey was also common on good fishing-pounds, and scarcely adaypassed withoutmyseeingbothospreysandeagles. One afternoon, shortly before sunset, I saw an osprey rise from the Bras dOr with a good-shed fish in his claws. I a- pected to him take it to some point near by, but instead he flewwestward, high above the trees, until finally he was lost in distance. I have already mentioned seeing marsh hawks. None of the big buteos came near enough for me to identify them, nordidlsee aCoopers hawk, but, to my delight, sparrow hawks were not uncommon, and were comparatively fear- less. The first that we saw were m a large field near Middle River. As we drove slowly along the road, a pair of sparrow hawks frolicked in front of us. They rose as we came near enongh to see distinctlr all their handsome mark- ings, and flew airily from one perch on the fence to another a rod or two farther on. They rose and fell, tilted, careened, righted, tacked, made esquisite curves, and in fact performedas many graceful mancsuvres in the air as a fine skater could on the ise, and then came back to the fence and perched again. I drove slowly in order not to frighten them, and the result was that they rose and settied again before us more than a dozen times. Although I saw no living owla during my trip, I saw stuffed birds represent- ing the common spades, and heard ste- ries of the daring attacks of great horned owla upon the dweller. in the poultry yard, geese, even, included. With snowy owls, the natives to whom I spoke seemed to be wholly unacquainted. Crows and blue jays were common in all sections of Cape Breton, but the crow pow less interesting after I had met his big cousin the raven, just as the blue jay had sunk to even lower depths in my estimation after my introduction to the moose bird. The blue jay is a down- right villain, and his rascality is empha- shed by the Canada jars virtues. The common crow is shrewd, but he lacks dignity. The first glimpse I had of a raven was from the top of Cape Smoky, where, from a crag more than a thou- sand feet above the waves which dashed against the rocks below, I saw three large black birds come round a head- land and sail upon broadly spread wings tothefaceof a ledge uponwhich they alighted. The eye often detects differ- ences in outline, movement, and carriage which the mind does not analyze or the tongue describe. The three black birds looked like crows; in fact, the Ingonish fisherman will deny all knowledge of the American raven, and insist that there is no specifle difference between what ho calls a big crow and any other crow. Nevertheless, something in the shape, bearing, and method of flight of the three visitor. to Smoky fixed my attention sev- eral moments before a hoarse croak from the throat of one of them came echoing up the ravine and proclaimed their true character. At Ingonish theywere abun- dant, especially near the cliffs of Middle Head, where I shouldecipect tofind them breeding if I made search at the proper season. Both ravens and crows were re- marksbly tame, and when I found that 164 Aagust Birds in Gc~pe Breton. [August, very little Indian corn is grown in Cape Breton, and that the people seemed igno- rant of the crows affection for sprout- ing corn, I felt that I had discovered one reason for their tameness. It was not unusual for a flock of ten or more crows to sit quietly upon the top rail of a snake fence bounding a highway, until a person walking or driving past came nearly opposite to them. If they were in a tree twelve or fifteen feet above the road, they did not think of flying away. Six ravens in a pine-tree on Middle Head remained quiet while I clambered over a mass of rocks less than a hundred feet from them. In Nova Scotia I saw kingbirds every- where, four or five sometimes being in sight from the car window at once. I felt as though in the orchard and hay country of the Annapolis Basin the king- birds must have discovered their chosen home. In Cape Breton, while not so abundant, they were by no means rare. On the other hand, pewees and small fly- catchers were few and far between, and great-crested flycatchers, which are com- mon at Chocorua, were not to be seen. Olive-sided flycatchers were present in various parts of Cape Breton in favor- able localities; and when I heard their loud, unmusical call, coming from the tip of some leafless, fire-bleached pine, it al- ways took me back to my first meeting with the bird high up on the desolate ridges between Chocorua and Paugus, where from the pinnacles of dead trees they scanned the air for insects, and wearied nature by intermittent cries. Red-eyed vireos were not so numer- ous in Cape Breton as they are in New Hampshire, but there were enough of them to keep up a running fire of con- versation from one end of the island to the other. I saw solitary vireos in sev- eral localities, one of which was a wooded pasture in Ingonish, near a small sheet of fresh water, and a hill in which the out- cropping rock was gypsum. Within an hour I recognized over thirty kinds of birds in this pasture, including, among those not already mentioned in these pages, a white-winged crossbill, a chipping sparrow, and several goldfinches. This white-winged crossbill was the only one that I saw during my trip, but red cross- bills were to be met with in small numbers all through the region between Baddeck and Ingonish. The first that I saw ap- peared in time air over Baddeck River, just as I was driving a horse across the iron bridge which spans the river on the road to the Margaree. The wind was blowing so hard that I felt some concern lest my buggy should be tipped over; but the crossbills, with their usual ap- pearance of having lost either their wits, their way, or their mother, perched upon the iron braces of the bridge directly over our heads, and looked this way and that, distractedly, with their feathers all blown wrong side out. An hour or two later, when approaching Middle River, I noticed a flock of blackbirds in a small grove by the roadside. I got out and entered the grove. Every bird in the flock of sixteen seemed to be reciting blackbird poetry, and that, too, in the sweetest voice which rusty grackles are capable of making heard. Although, on many other occasions, I saw representa- tives of this species in various parts of Cape Breton, I was unable to find any of its near kindred. No purple grackles, redwings, cowbirds, bobolinks, starlings, or orioles crossed my path; yet I saw much territory in which they might, for all I could see, have been very happy, and in which song, swamnp, and savanna sparrows, Maryland yellowthroats, and similar buds appeared to be established. Cape Breton is unquestionably a fa- vorite resort of woodpeckers, including the flicker, hairy, downy, yellow-breast- ed, and black-backed, and I doubt not the pileated also, although I was no~ fortunate enough to see or hear him. Flickers were common, and consorted much with robins, as they do in New Hampshire during their autumn migra 1894.] August Birds in Gape Breton. 165 tion. The hairy woodpeckers were most abundant near highways, where they fre- quented the telegraph poles and snake fences. As I write, I cannot recall see- ing a hairy woodpecker anywhere except upon the poles and fences close to roads, but I saw many in those favored places. They were noticeably tame, as most of the Cape Breton birds were, and allowed me to drive close to them, while they tapped gayly upon the bleached poles, or scrambled over, through, and under the fence sticks. Downy woodpeckers were less conspicuous, and of the yellow-breast- ed I saw only one. He was a young male that had been tapping alder trunks in a thicket growing upon very damp ground, on the edge of the Southwest Margaree, near the point where it escapes from the broad waters of Loch Ainslie. Nearly a dozen trees had been bled by him or his family. As soon as I entered the thicket he flew away; and although I awaited his return as long as time per- ruitted, neither he nor any other wood- pecker or humming-bird came to the sap fountains. One of the birds which I most wished to see in the northern woods was the black-backed, three-toed wood- pecker. I searched for him near Bad- deck, at Loch Ainslie, and on my jour- ney northward from Baddeck to In- gonish, but he did not appear. One morning, during my journey southward from Cape Smoky, I arose very early and visited the beautiful falls and caiThn of Indian Brook, which are about twen- ty-five miles north of Baddeck. In the deep woods near the falls I met three of these sprightly birds. I had concealed myself among the bushes to call birds around me, and was watching Hudsons Bay titmice, common chickadees, flick- ers, wary wood-wise robins, juncos, and a few shy warbiers, when a woodpecker cry, manifestly not made by a flicker, rang through the woods. High up on a blasted tree was a medium-sized wood- pecker, somewhat resembling a sapsuck- er in attitude and air of being up and a-coming. I squeaked more vigorously, and he came nearer. Then a second and a third arrived, and all of them ap- proached me with boldness born of cu- riosity and inexperience. They scolded and hitched up and down tree trunks, flew nervously from one side of me to the other, tapped protests on the sound- ing bark, and behaved in general like true woodpeckers. Differences in birds are what we think of most in studying them; but after all, their points of simi- larity, especially when these points hint strongly at the identity of the origin of species, are quite as instructive, and worthy of serious thought. Leaving the three-toed inquisitors, I walked on through the woods skirting Indian Brook, and within quarter of a mile flushed a woodcock and several ruffed grouse. Of the latter I saw a dozen or more during my rambles near Baddeck and Ingonish, but of spruce partridges I failed to secure even a glimpse, although all the local sportsmen declared them to be abundant, and as tame as barnyard fowls. At the point where the highway between English- town and Cape Smoky crosses Indian Brook there is a long and very deep pool. As I emerged from the woods above this pool, I saw three red-breasted mergansers swimming slowly across it. A prettier spot for them to have chosen for their morning fishing could not have been found on the Cape Breton coast. High ledges overhanging dark water, and overhung in turn by spruce and fir forest, formed a beautiful setting for the still pool across which they swam in sin- gle file, with their keen eyes watching me suspiciously. Many are the young salmon and speckled trout they cut with their ragged jaws. Had my visit to northern Cape Breton fallen during the period of the autumn migration, I should have seen wonderful flights and fleets of sea fowl. As it was, the species which I saw and the individ- uals which I met were few, save in the 166 The G~irlhood of an Autocrat. [August, case of Wilsons tern, which was ubiqui- tous, and the least sandpiper, which in numerous flocks swarmed upon the sands. I saw also solitary and semipalmated sandpipers, greater yellowlegs, herring gulls, dusky ducks, old squaws, and golden - eyes. Blue herons were plenti- ful near Baddeck, as they had been on the Annapolis Basin. They formed a striking part of every evening picture, where sparkling water, tinted sky, pur- ple hills, and gathering shadows were united under the magic words Bras dOr. In Loch o Law, as the sun sank over the Margaree, a mother loon swam and dived with her chick in the placid water ; but the bird which impressed itself most strongly upon my memory, during my trip, was the lonely shag, or cormorant, which I saw on the outer end of a line of rocks projecting into Ingo- nish Bay from the side of Middle Head. Dark and slimy, melancholy and repul- sive, its head and neck reminded me of a snake or turtle more than of any gen- uine feather - wearer. When at last it saw me, it was to the bay that it turned for escape, and upon the waters, almost out of sight, that it settled down to rest among the waves. There is more com- munity of interest between this creature and the fish which swim under the waves than with the swallow which flies above them. All told, I think that I saw eighty species of birds during my two weeks wandering in Cape Breton. Had I taken my tame owl Puffy with me, I should doubtless have seen more, for he would have drawn many shy birds round him which found no difficulty in secluding themselves from me. The island is cer- tainly remarkably good ground for bird study ; species are many, and individuals numerous. The combination of ocean, bay, inland lake, both salt and fresh, forest, and mountain is one which favors diversity and stimulates abundance. Frank Belles. THE GIRLHOOD OF AN AUTOCRAT. THE early years of the eighteenth century witnessed a singular spectacle, namely, the crown of a great empire used as a shuttlecock by a succession of foreign adventurers, who tossed it to and fro at will. The common people of Russia went to bed each night with lit- tle certainty under whose government they were to wake in the morning. It was not a matter which interested them deeply. To a small intriguing faction only was it of vital importance, a fac- tion composedof foreigners made Russian ministers, nobles grown gray in crime, and the regiment of Preobrajeusky, who, after the fashion of the prietorians of old, disposed of the crown and made and un- made emperors at xviii. For the rest, the common people suffered equally, were equally pillaged and despoiled, under one ruler as nuder another. They were be- yond the pale of the law, and accepted dumbly the hardships of their lot, caring nothing for the spectral procession which mounted the throne, gliding like shadows, to disappear anon into Siberia or the dun- geons. Peter the Great died, and while the assembled nobles were deliberating over time succession Mencimikoff stepped in, took the choice out of their hands, and nominated as Empress his repudiated mistress, Catherine I., widow of the Em- peror Peter. To her succeeded Peter II., to die presently of smallpox. After him came the oldest daughter of Peter I., Anne, Duchess of Courland. Her reign was nominal, the real bead of the

Susan Coolidge Coolidge, Susan The Girlhood of an Autocrat 166-180

166 The G~irlhood of an Autocrat. [August, case of Wilsons tern, which was ubiqui- tous, and the least sandpiper, which in numerous flocks swarmed upon the sands. I saw also solitary and semipalmated sandpipers, greater yellowlegs, herring gulls, dusky ducks, old squaws, and golden - eyes. Blue herons were plenti- ful near Baddeck, as they had been on the Annapolis Basin. They formed a striking part of every evening picture, where sparkling water, tinted sky, pur- ple hills, and gathering shadows were united under the magic words Bras dOr. In Loch o Law, as the sun sank over the Margaree, a mother loon swam and dived with her chick in the placid water ; but the bird which impressed itself most strongly upon my memory, during my trip, was the lonely shag, or cormorant, which I saw on the outer end of a line of rocks projecting into Ingo- nish Bay from the side of Middle Head. Dark and slimy, melancholy and repul- sive, its head and neck reminded me of a snake or turtle more than of any gen- uine feather - wearer. When at last it saw me, it was to the bay that it turned for escape, and upon the waters, almost out of sight, that it settled down to rest among the waves. There is more com- munity of interest between this creature and the fish which swim under the waves than with the swallow which flies above them. All told, I think that I saw eighty species of birds during my two weeks wandering in Cape Breton. Had I taken my tame owl Puffy with me, I should doubtless have seen more, for he would have drawn many shy birds round him which found no difficulty in secluding themselves from me. The island is cer- tainly remarkably good ground for bird study ; species are many, and individuals numerous. The combination of ocean, bay, inland lake, both salt and fresh, forest, and mountain is one which favors diversity and stimulates abundance. Frank Belles. THE GIRLHOOD OF AN AUTOCRAT. THE early years of the eighteenth century witnessed a singular spectacle, namely, the crown of a great empire used as a shuttlecock by a succession of foreign adventurers, who tossed it to and fro at will. The common people of Russia went to bed each night with lit- tle certainty under whose government they were to wake in the morning. It was not a matter which interested them deeply. To a small intriguing faction only was it of vital importance, a fac- tion composedof foreigners made Russian ministers, nobles grown gray in crime, and the regiment of Preobrajeusky, who, after the fashion of the prietorians of old, disposed of the crown and made and un- made emperors at xviii. For the rest, the common people suffered equally, were equally pillaged and despoiled, under one ruler as nuder another. They were be- yond the pale of the law, and accepted dumbly the hardships of their lot, caring nothing for the spectral procession which mounted the throne, gliding like shadows, to disappear anon into Siberia or the dun- geons. Peter the Great died, and while the assembled nobles were deliberating over time succession Mencimikoff stepped in, took the choice out of their hands, and nominated as Empress his repudiated mistress, Catherine I., widow of the Em- peror Peter. To her succeeded Peter II., to die presently of smallpox. After him came the oldest daughter of Peter I., Anne, Duchess of Courland. Her reign was nominal, the real bead of the 1894.] The Girlhood of an Autocrat. 167 empire being her lover, Biren, an inhu- man monster, who cemented his power with blood, and sent, it is calculated, no less than twenty thousand persons to Si- beria. Marshal Munich disapproved of these seventies. His candidate was the Duchess of Brunswick, mother of an in- fant who, in direct line of succession, stood next to the throne. There were plots and counterplots. At last, one fine night, Munich, with a rapid COUP d~tat, arrested Biren in his own palace, sent him into exile, and next morning proclaimed as regent the mother of the young Em- peror. She was a mild and gentle crea- ture, indolent, pleasure-loving, incapable of injuring any one; yet, a year later, the Princess Elizabeth, youngest daugh- ter of Peter the Great, was led, by a se- ries of intrigues set on foot by the French government, into believing her own life and liberty in danger from the inoffen- sive regent. Accordingly, on November ~5, 1741, she presented herself before the guardhouse of the all-powerful re- giment, magnificently dressed, and with a brilliant cuirass on her breast. She recounted her wrongs to the soldiers, who, flushed with sympathy and vodka, cried out, Command, Mother, com- mand, and we will slaughter them all No idle threat, for indiscriminate slaugh- ter was held the proper thing on each change of government. Elizabeth was merciful. She turned aside the eager bayonets, and contented herself with ar- resting the regent, her husband, and the baby heir to the throne, and sending Mu- mcli to Siberia. By a curious irony of te, the boat in which Biren had the year before started toward the same goal had been detained on the Volga, and was over- taken now by the escort having his rival in charge. These two Germans, who had disputed the empire of Russia as though it had been a jug of beer, met in mid-cur- rent; both disgraced and in chains, and both bound on the same melancholy jour- ney toward irremediable exile. History has few stranger situations to offer. The new empire seemed to go on wheels; nothing was lacking but an heir. Elizabeth looked about, and final- ly made choice of Peter, the orphaned grandson of the great Tzar, a boy of thirteen, who had been reared in the palace of his fathers cousin, the Prince- Bishop of Lubeck. Weak and sickly of body, restive, impetuous, and brutal in temper, this lad, even at that early age, exhibited a pronounced passion for drink. He was nevertheless proclaimed heir to the throne. He made the necessary pro- fession of faith in the Greek Church, and set to work on the course of study which was to qualify him for his high position, in which dancing and the elements of religion played a prominent part. The grand duke took kindly to dancing, but not to the elements of religion, disputing at length every thesis brought forward by his instructor, the Archbishop of Pleskov. Three years later the question of his marriage arose, and the bride selected was the youthful Princess Sophia Au- gusta Frederika of Anhalt-Zerbst-Dorn- burg, known to her parents and intimate friends by the nickname Figehen. She was ordered on for inspection, and arrived in St. Petersburg with her mother on the 9th of February, 1744, a day of fate for the Russian people; for this child of fourteen, fair, playful, full of tal- ent, of ambition, with an acuteness and a self-control remarkable at her age, be came in later years the terrible woman- Emperor, Catherine II., who for a third of a century held the balance of power in Europe, and ruled Holy Russia~~ with a despotic caprice which, in splen- dor and unbridled license, rivaled the worst records of imperial Rome. At her death, in 1796, a s led mann- script was found among her pal)ers, writ-- ten in her own hand, and addressed to her son, the Grand Duke Paul, great-grand- father of the present Tznr. It was no less than an autobiography of the early years of her marriage. The record was carried down to nearly the date of the 168 The Girlhood of an Autocrat. [August, death of the Empress Elizabeth, and va- rious notes and letters, explanatory and corroborative, were appended. This manuscript, for reasons which are obvious, was regarded and treated as a state secret of the utmost importance. It was kept in the imperial archives, and guarded with scrupulous care, no one be- ing allowed access to it. But the centu- ries play strange tricks with mysteries. At two different times copies of the au- tobiography were obtained, in what manner is not explained; and from these other copies were made, one of them by the hand of the poet Pushkin. These, as soon as they were discovered, were seized, by order of the Emperor Nicholas, but one which escaped notice was carried to Paris, and eventually found its way into print. The first edition, it is report- ed, was confiscated and burned, at the request of the Russian authorities. It is from a copy, rare and hard to come by, of the second edition, that we collate the material for this paper. It was a wretched position in which the young princess found herself, on her arrival in Russia. Her future depended entirely on the caprice of the Tzarina, and. no one could predict what turn it was like- ly to take. On one side stood her mother, an illiterate German, greedy, irascible, ungovernable as to tongue and temper, who endangered her daughters prospects every day by her irrational jealousies and quarrels, and, when she was not boxing Catherines ears, complained to all and sundry that the girl was as cold as a stone, and had no natural affection in her. On the other was the grand duke, resenting the arrangement for marrying him, car- ing nothing for his promised bride, dis- closing to her with a brutal and insulting frankness his love affairs with other wo- men, and making not the least attempt to hide his indifference to herself. Be- yond loomed the Empress, inaccessible, incalculable, degraded in morals, sur- rounded by a set of scandal-mongers who held her ear, and never lost a chance to misrepresent the princess and magnify her smallest indiscretions into crimes. The princess had no friends, no advisers; alone and unhelped, she confronted the dangers of her situation, made more per- ilous by the extraordinary levity of the grand duke, who played with fire as a daily pastime. He had about as much discretion as a cannon ball, she remarks. I said nothing, but listened, and this gained me his confidence; but in reality I was astounded at his imprudence and utter want of judgment in a variety of matters. In her zeal to learn Russian, she rose early and sat up late, studying in a cold room; and the result, before she had been a fortnighI~in St. Petersburg, was a sharp attack of pleurisy. Her life was in dan- ger for some days, and the utter want of tenderness and consideration exhibited by her mother during this period com- pleted the disgust of the court for the un- feeling parent. Tales of her ill temper and greed flew about, and furnished a toothsome subject of scandal for the la- dies in waiting. I had accustomed myself to lie with my eyes closed, writes the future Em- press. I was supposed to be asleep, and then the Princess Roumiamsoff and the other ladies spoke their minds freely. I thus learned a great many things. This philosopher of fourteen was cer- tainly alive to the insecurities of her po- sition. These were complicated by the intrigues of her mother, who, with none of the mental equipment of a diplomat, and no experience, wished to play the game of diplomacy in the interest of her relative, the king of Prussia, and, with all the intrepidity of a light brain, essayed the most complicated moves on the board of politics, gave audiences, promised pro- ferments, and compromised herself first with one party, and then with the other. These schemes of the Princess of Zerbst were no secret, and soon brought down upon her the displeasure of the Empress. In the May following the arrival of the 1894.] The Girlhood of an Autocrat. 169 girl bride, a stormy interview took place between her mother and the Empress. Catherine and the grand duke, perched on a window-sill of the anteroom, were awaiting its termination, and making mer- ry meantime, after the fashion of young creatures of their age. The door opened. Count Lestocq came forth from the cham- ber, and, in passing, said to the princess, This merriment will soon cease. You may pack up. You are going to set off home at once. The grand duke asked what he meant, but the only answer he received was, You will learn afterward. The grand duke and myself were left to ruminate on what we had heard. His commentaries were in words, mine in thoughts. But, he said, if your mo- ther is in fault, you are not. I answered, My duty is to follow my mother, and do what she orders me. I saw plainly that he would have parted from me with- out regret. As for myself, considering his character and sentiments, tbe matter was nearly indifferent to me, also, but the crown of Russia was not so. I do not know whether my mother succeeded in justifying herself to the Empress, but at all events we did not go away. How- ever, my mother continued to be treated with much reserve and coldness. Month after month the matter of the marriage remained in abeyance. Now it was reported as certain, now improba- ble, again as quite given np ; the mn2n- ners of the courtiers shifting from adula- tion to incivility, as the Empresss moods varied and changed. Finally the betroth- al took place, but still the uncertainty continued, and the omens were evil. The outrageous mother of his promised wife quarreled continually with the grand duke. They all but came to blows now and again, and both vented their dis- contents on the unoffending bride elect. Fate lent a hand, also, toward delaying the union. The grand duke had first measles, then smallpox, neither improv- ing his appearance or his temper. Cath erine s mother pillaged her wardrobe and extorted money from her, the grand duke borrowed what was left, the Empress upbraided her for extravagance. She was spied upon, defamed, misrepre- sented; her days were passed in a series of conflicting hopes and fears; but through all vicissitudes she held to her inexorable purpose. Empress of Russia she was resolved to be, and diligently and inflexibly she made ready for her predestined exaltation. I determined to husband carefully the confidence of the grand duke, she writes, in order that he might at least consider me a person of whom he could feel sure, and to whom he could confide everything with the least inconvenience to himself, and in this I succeeded for a long time. Besides, I treated evemy one in the best way I could, and studied to gain the friendship, or at least to lessen the enmity, of those whom I in any way suspected of being badly dis- posed toward me. I made a promise to myself that I would do so; and when I have once made a promise to myself, I do not remember ever having failed in keeping it. I showed no leaning to any side, nor meddled with anything; always maintained a serene air; treated every one with great attention, affability, and politeness; and as I was naturally very gay, I saw with pleasure that from day to day I advanced in the general esteem, and was looked upon as an inter- esting child, and one by no means want- ing in mind. I showed great respect for my mother, a boundless obedience to the Empress, and the most profound defer- ence toward the grand duke, and I sought with the most anxious care to gain the affection of the public. At last, on the 2lst of August, 1745, after eighteen months of suspense and uncertainty, the marriage actu ily took place. As the day drew near I became more and more melancholy, Catherine tells us. My heart predicted but little han- ITO The Girlhood of an Autocrat. [August, piness; ambition alone sustained me. In my inmost soul there was a something which never allowed me to doubt for a single moment that sooner or later I should become the sovereign Empress of Russia in my own right. A month after the marriage ceremony, which was celebrated with much m~g- nificence, the elder Princess of Anhait- Zerbst-Dornburg returued, unregretted, to her minute principality. She left in disgrace, her employment as a spy aud giver of secret information to the king of Prussia having been fully unveiled by the removal of La Ch6tardie, the French ambassador. She was forced to hear ome hard truths from the lips of the Empress, and to realize that she had ir- revocably lost by her conduct the favor sh had hoped to acquire at the Russian court. With her departure a chief ele- ment of discomfort and danger came to an end for ti~e grand duchess. The last act of this fond mother was privately to request the Empress to remove from her & ughters household Mademoiselle Jou- koff, the only one of her attend nts in whose company Catherine took the slight- est pleasure! A small act of arbitrary cruelty seems always to have been congenial to the Em- press Elizabeth. She acted on the hint with a merciless severity. Mademoiselle Joukofi~ was dismissed at once in disgrace and without explanation. Appeal was in vain, and the grand d chesss later rttempts to befriend the poor girl only (hew upon Mademoiselle Joukoff the fur- ther wr2th of the Empress, and led in the end to her banishment to Astrakhan. Catherine was left to study at leisure the mind and manners of her recently wed- ded spouse, which furnished a cnrious if not edifying subject for contemplation. This wretched boy he nevcr grew to the mental stature of a man was an extraordinary mixture of the coward, the sneak, and the tyrant. His timidity wa checkered with a reckless aud~~city, iid both veiled an underlying crii Ity of a- ture. The astute young wife, whom he neglected and insulted, was nevertheless his first refuge whenever he found him- self in a difficulty of any sort. To her he ran when he hurt himself, when the Empress was angry with him, when he feared that the result of his follies was about to recoil upon himself. His levity was incredible. He came one day and bade her and her ladies follow him at once and take part in an agreeable surprise, lie did not say what. They went, accordingly, and found all the boon companions of the grand duke sitting on stools and benches, each with an eye glued to an auger hole bored in the partition which divided the chamber from the private dining-room of the Empress. A carpenter h~ d left his tools in the ch~ mber, and it had suddenly occurred to the grand duke that it would be an excellent joke to bore a series of holes in the w~ 11, and watch the Empress and her intimates when they supposed themselves alone and unobserved. Catherine, terrified and indignant, re- fued to look through the holes, and set forth the probable results of this escapad in such forcible langua ~e that the com- pany, catching her alarm, stole away one by one; and the grand duke, also fright- ened, nd a little ashamed as well, fol- lowed them. It was impossible to mend the wall, however, and next day the i ~- evitable explosion took place. The holes were noticed, and the Empress, in a vi lent rage, sent for her nephew and his wife, The gr nd duke, who seems to have put the at air out of his mind, ran gayly in, clad in his dressing-gown, and kissed the hand of the Empress. She sufTered the salutation, but then asked him how he (lared to act as he had done, and play the spy over her dluring her moments of privacy. She reminded him that his grandfather, Peter I., had an ungrateful son whom he disinherited without com- punction, a d that the Empress An who didl not un lerst~ nd jo Cs, had b ~a 1894.] The Girlhood of an Autocrat. 171 in the habit of sending jokers to the For- tress. As for him, he was but a little boy, she added, to whom she would teach manners. When he attempted to reply, she grew more and more angry, loaded hini with insults, and treated him with as much contempt as indignation. She re- lented a little when she saw the grand duchess in tears. This does not apply to you, she said; I know that you neither looked nor desired to look through the holes. She then wished them good-night, and retired with a flushed face and flashing eyes. This storm blew over, but consider- ing how many Russian heirs apparent, on less provocation than this, had vanished into the dreaded Fortress, to come no more out, the folly of the grand duke seems beyond belief. The lesson was thrown away upon him, however; all lessons were, in fact. Not many months later, his wife perceived that he was in a state of deep mental depression. He no longer played with his dogs, but in- stead read Lutheran prayer-books, and the histories of criminals who had been hanged or broken on the wheel. These symptoms alarmed her, as they well might. Gradually she coaxed a confes- sion from him. He had been dabbling a little in conspiracy, the object of which was to kill the Empress, and crown him in her place He had not exactly com- mitted himself, but he had listened, and in a way approved. And now the con- spirators had been arrested, and there was no knowing what they might say under torture ; they might even implicate him! This was more serious than the per- forations in the partition, and for a time the youthful pair lived in a hush of terri- ble fear. But somehow this storm blew over, also. The persons under arrest did not mention the grand duke, and after a while they were released. Peter and Catherine were saved, but the foolhar- diness of the grand duke xvent on un checked, and again and again only his wifes superior sense availed to save him from the consequences of his indiscre- tions. The next thing about which we hear is that he had cut his cheek open with a whip. He was amusing himself, during a leisure hour, with cracking its long lash about the heels of his valets, making them jump from one corner to another, and the thong, recoiling, struck his face. Hoist thus with his own petard, he ran to Cath- erine, whimpering and terrified; for the Easter ceremonies were at hand, and he feared the displeasure of the Empiess, and that he should be forbidden to com- municate or to walk in the procession. His quick-witted wife at once recollected a preparation nsed for herself, years be- fore, on the occasion of a similar mis- adventure. The ingredients were pro- cured, were made up in the form of a pomade, and Catherine filled the cut and dressed the cheek so skillfully that no trace remained of the wound except a slight smear of grease, visible only in a strong light. The grand duke made a most edifying appeal nce in the proces- sion, and no one ever found out about the accident, a fact which spe~ ks volumes for Catherines surgery; for to conceal the slightest occurrence was most diffi- cult, in the close espionage to which the young husband and wife were daily sub- jected. They were virtually prisoners of state. They might neither go out nor communi- cate with outsiders without express per- mission. All their letters were inspected. Catherine was told that it did not be- come a grand duchess of Russia to write any, for whatever was proper would be composed for her at the office of For- eign Affairs, where she needed only to attach her signature, because the mm- isters knew better than she what was proper to be said! The infrequent notes which passed between her and her mother were smuggled into her hand or slipped into her pocket; their existence would 17~ The Girlhood of an Autocrat. [August, have been treated as a crime, had they been discovered. Almost every one of her attendants was a spy in the pay of the Empress. The least indication of a preference for anybody was a signal for that persons dismissal. The smallest imprudence on her part was magnified into an offense. The Empress had a severe attack of illness. It was treated as a state secret, and only by the gloom and severity of the spies was the grand duchess led to sus- pect that something was wrong. Twice people whispered in her ear what was going on, both entreating her not to men- tion to any one xvhat had been told. The grand duke was elated. He does not seem to have had a ray of gratitude or regard for the aunt who had raised him to his high position. It was an em- barrassing moment. The young couple dared not send to inquire how the Em- press was. because at once the question would have been asked, How and through whom did you learn that she was ill? and any one named or sus- pected would infallibly have been dis- missed, exiled, or sent to the secret chan- cery, that state inquisition more dreaded. than death itself. At last the Empress was better, and the Countess Schouvaloff inadvertently men- tioning at the table that her Majesty was still weak, Catherine took advantage of the remark to express her surprise and solicitude. It was not a moment too soon. Two days later came an angry message. The Empress was astonished and hurt at the little interest which the grand duke and duchess had taken in her condition; even carrying their indifference to the point of never once sending to inquire how she was! I told Madame Tchoglokoff, writes Catherine, that I appealed to herself that neither she nor her husband had spoken a single word to us about the ill- ness of her Majesty, and that, knowing nothing about it, we had not been able to testify our interest in it. She replied, How can you say that you knew nothing about it, when the Countess Schouvaloff has informed her Majesty that you spoke to her at table about it? I replied, It is true that I did so, because she told me that her Majesty was still weak and could not leave her room, and then I asked her the particulars of the illness. Madame Tehoglokoff went away grumbling, and Madame Viadislava said it was very strange to try and pick a quarrel with people about a matter of which they were ignorant; that since the Tehoglo- koffs alone had the right to speak of it, and did not speak, the fault was theirs, not ours, if we failed through ignorance. Some time after, on a court day, the Empress approached me, and I found a favorable moment to tell her that neither Tehoglokoff nor his wife had given us any intimation of her illness, and that therefore it had not been in our power to express to her the interest we had taken in it. She received this very well, and it seemed to me that the credit of these people was dimiui~hing. This Madame Tehoglokoff and her husband were highest in office among the spies placed by the Empress about her nephew and his wife. Next to them came a certain Madame Krause. Cath- erine had her own methods of dealing with these people. The Tehoglokoffs were greedy after money, and liked to win at cards. She let them win, and so kept them in good humor. As for Madame Krause, she was more cheaply dealt with. I discovered in her a decided propen- sity for drink, writes the grand duchess coolly; and as she soon got her daugh- ter married to the marshal of the court, Sievers, she either was out a good deal or my people made her tipsy, and my room was delivered from this sulky Ar gus. Madame Tehoglokoff was passionately fond of her husband and very jealous of him. He was a husband of whose fidel- ity any wife might feel uncertain, and 1894.] The Girlhood of an Autocrat. 173 she was resentful and unhappy when, later, he cast eyes of preference on the grand duchess. Catherine by no means reciprocated his sentiments, so she found it easy to treat him with a courteous avoidance, which won for her the grati- tude of Madame Tchoglokoff, and grad- ually transformed the implacable duenna into almost a friend. Nearly all the peo- ple placed about her through ill will be- gan in a short time to take an interest in her, she tells us; and we can easily believe it, for her powers of pleasing were not inconsiderable, and were reg- ulated and stimulated in their exercise by careful policy. She never relaxed in her steady determination after absolute power, and in her earliest girlhood had learned the importance and influence of the trivial. The Prince of Anhalt died. The news was announced to his daughter, and great- ly afflicted her. For a week I was allowed to weep as much as I pleased, she writes. At the end of that time Madame Tehoglo- koff came to tell me that I had wept enough; that the Empress ordered me to leave off; that my father was not a king! I told her I knew that my father was not a king, and she replied that it was not suitable for a grand duchess to mourn for a longer period for a father who had not been a king. In fine, it was arranged that I should go out the following Sun- day, and wear mourning for six weeks. This regulation of natural grief by imperial ukase is sufficiently curious. The grand duke divided his time be- tween love affairs with his wifes ladies nnd the training of his dogs, of which he kept a great number. With heavy blows of his whip and cries like those of a huntsman, he made them fly from one end to the other of his two rooms, which were all he had. Such of the dogs as became tired or got out of rank were se- verely punished, which made them howl the more. When he got tired of this de- testable exercise, so painful to the ears and destructive to the repose of his neighbors, he seized his violin, on which he rasped away with extraordinary vio- lence and very badly, all the time walk- ing up and down his rooms. Then he recommenced the education and punish- ment of his dogs, which to me seemed very cruel. On one occasion, hearing one of these animals howl piteously and for a long time, I opened the door of my bedroom, where I was seated, and which adjoined the apartment in which this scene was enacted, and saw him holding this dog by the collar, suspend- ed in the air, while a boy who was in his service, a Kalmuck by birth, held the animal by the tail. It was a poor little King Charles spaniel, of English breed, and the duke was beating him with all his might with the handle of a whip. I interceded for the poor beast, but this only made him redouble his blows. Un- able to bear so cruel a scene, I returned to my room with tears in my eyes. In general, tears and cries, instead of mov- ing the duke to pity, put him in a pas- sion. Pity was a feeling that was pain- ful and even insupportable in his mind. On another occasion, Catherine found an enormous rat suspended on a gallows in her husbands apartment, and was told that the penalty was inflicted for a crime which, by the law of the land, was deserv- ing of capital punishment. The rat had climbed over the ramparts of a fortress of cardboard, and had eaten two senti- nels made of pith who were on duty on the bastion! The grand duke was very angry with her for laughing on this oc- casion, but, as she dryly observes, it may at least be said in justification of the rat that he was hanged without being ques- tioned or heard in his own defense. During the second winter after the royal marriage, the strict surveillance established about the young couple was redoubled in severity. A stringent order was issued by the Empress forbidding any one from entering their apartments with- out express permission from ~he Toho 174 The Uirlhood of an Autocrat. [August, glokoffs, and the ladies and gentlemen of their court were directed, under pain of dismissal, to keel) in the antechamber, and never speak, not even to the ser- vants, except in a loud voice which could be heard by everybody. The grand duke and grand duchess, thus compelled to sit and look at each other, murmured, and secretly interchanged thoughts relative to this species of imprisonment. To divert his ennui, the duke had five or six hounds brought from the country and placed be- hind a wooden partition close to his wifes bed. Poor Catherine was forced to en- dure the odor of this kennel all winter. When she complained of the inconven- ience, the only answer she received was that it was impossible to help it. So puerile were the tastes of this lad of seventeen, the (lestined ruler of a great people, that he enjoyed playing with dolls and other childish toys. He did not (lure to indulge in these amusements iu public, but when the doors were locked for the night, and the royal pair were supposed to be asleep, the puppets, which were hid- den under the bed, came out, and the grand duke played, and obliged his wife to play, with them, often till two in the morning. Willing or unwilling, I was forced to join in this interesting amuse- ment, writes poor Catherine. I often laughed, but more often felt annoyed, and even inconvenienced, for the whole bed was filled with playthings, some of which were rather heavy. Madame Tehoglokoff, it would seem, got wind of these nocturnal pastimes, for one night, about twelve, she knocked at the door of the bedroom. For some moments no one answered, for the terri- fied grand duke and grand duchess, with the assistance of Madame Krause, were gathering up the toys and cramming them into or under the bed, anywhere to conceal them. This done, they opened the door, to receive a scolding for keep- ing the visitor waiting, and an intimation that the Empress would be much dis- pleased at their being awake at such an hour. She then sulkily departed without having made any discovery, the door was relocked, and the grand duke went on with his amusement till he became sleepy. It was a curious situation. On one side the partition was this brutal, foolish boy, flogging his dogs and his attendants, playing like a child with a regiment of puppets, often drunk, and passionately resisting the order to take a bath, which thing was abhorrent to his soul ; on time other side was his girlish wife, acute, pen- etrating, silent, scrutinizing and judging things and peisons, veiling beneath smiles and discreet words her real character and purposes. There she sat month af- ter month, bending her curly head over a book. Books were her chief friends, she tells us, during those year~ of sus- pense. She always carried one in her pocket, and if she had a moment to her- self she spent it in reading. She read political economy; she read Plato; she read somebodys history of Germany in nine volumes quarto, Madame de S6- vign6, Baronius, Montesquiens Esprit des Lois, Voltaires Universal History; also all the Russian books she could lay hold of, and the Annals of Tacitus, which, she says, caused a singular revolution in her brain, to which, perhaps, the melan- choly cast of her thoughts at that time contributed not a little. She studied hard at languages, equip~)ing herself in every possible way for that future on which she was implacably set. She read under sur- veillance as she did everything else. A maid always stood by to xvatch her. All she could see was the young duchess in- tent on her books. No one suspected the passions at work under that childish ex- terior, the pride, the resolve, tIme bound- less ambition concealed behind the bright young eyes and the ready smile. Here is her portrait, the portrait of a despot in embryo, painted by herself In whatever position it should please Providence to place me, I should never be without those resources which talent and determination give to every one ac- 1894.] The Girlhood of an Autocrat. 175 cording to his natural abilities, and I felt myself possessed of sufficient courage either to mount or descend without being carried away by undue pride on the one band, or feeling humbled and dispirited on the other. I knew I was a human be- ing, and therefore of limited powers and incapable of perfection, but niy intentions had always been pure and good. If from the very beginniiig I had perceived that to love a husband who was not amiable and who took no pains to be so was a thing difficult, if not inipossible, yet at least I had devoted myself to him and his in- terests with all the attachment which a friend and even a servant could devote to his friend and master. My counsel to him had alxvays been the very best I could devise for his welfare; and if lie did not choose to follow it the fault was not mine, but that of his own judgment, which was neither sound nor just. When I came to Russia, and during the first years of our union, had this prince shown the least disposition to make himself supportable, my heart xvould have been opened to him; but when I saw that, of all possible objects, I was the one on whoni lie bestowed the least attention, precisely because I was his wife, it is not wonderful I should find my position nei- ther agreeable nor to my taste, or that I should consider it irksome and even mis- erable. This latter feeling I suppressed more resolutely than any other; the pride and cast of my disposition rendering the idea of being unhappy most repugnant to me. I used to say to myself, happiness and misery depend on ourselves; if you feel unhappy, raise yourself above your misery, an(l so act that your happiness may be independent of accidents. To such a disposition I joined great sensibili- ty, and a face, to say the least of it, inter- esting; oiie which pleased at first sight without art or effort. Naturally indul- gent, I won the confidence of those who had any relations with me, because every one felt that the strictest probity and good xviii were the impulses which I most readily obeyed; and, if I ii~ay be allowed the expression, I venture to assert in my own behalf that I was a true gentleman, one whose cast of nilud was more niale than female; and yet I was anything but masculine, for, joined to the mind and character of a nian, I possessed the charms of a very agreeable female. The royal residences of Russia in that day exhibited a singular mixture of squa- lor, inconvenience, and barbaric splendor. Money flowed like water at the court en- tertaininents; immense sums were squan- dered at the gaming-table, and in jewels an(l equipage. (Four thousand superb dresses belonging to the Empress were burnt up in one fire alone which broke out in the Winter Palace; and fires were a common occurrence at that time, both in St. Petersburg and the country, from the faulty construetloim of the houses.) But with all this lavish expenditure, daily life, even for the junior royalties, was full of discomforts. There xvere evil smells from defective drainage; fevers lurked in the palace corners; many of the suites of rooms had but one entrance; the fur- niture was often scanty or deficient; there was absolute lack of privacy. When the court journeyed, matterv were even worse. The Empress occupied the post-stations; the rest of tIme party were accommo- dated in tents and outhouses. Catherine chronicles dressing once close to an oven where the bread had just been baked. and at another time sleeping in a tent whose floor was covered ankle-deep with water. No xvell-to-do and self-respecting American mechanic of the present day would submit to such a state of things as these heirs of a great empire habitu- ally endured. The rooms in the palace of Peterhoff, where, in 1753, Catherines eldest son was born, were sunless, gloomy, and full of draughts. They had but one issue, like all others in the Summer Palace; there was scarcely any furniture, and no kind of convenience. As soon as the child was safely in the world, had been 176 The & irlhood of an Autocrat. [August, dressed and received his name, the Em- press took him in her arnis and swept away, followed by the grand duke and all present, except one lady-in-waiting. Catherine, who was lying on a tempo- rary couch between doors and windows which did not shut tightly, was conscious of a chill. She begged to be removed to her own bed, and to have something to drink, but with these requests Madame Yladislava dared not comply. It was as much as her place was worth for her to touch the grand duchess without express permission. For nearly four hours the young mother lay weeping from pain, thirst, and the bitter sense of neglect be- fore any one recollected to do anything for her. The Empress, intoxicated with joy at the birth of an heir, was absorbed in the child. The grand duke, intoxi- cated also, but after another fashion, was drinking his sons health with whomso- ever he could get to join him. The bells were ringing, the populace shout- ing, the cannon firing feux de joje; no one wasted a thought on poor Catheriiie. At last the Countess Schouvaloff, very elaborately dressed, arrived. When she saw the condition in which the grand duchess had been left, she was angry, and said it was enough to kill her, which was very consolatory, certainly, as Cath- erine dryly remarks. It did almost kill her. The exposure brought on rheumatic pains, folloxved by a violent fever, during which the patient was almost as much neglected as at the outset of her illness. The grand duke, indeed, did come into my room for a moment, and then went away, saying that lie had not time to stop. I did nothing but weep and moan in my bed. Nobody was in my room but Madame Vladislava; in her heart she was sorry for me, but she had not the power to remedy this state of things. Besides, I never liked to be pitied or to complain. I had too proud a spirit for that, and the very idea of being unhappy was insupportable to me. Forty days after the confinement of the grand duchess, the Empress came to visit her. The child came with her; it was the first time his mother had seen him since his birth. I thought him very pretty, Catherine writes, and the sight of him raised my spirits a little; but the moment the prayers were finished, the Empress had him carried away, and then left me. It was poor consolation for all this suffering to receive a chris- tening present of one hundred thousand roubles, especially as, a week later, it was borrowed to be given to the grand duke, who had chosen to sulk because his wife had a gift, and he had not. It was not till some months later that the Empress repaid the loan. Catherine was not allowed to have any- thing to do with her son. The Em press possessed him utterly, and treated him as if he had been her sole property. It was only by stealth that I could get any account of him, says the poor young mother; for to have inquired about him would have passed for a doubt of the Empresss care, and would have been very ill received. She had taken him into her own room, and whenever he cried she herself would run to him, and, through excess of care, they were literal- ly stifling him. He was kept in an ex- tremely warm room, wrapped in flannel, and laid in a cradle lined with black fox furs. Over him was a coverlet of quilted satin lined with wadding, and over that one of rose-colored velvet lined with black foxskins. I saw him myself, many times afterward, lying in this condition, the per- spiration running from his face and his whole body; and hence it was that, when older, the least breath of air that reached him chilled and made him ill. He had, beside, in attendance on him a great num- ber of aged matrons, who, by their ill- judging care and their want of common sense, did him infinitely more harm than good, both physically and morally. It is curious to hear of a baby swathed in rose-colored velvet and fox furs, and shut from every breath of air, whose 1894.] The Girlhood of an Autocrat. 171 mother rose each morning at six to prac- tice leaping in the riding-school, and, in the country, habitually spent six, eight, sometimes twelve hours a day in the sad- dle. Catherines superb health bore her safely through everything that she was forced to undergo. Hardy in body, she became with advancing years more and more daring and defiant in spirit. It was the critical period of hei life, and it was then that those seeds of corruption were sown which in the end made her notori- ous among profligate sovereigns. Her contempt and aversion for the grand duke increased year by year, and his dislike of her kept pace. I saw distinctly, she writes, .~ that three courses, almost equally perilous, presented themselves for my choice: first, to share the fortunes of the grand duke, be they what they might; secondly, to be exposed every moment to whatever he chose to do either for or against me; or, lastly, to follow a course entirely inde- pendent of all eventualities. To speak more plainly, I had ~o choose the alter- native of perishing with him or by him, or to save myself, my children, and per- haps the empire also, from the wreck which all the moral and physical quali- ties of this prince made possible. This last choice seemed to me the safest. I resolved, therefore, to the utmost of my power, to continue to give on all occa- sions the very best advice I could for his benefit, but never to persist in this, as I had hitherto done, so as to make him angry; to open his eyes to his true in- terests on every opportunity that present- ed itself; and, during the rest of the time, to maintain a mournful silence, while, on the other hand, taking care of my own in- terests with the public, so that in the time of need they might see in me the saviour of the commonwealth. Mortified in pride and thwarted in affection, with all the natural currents of duty dammed in at their outlet; filled with a bitter scorn for the paltry part- ner imposed upon her, and a resentment VOL. LXXIV. No. 442. 12 equally bitter for the treatment accord- ed her; without one friend to speak a word in behalf of the higher law or point out the nobler way, it is not to be wondered at that Catherine listened to the base counselors who whispered in her ear that, under such circumstances, the grand duchess was excusable if she tram- pled upon conventional laws of moral- ity. She did not emulate the engaging frankness of her husband, who, when she pretended sleep to avoid the recital of his amours, roused her with sturdy thumps and punches of his fist, and forced her to listen. No, her adventures were studiously kept secret, but none the less did they exist; and they were pursued by her with an audacious delight. Gradually the grand duchess collected about her a little circle of intimates who encouraged her in all that was evil and dangerous. Abetted by these boon com- panions, she was able to defy the strict cordon of regulations drawn about her life by the arbitrary Empress. Parties met in her rooms night after night, the spies sitting without unconscious; or a mew, the chosen signal of mischief, would sound at her dooi, and hey! presto! the imprisoned princess was out of her prison, attending all sorts of merrymak- ings, suppers, and dances; or, dressed in mans attire, frolicking all over St. Pe- tersburg with her lover, Leon Narish- kine! It speaks well for her power of influencing others that not once was she betrayed by any of the persons in her con- fidence; yet it was a secret worth money to the betrayer, for the Empress would have made short work of an me-Princess of Anhalt-Zerbst-Dornburg detected fla- grante delicto at such pranks. Catherine reveled in these stolen pleasures with all the joy of long-repressed liberty broken forth into license; but while trampling on other commandments, she scrupulously kept the eleventh, of mans enactment, and, luck waiting on audacity, ~iever was found out. She relates with great glee the effectual 178 The Girlhood of an Autocrat. [August, precautions taken by her against neglect when her second child was born. A disused lumber - room opened from her bedehamber. She secretly caused this~ to be cleared out and furnished; the door of communication was hidden by a screen, and there her little private court of intimates assembled. The events of her second confinement were an exact reproduction of those of the first. Again the Empress took possession of the in- fant as soon as it was named, and carried it off, leaving the mother to her fate; but now Catherine had friends at hand, who. as soon as the coast was clear, came in and ministered to her wants with food, wine, and every luxury. There was no need now for her to lie weeping and moaning; her convalescence was made merry by the companionship of the gay little party in the lumber-room, who filled every lonely moment with laughter and pranks. She only found it neces- sary to affect tedium now and then in order to disarm suspicion. Once or twice the merry troupe, from laughing too heartily, became hungry and thirsty, and demanded supper. The grand duchess replied that this was no more than fair, since they were kind enough to give her their company. She accord- ingly rang the bell, professed herself starving, and ordered a repast of not less than six courses. When the dishes went out empty, not a crumb left in any of them, there must have been wonder- ment in the kitchens over the phenome- nal appetite of the invalid, but no coin- ment was made. The Empresss health had declined. She had had two or three alarming seizures, and the influence of the grand duchess was on the increase. Courtiers are quick to mark the signs of the times, and trim their sails to meet a coming change of wind. It is an astonishing feature of these memoirs that there is scarcely a refer- ence in them to Russia and the common people. The Winter Palace, with its military and ~dministrative machinery, was a world of its own, Hertzen tells us. Like a ship floating on the sur- face of the ocean, it had no real con- nection with the inhabitants of the deep beyond that of eating them. In that monstrous barrack, in that enormous ma- chinery, there reigned the cold rigidity of a camp. One set gave or transmitted orders; the rest obeyed in silence~ Be- hind that triple line of sentries, in those heavily ornamented salons, there fer- mented a feverish life, with its intrigues and its conflicts, its dramas arid its trage- dies. It was here that the destinies of Russia were woven, in the gloom of the alcove, in the midst of orgies, beyond the reach of informers and the police. What interest could the young German princess take in that rnarprum iqnotum, that people unexpressed, which concealed itself in its villages, behind the snow, and only appeared in the streets of St. Petersburg like a foreign outcast, toler- ated by reason of contempt? At last, in 1761, the seventeen long years of suspense, dissimulation, and un- certainty came to an end, years which had found the grand duchess a child, and left her hardened into a cynical profli- gacy. Elizabeth died, and the Emperor Peter III. was declared ruler of Russia in her stead. This was Catherines opportunity, and the folly of her brutalized husband made it an easy one. Having lost the small share of sense which originally belonged to him, as his affectionate wife remarks, he inaugurated his reign by a series of un- popular measures which offended every- body. He proposed to disband the impe- rial guards, and replace them with troops from Holstein; to change the religion of the country; to repudiate Catherine, im- prison her, and marry his mistress, Eliza- beth Voronsky. A thousand disquieting rumors flew to and fro, while the Em- peror, shut up with a small circle of syco- phants at Oranienbaum, kept himself in- visible and inaccessible. Many of these rumors were doubtless exaggerated oz 1894.] The Girlhood of an Autocrat. 179 premature, but ~iey were sufficient for Catherines purpose, and were, not im- probably, inspired by her. The crisis came when, at a festival given in celebration of peace with the king of Prussia, Peter publicly insulted his wife at table, and the same evening signed an order for her arrest. The or- der was retracted for the moment, but Catherine knew that the sword wavered above her head, and must presently fall. With her customary energy and clear insight into things, she wasted no time in indecision. The minds of the guards had already been prepared, her adherents were ready. The news of the order of arrest reached her at Peterhoff, where she was living alone, seemingly for- gotten by every one, she remarks. It was six in the morning. Dressing has- tily, she flung herself into a carriage, and drove straioht to the and to the capital, barracks of the Ismailofski regiment. The throne of Russia is neither he- reditary nor elective, said the Neapoli- tan Caraccioli. It is occupative! There were not more than a dozen sol- diers in the building, but the drummer beat the alarm, and the others speedily came crowding in. When they saw the Empress, they broke into wild enthusi- asm, kissing her hands, feet, and dress, and calling her their saviour. Two of them brought a priest with the cross, the oath of government was administered, and at the head of the regiment Catherine proceeded to the Church of Our Lady of Kasan. Here other regiments, the horse guards and the all-important Preobrajen- skies among them, joined the cort~ge, with shouts of Vivat and Pardon us for having come last. Our officers detained us, but we have brought them to you under arrest to show our zeal. Catherine was proclaimed colonel of the regiments, changed her dress for a uniform, and at the head of over f our- teen thousand men swept out to Oranien- baum, where Peter, unconscious of the storm about to break upon him, sat com posing manifestoes against her, and. as she asserts, arranging the details of her assassination. It was too late. His terrible wife, if we may borrow a phrase from Australia, bad the drop on him in every partic- ulai. In abject terror he made haste to sign his resignation, conferring upon Catherine all the rights and privileges of which he stood possessed. Conteinptu- ously she accepted 211, and gave order~ that the ex-Einpei or should be conveyed to Rapscha, a place seven versts distant from St. Petersburg, very retired, but very pleasant, we are assured, where he was placed under guard. The un~ appy young man only asked that he might have his mistress, his dog, his negro, and his violin forwarded to him; but for fear of scandal, and not wishing to in- crease the general excitement, doubtless also from pure love of morals, the Em- press omitted the mistress, and sent only the three articles last named It was given out that Peter was to re- main at Rapscha only till suitable apirt- ments at Schlusselberg could be prepared for him. But it pliased God to dis- pose otherwise, as Catherine piously re- marks. rhree days after his removal, the Emperor died suddenly: of dysentery, she tells us; of strangulation, the rest of the world believed; and with his death Cetlierine II. entered upon her thirty- four years of absolute ower, untram- meled by any obligation, human or di- vine, whose validity she recognized. The biography closes with these words: Such, pretty nearly, is our history~ The whole was managed, I confess, un- der my own immediate direction, 2nd toward the end I had to check its pro- gress. Everything, in fact, was more than ripe a fortnight beforehand. Iii word, God has brought about things i ~ his own good pleasure, and the whole is more of a miracle than a merely human contrivance; for assuredly nothing but the Divine Will could have produced so many felicitous combinations. 180 Afoosilauke. [August, Tied up with the manuscript in which these edifying words are recorded was the original letter from Alexis Orloff, in which, with the most cold - blooded dis- tinctness of phrase, he announced to the Empress the murder of her husband In the early years of our own century, a young Bostonian who later became one of the noted wits of his generation, in the course of a visit to Europe spent some weeks at St. Petersburg. He be- came intimate with an elderly diplomat, to whom he had letters of introduction, and who had long resided in Russia. One day, when dining t~te4t-t~te with his friend, he ventured to hint a question upon a delicate subject which had for years occupied the curious in such mat- ters, namely, the truth as to the death of the Emperor Peter III. His host silenced him with a gesture. The subject is too dangerous for dis- cussion, he said, in a low tone. I dare not enter upon it even with you and alone. Your curiosity must be answered without words, if at all. We are goin~ to the ball at the palace to-night. Keep your hand in my arm, and whenever we pass one of the persons suspected mind, I only say suspected of complicity in the matter, I will give it a slight pressure. But you must guard your face. It would never do to have it imagined that any communication on such a subject was passing between us. So that night, as the young Ameri- can, leaning on his friends arm, passed through the brilliant throng at the Win- ter Palace, he was conscious ever and anon of a slight significant pressure. Al- ways it came as they encountered some court official high in office, and especially resplendent in dress or decorations. At last they met the gigantic Prince OrlofT, literally blazing with orders and jewels, and towering head and shoulders above the crowd. The pressure here was par- ticularly distinct. He held the handkerchief, mur- mured the diplomat in his young friends ear. This handkerchief, the enormous Orloff, and the puny and enfeebled young Emperor furnished, it may be presumed, one of the most striking of the felicitous combinations which Catherine had in mind, and for which she thanked Heaven with such exemplary fervor. Susan Coolid9e. MOOSILAUKE. MOOSILAUKE mountain sagamore! thy brow The wide hill-splendor circles. iNot a peer Among New Hampshires lordly heights that fear Nor summers bolt nor winters blast hast thou For grand horizons. Lo, to westward now Towers Whiteface over Killington; and clear, To north, Mount Royal cleaves the blue; while near, Franconias, Conways peaks the east endow With glory, round great Washington, whose cone Of sunset shade, athwart his valleys thrown, Darkens and stills a hundred miles of Maine! To south the bright Lake smiles, and rivers flow Through elm-fringed meadows to the ocean plain, Lone peak what realms are thine, above, below! Edna Dean Proctor.

Edna Dean Proctor Proctor, Edna Dean Moosilauke 180-181

180 Afoosilauke. [August, Tied up with the manuscript in which these edifying words are recorded was the original letter from Alexis Orloff, in which, with the most cold - blooded dis- tinctness of phrase, he announced to the Empress the murder of her husband In the early years of our own century, a young Bostonian who later became one of the noted wits of his generation, in the course of a visit to Europe spent some weeks at St. Petersburg. He be- came intimate with an elderly diplomat, to whom he had letters of introduction, and who had long resided in Russia. One day, when dining t~te4t-t~te with his friend, he ventured to hint a question upon a delicate subject which had for years occupied the curious in such mat- ters, namely, the truth as to the death of the Emperor Peter III. His host silenced him with a gesture. The subject is too dangerous for dis- cussion, he said, in a low tone. I dare not enter upon it even with you and alone. Your curiosity must be answered without words, if at all. We are goin~ to the ball at the palace to-night. Keep your hand in my arm, and whenever we pass one of the persons suspected mind, I only say suspected of complicity in the matter, I will give it a slight pressure. But you must guard your face. It would never do to have it imagined that any communication on such a subject was passing between us. So that night, as the young Ameri- can, leaning on his friends arm, passed through the brilliant throng at the Win- ter Palace, he was conscious ever and anon of a slight significant pressure. Al- ways it came as they encountered some court official high in office, and especially resplendent in dress or decorations. At last they met the gigantic Prince OrlofT, literally blazing with orders and jewels, and towering head and shoulders above the crowd. The pressure here was par- ticularly distinct. He held the handkerchief, mur- mured the diplomat in his young friends ear. This handkerchief, the enormous Orloff, and the puny and enfeebled young Emperor furnished, it may be presumed, one of the most striking of the felicitous combinations which Catherine had in mind, and for which she thanked Heaven with such exemplary fervor. Susan Coolid9e. MOOSILAUKE. MOOSILAUKE mountain sagamore! thy brow The wide hill-splendor circles. iNot a peer Among New Hampshires lordly heights that fear Nor summers bolt nor winters blast hast thou For grand horizons. Lo, to westward now Towers Whiteface over Killington; and clear, To north, Mount Royal cleaves the blue; while near, Franconias, Conways peaks the east endow With glory, round great Washington, whose cone Of sunset shade, athwart his valleys thrown, Darkens and stills a hundred miles of Maine! To south the bright Lake smiles, and rivers flow Through elm-fringed meadows to the ocean plain, Lone peak what realms are thine, above, below! Edna Dean Proctor. 1894.] Letters of Sidney Lan~er. 181 LETTERS OF SIDNEY LANIER. II. LAXIERS connection with the Centen- nial Exhibition brought him, during the summer of 1876, into many pleasant relations but, unfortunately, hiS he ith declined. He passed several months at West Chester, Pa., where he wrote Clover and The Waving of the Corn; and then, when autumn came, he re- turned to Philadelphia in what seemed a dying condition. For many weeks he was tenderly nursed at the Peacocks, until, having regained a little strength, it was evident that he must go South if he would survive the winter. According- ly, leaving the children behind, he and his wife journeyed to Florida as fast as his feebleness permitted. His first note, written on a postal card, is dated Cedar Keys, Fla., December 20th, 1876. He says: Through many perils and adventures we are so far safe- ly on our way, in much better condition than could have been expected. We leave for Tampa presently. It is about 125 miles southward; but we stop at Manatee, and do not reach Tampa un- til to-morrow night, spending thirty- six hours in the steamer. We have been wishing all the morning that you might pace these white sands with us, in the heavenly weather. Will write you im- mediately from Tampa. TAMPA, FLA., December 27th, 1876. On arriving here we find that your friendship has as usual anticipated us. May and I, strolling down to the Post office to rent a box, and not daring to think of letters, are told by the clerk that he thinks there is something for us, and the something turns out to be Miss Stebbins subsequently published a life of Miss Cushman (Boston: iloughton, Osgood & Co.~ 1878). Lanier had hoped, and many of your pleasant budget, which we incon- tinently open and devour, sitting down on the steps of the Post office for that purpose, to the wonderment of the na- tives. Your news of our dear manikins is the first we have had, and is a fair gift for our Christmas. The letters you sent were all pleasant in one way or another. One is from H. M. Alden, Editor Harpers Magazine, enclosing check for fifteen dollars, and accepting the poem (The Waving of the Corn) sent him by me through Bayard Taylor. Another is a very cordial kt- ter from Geo. C. Eggleston, Literary Editor Evening Post, making tender of brotherhood to me in a really affec- tionate way, and declaring that the keen delight with which he recently read my volume of poems sharpehs the pang he feels in knowing that one in whose work he sees so rich a promise lies on a bed of illness. The postal card is from Gilder, whom I had requested to make a slight addi- tion to my article on The Orchestra in Scribuers. The fourth letter is, as you guessed, from Emma Stebbins, and I enclose it for you to read. It seems from the last portion of it that she has quite aban- doned the idea of writing the life of Char- lotte Cushman, substituting for that the project of merely printing a Memorial Volume. The Bulletin with the notice you men- tion has not yet arrived. I am very much pleased that the Psalm of the West has given Mrs. Champney a text to preach from. One begins to add to the intrinsic delight of prophet-hood the less lonesome joy of human helpfulness when one finds the younger poets his friends and Miss Cushmans had hoped, that this work would be assigned to him.

William R. Thayer Thayer, William R. Letters of Sydney Lanier 181-194

1894.] Letters of Sidney Lan~er. 181 LETTERS OF SIDNEY LANIER. II. LAXIERS connection with the Centen- nial Exhibition brought him, during the summer of 1876, into many pleasant relations but, unfortunately, hiS he ith declined. He passed several months at West Chester, Pa., where he wrote Clover and The Waving of the Corn; and then, when autumn came, he re- turned to Philadelphia in what seemed a dying condition. For many weeks he was tenderly nursed at the Peacocks, until, having regained a little strength, it was evident that he must go South if he would survive the winter. According- ly, leaving the children behind, he and his wife journeyed to Florida as fast as his feebleness permitted. His first note, written on a postal card, is dated Cedar Keys, Fla., December 20th, 1876. He says: Through many perils and adventures we are so far safe- ly on our way, in much better condition than could have been expected. We leave for Tampa presently. It is about 125 miles southward; but we stop at Manatee, and do not reach Tampa un- til to-morrow night, spending thirty- six hours in the steamer. We have been wishing all the morning that you might pace these white sands with us, in the heavenly weather. Will write you im- mediately from Tampa. TAMPA, FLA., December 27th, 1876. On arriving here we find that your friendship has as usual anticipated us. May and I, strolling down to the Post office to rent a box, and not daring to think of letters, are told by the clerk that he thinks there is something for us, and the something turns out to be Miss Stebbins subsequently published a life of Miss Cushman (Boston: iloughton, Osgood & Co.~ 1878). Lanier had hoped, and many of your pleasant budget, which we incon- tinently open and devour, sitting down on the steps of the Post office for that purpose, to the wonderment of the na- tives. Your news of our dear manikins is the first we have had, and is a fair gift for our Christmas. The letters you sent were all pleasant in one way or another. One is from H. M. Alden, Editor Harpers Magazine, enclosing check for fifteen dollars, and accepting the poem (The Waving of the Corn) sent him by me through Bayard Taylor. Another is a very cordial kt- ter from Geo. C. Eggleston, Literary Editor Evening Post, making tender of brotherhood to me in a really affec- tionate way, and declaring that the keen delight with which he recently read my volume of poems sharpehs the pang he feels in knowing that one in whose work he sees so rich a promise lies on a bed of illness. The postal card is from Gilder, whom I had requested to make a slight addi- tion to my article on The Orchestra in Scribuers. The fourth letter is, as you guessed, from Emma Stebbins, and I enclose it for you to read. It seems from the last portion of it that she has quite aban- doned the idea of writing the life of Char- lotte Cushman, substituting for that the project of merely printing a Memorial Volume. The Bulletin with the notice you men- tion has not yet arrived. I am very much pleased that the Psalm of the West has given Mrs. Champney a text to preach from. One begins to add to the intrinsic delight of prophet-hood the less lonesome joy of human helpfulness when one finds the younger poets his friends and Miss Cushmans had hoped, that this work would be assigned to him. 182 Letters of Sidney Lanier. [August, resting upon one for a support and but- tress in this way. You will be glad to know that we are situated much more comfortably than we could have hoped. Tampa is the most forlorn collection of little one-story frame houses imaginable, and as May and I walked behind our Landlord, who was piloting us to the Orange Grove Hotel, our hearts fell nearer and nearer towards the sand through which we dragged. But presently we turned a corner, and were agreeably surprised to find our- selves in front of a large three-story house with many odd nooks and corners, alto- gether clean and comfortable in appear- ance, and surrounded by orange-trees in full fruit. We have a large room in the second story, opening upon a generous balcony fifty feet long, into which stretch the liberal arms of a fine orange-tree, holding out their fruitage to our very lips. In front is a sort of open plaza, contain- ing a pretty group of gnarled live oaks full of moss and mistletoe. They have found out my public char- acter already: somebody who had trav- eled with me recognized me on the street yesterday and told mine host. He and his wife are all kindness, having taken a fancy, I imagine, to my sweet angel May. They have just sent up a lovely bunch of roses and violets from the garden, a sentimental attention which finds a plea- sant parallel in the appearance of a ser- vant at our door before breakfast to in- quire whether we prefer our steak fried or broiled. The weather is perfect summer, and I luxuriate in great draughts of balmy air uncontaminated with city-smokes and furnace-dusts. This has come not a mo- ment too soon; for the exposures of the journey had left my poor lung in most piteous condition. I am now better, however; and May is in good case, ex- cept that the languid air takes the spring from her step, and inclines her much to laziness. We have three mails a week: two by stage from Gainesville (which is on the railroad from Fernandina to Cedar Keys) and one by steamer from Cedar Keys. Address me simply Tampa, Fla. I have a box (No. 8 : I dont think there are more than twenty-five or thirty in all) at the Post office, and the clerk knows me: as in fact everybody else doe.s, a stranger is a stranger in Tampa. (Over.) DEAR MR. PEACOCK: Sidney has for- gotten my message which entreated Mrs. Peacock (Heaven bless her:) to consider my letters unanswerable. You are one in our thoughts and affections, and we are content to hear from either of you. And I am so selfish as to wish that she should always be glad when my poor letters come. When you see Dr. Lippe pray give him our best regards and say that we will write as soon as we have had time to know how Sidney is. Your loving MARY D. L. P. 5. No. 15. I enclose the two re- ceipts for the silver: Robbins and the Trust Companys. We will write about it some future time: nieantime as to the set at Robbins, place it wherever you like, S. L. TAMPA, December 31st, 18Th. I am writing a line to send you both a New Years kiss from us two. We have had a great change in the weather: a couple of days ago the hyperborean blasts turned our pretty summer quite out of doors, and we have had for thirty- six hours a temperature which reminds us very forcibly of a New Years Day at the North. As we sit over our blaz- ing knots of fat lightwood we think with double vividness of your two dear faces, and wish that they were by ours or ours by them. . The Magazine has arrived, and your lovely notice of my little Evening Song gives me genuine pleasure. I see too that the poem has smitten the hitherto-invul- 1 Printed in Lippincotts Magazine, January, 1877. 1894.] Letters of Sidney Lanier. 183 nerable R. Shelton McKenzie under the fifth rib. This is a triumph indeed. The Bulletin with the notice from the Evg. Post has also arrived. The letter from Lippincotts which you forwarded was an enclosure of check for ten dollars for the Evening Song. May is doing well; and I, with some setbacks, am on the whole improving. I have found a shaggy gray mare upon whose back IL thrid the great pine for- ests daily, much to my delight. Nothing seems so restorative to me as a good gallop. We have now only two mails a week, and these take a long time to go and come. If there should ever be any occasion to telegraph us, a dispatch can be sent to Tuckertown (which is on the telegraph line, thirty miles from here), whence the operators will, if so request- ed, forward it by courier on horseback to Tampa. I sent you the two silver receipts by last mail. Forward me whatever you happen to see about the little Song: I wish to send the notices to Dudley Buck, who has set this poem to music. God bless you both, say May and TAMPA, FLA., January 17th, 1877. I wrote you immediately upon arriv- ing here, enclosing the two receipts for the silver; and I believe some sort of greeting has gone from one of us to one of you by nearly every mail, since our arrival. III only mention this because our Florida mail arrangements are of the very slowest description, and, as we have yet had nothing from you written since any of our communications reached you, we presume the latter have taken the very uttermost limit of time in getting to you. We fare slowly on, in health. May has been very much affected by the warm weather which has prevailed for the past two weeks, and suffers much from lassi- tude, with some appearance of malarial symptoms. I think my lung is healing gradually: and although I have a great deal of hoarseness, it does not seem to be attended with any other serious ac- companiment. I certainly improve in strength, though pulled down, as indeed are all the healthy people about us, by the languorous summer temperature. I think we will have to sell the silver; if you can get $350 for it, it may go at that. Possibly we will sell it for old silver, after a while, at $200: but I would be glad if you would see whether any silver dealer with whom you should leave it (after Robbins) can get an offer of ....... I am writing in haste, having come in from a ride, horseback, just as the mail is about to close. TAMPA, Fz~A, March 25th, 1877. M~ DEAREST MARIA PEACOCK: . I wish we were spending this March day in your dear little Brown Study with you. I have an inexpressible longing to see you when you will not be as during that last month anxious at heart on my account. This might now very well be; for although many breaks and ex- S. L. asperating interruptions have chequered my progress since I came here, yet in comparing my present condition with the state I was in when I left you, no room is left for doubt that my lung is certain- ly healing, and that the rest is only mat- ter of time and warm weather. We expect to leave Tampa on the 5th April, for Brunswick, where we will re- main until May. Our after-programme is to spend the month of May in Macon, and to return to Philadelphia in June. Consider that our address, therefore, is changed to Care of Chas. Day, Bruns- wick, Ga. May has been suffering much with malarial influences, and I am impatient for the time when she may return to the bracing :~orthern air which appears to agree with her so well. She sends you all manner of loving messages. Please ask Mr. Gibson as soon as the 184 Letters of Sidney Lanier. [August, rest of the silver money comes in to send for Dr. Schells bill, and discharge it. I have been more pained about the long standing-over of it than I can tell you. Did you see my Beethoven in the Galaxy? I A bad misprint occurred in the punctuation at the end of the 8th verse, where somebody inserted a semi- colon. In the original there is nothing: the two verses (8th and 9th) being in- tended to run together, i. e. the lumi- nous lightnings blindly strike the sailor praying on his knees along with, & c. In reading other articles in this Magazine I observe that the proof must have been very badly read. I have had a very affectionate letter from Emma Stebbins, enclosing a fifty- dollar bill which she wanted to loan me. My thoughts are much upon my French poem the Jacquerie outburst in these days. If Mr. Hayes would only appoint me consul somewhere in the south of France! BRUNSWiCK, GA., April 26th, 1877. If I had as many fingers as your astounding servant-maid, and each one could wield a pen separately, I still would nt be able to write the fair mes- sages which continually construct them- selves in my heart to you both. That such a very pitiful fraction of these has actually reached you during the last few weeks is due to mine ancient infirmity in the matter of driving the quill, and to Mays constant occupation with her father and brother. These poor lonely men live here in a house to themselves, with no women or children about them: and when May comes with her bright ways and intelligent sympathies she has both hands, lips, and heart very busy from morning till night. I suppose you ye seen a little extra- vagan~a of mine in St. Nicholas for May. The proof-sheets were sent me at Tampa, and I promptly corrected and 1 Beethoven, printed in The Galaxy for March, 1877. returned them: but they seem not to have arrived in time, and I desolate my- self at finding some miserable repetitions and awkward expressions, which I had carefully amended, appearing neverthe- less, beside some very bad punctua- tion systematically interpolated all the way through by some other hand than mine. The illustrations are charming, however, and I feel as if I ought to write a special letter of thanks to Mr. Bensell for the evident care he has taken. The story I meant to be only such an incon- gruous melange as one might make up as he went along for a lot of children about his knees; and its very intention- al incongruities must have been serious stumbling-blocks to the engraver. I sincerely regret the continued illness of Mr. Wells.2 He was so full of life and so overbrimming with his quips and his quiddities, that I can scarcely real- ize him as a sick man. Pray send him my cordial greetings when you write, with my earnest wishes for his speedy recovery. I wrote Mrs. Peacock just before w~ left Tampa. We remain here until the fifth of May; after which our address will be Macon, Ga. We think to spend a month there: and then, if I continue to improve, to make our way back northward. I cant tell you how famished I am for the Orchestra: an imperious hunger drives me towards it. We both send a kiss to you both. If Miss Phelps is with you, we 11 put in two, mine being particularly by way of response for her kind note. I long to see you all. MACON, GA., May 26th, 1877. They have had a f~ mily gathering here to meet me; and what with fondling nu- merous new babies that have arrived since I last met the parents thereof, and with much talk of matters high and low, I have not found time to send my love to 2 Francis Wells, assistant editor of the Evening Balletin. 185 1894.] Letters of Sidney Lan~er. you. I have gained greatly in strength within the last three weeks, and although I have still much discomfort at times I feel perfectly sure that I have quite got the upper hand of this particular attack at least. We propose to start for Phila- delphia within two weeks from now; waiting so long only to be sure of es- c aping any possible caprice of this very variable Spring. The prospect of speed- ily turning northward gives us, as you can imagine, great delight: for it is a ~rospect which holds in its middle dis- tance you two, and our dear monkeys for whom our arms are fairly hungry. I long to be steadily writing again. I in taken with a poem pretty nearly every day, and have to content myself with making a note of its train of thought on the hack of whatever letter is in my coat-pocket. I dont write it out. because I find my poetry now wholly unsatisfactory in consequence of a cer- tain haunting impatience which has its root in the straining uncertainty of my daily affairs; and I am trying with all my might to put off composition of all sorts until some approach to the certainty of next weeks dinner shall remove this remnant of haste, and leave inc that re- pose which ought to fill the artists fir- inament while he is creating. Perhaps indeed with returning bodily health I shall acquire strength to attain this se- renity in spite of all contingencies. Address me here if you write within the next ten days. May would send a kiss to you both if she knew I was writ- ing. Cordial greetings to Miss Phelps if she is now with you. I hope Mr. Wells continues to improve. 40 Mr. VERNON PLACE, BALTIMOEE, MD., June 13th, 1877. I am really distressed to know that you should have spent your day at Washington in the unprofitable business of pottering about those dreary Depart- ments in my behalf: but I wont lecture you for your unearthly goodness to me. May and I are to go to Washington next Monday, to visit Judge Advocate General Dunn, who is a son-in-law of my kinsman J. F. D. Lanier (of New York), and who has extended a very cordial invitation to us. We will also meet there General Humphreys, Chief of the Engineer Corps, who is an old and intimate friend of Mays mother, and has always made a great pet of May herself. It seems like stretching our hearts to stay away from the boys longer: yet we have determined finally to do it, inasmuch as we do not know when we will have another opportunity to meet these friends. As for the application: you must know, my dear good Friend, that all that matter was gotten up without my knowledge, and has been carried on by my father and Mr. Lanier of New York. When they finally wrote to me of it, I replied (after a great struggle which I have not the heart to detail to you) that inasmuch as I had never been a party man of any sort I did not see with what grace I could ask any ap- pointment; and that, furthermore, I could not see it to be delicate, on gener- al principles, for me to make personal application for any particular office: but that I would be grateful if they would simply cause my name to be mentioned to the proper persons as that of a per- son who might be suitable for certain classes of appointments~ and that I would accept with pleasure any result of such an application. This has been done: my name has been mentioned to Mr. Sherman 1 (arid to Mr. Evarts,2 I believe) by quite cordially-disposed per- sons. But I do not think any formal application has been entered, though I do not know. I hope not: for then the reporters will get hold of it, and I scarcely know what I should do if I should see my name figuring alongside of Jack Browns and Foster Blodgetts 1 Secretary of the Treasury. 2 Secretary of State. 186 Letters of Sidney Lanier. [August, and the others of my native State, as would quickly be the case. But I can speak of all this when I see you. It will be probably nine or ten days before I have that pleasure, even if you shall have returned to Ph~ by that time. Pray send me a line (see address, above date of this letter) to let me know your motions. . . . Dont think me finical, and dont think me anything but your faithful S. L. CHADDS FORD, PA., August 7th, 1877. This is but an hour old: and after sending it off to Harpers, I ye made a hasty copy for you, thinking you would care to see it. The poor dove whose sorrow it commemorates wakes me every morning, calling from the lovely green woods about us. We are charmed with our place: I myself have rather too much pot-boiling to improve much, but the boys are having a royal time. May sends a kiss to you both, as does your faithful S. L. [Enclosure.] THE DOVE: A SONG. If thou, if thou, 0 blue and silver Morn, Shouldst call along the curving sphere: Remain. Sweet Night, my Love! Nay, leave me not forlorn With soft halloos of heavenly love and pain : Shouldst thou, past Spring, a-cower in coverts dark. Gainst proud supplanting Summer sing thy plea And move the mighty woods through maii~d bark Till tender heartbreak throb in every tree : (Ali. grievous If, wilt turn to Yea full soon?) If thou, my Heart, long holden fron, thy Love. Shouldst beat and burn in mellow shocks of tone: Each might but mock you deep-seques- tered dove! First printed, with many changes, in Scrib- ners M~ gazine, May, 1878, CHADDS FORD, PA., September 5th, 1877. I am called to Washington for the purpose~ of prosecuting my affairs, which are delayed much beyond expec- tation, and am obliged to anticipate my income a little, being out of funds for a week. Please loan me fifty dol- lars, if you can do so without inconven- ience to yourself. You can send your check payable to my order. Which takes my breath away, and I cant say anything more, now. WASmNGTOK, D. C., September 27th, 1877. Yours was forwarded to me here. Just as I received your check, a severe pleuritic attack seized me, and kept me in great pain for ten days. I then got up from bed to come here, in the desper- ate necessity to do what could be done. Last Monday at daylight an exhausting hremorrhage came, which has kept me confined to my room ever since. In this enforced inactivity, I have had nothing to return to you. This morning a check comes from Lippincott for a little story I sent, and I enclose it, endorsed to your order. Please let me know what your address will be, so that I may send the remaining twenty-five at the earliest pos- sible moment. There does not appear the least hope of success here. Three months ago the order was given by Secretary Sherman that I should have the first vacancy: but the appointment-clerk, who received the order, is a singular person, and I am told there are rings within rings in the De- partment to such an extent that vacan- cies are filled by petty chiefs of division without ever being reported at all to the proper officers. You will scarcely believe that, in my overwhelming desire to get some routine labor by whichi I might be relieved from this exhausting magazine work so as to apply my whole mind to my long poem on which I have been en- gaged, I have allowed a friend to make application to every department in Wash- ington for even the humblest position 1894.] Letters of Sidney Lan~er. 187 seventy-five dollars a month and the like but without success. I also made personal application to several people in Baltimore for similar employment, but fruitlessly. Altogether it seems as if there was nt any place for me in this world, and if it were not for May I should certainly quit it, in mortification at being so useless. I hope you will have a pleasant holiday. Give my love to my dear Maria Peacock, and say how glad I am to think of her long relief from the household and other cares which give her so much trouble. 55 LEXINGTON ST., BALTIMORE, MD., Nocember 3rd, 1877. I have not had the courage to write you without enclosing the check for twen- ty-five dollars, which ought to have gone to you long ago. I still have nt a cent to send: and am writing only to answer your inquiries whose kindliness might otherwise go unacknowledged. All sorts of things were promised to the friends who were good enough to intercede at Washington in my behalf: but nothing has come of it. In truth I should long ago have abaiidoned all ideas in that direction and resumed the thread of my magazine work, had it not been for illness which prevented me from writ- ing much, and thus kept me entertaining sonic little expectation. The h~morrhage, however, which disabled me from work temporarily, has greatly relieved my lung, and I am now stronger than at any time in the last fifteen months. My whole soul is bursting with chaotic poems, and I hope to do some good work during the coming year. I have found it quite essential to my happiness and health to have some quar- ters, however rude, x hich I could regard as permanent for the next four or five years, instead of drifting about the world. We have therefore established ourselves in four rooms, arranged some- what as a French Flat, in the heart of Baltimore. We have a gas - stove, on which my Comrade magically produces the best coffee in the world, and this, with fresh eggs (boiled over the same handy little machine), bread, butter, and milk, forms our breakfast. Our dinner is sent to us from a restaurant in the same building with our rooms, and is served in our apartment without extra charge. As for my plans for the future: I have set on foot another attempt to get a place in the Johns Hopkins University: I also have a prospect of employment as an assistant at the Peabody Library here: and there is still a possibility of a com- mittee-clerkship in Washington. Mean- time, however, I am just resuming work for the editors: my nearest commission is to write a Christmas poem for Every Saturday, an ambitious new weekly pa- per just started in Baltimore. The edi- tor wishes to illustrate the poem liberally and use it as an advertisement by mak- ing some fuss over it. There! You have a tolerable abstract of my past, present and future. - Have you seen my Wagner poem in the November Galaxy? I have not: and, as it was much involved, and as I did nt see any proof-sheet, and as finally tIme Galaxys proof-reader is notoriously bad, I suspect it is a pretty muddle of non- sense. And so, God bless you both. 55 LEXINGTON Sr., BALTIMORE, December 3rd, 1877. Your letter was heartily received by May and me, and the stamps brought acclamations from the three young men at the breakfast - table. We had been talking of you more than usual for sev- eral days: and May had been recalling that wonderful Thanksgiving Day a year ago when the kindness of you and my dear Maria seemed to culminate in the mysteriousFive-hundred-dollar-billwhich came up on the breakfast-tray. What a couple you are, anyhow: you and that same Maria with the Cape-jessami c-tex- tured throat 188 Letters of Sidney Lanier. [August, I indulged in a h~nmorrhage immedi- ately after reaching home, which kept me out of the combat for ten days. I then plunged in and brought captive forth a long Christmas poem for Every Sat- urday, an ambitious young weekly of Baltimore. Have you seen my Puzzled Ghost in Florida, in Appletons for De- cember? We had another key to the silver chest. It contained a second set of old family plate, which we now use daily and in which we take great comfort. There are no other papers concerning it. I hope you had a pleasant visit in New York. . . . I ye just received a letter from Emma Stebbins. She is at the Cushmans, in Newport, and much im- proved in health. She has ~nished six chapters of her hook on Miss Cushman, and may have it ready for the publish- ers by next fall. Wife and I have been out to look at a lovely house to-day, with eight rooms and many charming appliances, which we find we can rent for less than we now pay for our four rooms. We think of taking it straightway, and will do so if a certain half-hundred of dollars for which we hope reaches us in time. 33 DEMIuFAD ST., BALTIMORE, MD., January 6th, 1878. The painters, the whitewashers, the plumbers, the locksmiths, the carpenters, the gas-fitters, the stove-put-up-ers, the carmen, the piano-movers, the carpet- layers. all these have I seen, bargained with, reproached for bad jobs, and final- ly paid off: I have also coaxed my land- lord into all manner of outlays for damp walls, cold bath-rooms~ and other like matters: I have furthermore bought at least three hundred and twenty-seven household utensils which suddenly came to be absolutely necessary to our exist- ence: I have moreover hired a colored gentlewoman who is willing to wear out my carpets, burn out my range, freeze out 1 Hard Times in Elfiand. my water-pipes, and be generally useful: I have also moved my family into our new home, have had a Xmas tree for the youngsters, have looked up a cheap school for Harry and Sidney, have dis- charged my daily duties as first flute of the Peabody Orchestra, have written a couple of poems and part of an essay on Beethoven and Bismarck, have a& complished at least a hundred thousand miscellaneous necessary nothings, and have not, in consequence of all the afore- said, sent to you and my dear Maria the loving greetings whereof my heart has been full during the whole season. Marias cards were duly distributed, and we were all touched with her charming little remembrances. With how much pleasure do I look forward to the time when ]I may kiss her hand in my own house! We are in a state of supreme content with our new home: it really seems to me as incredible that myriads of people have been living in their own homes heretofore as to the young couple with a first baby it seems impossible that a great many other couples have had similar prodigies. It is simply too de- lightful. Good heavens, how I wish that the whole world had a Home! I confess I am a little nervous about the gas-bills, which must come in, in the course of time; and there are the water- rates: and several sorts of imposts and taxes: but then, the dignity of being lia- ble for such things! is a very supporting consideration. No man is a Bohemian who has to pay water-rates and a street- tax. Every day when I sit down in my dining-room my dining-room! J find the wish growing stronger that each poor soul in Baltimore, whether saint or sin- ner, could come and dine with me. How I would carve out the merry-thoughts for the old hags! How I would stuff the big wall-eyed rascals till their rags ripped again! There was a knight of old times who built the dining-hall of his castle across the highway, so that every wayfarer must perforce pass through: 1894.] Letters of Sidney Lanler. 189 there the traveller, rich or poor, found always a trencher and wherewithal to fill it. Three times a day, in my own chair at my own table, do I envy that knight and wish that I might do as he did. Send me some word of you two. I was in Philadelphia for part of a night since I saw you, being on my xvay to Germantown to see Mr. Kirk. I had to make the whole visit between two re- hearsals of the Orchestra, and so could only run from train to train, except be- tween twelve P. iu. and six, which I con- sumed in sleeping at the Continental. We all send you heartfelt wishes for the New Year. May you be as happy as you are dear to your faithful S. L. 33 DENMEAD ST., BALTIMORE, January 11th, 1878. To-morrow I will transfer to you by telegraph one hundred and ten dollars; and the remaining forty, I hope, on Mon- day, certainly during the five days fol- lowing. I believe it was last Sunday night that I wrote you: on the following morn- ing I awoke with a raging fever, and have been in bed ever since, racked inexpressibly by my old foe, the Pleuro- dynia. I have crawled out of bed this afternoon, but must go back soon. Will probably be about again on Monday. Tortured as I was, this morning, with a living egg of pain away in under my collar boric, I shook till I was at least uni- formly sore all over, with reading your brilliant critique on the great artiste Squirt in his magnificent impersonation of Snooks. The last sentence nearly took the top of my head off. I wish you would keep it up a little while, and fly at the Metropolis as well as at the pro- vinces. For example : The following contribution for our new morning (or Sunday) paper comes accompanied by a note stating that the writer has been employed as funny editor of the New York (anything, Universe, Age, et cet.), but desires a larger field of usefulness with us; and hereto you might append an imitation of the humorous column of The World, for instance, in which any- thing under heaven is taken as a caption, and the editorial then made up of all the possible old proverbs, quotations, pop- ular sayings, and slang which have a wor(l, or even a syllable, in common with the text. Or you might give a exact reproduc- tion (the more exact, the more ludicrous) of one of those tranquilly stupid political editorials in The , which seem as massive as the walls of Troy, and are really nothing but condensations of arro- gant breath. But of course you wont do anything of the sort, for wily embroil yourself? and I m only forecasting what might be done in a better world. We all send our love to you and Maria~ May is pretty well fagged with nursing me, plus the housekeeping cares. BALTIMORE, MD., January 30th, 1878. It s no use trying to tell you the bit- terness with which I found myself a couple of days behiudhand with that hundred. I was in bed, ill, and was de- pending on a friend who had promised to come by my house and transact this along with some other business for me down town. He was prevented from com- ing as expected, and I was without remedy. I enclose P. 0. order for twenty-five. The balance will go to you soon. Please dont despair of me. My illness was a complete marplot to all my plans for a month or more. I came through Ph~ night before last, on my way home from New York. I ran round to see you, but you had gone to the theatre. Next morning I was com- pelled to .hurry home without the plea- sure of kissing my dear Marias hand: our Peabody Orchestra meets at five in the afternoon, and I was obliged to reach Baltimore in time for that. We are all ia tolerable condition, greatly enjoying our crude half-furnished 190 Letters of Sidney Lanier. [August, home. I have been mainly at work on some unimportant prose matter for pot- boilers; but I get off a short poem oc- casionally, and in the background of my mind am writing my Jacquerie. It is very thoughtful of you to send the Bulletin. I did not know it was being continued at Chadds Ford, else I should have had the address changed. Both May and I find a great deal in the paper to interest us. We send loving messages to you twain. The boys are all at school. 180 ST. PALTL ST., BALTIMORE, MD., November 5th, 1878. I have been allowing as the Southern negroes say that I would write you, for the last two weeks; but I had a good deal to say, and have nt had time to say it. During my studies for the last six or eight months a thought which was at first vague has slowly crystallized into a purpose, of quite decisive aim. The lec- tures which I was invited to deliver last winter before a private class met with such an enthusiastic reception as to set me thinking very seriously of the evident delight with which grown people found themselves receiving systematic instruc- tion in a definite study. This again put me upon reviewing the whole business of Lecturing which has risen to such proportions in our country, but which, every one must feel, has now reached its climax and must soon give way like all things to something better. The fault of the lecture system as at present conducted a fault which must finally prove fatal to it is that it is too frag- mentary, and presents too fragmentary a mass indiqesta moles of facts be- fore the hearers. Now if, instead of such a series as that of the popular Star Course (for instance) in Philadelphia, a scheme of lectures should be arranged which would amount to the systematic presentation of a given subject, then the audience would receive a substantial benefit, and would carry away some gen- uine possession at the end of the course. The subject thus systematically presented might be either scientific (as Botany, for example, or Biology popularized, and the like), or domestic (as detailed in the ac- companying printed extract under the Household School), or artistic, or lit- erary. This stage of the investigation put me to thinking of schools for grown people. Men and women leave college nowadays just at the time when they are really prepared to study with effect. There is indeed a vague notion of this abroad; but it remains vague. Any intelligent grown man or woman readily admits that it would be well indeed, many whom I have met sincerely desire to pursue some regular course of thought; but there is no guidance, no organized means of any sort, by which people en- gaged in ordinary avocations can accoum- plish such an aim. Here, then, seems to be, first, a uni- versal admission of the usefulness of or- ganized intellectual pursuit for business people; secondly, an underlying desire for it by many of the people themselves; and thirdly, an existing institution (the lecture system) which, if the idea were once started, would quickly adapt itself to the new conditions. In short, the present miscellaneous lecture courses ought to die and be born again as Schools for Grown People. It was with the hope of effecting at least the beginning of a beginning of such a movement that I got up the Shak- spere course in Baltimore. I wished to show, to such a class as I could as- semble, how much more genuine profit there would be in studying at first hand, under the guidance of an enthusiastic interpreter, the writers and conditions of a particular epoch (for instance) than in reading any amount of commentary or in hearing any number of miscellaneous lectures on subjects which range from Palestine to Pottery in the course of a 1894.] Letters of Sidney Lan ter. 191 week. With this view I arranged my own part of the Shakspere course so as to include a quite thorough presentation of the whole science of poetry as pre- paratory to a serious and profitable study of some of the greatest singers in our language. I wish to make a similar beginning with all these ulterior aims in Phila- delphia. I had hoped to interest Mr. Furness in the idea, particularly because I suspected that some local influence would be needed to push forward a mat- ter depending so much on ulterior pur- poses which are at the same time difficult to explain in full and slow in becom- lug fully comprehended by the average mind of the public. I enclose you Mr. Furnesss letter, which I take to be a polite refusal to have anything to do with it; and I may add that Mrs. Wis- tar has made inquiries which do not give much encouragement from her world. But difficulties of this sort always end, with me, after the first intense sigh has spent itself, in clothing a project with new charms; and I am now deter- mined not to abandon my Philadelphia branch until I shall seem like a fool to pursue it farther. Apropos whereof, a very devoted friend of mine, there, hav- ing seen some announcement in the pa- pers of my lectures, writes that she once attended a short course of somewhat similar nature in Philadelphia which was very successful. It was conducted, how- ever, by a gentleman of considerable local reputation. II have one or two other friends there who would help the thing forward: and I write you all this long screed for the purpose of giving you an opportunity to meditate on the entire situation, and to direct me in making a start when I shall come over for that purpose. The practical method of beginning is to form a class of grown persons, at (say) eight dollars apiece, to whom I 1 Horace Howard Fnrness, Americas fore- most Shakespearean scholar. will deliver twenty lectures and read- ings, one each week, on a suitable day and hour to be agreed on, covering about the ground specified in my twenty-four lectures announced in the accompanying programme of the Shakspere course. If a class of only twenty could be made up, I would cheerfully commence: for I feel confident it would be the begin- ning of better things. I think I know now of fbur who would join and would heartily forward the business by inquir- ing among their friends and setting forth its aims. I have good prospect of forming a class in Washington : and thus, with my special poetic work (The Songs of AId- helm, which I believe you will like better than anything I have written), you see my life will oc delightfully arran~e, if things come out properly. Do you think Mr. Henry C. Lea would be interested in such a matter? Ii you write me, after digesting this enormous homily, that you think twenty people could be found, I will come over immediately and make ar- rangeme is to find them. I have, as I said, several friends who at a word would busy themselves enthusiastically in the matter. . 150 Sr. PAUL Sr., BALTIMORE, December 21st, ISlS. If love and faithful remembrance were current with the wish-gods I could make you a rare merry Christmas. I wish I had two millions; -I should so like to send you a check for one of em, with a request that you make a bonfire of The Evening Bulletin, and come over here to spend Christmas, and the rest of your life with me, on a private car seventy-seven times more luxurious than Lornes or Mr. Maplesons. I really dont desire that you should spend your life on this car as I seem to, on read- ing over my last sentence but only that you should come on it. The great advantage of having a poetic imagina 192 Letters of Sidney Lanier. [August, tion is herein displayed: you see how the simple act of enclosing you a check for twenty-five dollars that twenty- five which has been due you so long, dear friend can set a mans thoughts going. I have a mighty yearning to see you and my well-beloved Maria; it seems a long time since ; and I ye learned so many things, I almost feel as if II had something new td show you. Bayard Taylors death slices a huge cantle out of the world for me. I dont yet know it, at all: it only seems that he has gone to some other Germany, a little farther off. How strange it all is he was such a fine fellow, one almost thinks he might have talked Death over and made him forego his stroke. Tell me whatever you may know, outside of the newspaper reports, about his end. Chas. Scribners Sons have concluded to publish my Boys Froissart, with illus- trations. They are holding under ad- visement my work on English Prosody.2 I saw your notice of the Masque of Poets. The truth is, it is a disti essing, an aggravated, yea, an intolerable col- lection of mediocrity and mere clever- ness. Some of the pieces come so near being good that one is ready to tear ones hair and to beat somebody with a stick from pure exasperation that such nar- row misses should after all come to no better net result in the way of art than so many complete failures. I could find only four poems in the book. As for Guy Vernon, one marvels that a man with any poetic feeling could make so many stanzas of so trivial a thing. It does not even sparkle enough to re- deem it as vers de soei~t6. This is the kind of poetry that is technically called culture-poetry; yet it is in reality the product of a want of culture. If these gentlemen and ladies would read the old English poetry I mean the poetry be- 1 Bayard Tailor, having been appointed minister to Germany, died shortly after reach- ing Berlin. fore Chaucer, the genuine Anglish utter- ances, from C~edmon in the 7th century to Langland in the 14th they could never be content to put forth these lit- tle diffuse prettinesses and dandy kick- shaws of verse. I am not quite sure but you misinter- preted whatever I may have said about Mr. Furnesss letter. I did not mean in the least to blame him : and his note was, II thought, very kind in its terms. I am in the midst of two essays on Anglo-Saxon poetry which I am very anxious to get in print. These, with the Froissart and my weekly lectures, keep me bound down with work. God bless you both, and send you many a Christmas, prays your faithful S. L. I find I am out of stamps, for my check: so must mulct you for two cents. 435 N. CALVERT ST., BALTIMORE, June 1st, 1880. I ye just read your notice of The Science of English Verse, and cannot help sending a line to say how much it pleases me. It seems a model of the way in which a newspaper should deal with a work of this sort which in the nature of things cannot be fairly de- scribed without more space than any ordinary journal can allow. I was all the more pleased because I had just read a long notice sent me by the s critic, which, with the best intentions in the world, surely capped the climax of silly misrepresentation. It is perfectly sober to say that if this critic had represented Professor Huxleys late treatise on the Crayfish as a cookery-book containing new and ingenious methods of preparing shellfish for the table, and had proceeded to object earnestly that the book .xvas a dangerous one, as stimu- lating overnicety in eating, he would have been every whit as near the truth. I The Science of English Verse, published in 1880. g 1894.] Letters of Sidney Lanter. 193 Indeed, on thinking of it, I find this is a perfect parallel; for he objected to The Science of Verse on the ground that it had a tendency . . . to exaggerate .. the undue attention already given to . . the pretty fripperies of ingenious verse-making! If the book has one tendency beyond another in this respect, it surely is, as you sensibly say in your last paragraph but one, to make real artists out of those who study it, and to warn off all scribblers from this holy and arduous ground. But this is the least offense. Although three of the very mottoes on the Title- page (namely, those of Sir Philip Sid- ney, of King James, and of Dante) set up the sharpest distinction between Verse and Poetry, between mere Technic and Inspiration, and although the Preface presents an ideal of the poets (as distinct from the versifiers) mission which culminates in declaring the like- ness of all worthy poets to David (who wrote much poetry, but no verse), while, further, the very first ten lines of Chapter I carry on this distinction to what one would think a point infinitely beyond mistake, in spite of all, the critic gravely makes, and as gravely discusses, the assertion that in Mr. La- niers book . . . poetry . . . is a mere matter of pleasing sounds and pleasing arrangements of soui~ids This would be a curiosity of wooden- ness, if it were not still obscured by an- other assertion: that this Science of Verse originates in a suggestion made by Edgar Poe as to the division into long and short syllables, which sugges- tion, he says, is the key to Mr. Laniers system ! It would be quite as accurate to say that Professor Huxleys argument from the transition-forms of the horse in proof of the evolution of species was suggested by King Richard the Thirds exelama VOL. LXXIV. NO. 442. 13 tion of A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! The Easter-card with the lovely de- sign of Corn has been in my work-room s most prominent niche, and is the con- stant admiration of my visitors who al- ways quickly recognize its propriety. Tell Maria between two kisses that nothing but outrageous absorption could have made me fail so long to acknowledge what has given us all so much pleasure. But this letter will make you per- spire, with the very sight of its five pages: and so, God bless you. Your friend, SIDNEY L. No other letters to Mr. Peacock have been preserved~ During the winter of 188081 Lanier delivered a course of lectures at Johns Hopkins University on Personality, illustrated by the develop- ment of fiction. His strength was al- ready so nearly spent that most of the notes for these lectures had to be dic- tated in whispers to his wife, and often in the lecture-room his hearers dreaded lest his life should go out while he spoke. Yet when read now, in the volume en- titled The English Novel, these lectures show no sign of mental lassitude; rather are they remarkable for vigor and sug- gestiveness, and, despite here and there gaps unavoidable in a work unrevised by the author, they form a body of con- structive and pregnant criticism not to be overlooked by any one who values a critic who is also an interpreter. Dur- ing that same winter of extreme bodily feebleness, Lanier wrote the poem Sun- rise, his masterpiece, radiant with beau- ty, and strong with the spiritual strength which outbraves death. In the following summer, they took him to North Caro~ lina, in the hope that amid the balsam of the pines he might at least breathe out his life with less pain. There, on September 7, 1881, he died. William R. Thayer. A Fair Exchange. A FAIR EXCHANGE. I. THE widow and the widower stood face to face, looking down at the two graves between them. One grave was a good deal sunken, as if years old; the other, high-heaped and comparatively new. One was covered, filled up with periwinkle and long, strag- gling grass; the other, except for a rose geranium set in the middle, still quite bare. One had a marble headstone, time-stained and tilting, bearing a wo- mans name; the other, a neat unlet- tered board that seemed alertly holding ground for the stone yet to come, which, judging from length and size here sug- gested, would commemorate a man. And in all the little brier-grown, stone-walled inclosure, a cleared corner of which was thus taken up, there did not seem to be room for a single other occupant. The widower drew a long breath as he gazed at the inscription close under his eyes. It was to the effect that Susannah Ann Carrico, beloved wife of Lemuel Carrico (the surname on all the other headstones visible through tangled green- ery), had died about fifteen years before, at the age of twenty-five, and presum- ably in another, brighter world found that rest that remaineth for those who deserve it. Somehow, this last had al- ways struck the widower as being a little incredible. He had not been the one to have it put there; nor could he think of Susannah, his wife, as consciously enjoy- ing herself, and yet resting. No doubt she was in heaven, or somewhere, and having a good time in her way, poor girl! But Sue resting! Sue not actively en- gaged herself, or managing somebody else! No, he could not think of her as thus satisfied there any more than con- tentedly waiting for him here. The vague relief that he had just now felt at finding his reserved place by her side unexpect- edly filled was hinted in the countenance at last raised iii an involuntary appeal for sympathy. It was not a bad face. The widow (who had lifted her gaze a few seconds hack) was thinking how very nice it was, how gentle and patient-looking. The eyes that met her own mild blue ones were brown and clearly soft. Though, her vo- cabulary being very limited, she did not apply the word wistful, it would have suited them well. The mouth, with lines of middle age around it, yet beardless as a boys, was just what it should be to match. On the Western ranch where Mr. Carrico had been lately herding sheep, his one modest boast, that he was from Vir- ginia, had won for him the nickname of Ginian; and it befittingly stuck fast. Even if the widow had not always taken an interest in the other famly, into whose habitat, and finally into whose very graveyard, her late husband had stepped, she would have been more or less inter- ested by this its last surviving member. As she noted how old and worn were the clothes on the thin, slightly stooping fig.~ nrc, the thought of that Sunday suit of which Tom, hei dead liege lord, had been so fond and how he had looked in it flashed back with a sense of jarring, over-prosperous contrast which made her wince guiltily. She would not think so of Tom now. She smoothed her black frock with small, nervous hands, feeling called upon suddenly to say something. The widower was thinking, in his turn9 what a nice, peaceable-lookin some- body was Mrs. Martin. We 11 have him moved, sir, she be- gan, in good tim e for you. Her listener started. Thanky, maam, he said gently and quite unhumorously, I I aint in a hurry. 194 [August,

A. M. Ewell Ewell, A. M. A Fair Exchange 194-201

A Fair Exchange. A FAIR EXCHANGE. I. THE widow and the widower stood face to face, looking down at the two graves between them. One grave was a good deal sunken, as if years old; the other, high-heaped and comparatively new. One was covered, filled up with periwinkle and long, strag- gling grass; the other, except for a rose geranium set in the middle, still quite bare. One had a marble headstone, time-stained and tilting, bearing a wo- mans name; the other, a neat unlet- tered board that seemed alertly holding ground for the stone yet to come, which, judging from length and size here sug- gested, would commemorate a man. And in all the little brier-grown, stone-walled inclosure, a cleared corner of which was thus taken up, there did not seem to be room for a single other occupant. The widower drew a long breath as he gazed at the inscription close under his eyes. It was to the effect that Susannah Ann Carrico, beloved wife of Lemuel Carrico (the surname on all the other headstones visible through tangled green- ery), had died about fifteen years before, at the age of twenty-five, and presum- ably in another, brighter world found that rest that remaineth for those who deserve it. Somehow, this last had al- ways struck the widower as being a little incredible. He had not been the one to have it put there; nor could he think of Susannah, his wife, as consciously enjoy- ing herself, and yet resting. No doubt she was in heaven, or somewhere, and having a good time in her way, poor girl! But Sue resting! Sue not actively en- gaged herself, or managing somebody else! No, he could not think of her as thus satisfied there any more than con- tentedly waiting for him here. The vague relief that he had just now felt at finding his reserved place by her side unexpect- edly filled was hinted in the countenance at last raised iii an involuntary appeal for sympathy. It was not a bad face. The widow (who had lifted her gaze a few seconds hack) was thinking how very nice it was, how gentle and patient-looking. The eyes that met her own mild blue ones were brown and clearly soft. Though, her vo- cabulary being very limited, she did not apply the word wistful, it would have suited them well. The mouth, with lines of middle age around it, yet beardless as a boys, was just what it should be to match. On the Western ranch where Mr. Carrico had been lately herding sheep, his one modest boast, that he was from Vir- ginia, had won for him the nickname of Ginian; and it befittingly stuck fast. Even if the widow had not always taken an interest in the other famly, into whose habitat, and finally into whose very graveyard, her late husband had stepped, she would have been more or less inter- ested by this its last surviving member. As she noted how old and worn were the clothes on the thin, slightly stooping fig.~ nrc, the thought of that Sunday suit of which Tom, hei dead liege lord, had been so fond and how he had looked in it flashed back with a sense of jarring, over-prosperous contrast which made her wince guiltily. She would not think so of Tom now. She smoothed her black frock with small, nervous hands, feeling called upon suddenly to say something. The widower was thinking, in his turn9 what a nice, peaceable-lookin some- body was Mrs. Martin. We 11 have him moved, sir, she be- gan, in good tim e for you. Her listener started. Thanky, maam, he said gently and quite unhumorously, I I aint in a hurry. 194 [August, 1894.] A Fair E~ckange. 195 The words were spoken with hesitat- ing slowness and a slight stammer. The voice (a soft drawl) fell pleasantly on the widows ear. She liked people who were not in a hurry; and neither did she see anything to laugh at. You re mighty kind to be willin to wait, said she. Ginian would not, however, take more than his fair share of credit. Oh, I dont mind waitin, he put in, with grave cheerfulness. I never did. Now she was diffrent. He had not meant to say those last words. They slipped out unaware. He grew red. The blue eyes fell. Mrs. Mar- tin had also known somebody who But never mind tbat She divined some- how that this confidence was not scattered broadcast, though she could not know it for the first outspoken hint of a feeling ever present for frfteen years. Out west and back again, north and south, from the wilds of Oregon to Mexico, bad that notion held its own. Sue was here wait- ing for him, and Sue had never liked to wait. It was with some vague idea of atone- ment that he murmured, She looked mighty nice laid out. Mrs. Martins glance left no need for sympathetic words. A heap of people come to the buryin, too, added Ginian, mo than would come to mine, I reckn. The widows conscience cried out again. I dont know what you can think of us, sir, she said, with a quivering lip, takin sich a liberty. I d ha spoke out against it, anyhow, if I had nt been fairly sick with the shock an all. I never thought of tellin em not to an befo I knew it the grave was 4ug. My mother an all of em said it had been so long since anybody d heard a word from you that t was nt likely you d ever come back, even if not dead an buried aready. When I think of the ground reserved, an this the only room in it for you, the proper, lawful spot, too, of cose, an my husban bein put here by no right whatever not even kin to yo famly Her eyes filled with tears of mortifi- cation. Two lips were now helplessly a-twitch. Ginian gave a gasp of dismay. Law! my dear maam, he cried, I you jest rest sho that I aint one bit put out, I aint blamin anybody an I 11 wait jest as long as it s convenient. Not even kin to the family! Strange! Somehow, though the preach- er had made them one, neither had Sue ever seemed to him kin to the family, poor Sue, to whom his elders had mar- ried him when still in his teens, for the sake of her few hundred dollars, which after all put off such a little while that final turning out of doors! He reckoned they had all been a shiftless set, and he about the worst. It must have been bard on Sue. No wonder she had taken it out by being hard on him, making no se- cret of repenting her first fancy. How she had worked at the last, and saved, and scolded! How her voice used to go through his head! And yet they be- longed to each other, he supposed; at least he seemed to belong to her. He had never cared much where he might be buried. But since something stronger than his will had drawn him back to these parts, he supposed his own folks as well as Sue would naturally expect him home some day. It would nt do to slight and offend them, after lingering behind in most other peoples way for so many years. It did seem a pity, as little as he really cared, much as he always liked to accommodate, to be harrowing a poor widowed womans feelings by turning out her husband; yet here was his place. Mrs. Martin wiped away a tear or two. Thank you, sir, she said. You shant run any risk, though. None of us know when the call may come. Ma and me will manage it. Im glad the tombstone is nt up. It jest happened so. We ordered a hansome marble one with a heap of carvin, all his virtues an all set down, real hansome, an it s 19~3 A Fair Exchange. [August, been delayed somehow. Mr. Peters is goin to bring it when its done. You used to know him, sir, did nt you? Mr. Sandy Peters? I ye heard him talk about you, say how you d been unf air- ly dealt by when the place was sold for so much less n t was worth. I spose it was because Mr. Martin was the one to profit by the foced sale, though of cose he had nt anything to do with fo cm it, I spose that was why I always felt bad about yo bein treated so; an now this seems to make it worse. If the tomb- stone had come, I reckn we d a had it set; but it s turned out all for the better. Dont you be uneasy. Now Ginian was a polite man. He was also generous to a fault. So long as he had had a house, a room of his own, he had been absurdly, incurably hospita- ble. The sense of what he owed to Sue went, just now, sorely against the grain. If that stone were here already in place, would nt a neat job finished have made it all right for him to He looked desperately around for some diversion. The light of the setting sun was fading from a greenish brass plate nailed high up on a cedar - tree, thus marked as a sort of monument. Out of the black-green briery tangle underneath a skull-and-crossbones tombstone leaned forward and grinned. A garter snake was slipping away behind it. A bloated, rusty toad hopped up at a fly. And here lay all who in this world had ever cared very much for him. He shivered. Sophy Martin was gazing half curiously, half in instinctive womanly pity. Poor lone- some, homeless man, her thought ran, with not even a place in his own burying- ground! Despite herself, a reproachful thought of Tom would persist in coming. I reckn, began Ginian, rather ab- sently, after a while, as this is the only land I own, an the only piece o proper- ty worth speaking of, that I oughter be fixin it up some. It seems to need it right bad. It s hurt me many a time to see, sir, an if I d had my way Mrs. Mar- tin checked herself, embarrassed. Since layin him here, she went on, we sho- ly ought to done it, but ma said that is, lately we ye been puttin off, you know, waitin for the tombstone. Certnly, maam, said Ginian. Dont think, because he s got to be moved, that I wont have it tended to, all the same, sir. That much we owe you, anyhow. Owe me! Law, maam, dont speak of sich a thing. I was thinkin, if I could stay in the neighborhood a night or so, it would be nice and suitable like for inc to do it myself. I m mighty slow, I know, but I think in a day or two I could, an pears like I m the fittin per- son. The first impulse of as warm and kind a little heart as ever beat spoke in the widows next words. I in sho, sir, cried she, that if you feel an think so, you re welcome, an oughter be welcome, to stay here with us jest as long as it suits you. The little, low, old-fashioned house, steep-roofed and dormer-windowed,which had been Ginians home for more than twenty-five years, stood beneath its grove of gnarled locusts in the midst of a trim green yard. From new cypress shingles and freshly painted walls to the last crack- less, well-scoured window-pane, all was in perfect, thrifty repair. The former owner looked at it, and glanced around at the fields, no less thrifty, with a lump in his throat. Here was a change indeed. Well, he had tried his best, but he must be (as Sue used to say) of precious little account for anything. He reckoned, without any envious bitterness, that he deserved nothing better. On the porch were two or three split- seated rocking-chairs, a work-basket, and the little shabby hand-trunk that held his own worldly possessions. A smell of sup- per-getting, of broiled chicken and grid- dle cakes, was in the air. A tall, portly, 1894.] A Fair Exchange. 197 rather handsome woman of fifty stood in the doorway. As she looked with hard, curious eyes at the stranger, a faint cloud crept over Mrs. Martins face. This is my mother, Mrs. Binder, sir, said she ; then added, with anxious would-be cheerfulness, Ma, I ye asked Mr. Carrico to stay here with us while he s fixin up his buryin- ground. Walk right in, sir, an take a chair. II. It was a golden September afternoon, more than six weeks later. Mrs. Mar- tin had taken advantage of perfect wea- ther to go out to tea at a neighbors; the hands were busily at work cutting corn; the black woman servant was pick- ing hops in the garden. As Mrs. Binder sat on the front porch with Mr. Carrico, it seemed to her that, altogether, there could not be a more favorable time to say her say. I d like to know, Mr. Carrico, how much longer you count on stayin here. The county newspaper which the per- son addressed had been placidly conning fluttered and fell like something hurt. Count on stayin! r iirmured Ginian. Mrs. Binders irritation took a fresh start from the faltering surprise of the tone. She sat straighter, shifted a knitting - needle in the steadying quill sheath pinned on her bosom, turned the seam, and went on. It appears to me, sir, she said very distinctly, that you ye about boarded out Tom Martins lodgin out yonder. The eyes which had met hers with such shocked, half-guilty consternation instinctively sought a view afforded by a certain little gate not very far away, of a certain interior, namely, the burying- ground, in perfect order, as lately left by his exertions, with headstones gleam- ing thick and white amid trimmed shrub- bery or against the wall opposite. Boaded out his lodgin! gasped Ginian. Mrs. Binders needles clicked indig- nantly. I dont say you had nt a claim. It s yo land in there, an turn about s fair play. To be sho he s cost you nothin, nor neither inconvenienced, but it did give you a kind o claim; an knowin Tom Martins independent spirit, spe- cially about debt - payin, I ye held my tongue so far. You was asked to stay while clearin up the place, dear knows you spun the job out long enough! an two or three times when you ye hinted goin, you peared to think yoself pressed to stay on; but there s reason in the roast- in of eggs. Sophy Martin s not the wo- man to ask anybody out of her house, let alone a homeless man, an neither am I, if I can help it; but all the same you re neither our kith nor kin, to be fillin the only spare room we ye got. This land s been fairly bought an paid for; an whatever Mr. Peters or anybody may say about the price it fetched, that was the lawyers fault an yo creditors, not Toms. We ye no mo to do with any other famly that owned it, for all the foolish notions Sophy may take up, than we have with any new one a-comm. Enough s enough. Im sorry its come to this, an you re welcome to what you ve had already, but, as I said jest now, it seems to me we re even, anyhow. Had it been Mrs. Binders house, her hearer would straightway have got his belongings and walked out. As it was, the impulse rose within him. Good gracious! had all this late supposed wel- coming kindness, these peaceful, restful, youth - renewing days, brought him to this? But besides the sense of general helpless paralysis that held him in his chair, Ginian was conscious of one re- solve, to see once more the gentle mis- tress and get his parting impression from he. T aint often, maam, I trespass so on hospitality, he said tremulously. 198 A Fair Exchange. You 11 find I wont need any mo re- mindin. I I kind o forgot how long I d been stayin. It flashed across the poor fellows mind how, in his time, un- der that roof, a good many people had forgotten how long they stayed, and had not been reminded, by him at any rate. As for owin me anythin, maam, that s jest ridicklous. Dont speak o sich a thing. I ought to left a month ago. Jest give me time to say good-by to Mrs. Mar- tin, an thank her for her kindness. Then you 11 stay another night, for she wont be hdme till near dark; though of cose you could nt set off now, any- way, I spose. If you cant see for yo- self why she s off somewhere every day, I in not goin to tell you. If you cant see why she s in her room all mornin, an visitin out most every evenin, an see what coolness and downcastness is, why, I pity yo eyes, sir. If it was me, now, it s precious little I d care (for all I d not a put myself in the way of it) for foolish talk an plaguin about wid- ders and widderwers. Folks round here must have somethin to talk about out- side, for Lord knows they ye got pre- cious little in ther heads! But Sophy aint me, an never was. She s always takiii things serious an sensitive; an for a lone widder woman to be run out of her house by a strange man, because she s determined to let people see she s not stayin home specially to be courted, an her husband not a year under- ground, it seems a pretty hard case. The whistling of the corn-cutters, the hack-hack of their knives, the rattle of dry severing stalks, came from the field on a west wind mellow with mingled ri- pening scents from garden and orchard between. Ginian sat silent, thinking. How fond of the old home he had been before Sue came there! How homelike it was growing again, till just now! A new light had broken in upon his simple and single mind as to some recent with- drawal, some uneasiness, on the part of Mrs. Martin, which had puzzled him. [August, Cool she could not be, if she tried. Down- cast, embarrassed, yes, it was so. Was there ever, he thought, anybody else like her, anybody half so nice? And he had been scaring her out of the house! Mrs. Binder turned her seam again with a wrathful jerk. There s mo than one man, specially them with no shoes of their own, that might think Tom Martins worth steppin into; but if Sophy Martin dont know when she s well off, t wont be for want of my tellin. Folks can say what they please bout my wantin to rule. If they think that, knowin as I do how Tom Mar- tin struggled an saved on this place to make her home what he s left it think Ill stand by tongue-tied an see any shift- less man, without a cent to bless himself, walk in an hang up his hat, why, they re much mistaken. After losin sich a hus- band as that She broke off, frown- ing. Her listener was leaning forward eagerly, with hands upon his knees, and curiosity of more than a moments stand- ing in his gaze. What kind o husban was he? asked Ginian. There was a slight pause. Mrs. Bin- der returned his look with one of her hardest and most challenging. He was the best husband in this coun- ty, sir, said she at last, deliberately, an the best care-taker an provider. There was nothin in reason, of cose that Sophy Martin wanted that he did nt give her, an nothin in reason that he would nt ha done to make her happy. He was one in ten thousand. If any man that comes along thinks he can stand compar- in with any sich a first husband as that, why, let him try it! So there! This man did not look as if he thought of trying it. What comparisons, what compromises, had he been meditating? Mrs. Binder went on triumphantly: I dont say that you have nt behaved likc a gentleman since you ye been here, or that you ye given any trouble. I m glad to give you credit for all you ye done, 1894.] A Fair Exchange. 199 too. As for the graveyard, it s mo yos than ours, even if Tom is layin there. But you have fetched us the mail every day, an you ye done some other things. I m much obliged to you, I m sho, for straightenin them accounts, let alone trimmin the rosebushes an mendin up the well-house, an all. I m much obliged, an Sophy too~~ T aint worth speakin of, maam. Mrs. Binders heart was not quite of stone. She looked mollified, almost sor- ry. We 11 call it even, she said. At any rate, I think it s settled for Tom. If anybody d thought you was still in the land o the livin, he would nt ha been put there. I ye made up my mind what I 11 do when that tombstone comes, an that s to send Sophy out o the way, an have the movin done. It 11 sholy be here this week, I reckn. Sandy Pe- ters was to bring it, we heard. Judgin by the time it s been fooled over, it ought to be a hansome beginnin, anyway. I ye picked out my place on the other side of the house, an if we cant git up our own famly buryin-ground, wall an monny- ments an all, equal to anybody in the county, t wont be for want of money spent on it, as I told Sandy Peters the other day. Mrs. Binder rose abruptly, rolled up her knitting-work, and stabbed it with a shining needle. She had grown red at the mention of Mr. Peters. It was said that if Mrs. Binder had been less well provided for and less deferred to in her daughters house, she might have em- braced more than one offered chance of bein~, the second Mrs. Peters. I ask pardon if I ye hurt yo f eel- ins she began; then paused, indeed now quite sorry. The face before her looked so very worn, pinched, and hu- miliated. It was natural you should be fond of the place, I spose, an jest stay on without thinkin. Any time it suits you to come back an view the ground (as the hymn says), we 11 make you wel- come for a night or so. If so be that you re brought while I m a-livin, there shant be due reect wanted, in the way of invitin neighbors, with the parlor open an somethin to hand round. Im sorry if I ye spoke too sharp-like, an T aint worth mentionin, maam, said Ginian. III. The tinkle-tankle of the bells broke merrily on Ginians ear some moments before he caught a glimpse of what was coming up the other side of the hill. He had climbed with slow, forlorn steps to its top when he first spied the wagon. It was such a farm wagon as one does not often see in this region; so big, so new, so freshly gorgeous with green and yellow paint. With what dignified and as it were self - conscious strength did the ponderous wheels revolve, their tires flashing in the morning sunshine! What creaking, ~attling echoes of satisfied groans would it give forth under such other and more usual loads as heaps of ivory-white or gold-yellow corn, rotund wheat-sacks, fragrant apples! No won- der it went boastfully even now. And then the bells! They were hanging not only from the bowed, bare tent - frame. As the three stout Conestogas in front bent sturdily to their task, the pull up the long gradual slant, with each motion of their heads came a soft, tuneful clash. The broad, jolly red face of the driver beaming over all well befitted a turnout that, on the whole, would not have dis- graced a wedding, while the only object visible inside, behind him, was nothing more nor less than a large tombstone. Ginians hand-trunk had never felt so heavy to him as it did that morning. Next to his heart, it seemed to him the most dragging weight he had ever car.- ned. Having plenty of time on his hands, and no particular place to go to, he yielded to impulse, set it down, and took a seat in an inviting fence-corner. To be kept out of his grave, even a grave 200 A Fair Exchange. [August, beside Sue, did appear, after all, hard enough just then. Here, at least, was some little diversion from the homeless, homesick feeling; nay, worse since yes- terday, the sense of disgrace aching in his very bones. A small flat space on the hilltop gave breathing - ground for man and beast. There Mr. Peters brought his horses to a standstill. Hello, Lem he cried, is that you? You aint leavin the neighborhood? The good-natured red face beamed with a kindness that brought the mist to his hearers eyes. Aint it time I was off? asked Ginian. Well, I do know. They might ha sent you to the deepo, anyhow. They wanted to, if I d ha let em. Mr. Peters shrewdly suspected why the offer had not been accepted, so asked no questions. You re welcome to stay some at my house, he said, an if you could get a place in a sto or somewheres Then he broke ofi. a sudden twinkle in his eye. I was thinkin, came slyly next, that maybe that feller they put in yo place outdos had left room for you inside. He had the joke all to himself. Ginian neither smiled nor blushed. I m sho he s welcome to the coin- modation, he replied almost stiffly, quite gravely, jest as Mrs. Martin s made even a p0 tramp like me welcome. I aint quite the fool to think myself good enough for her. Mr. Peters finished laughing, long and loud, and nodded backward over his shoulder. Here s that blessid monny- ment, said he, that Sally Binder s goin to start that new buryin.ground withho, ho! I told em I d fetch it from Alexandry my last trip. Well, I m glad to think it s for him stead o you. I m glad to think that po gal s from under his thumb at last. Ginian stared, speechless. The best of husbands thus spoken of! And yet had he not had his own suspicions? What could it mean? I m glad to think he s safe where he cant get up any mo to be haulin her up at three oclock in the mornin, an then settin her down all day long. What Sally Binder could see in that blessid son-in-law of hern to be always upholdin an admirin I never could tell. She s a good woman, too, or would be with somebody to rule her, stead of rulin. It s well known she made that match. I spose she s took pride in up- holdin it. All I say is, they could nt a give me a job I like better even with all the lies po Sally s had put on it an settin up this here tombstone. Sandy, once more Ginian was bending forward with that look of eager curiosity, what sort of a husban was he? A queer flash came into the others eyes. He gave the lines a jerk that set each bell a-ring. What sort of a husban! said he, with slow emphasis. Well, if you aint found out already, I m glad o the chance to tell you. He was the sort that prided hisself so much on hem evry- thing he ought to be (cordin to his no- tions) that he made you proud o hem jest what you ought nt. He was the sort that s so overpowerin, all-fired hon- est an truthful he made you feel like stealin an tellin lies, an so industrous an thrifty an respectable he set you han- kerin after laziness an dirt. He was one to drive flesh an blood all the week, an tire God out on Sunday. He was sich a good provider that he give folks no time to eat, even if he had nt took away ther appetite, an left em no mo heart for wearin silk cloes an sackcloth. I used to notice that she never looked so cowed like as when she d on some new frock he d give her. He was the sort that knowed no more the worth of her sort than a cat knows of a queen, the hardest, brassiest, conceitedest man that ever walked this earth, an bout as un 1894.] Professional Horsemen. 201 comfortable a husban, I reckn, as you d find in the iNunited States. If ever a woman deserved a good secon one to make up for the first, an help her to stand up against Sally Binder in gittin some pleasure out o her own, why, Sophy Mar- tin s that woman; an any man that feels he s got it in him to do it, an lets any dratted foolishness stand in the way, wants sense, that s all. Ginian rose slowly to his feet with one long breath of relief, and stood so straight he looked almost tall. He felt as if fifteen years had slipped from his shoulders. A new light, a new resolve, had broken in upon him. Let that pair in the burying-ground stay side by side. Let the tombstone go right up for good. Sue had found her proper mate. He was going back to his. Well, I aint much account, I reckn, Sandy, any mo an good enough for her. But it does pear like we belonged to one nother, somehow. If it s convenient for me to go home with you afterwards, I reckn I might s well go back now an lend a hand bout this here job. Pears like it 11 do for a kind o beginnin. If she 11 have me, the help aint goin to be all on one side. A snmile of unmixed triumph beamed from Mr. Peterss countenance. Convenient! he cried. Lord, yes! An let me tell you one thing, Lem. Considerin what that land was bought for, it s queer to me if you aint got some right there, anyhow; an considerin how bad I ye always felt bout not tryin harder to stop that sale, it would jest do me good to see you back there. As for Sally Binder (his red face grew red- der), what she wants is somebody with spunk to manage her right, only some- body mighty diffrent from Tom Martin. Climb right in an help me steady this here tombstone. He gave the lines another jerk. Cling- a-ling went the bells. Mrs. Binder came to meet them, with triumph and dismay, welcome and un- welcome, in her eye. On the porch be- hind her hesitated somebody, black as to frock and pale as to cheeks. As Ginian opened the gate, and walked straight up to her, past Mrs. Binder, that good wo- man gasped, and stood staring. What s the meanin of this, Sandy Peters? Mr. Peters gave one mighty ho-ho! It means, said he, that the livin s comm back to his right place, Sally, an the dead s a - goin to stay in hisn. We re a-goin to put this tombstone up in that there graveyard, Sally. If you find the house wont hold three agin, com- fortable, with two to yo one, stead o one to yo two, why, jest come to my house, an let s you an me fight it out even. It 11 count three matches I ye made this day. As for them two yon- der, I reckn they 11 have time enough after a while to think about startin the new buryin-ground. I reckn nex time you hand cake an wine around t wont be at a funeral, neither. A. 211. EweU. PROFESSIONAL HORSEMEN. THE fraternity of professional horse- But we must distinguish, for there are men is a miscellaneous one: have its several kinds of gravity among horse- members anything in common? If there men. There is the gravity of the train- be anything of this sort, it is probably er, which is that of a man accustomed a certain gravity of look and demeanor. to subdue riotous colts, and to do it

Henry Childs Merwin Merwin, Henry Childs Professional Horsemen 201-210

1894.] Professional Horsemen. 201 comfortable a husban, I reckn, as you d find in the iNunited States. If ever a woman deserved a good secon one to make up for the first, an help her to stand up against Sally Binder in gittin some pleasure out o her own, why, Sophy Mar- tin s that woman; an any man that feels he s got it in him to do it, an lets any dratted foolishness stand in the way, wants sense, that s all. Ginian rose slowly to his feet with one long breath of relief, and stood so straight he looked almost tall. He felt as if fifteen years had slipped from his shoulders. A new light, a new resolve, had broken in upon him. Let that pair in the burying-ground stay side by side. Let the tombstone go right up for good. Sue had found her proper mate. He was going back to his. Well, I aint much account, I reckn, Sandy, any mo an good enough for her. But it does pear like we belonged to one nother, somehow. If it s convenient for me to go home with you afterwards, I reckn I might s well go back now an lend a hand bout this here job. Pears like it 11 do for a kind o beginnin. If she 11 have me, the help aint goin to be all on one side. A snmile of unmixed triumph beamed from Mr. Peterss countenance. Convenient! he cried. Lord, yes! An let me tell you one thing, Lem. Considerin what that land was bought for, it s queer to me if you aint got some right there, anyhow; an considerin how bad I ye always felt bout not tryin harder to stop that sale, it would jest do me good to see you back there. As for Sally Binder (his red face grew red- der), what she wants is somebody with spunk to manage her right, only some- body mighty diffrent from Tom Martin. Climb right in an help me steady this here tombstone. He gave the lines another jerk. Cling- a-ling went the bells. Mrs. Binder came to meet them, with triumph and dismay, welcome and un- welcome, in her eye. On the porch be- hind her hesitated somebody, black as to frock and pale as to cheeks. As Ginian opened the gate, and walked straight up to her, past Mrs. Binder, that good wo- man gasped, and stood staring. What s the meanin of this, Sandy Peters? Mr. Peters gave one mighty ho-ho! It means, said he, that the livin s comm back to his right place, Sally, an the dead s a - goin to stay in hisn. We re a-goin to put this tombstone up in that there graveyard, Sally. If you find the house wont hold three agin, com- fortable, with two to yo one, stead o one to yo two, why, jest come to my house, an let s you an me fight it out even. It 11 count three matches I ye made this day. As for them two yon- der, I reckn they 11 have time enough after a while to think about startin the new buryin-ground. I reckn nex time you hand cake an wine around t wont be at a funeral, neither. A. 211. EweU. PROFESSIONAL HORSEMEN. THE fraternity of professional horse- But we must distinguish, for there are men is a miscellaneous one: have its several kinds of gravity among horse- members anything in common? If there men. There is the gravity of the train- be anything of this sort, it is probably er, which is that of a man accustomed a certain gravity of look and demeanor. to subdue riotous colts, and to do it 202 Professional horsemen. [August, without noise or violence; there is the gravity of the dealer, which is craft and subtlety; there is the gravity of the vet, which is professional; and finally, there is the gravity of the betting man, which is suspense and greed. This last- mentioned trait did not escape the no- tice of Thackeray, who said: What strikes me especially in the outward de- meanor of sporting youth is their amaz- ing gravity, their conciseness of speech, and careworn and moody air. In the smoking-room at the Regent, when Joe Millerson will be setting the whole room in a roar with laughter, you hear young Messrs. Spavin and Cockspur grumbling together in a corner. I 11 take your five-and-twenty to one about Brother to Bluenose, whispers Spavin. Cant do it at the price, Cockspur says, wagging his head ominously. The betting book is always present in the minds of those unfortunate youngsters. I think I hate that work even more than the Peerage.~~ The gravity of one who trains and drives trotters (like the gravity of a loco- motive engineer) is that of a man who has a delicate and sometimes dangerous machine to handle. The type is a marked one: a spare, wiry person, weighing one hundred and forty or fifty pounds, with a quiet manner and a low voice. He unites the two qualities that are essen- tial to the proper handling of horses, namely, firmness and gentleness. The houyhuhnm, being a nervous, finely or- ganized animal, is an intuitive judge of character; and it is only to a Yahoo of the right sort that he will yield full obedience. In dealing with horses there are two things to be done: first, to control and restrain them; secondly, to stimulate and encourage them to perform the greatest efforts of which they are capable. For a dozen men that can do the first, you will find only one who can do the sec- ond. But that one has an extraordinary power; at a word from him and a touch on the reins, the horse will freely strike a pace to which another man cannot urge him by voice or whip or spur. It would be hard to say what is the secret of this power, but I doubt if it is ever found in any man not possessed both of a strong will and of a feeling for dumb animals. The magnetism that people talk about is, I suspect, simply the fortunate combination of these two qualities. Sometimes it crops out in unexpected places. I was once riding on the back seat of an open carriage drawn by two lazy horses. On the front seat, beside the driver, sat a Methodist minister, a solemn-faced person, with a long and, except that his upper lip was shaven, a full beard. He was dressed in black clothes, and altogether looked the very antipodes of a horsy man. The team were plodding slowly along, with heads and tails down, when, at his request, the reins were handed over to the parson. As soon as he had taken them, and had uttered one quiet word of command, the nags seemed to be electrified: up went their heads and tails; ten years slipped off their backs, and away they started at an elastic twelve-miles-an-hour gaiL These horses not only obeyed the min- ister, but they took pleasure in obeying him. Alas! a great driver was thrown away in that man. A trainer or driver may, it is true, succeed fairly well with horses in spite of certain defects in his temperament or character. With ordinary horses, pluck in riding or driving can usually be made to take the place of nerve. Whyte Mel- ville analyzed these two qualities very justly. Pluck, he said, is that kind of courage or determination which enables a man to do what he is afraid to do, whereas nerve is the absence of fear; the one being chiefly a moral, the other perhaps chiefly a physical quality. Anthony Trollope has given a good and humorous illustration of pluck in his novel The Small House at Alling- ton, where Mr. Palliser, having entered 1894.] Professional Horsemen. 203 upon a decorous flirtation with Lady Dumbello, the very discreet daughter of Archdeacon Grantly, determines to call her by her Christian name. When the opportunity arises, Mr. Palliser does not feel much heart for the dangerous fa- miliarity; but still he perseveres, having, as Trollope acutely remarks, that sort of pluck which would make him contempti- ble in his oxvn eyes if he failed through fear to carry out an intention deliberately formed. Griselda, he said, and it must be admitted that his tone was not bad. The word sank softly into her ear, like small rain upon moss, and it sank into no other ear. Griselda Mr. Palliser said she; and though she made no scene, though she merely glanced upon him once, he could see that he was wrong. May I not call you so? Certainly not. Shall I ask you to see if my people are there? Doubtless Mr. Palliser would have shown the same pluck in the hunting- field, not hesitating to send his horse at a fence, even though it appeared to him terrifically high. Pluck, as I have said, will, for most purposes, take the place of nerve; but it will not always do so, because the horse can often detect any want of nerve. Pluck will put a man on a dangerous beast, but after he has got there it may not prevent his knees from trembling a little. The horse observes that fact; he knows what it means, and forthwith he throws the rider off. A vicious horse might kick a plucky man who, with a grain of hesitation in his manner, ven- tured into the animals stall; whereas he would not kick a man of iron nerve who approached him without fear. In general, a human being without fear is almost proof against the lower animals; and this explains the immunity of drunk- en men and children from the harms that might easily befall them~ A quarter of a century ago, relates a writer in Wallaces Monthly, there was a trotter called General Grant. He was as vicious a brute as ever wore iron, and it was the exception when his groom did not have trouble with him. This same groom was a periodical drunkard; but when he would come to the track filled with liquor, and throw himself in a drunken stupor on the floor of the horses stall, General Grant would go to the farthest corner of the box and tremble with fear. He knew that the man was in some mysterious way changed, so that he was reckless in approaching the stallion; and this unconscious cour- age, which in his sober moments he could not possibly assume, was his protection from an attack that would have ended in his death. Once the man was re- leased from the thralldom of liquor, and became wary of the stallion, the latter appreciated the fact, and again asserted his supremacy. Rarely, if ever, will a dog bite one who meets his assault with composure and looks the beast firmly in the eye. It will thus be seen that the successful trainer and driver is a superior person~ being possessed of pluck, nerve, firm- ness of will, a sympathetic intelligence, and a quiet manner. Unfortunately, he is not always absolutely honest, although several noted drivers of trotting horses have been conspicuous for integrity as well as for skill. This was the case with Hiram Woodruff, a man of national repu- tation in his day, and the author of The Trotting Horse of America, by far the best book, both as regards style and sub- stance, ever written on the subject. Hiram Woodruff, like all other per- sons who possess an extraordinary at- traction for dumb animals, had the sim- plicity, the primitive qualities, of one who stands close to nature. There was nothing artificial or conventional or false about him; he was brave and gentle and frank. His power over horses was so remarkable that it seemed to be al- most mysterious, and it was a matter of 204 Profrssional Horsemen. [August, common discussion and of various ex- planation among the frequenters of the track in his lifetime. The secret was, Mr. George Wilkes says, that he gained the confidence of his horses through their affections, and after that every- thing was easy; and Mr. Wilkes con- tinues When he walked through his stables, the undoubted accord which he had es- tablished with its glossy inmates was at once evinced by the low whinnies of welcome which would greet his kindly presence as he went from stall to stall. They knew him for the friend who mixed among them almost as if he were an equal, and who never ceased to talk to them as if they were his equals, when he took them out for their exercise, or even when he encouraged them during the strife of the arena. Perhaps Flora Temple, Mr. Wilkes adds, was the most remarkable instance of the great horsemans conquest over animal affection during his career. She loved him with an unmistakable cordiali- ty, and when he and she were engaged in some of their most notable struggles, the man and horse seemed to be but parts of the same creature, animated by the fury of a common purpose. Hiram Woodruff won some races, dur- ing his career, which appeared to the spectators irretrievably lost. With Rip- ton, for example, a little white-legged bay horse of immense courage, he once beat a trotter called Americus, when the odds were 100 to 5 against him. It was after this race that a gambler who had lost his money declared: 1 11 tell you what it is: it is twenty or thirty per cent in favor of any horse that Hiram Wood- ruff drives. I dont care who drives the other. Of recent years the trotting horse has improved very much in quality. For- merly, the typical trotter was a coarsely- made, ugly-headed brute, and he was often driven successfully by men of a coarse, rough stamp, red-faced fellows inclining to be fat. Nowadays, the trot- ter, in fineness of organization, in the high development of his nervous system, closely resembles the thoroughbred run- ner, and he requires more delicate han- dling than some drivers of the old stamp were competent to give him~ There is a great deal of truth in that much-ridi- culed line, Who drives fat oxen should himself be fat. If you should put a thin, nervous little man to driving fat oxen, both the oxen and he would be worn out, from incompatibility of tem- per, at the end of the days work. The reason why many English horses are vicious is that they are better bred than the men who take care of them. The great reason why Arabian horses are absolutely kind is that the Arabians are a well - bred race; they are gentle in the full sense of the word. Trainers and drivers are usually, as I have said, of one type. The horse deal- er, on the other hand, is of many types; but his traits are so marked that lie is easily recognizable, especially when one meets him on the road. He sits more squarely in his seat than do the generali- ty of men; he wears gloves, and grasps the reins firmly, yet almost carelessly; his hat is pulled over his brows a little lower than is customary with common mortals; his expression is both shrewd and masterful; his lips are thin, and the corners of his mouth are drawn down. The horse dealer has the imperious- ness of one accustomed to subdue power- ful animals; he has, as a rule, the good humor of one who leads a healthy out- door life: but, with reluctance be it said, these excellent qualities are as nothing compared with the craft and subtlety, with the mists of fabrication and imposture, by which lie is enveloped. As to the future state of the horse dealer, I fear that there can be nothing problematic about it, un- less indeed Providence has arranged for him a special dispensation. Certainly there is this to be said in extenuation of his crimes: to sell a horse without lying 1894.] I~rofessional horsemen. ~O5 and cheating is next door to impossible, and therefore lying and cheating are, in some sense, forced upon the horse dealer. We might even regard him, not altogether without reason, as a great public benefactor, as a martyr who sac- rifices his own moral character for the good of the community. He is all that stands between us and the decay of a noble industry. We must have horses for use in our business and in our plea- sures: in general, it is impossible to raise them for ourselves; in general, also, we should never buy a horse if we knew the whole truth about him; and therefore, as I say, the falsity of the jock is a ne- cessary link in the great chain of human I am led to believe that the dealers themselves, when they reason about the subject at all, which is but seldom, take precisely the view here stated. They recognize, in a far-off way, the beauty of veracity, but they regard it as something to be expected only of saints and heroes. To the horse dealer honesty is a coun- sel of perfection, just as celibacy and poverty are counsels of perfection to the layman who, having no vocation to be a monk, has married a wife and is en- deavoring to acquire property. Occa- sionally, when a dealer does happen to be absolutely honest, he is looked upon by his fellows with a strange mixture of contempt and admiration. How is So- and-So getting along? I inquired of an ordinary dealer in reference to one of real integrity. Not very well, was the reply. But he is a good man and a good horseman, ill said. Oh ye-es, ye-es; but the fact is, George is too hon- est, he cant sell a horse. I have sometimes thought though I suppose the scheme is too repugnant to American ideas ever to be carried out that there ought to be a caste of horse dealers, marked off like pariahs or like the Egyptian parasehistes from the rest of the community. Such a caste could be formed from felons of the better edu cated sort. Thus, embezzlers, burglars, forgers, bank cashiers, trustees, and the like, after a short term of imprisonment, might be licensed by the state to set up as horse dealers, the occupation being at the same time forbidden to all per- sons unconvicted of crime. This would carry out exactly the fundamental idea of caste which has thus been stated by a high authority: Caste rests upon the religious idea of an indelible stain resting on certain men, and the social idea of cer- tain functions being committed to certain classes. However, I merely throw this out as a passing suggestion, and now I shall try to indicate a few of the common types among horse dealers. Henry Cohen is a Polish Jew who sells horses at auction and at private sale. He is a short, fat, tough little man, with a round head, a stubborn chin, and a surly expression. Being very warm-blooded, he is usually in his shirt sleeves, and he always carries a whip in his hand. Cohen resorts to no persuasive arts; his method is the bullying one, and his customers being chiefly countrymen and other un- sophisticated persons, he fairly dragoons them into buying. There is an air of gloom about Cohen, the gloom of one whose eye is unalterably fixed upon the main chance. Possibly, also, a vague consciousness of iniquity, not rising to repentance nor deepening to remorse, weighs upon him a little. It may be doubted if any man, even though he be a horse dealer, and a Jew at that, and a Polish Jew to boot, can assume the atti- tude of a pirate toward the community without feeling a little strangeness in the situation, as if it were something not quite intended by nature. Henry Cohen has the fascination which rats or snakes have for people who abhor them. Let us enter his sta- ble. It is a dark, low-studded, ill-smell- ing place. On both sides we find long rows of horses, a swinging board sepa- rating each animal from his neighbor. They are almost all coarse-bred, heavy- 206 Professional Horsemen. [August, headed brutes; most of them are large, suitable for farm or teamsters work, and nearly all are young and fat. There is, however, a sprinkling of second- hand horses (euphemistically known as acclimated horses), lean, sad - eyed, and forlorn, many of them lame, not a few diseased. They are sent here by way of passage to some stage of equine existence even harder than that which they have experienced already. Half- savage, scantily-clad hostlers, pale from the preceding nights debauch, hurry about, while up and down the broad aisle struts Cohen, whip in hand, now cursing one of his men, now bluffly commending some particular harse to a possible customer, now giving a vicious blow to an unfortunate beast who has gone to sleep with his hind legs in the passageway. Cohen never patted a horse in his life. He takes no pleasure in horses, has no feeling for them, cares not how much they suffer. To him the noble animal is a mere machine, out of which money can be made. The reader may laugh at the notion, but I confess that to me the atmosphere of Cohens stable always seems laden with tragedy, the tragedy of equine suffering, past and to come; the tragedy of broken bones and broken necks among human beings; the tragedy of lifelong cruelty and deceit. Stupid and vicious horses seem to gravitate by a kind of instinct to Co- hens stable. Observe the big, flopping ears, the fiddle-case head, the nar- row forehead, the dull, timorous eyes of that long - legged black horse yonder. Some day, it may be six hours, or six weeks, or six years from now, that fellow will run away out of fright, and the honest farmer who owns him will be pitched headlong on the rocks at the side of the road. Here stands another, a stoutly built chestnut mare, who looks backward at us from the corner of her eye, at the same time disclosing the white thereof. Her destiny is probably to kick somebody in the head and frac ture his skull. Dangerous and half- broken horses are at their best in the heart of a city, where their attention is so dissipated that no single object can much affect them. But Cohens horses frequently balk and kick, and occasion- ally jump into a passing wagon direct- ly in front of his stable (which lies upon a very busy street) ; what, then, must they do in the country when they are first harnessed to a plough or driven to the station! Not long ago, a horse war- ranted by him as sound and kind ran away three days after he was sold, smashed the wagon, and broke two or three bones in the body of the purchaser. This affair cost Mr. Cohen fifteen hun- dred dollars, that amount being awarded against him in damages by a jury of his peers. If there be a worse than Cohen in the business, he will probably be found among a small and peculiar class of men who deal entirely in unsound horses. These fellows commonly live in the sub- urbs, coming to town on Wednesdays and Saturdays to make their purchases at the auction stables and in contiguous streets. They acquire some skill in doc- toring, and more, no doubt, in fixing up horses. In fact, they get to think that nothing lies beyond the reach of their arts in this direction, and they be- come enamored of the business. It is needless to say that they never grow rich from it. On the contrary, being brought into frequent contact with ped- dlers, tinkers, junk dealers, and other persons, who are often professional thieves as well, they usually end by be- coming criminals themselves, and land where they belong, in jail. In the re- mote country there is a somewhat sinii- lar class, men who occupy rough moun- tain farms, cultivating the soil a little, teaming a little, swapping and sell- ing horses and cows whenever they have opportunity, and drinking all the bad whiskey on which they can lay hands by fair means or foul. They are a wild, 1894.] Professional Horsemen. 2O~ brutal set, living in poverty and squalor, and bringing up large families under the worst possible conditions. Such, roughly sketched, are certain horse dealers of the lowest stamp ; let us now turn to a few in the upper ranks of the business. There is Deacon Dun- ham, for example. The deacon I un- derstand that he really holds this posi- tion in a flourishing Orthodox church is a little man, having a short, silky brown beard, a rather large aquiline nose, and a quick, furtive air. He is much given to wearing a flat cap with a visor, and a coat with capes. Thus attired, with a whip over his shoulder, he creeps softly about a sale stable, like a cat; glancing sharply at the horses, looking in their mouths, running his hand swiftly down their legs, and sizing them up, as the vulgar phrase is, with astonishing rapidity. He forms an odd contrast to the burly jockeys of whom he buys horses; but he knows how to fraternize with them. I have often seen the deacon slap one of these fellows on the back, after whispering in his ear some joke suitable to his understanding, and then scurry off, with head bent down and shoulders shrugged together. I know nothing against Deacon Dunham. He may be as honest as the day, and the fact that he has done a large business for many years tends to establish his integrity; but nevertheless I cannot love him. Of a very different type is Jim Brod- bine, a large man, with a florid complex- ion and black mustache. Mr. Brodbimie is a fashionable dealer who gets enor- mous prices; but the pace which he has set for himself is too fast. Expensive clothes, the biggest and strongest cigars, and unlimited champagne and whiskey are among his forms of self-indulgence. It is just as certain that before many years Mr. Brodbine will become bank- rupt in health and in purse as it is that Deacon Dunham will die in the odor of sanctity, with a fat bank account. Cohen, Deacon Dunham, and Brod- bine are city dealers; Joshua Simpkins is a countryman, but he does an exten- sive business. Horses of many kinds pass through his hands, trotters from Kentucky, saddle horses from Tennes- see, family horses from all parts. In a single year he sold ten hundred and fifty animals, good, bad, and indifferent; and between times he breaks colts, and de- velops trotters on a little track in front of his stable. A broad avenue lined by maple-trees leads to his quarters, and the surrounding country is diversified and beautiful. Mr. Simpkins has a well-knit frame, a face ruddy from continual ex- posure, a shrewd mouth, and the most restless eye that ever glittered in mortal face. It is a steel-blue eye, cold and hard, and its glance plays incessantly up and down, and all around. While you are talking with him at his big barn door, Mr. Simpkinss eye will take excursions in the neighborhood; noting the condi- tion of the hay crop, detecting the weak points of your horse, putting a price on a colt in the field down yonder, observ- ing the shortcomings of a groom who is dressing a horse behind him, and read- ing your character, so far as it relates to buying and selling, by a swift up- ward glance under his yellow eyebrows. Joshua Simpkinss eye does the work of a dozen ordinary eyes; it is difficult to imagine it at rest even in sleep, and sad to think that its energy will be quenched in the grave before many years have passed. For his own sake, I trust that Simpkins will be kicked to death or have his neck broken in a runaway accident, rather than fade out of life by degrees. It would be hard indeed for a man of his activity, mental and physical, to re- tire by painful stages from the sulky to the armchair, and from the armchair to his bed. Simpkins, like most horse dealers, has a great flow of language; but, like others of his craft, he is utterly irresponsive on any subject except that which lies 208 Professional horsemen. [August, near his pocket. Concerning the horses that he wants to sell he will talk by the hour, but change the topic to your horse or to some other mans horse, or to poli- tics, or to Ibsen, and forthwith the mind of Simpkins will wander like his eye. Very few dealers are religious men, but I once knew a Methodist minister who dabbled in horseflesh, not fla- grantly; nothing extravagant was ever laid to his charge; and if, in selling a horse, he used the same eloquence that served him in the pulpit, who shall com- plain? There was another Methodist minister, a resident of Michigan, who got up some trotting races, entered his own horses, and actually won all the prizes. But this was going a little too far, even for these lax times. The brethren disciplined him, so that he was forced to give up one calling or the other, and ill believe it was the ministerial one that went by the board. There is, how- ever, a close connection between the jockeys and the religious temperament. Both are emotional. The dealer is al- most always a man of quick and lively feelings. He easily becomes impressed with the good qualities of a horse, and words of warm commendation fall thick and fast from his lips. A certain en- thusiasm, almost an ecstasy, takes pos- session of him; but fortunately it passes off when a sale has been effected. I never knew a dealer to be afflicted with chronic insanity. But I have known some venerable white-bearded jocks, as to whom (I say it without irreverence) no violence would be done were they transferred forthwith to the pulpit. These men had long, smooth-shaven upper lips, shaggy eye- brows. and big, emotional mouths. Some- times this emotional element becomes too pervading, and leads the dealer into absolute garrulousness. This is the case with Mr. S. Kneescalper, for instance, who, from long indulgence in words hav- ing little or no basis in fact, has lost all sense of proportion or consistency in his speech, to say nothing of veracity. Kneescalper pours out a steady stream of lies that do not hang together. I have often thought that if he could be ex- hibited to a boy who threatened to be- come loquacious, just as drunken Helots were exhibited to the Spartan youth, the lesson might be effective. Kneescalper is a good judge of horses, but he would do just as well if he were dumb. I have spoken of the emotional ele- ment in the dealer. This is one of three qualities essential to success in his call- ing, the other two being the dramatic instinct and a knowledge of human na- ture. The very manner in which the dealer sits in his wagon is distinctive, as I have suggested already, and it is also, in a quiet way, dramatic. So is his manipulation of the reins. There are some dealers who can add a hundred dollars, at least, to the value of a road- ster by the admiring, cautious manner in which they sit behind him and watch his ears. I am acquainted with one man who can strip the mud from a very dirty wagon to the minds eye by the magnificent way in which he turns a corner; and the artistic holding of a whip diagonally across the horses back has been known to transform a ten - dollar harness into a beautiful silver - mounted caparison. The dramatic element, of course, comes into play when the virtues of a particular horse are described to a possible customer, and so does the third quality, a knowledge of human nature. A dealer can often effect a sale by gen- tly leading a visitor to pick out a horse for himself. He then pretends that he was rather keeping that special horse in the background, so as to sell the inferior animals first; and the customer, being flattered by this proof of his own acute- ness, closes the bargain. I remember one case where a young man, who considered himself a match for any jockey, paid a visit to the sta- bles of a country dealer notorious for cheating, and thus voluntarily put his 1894.] Professional Horsemen. 209 head in the lions mouth. When he arrived, a very handsome chestnut geld- ing happened to be standing in har- ness on the barn floor, and he tried him first. Afterward he looked the others over, drove two or three of them, and finally settled on a choice between the chestnut gelding and a bay mare, the two being equally attractive and the price the same. The dealer praised the mare very highly, but did not say much about the gelding. Oho! said the clever young man to himself. This fellow wants to sell the mare and keep the gelding. That means that the geld- ing is the more valuable of the two. I will take him, and disappoint the rogue. But this line of reasoning was exactly what the rogue had calculated upon; the smart young man had fallen into the pit dug for him by the astute dealer. Accordingly, the chestnut gelding was bought and paid for, and the new owner led the horse off behind his wagon, in a state of great satisfaction with himself and the steed. On the way home, the road being a long one, he stopped to bait; and after dinner he gave orders to have the chestnut harnessed, intending to drive him and to lead his old horse for the remainder of the journey. Mean- while he sat down to finish a cigar on the piazza in front of the tavern. Half an hour went by, and the horses had not appeared; fifteen minutes more passed; and now the young man, very impatient and somewhat alarmed, was just start- ing for the stable, when the hostler ap- proached. The fellow was pale, and his jacket had been half torn from his back. We cant harness that horse of yours, sir, nohow! he exclaimed. He has kicked my helper and bitten me; and its my belief that the best man on earth could nt put the bridle on him. Such was very nearly the case. The mortified purchaser learned afterward that his beautiful chestnut horse (which he sold later at half price) had worn a bridle, night and day, for two weeks before he VOL. LXXIV. No. 442. 14 bought him. However, having relied upon his own acuteness, he pocketed the loss and said nothing about it. There remains one other class of horse- men, which I cannot pass over without a word or two. I mean the vets, and their predecessors the horse doctors. One of my earliest and most intense recollec- tions is that of a horse and cow doctor who practiced in the country town where I spent part of my boyhood. He was a short, squat Irishman, with grizzly hair and short grizzly beard. I never saw him without a little cuddy pipe in his mouth; and I think that he must have been of an asthmatic habit, for I remember that he wheezed very much in his talk. He said little, but that little was sententious and to the point. To me, an infant hip. pomaniac, this dirty little man (for he wa~ very dirty) seemed to embody all know- ledge, all sagacity, at least all that were worth the having. I hung upon his words, as if he had been Abelard, and I his disciple. I realized, perhaps, in a vague way, that my estimate of the horse doctor was not altogether shared by the adult members of the family. 1 felt that they might be so fatuous as to put the minister and the judge and the physician above him; but this feeling did not shake my own opinion in the least. Children have an odd way of trust- ing their instincts in tacit defiance of their elders. What would I not give if, at this moment, I could look up to any hu- man being with that utter reliance upon his wisdom which, at the age of twelve, I had with respect to the horse doctor! But now, after the disappointing experi- ence of a lifetime, I am led to doubt if the little man was really so wise as he looked. These irregular practitioners probably did more harm than good. They had some native wit, some experience, but a great part of their lore onsisted of irrational and traditionary i(leas which had nothing but age to recommend them. The vet, though sometimes a charla- tan, sometimes dishonest, and sometimes 210 Church Communion Tokens. [August, given to drink, is, on the whole, a vast improvement upon the uneducated horse doctor of former times. A really good vet is a tower of strength to the horse owner, and something little less than a guardian angel to the ordinary purchaser who buys a horse of a dealer, and em- ploys the vet to examine him for sound- ness. Occasionally, the modern vet is a little too much of a fine gentleman; but in his best estate he has a pecnliar, an indefinable stamp of his own. Perhaps it might be described as a professional air tempered slightly by rakishness. The ideal vet has the grave look of a physi- cian, and yet in the cut of his hat, in the color of his necktie, in the shape of his coat, or in some other trifle there will be a picturesque suggestion of horsiness, which, upon careful examination, will be apparent also in the expression of his face. The same distinct and pleasant air, semi-medical and semi-sporting, is found, too, in the equipage of the vet. And what a good horse he drives! Commonly, he affects a cob; not one of your coarse- bred, fat, chunky cobs, such as figure in magnificent harness at horse shows, but a well-bred cob, with thin, fiat legs as hard as iron, a cob that is broad be. tween the eyes, and has delicately cut ears which flash forward and backward, indicating a lively but docile disposition. Vets, to their credit be it said, become fond of their horses, and seldom change them. I never knew one to drive a stupid animal; and some of the best, and per- baps I may add truest horse stories that I have ever told related to nags that were in this line of business. I fancy that the profession of a vet tends to become hereditary; I know sev- eral families, at least, iu which that is the case. And certainly, in these days of overcrowded professions and trades, a man might do worse than to bring up his son to this calling. To begin with, the vet always has his office in a stable, a fact very captivating to a well-regu- lated, boyish imagination, and not with- out its charm even for certain persons of mature years. His occupation is a manly, wholesome, outdoor one; he is subjected to no extraordinary temptations, and he has many opportunities to relieve the suf- fering of dumb and ini4ocent animals. Of all professional horsemen, the vet de- serves best both of men and horses. Henry Childs Jllerwin. CHURCH COMMUNION TOKENS. WHEN I first saw the little oblong pewter disks used in the Presbyterian Church a century ago, in the preliminary arrangements for the celebration of the Lords Supper, and called Presbyterian checks or tokens, I fancied them a most curious and extraordinary religious em- blem employed only in the Presbyteriau church in Pelham, Mass., in olden days; but since the publication of my book The Sabbath in Puritan New England, in which I speak of these Pelham tokens, I have received many letters asking ques- lions about the tokens, and giving me much information and some curious spe- cimens. I find, to my surprise, that the use of communion tokens is as widespread as the Christian Church, though perhaps at the present day the more special cus- torn of different and usually of remotely settled branches of the Presbyterian de- nomination. It is a custom fast becoming extinct, and indeed is wholly unfamiliar, and even unknown, to many Presbyteri- ans to-day; but its memory should be kept green out of honor to the pious Presbyte- rians of the past, and as one of our few curious church customs.

Alice Morse Earle Earle, Alice Morse Church Communion Tokens 210-214

210 Church Communion Tokens. [August, given to drink, is, on the whole, a vast improvement upon the uneducated horse doctor of former times. A really good vet is a tower of strength to the horse owner, and something little less than a guardian angel to the ordinary purchaser who buys a horse of a dealer, and em- ploys the vet to examine him for sound- ness. Occasionally, the modern vet is a little too much of a fine gentleman; but in his best estate he has a pecnliar, an indefinable stamp of his own. Perhaps it might be described as a professional air tempered slightly by rakishness. The ideal vet has the grave look of a physi- cian, and yet in the cut of his hat, in the color of his necktie, in the shape of his coat, or in some other trifle there will be a picturesque suggestion of horsiness, which, upon careful examination, will be apparent also in the expression of his face. The same distinct and pleasant air, semi-medical and semi-sporting, is found, too, in the equipage of the vet. And what a good horse he drives! Commonly, he affects a cob; not one of your coarse- bred, fat, chunky cobs, such as figure in magnificent harness at horse shows, but a well-bred cob, with thin, fiat legs as hard as iron, a cob that is broad be. tween the eyes, and has delicately cut ears which flash forward and backward, indicating a lively but docile disposition. Vets, to their credit be it said, become fond of their horses, and seldom change them. I never knew one to drive a stupid animal; and some of the best, and per- baps I may add truest horse stories that I have ever told related to nags that were in this line of business. I fancy that the profession of a vet tends to become hereditary; I know sev- eral families, at least, iu which that is the case. And certainly, in these days of overcrowded professions and trades, a man might do worse than to bring up his son to this calling. To begin with, the vet always has his office in a stable, a fact very captivating to a well-regu- lated, boyish imagination, and not with- out its charm even for certain persons of mature years. His occupation is a manly, wholesome, outdoor one; he is subjected to no extraordinary temptations, and he has many opportunities to relieve the suf- fering of dumb and ini4ocent animals. Of all professional horsemen, the vet de- serves best both of men and horses. Henry Childs Jllerwin. CHURCH COMMUNION TOKENS. WHEN I first saw the little oblong pewter disks used in the Presbyterian Church a century ago, in the preliminary arrangements for the celebration of the Lords Supper, and called Presbyterian checks or tokens, I fancied them a most curious and extraordinary religious em- blem employed only in the Presbyteriau church in Pelham, Mass., in olden days; but since the publication of my book The Sabbath in Puritan New England, in which I speak of these Pelham tokens, I have received many letters asking ques- lions about the tokens, and giving me much information and some curious spe- cimens. I find, to my surprise, that the use of communion tokens is as widespread as the Christian Church, though perhaps at the present day the more special cus- torn of different and usually of remotely settled branches of the Presbyterian de- nomination. It is a custom fast becoming extinct, and indeed is wholly unfamiliar, and even unknown, to many Presbyteri- ans to-day; but its memory should be kept green out of honor to the pious Presbyte- rians of the past, and as one of our few curious church customs. 1894.] Church Communion Tokens. 211 An explanation of the use of commun- ion tokens in the Peiham Presbyterian Church will indicate the manner of their employment elsewhere. It was thus told to me. At the close of each Sabbath ser- vice throughout the month, the deacons walked up and down the aisle of the meeting-house and doled out these pew- ter tokens, until each xvorthy and godly- walking church member had received one. Upon the communion Sabbath (the holy rite being held but once in two or three months, usually quarterly) the recipi- ent must present this token as his voucher or check, or literally his ticket of admis- sion, ere he could partake of the commun- ion, either at his own or a neighboring church of the same denomination. With- out this check he was temporarily un- houseleci. The Pelham checks which I was shown were rude disks of pewter, about an inch and a half long, stamped with the initials P. P., standing for Peihain Presbyterian. These tokens had been made and used during the pastorate of that remarkable rogue Rev. Stephen Burroughs, ~vho, like several of his par- ishioners, proved such a successful coun- terfeiter of the coin of the commonwealth at the close of the eighteenth century. I could but think, as I looked at the simple little stamped slips, so easily man- ufactured, so readily counterfeited, that many a spurious communion check could have been passed in, unsuspected and undetected, to the deacons and elders of neighboring churches by the clever coin- makers in the Peiham congregation; and a very comic picture arose in my fancy, of the pious deacons cofmfidingly deal- ing out these simple little tokens to the hland and rascally counterfeiters in the pews. This Peiham church was an offshoot of the Scotch-Irish Church of London- deri~y, N. H., a mother church, in which all the Scotch Presbyterians for miles around convened twice a year to par- take of the Lords Supper. To this communion the Pelham parish folk went at least once a year. Preparatory solemn services, days of fasting, were held in Londonderry on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday preceding the communion Sab- bath, and unleavened bread was baked for the use of the communicants. Men working afield on these days were prose- cute(l and fined for ungodly carriage, as they would have been for working on Sunday in any Puritan community. Oii the communion Sabbath long tables spread with snowy cloths were placed in the aisles of the church, and the seats at these tables were filled and refilled with communicants, each presenting in turn his token. Aged and honored mem- bers of the community filled the first table. Often the services occupied the entire day, and must have been most im- pressive to see, as well as most exhaust- ing to the ministers. This solemn Sab- hath gathering of good Presbyterians was followed on Monday by a universal ex- change of visits and neighborly inter- course, and much jollity and mirth; a day of thanksgiving, in which our ever- present and ever-welcome old friend, New England rum, played no small oi unimportant part. The Presbyterian churches in Scot- land universally used the token long be- fore any church members canine to Amer- ica, and it is a curious fact that Scotch tokens, especially made for Scotch con- gregations, are to be found in America, some dating as far back as the year 1661. Many of these Scotch tokens bear the rude figure of a chalice; others have the initials of the name of the church or the pastor. They were doubtless used as a letter from church to church. These relicrious gatherings in Scotland were, in one sense, a much-prized recreation, a meeting-place for friends. Frivolous and soul-careless English servants, in binding out for a term of years, stipu- lated to be allowed to attend a certain number of wakes or fairs yearly; but canny Scotch ploughmnen and nmilkmaids 21~ Uhurch Communion Tokens. [August, piously bargained to go to the sacra- ment. Occasionally, an ungodly back- slider risked his soul by compromising for two fairs in the place of the sacra- ment, but very rarely; the church gath- erings were too attractive. In Scot- land the tokens were called tickets. Elders stood at the doors and tried, as they termed it, the tokens or tickets for counterfeits were sometimes offered by wicked Scotchmen, or tickets were borrowed from good-tempered or time- serving friends. Sometimes relatives lent tokens to delinquents, to save them from the disgrace of not partaking of the communion. The presentation at the communion table was called lifting the token. The tokens used in Scotland were usually of metal, tin, pewter, or lead cast in a mould or cut by a stamp; sometimes merely printed pasteboard tickets. Token moulds are often seen in inventories of church properties. Scotchmen also had stock tokens, en- graved or stamped with suitable texts, which could be used in any Presbyte- rian communion, as well as special parish tokens. Tokens were often refused to Scotch. church members, not only to men who became evil livers, but to those who had walked in Masonic processions or had ridden in the cars on Fast Day, or to a man and his wife who were re- ported as living on no very amiable terms, showing how rare, marital infeli- city must have been in that neighborhood, and how severely reprehended. Some- times would-be communicants dared to present themselves at the Lords table without a ticket. Mr. Robert Shells (who has given me many of the facts I have stated), in his interesting little book The Story of the Token, tells of one bold American woman who did so at a Wisconsin Presbyterian church; but she was promptly set outdoors by the scandal- ized and outraged deacons. The chroni- cler said that she had sinned by pro- miscuous hearing, not promiscuous talking, please note, but by promiscuous listening, apparently a most negative offense. I have seen the notice, how- ever, of many excommumeations and withholdings of the token from men, not merely for innocuous listening, but on account of their offensive words and deeds. Boswell states that one undaunt- ed and belligerent Scotchman brought a lawsuit against his parish minister for refusing him admission to the sacred ordinance. rhe use of tokens was at one time common in Holland, especially in the Walloon Church, which was composed of French and Flemish refugees. It seems doubtful whether theywere ever used in the Lutheran churches. They were employed in French Huguenot churches as early as the year 1600. The Rev. Charles Frossard has published a description of forty-one different tokens used in the communion of the Reformed French Church. Of these, thirty bear the figure of a chalice. French tokens were made of pasteboard, wax, leather, glass, but generally of lead or brass, and are thoroughly French in character with their beautiful and appropriate legends, Fear not, little flock, and My sheep know My voice and follow Me. The Bulletin of the French Protestant His- torical Society gives a full account of these French tokens, and some very strik- ing and picturesque details of church discipline of the times. Metal tokens used by Baptist and Methodist churches are not rare, and may be found in collections. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the Episcopal churches in Scotland used tokens, as well as did their Presbyterian neighbors. St. Andrews Church, Glas- gow, distributed tokens stamped with a cross. Tickets and tokens have also been used in certain Roman Catholic churches, among others the Cathedral Church in Glasgow, and at early dates in Continen- tal churches. The use of the token was common in 1894.] Church Communion Tokens. 213 the Church of England. The token books of St. Saviours Church of Old Southwark for the years 1588 to 1630 nearly all still exist. These are account books of common writing paper, one for each district. The churchwardens went once each year to every house in the parish, and in these books they entered, against the name of street, court, or al- ley, the names of all residents of six- teen years or older, who were bound by law to take the sacrament at the par- ish church, or abide the severe conse- quences, namely, imprisonment or exile. A ticket of lead or pewter a sacra- mental token was given to each person, to be delivered at the communion table. These books form now a valu- able statistical and topographical record of that part of London, and have for us another interest; for in that parish, at that time, Shakespeare lived, and to him must have been delivered these tokens stamped with the letters S. S., St. Saviours. In these token books are the names of sixteen of the actors whose names are also printed in the first edition of Shakespeares plays. Back- sliders are noted: one an Anabaptist, another a Brownist, another a badd husband and cometh not to communion.~~ At Henley-on-Thames the tokens were called communion half-pence. The Newbury tokens were stamped with a Bible. There seems to be some indica- tion that sacramental tokens were also used as a medium of exchange, possibly as a sort of poor-ticket. It was a day of tokens; trade tokeiis abounded. In Ireland, England, the Isle of Man, Australia, New Zealand, Cape Breton, India, Canada, Newfoundland, wherever there are Presbyterian churches, the to- kens have been commonly used. On the island of Santa Cruz, in the Church of the United Brethren, an octagonal cop- per token was given to an inteiiding par- ticipant in communion, and if he success- fully passed the speaking he could receive the full ticket, a handsome ma- hogany token. One from Antioch, Syria, bears a motto in Arabic; how readily it suggests to us tIme text, And the dis- ciples were called Christians first in An- tioch A Reformed Dutch church in St. Thomas long used oval pewter to- kens. They were doubtless introduced by sonie Scotch minister who was in charge there. In America the use of the token has widely prevailed, especially in New Hampshire; not only in Londonderry, but in Antrim, Salem, and sister churches. In Massachusetts, I know of their use in Pelbam, Chelsea, and Sutton, and I hear that one church in Boston still de- mands tokens from communicants. They are employed in many of the United Presbyterian churches in Pennsylvania, and were for a long time used in Pimiladel- phia. Philadelphia tokens were stamped with a heart. It was not in small communities only that these tokens were employed. Ivory tokens were used until recently in the First Reformed Church in New York city, and until 1870 in the Fourth Pres- byterian Church. The wealthy church of Charleston, S. C., had cast, in the early part of this century, beautiful silver tokemis almost as large as a silver half- dollar, bearing on one side the design of a table with chalice and paten, and the text This do in remembrance of Me; on the other, the burning bush, and the legend Nec tamen consuniebatur; on the edge, the words Presbyterian Church of Charleston, S. C. Though white and black church members sat at the same table, in this church, before the late war, and communed from the same vessels, the church provided tin tokens for its negro members. During the civil war, the Northern troops looted the church property, and may have thought the church tokens Confederate money. Collections of church tokens have been made in Scotland and in America. Mr. John Reid, of 13, Well Meadow, Blair- gowrie, Scotland, has nearly five thou- 214 Cardinal Lavigeries Work in North Africa. [August, sand tokens. Mr. Shiells, of Neenah, Wis., has a large and interesting collec- tion. Many curious and varying opinions exist in the Presbyterian Church in re- gard to the propriety and advisability of employing these tokens. One Presby- terian clergyman writes to me that he always much deprecated their use, hav- ing seen the effect of their employment in the first church over which he was settled in Pennsylvania. He found that many of the congregation, especially the older women, bowed the head upon re- ceiving the token, and, like a good Pres- byterian, he promptly and characteris- tically feared that they regarded it with much the same feeling as a Roman Catholic regards some of the symbols of his church. Another minister, settled over a new parish, at the first weekly meeting which he attended I think a prayer meeting in the middle of the week asked if anything more should be said to the congregation ere the meet- ing closed. An aged deacon arose, and, presenting him with a bag of tokens, said, Will you now distribnte the tokens? Taking the bag, the deter- mined parson opened the door of the pulpit closet (the well-known black hole under the pulpit of many old churches) and threw bag and tokens to the further end, saying that such was the only use he would ever make of church tokens. What proved the sequel of this high-handed proceeding was not related to me, but it could hardly have been a very ingratiating or propitious entrance of a new minister into a new church com- munity. Other clergymen regard the use of tokens as a time-honored and solemn cus- tom, never giving a token without a trembling hand and a throbbing heart, and they regretfully relinquish it, believ- ing it a dignified and sacred part of their church symbolism. Alice Miorse Earle. CARDINAL LAYIGERIES WORK IN NORTH AFRICA. WHEN, last year, the present writer made a journey throughout French Bar- bary, that is, from the frontiers of Morocco to the eastern Tunisian littoral, and by the routes of the Sahara as well as through the hill regions of Kabylia, he took particular note of the great work done, and being done, by the White Army, founded, organized, and for so many years sustained by the late Cardinal Lavigerie. The rumor of the great deeds of this indomitable soldier of the cross has spread throughout the civilized world; but nei- ther in America nor in Great Britain is the story of his career and his achieve- ment in Africa adequately recognized. Indeed, there seems to be an idea cur- rent that with his death the redemp tion of Islam lapsed from a grand crusade to a disorganized, casual, and generally futile inissionism. As a matter of fact, the White Fa- thers are to-day a better organized, bet- ter directed, and more influential body than they were in those first years of hardship and fiery ardor which were the outcome of the passionate eloquence and not less passionate zeal and enthusiasm of the Archbishop of Algiers. It is true that visitors to Algiers and Tunis and it is surprising how relatively small is the number of those who go further afield in Algeria or Tunisia than to these picturesque and popular cities, and their kindred smaller towns along the Bar- bary coasts, froni Oran to Susa may see little or nothing of the Army of the

William Sharp Sharp, William Cardinal Lavigerie's Work in Africa 214-227

214 Cardinal Lavigeries Work in North Africa. [August, sand tokens. Mr. Shiells, of Neenah, Wis., has a large and interesting collec- tion. Many curious and varying opinions exist in the Presbyterian Church in re- gard to the propriety and advisability of employing these tokens. One Presby- terian clergyman writes to me that he always much deprecated their use, hav- ing seen the effect of their employment in the first church over which he was settled in Pennsylvania. He found that many of the congregation, especially the older women, bowed the head upon re- ceiving the token, and, like a good Pres- byterian, he promptly and characteris- tically feared that they regarded it with much the same feeling as a Roman Catholic regards some of the symbols of his church. Another minister, settled over a new parish, at the first weekly meeting which he attended I think a prayer meeting in the middle of the week asked if anything more should be said to the congregation ere the meet- ing closed. An aged deacon arose, and, presenting him with a bag of tokens, said, Will you now distribnte the tokens? Taking the bag, the deter- mined parson opened the door of the pulpit closet (the well-known black hole under the pulpit of many old churches) and threw bag and tokens to the further end, saying that such was the only use he would ever make of church tokens. What proved the sequel of this high-handed proceeding was not related to me, but it could hardly have been a very ingratiating or propitious entrance of a new minister into a new church com- munity. Other clergymen regard the use of tokens as a time-honored and solemn cus- tom, never giving a token without a trembling hand and a throbbing heart, and they regretfully relinquish it, believ- ing it a dignified and sacred part of their church symbolism. Alice Miorse Earle. CARDINAL LAYIGERIES WORK IN NORTH AFRICA. WHEN, last year, the present writer made a journey throughout French Bar- bary, that is, from the frontiers of Morocco to the eastern Tunisian littoral, and by the routes of the Sahara as well as through the hill regions of Kabylia, he took particular note of the great work done, and being done, by the White Army, founded, organized, and for so many years sustained by the late Cardinal Lavigerie. The rumor of the great deeds of this indomitable soldier of the cross has spread throughout the civilized world; but nei- ther in America nor in Great Britain is the story of his career and his achieve- ment in Africa adequately recognized. Indeed, there seems to be an idea cur- rent that with his death the redemp tion of Islam lapsed from a grand crusade to a disorganized, casual, and generally futile inissionism. As a matter of fact, the White Fa- thers are to-day a better organized, bet- ter directed, and more influential body than they were in those first years of hardship and fiery ardor which were the outcome of the passionate eloquence and not less passionate zeal and enthusiasm of the Archbishop of Algiers. It is true that visitors to Algiers and Tunis and it is surprising how relatively small is the number of those who go further afield in Algeria or Tunisia than to these picturesque and popular cities, and their kindred smaller towns along the Bar- bary coasts, froni Oran to Susa may see little or nothing of the Army of the 1894.] Cardinal Lavigeries Work in North Africa. 215 Sahara: perhaps, unless at Carthage itself, even hear little of the doings of the White Fathers. But the moment the Sahara is reached, even that hither portion of it called the Ziban, to the south of the province of Constantine, the most casual visitor must have his at- tention drawn to these Catholic mission- aries who have done, and are doing, so important a work in Northern Africa. Throughout French Barbary there is now no place, after Algiers, not even Flem~en the Beautiful nor Con- stantine the Magnificent, so much resorted to as Biskra, Biskra-el-Nok- kel, as the Arabs call it, Biskra of the Palms. At this oasis town, deservedly termed the Queen of the Sahara, there is a large and important station of Car- dinal Lavigeries White Fathers. There every one who is interested may see and hear for himself, and there, as a matter of fact, as well as at Carthage and else- where, the writer of this paper learned much concerning the recent work accom- plished, and the new work projected, by this indomitable missionary brigade. Twenty centuries ago Cato thrilled his Roman hearers with his Delenda est Carthago. In our own day, a mission- ary priest of Rome replied triumphantly, Instauranda Carthago. The enthusP astic prelate, who came from a bishops see in France, was, in a sense, on native soil when he reached the desolate heights tenanted only of a few fanatical Arabs or wandering Bedouins; for there one of his heroes, St. Louis the king, had come to die; there the saintly Monica had won Augustine to the militant faith of which he was to become one of the fore- most champions in Christendom; there Tertullian, a kindred spirit in most re- spects, was born. From this spot that was a Phomician city before Rome came into existence, from this seat of a power that held dominion for seven centuries, from this grass-grown waste that for a thousand years had been as obliterate as the site of Troy, has come in our time a voice of quickening, of regeneration, that may re- create in Africa not only a mighty state politically, but wh.Lt Lavigerie himself loved to call, prophetically, a potenPrealm in the empire of the world. It may be as well to give here a few words concerning the beginning of the great cardinals mission in Africa, and about New Carthage as he in part con- stituted it. Of that unfulfilled New Car- thage, which he projected with so much eagerness and with so many sanguine ex- pectations, and of which he dreamed to the end of his days, I need say nothing at present. Though lie wished it to be- come the Christian capital of the Orient and the south, the immediate results of his great scheme would be rather for the consideration of the politician, the mili- tary and naval specialist, the merchant, the agriculturist, and, let me add, the humanitarian. rfhe assertion frequently made, that Cardinal Lavigerie was the first person to erect a Christian structure on the site of Carthage, is a mistake. More than fifty years ago, a chapel dedicated to the memory of St. Louis was built on the summit of the Byrsa, with its front to that beautiful bay where, since the days of Pho~nician galleys and Roman tri- remes, for hundreds of years the sloops of the Barbary corsairs hind come and gone with their cargoes of Christian slaves. Eleven years previously (that is, in 1830), M. Mathieu de Lesseps, the father of the famous Count Ferdi- nand de Lesseps, who was French consul at Tunis in the reign of Charles X. and in the first part of that of Louis Phi- lippe, had obtained from the reigning Bey the cession to France of a small sec- tion of land on the Maalaka, the ridge to time eastward of the Arab village of Sidi- Bon-Said; in other words, on that part of the heights where ancient Carthage stood, and on the very spot where, ac- cording to tradition, the pious mon- arch expired. Hussein-Bey, however, 216 Cardinal Lavigeries Work in North Africa. [August, granted no more than a nominal cession, and it was not till 1841 that the memo- rial chapel was actually built, to the dis- pleasure of the Tunisian populace, but, strangely enough, to the content of the Arabs of Sidi-Bou-Said and La Marsa, who, as a matter of fact, had already, in their own fashion, canonized the saintly king, and had for generations revered him as a holy prince who had been con- verted to the religion of Mahomet, arid had come to Africa to die a Moslem. All reminiscence of the fact that six hun- dred years ago King Louis landed on these shores as a crusader, and that his army was defeated before Tunis, seems to have faded. I found this legend still extant among the Arabs of that region, and it may in-~ terest many readers to know that not only is a Christian king revered as a Moslem saint, but that, on what was the western side of ancient Carthage, there is a mosque dedicated to the worship of Jesus. I asked an Arab of Sidi-Bou- Said if it were ancient or modern. He smiled gravely, having guessed that I iniagined it to be due to the influence of Cardinal Lavigeries White Fathers, and replied that long before the coming of the Christiau moulai, long before any Christians trod the soil of Tunis save as slaves, a mosque had tbere been dedi- cated to the worship of Jesus. In re- sponse to my further question if the Sidi-Jssa were identical with the Jesus whom we revere as the Christ, the Arab answered affirmatively; adding that in Allahs eyes the Sidi-Issa was a prophet even as Mahomet himself, and sent to earth, too, with a divine mission, though both prophet and mission were secon- dary to the supreme servant of God, Mahomet. From one of Cardinal Lavigeries White Fathers I learned that the name Sidi - Bou - Said, designating the Arab village on Cape Carthage, more exactly El-Zaouia-es-Sidi-Bou-Said, does not sig- nify, as sometimes translated, My lord the father of Said or Saeeda; which would be meaningless in relation to St. Louis, even if the fantastic derivation of a French writer were tenable, that Saeeda was the lingual Arabic equivalent of the name of the French king! Bon means possessor of as well as fa- ther, and Said or Saceda is probably Saada, happiness. When St. Louis was, as the Arabs suppose, converted to the true faith, he might well have been alluded to as My lord the possessor of Happiness: hence, after the foundation of a mosque or holy retreat in his honor, the village which grew around the Zaouia came to be known as that of Sidi-Bou- Saada. It is only iii French and English maps and books that the name is spelled Said, or Saeed, or Saida. This chapel of St. Louis was in exist- ence, then, before Archbishop Lavigerie became Primate of Africa, and anterior to his translation from the see of Nancy. The other buildings in the neighbor- hood are more recent, with the exception of the Mohammedan marabout of Sidi- Salch. These are, besides the cathedral, where the body of the great cardinal now rests, in a tomb built and consecrat- ed by himself long before his death, a small chapel, Notre Dame de la Meliha, for the use of Maltese residents in Tunis and La Goletta and for Maltese sailors; a Carmelite convent; a college of the White Fathers and the ordinary priests of the diocese; arid the invaluable muse- um inaugurated by Cardinal Lavigerie, but formed, organized, and supervised by the Rev. P~re Louis Delattre, the chap- lain of St. Louis, and himself one of the Pares Blanes dAfrique, a priest, arcbaiologist, scholar, and man of the world, to whom many visitors to Car- thage owe a great debt of pleasure and instruction. At the Maison Carr~e at Algiers, at St. Louis of Carthage, at the Seminaire of the White Fathers at Biskra in the Sahara, one may learn all that is needful for an outsider to know concerning the 1894.] Cardinal Lavigeries Work in North Africa. 217 special training, mission, and actual work achieved by the famous desert bri- gade. In connection with the chapel of Notre Dame de la Meliha I may men- tion here a suggestive incident which I heard in Tunis. One day, the cardinal, overborne by mental fatigue, anxiety, and disappointuient, went into the chapel to rest and pray. There was no one else present, and after a time his head fell forward on his breast and he was sound asleep. Waking suddenly, he beheld an extraordinary light upon the painted windows representing St. Augustine, his mother St. Monica, and St. Cyprian. This light did not come from the glow of the sun, but was full upon them as though cast from a great lamp. He turned, and beheld standing in front of the altar a figure which he recognized as that of St. Nymphanion, the first re- corded martyr of Christian Carthage. The saint spoke; but all he said was, Mon fr~re en J~sus-Christ notre Sci- gneur. That, however, meant that the first martyr of the Church in Carthage hailed one who also was to die there in martyrdom, though not a martyr under direct tyranny, but beneath the weight of toil and anxiety and long endurance and the sickness of ever-deferred hope. The weary cardinal aros~, either to advance to do obeisance before St. Nymphanion, or to assure himself of the verity of his vision, when the saint, turning and point- ing to the south, and making a gesture with his arms as though embracing all from the east and from the west, sudden- ly disappeared. Lavigerie went forth deeply impressed. He believed he had been vouchsafed a vision that portended not only his own death during tIme carrying out of his schemes for the Church in Africa, but also the success of his great mission for the redemption of the Moslem world, all that vast world which lay eastward 1 This is the Nymphanion who, shortly before his fellow-martyrs Jocundus and Saturninus, and westward and away to the limitless south from Carthage. As, the story goes, the vision came at a time when, for politi- cal as well as other reasons, it was thought advisable at Rome and at Paris that the cardinal and his White Fathers should, so far as missionary work was concerned, keep themselves in obscurity for a time, the African Primate believed he had been given a sign from heaven that he was to persevere in his projects at all hazards. The incident is one that might well have happened to enthusiasts of a nature different from that of Cardinal Lavigerie; but by those who knew that prelate personally it will be received with caution, if not with actual incredulity. Charles Lavigerie was a dreamer, it is true, but lie dreamed along the line of his temperament ; and that temperament was an essentially Latin one, direct, logi- cal, unmystical, untranscendental. More- over, it is only fair to add that his friend and fellow-worker, Phre Louis Delattre, knew nothing of the legend. What is of more moment is that which lies within the region of indisputable fact, though the actuality be that of intention, not of accomplishment. One dream of the car- dinals, not hitherto made public, was to establish a series of cathedral churches all along the African coast from Carthage to Cherchel (the ancient Jol of Juba) and to Tangier itself, and to dedicate them severally to the great men and wo- men associated with time early history of the Church in Africa., SS. Cyprian and Augustine, Tertullian, 55. Felicitas, Monica, and Perpetna, first and fore- most. Another dream was the establish- ment in his own lifetime of Arab villages throughout Tunisia and the three im- mense provinces of Algeria, similar to the Christian Arab communities of St. Monica and St. Cyprian which he had founded near Algiers about 187576. Again, he believed in a vast extension of his White Fathers brigade, so that suffered death for the sake of Christ nader Sep- timius Severus in the year 198. 218 Cardinal Lavigeries Work in North Africa. [August, among its missioners should be men of all races, including Africans born Pagan or Mohammedan, Europeans, Maltese, Arabs, Kabyles, Soudanese, negroes, ay, even Bedouins, if practicable. But perhaps the dearest scheme for fulfillment in his own time, though one to which, so far as I have been able to ascertaiu, no one of his biographers or commentators has devoted much, if any attention, was the redemption of Arab Africa through the conversion of the Kabyle nation, that original Berber race which is now practically restricted to the mountainous regions of Algeria. The Kabyles are to North Africa what the Celtic High- lauders are to Scotland, an unmixed and indigenous, if not probably autochthon- ous people; distimict from the dominant race in communal rule, in social habits, in language, in appearance, in character, and even in religion. The Kabyle has really almost as little in commou with the sedentary Moor of cities as with the Arab of the desert. He holds himself aloof from both, and rarely, if ever, mar- ries with either; while with pride, and not without justification, he maintains that he has been subdued and hemmed in,. but never conquered. The strong ancient Roman admixture in his blood has affect- ed not only his color and features and physique, but even his institutions, gen- erally crude and always barbaric as these are. On the other hand, though the sedentary Arabs and nomad tribes and town Moors respect the integrity and en- ergy~ and above all the dauntless courage of the Kabyles, they look down upon them as a barbarous and savage race, much as the Scottish Lowlanders and the English soldiers regarded the Highland clans in the old Jacobite days. It was with this unpromising material that Cardinal Lavigerie hoped to create a nation of missioners, a native army of the cross. Let loose Kabylia, he would exclaim, and in a few years Mo- hammedan North Africa will be Chris- tian. The idea was pooh-poohed, even when an initial success was secured, and missions took root here and there throughout the African highlands; but so little was the Primate supported, even by his ecclesiastical following, that he ceased to say much about his treasured scheme in public, though to the day of his death he believed in it as one of the likeliest and surest means at hand for the accomplishment of the Gallicization as well as the moral and spiritual amnel- ioration of the native races of North Af- rica. The story of how he began this cru- sade, and of the characteristic way in which he approached time unapproach- able Kabyles, has been told by an emi- nent English member of the Society of Jesus, from the narrative of one who ac- companied the cardinal on {he occasion in question. The expedition was under- taken at a time when no Christian was safe unless well armed and well escorted. In the preceding year (1875), three devoted priests, who had won the esteem and admiration of the Arabs of the de- sert, started on a mission towards Tim- buktfi; but a long distance from that city, their bodies, beheaded, were found in the sands of the Sahara. The ferment occasioned by the French occupation of Tunis had wrought the whole of North Africa to a state f feverish hostility. When this had apparently abated, three other missioners went forth to the inte- rior, this time under a special guarantee from the Arabs; but when scarcely a days march from Ghadames all three were treacherously murdered. It was at this juncture that Cardinal Lavigerie decided to press forward the evangelization of Kabylia, as there seemed so much more hope of apostolic work among a people who for centu- ries had maintained their independence against the heavy yoke of Islam, and even now for only a few generations have been Moslem in faith. Soon after his first ar- rival in Algiers, as archbishop he had paid a visit to such mountain districts of Ka 1894.] Cardinal Lavigeries Work in North Africa. 219 bylia as were practicable, and he had then made up his mind that Ut grands Kabylie should in good time become a Christian country, and be an example to the rest of North Africa. As the small pioneer expedition which he led made its way among the hill vil- lages that were not openly hostile, the members saw the women and old people watching them with mingled alarm and curiosity, and often with angry resent- ment. If a child were met, it darted away screaming. The reason for this was that the Kabyles told their children, in order to keep them from giving inf or- mation to or having any commu~ication with the French, that the Christians were a race of human demons, who live on raw flesh, and have a particular fancy for appetizing tidbits in the shape of chil- dren. The expedition reached an impor- tant village, writes one of those who ac- companied the archbishop, where it had reason to believe its reception would be respectful. We went thither on foot, for the steep mountain paths are, as may well be imagined, quite impassable for carriages (and Lavigerie, at this time, it must be remembered, was not only advanced in years, but was in delicate health, and subject to a painful malady). After interminable windings among rocks, valleys, and trees, we came ni sight of the village whither we were bound, standing on a slight eminence. The archbishop had announced his visit beforehand, and at the entrance to the village all the men, headed by its vener- able patriarch, were assembled to receive him in a house entirely open on the side which looked on to the road. The women and children were perched on all imagi- nable places, the ledges of the rocks, the roofs of the houses, every spot which afforded standing - room, where human feet could climb or human limbs could rest. Mgr. Lavigerie was in full canoni- cals, and was surrounded by the priests belonging to his suite. When he arrived within ~ shw~t distance of the village, the nien advanced solemnly in a body to meet him and bid him welcome. The aged patriarch who preceded them was the amin, or mayor; the others were his council; for the Kabyles have retained a municipal form of government, after the model of the Roman, with public as- semblies and popular elections. The building mentioned above was the forum, or, as they call it here, the djernmad, a kind of town hall, the meet- ing-place of all the male inhabitants of an age to carry arms. There affairs of local or general interest are discussed, transfer of land is effected, and all business of a civic or political nature transacted. The amin approached the archbishop, and with a stately and dignified gesture laid his hand lightly on his vestment, and then raised it respectfully to his lips. May the blessing of God be with you all! the archbishop said; and with one voice they all responded, May it be also with thee! We then proceeded to the djemmaa. Against the two walls on the right and on the left were rows of stone seats, rising one above another, like the tiers of an amphitheatre. The place of honor was assigned to Mgr. Lavigerie; then each one took a seat where he pleased. I have come to see you, the arch- bishop began, addressing ~he amin, to show my affection for you. (Here all present simultaneously laid their hands, first on their heart, and then on their forehead.) I have reason to love you, for we French are related to you; the same blood runs in our veins. Our fore- fathers were Romans, in part at least, as were yours; we are Christians, as you too once were. Look at nie. I ani a Christian bishop. Well, in days gone by there were more than five hundred bishops like me in Africa, all Kabyles, many of them illustrious men, distin- guished for their learning. All of your people once were Christians, but the Arabs came and ruthlessly slaughtered your bishops and priests, and compelled 220 Cardinal Lavigeries Work in North Africa. [August, your ancestors to adopt their creed. Do you know all this? A very voluble correspondence took place among the audience; then the amin replied: Yes, we know it; but you speak of a time long past. Our grandfathers have told us these things; but as for ourselves, we have seen nothing of them. After this preamble, Mgr. Lavigerie spoke most earnestly, and at the same time with the most scrupulous tact and common sense, and urged the Kabyles present at least to ponder carefully his arguments. If they would do so, he felt assured, he added, they could not fail to see what immense gainers they would be in every way, though primarily in the spiritual heritage into which they would straightway enter. It is pleasant to know that a large section of this particu- lar village, as well as other communities throughout Kabylia, ultimately became Christian, and are at this day among the most prosperous of the native inhab- itants. Cardinal Lavigerie, however, would be the last person to wish for himself or his White Fathers the whole credit of that initial enterprise which has had re- sults so remarkable. Before he had set foot in Africa, the Jesuit Fathers of the province of Lyons (which then included Algeria) had successfully established two missions in Kabylia: one among the war- like and powerful Beni-Yenni, the other at an important Kabyle centre, Djemma- Saharidj. At the same time, these Jes- uit missions were intended to be station- ary, their directors laying stress on the belief that settled quarters would appeal to the natives more than proselytizing peregrinations. So slight was their in- fluence beyond their immediate vicinage 1 It is certainly the case that there is seldom offspring of a union between a~ Arab woman and a European. The exception, if it may pass as one, is the instance of a union between a Turk and an Arab woman; though it must be remembered that the Koulougli, who were at one that when Mgr. Lavigerie sent into Kaby- ha Father Deguerry and two companion priests, these missionaries could find no shelter throughout the cold of the winter months, and a bitter nocturnal cold it is at these high altitudes, as the present writer can vouch, even when the heat omi the lowlands is semi-tropical, but had to rest each night on the bleak earth; nor was it till after the third month of this and other wearing hardships that the White Fathers were allowed to build a house, though even this tardy grace was conditional on their undertaking to erect the dwelling by their own hands. From what I saw in Kabylia, I feel sure that the good work inaugurated by Mgr. Lavigerie can hardly be overesti- mated. That unfortunate and ungener- ous tendency to depreciate all his efforts, and to discount even his apparent suc- cess, which has done so much harm to a good cause, and in some quarters imposed itself upon the minds of responsible gov- ernmental officials, is not easily to be refuted on paper. To all statistics, ar- guments, or statements, his adversaries, far less active now, reply by affirming that he and his emissaries have been fire- brands to excite a conquered but forever irreconcilable race; that Christianity is unsuited for the Arab, with his inherited fatalism, and his domestic, social, and communal habits and instincts; and that an amalgam of the Arab and the Chris- tian ideals is as impossible as a racial blend of Arab and European.1 The French official mind is antago- nistic to the spread of religious teaching, and particularly to all teaching or move- ments of any kind independent of gov- ernmental red - tapism. The opposition Cardinal Lavigerie had to encounter, apart from that connected with interna- time so numerous in A],,eria, and are still com- mon enough to be reckoned with as factors in native politics, are the children, not of a Turk and an Arab woman of the nomad race, but of a Turk and a Moorish woman of Algiers. 1894.] Cardinal Lavigeries Work in North Africa. 221 tional jealousies, bureaucratic stiff-neck- edness, and military and social suspicious- ness, if not actual hostility, was so many- sided that it is still a marvel to those who are familiar with the main drift of his circumstances that he was able not only to confront them so undauntedly and so perseveringly, but to surmount them, and even, sometimes, to turn them into involuntary allies. It will, however, interest many read- ers to know that this mission work in Kabylia, as indeed elsewhere throughout Franco-Moslem territories, is due even more to the Sisters of Our Lady of Afri- can Missions than to the indefatigable and unselfish labors of the White Fa- thers, praiseworthy and resultant in in- numerable good works as the efforts of these apostolic emissaries have been and are. Here again a great debt is due to Cardinal Lavigerie, though one over- looked by most visitors to Algeria, and for the most part ignored by those in authority. What with the Christian Arab villages of St. Cyprian and St. Monica, and more recent kindred communities, orphanages, training schools, training colleges, for youths of every race, native and foreign, refuges for Arab women, sisterhoods for educational and nursing purposes, nun- neries for shelter for those who need a haven, and wish to combine the life of religious devotion with that of self-sacri- fice, seminaries for the education and physical training of novices intended for missionary work, and various insti- tutions of a more secular kind, patri- otic, colonial, arch~eological, agricultural, and even in connection with the military and naval services, the name of Car- dinal Lavigerie is in truth of so pam- mount importance in association with North Africa that he deserves not only to be ranked with his most famous apos- tolic predecessors, St. Cyprian and St. Augustine, but to be revered as one of the greatest blessings bestowed upon a young and weak Church in its marvel- ous renascence, as one of the truest pa- triots whom France has produced, and, with General Gordon, as one of the noblest and most single-hearted mission- ers who have added imperishable lustre to our feverish and perplexed age. It is no wonder that the extent both of the civilizing work and the civilizin influence due to Cardinal Lavigerie s wo- men missioners should have impressed the present writer, as indeed all obser- vant and unbiased visitors to French Africa. Perhaps the very fact that so little recognition has been made of this section of his labors, and that in Al- geria itself the recognition, whe ngiven at all, is either somewhat grudging or concurrently depreciatory, enabled me to realize at first hand how remarkable is this accomplishment even as it stands. On his elevation to the see of Algiers, to be more exact, on his voluntary and self-sacrificing transfer thither from his wealthier and more comfortable see of Nancy, Mgr. Lavigerie almost from the first foresaw the need of women mis- sionaries to carry out his schemes of evangelization and social and domestic regeneration. His plans were regarded dubiously even by many of his fellow- bishops and higher clergy, and a large section of the public openly protested against the idea of Christian women be- ing sent into regions where their honor would not be safe for a day. Moreover, as many military and civil authorities prophesied, the Arab would regard with disdain mixed with deep resentment the apparent effort to convert or reform him or his through the agency of women. The archbishop had that supreme quality of genius, controlled impatience. To adopt an apparent paradox, he knew how to be patiently impatient. He ad- mitted that the moment was not ripe, but he asserted that it was ripening~ His arguments were irrefutable, and he promised that practice should not belie theory. Within a quarter of a century, he is said to have declared once to his 222 Cardinal Lavigeries Work in North Africa. [August, Holiness the lat~ Pope, French Africa will be civilized by women. From the moment he explained pub- licly the need for women missioners, vol- unteers were ready. It was obviously true what he said, that in no other way could Mohammedan women be reached. A radical alteration in the domestic, so- cial, intersexual, and religious views of the women would mean an inevitable change of front for the coming genera- tion, male and female; while the all- round results would at once be quicker, more thorough, and more far reaching than through the agency of men. The first response to his appeal came from his old diocese of Nancy, from the well-known and venerable community of the Sisters of St. Charles. A novitiate was formed that year (1868) at Kouba, at a house where the archbishop had al- ready instituted a shelter for those Arab girls who were rescued from starvation during that terrible year of famine. At first, however, the work allotted to these Sisters was of a strictly local na- ture; and even when the small commu- nity was increased by the addition of the Sisters of the Assumption, who also came from that French city where Lavigerie had, in his short episcopate, done so much good and exercised so deep and lasting an influence, their scope was not materially widened. The eye of Monseigneur, however, was ever upon them and their interests, and the object they and he had in view. At last, nearly ten years after that first settlement in Kouba, the car- dinal officially formed them into a con- gregation of missionary sisters, with an independent existence and system of self-government, under the designation of Sisters of Our Lady of African Mis- sions. For a few years the obvious results were sufficiently humble to give some color to the derision or misrepresenta- tion of the covertly malicious, the openly hostile, and the indifferent; and at the same time marked enough to encourage all who wished the woman mission well, all save those who could not realize that great results must be attained only through endless toil and patience, and in obscurity. But at last even the hos- tile had to admit that a labor of extraor- diiiary importance, whether tending to ultimate good or ultimate evil, was bcing fulfilled throughout Algeria, and even among the intractable Kabyles and the haughtily resentful Arabs and Moors. Now, the African Sisters, as they are called succinctly, are a recognized power in the land; and even the most bigoted anti-religionist would hesitate to aver that their influence is not wholly for good. Among the Arabs, there was and is a spirit of wonder and admiration for the daunthcss courage, the self-sacrificing de- votion, the medical knowledge and skill, the tenderness and saintly steadfastness, of these heroic women. Hundreds have been brought to a different attitude en- tirely through observation of the Snurs de Notre Dame dAfrique. In the wrords of the emiiient Jesuit whoni I have al- ready quoted, The moral superiority of these women, their self-denying kind- ness, their courage and devotion, deeply impressed the unbelievers, who gazed at them with astonishment and admiration, as if they belonged to a different order of beings, and were something more than human. Cardinal Lavigerie himself bore fre- quent testimony of a similar kiud. I have seen them, he said on one occa- sion, in the midst ot their work. I have seen them surrounded by a motley crowd of men and children, both Chris- tians and Mohammedans, all clamoring to them for succor; begging them to cure their ailments, to relieve their poverty; kissing with the utmost veneration the habit they wear. Here, again, is a re- markable instance, also adduced by the cardinal: One of the Sisters was pass- ing through the streets of a populous Eastern city, and was accosted by an old man, a Turk, who said to her, with a mix- 1894.] Cardinal Lavigeries Work in North Africa. 223 ture of curiosity and respect, Tell me, Sister, when you came down from heaven, did you wear the same dress in which we now see you? I may give anoth- er instance, from my own observation. In the Sahara there is a populous oasis town, Sidi-Okba. It is known as the sacred city, partly because it contains the tomb of Okba, the first Mohammed- an conqueror of Africa, partly because its chief mosque is the most ancient and venerated building in Africa, and partly because it is the religious capital of the Ziban and the Sahara, so sacred, in- deed, that it has no rival in Africa ex- cept Kaironan in Tunisia. Sidi-Okba is tbe Mecca of Algeria, and seven pilgrim- ages to it will insure eternal salvation. Naturally, there is no place under French dominion where fanaticism is so ripe, and where it is more necessary for the Christian infidel to be scrupulously on his guard against giving cause of offense. Not very long ago, no European women were able to appear in Sidi-Okba, even with an escort, without having to run the risk of insult, and even violence. It is now, and for a few years past has been, safe enough for a woman to venture tbere in the daytime and with an escort; other- ~vise, as a French officer at Biskra as- sured me, the hazard would be a direct invitation to disaster. Even now the in- habitants resent the presence of an un- veiled Christian woman in their sacred town and near the venerated tomb of Okba, to come into whose near neighbor- hood was, within a comparatively short time, certain death for any Christian slave, prisoner, or half-disguised traffick- er; for at the period in question no other could mix with that fanatical populace. I am bound to say that when my wife and I visited Sidi-Okba, we met with no active unpleasantness of any unusual kind, though at the entrance to the mosque there were fanatical followers of the Pro- phet who spat on the ground as we passed, and muttered their wonted keib and djifa ( dog and carrion). Well, the Af rican Sisters have not only gone to this unlikely place, but have thriven there. In the face of threats, insults, and pas- sive (and occasionally active) opposition, they have persevered, and are now win- ning an ever-increasing reward. There is a small number of them housed in a dwelling in the heart of Sidi-Okba, a fact not mentioned in any Algerian guidebook; and thence, at all hours, at any call of need, the White Sisters (so called because, like the White Fathers, they have adopted a white robe, made and worn in the Arab fashion) emerge, safe as in France, unhindered, and even honored. I shall not soon forget my surprise when, after all I had heard concerning the impossibility of a woman venturing forth by herself in Sidi-Okba, I saw a White Sister cross the market- place, and actually being saluted by many of the fanatical Sahara Arabs with their familiar courtesy of the hand pressed first against time heart, and then against the forehead. From a White Father in Biskra I learned that the work so silently and un- ostentatiously done by these African Sis- ters is of so great importance that if, for any reason, it were impossible for both the White Fathers and the White Sisters to remain there as missioners, the Fa- thers would unquestionably have to give way. In a word, he added, we are the pioneers, forever on the march after re- ceding boundaries; the Sisters are the first dauntless and indefatigable settlers, who bring the practically virgin soil into a prosperous condition, full of promise for a wonderful and near future. I asked if there were many misehances in the career of those devoted women. Few, he replied: strangely enough, fewer than with the White Fathers. We have had many martyrs to savage violence, to the perils and privations of desert life. The Sisters have had mar- tyrs, also, but these have lost their lives in ways little different from what would 224 Cardinal Lavigeries Work in North Africa. [August, have beset them in any other foreign clime. As for endurance, both of cli- matic strain and privations generally, I have come to the conclusion that women can undergo more than men; that is, if they have anything like fair health, are acting in concert, and are sustained by religious fervor. They do not, as a rule, act so well on their own initia- tive; they cannot, naturally, do pioneer work so well as men; and though they have superior moral courage, they are unable to face certain things, in particu- mr absolute loneliness, isolation, remote- ness. Many a White Father would in- stinctively shrink from the task fearless- ly set themselves by some of the more daring Sisters; yet these very heroines would be quite unable to cope with some hazards almost inevitable in the career of one of our missioners. More and more we are relying upon individual effort guided by a central control. The mis- sioner who goes forth alone, with no wea- pon of defense save the crucifix, goes clothed with a power greater than any envoy warrant or tribal pass. The Chris- tian marabouts, as they call us, appeal to the people when they confront not only death, but isolation, poverty, hunger, thirst, privations of all kind; and this, too, as voluntary nomads, disdaining even the sacred repute of the Mohammedan marabout, who, by staying in one plaee and living austerely, makes his fellows revere him as a holy anchorite. Have you known anything from your own observation regarding the tragedy of this Sahara mission work on the part of women? Only one instance, though of course I have heard of others. This was a re- markable one. Some four or five years ago, a young Sister whom I will call Sister Eunice simply, as her friends are prominent people in the city she came from joined the Algerian Missions Sis- terhood. She had been engaged, before she took the vows, to a French officer. For reasons which I need not explain she had decided to break this engage- ment; and no persuasions could induce her to alter her decision, to which she felt morally bound despite her love for her ftanc6. She came to Algeria, and for a time was a novice at the central establishment near Algiers. She was not only very prepossessing in appearance, but was singularly winsome in her man- ner, and this, coupled with her excep- tionally well-trained mind, made her su- periors consider her pre~minently fitted for educational work, particularly among the women and children of the Arab refuges and training schools. This might have been her vocation; but her former fianc~ who, whatever his faults, and I may add misfortunes, certainly loved her to distraction had exchanged into an Algiers regiment, so as to be near her, and in time win her again. A tragic episode, into which I !aeed not enter, hap- pened a few months later. Mainly in consequence, Sister Eunice determined to join the missioners in the Sahara, and af- ter some difficulty all arrangements were made to further her wishes. She came first to Biskra; then for a brief time la- bored in Sidi-Okba; then returned here. By this time she was familiar with the language, manners, and customs of the Arabs of the Sahara; and her intention was to leave the Ziban, and penetrate into the barbaric south. With this intent she reached Touggourt.1 At that time her appearance there was almost as strange an event as would be a similar appear- ance to-day in, say, Timbuktfi. Never- theless all went well. One day, some weeks later, a small body of French officers rode into the re- mote Arab town in connection with some matter of military moment. Among them was Captain B. He knew of the presence of Sister Eunice; and be- fore he and his companions left again, the same evening, he sought her out. Iii 1 An oasis town of the northern Sahara, lying about three days journey to the south of iiis- kra. 1894.] Cardinal Lavigeries Work in North Africa. 225 his despair at her continued refusal to meet his wishes, he seized her in his arms, kissed her, and then, hurrying to the meeting-place, mounted his horse and rode away with his companions. That embrace was her undoing. The sole protection of the Sister was her reputa- tion for saintliness. The incident had been observed, and the rumor spread from mouth to mouth. The so - called Christian saint was, then, the light-o- love of a French officer, and no doubt a spy into the bargain, sent there by the military authorities, in the guise of a female marabout. Anger, re- sentment, and contempt confused their judgment. That night Sister Eunice was publicly insulted, and at dawn her muti- lated corpse was lying outside the mud walls of the Kesbah. Months elapsed before the Sisters death was authenti- cated, and it was not till long afterwards that the whole story became known; and even then fragmentarily, and to very few persons. 1 From the same authority, and else- where in Biskra and the neighborhood, I heard much of the heroic ventures, endurance, sufferings, and achievements of the White Fathers. Great as is the good they have done in their joint mis- sion of conversion and civilization, the immediate result of which is a marked gain in general health and individual physical xvell-being and the communal weal, their most notable efforts have been for some time, and still are, directed against that cancer of Africa, the slave trade. No one who has not examined the subject in detail can form any idea of the frightful extent of the North Afri- can slave trade, or of the unspeakable horrors that accompany it, to say nothing of the depopulation of vast tracts, the generating of devastating plagues (par- ticularly the dreadful scourge known as slave typhus), and the ruin of all chances 1 J do not give this episode in full, for various reasons; but in another form I intend to give the narrative in all its details. VOL. LXXW. NO. 442. 15 for the redemption of this long-suffering Ishmael among the countries of the world. In the general Christian crusade against this gigantic evil, nearly all na- tions deserve credit, notably Great Brit- am, America, Belgium, and France, though official France lags sadly behind the generous initiative of the great car- dinal, who did more than any other sin- gle individual, perhaps more even than any ruler or government, to mitigate the horrors of slavery and put an end to this fearful traffic. At the moment, there are international jealousies, half-hearted ideals, and chau- vinistic temporizings which together mili- tate strongly against the success of this noble war of emancipation. The French have been too complaisant along the frontiers of Morocco, and in the regions environing the dominions of Tunisia and Tripoli; far southward, the Germans have caused deep dissatisfaction by their high-handed proceedings, and what looks like connivance at, if not actual participa- tion in, the very evils the German nation is among the foremost sincerely to de- plore. The British Protestant mission- aries are accused by the German and French military authorities of being fire- brands and meddlesome and troublesome neighbors. We, on the other hand, are too apt to regard the White Fathers of Cardinal Lavigerie, the Jesuit Fathers, the Christian Brothers, and Catholic mis- sioners of all kinds as the mere tools of restless and scheming rivals animated by envy, avarice, and all manner of ill will. But behind all this international bick- ering and difficulty-mongering, beyond all this fierce conflict of adverse opinion, threatened interests, and thwarted pas- sions, there is the steadfast tide of Chris- tian energy, everywhere making for righteousness, everywhere watched, con- trolled, and guided beneficently by single- minded, single-hearted apostolic mission- ers of all nations and all denominations. Personally, I think the greatest work is being achieved by the Roman Catholic 226 Cardinal Lavigeries Work in North Africa. [August, Church, and in particular by the institu- tions and societies inaugurated, and the specially trained emissaries sent forth, by Cardinal Lavigerie. Everywhere I went in North Africa I was struck by this fact. I asked a Protestant missionary in Flem~en an important town in the extreme west of Algeria, hear the frontier of Morocco why it was that, apart from the ques- tion of statistically greater success on the part of Catholic missioners, there seemed to be so radical a difference in the way in which the White Fathers, for example, and the equally indomitable Protestant missionaries got at the Arab, Moorish, and Soudanese populations. My informant frankly admitted that the difference is radical. We lack that particular quality of imagination, or sympathy, call it what one will, which enables some missioners literally to be all things to all men. We are, broadly speaking, always ourselves: always English, or Scottish, or Amer- ican; always conscious of our Protes- tant calling, our Protestant arrogance, our Protestant aloofness. Naturally, I believe that in the long run our com- pensating qualities tell, and predomi- nate; but at first, and for long, we are handicapped. Now, the White Fathers, for instance, are not primarily French, or Catholic priests, or missioners of this or that lord spiritual or temporal, but are men preoccupied by a burning zeal as heralds of a message of vital impor- tance, a message independent of any- thing save its immediacy and paramount value. To a great extent, this magnifi- cent abuegation and discipline are due to Cardinal Lavigerie, who never failed to impress upon the missioners whom he sent forth that the first thing they had to do was to conform in all rea- sonable respects to the manners, cus- toms, and habits of the Moslem people among whom they were to sojourn; to feel with them, see with their eyes, as much a~ possible judge with their minds~ To this end, he made the Fathers adopt a white robe similar to that worn by the Arabs; to this end, he not only made them learn to speak Arabic fluently, and to be familiar with the Koran and the chief writings upon it, but insisted on their adequate physical training in horse- manship and all kinds of exercise. So that when a White Father goes among the Arabs he is, in a way, already one with them. This wins their confidence, to start with. Then, when he expounds the faith that is in him, he lays little stress upon anything save the fundamen- tal truths of Christianity ; that is, of course, as he considers them. Above all, in what he teaches and in what we teach concerning the oneness of God or rather, the way we teach that living doctrine is a difference where the advantage is all on his side. The Arah, with his intense faith in the absolute unity of Allah, more readily follows one who does not confuse his hearer with different arguments regard- ing the Trinity, but speaks clearly and logically of God and Christ and the Virgin, more readily than one who dwells upon a mystery which is alto- gether beyond the Moslem comprehen- sion or sympathy. Moreover, the priests do not, as a rule, say much against Mo~ hammed; rather, they accept him frank- ly as a minor prophet, but one whose faith became perverte(l even in his life- time, and whose influence has been main- ly a harmful one. From what I saw and heard through- out the length and breadth of French North Africa, I am convinced that one of the greatest works of contemporary Christianity is being fulfilled there in divers ways and through divers agencies, though mainly through the instrumental- ity of that famous prelate whose name will henceforth be linked with those of Cyprian and Augustine as among the foremost glories of the Church of Christ in Africa. Indubitably, it is a great wrong to in- 1894.] Lore and Art. 227 sinuate, as is done in so many ways, that out southern as well as northern Algeria, the Christian missions have failed in throughout Kabylia, throughout Tunisia, Africa, and that Mohammedanism is the Christian church and the Christian everywhere militant and triumphant, school are everywhere supplanting the The opposite is the truth; and through- mosque and the mdrassa. William Sharp. LOVE AND ART. It once might have been, once only. BROWNING. I. A MUSICAL party was in progress, one afternoon, at Mrs. Du Pont Fairfaxs, in Egeria. Her cottage commanding a view of the valley, and of the amphi- theatre of bluish-purplish hills crowned by the peaks of the Sky Mountains stood on a site, lately rescued from the bear and the wildcat, on the boulder- strewn side of Mount Egeria, which rose bristling with hemlocks, pines, and beeches to the green-capped summit. A touch of sylvan wildness, caught rom the surroundings, enhanced the prettiness of its appointments. The main room, like a baronial hall, reached to the high unhewn rafters. The huge fireplace with its stone chimney was large enough to roast an ox, but on this August day the logs were covered with goldenrod. The furniture and the balustrades of the stair- case and galleries were made of twisted and bent woods or of unharked birch; there were shelves and brackets of enor- mous fungi; bear and fox skins were stretched on the floor. These sugges- tions of primitive forest wildness, these touches of the bizarre, helped to em- pliasize the delicate effect of cushions, rugs, and draperies, which in their mel- low blendings of color repeated the tints of the unbroken woods. Although the cottage stood on the verge of the uncleared wilderness, it was one of a settlement belonging to a summer colony of artistic and professional people who liked to snatch their holiday out of the very lap of nature. Mrs. Fairfaxs party was composed not only of d~gants, but of celebrities as well. There was Eugene Trent, the novelist and drama- tist, a guest of the house. That was he sitting at the end of the many-cushioned divan; a man of thirty or more, whose usually acute, penetrating, and rather handsome face at this moment wore an absent-minded expression. Then there were Van Houten and St. Clair, the por- trait and landscape painters; Miss Rose, the flower artist; Miss Barry, the read- er; besides Mrs. Syinons, who had left the stage to become the wife of a million- aire. Mrs. Fairfax piqued herself upon possessing no cleverness save the rare cleverness of being able to appreciate clever people. Her beautiful gray eyes were full of passionate sympathy for au- thors, poets, and musicians; and more- over she read their books, bought their pictures, and loved their music. Nevertheless, she showed this after- noon a certain restlessness, not to say dissatisfaction. The musicale was moving on as amateur musicales do move. Two ladies had sung a duet, and one a solo, taking the high notes with visible ner- vousness; a pupil of Saint-Sai~ns had played one of his masters compositions full of thunderclap effects, and a hand- some young man had contributed an in- credibly naughty French song to the ac- companiment of the mandolin. Still, well as she manipulated these fragments

Ellen Olney Kirk Kirk, Ellen Olney Love and Art 227-241

1894.] Lore and Art. 227 sinuate, as is done in so many ways, that out southern as well as northern Algeria, the Christian missions have failed in throughout Kabylia, throughout Tunisia, Africa, and that Mohammedanism is the Christian church and the Christian everywhere militant and triumphant, school are everywhere supplanting the The opposite is the truth; and through- mosque and the mdrassa. William Sharp. LOVE AND ART. It once might have been, once only. BROWNING. I. A MUSICAL party was in progress, one afternoon, at Mrs. Du Pont Fairfaxs, in Egeria. Her cottage commanding a view of the valley, and of the amphi- theatre of bluish-purplish hills crowned by the peaks of the Sky Mountains stood on a site, lately rescued from the bear and the wildcat, on the boulder- strewn side of Mount Egeria, which rose bristling with hemlocks, pines, and beeches to the green-capped summit. A touch of sylvan wildness, caught rom the surroundings, enhanced the prettiness of its appointments. The main room, like a baronial hall, reached to the high unhewn rafters. The huge fireplace with its stone chimney was large enough to roast an ox, but on this August day the logs were covered with goldenrod. The furniture and the balustrades of the stair- case and galleries were made of twisted and bent woods or of unharked birch; there were shelves and brackets of enor- mous fungi; bear and fox skins were stretched on the floor. These sugges- tions of primitive forest wildness, these touches of the bizarre, helped to em- pliasize the delicate effect of cushions, rugs, and draperies, which in their mel- low blendings of color repeated the tints of the unbroken woods. Although the cottage stood on the verge of the uncleared wilderness, it was one of a settlement belonging to a summer colony of artistic and professional people who liked to snatch their holiday out of the very lap of nature. Mrs. Fairfaxs party was composed not only of d~gants, but of celebrities as well. There was Eugene Trent, the novelist and drama- tist, a guest of the house. That was he sitting at the end of the many-cushioned divan; a man of thirty or more, whose usually acute, penetrating, and rather handsome face at this moment wore an absent-minded expression. Then there were Van Houten and St. Clair, the por- trait and landscape painters; Miss Rose, the flower artist; Miss Barry, the read- er; besides Mrs. Syinons, who had left the stage to become the wife of a million- aire. Mrs. Fairfax piqued herself upon possessing no cleverness save the rare cleverness of being able to appreciate clever people. Her beautiful gray eyes were full of passionate sympathy for au- thors, poets, and musicians; and more- over she read their books, bought their pictures, and loved their music. Nevertheless, she showed this after- noon a certain restlessness, not to say dissatisfaction. The musicale was moving on as amateur musicales do move. Two ladies had sung a duet, and one a solo, taking the high notes with visible ner- vousness; a pupil of Saint-Sai~ns had played one of his masters compositions full of thunderclap effects, and a hand- some young man had contributed an in- credibly naughty French song to the ac- companiment of the mandolin. Still, well as she manipulated these fragments 228 Love and Art. [August, of talent, it was evident that the hostess was holding some powerful attraction in reserve. She looked eagerly at the door, as if some performer tarried ; and more than once, in the pauses between the music, she walked towards the circular loggia where Miss Esm6 Lewis sat be- fore the samovar, apparently giving her whole mind to the concoction of Russian tea. Miss Lewis was a tall, dreamy- looking girl of twenty, pale, with masses of bright curly brown hair cut short, and large limpid blue eyes. She was dressed in white, the gown open at the neck dis- closing a throat of rare strength and beauty, a~nd her sleeves ending at the elbow gave a chance for the display of really exquisite arms, wrists, and hands. But in her present look of indifference or apathy her actual charm remained ineffective. Now, Esm6, you promised me, Mrs. Fairfax finally said to her, plaintively. I have not the courage, Esm6 mur- mured. But when the others are doing their best to help me out, in Mr. Von Fr~ibels absence? The girl gave a visible shudder. Is not that a little ungenerous? asked Mrs. Fairfax, almost with indig- nation. Esm4 sighed. I cannot sing when I have not the courage; and, she added humbly, I am trying to make myself useful in some way, and she filled with fresh tea a row of blue teacups. I do not ask you to expend on my tea-table what was meant for mankind. But even while Mrs. Fairfax spoke, her face lighted up with joyful relief. Oh, Mr. Von F~jbel, she cried, ad- dressing one of two men who appeared suddenly at the foot of the steps, I am so delighted to see you! The new-coiner was a man of middle age, dressed in gray tweeds, and carrying in his hand, besides a hazel-stick, a huge straw hat with a brim half a yard wide. Will you take me as you find me, he asked, or shall I go back to the Inn and dress? There could be no doubt about Mrs. Fairfaxs readiness to accept the pianist under any conditions, and Von F~bel, all the time explaining how he and Arnold had lost their way in trying to make a short cut, followed her into the music-room, picked np a Japanese fan, sat down at the piano, and inquired what he should play. He had a heavy, homely face lighted with kindliness and humor, and a general aspect of rude strength; but the moment he touched the keys, nobody would have accused him of lacking delicacy. Mrs. Fairfax begged him to play Chopins Grande Polonaise; and the instant lie began, the general air of polite conccssion on the part of the audience vanished. Eugene Trent rose, came forward, and stood near the instru- ment, with the air of a man whose bur- den of ennui is lifted. The effect pro- duced upon another listener was even more apparent. No sooner had she heard the opening chords of the An- dante Spianato than the girl at the tea- table started to her feet, the color rush- ing to her face, her eyes kindling. The change in her whole aspect was like that of a landscape flashing out of gray cloud into sunshine. While the piano still trembled under the vibrations of the final notes, she ran towards the hostess, and faltered in a voice of eager entreaty, Oh, dear Mrs. Fairfax, may I sing? May you sing? said Mrs. Fair- fax. As if I had not been going on my knees all the afternoon to beg you to sing! She introduced Miss Esm6 Lewis to Mr. Von Fr~ibel, who yielded his seat at the piano with a bow, and a smile in his sleepy eyes. The girl, once more pale, sank into it, and struck two notes, faint, monotonous, iterative, in a way that drew everybodys attention; then, at Mrs. Fair- faxs suggestion, began Gounods Ave Maria. It was, if such athiing might be said, like a childs singing in its sleep; 1894.] LQVe and Art. 229 soft, unconscious, dreamy, telling of some inner rapture. It produced an impres- sion of singular charm, and was applaud- ed vociferously. Let me try one more, please, ex- claimed the singer, impatient at the in- terruption. Then, as if the Ave Maria had been a mere prelude, suddenly and unexpectedly, as if withdrawing a veil and disclosing her genius in its majesty, she burst into the Ah Perfido! Von Frdbel, who had smiled at the pretty spoiled child, expecting the timid experiment of the tyro in art, was kin- dled in his turn. That is excellent, that is admirable! he cried, as soon as her voice died away. Now you must take a rest, wait till your breath comes. I too must try a little Beethoven. Not to weary the reader, to whom the sight of the two ardent faces and the thrill of the music are wanting, it is enough to say that the competition, as it might be called, went on, the performers all the time gaining fire and felicity of execu- tion, until Von Frdhels friend, Arnold, pushed himself into the group about the instrument, explaining that he must take the pianist away, since they had but three quarters of an hour in which to go to the Inn, dress, and drive six miles to dine with Colonel McCosh at half past seven. Ten minutes later every guest had taken leave, save Mrs. Lewis, who lived in the next cottage, and her niece Esm4, who was talking to Eugene Trent. A soft pink color now glowed on the girls cheek, and her eyes emitted light. I saw Mrs. Fairfax at first entreating you in vain to sing, Eugene remarked. But how could I sing? she said, with a soft, piercing note in her voice. There were so many people. Surely you are not afraid of peo- ple? She looked at him wistfully. There was a lady with such strange, such hid- eous flowers in her bonnet standing straight up, she murmured. Flowers in her bonnet! What had that to do with it? Then there was a girl with green sleeves, such huge, such extraordinary sleeves, like balloons! She put her hands to her shoulders, then extended her arms almost to their full length. Sleeves! The moment Von FPibel touched the piano, you minded neither the stiff flowers standing straight up nor the sleeves like balloons. I know. She regarded him with a meditative look in her blue eyes, then gave a little shiver. You see, she said confidentially, I need a push. II, I understand her, said Eugene Trent. Often enough I long to be smit- ten as Moses smote the rock. Mrs. Fairfax and her aunt, Miss Bar- low, had been speaking of Esm6 Lewis, who, her father having died ten years before, and her mother having married again, had lived chiefly with her aunt in Munich, Milan, and Paris, where she had been given the best musical oppor- tunities. Mrs. Lewis was ambitious for the girl, who had delighted her masters by her talent, but who seemed to lack the strength of will to command at need the requisite dan to make herself inva- riably the mistress of her own powers. Or was it a mere girlish whim which caused her to behave as Eugene had seen her that day, at first shrinking from any display of her talent, then suddenly descending upon the piano like a whirl- wind? It was later in the evening. The doors and windows of the cottage were still wide open, and across the indistin- guishable gulf of blackness rose the out- lines of the mountains, above which a vast bank of cloud kept flashing back the re- flections of distant lightuings. The night was so cool that the great logs had been set aflame in the fireplace, and Mrs. 30 Love and Are. [August, Fairfax had put on a long white wrap trimmed with Angora fur. But to shut doors and windows was to shut out the feeling of nearness to the mountains, the wilderness, the night, the universe. Von Frdbel inspired her, said Eu- gene. Every artist needs to be goaded like an ox, and often enough dwindles and declines simply from the lack of the necessary spur.~~ I wish I might inspire somebody. Inspire me. Somebody has said that a poet at forty must find a fresh inspiration; otherwise, as a poet, he is dead. That is what ails me. You are thirty-three, and you grow more and more popular every day. I am accepted, I admit; but I ob- serve that nowadays, although everybody congratulates me on my last new thing, nobody has yet found time to read it. The critics are beginning to say, One of Eugene Trents characteristic efforts, or Eugene Trent displays his usual brilliant facility. I know what such signs point to. Why should a successful writer care about the critics? It is the successful writer who is nervous about his talent. Does a pretty woman never look in the glass and say to herself that she no longer grows each day more beautiful, and that there must come a time If you mean me, said Mrs. Fair- fax, a childless woman of thirty-six, with an adorinn husband, just now on the other side of the globe, if you mean me, I do nothing else. Time enough for you some twenty years hence, Eugene, the cousin of the absent Du Pont Fairfax, said, with ani- mation. What I mean is that one longs for the miracle to repeat itself, for the feeling of the spontaneous upspring- ing of the seed from the earth, the ef- fervescence of the sap through the veins. To feel surprise and joy in doing ones own work is the frrst requisite for inter- esti.ng other people. You interest everybody. Who is everybody? The people you and I know have no time to read. There is too much of everything nowa- days, there are ten thousand too many fellows writing, every new author is el- bowing the old authors out of the way, and not even a womans gowns go out of fashion as do a mans books. I tell you, Fanny, it is a dismal thing, this get- ting a living by ones wits, with a dread all the time of lagging superfluous in a world which wants to forget you. Then, too, there is the sordid side to it: other mens names are not only first on the pub- lishers lists and on the playbills, but what used to come into your pocket slides with singular ease into the pocket of the other fellow. But Mrs. Fairfax was laughing, well aware that Eugene was the idol of editors and publishers, and that he had a play posted for rehearsal in New York for the opening of the season. Evidently, she exclaimed, this is a moment of despondency! Yes, I am horribly tired of myself. As Miss Esm6 Lewis says, I need a push. Fall in love. Have nt I been in love? You were in love at the age of twen- ty-two, or thought you were in love with Sarah Sargent. There has been a little touch of Sarah in all you have written, and I sometimes say to myself that, after all, Sarah was not all womankind, and that you ought to enlarge your experi- ence. Of course I know, she went on, answering his glance and shrug, that you have had flirtations, but they have been with women older than yourself. We old women are very well in a social way, but we cannot touch the heart, we cannot kindle the imagination. That comes only with the dawn of the early morning. It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. The clock had struck eleven, and Miss Barlow interposed, saying it was bedtime. 1894.] Love and Art. 231 Eugene went to his room still under the thrill of his half confession, and coerced to rehearse to himself, in the absence of other auditor, the part he had left unsaid. He leaned forth from the open casement. Strange sounds rose out of the stillness. Was it the wind that stirred the forest, and swept down with long, sighing gusts into the valley? The clouds had risen, and, riven with lightnings, resembled beetling monsters advancing to swallow up the mountains and the valley be- n eath. His usual well-braced, half - cynical habit of mind had not been broken with- out results. What he had at times ex- perienced rather as a blinding flash than as a matter of clear insight, and what he had been incomprehensibly impelled to confide to Fanny Fairfax, now rose, shaping itself out of a thousand dim per- ceptions, and looked him in the face. He was dissatisfied with himself and with his work. His gift had been to catch and focus the ideas of his genera- tion; to be pliant to impressions, recep- tive, experimental, above all modern. His success had been so signal that it had at first contented him; then, as time went on, the very ease with which lie succeeded became a torment. He paused before each new effort, jealous, fastidi- ous , realizing more and more that it was mere cleverness; that the passion and the human significance which are the es- sence of all lasting art were left out. He was sick of his grooves. He longed to free himself from their tyranny; to break up his habits, and work sponta- neously out of a clear central idea; to go to nature, watch, observe, take notes. He was like a studio painter whose im- agination has been impressed by certain models and poses, which he reproduces, until there is no longer any clear indi- viduality in his work. What he needed, Eugene now decided, was to go back to the beginning; to take a single personal- ity, study it, and pluck out the heart of its mystery. He expected to stay two or three weeks in Egeria, and his mind reverted to Miss Lewis as good material for a study. She was palpably different from the every- day girl, and he wanted some one who could give what was still fresh, uncoined. Certainly, so far there had been some- thing suggestive in her most innocent sentences. Why not take notes? He remembered that Tourgenieff, in his wish to penetrate the whole character and temperament of his heroes and heroines, used to write the diary of each; in fact, fragments of Ellens are retained in On the Eve. Why should not I take some such means to preserve fragments of conversation and actions disclosing the characteristic bias? E igene now asked himself. While these thoughts were passing through his mind, he fell into a doze; then, unconscious of having slept, started up with the feeling that some one had been close beside him, singing. Indeed, the melody, which was Gounods Ave Maria, still vibrated through his brain. He strained his ears. He could not re- sist the bewildered impression not only that he had heard her voice, but that Esm6 Lewis herself had been beside him, sweet, smiling, and seductive. He went to bed, but some effect of this vision remained, and he used it as the initial entry in the new diary which was to fix his fleeting impressions, catch the charm of the incomplete, arrest the pass- ing light which transfigures the simplest thing: the silver of the poplar leaves as they shiver and turn in the breeze; the flight of a pigeon, its snow-white throat glistening in the sunshine; the rising blush on the cheek of a young girl, say the face of Miss Esm6 Lewis. For let us remember that Eugenes primary im- pulse was to strive after pure effect. His end was distinct from the means, his ar- tistic ideal from the passing form it wore, his idea from its subject. We will quote occasional paragraphs from this diary. 232 Love and Art. [August, August 13. Young girls stir the im- agination because they say only the half of what they think. A man is obliged to piece out the meaning by his percep- tion of the creature, by the curve of the lip, by the fluttering droop of the eye- lids. August 14. Fannys idea of exercise is to walk round the mountain. Esm6 and I lead the way at a pace which per- mits us to make two circuits to the oth- ers one. The walk is charming, the fine beeches and hemlocks parting at in- tervals, and disclosing vistas of the val- ley, the little lake, the farther ranges. Sometimes we talk; again we keep silence. I quoted Hardy, who declares that a real woodlander can tell every variety of tree by the sound the wind makes in its leaves and branches. This interests her; she listens, refining upon the idea. Now and then comes the call of a partridge, the patter of an acorn. She may be quiet, but never dull. Often when she is gazing straight before her, there is something high pitched and pas- sionate about her face. She is docile, has no pose. I fancy her easy submis- sion comes from her indifference to peo- pie not in touch with her. . . . Out of doors, where everything is moving, buzz- ing, humming, fluttering, ones eyes and ears are taken possession of. I could sit for a week and wonder why a birch- tree shivers when everything else is mo- tionless, and why one frequently sees one particular leaf in violent motion when others show not even a vibration. Later. For a man of my age to talk to a young girl is, in general, to take the tone of an imbecile or a dogmatist, but I find a good deal to say to Miss Lewis. She is insatiable for facts. To-day she darted up the bank, vanished into the thicket, then reappeared, leaping down the rocks like a young fawn. She had picked some blossoms of Impatiens ful- Va, and had hung them over her ears and in her brooch. You remind me of Marguerite and her jewels, I remarked. A common name of that flower is jewel-weed. Naturally, she burst into the pretty song from Faust; then having, as it were, let it loose, questioned me about the names of the plants, exalting me as a hotanist because I happened to have them at my tongues end, repeating them over and over. Why do you care to know them? They are not in your line, I said. Everything is in my line, she re- plied. One can sing only as deep as one feels, as one knows. Then sudden- ly stretching out her arms, she cried, I long to understand everything! Some- times I cannot sleep at night for think- ing how it is all going on. What is going on? I inquired. The wind, the moon, the planets, the stars in their courses. I hate to be safe in bed. I long to be out moving with it all. August 17. She told me to-day of a visit from Von Fr~ibel. She had sung to him for an hour; then he told her she had an unusually good mezzo-soprano voice, of sympathetic quality, flexible, of fair compass, and correct in intonation. When she asked advice as to the future, he said, For one year work hard, get familiar with your work; then for an- other year work harder, and get more familiar with your work; then for a third year harder still. And after that? she had asked. Perhaps you may have a great ca- reer, perhaps not. She is not discouraged. Indeed, he seems to have kindled fresh fires in her. August 20. Hiw does a girl, within the space of twenty-four hours, contrive to look like a Cinderella in the ashes, a fashionable young lady dressed by Worth, a portrait by Yandyck, and a saint of Fra Angelicos? August 21. I caught sight of a sailor hat, and followed; but her no, when I asked if I should spoil her walk, showed such excessive politeness, I felt abashed. 000 Love and Art. Oh, if you prefer solitude, I said. Oh no. Mr. Von Frdbel says I must not be solitary; I must keep myself in touch with people. Hang Von Frdbel! this to my- self; then aloud, I object to being peo- ple in general; if I can be nobody in particular, I will go the other way. But you are somebody very particu- lar, she returned demurely; then added, with a little smile, Mrs. Fairfax says you are surpassingly clever! Mrs. Fairfax loves to exalt her friends. She reminds me of Madame Necker with her memorandum, Not to forget to recompliment M. Thomas. She gazed at me with her limpid blue eyes. Who was M. Thomas? she asked impassively. An Academician who had written a book. I wonder if he was not bored by Madame Neckers compliments? I fancy she knew her world. Are you, for example, bored when any one praises your singing twice over? No, I like it ; but then, she went on, with a burst of confidence, I am pining for a clear certainty that my voice is felt. I get in a rage with myself for being pleased by cheap successes, I call myself names! But you, who too are an artist, you know it all, how one longs for recognition, for sympathy, yet how poor, how stale, it seems when one gets it. It flattered me to the fibre, of course, to be called a fellow-artist, and thereupon she told me something which startled me: I was pointed out to her as the author of Martyrs, on tha afternoon of the musicale, and she was curious enough al)out me, or the book, to sit up until two o clock to read it. Then she put it down, charmed and carried away to such a de- gree that, in spite of the dead hour of night, she had to relieve herself by sing- ing a little. What did you sing? I inquired. The Ave Maria of Gounod. Now, I call it nothing less than devil- ish odd that just after two, that very night, I not only heard her singing that song, but felt her presence, actually saw her. It is an instance for the Psychical Research Society. It is so stupid to go to bed, when one feels excited and uplifted, she con- tinued naively. What a dead loss the night is! Why could not nature be re- stored in some more economical way than by seven hours of unprofitable oblivion? I longed to go on singing all night. We had reached the summit of Mount Egeria. The Sky peaks, which when we started were veiled in mists, had now emerged resplendent. The ferns, mosses, all the rich greenery about us, seemed to drink in the sunlight, and give it back in vivid color. Great turquoise and em- erald dragonflies whirled about in broken starts, brown and yellow butterflies flut- tered like falling leaves. I wish you would sing to me now, I said. Nothing loath, she clambered up a rock and begau at once. Something in the girls face and figure, and her measured strain with its full, unbroken rhythm, opened up vistas of imagination, large, free, untrammeled. At first the song sug- gested the flight of a bird, that, poised on wide expanded pinions, floats above the world. Gradually the movement grew more rapid; she sang with more abrupt- ness, fire, impetuosity ; and then I re- membered Fausts ride with Mephisto- pheles. When she ceased, I asked what the song was, and she said the composer was an obscure Italian, and that it was called The Dream. It would have been a stupid obvious compliment to tell her I liked it; any woman with an ounce of insight could have seen that both she and her song had taken hold of me. But the petty vanity of the artist urged her to inquire, Did I slug it well? Mr. Von Fr~bel says I ought never to sing in the open air, and never without an 1894.] 234 Love and Art. [August, accompaniment, until I am absolute mis- tress of my voice. August 22. Evidently she is more in- terested in art and in herself as an artist than in anything or anybody. She likes me, however, as a companion, little guess- ing that I am using her and her whims and her cleverness as a cook uses grouse for a pie. She feels that I am sympa- thetic, and often permits herself irresisti- ble 6lan and abandon. If I were to fall in love with her, which Heaven forbid! this attitude of indifference would stir my emotional nature far more than either concession or coquetry, for it penetrates me with a sense of infinite sweetness to (liscover, to conquer. As well to note down this, but of course what I ask for is a fillip to the imagination. I should not know what to do with a durable sen- timent. August 24. We started two hours be- fore Fanny and the others, who were to drive to the gorge. Esm6 was in a quiet mood, and trudged along in the dust with a sad little white face. I wondered what thought consumed her with endless regrets. Finally she broke silence. You do not mind my being rather shabby, Mr. Trent? You see, I am not rich, and I like to save my good clothes. I observed that I admired her trim little serge frock; that I rejoiced if she were poor, it gave her a better chance to do good work. Then you advise me to go on the stage? she said, with a sim,h which seemed to break her heart. If you long for such a career and possess the requisite genius, I should. I have plenty of genius, she has- tened to say. What I need is the requi- site talent to give my genius fi ee play. There used to be such a destiny for woman as marriage, I suggested ten- tatively, rather wickedly, for one needs somehow to get at the secret of the mainspring of a mechanism. But when she murmured, Yes, looking straight before her, a soft color rising to her cheek, I was conscious that the blush communicated itself to me, and experi- enced a peculiar embarrassment which forbade my saying another word. I suppose, she now observed, with a luxurious little sigh, that every great artist must have experienced a great pas- sion. When a woman gives a man back cer- tain of his own ideas he loathes them. What is important for an artist, I said, with austerity, is to love his work, and do it with all his might. That is all I wish to do! she cried, walking on faster than ever. Arrived at the hut where we were to picnic, and which overlooks a gorge with a dry bed of boulders and precipitous rren sides, she assumed a new r6le: arranged the rugs, steamer chairs, and cushions which Fanny had sent on be- fore us, opened the hamper, and, pin- ning a napkin over her frock, set to work making a mayonnaise. How she puts her soul into what- ever she does! Fanny remarked to me. How she will love a man one of these days! This intensely feminine speech half en- raged me. How detestable the talk is about a man! As if any member of the male sex would answer! Besides, we should never think of gauging a girls capacity for passion by her zeal in whisking eggs. Yet I observe that the critical subtleties of women, full of zi,- zags as they are, sometimes hit the mark. Fanny has more than once given me a useful hint, albeit based on a wildly il- logical chimera. III. Shortly after this entry, Eugene gave up the diary, finding it unnecessary to take notes of what was more than suffi- ciently in his mind already. And it was no longer with the design of reinforcing his powers of invention with these im 1894.] Love and Art. 235 pressions of Esm6 that he spent his time watching and thinking about her, but with a cramping, narrowing, whol- ly inartistic sense of his own wishes. He was in love, and he knew that he was in love. Until now it would have seemed incredible that he should thus limit his future, and for a few days he tried to knock at the door of his old tistes, and summon his fastidiousness, his fixed habits of elegance and ease. Strange to say, they did not come at his bidding, but instead a fresh force of his nature, hitherto almost unfelt, which rushed into the full current of this new feeling. Still, he experienced a sense of the irony of things when destiny handed him over, not to some supreme career, but to the joys of the common lot; and he reflected that he must be sure of him- self, that he must not act upon impulse, like a boy of twenty, to whom love is like a bottle of champagne effervescing in the brain. Then, even if he were sure of himself, he was not yet sure of Esnn~. Some test was needed before he could decide whether the innocence and ardor with which she threw herself into their every-day intercourse pointed to any clear central feeling for himself. They met constantly in their walks, and at the teas, receptions, and entertain- ments which made up the social life in Egeria, and where Esm6 was rarely let off without a song, a recitation, or other effort sure to disclose something fine, characteristic, and powerful in the girl. That Eugene experienced more and more a sort of jealousy of the other people who admired and applauded these artis- tic displays was natural. You recited Oh, Monsieur! capital- ly, last night, he observed to her one morning. They had gone on an errand for Mrs. Lewis to Long Hill, and having acquitted themstlves of it, had found a shady nook on a steep slope, where they sat down to rest. A dreamy hum from myriads of wings penetrated the ear. The poplars, all in a quiver, showed the silver nuder their leaves as the breeze stirred them. The whole magnificent landscape, stretching on every side away to the Sky Mountains, basked in sun- light. Why do you remind me of it now? said Esm6. I simply repeated it. I had the lesson at the ends of my fingers.~~ I heard what the people were say- ing, he went on: that you possessed a sure income of twenty thousand locked np in that voice of yours, whether you sang or whether you recited. I hate it, I hate it all, she said, and he saw in her face a look like a cup of crystal brimming over. But twenty fifty thousand dollars income! he repeated, as if incredulous. Twenty thousand dollars for being somebody else! she exclaimed impa- tiently. You would rather be yourself. Yes, myself. People have always been talking of what I could do with my voice. I should like to forget I had a voice. I should like to go into the wilderness and rough it. She was sit- ting on a ledge of rocks, leaning for- ward, and clasping her hands on her knees. What do you mean by roughing it? Living out of doors, sleeping on hem- lock boughs or on the stones, beneath the stars. You would nt be afraid of snakes and bears? She shivered. Oh yes, I should. But then, of course, Eugene sug- gested mischievously, somebody would be along to take care of you. I dont know, she said nonchalant- ly. Nobody ever did take care of me yet. You poor little girl! Do you like to be taken care of ? Does nt everybody? I know, said Eugene, that I do. But everybody says that the modern woman is not only equal to taking care 236 Love and Art. [August, of herself, but prefers it. I admire her strength of mind. You admire strong-minded women? I admire all kinds of women. I am pulled in all directions. If a man could but have nine wives I wish you joy of your nine wives! You are properly disdainful, Miss Esm6 Lewis, knowing that in each one of your sex there are at least nine wo- men. She looked at him, laughing. Per- haps, then, one wife might suffice. Her nonchalance tried him. He lay stretched at full length on the rock be- side her, his hand supporting his head. He gazed at her fixedly. There was no droop of the eyes, no rising color. One will suffice, he said significantly. Even one might be too many, she retorted. There have been times when I felt so, when I said that to marry would he to end my career. I could not marry for money, and to be compelled to write with the idea of grinding out a certain amount of copy in order to make an in- come would paralyze all my faculties. I have never felt sure of myself. I have a dread of becoming second rate. She was gazing at him intently now. That would be horrible, she said, with a shudder, to feel ones self deteri- orating, yet to go on and do middling things when one had hoped to do great things! But all that is an egoistic and one- sided state of mind, said Eugene. I feel suddenly contented with middling things. Who does great things except the masters? Even if I had expected to create an art era, I am now willing to give up such dreams, and accept without question what will bring me crackers and cheese. Do not say it! she cried, putting her fingers in her ears. I cannot en- dure to have you say it. For I tell you, Eugene pursued, with vehemence, a man does not live by crackers and cheese alone, nor even by partridges, truffles, and terrapin. I have been half mad with loneliness sometimes, although II have had all the luxuries, more than were good for me. I called my loneliness by other names, and I have appointed to myself strange consolations. Yet the matter was that I wanted something that was my own, my own down to the very heart, the roots of it, that could be no other man s. To dismiss metaphor, Miss Esm~ Lewis, what I want is the sweet little wife I used to say I did not want. No matter how poor we may be, no matter what becomes of my talent, no matter how we may have to live by my sordid quill-driving, I long for her, to scold, praise, preach to, soothe, and get scold- ings and comfort out of. The color had rushed to her face now, but her eyes were fixed on the distance. Poor thing! she murmured. Do you mean my wife? he said, with indignation. She will be the hap- piest woman in the world, or will think she is. When she has spoiled your career? Perhaps, he said softly, art will not have uttered her final word to me. But let all that go. I am willing to put the future on the hazard of a die. One has to say sometimes, I am young; I have a right to try to be happy. We have no rights, only duties. That is an excellent creed for a wife, he said, with a twinkle in his eye. My wife will have certain duties. The first will he to love me, and the next to do with delight whatever I wish her to do. When, for example, I take her out camping with me, I shall cut hemlock boughs for her bed, and shall say to her, Sleep there, and she shall sleep beneath the stars. Their eyes met. Her glance was shy, but it communicated a subtle fire to his veins. Poor thing! she murmured again. Oh, you pretend to pity her! 1894.] Love and Art. 237 I pity her sincerely. I feel so sure that when morning comes you will say, Wake up and get breakfast. That seems inevitable. She was laughing. Mrs. Lewis be- lieves, she pursued, that at heart all men are despots, that any concession on their part depends on the woman. Of course it depends on the woman. Now, Esm4, tell me frankly, would you rather govern or be governed? Oh, be governed, a thousand times; except, that is, when I wanted my own way. How often would that be? Three times out of four? Twice ought to do. That woMd nt look so greedy. In spite of th