The Century; a popular quarterly. / Volume 46, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 1004 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABP2287-0046 /moa/cent/cent0046/

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The Century; a popular quarterly. / Volume 46, Note on Digital Production 0046 000
The Century; a popular quarterly. / Volume 46, Note on Digital Production A-B

The Century; a popular quarterly. / Volume 46, Issue 1 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 1004 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABP2287-0046 /moa/cent/cent0046/

Restricted to authorized users at Cornell University and the University of Michigan. These materials may not be redistributed.

The Century; a popular quarterly. / Volume 46, Issue 1 Century illustrated monthly magazine Century monthly magazine Century magazine Scribner's monthly Forum Forum and century The Century Company New York May 1893 0046 001
The Century; a popular quarterly. / Volume 46, Issue 1, miscellaneous front pages iii-2

AlP z -- CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIRRARY \\\IEE\U\3\3\%\\U\U 511 837 INDEX TO THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. VOL. XLVI. NEW SERIES: VOL. XXIV. PAGE ADIRONDACKS. See Philosopher. ADVERSITY, REFLECTIONS ON Ethe/wyn Wetlierald 158 AFRICAN DIGGINGS, A WOMAN IN THE Annie Russell 712 Pictures by Walter Shirlaw and Malcolm Fraser. ART. See Swedish and Japan. ARTEMUS WARD, RELICS OF Don C. Seitz 132 With portrait and facsimile. ARTISTS, AMERICAN, THE CENTURY SERIES OF W. Lewis Fraser. The Hermit-Thrush Mary Ha/lock foote 236 The Widow Ckarles Sprague Pearce 275 Sea-Bird and Land-Bird Mary Ha/lock Foote 392 Fox and Crows... . Winslow Homer 519 Little Nell F. Edwin Elwell 543 The Angel with the Flaming Sword Edwin H. Blashfield 696 In Her First Youth Lydia F. Emmet 728 Light in Shade L H. Caliga 8~i ATHENS, AMERICAN SCHOOL AT. See Juno. ATHLETICS, COLLEGE Walter Canq5 204 AUCHMUTY, RICHARD T Editori:il 952 AUSTRALIAN REGISTRY OF LAND TITLES, THE C. Stuart Patterson 317 Edward Atkinson 318 BALCONY STORIES . Grace King. Pictures by A. E. Sterner, Otto H. Bacher, Kenyon Cox, Robert Blum, and F. S. M. Pape. The Story of a Day 230 Anne Marie and Jeanne Marie 372 A Crippled Hope 374 One of Us 544 The Little Convent Girl 547 Grandmothers Grandmother 722 The Old Ladys Restoration 724 A Delicate Affair 884 Pupasse 889 BENEFITS FORGOT. (Concluded) . Woicott Balestier. . ...... 51, 285 446, 6ii, 697, 939 iv INDEX. PAGE BIIRANGER C. Coquelin 911 Translated by Walter Learned. With portraits. BONAPARTES, THE. Joseph Bonaparte in Bordentown F. Marion Crawford With portrait and autograph. The Death of the Prince Imperial Archibald Forbes 179 With portrait. The Prince and Princess Achille Murat in Florida Matilda L. McConnell 513 With portrait of Louis Napoleon. Napoleons Deportation to Elba Birge Harrison 639 Taking Napoleon to St. Helena John R. Clover 826 BREATHING MOVEMENTS AS A CURE Thomas J. Mays 551 With four figures. BROOKS, PHILLIPS. Phillips Brookss Letters to Children, with Notes on his Home Life 503 With frontispiece portrait (facing page 413). Phillips Brookss Letters from India 754 BROWNE, CHARLES F. See Artemus Ward. BULLS, SIX, TO DIE Mrs. Norman Cutter .. 659 Pictures hy Louis Loeh. BUSINESS PoLITIcS Charles Fishe 638 CALIFORNIA. See Presidential. CATS OF HENRIETTE RONNER, THE Thomas A. Janvier 852 Pictures by Henriette Ronner. CENSUS AND IMMIGRATION, PHE Henry Cabot Lodge 737 CENTURY MAGAZINE, THE Editorial 952 CHEVALIER DE RESSEGUIER, THE Thomas Bailey Aldrich 72 Picture by Howard Pyle. CHICAGO FAIR. See Columbian. CHILDREN OF THE DEPENDENT POOR: How SHALL WE EDUCATE ~ Louise Seymour Houghton .. 478 THEM? CHRISTIANITY OUTSIDE OF THE CHURCHES William Chauncy Langdon . 797 CLEMENCy, EXECUTIVE, THE USE AND ABUSE OF C~harles Robinson 792 COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION. At the Fair Mrs. Schuyler van Rensselaer 3 Pictures by A. Castaigne. DecoratiYe Painting at the Worlds Fair W. Lewis Fraser . 14 Pictures by Gari Melchers and Walter MacEwen. The White City. Richard Watson Gilder 22 Color in the Court of Honor at the Fair Royal Cortissoz 323 Sights at the Fair Gustav Kobbe 643 The Vanishing City Richard Watson Gilder 868 Do not Miss the Worlds Fair Editorial 952 CORRUPT PRACTICES LAWS: WHY THEY FAIL Editorial 150 COWBOY-LAND, IN Theodore Roosevelt 276 Pictures by Frederic Remington. DEFOE, DANIEL. See Queen Anne. EDUCATION, STATE, OF FRENCHWOMEN Theodore Stanton 955 ETNA. See Taormina. FARMER ELIS VACATION Alice Brown 557 FEZ, THE MECCA OF THE MooRs Stephen Bonsal 483 Pictures by Francis Day, Harry Fenn, Irving R. Wiles, and W. H. Drake. FINANCE Editorial. Two Values of the Silver Dollar 49 Has Gold Appreciated in Value? 313 Silver and the Debtor Class 636 A Word Further as to Gold and Silver 790 Money and a Days Work Doane Robinson 797 INDEX v PAGE FLORIDA. See Yachting. FOREST RESERVES, OUR NEW NATIONAL Eliza Ruhamak Scidmore 792 With map. FRANZ. See Music. FRENCHWOMEN, STATE EDUCATION OF Theodore Stanton 955 HARDY, THOMAS Harriet Waters Preston 352 Portrait by J. W. Alexander. HEALTH, THE PUBLIC: THE DUTY OF THE NATION IN GUARDING IT. T. Mitchell Prudden, M. D.. 245 HEALTH, A NATIONAL BOARD OF Editorial 313 HEIR OF THE MCHULISHES, THE Bret Harte .... 763, 921 HILTONS HOLIDAY, THE Sarah Orne Jewett 772 IMMIGRATION, THE CENSUS, AND Henry Cabot Lodge 737 INDIANS, FAMOUS C. E. S. Wood 436 Portrait medallions by Olin L. Warner. INDIANS WHO DESERVE PENSIONS Theodore Roosevelt 154 INTOXICATED GHOST, THE Arlo Bates 393 JAPAN, AN ARTISTS LETTERS FROM John La Farge. Bric-it-Brac 419 Pictures by Chin.nan-pin, etc. Yokohama, Kamakura 571 Picture by the Author. JAPANESE ART, CONTEMPORARY Ernest Francisco Fenollosa .. 577 With examples from the Chicago exhibit. JUNO OF ARGOS, THE Charles Waldstein 218 With frontispiece picture (facing page 163) and profiles. KINDERGARTEN. A Friend of the Kindergarten A. H. P 157 The Kindergarten in Canada James L. Hughes 157 LABOR Editorial. American Boys and American Labor 151 The Disappearance of the Apprentice System 314 Hostility of Foreign to American Labor 475 Foreign Control of Labor-Unions 635 Idleness and Crime . 789 A True Friend of the American Working-Man 952 Substitutes for the Extinct Apprentice System 952 The Apprentice System in Switzerland H. J. Burger 957 LE PUY. See Picturesque. LEE SHORE, CAUGHT ON A. See Yachting. LINCOLN ON THE SPOILS SYSTEM Editorial 149 LONDON, AN AMERICAN THEATER IN Edward A. Dithmar 156 MEDICINE, MENTAL: THE TREATMENT OF DISEASE BY SUGGESTiON.. Allan McLane Hamilton ... 430 MEDICINE. See Breathing. MR. GADSBURYS BROTHER . M. Frances Swann Williams 124 Pictures by E. W. Kemble. MR. JONESS EXPERIMENT James Sager Norton 590 Pictures by C. D. Gibson. MRS. FULSOMS JOURNEY Al/ce Turner 160 MRS. PETTIBONES DINNER-HORN Charles Battell Loomis 304 MUIR, JOHN John Swett 120 With portrait. MUNICIPAL REFORM, A HINT IN Joseph Hatton 155 MURAT. See Bonapartes. MUSIC, What the Pjwnograph will do for Music Philip G. Hubert, Jr 152 An Hour with Robert Franz Henry T. Finch 237 With portraits. Wanted, Specialists in Church Music Waldo S. Pratt 317 vi INDEX. PAGE NAPOLEON. See Bonapartes. NICARAGUA, PERSONAL IMPRESSIONS OF Gilbert Gaul 64 Pictures by the Author. OLMSTED, FREDERICK LAW Mrs. Schuyler van Rensselaer 86o With frontispiece portrait (facing page 803). PASCAL. See Women. PAVING. See Street. PENSION BUREAU, THE, AN INSIDE VIEW OF A. B. Gasselman PHILOSOPHERS CAMP, THE. EMERSON, AGASSIZ, AND LOWELL I N W. J. Stillman 598 THE ADIRONDACKS 5 PICTURESQUE PLACE, THE MOST, IN THE WORLD. (Le Puy, France)... I. and E. R. Pennell 345 Pictures by Joseph Pennell. POETS LAUREATE (WHO WORE THE LAURELS?) Kenyon West 476 POLITE TO STRANGERS Alice Turner 319 POLITICS, BUSINESS Charles Fiske 638 PORTSMOUTH PROFILES, OLD Thomas Bailey Aldrich 384 Pictures by Gilbert Gaul and Charles H. Woodhury. PRATT INSTITUTE, THE James R. Gampbell 870 Pictures by Louis Loeb. PRESIDENTIAL ELECTORS, CALIFORNIAS J. F. Thompson 157 PRINCE IMPERIAL. See Bonapartes. PROFANITY, THE DECL1NE OF Edward Cary 159 PROVENCE, AN EMBASSY TO. (Conclusion) Thomas A. Janvier 38 Pictures by A. Castaigne. PSYCHOLOGICAL SUGGESTION, A . H. C. Wood 158 PUBLIC SERVICE, COMPULSORY Editorial 474 QUEEN ANNE, THE REIGN OF Al. 0. W. Oliphant. Pictures by Joseph Pennell, C. H. Woodbury, Harry Fenn, C. A. Vanderhoof, H. D. Nichols, S. G. Parke, and A. F. Jaccaci; and with portraits. The Queen and the Duchess 101 The Author of Gulliver 401 The Author of Robinson Crusoe 740 QUITS Tudor Jenks 957 REDEMPTIONER, THE Edward Eggleston 625 RONNER. See Cats. ROSSETTI; See Women. RUSSIA. With Tolstoy in the Russian Famine Jonas Stadling 249 Pictures by Kenyon Cox, after photographs by the Author. The Famine in Russia Jonas Stadling 560 Pictures by John Tiren, Harry Fenn, Kenyon Cox, Irving R. Wiles, and W. H. Drake, after photographs by the Author. The Official Defense of Russian Persecution Joseph Jacobs 359 A Voice for the People of Russia George Kennan 461 A Muzhiks Gratitude for the Gifts of Americans to Starving Russians.. Jonas Stadling 957 SALVINI, LEAVES FROM THE AUTOBIOGRAPHV OF (Concluded) Tommaso Salvini 90, 363 With portraits 779, 927 SAYINGS FOR THE SEXES Junius Henri Browne Soo SENATORS, BETTER UNITED STATES 11. Turner N comb .. 156 SIDDONS. See Women. SPOILS SYSTEM, ORIGIN AND GROWTH OF THE Editorial 472 STILLMAN, WILLIAM JAMES Wendell P. Garrison 656 With portrait. ~STREETPAVING IN AMERICA William Fortune Pictures by A. Castaigne, Harry Fenn, Otto H. Bacher, and Guy Rose. .... SWEDISH ETCHER, A. (Anders Zorn) Mrs. Schuyler van Rensselaer 582 With ~tchings and a carving by Anders Zom. SWEET BELLS OUT OF TUNE. (Conclusion) Mrs. Burton Harrison 23 Picture by C. D. Gibson. SWIFT, DEAN. See Queen Anne. INDEX. vii PAGE TAORMINA NOTE-BOOK, THE George E. Woodberry 677 Pictures by Harry Fenn, A. F. Jaccaci, and A. Castaigne. TEACHERS SALARIES, THE QUESTION OF SEX IN Al. Babcock 956 TENNYSON, LORD, RECOLLECTIONS OF John Addington Symonds 32 TRAMPS, LIFE AMONG THE GERMAN Josiah Flynt 803 Pictures by Warner Zebme. UNCLE OBADIAHS UNCLE BILLY William Henry Shelton 307 VIERGE: THE FATHER OF MODERN ILLUSTRATION August F. Jaccaci 186 With portrait by the author, and examples of Vierges work. WEBSTER (DANIEL), A GLANCE AT Mellen Chamberlain 709 With frontispiece portrait (facing page 643). WHITE ISLANDER, THE Mary Hartwell Cathe ood. 222 Pictures by Francis Day. 335, 533, 729 WHITMAN, WALT, IN WAR-TIME, LETTERS OF Walt Whitman 840 With portrait. WOMEN, NOTABLE. Christina Rossetti Edmund Gosse 211 With portrait. Sarah Siddons Edmund Gosse 380 With frontispiece portrait (facing page 323). A Sister of Saints. (Gilberte Pascal) Marion Libby 6o6 WOMENS WORK AND WAGES B 316 WORLDS FAIR. See Columbian. WRITING TO ROSINA William Henry Bishop. .141, 264 Pictures by H. S. Watson and Herbert Denman. YACHTING. Caught on a Lee Shore Lient. William Henn 163 Pictures by Canton T. Chapman and Gilbert Gaul, after drawings by the Author and photographs by Mrs. Henn. Cup Defenders Old and New W. P. Stephens 520 Pictures by G. H. Whittle and F. S. Cozzens, from photographs. Plague on a Pleasure-Boat I Stuart Stevenson ... 817 Pictures by W. L. Wyllie. ZORN, ANDERS. See Swedish. POETRY. ABOUT SUNRISE Doane Robinson 480 ART Florence Earle Coates 274 AT THE SIGN OF THE SKULL Theodore C. Williams AUGUST John Vance Cheney 635 AUTUMN WASTE, THE Archibald Lampman 938 BIOGRAPHY Elizabeth C. Cardozo 479 BLOWN ABOUT Harry Romaine 319 CICADA SEPTENDECIM, To THE Grace Denio Litc4fteld 306 CIRCUMSTANCE Matthew Blake 319 CIRCUMSTANCES AND CASES Margaret Vandegr~/t 320 CONTRIBUTORS DREAM, THE H. S. Huntington 159 DAWN Frank Dempster Sherman 429 DELSARTE GIRL, THE Alice E. Ives 319 GALAXY, THE Charles J. OMalley 344 GRANADA, IN Archibald Gordon 370 Decorations by Louis Loeb. GRIMALKIN Clinton Scollard 480 HARBOR-MOTHER, THE Grace D,~ield Goodwin 640 HEART-SONG Lucile Du Fri 284 HEAVENLY CHERUBS, THE John J. Shutterly, Jr 739 viii INDEX. PAGE HORIZON LINE, THE Thos. Wentworth Higginson 736 How HANS PICKEL SAW THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE Nathan Haskell Dole 640 IF SPIRITS WALK Ellen Burroughs 248 IMPOSSIBILITY, AN Maurice Thompson 320 IN A LONDON BALL-ROOM L. B. W 320 IN LIFES TUNNEL Grace Denio Litchfield 778 IN THE WINGS Bliss Carman 479 KNIGHT OF PENTECOST, THE Harriet Prescott Spofford 31 LAKE OF THE DEAD, THE Henry Morton 79 LIE, A Ellen M. H. Gates 63 LIFE Florence Earle Coates 839 LITERARY ORDER, A John Kendrick Bangs 480 METEORITE, THE COLD William Reed Huntington .. MICHAEL WILL NOT BE IN IT Charles Battell Loomis 158 MOCKING-BIRD, THE Ednak Proctor Clarke 391 MOCKING-BIRD, MOONLIGHT SONG OF THE William H. Hayne 676 MOONLIGHT FROM THE CLIFF Dora Read Goodale 400 MY WHITE ROSE OF KILLARNEY Jennie E. T. Dowe 221 Pictures by Irving R Wiles. NIAGARA, AT Richard Watson Gilder 625 OVER THE SEA LIES SPAIN Charles Washington Coleman 160 POET-HEART, THE Grace Denio Litchfield 306 POET, THE Frank Dempster Sherman 597 POETIC LICENSE W. D. Ellwanger 8oo PORTRAIT IN DISTEMPER, A Harrison S. Morris 320 POYERTY-PARTY AT PAPINEAUS HALL, THE Nathan Haskell Dole 8oo PRAIRlE HEROINE, A Doane Robinson 320 PRIG, THE Edgar Fawcett 158 QUATRAINS Thomas Bailey Aldrich 624 SAINTS AND SINNERS Frank Dernpster Sherman 159 SEA, A GLIMPSE OF THE William Prescott Foster . 717 SEXTAINS Geor6 e Edgar Montgomemy 383 SOME VERSES CAROL Henry Jerome Stockard.. .. SONG TO HER, A Frank Dempster Sherman 960 STORM-VOICES Archibald Lampman 655 SUNLIGHT, THE Grace Denio Litc4/leld 306 TENNYSON, ALFRED, To Aubrey De Vere 37 TEST, THE Mary Thacher Higginson 771 VANISHING CITY, THE Richard Watson Gilder 868 VOICE OF DREAMS, THE Edith M. Thomas 8oo WHAT SHALL WE NAME THE BABY? Jennie E. T. Dowe 8oo WHEN POLLY TAKES THE AIR Lizette Woodworth Reese 718 Pictures by Otto H. Bacher. WHERE HElEN SITS Laura E. Richards I78 WHITE CITY, THE Richard Watson Gilder 22 WITH THE TREAD OF MARCHING COLUMNS S. R. Elliot 140 z H D 0 L1 z 0 0 H 0 z z 0 0 0 H

Mrs. Schuyler van Rensselaer van Rensselaer, Schuyler, Mrs. At the Fair 3-14

THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. VOL. XLVI. MAY, 1893. No. i. THE FAIR. AT - CASTAIGNE THE WORLDS OBJECTIVE IN THE SUMMER OF 1893. TWO years ago Chicago was beginning to keeping it all for yourself; the West has re- 1. put up the buildings for her Fair. Ab- plied to the East, You want to crowd us out surd! cried America; ten-acre, twenty-acre entirely; and the fact is that there has been lots roofed in how can they ever be fill- no space at all for many claimants, and not ed? Yet, of late, up and down the land nearly enough to satisfy the more fortunate. has gone the cry of the disappointed exhibitor, The mass of offered exhibits has surpassed the shorn of his hoped-for quantum of space. The utmost anticipations of the organizers of the East has called out to the West, You are Fair; and indeed they would have been a Copyright, 1893, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved. 0 LL~ 0 0 z D D D 0 L12 H t-I1 H cm ~I1 m 0 z cm 6 AT THE FAIR. great deal happier if it had been a great deal smaller. And now has come the time for the crowd of spectators. Long ago we stopped asking, Who will wish to go to a Fair at Chicago? To-day the question is, What may we best do, what may we best choose to look at, when we get there? Of course no one can see the whole of a Fair like this, inside and out; and time, energy, and disappointment will be saved if a plan of campaign is prepared in advance, and the mind is trained to feel that it must be folloxved. It is not easy to follow any plan in such sight-seeing if one has the usual American mind, as alive with mere curiosity as it is with a craving for instruction pleased to l~ok at anything, discontented only to think that other people are seeing things with which it cannot make acquaintance. But a plan, and the power to stick to it, will be your only safeguards from disaster if; beneath your shifting, purposeless wish simply to see, there lies a genuine desire to profit by sights of a certain sort. If you are going to enjoy your visit to the Fair in the way that will leave the best residuum, that will best satisfy you when the prickings of mere rivalry in sight-seeing have died out, when the excitement of crowds and vast archi- tectural panoramas will have faded, when the temptation to sit in the shade on a plausibly marble bench under a deceptively marble col- onnade, and watch the sun shine on fluttering flags and party-colored awnings and reaches of shining water, will seem, in the retrospect, to have been a devils drug narcotizing your sense of duty if you are a conscientious person with a real practical interest in any one department of the Fair, you must take at least part of your pleasure in the Fair very sternly. I know whereof I speak, for I went to Paris in 1889 with an insistent need to acquaint myself with modern art. I stayed five weeks; I did not go every day to the Fair, but I went very often; I tried to do my duty, and I did devote myself especially to the art galleries: but while I hardly saw the contents of any of the other buildings, and did not even set foot within so vast and varied and interesting a one as the Palace of the Liberal Arts, I left Paris with a sense of shame and defeat. I did not really see the pictures and statues; I did not really learn about modern art. Nor, at Chicago, will you learn about the things which are dear to you unless you are very wise and steady, patient and self-denying. Take a day first to satisfy your curiosity, to gratify your sense of wonderment and your love of beauty, to get your bearings and dis- cover how much exertion you can support. Go all over the Fair grounds, and to the top of at least one of the big domes or towers. See the Fair, as a Fair, from its various centers, and from different parts of its circumference, especially from the lake. I think you can do this in one or two days, if you start early and end late, if you are strong, and if you have yourself conveyed by all available means of conveyance,encircling railways, boats, and rolling-chairs, and if you do not step inside a single building except for the ascent in search of your birds-eye view. Then go home, stay in bed the following day, if you are wise, and the next day spread the wings and stif- fen the spine of your conscience, and go in search of the things you have come to study steam-boilers or roses, fishes or stuffed birds, needlework or statistics of idiot asylums, methods of slaughtering men or cattle, or of preserving human life or edible fruits. Stay at this task until you have finished it, or until it has exhausted your powers of application. Then release and relax yourself. Go to see something else palms if you have been study- ing plows, pictures if you have been studying electric motors. The things you know least about, and care least about, will then seem de- lightful, for you will have purchased the right to idle, and only its purchasers know the whole of the charm of idling. There are few plea- sures like looking at things in which one feels no concern after looking with profit at those which concern one deeply. There is no ex- ultation like the cry of the spirit when, tired but self-approving, it says to itself; It does nt matter an atom whether I understand this or not, whether I remember it always or forget it to-night. If you take your idling first and your working afterward, you will miss, I say, the fullness of the pleasure of desultory look- ing, and you will probably never get to your working at all in such an idlers paradise as our Fair will be. Ofcourse, after what your rustic fellow-coun- trymen would call a good spell of idling you will be ready to come back, refreshed, to your work again. Or, if you have completed it, you will go home with the satisfactory feeling that you have enjoyed both sides of the Fair, its instructive side and its mere pleasure-giving side. One more word: While you are trying to work, to learn, to appraise, to remember, to profit, be by yourself; or be sure that your comrade is exactly of the same mind as your- self. The Fair will be a safe place, and there will be so many people in it that no one indi- vidual will be annoyingly observed. You need not fear to part from your wife for a time, or, on the other hand, to let your husband part from you. Each of you has special tastes, spe AT THE FAIR. 7 cial curiosities; and if you try, hand in hand, to examine ethnological antiquities and dolls dressed to represent the changes of fashion, or sporting goods and kindergarten methods, nei- ther of you will see what you should as you should, and both will be dissatisfied. Every woman knows that two women shopping to- gether do not accomplish half as much as though they had shopped separately, while their tempers are doubly tried. The crowded galler- ies of the Fair will be like colossal shops with the counters for different wares sometimes a mile apart. If you want to accomplish any- thing there, you had better try by yourself. It is delightful to study interesting things just as one chooses; but although I have experienced both fates, I do not know which is more exas- perating to drag an unsympathetic soul about with you while examining anything, or to be an unsympathetic soul dragged about by some one else. Most Americans, I think, will go to the Fair with some serious purpose before themif not to study carefully any of the collections, then to make a careful general survey of the Fair itselg as illustrating the present condition of our nation from many points of view, and like- wise its promises and prospects for the future. The desire for self-instruction is a very broad, bright thread in the mixed fabric of the Amer- ican temperament, and the organizers of the Fair have done well, even from the advertisers standpoint, to lay particular stress upon its edu- cational possibilities. Nevertheless, not all Americans have minds which are eager for new knowledge. There must be many who do not intend to visit Chi- cago because of any profit they may gain. They are going because they hope to amuse them- selves. They, too, will have their reward. They, too, have been prepared for in manifold ways. Perhaps they will spend less time within the DRAWN IS A. CASTAIGNE. A CONTRAST OF AMERICAN ARCHITECTURE EARLY MORNING. z (-I) 0 H 0 z H H z 2 H 0 0 0 2 H 0 2 H 0 z 0 z 0 0 0 0 ~I1 z 0 0 0 :1CC :1CC z 0 :1CC H 0 H ~I1 H :1CC z 0 H H 0 z 0 z 0 0 z :1CC m H :1CC ~11 H m z 0 0 z VOL. XLVI. 2. I0 true boundaries of the Fair than in the great annex called the Midway Plaisance, where a merely commercial ingenuity has been allowed fuller sway. Here, however, they will see many amusing, strange, or beautiful sights, some of AT THE FAIR. longingly of one of its quieter chambers. It tires and distresses them even to imagine this vast table d/z6le des na/zoils, where preparation has been made for the daily entertainment of some two hundred thousand guests. DRAWN BY A. CASTAIGNE. ENGRAVED BY P. AITEEN. VI W LOOKING SOUTH FROM THE TOP OF THE WOMANS BUILDING BY MOONLIGHT. which have hitherto been visible only in far Perhaps they visited the Centennial in odd corners of the world, while others have i 876, and found it crude and ugly, conftised and never before been seen at all. Here, I say, the confusing, tiresome as well as tiring. Perhaps most frivolous may disport themselves well; they visited the Paris Exposition in 1889, and and they will carry home some instruction, if found it so gay and charming that, they think, only in the shape of a wider knowledge of pos- no other exhibition can give them new emo- sible kinds of entertainment. tions of pleasure. Or perhaps it is only on But even these two classes do not include general principles that they say they dislike big all Americans. Some chiefly born at the exhibitions, hate sight-seeing, detest the name East, I think have voices which refuse to of a catalogue, and think any object deprived join in the general chorus of anticipation. Al- of its charm by being placed in a collection. though never so well assured that the Fair will But in any case they protest that the Fairs be a great success, they declare that the last chief value in their eyes is the value of a huge thing they want to do is to visit it. They pro- magnet which will draw off the crowds from fess themselvesfdneurs by nature or by dili- other places, leaving them more in peace for gent cultivation. They know all they need to their peaceful pleasure-seeking. know about the worlds progress in all direc- Often such people take great pride in their tions, or they think that further knowledge apathy. They think that it is banal to want to would be bought too dearly by a long journey, do what every one else is doing; and they say prohable discomfort, much fatigue, and a con- to themselves that it is not lack of intelli- stant mingling with crowds. When their daily gence which keeps them away from Chicago, tasks do not claim them, what they crave is re~ but an especially keen degree of intelligence; pose, refreshment, freedom from mental no less they say that they can amuse and instruct than from physical effort. When they seek their themselves, and therefore need not try to pro- summer pleasuring they want to take their ease fit by the biggest object-lessons, the showiest in the worlds great inn, and so they think illustrative panoramas, the most emphatic ii: AT TIlE FAIR. lecturing to the eye, the most stupendoUS va- impreSSiOnS~ lie likes to idle in the city be- riety-show, that the times afford, cause, if he keeps himself purely receptive, the But such people, if they are true ficinezirs, city prints each instant a fresh picture on his will r ake a great mistake in keepi g away brain; or to idle i the country because na- from Chicago. Of course there are dawdlers ture, or the contemplation of his ow soul, of an i ferior sort, people who are simply stu- more slowly does the same. lie loathes the DOME OF THE HORTICULTURAL EUILDINGBV EIGHT. BY A. CASTAIGNE pid, and can ~joynothingbutdoin~ and think- thought of Chicago, because it suggests hard mgnothing and itmakesno difference whether work at sight~seeing, and his ideal is the easy these go to Chicago or stay at home. But your work of holding himself ssive yet perceptive. true dneur feds a genuine interest in one But he loathes this thought either because thing his own capac ty fo the reception of he does not know what the Fair will be, or, more such new ideas and e 1otions a~ may be re- probably, because he has some little shred of ceived w~thout exertion of any kind. lie does the true American intellectual conscience in his not care for facts or objects as such, or for make-up. it is hard for an American to get vhat they teach, but e does car for their mo- wholly rid of the feeling that e ought to im- mentary effect upo his eyes and nerves, lie prove himself. if his intellectual conscience does not crave 1 nowledge, but he delights in is not pote t enough to turn him into a worker, FRENCH A ATATUE. OF THE REPUBLIC AND THE PERIATYLEAN HOUR AFTER AUNRIAR. it suffices to hamper his pleasure as an idler. He is perfectly happy only where every one else is idling too, and, therefore, much more often in Europe than at home. But, if you belong to this guild, you had bet- ter stifle your mental conscientiousness alto- gether for a time, and go to the Fair. Certainly it will torment you if you take any last remnant of it with you; but if you go in perfect freedom, you will find such an idlers paradise as was never dreamed of in America before, and is not equaled anywhere in Europe to-day. If, I say, you go wholly conscienceless, not like a painstaking draftsman, but like a hu I2 AT THE FAIR. 3 man kodak, caring only for as many pleasing impressions as possible, not for the analyzing of their worth,you will be delighted in the first place by the sight of such crowds of busy hu- man bees, and the comfortable thought that, thank heaven! you are not as they. And what a setting for these crowds! What a panorama of beauty to drink in and dream over, and to carry home, in general views and bits of detail, for the perpetual adornment of your mental picture-gallery! You need not avail yourself of all the quick means of getting about. You can hire a little boat for yourself; if you choose, and drift slowly around all day in this new white Venice of the West; or, when the sun beats too hot through your awning, land on the island, be refreshed by green shrubberies, and fancy your- self lolling in true gardens of Japan. Or, not caring whither you go or when you get there, you can saunter about on foot, on sunny mar- ble quals or canopied bridges, in sound ofsplash- ing fountains, along great shadowy arcades of columns, pausing at last under palm-trees be- neath the tropic dome of Floras temple, or in the veranda of some little rest-house on the esplanade where the brilliant stretches of Lake Michigan will give your imagination room and verge enough to convince you that you have passed out of the old workaday world altogetherthat you are looking from this great palatial bit of fairy-land into a further realm of mystery and marvel. If the beauti- ful in nature especially appeals to you, Lake Michigan will indeed furnish you with fine emotions, exquisite sensations. There is no water like it in more eastern regions. It has twenty moods for one that the ocean shows; and compared with the famous lakes of Europe, it is like a string of many precious stones beryls, opals, amethysts, aquamarines com- pared with a single sapphire. But if you like best to win from humanity your changing vague delights, you will have it before you in great plenty and variety, against astonishing piled-up backgrounds of commer- cial products, mechanical marvels, artistic elab- orations, which you can placidly contemplate as backgrounds, not trying to appraise their monetary, scientific, or artistic worth. Or if you care particularly for esthetic impressions, these you xviii get in wonderful reaches of architec- tural magnificence, emphasized by the shifting lights and shadows of a variable but sometimes almost tropic climate, accented by gay passages of color, enlivened by the flutter of a myriad flags and awnings, and everywhere doubled in beauty by their reflection in the waters which, after all, are not the waters of Venice, since they are pure and blue; and these marvelous pano- ramas, again, you can accept at their high pic- torial worth, not troubled, like the critic or the student, by the need to appraise, consider, and recollect. Something of what you, a happy idler, may perpetually enjoy at the Fair our artist has tried to show, telling of its colossal effectiveness by night as well as by day, and giving glimpses from those quieter points of outlook which will stand in picturesque contrast to the showier, gayer panoramas. If, this artist tells us in his pictures, Turner would have found good material in certain places, Corot would have found as good elsewhere. Indeed there is no artist concerned with interminglings of natural and architectural beauty,or with human beings of modern types, who would not be enchanted by the opportunities of our Fair. One wishes only that during its short six-months life it might be painted by as many hands as, in the last four centuries, have painted the Italian Venice; and one feels sure that no two painters who may attempt the task are likely to paint the American Venice in identical ways. I have always wished for a chance to cele- brate a certain friend of mine who, with great trouble, got himself a holiday and journeyed from the far West to see the Centennial Ex- hibition. He arrived on a very hot day; near the entrance of the grounds he found a Hun- garian band playing delightfully in a delight- ful little restaurant; there he sat down for mental and physical refreshment; there he sat all day; and thither he returned each subse- quent day during his hard-earned week of leisure, and sat till eventide. He saw no more of the exhibition than this, but he still declares that he got more good out of it than any one else, and looks back upon it with feelings of unmixed self-approval. He, indeed, was a true fidneur. People of his kind will probably be tempted at Chicago to do a little more than he did at Philadelphia; there will be so many enchanting spots for placid contemplation that they will not re- main for a week in one. But if they really are of his kind, they will not be tempted into over- exertion, or disturbed by the conscientious ac- tivity of others; and the longer they stay, the oftenerthey pitch their mental camera on a new spot, the richer will be their feeling of pleasure and self-approval in after days of retrospection. .M G. Van R~nssdaer. DECORATIVE PAINTING AT THE WORLDS FAIR. THE WORKS OF GARI MELCHERS AND WALTER MAcEwEN. WE were not without art before the Phila- de Medici to pet and pamper the artist; no delphia Exposition of 1876, but nobody Philip IV. to confer honors and titles. Cosimos will quarrel with the statement that our great work, however, is carried on in an unconscious- art impulse dates from that exhibition. It is ly co6perative manner by our merchants, bank- therefore only three or four years younger than ers, and others, through dealers and exhibitions; the new Chicago. Why should not that city and rulers, such as the Bavarian Regent, some- produce a great work of art? She has wealth, times assumeas in the case of Carl Marr and pride, and boundless ambition, and around Gari Meichersthe r6le of the Spanish king. these art will gather and artists rally, for we This matter of art patronage, divested of all moderns have changed only the manner, not the verbiage, simply means that the artist, no mat- spirit, of art patronage. We have no Cosimo ter how exalted his inspiration, has physical 4 DRAWN BY GARI MELCHERS. WALTER MACEWEN AT WORK.

W. Lewis Fraser Fraser, W. Lewis Decorative Painting at the World's Fair 14-22

DECORATIVE PAINTING AT THE WORLDS FAIR. THE WORKS OF GARI MELCHERS AND WALTER MAcEwEN. WE were not without art before the Phila- de Medici to pet and pamper the artist; no delphia Exposition of 1876, but nobody Philip IV. to confer honors and titles. Cosimos will quarrel with the statement that our great work, however, is carried on in an unconscious- art impulse dates from that exhibition. It is ly co6perative manner by our merchants, bank- therefore only three or four years younger than ers, and others, through dealers and exhibitions; the new Chicago. Why should not that city and rulers, such as the Bavarian Regent, some- produce a great work of art? She has wealth, times assumeas in the case of Carl Marr and pride, and boundless ambition, and around Gari Meichersthe r6le of the Spanish king. these art will gather and artists rally, for we This matter of art patronage, divested of all moderns have changed only the manner, not the verbiage, simply means that the artist, no mat- spirit, of art patronage. We have no Cosimo ter how exalted his inspiration, has physical 4 DRAWN BY GARI MELCHERS. WALTER MACEWEN AT WORK. AZ! THE FAIR. 5 needs which must be satisfied; that the rich man has intellectual needs which must be gratified; and that the gratification of the latter provides for the physical needs of the former. If artists have but lately congregated in Chicago, it is not because in the West the perfumed flower of imaginative genius has not soil to grow in, but because Chicago has been in the habit of coming East to buy its pictures. That the White City on the shore of Lake Michigan is a wonder, a marvel, an embodied dream, all admit; but our surprise ought not to be that Chicago, but that America, has pro- duced it. The art initiative was Chicagos, and in the carrying out of this initiative it has proved itself an art center of the first magni- tude; but while giving due praise to the direc- torate (and that is high praise indeed), we ought to remember that the result is not a local pro- duct. Chicago has only been Aladdins lamp, the rubbing of which has summoned the genii Architecture, Sculpture, Painting, and Land- scape-Gardening. We should be grateful to Chicago for the fair-mindedness which could forget local pride and local interests, and in so large and open- handed a manner could call from New York, Kansas City, Boston, Cincinnati, and Philadel- phia architects, sculptors, painters; and reach- ing out further, could follow the trail of Amer- ican artists across the Atlantic, and allure them from Rome and Paris, in order that all might participate in the first great public recognition of the allied arts they practise, might help in the sowing of the seed which, germinating, must bring forth a fruitful crop of beauty. I see that already we are accused in cer- tain foreign quarters of overestimating what America has done in Jackson Park. These accusations take the form of implying that the collection of buildings which compose the Worlds Fair is not perfect. Perhaps we do overestimate its beauty, it goes without say- ing that there are eyesores there,but I think we may be forgiven if we are not more stoical forgiven if Jackson Park shapes itself in our minds as a union of Rome, Palmyra, Athens, Venice, Constantinople, and in reality is only a collection (save its crowning glory, the Art Building) of plaster shells. Man cannot live by bread alone. He is blind indeed who sees nothing more in Titians Sacred and Pro- fane Love than imperfect drawing. More- over, we can reply to our critics that the gage of merit is comparison, and where in the wide world to-day is its equal? We frankly acknowledge its shortcomings; for while we do not cease to love and ad- mire the beauty of its ensemble, we have no doubt that Mr. Atwood would sleep easier should the Illinois State Building burn down, and the designers of the Agricultural, Liberal Arts, and Machinery halls would feel more respect for the Federal authorities should the Government Building be engulfed by an earth- quake. Speaking for myself; I feel that sculp- ture, excellent as much of it is, has been over- done to the exclusion of painting. When I stood under the domes of the towers of the Lib- eral Arts Building, and saw the paintings by Shirlaw, Blashfield, Reed, Beckwith, Simmons, Weir,Reinhart,and Cox,and stood before May- nards work in the porticos of the Agricultural Building, and turned from these to the mag- nificent flat wall-spaces on the Transportation and other buildings, and imagined what might have been done thereon, I could not help won- dering why I should be compelled to crane my neck in the search for paintings, and why bas- relief in some instances should have been pre- ferred. But after this is said, I cannot help admitting that it savors of captious criticism: for the whole country should be thankful for what painting has been done (and I am told that more is to be done by Millet, Earle, Dora Wheeler, Mrs. MacMonnies, Miss Cassatt, and perhaps La Farge) thankful to Chicago for having taken the initiative in showing to the people who are too busy to go abroad what a powerful adjunct to architectural effect paint- ing maybe; for proving what those who know our art best have for several years asserted, that our painters are particularly fitted for this branch of art activity; and for the hint, not to the builders of great public buildings only, but to those who seek beautiful and artistic homes. Another cause for thankfulness lies in the rare skill and judgment displayed first by Mr. Prettyman, and later by Mr. Millet, in the se- lection of painters; for while there are many who perhaps could have done as good work, those selected have shown their competence in so extraordinary a degree, that although when it is viewed as decoration there must be differences of opinion about the work done, its merit is of such an even degree that it is difficult to accentuate the effort of any one man. Because I saw them grow, I was most in- terested in the pictures for the tympana of the towers of the Liberal Arts Building, by Mel- chers and MacEwen. In discussing the Worlds Fair, we all like to avoid the subject of big- ness. We knew it would be big, and that it would be none the more esthetic for that; but the bigness of these pictures, and the studios in which they were being painted, were not without their effect. It has seldom happened that an artist has had for atelier a whole art gallery in which to paint two pictures, even when the pictures were forty feet long, but such was the happy fate of these two gentlemen; and while seated beside the enormous stove into 0 -i 0 tTI VOL. XLVT.3. rj ~11 which coal was poured by the wheelbarrow load, shouting chat at the artists, who looked absurdly small like Palmer Coxs Brownies when compared with the colossi they were painting, I could not help drawing a com- parison between their comfort and the discom- fort of those who, painting on top of risky scaffolds, in an uneven, uncertain light, and developing that particularly irritating ailment, crick in the neck, had decorated the Liberal Arts domes, or of the Dodge brothers, in the dome of the Administration Building, making each morning their aerial flight up 287 feet of spindly ladders, and their earthward and bed- ward descent in the darkness after midnight. Surely MacEwen and Melchers, in their com fortable, atelier-like surroundings, were the fortunate ones of the art colony in Jackson Park. Little wonder that the inhospitable sign Keep out was posted on their doors: a warning, by the way, effective with the work- men and laborers, but of no avail with the industrious women of the fourth estate who had paid a license fee of two dollars per day for the privilege of using a camera, and were all too faithful to the papers they represented, but who, I am glad to say, received a kindly if a grudging welcome from the artists. Five minutes in the ateliers was long enough to demonstrate that the artists were by counsel and advice mutually helpful, that they were good comrades, and that their comradeship was GARI MELCHERS AT WORK. AT THE PAIR. 21 based upon respect for the artist in each other and on the fact that each was strong enough to stand alone; for while the works of both are conceived from the same standpoint of dec- orative effect, there all resemblance ceases. MacEwens temperament has led him to the gentle, the poetic, to the more feminine of the arts. In his two compositions womanhood and childhood take the leading places. Women and children form the central groups, and man, while not wholly absent, occupies a secondary and unimportant place, as though but for artis- tic reasons the painter would have dispensed with him altogether. Melchers, on the contrary, has been impelled toward the grand, the heroic. In his strongest composition, The Arts of War, man, and the most manlike of the brute creation, play every part. I was much impressed with this picture, with the fullness without crowding of the composition. How gallantly, how like a god, the old warrior carries himself, and how intelligently the lines of the attendant figures support him! In the second composition the artist is not so happy, because here the heroic and grand have little place. In it, however, man still predominates. I should say that the chief quality of Melcherss compositions is their masculinity without brutality, seen in the fullest extent in the Arts of War; of MacEwens, their femininity without feebleness, as seen in the sweet, subtle charm of his Life. I can- not justly compare their color, having never seen the completed pictures; but judging from the finished studies, little changed in the large painting, it will show these same oppos- ing qualities. The true artistic temperament of these men was well exemplified on two occasions when I was with them. Melchers had just begun The Arts of War, and had painted in the head of the central figure. He descended from the scaffolding, walked across the floor, stood for a few minutes irresolute, and then, opening a door which communicates with the atelier of the sculptor Baur, called to the only one in sight, Baurs assistant, Come in here, please, will you? I want to ask you something. What do you think of the key of that head? It is too dark, is it not, for out-of-doors? and waited as anxiously for the answer as though it would come from one of the most celebrated of painters. Then turning to me, What do you think? It is so hard to know when one has struck the right key, so easy for a fellow to mistrust himself. Ah, I have it. It is not too dark, but too bricky in color. It wants better grays, and in ten minutes the head was repainted. It tormented me to see MacEwen day after day spending himself on the sixty or seventy feet of border around his pictures while the compositions called aloud to him, and I re- marked, Why dont you let Cameron Lhis clever assistant] do that? I suppose I ought to. Cameron would do it as well as I,butoh,well, it wont take long; it s a part of the work, and naturally a fellow, given a chance, wants to show what he can do, and nothing ought to be slighted. It was to me most melancholy, as I looked at the decoration of the Liberal Arts domes and the porticos of the Agricultural Building, that so much excellent art had been put upon raw plaster,that up to date the greatest efforts of so many of our leading painters must in a few months pass out of existence,be but a mem- ory, and I am glad that the pictures for the tympana, being painted on canvas, and there- fore removable, are not to perish in the using; that these examples of two American artists, the recipients of many honors abroad, but all too little known in the land of their birth, are likely to remain with us. Gari Melchers was born in Detroit in i86o, studied in Dusseldorf, Munich, and Paris, and received honorable mention and a third class medal at the Salon, the former in i886, the latter in i888; two medals of the first class in Amsterdam in 1887 and i888; and two medals of honor, one in Paris, 1889, the other in Berlin, 1891. He was created last year, by the Ba- varian Regent, a Knight of the Order of Saint Michael. Mr. Melchers is a member of the Society of American Artists, Society of Munich Artists, and Associate of the National Fine Arts Society, Paris. By comparing the dates it will be seen that he received the major part of his honors before he was thirty. Walter MacEwen is also aWesterner, born in Chicago in 1859, and has studied in Munich and Paris. He has been an exhibitor at every Salon since 1885, and has been the recipient of many honors. W Lewis Fraser. THE WHITE CITY I. GREECE was; Greece is no more. Temple and town Have crumbled down; Time is the fire that hath consumed them all. Statue and wall In ruin strew the universal floor. II. Greece lives, but Greece no more! Its ashes breed The undying seed Blown westward till, in Romes imperial towers, Athens reflowers; Still westward lo, a veiled and virgin shore! II. Say not, Greece is no more. Through the clear morn On light winds borne Her white-winged soul sinks on the New Worlds breast. Ah! happy West Greece flowers anew, and all her temples soar! Iv. One bright hour, then no more Shall to the skies These columns nse. But though arts flower shall fade, again the seed Onward shall speed, Quickening the land from lake to oceans roar. V. Art lives, though Greece may never From the ancient mold As once of old Exhale to heaven the inimitable bloom; Yet from that tomb Beauty walks forth to light the world forever. February ii, 1893. R. W. Gilder. 1 The Columbian Fair Buildings at Chicago have thus been named by Mr. H. C. Bunner.

Richard Watson Gilder Gilder, Richard Watson "The White City" 22

THE WHITE CITY I. GREECE was; Greece is no more. Temple and town Have crumbled down; Time is the fire that hath consumed them all. Statue and wall In ruin strew the universal floor. II. Greece lives, but Greece no more! Its ashes breed The undying seed Blown westward till, in Romes imperial towers, Athens reflowers; Still westward lo, a veiled and virgin shore! II. Say not, Greece is no more. Through the clear morn On light winds borne Her white-winged soul sinks on the New Worlds breast. Ah! happy West Greece flowers anew, and all her temples soar! Iv. One bright hour, then no more Shall to the skies These columns nse. But though arts flower shall fade, again the seed Onward shall speed, Quickening the land from lake to oceans roar. V. Art lives, though Greece may never From the ancient mold As once of old Exhale to heaven the inimitable bloom; Yet from that tomb Beauty walks forth to light the world forever. February ii, 1893. R. W. Gilder. 1 The Columbian Fair Buildings at Chicago have thus been named by Mr. H. C. Bunner.

Richard Watson Gilder Gilder, Richard Watson "The White City" 22-23

THE WHITE CITY I. GREECE was; Greece is no more. Temple and town Have crumbled down; Time is the fire that hath consumed them all. Statue and wall In ruin strew the universal floor. II. Greece lives, but Greece no more! Its ashes breed The undying seed Blown westward till, in Romes imperial towers, Athens reflowers; Still westward lo, a veiled and virgin shore! II. Say not, Greece is no more. Through the clear morn On light winds borne Her white-winged soul sinks on the New Worlds breast. Ah! happy West Greece flowers anew, and all her temples soar! Iv. One bright hour, then no more Shall to the skies These columns nse. But though arts flower shall fade, again the seed Onward shall speed, Quickening the land from lake to oceans roar. V. Art lives, though Greece may never From the ancient mold As once of old Exhale to heaven the inimitable bloom; Yet from that tomb Beauty walks forth to light the world forever. February ii, 1893. R. W. Gilder. 1 The Columbian Fair Buildings at Chicago have thus been named by Mr. H. C. Bunner. ~BEGUN iN TIlE NOVEMBER NUMBER.] SWEET BELLS OUT OF TUNE. BY MRS. BURTON HARRISON, Author of The Anglomaniacs, Flower de Ilundred, etc. WITH PICTURES BY C. D. GIBSON. XIV. HE principal person, Strange to say, to take umbrage at Mrs. Ver- non s rapid rise was her original backer, Lady Shorthorn. One after- noon in July, when town was thinning fast, the dowagers one-horse brougham stopped before the house in Princes Gate, and the dowager, going in, was encountered on the threshold by her son, who bowed to her, smiling, and hur- ried on to a hansom for which one of Mrs. Vernons footmen had been whistling from the step. Lord Shorthorn was a handsome young man, with a blond mustache, and legs so long that when he sat down they seemed to stretch inter- minably across the room. He was well dressed, from his shining hat and perfectly rolled um- brella, to the polished shoes upon his uncom- monly large feet. Lady Shorthorn did not smile on him. She went at once up-stairs to the draw- ing-room, where Mrs. Vernon sat, and refused tea from that ladys hands, as well as bread and butter in thin slices from a large silver plate. I thought you would be leavin town, she said. Every one is leavin town. I have the kindest invitations to Lord Johns, and the Dukes, and those dear Chol- mondeleys, said Mrs. Vernon, easily; and I dare say I shall manage to do them all. But that is for August. You might go towellEastbourne for a while. Oh, I hate Eastbourne, said Mrs. Ver- non, who, two months ago, would not have ventured to hate any place named by the dow- ager. I have knocked about so much, I really like it better here. - I saw my son goin out of here. I am sur- prised he is not at Ensilage. Yes; every one says it is a most beautiful place. Beautiful in situation, yes; but damp, as I told you once before. I dont think any one living at Ensilage could long keep their health. And those three childrenno, four, there are fourhave their mothers temper; and I am obliged to say Shorthorns own temper is I told him so when they gave him his divorce Shorthorns own temper is dreadfully tryin, as any one who lives with him must find. Are you going to the Princess Argentines garden-party at Lean Lodge? said Mrs. Ver- non, pleasantly. No; I m not asked are you? Well, nothin surprises one to-day. I suppose Short- horn will be goin, too. I should think he d be careful about doin as much as I hear he does. I believe it s not generally known Short- horn has a er a valve in his heart. Sir James warned him about it when he was quite a lad at Oxford. It is very sad, murmured Mrs. Vernon, looking at her with sympathetic eyes. He has undoubtedly a valve; and he has lived so fast, and got himself into such a ridic- ulous lot of debts, I dont know what s to be- come of him. The only hope we have is the marriage with his cousin Kelsos girl. Lady Sybilla is a charming person, Mrs. Vernon answered. It is so suitable; just what both families want. You will be interested, because you have a married son. Yes, I have a married son. Who must be nearly Shorthorns age, is nt he? You know how you d have felt, if peo- ple had said he was goin to throw himself away upon er ah a nobody old enough to be his mother, said the countess, getting on her feet, losing her temper, and blurting out her words. Lord and Lady William Hampshire. The onorable Harthur Fitz-Greene. Sir Lionel Delacour, chanted a man-servant, withdraw- ing the porti~re. You will show Lady Shorthorn to the door, said Mrs. Vernon to this functionary, after greeting her new guests; and down-stairs puffed the large countess, in helpless, speech- less wrath. She stepped into her brougham and drove away, feeling that she had not helped Lady Sybillas chances, and register- ing a vow to have done with all Americans. Meeting Mrs. Vane-Benson in the park, she began by cutting that unoffending lady dead. 23

Mrs. Burton Harrison Harrison, Burton, Mrs. Sweet Bells out of Tune 23-31

~BEGUN iN TIlE NOVEMBER NUMBER.] SWEET BELLS OUT OF TUNE. BY MRS. BURTON HARRISON, Author of The Anglomaniacs, Flower de Ilundred, etc. WITH PICTURES BY C. D. GIBSON. XIV. HE principal person, Strange to say, to take umbrage at Mrs. Ver- non s rapid rise was her original backer, Lady Shorthorn. One after- noon in July, when town was thinning fast, the dowagers one-horse brougham stopped before the house in Princes Gate, and the dowager, going in, was encountered on the threshold by her son, who bowed to her, smiling, and hur- ried on to a hansom for which one of Mrs. Vernons footmen had been whistling from the step. Lord Shorthorn was a handsome young man, with a blond mustache, and legs so long that when he sat down they seemed to stretch inter- minably across the room. He was well dressed, from his shining hat and perfectly rolled um- brella, to the polished shoes upon his uncom- monly large feet. Lady Shorthorn did not smile on him. She went at once up-stairs to the draw- ing-room, where Mrs. Vernon sat, and refused tea from that ladys hands, as well as bread and butter in thin slices from a large silver plate. I thought you would be leavin town, she said. Every one is leavin town. I have the kindest invitations to Lord Johns, and the Dukes, and those dear Chol- mondeleys, said Mrs. Vernon, easily; and I dare say I shall manage to do them all. But that is for August. You might go towellEastbourne for a while. Oh, I hate Eastbourne, said Mrs. Ver- non, who, two months ago, would not have ventured to hate any place named by the dow- ager. I have knocked about so much, I really like it better here. - I saw my son goin out of here. I am sur- prised he is not at Ensilage. Yes; every one says it is a most beautiful place. Beautiful in situation, yes; but damp, as I told you once before. I dont think any one living at Ensilage could long keep their health. And those three childrenno, four, there are fourhave their mothers temper; and I am obliged to say Shorthorns own temper is I told him so when they gave him his divorce Shorthorns own temper is dreadfully tryin, as any one who lives with him must find. Are you going to the Princess Argentines garden-party at Lean Lodge? said Mrs. Ver- non, pleasantly. No; I m not asked are you? Well, nothin surprises one to-day. I suppose Short- horn will be goin, too. I should think he d be careful about doin as much as I hear he does. I believe it s not generally known Short- horn has a er a valve in his heart. Sir James warned him about it when he was quite a lad at Oxford. It is very sad, murmured Mrs. Vernon, looking at her with sympathetic eyes. He has undoubtedly a valve; and he has lived so fast, and got himself into such a ridic- ulous lot of debts, I dont know what s to be- come of him. The only hope we have is the marriage with his cousin Kelsos girl. Lady Sybilla is a charming person, Mrs. Vernon answered. It is so suitable; just what both families want. You will be interested, because you have a married son. Yes, I have a married son. Who must be nearly Shorthorns age, is nt he? You know how you d have felt, if peo- ple had said he was goin to throw himself away upon er ah a nobody old enough to be his mother, said the countess, getting on her feet, losing her temper, and blurting out her words. Lord and Lady William Hampshire. The onorable Harthur Fitz-Greene. Sir Lionel Delacour, chanted a man-servant, withdraw- ing the porti~re. You will show Lady Shorthorn to the door, said Mrs. Vernon to this functionary, after greeting her new guests; and down-stairs puffed the large countess, in helpless, speech- less wrath. She stepped into her brougham and drove away, feeling that she had not helped Lady Sybillas chances, and register- ing a vow to have done with all Americans. Meeting Mrs. Vane-Benson in the park, she began by cutting that unoffending lady dead. 23 1 Lii -4 -4 z 0 -4 Ii SWEET BELLS OUT OF TUNE. 25 SOON after the onslaught of the irate coun- tess, Mrs. Vernon was called, on her own ac- count, to experience certain pangs of anxiety regarding a son of whom other women took kind heed. A few days later, when she was making ready to receive Gerald and Eleanor, who were due to arrive in Princes Gate for a visit on their way to the Continent, came a start- ling note written by Jerry on the steamer and posted at Queenstown, telling her that he had crossed the ocean alone, leaving his wife with her mother in America an arrangement of which he saw no definite prospect of change, and in consequence of which it would hardly be pleasant to meet his mother until feeling on the subject had had time to die down. He gave the address of a hotel in Paris where a letter from her might reach him, but warned her that no attempt at mediation would have a hearing from him, and that he meant to travel till further notice. Now, indeed, the world seemed for a while dark before the mother. But with characteris- tic energy she decided her plan of action, and, crossing by the night boat, was in Paris the next day, and early in attendance at the ad- dress given by her son. Jerry, who at the most had expected from her an angry telegram or letter to which he would turn a deaf ear, as he had done many times before, was taken disagreeably by sur- prise. He received his mother sullenly, and she at once saw that he was under the influence of a mixture of emotions among which wounded pride was uppermost. Answer me one question, Gerald Vernon, or you are no son of mine, the widow said fiercely. Has any other woman got to do with this mad performance of yours? I dont know what business you have to ask, her son said, and I wish to heaven you d let me alone and go away. I got a chill, or something, on that infernal ship, and I have nt slept all night, and my back and head are as heavy as lead. You do look ill, his mother said, struck, as he had meant her to be, with sudden solicitude. But, Jerry, I cant rest till I know all. I m not going to appeal to you for myself, or for that poor girl you ye left in America, who s worth twenty such women as you ye let make a fool of you. I will change my question. Where is Hilde- garde de Lancey, who was a passenger on the ship with you, as I saw by the published list? At a hotel, or on a trainorhow should I know? cried he, stung into open answer. It s all somebodys mischief. I ye not seen her since we landed. She went up from Liv- erpool with a lot of people to London on an earlier train, and left me no address. VOL. XLVI.4. She s flying for higher game, Jerry, my lad, said the widow, a satiric smile breaking upon her countenance. She knows now you get every cent you have from me; and she s a deep one.~~ Dont abuse her. I wont stand it, he cried violently, a dull red flush settling around his heavy eyes. She s the best friend I have, and the noblest woman I knowthe only woman who understands me, and gives me the sym- pathy I need. If that is your case, my dear boy, said the widow, seating herself deliberately beside the lounge on which he had cast himself, and tak- ing out an envelop, perhaps you will run your eye over this letter, written recently by Hildegarde to her sister-spirit, Mrs. Shafto, and giving her frank opinion of a certain dangler at her apron-string. Dont ask me where I got it. It s hers, and that s enough. THAT night Mrs. Vernon with her son re- crossed the Channel. They reached Princes Gate for breakfast. But no consideration of the matin meal was of interest to Jerry, or would be so for many a morning to come. By the time he stepped out of the hansom, following his mo- ther, the footman who came to take out the bags had to give him his arm across the pavement to the door, and within five hours Gerald was in bed, with a doctor and a trained nurse in at- tendance, in the first stage of a serious attack of typhoid fever. xv. TEN days before these things took place on the other side of the great Atlantic ferry, Elea- nor Vernon in New York was joyously con- cluding her final preparations to go abroad with her husband. Their passage having been engaged in a ship leaving the next day, her heart was full of happiness at thought of what awaited her. After a farewell visit to her mothers place on the Hudson, where the Hallidays were en- joying country life with their laurel-crowned hero Jack, she had come with her maid to town, to join Jerry at their own house. Nell could not believe it was she whose spirit bounded with such delight at the prospect of putting the sea between herself and the old home. She was past reasoning. For so long she had dwelt upon this thought if she could get Jerry away, off to herself, the happy time of their honeymoon would surely again return. Now it was soon to come; Jerry had ceased to vacillate, their plans were made, she was to taste of a deep, brimming cup of joy, Jerrys short- comings were washed away in a flood of new tenderness. No need to go back to their sad days like the one upon the yacht. Since Bettys 26 SWEET BELLS OUT OF TUNE. engagement with Theobald had been an- nounced, Jerry had asked his wifes pardon for what she considered his greatest offense against herasked in such manly fashion that her heart melted with pleasure in yielding it. Mrs. De Lancey and the Shaftos had gone on a cruise along the eastern coast in Van Loons yacht, and the young couple had been perforce thrown upon each other for entertainment. During the visit to Eleanors mother, they had lived to- gether for a brief restful time, and then Gerald had been summoned back to town by Mrs. Vernons man of business, to consult about some of her affairs. It had been arranged between husband and wife, their establishment being mounted for the summer in picnic fashion, that he should take her for dinner to Delmonicos. As the hot sum- mers dusk fell over the dull streets, and Jerry did not appear, Eleanor began to feel the pangs of her healthy appetite deadened by growing anxiety. When Elsa brought up and pressed upon her a tray of food, she made pretense of eating, but, as the girl left the morning-room where she sat, returned quickly to the window, and strained her eyes into the gathering night. The gas-lamp near their house, flaming out, seemed to mock her with dancing in her tears. Eight oclock, nine oclock, and a ring at the front door. Eleanor, springing to the head of the staircase, saw below a messenger boys cap and uniform. The note Elsa handed her was in an unfamiliar hand, and once or twice she turned it over without opening, after the fool- ish fashion many people have of speculating about what can so quickly be ascertained. Eleanor had had no previous experience with anonymous letters, and this, her first, was a bit- ter one. She could not comprehend why there should be no signature, and looked again ere she read the hateful lines that forced their way into her bewildered understanding. An older, wiser woman would have destroyed the note without reading, upon the first indication of its contents; but knowledge so to deal with the most cruel implements of modern social war- fare comes only with experience. She was still clutching the paper, staring at what it told her, when her husband came into the room. Nell dear, you must have thought I was a wretch not to telegraph you I could nt come, he said, leaning down to kiss her. But I was kept by a disagreeable thing: a man an old college-mate of mine got himself into a mess with drink and foolishness, and sent for me; and I had to haul him on his feet, and pack him out of town to his wife in the South. I m just back from Jersey City, where I saw him to the train why, what on earth is the matter, Eleanor? It is not the first, but the most plausible, story you have made cover deceit to me, she said fiercely, facing him, and crumpling the paper in her hand. She lighted it above the lamp, and threw it into the fireplace, watching it blacken to tinder. Oh, if I could only burn up as easily the shame my life with you has brought me! Eleanor, are you insane? What is that let- ter? What has put you into this state? Come, calm yourself. Are nt you well? Do you need a doctor? There is no doctor who could help me, she said drearily. And I m not one to hide and equivocate like you. I 11 tell you what the letter saidnot allyou may guess the rest. Itsaid that woman the woman you still loved when you married me is going in the ship with us to-morrow, and that I am the laughing- stock of all who know us. Jerry was silent for a minute. He had fancied Eleanor always the loving, pardoning creature she had hitherto shown herself. He had ab- solutely no conception 6f the hard scorn and anger now in her face and voice. It drove out of him the soothing words and kinder impulses he had brought up-town to her, together with the truth upon his lips about the cause of his detention. Oh! why is there no angel to stand by with a flaming sword, and warn young girls what married life is really? she cried. No one tellsno, not one living soul what we have to meet. The parents that give us away, the clergyman that binds us, the books we read, all lead us to the altar and leave us to our fate! Who could dream of what I ye suffered in half a year? And what help have I? NoneGod help menone! The burst of vehement indignation had dl~opped suddenly into pathos, but Gerald was not moved. If you expect by this to make me fall down on my knees, and own I m a wretch, you re out of your reckoning, he said frigidly. There s not one person out of ten you could get to say you re anything but a jealous, hysterical girl. And what you hint about another woman I dont mean to notice further than to say it s the first time I ye heard of expecting any one to overhaul a big ships list, and say who shall or shall not sail in her. She is going, then, with us? said Eleanor. With us? Certainly not. I am not so sure about our going at all, if this is the kind of trav- eling companion I m likely to have. Mrs. De Lancey has decided to take her daughters and their governess to Switzerland for the summer; and we, as you know, intend to go direct to my mothers house in London. I will not go, she cried, with a swelling heart. Try to understand what you are doing, SWEET BELLS OUT OF TUNE. 27 Gerald answered, after a pause wretched to both of them. It may come to you too late to be sorry you made this stand against your husband. Eleanor interlaced her hands, and her breath came panting. She looked at him with a wild appealing glance. He stood before her, deter- mined, stolid, treating the whole affair like the outburst of a silly child. There was no sign of softening in his face. I refuse to go with you and her, she said again, doggedly. Then you may go home to your mother, and ask her to teach you reason, he an- sweredand left her to herself. SHE lay sobbing alone, all night, and early in the morning heard Gerald go out of the house. The hours wore on; men came and took away his luggage, already packed; and Eleanor, dreary and bewildered, felt as if each piece were a coffin carried down. By noon, shortly before the hour fixed for the ship to leave, she had made some excuse to her ser- vants about a delay in their journey, and, call- ing a cab, drove in desperation to the steamers wharf. Even in the full air from the water she seemed to stifle as they drew nearer to the pier. Leaving the cab, she went, thickly veiled, along the passenger-way to the gang-plank, and stood for a moment behind a crowd of onlookers, gazing up at the thronged decks of the steamer. She had a wild idea that Jerry might even then see and know and want her; might beckon to her, and she would follow him to the death. But she did not catch a glimpse of her husband until after the warning gong had cleared the deck of visitors, and the little groups of passengers were beginning to con- gregate behind the rail to wave good-by to their friends on shore. At l.ast, emerging from the throng, she saw him, alone, looking down as if searching in the crowd. A keen delight filled Eleanor, and instinc- tively she darted forward with the impulse to fly up the gangway and fasten upon his arm, never to leave her darling more. Just then a carriage drove swiftly up, intercepting her, and a party of belated passengers were hur- ried by the steamers men on deck. They were a governess, two dainty, pretty children, and a beautiful blonde woman, her arms full of flowers. A moment, and the gang-plank was with- drawn. The last mail-sack was hoisted on board, the last longshoreman scrambled down his lad- der bridge, the great steamer cast off from the wharf, and bore majestically down-stream. As Eleanor went back to her cab, a gentle- man looked after her, paused, looked again, and then hurried to her side. My dear Nell, what does this mean? said Theobald. Surely you were to have gone to- day: I came down at the last minute to see a friend oW and sought for but failed to find you in that extraordinarily genteel mob on board. Where is Vernon, and why have you changed your plans? Will you drive up-town with me, Tony? she said, under her mask of heavy gauze. Seeing that something was amiss, he acqui- esced without further query. When they were seated, and driving off, her head dropped on her breast, and she broke into gasping sobs. Oh! to whom can I turn, if not to you? she said despairingly. Tony, my heart is broken. He told me to go back to my mo- ther, andoh, my God!what shall I do? He has forsaken ~ The brute! Theobald said between his teeth. He could hardly speak for the sudden violence of emotion she excited. It was not only the sight of the shipwrecked young life driven by storms back into port that moved him. In this moment of tenderness, the re- straint of years was dashed away like a cob- web at a touch. He forgot himself, the time and place, his pledge to Betty; and the mans heart inside of him burst into fierce speech. Ah, let him go! he said, hoarse and tremu- lous. You can be free. You can be happy. And I m here to help youI who d give my life to save you tears like these. Eleanor started and shrank as if she had been stung. This from you! she cried wildly. Oh, it is more than I can bear! Then Theobalds brief madness passed from him, and he was filled with bitter self-reproach. Dont draw back from me, Eleanor, he said, striving to steady his tones. Dont be afraid to trust me. Do I need to tell you that you are sacred to me? Let me take you to your mother; and I will go, and you need never look at me again. Oh, how you pain me with those eyes like some innocent creatures that I ye shot to the heart! Speak to me, Nell, little cousin; tell me I am forgiven. Behind this mans one offense there was a lifetime of unselfish tenderness; but, woman- like, she withheld from him whom she could never have loved the pardon always poured in full measure at Jerrys feet. Drawing the veil again over her face, she leaned back in her corner in silent anguish until her own door was reached. When Theobald, who dared not offer to go in, awaited her instructions upon the threshold, she put her fingers into his faintly, coldly, and bade him good-by in accents barely audible. Then I may do nothing save you no- thing? he pleaded, cut to the quick. You 28 SWEET BELLS OUT OF TUNE. dismiss me without pardon, or hope that I may come to you again? Not now, she answered, in a voice he would not have recognized, as Nells; but it is not that I dont believe in you. Go, please. And she passed away from him. THE day wore to its interminable close, and Eleanor had beaten about in a dreadful circle of indecision as to what course to pursue. One thought was dominant she must try to hide from those who loved her the wrong done her by him she loved. Among all the people who had been her friends and intimates since child- hood there was no one to whom she could bare this bleeding wound. Theobald, almost her brother, would have been the first to occur to her, and he Eleanors face flushed hotly with the remembrance of that shock. What was right? What was best and truest to Jerry and to her higher self to do? It might be that she could find still in town the rector who had officiated at their marriage, and who had held her in his arms at the baptismal font; and stealing from the house, she walked, veiled as be- fore, through the cool of evening to his home. Would the rector see a lady for a moment only? was the message she sent in,waiting with an odd sense of the change from her position of command and influence wrought in her own mind by the cause of her present visit. She sat, trembling, andwas presentlyrelieved, in a degree, by the appearance in the room of the rectors wife. If you will tell me your errand, I will speak to my husband she began, peering curiously at the stranger, and when Eleanor, lifting her veil, came forward, uttered an exclamation of jocular surprise. Nell Vernon! Why, child, who could sup- pose it was you? If you knew the watch I have to keep on ladies who visit the doctor! They take up so much time, and worry the life out of him with their fads and fancies. Men are men, and the clergy are human, though the laymen never make allowances. The way the women hang upon my good mans words no wonder he s a little short when we contra- dict him at home sometimes. And they tell him everything, from quarrels with cooks to spats with husbands. The truth is, child, he is dress- ing to go out to dinner, and if I will do as well some of your Girls Lodging House business, no doubt. What I had to say need not disturb him now, said poor Eleanor, quietly moving to- ward the door. Then ~ou 11 call again or write? I heard you were going to the other side. And how s that handsome husband of yours, my dear? My girls are just wild over him, but I believe all women are. Take my advice, and dont let him flirt too much. I ASKED for bread, and ye gave me a stone, the girl murmuredinvoluntarily, as shefound her way again into the street, and the crushed spirit that had yearned to be made whole by the heal- ing touch of Gods pity expressed through his minister was sent out unhelped to wander stumbling in the night of its despair. She looked down the vista of a side street, and knew that it ended in the river. When a tie like ours is wrenched apart, and there is no help, death were sweet and merciful, she thought, staying her steps for a confused moment upon the curbstone of the crossing. ~ Then two girls, accompanied by a young man, walked by her, laughing lightly. The voice and manner of one of them put her in mind of her sister Beatrix, and instantly the claims and duties of her life of every day rushed back to take possession of the distracted cita- del from which grief had temporarily dislodged them. With the thought of Trix came that of the girls happy young love, just now on pro- bation with the authority at home, and Eleanor was cheered by it as if a warm hand had taken her frozen fingers into its clasp. It roused in her human interest, and melted the hard resent- ment against Fate that had begun to glaze over her sympathies, and that made her forget the world contained others than Jerry and Hildegarde. Unconsciously she quickened her steps in the direction of her home, but, at the corner nearest it, stopped again, overcome by the thought that her servants, already in possession of an evening paper, might see, perhaps, some announcement that Jerry had gone without her, and thus her miserable pretense of a delay would be exposed. How could she face Elsas smooth civility, veiling the servants galling knowledge of a domestic skeleton? Oh, for brief respite from the humiliation of public comment or sympathy! To-morrow there was no help for it she would be forced to go back battered and bleeding to her mothers home, carrying her shame to be shared by those tender hearts! But now, ah, now only to escape another night in her desolated home! The image of Geralds aunt, the avoided and isolated Miss Tryphena, presented itself in sudden invitation. Eleanor, hastily, lest she should repent, retraced her steps to the avenue, and got into an omnibus bound up-town. The long, jolting expedition gave her time to reflect on the temerity of expecting sym- pathy from the source she sought. Of the pas- sengers who climbed in and dropped out of the vehicle along its route none were known SWEET BELLS OUT OF TUNE. 29 to her; for the society element of town was off on its annual hejira, and people who re- mained within its limits were of the frater- nity of workers. She found herself studying the faces of these strangers, eagerly wondering if their hearts carried a dead weight like her own, envying the couples who were bound together to their homes, envying the gossips who sat, knee to knee, gaily discussing impor- tant trivialities. And when a young woman, laden with parcels, gave her hand to her hus- band, who helped her to descend, beaming on him with a transparently loving smile, Eleanor turned away fretfully, and wondered if she should never reach her goal. Aunt Tryphenas house, one of sad brown- stone exterior in a long, forbidding block of buildings from which it varied not a whit, was inhabited, and her butler, in coming to open the door, stopped on his way to light the gas in the hall from a fixture like a shepherds crook. This homely sign gave Nell courage to send up her name to the mistress of the castle, who, if an ogress, lived in the conven- tional way of other householders; and at once Miss Tryphena descended to her long draw- ing-room swathed in gray linen coverings, and illumined by a single jet of gas. I was bitten by a mosquito here last night, she said severely. Edmunds knows I told him to keep this room quite dark. There is light enough from the electric globe across the way. And, to Nells satisfaction, the offending luminary was at once put out. Now, you will tell me, if you please, what brings you here when the soup is just ready to be sent up. Unless Jerry s in jail for debt, or Luella s married, I cant imagine what you can have to say to me. Oh, Aunt Tryphena, be kind to me, cried the girl, seizing one of the old ladys large, rough hands in both of hers, and burst- ing into bitter sobs that could no longer be controlled. Do? said the spinster, when, the belated soup discussed, and dinner over, the two re- sumed their talk. There, child, you look like a human being, not a ghost, now you are fed, and have had a glass of wine. Why, there is but one thing to do. I will go down-town first thing to-morrow morning, and engage a room in the quickest steamer we can get for Satur- day. I will take you straight to London, and leave you at Luellas house before even your mother has had time to find out the condition of affairs. And I will then catch the first bpat by the Dove~-Calais route, and go to a place in Switzerland I left three years ago. It is a place that suited me exactly, but I could nt stand a pair of esthetic idiots from England who were stopping there, who used to com- plain of the sunsets because they were too crude. Now, write a line by Edmunds to your maid, and have some things sent here for the night, as it will be lonely for you in that house, and cheer up, child, for heavens sake, for 1 could never abide to have anybody complain- ing but myself. But, Aunt Tryphena, said Eleanor, a crimson tide overwhelming the pallor of her face, even if Jerry is there, I ought not to should I ? thrust myself upon him. Oh, did nt I tell you how he cast me off, and killed my love? For better, for worse, child; you must re- member that for both of you, said the old woman, with a break in her gruff voice. Whatever comes, you will have been true. And your love s not dead; dont think it. Keep it alive,breathe new breath in it,it will make this struggle strengthen you. And, as certainly as I live, if anything will bring him back to you love will. Back from anotheroh, no, no! cried Eleanor, tortured by the thought. My dear, it is for you to choose. But I think you 11 find your jealous miseries have exagger- ated things. The chief offender is that De Lan- cey person, backed up by your best society. Jerry s had the bad luck, from all I hear, to fall into the hands of a woman who has the con- sciousness of disappointed schemes to help on her love of coquetry. It s not a common ex- perience you ye had to bear so early in married life even among what I call the most frivolous and brainless set of people on this continent. But that creature will continue to go at large, and ruin other homes, no doubt. Our boy s weak, but he snot all bad. If his father had nt had the misfortune to die and leave all that money in the hands of a silly woman, Jerry Vernon would have been, as men go, a fair sort of man; I dont suppose you know, or he cares, but the fact is I loved Jerry dearly when he was a boy. I thought he would grow up to be but that s neither here nor there. In my opinion, it is for you to straighten out this snarl. If you think enough of an old maid, tough as a nut, who s nobodys friend, to take advice from herdont let the gulf widen, dont let your husband go without stretching out your hand to bring him back. Come with me, Elea- nor, and leave your pride behind. There was silence for a moment in the shad- owy room, and the sound of a womans short, quick, gasping sob; then Eleanor Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passd in music out of sight. I will go, she breathed, and with a sud- den movement cast herself upon Aunt Try- SWEET BELLS OUT OF TUNE. 30 phenas neck, and let the delicious cordial of new hope warm the sad current of her widowed heart. Two years have passed since the green shades of the widow Vernons marble palace in the higher regions of Fifth Avenue first proclaimed that lady out oftown. Thewide portal is boarded over, and the premises are in charge of an Irish- man and his wife, whose frowzy children gam- bol behind the basement windows, and skate on rollers over the asphalt of the adjacent street. Above the area level all is silent, gloomy; and as yet there is no hint that the mistress of the palace will resume possession. From within doors the best of the bric4t-brac and pictures and books, with the portraits of Gerald and his mother, since admired at the Royal Academy, were long ago taken to be boxed and expressed to the domicile in Lon- don, where the dowager Lady Shorthorn has ncit yet called upon her son s recently made wife. The American Lady Shorthorn can, how- ever, afford to be indifferent to this blow of Fate, as she is already a social power in her adopted home, and as her young husband, upon whom she has settled a liberal income, in addition to paying his debts, makes an attentive and good- humored spouse. She is also on excellent terms with her son Gerald and his wife, who, of course, spent all of that summer at her house while he was convalescing from the long attack of ty- phoid through which Eleanor, arriving just in time from America, nursed him so devotedly. And the new countess ( Martha Louisa Anne, daughterof Colonel WilliamJudd,UnitedStates Army, U. S. A.you will find her recorded in Burke and Debrett and Dod) has had lately the satisfaction of refusing a card (requested through a friend) for her world-famous ball to a Mrs. Van Loon of New York, who has been stopping at Claridges. Mrs. Calliope Jane Ketcham is at present in one of her periodical states of eclipse. When and where she may next appear it is impossible to predict, but my Lady Shorthorn will, no doubt, be among the first to ascertain. Miss Tryphena Vernon, not in the least like the crusty benefactor of the novelist who, under the impulse of a good action in the last chapter, reforms and remains angelic ever after, would probably take the head off any inquirer as to her r~lations with her niece and nephew. But Nell knows that they are affectionate, and both she and Jerry submit to be hectored by the old lady in grateful memory of her influence at the crisis of their married life. Nells l~me people suffered, as may be im- agined, from the strange reports that were set afloat at the time when Gerald left his wife to follow him across the ocean. But although slander did its best, nothing was fixed upon any participant in the affair, beyond the fact of some foolish quarrel between the young couple about Hilda de Lancey, who it was well known was chaperoned on that voyage over by the Blanks and the Dashes, and, it was equally well known, meant nothing serious by her little flirtation with Jerry Vernon, now said to be the shadow of his wife. And so even Mrs. Halliday, her other daughters, and her son knew little of the dark- est chapter of the young wifes experience. In the autumn after these events Nells mother and sisters joined her in Paris for a fortnight before the Vernons set out for their winters journey in the East, and, during that time, satisfied them- selves that the first year of her married life bid fair to round itself peacefully to a close. The wide old Halliday house in New York, facing the railed square on the eastern side of town, and noticed by passers for its growth of wistaria looped between the chimney-tops in great ropes tasseled in spring with purple under a mist of greenery, is forever deserted by its former occupants. For months work- men had it in their hands, coming and going between piles of brick and mortar encumber- ing the street. Its front has been transformed with plate-glass windows and gilded balconies. Within marble halls, a buttony page keeps watch where once old Andrews came creaking to open the front door. A prosperous club has taken possession, and the Hallidays will be known in it no more. Beatrix, who was, after all, the chief senti- mentalist about this change, is supplied with a fount of private happiness that enables her to rise above minor considerations of every mate- rial kind. In her eyes, as in those of his mother, to whom and his grandfather Trix will one day go for a visit when the roses are in bloom, Brock Vyvan is a man of to-morrow, as to whose future there can be no doubt. Bettys marriage with Mr. Theobald occurred upon her return from Europe. And Jack, for whom the four years of college life leave the imagina- tion no room to vary occupations, is still at Yale, holding the blue banner manfully as he ascends. A piece of news that afforded almost a fort- nights gossip for the fashionable world was the marriage of the heir of the Van Loons with Mrs. Hildegarde de Lancey, privately, at Nice. Betty Theobald says the fur has not ceased to fly in the Van Loon family, but then, as Mrs. Van Shuter would observe, everybody knows how Betty Theobald will talk. The other home in New York in which we have been called on to take passing interest Eleanors first nest, fitted up for her occupancy with such lavish love remained for a time THE KNIGHT OF PENTECOST. 3 vacant after Mr. and Mrs. Vernon set out for their two years wandering. In January an agent had orders from Lady Shorthorn to find for it an occupant, and succeeded in placing there the Hempstead Hunters, who take a dif- ferent house every year, but are in demand as tenants because they are conscientiously child- less, and dine out six nights in the week. And sofortunately, if temporarily our young couple have dropped out of the society that claims them for its own, and that came so near breaking the bond it once assembled to applaud. In the companionship of their no- madic existence, each has learned dependence on the other; and the irresistible habit of mar- ried life has had time to weld their chains. Already they have learned to look back upon that early ordeal, bitter though it was, as an episode that may be forgotten in the memory of happier days. THE END. THE KNIGHT OF PENTECOST. DRONE as he lay before the dim, high altar, L No strain of any solemn prayer or psalter Disquieted the stillness of the night; No long roll of the organs golden thunder, No voices, keyed to sweet and joyous wonder, Fled like a flight of angels into light. The painted panes of the rose-window sparkled A moment, as some cold star shone and darkled, And awful shadows filled the vaulted space. Prone on the flint he lay and kept his vigil, All his soul waiting for the sign and sigil That should appoint him to his knightly place. Nor sound nor silence, light nor dark, he noted. Up from the under-world the slow moon floated, And looked upon the trance that held him there; With half her snowy glimmer stooped and wrapped him: Naught knew he of the gracious bloom that lapped him; He waited flame more glorious, sight more fair. Far, far, the night swept on through deeps un- broken, While his thought, seeking the supremest token, Mounted among unknown infinitudes, Where still beyond his dreaming or his seeing The Soul that fills the universe with being Above all calm, above all tumult, broods. As if a star burst, with a clang of warning The great bell ~tAled the holy hour of morning: No blessed chrism had found him where he lay. He rose like one long worn with weary marches, And, passing underneath the heavy arches, He came out to the open break of day. Wide, wide, the wash of the free air was flowing, And high the soft gray flower of dawn was blowing, Fresh, fresh, the dewy wind that sighed and ceased! Into eternal heavens the heaven was lifting, Light, radiant light, across the world was sifting, The fire burned on the altar of the east. Not in the dark the tongue offlame came leaping Upon his lips, across his forehead sweeping; Not prostrate in greatglooms oftemple shade: But while he gazed, one only with his Master, In deathless circles swelling vast and vaster, The dawn, swift-sworded, flashed his ac- colade. Glory of argent space all space ensphering! Sweeter than sound a voice surpassed his hearing! Close on his heart he felt great pulses swim! He knew not as he stood there, trembling, yearning, All heaven about him in that moment burning, That spirits came and ministered to him. Weapons ofskyey temperhad theywrought him, Deific armor from afar they brought him, And bound it on with touches swift and fine. There stood the good steed readyfor his guiding, Through the dark places of the sad land riding, Light for the watchword, Love the counter- sign. A mighty shape, scarfed with the sun uprisen, Where tears distilled, where spirits were in prison, Where doubt went groping, and where dolor lay, Constance Cary Harrison.

Harriet Prescott Spofford Spofford, Harriet Prescott The Knight of Pentecost 31-32

THE KNIGHT OF PENTECOST. 3 vacant after Mr. and Mrs. Vernon set out for their two years wandering. In January an agent had orders from Lady Shorthorn to find for it an occupant, and succeeded in placing there the Hempstead Hunters, who take a dif- ferent house every year, but are in demand as tenants because they are conscientiously child- less, and dine out six nights in the week. And sofortunately, if temporarily our young couple have dropped out of the society that claims them for its own, and that came so near breaking the bond it once assembled to applaud. In the companionship of their no- madic existence, each has learned dependence on the other; and the irresistible habit of mar- ried life has had time to weld their chains. Already they have learned to look back upon that early ordeal, bitter though it was, as an episode that may be forgotten in the memory of happier days. THE END. THE KNIGHT OF PENTECOST. DRONE as he lay before the dim, high altar, L No strain of any solemn prayer or psalter Disquieted the stillness of the night; No long roll of the organs golden thunder, No voices, keyed to sweet and joyous wonder, Fled like a flight of angels into light. The painted panes of the rose-window sparkled A moment, as some cold star shone and darkled, And awful shadows filled the vaulted space. Prone on the flint he lay and kept his vigil, All his soul waiting for the sign and sigil That should appoint him to his knightly place. Nor sound nor silence, light nor dark, he noted. Up from the under-world the slow moon floated, And looked upon the trance that held him there; With half her snowy glimmer stooped and wrapped him: Naught knew he of the gracious bloom that lapped him; He waited flame more glorious, sight more fair. Far, far, the night swept on through deeps un- broken, While his thought, seeking the supremest token, Mounted among unknown infinitudes, Where still beyond his dreaming or his seeing The Soul that fills the universe with being Above all calm, above all tumult, broods. As if a star burst, with a clang of warning The great bell ~tAled the holy hour of morning: No blessed chrism had found him where he lay. He rose like one long worn with weary marches, And, passing underneath the heavy arches, He came out to the open break of day. Wide, wide, the wash of the free air was flowing, And high the soft gray flower of dawn was blowing, Fresh, fresh, the dewy wind that sighed and ceased! Into eternal heavens the heaven was lifting, Light, radiant light, across the world was sifting, The fire burned on the altar of the east. Not in the dark the tongue offlame came leaping Upon his lips, across his forehead sweeping; Not prostrate in greatglooms oftemple shade: But while he gazed, one only with his Master, In deathless circles swelling vast and vaster, The dawn, swift-sworded, flashed his ac- colade. Glory of argent space all space ensphering! Sweeter than sound a voice surpassed his hearing! Close on his heart he felt great pulses swim! He knew not as he stood there, trembling, yearning, All heaven about him in that moment burning, That spirits came and ministered to him. Weapons ofskyey temperhad theywrought him, Deific armor from afar they brought him, And bound it on with touches swift and fine. There stood the good steed readyfor his guiding, Through the dark places of the sad land riding, Light for the watchword, Love the counter- sign. A mighty shape, scarfed with the sun uprisen, Where tears distilled, where spirits were in prison, Where doubt went groping, and where dolor lay, Constance Cary Harrison. 32 RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD TENNYSON Where in despairing death the dying lan- And joy welled through it from the heart guished, divine. Wherever sin, wherever suffering anguished, He in their service took his shining way. And soaring, an a~irial apparition, Ever before him hung a splendid vision, Where, far within the sapphire crystalline, Unstained by wrong, unspotted by a sorrow, The sweet earth floated in a gleaming morrow, Full of the word that made the sunlit weather, Full of the strength that holds the stars together, White with the whiteness of the Holy Ghost, By all the forces of the day surrounded, Then rode he forth, his trump of onset sounded, All sacrosanct, a Knight of Pentecost. ]5larrie/ Fresco/i Spofford. RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD TENNYSON. AN EVENING AT THOMAS WOOLNERS. PREFATORY NOTE. HEN I was a young man of twenty-five, it was my good fortune to spend an evening in company with the great and noble poet whose loss all Eng- land is now deploring. I had a very retentive memory at that time, and was able afterward to write down accurately not only my impressions, but also the conversation which I heard. The manuscript has lain by me all these years, and though I have enjoyed many opportunities of conversing with Lord Tennyson, I never recorded so much of his talk as upon that first occasion. It seems so very long ago that I feel justified in publishing the passage from my diary just as it stands. While doing so, I ought to pay a tribute here to the memory of our host of that even- ing, Thomas Woolner, the sculptor, who died only a few weeks after Tennyson. Inspired by the early enthusiasm for nature of the Pre- raphaelite school, he broke away from the traditions of the English academic line of sculptors, and adopted a style of marked in- dividuality. The realism of Woolner remained crude, imperfectly harmonized with motives of imaginative art. Still, he claims a place of honor for the sincerity of his aims and the honesty of his practice. We owe to him vivid portraits of some great Englishmen who will live forever in the Valhalla of the nation Tennyson, F. D. Maurice, W. E. Gladstone, and others. Among my own cherished pos- sessions I reckon a bust of my father chiseled by Woolners hand. The diary is dated Friday, December 8, 1865. Woolners .house was at 29 Welbeck street, Lo~idon. Mv father came to us this afternoon. He is going to dine with Woolner, to meet Tenny son, Gladstone, and Holman Hunt. I am to go in the evening at 9:30. When I arrived at Woolners, the maid said she supposed I was for the gentlemen. On my replying Yes, she showed me into the dining-room, where they were finishing dessert. Woolner sat, of course, at the bottom of the table, Tennyson on his left, my father on his right hand. Next Tennyson sat Gladstone, and Hunt next my father. I was seated in an arm- chair between Woolner and my father. The conversation continued. They were talking about the Jamaica business, Gladstone bearing hard on Eyre, Tennyson excusing any cruelty in the case of putting down a savage mob. Gladstone had been reading official papers on the business all the morning, and just after I had entered said with an expression of intense gravity, And that evidence wrung from a poor black boy with a revolver at his head! He said this in an orators tone, pity mingled with indignation, the pressure of the lips, the inclination of the head, the lifting of the eyes to heaven, all marking the mans moral earnestness. He has a face like a lions; his head is small above it, though the forehead is broad and massivesomething like Trajans in its proportion to the features. Character, far more than intellect, strikes me in his phy- siognomy, and there is a remarkable duplicity of expression iron, vise-like resolution com- bined with a subtle, mobile ingenuousness. Tennyson did not argue. He kept asserting various prejudices and convictions. We are too tender to savages; we are more tender to a black than to ourselves. Niggers are tigers, niggers are tigers, in obbliga/o, so/to voce, to Gladstones declamation. But the English- man is a cruel manhe is a strong man, put in Gladstone. My father illustrated this by stories of the Indian Mutiny. That s not like Oriental cruelty, said Tennyson; but I could not kill a cat, not the tom-cat who

John Addington Symonds Symonds, John Addington Recollections of Lord Tennyson 32-37

32 RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD TENNYSON Where in despairing death the dying lan- And joy welled through it from the heart guished, divine. Wherever sin, wherever suffering anguished, He in their service took his shining way. And soaring, an a~irial apparition, Ever before him hung a splendid vision, Where, far within the sapphire crystalline, Unstained by wrong, unspotted by a sorrow, The sweet earth floated in a gleaming morrow, Full of the word that made the sunlit weather, Full of the strength that holds the stars together, White with the whiteness of the Holy Ghost, By all the forces of the day surrounded, Then rode he forth, his trump of onset sounded, All sacrosanct, a Knight of Pentecost. ]5larrie/ Fresco/i Spofford. RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD TENNYSON. AN EVENING AT THOMAS WOOLNERS. PREFATORY NOTE. HEN I was a young man of twenty-five, it was my good fortune to spend an evening in company with the great and noble poet whose loss all Eng- land is now deploring. I had a very retentive memory at that time, and was able afterward to write down accurately not only my impressions, but also the conversation which I heard. The manuscript has lain by me all these years, and though I have enjoyed many opportunities of conversing with Lord Tennyson, I never recorded so much of his talk as upon that first occasion. It seems so very long ago that I feel justified in publishing the passage from my diary just as it stands. While doing so, I ought to pay a tribute here to the memory of our host of that even- ing, Thomas Woolner, the sculptor, who died only a few weeks after Tennyson. Inspired by the early enthusiasm for nature of the Pre- raphaelite school, he broke away from the traditions of the English academic line of sculptors, and adopted a style of marked in- dividuality. The realism of Woolner remained crude, imperfectly harmonized with motives of imaginative art. Still, he claims a place of honor for the sincerity of his aims and the honesty of his practice. We owe to him vivid portraits of some great Englishmen who will live forever in the Valhalla of the nation Tennyson, F. D. Maurice, W. E. Gladstone, and others. Among my own cherished pos- sessions I reckon a bust of my father chiseled by Woolners hand. The diary is dated Friday, December 8, 1865. Woolners .house was at 29 Welbeck street, Lo~idon. Mv father came to us this afternoon. He is going to dine with Woolner, to meet Tenny son, Gladstone, and Holman Hunt. I am to go in the evening at 9:30. When I arrived at Woolners, the maid said she supposed I was for the gentlemen. On my replying Yes, she showed me into the dining-room, where they were finishing dessert. Woolner sat, of course, at the bottom of the table, Tennyson on his left, my father on his right hand. Next Tennyson sat Gladstone, and Hunt next my father. I was seated in an arm- chair between Woolner and my father. The conversation continued. They were talking about the Jamaica business, Gladstone bearing hard on Eyre, Tennyson excusing any cruelty in the case of putting down a savage mob. Gladstone had been reading official papers on the business all the morning, and just after I had entered said with an expression of intense gravity, And that evidence wrung from a poor black boy with a revolver at his head! He said this in an orators tone, pity mingled with indignation, the pressure of the lips, the inclination of the head, the lifting of the eyes to heaven, all marking the mans moral earnestness. He has a face like a lions; his head is small above it, though the forehead is broad and massivesomething like Trajans in its proportion to the features. Character, far more than intellect, strikes me in his phy- siognomy, and there is a remarkable duplicity of expression iron, vise-like resolution com- bined with a subtle, mobile ingenuousness. Tennyson did not argue. He kept asserting various prejudices and convictions. We are too tender to savages; we are more tender to a black than to ourselves. Niggers are tigers, niggers are tigers, in obbliga/o, so/to voce, to Gladstones declamation. But the English- man is a cruel manhe is a strong man, put in Gladstone. My father illustrated this by stories of the Indian Mutiny. That s not like Oriental cruelty, said Tennyson; but I could not kill a cat, not the tom-cat who RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD TENNYSON. 33 scratches and miawis and keeps me awake thrown in with an indefinable impatience and rasping hatred. Gladstone looked glum and irate at this speech, thinking probably of Eyre. Then they turned to the insufficiency of evi- dence as yet in Lyres case, and to other in- stances of his hasty butchery the woman he hanged, though she was recommended to mercy by court-martial, because women had shown savageness in mutilating a corpse. Be- cause women, not the woman and that, too, after being recommended to mercy by court- ;;zar/ia/ and he holding the Queens commis- sion! said Gladstone with the same, hostile emphasis. The question of his personal cour- age came up. That, said Gladstone, did not prove his capability of remaining cool under, and dealing with, such special circumstances. Anecdotes about sudden panics were re- lated. Tennyson said to my father: As far as I know my own temperament, I could stand any sudden thing; but give me an hour to re- flect, and I should go here and go there, and all would be confused. If the fiery gulf of Curtius opened in the City, I would leap at once into it on horseback. But if I had to reflect on it, no especially the thought of death nothing can be weighed against that. It is the moral question, not the fear, which would perplex me. I have not got the English courage. I could not wait six hours in a square, expecting a batterys fire. Then stories of martial severity were told. My father repeated the anecdote of Bosquetin the Malakoff. Glad- stone said Cialdini had shot a soldier for being without his regimental jacket. Tennyson put in, sotto voce, If they shot paupers, perhaps they would nt tear up their clothes, and laughed very grimly. Frank Palgrave here came in, a little man in morning dress, with short beard and mustache, well-cut features, a slight cast in his eye, an impatient, unsatisfied look, and some self-asser- tion in his manner. He directed the conversa- tion to the subject of newspapers. Tennyson all the while kept drinking port, and glower- ing round the room through his spectacles. His mustache hides the play of his mouth, but, as far as I could see, that feature is as grim as the rest. He has cheek-bones carved out of iron. His head is domed, quite different from Gladstoneslike an Elizabethan head, strong in the coronal, narrow in the frontal regions, but very finely molded. It is like what Coningtons head seems trying to be. Something brought up the franchise. Tenny- son said, That s what we re coming to when we get your Reform Bill, Mr. Gladstone; not that I know anything about it. No more does any man in England, said Gladstone, taking him up quickly, with a twinkling laugh; then VOL. XLVJ.5. adding, But I m sorry to see you getting ner- vous. Oh, I think a state in which every man would have a vote is the ideal. I always thought it might be realized in England, if anywhere, with our constitutional history. But how to do it? Soon after came coffee. Tennyson grew impatient, moved his great gaunt body about, and finally was left to smoke a pipe. It is hard to fix the difference between the two men, both with their strong provincial accent Glad- stone with his rich, flexible voice, Tennyson with his deep drawl rising into an impatient falsetto when put out; Gladstone arguing, Tennyson putting in a prejudice; Gladstone asserting rashly, Tennyson denying with a bald negative; Gladstone full of facts, Tennyson relying on im- pressions; both of them humorous, but the one polished and delicate in repartee, the other broad and coarse and grotesque. Gladstone s hands are white and not remarkable, Tenny- son s are huge, unwieldy, fit for molding clay or dough. Gladstone is in some sort a man of the world; Tennyson a child, and treated by Gladstone like a child. Woolner played the host well, with great sim- plicity. His manner was agreeably subdued. He burst into no unseasonable fits of laughing, no self-assertive anecdotes. Palgrave rasped a little. Hunt was silent. My father made a good third to the two great people. I was like a man hearing a concerto: Gladstone first violin, my father second violin, Tennyson violoncello, Woolner bass viol, Palgrave viola, and perhaps Hunt a second but very subordinate viola. When we left the dining-room we found Mrs. Woolner and her sister, Miss Waugh (en- gaged to Holman Hunt), in the drawing-room. Miss Waugh, though called the goddess, is nowise unapproachable. She talked of Japan- ese fans like a common mortal. Mrs. Woolner is a pretty little maidenly creature, who seems to have walked out of a missal margin. Woolner gave Gladstone a manuscript book to read containing translations from the Iliad by Tennyson. Gladstone read it by himself till Tennyson appeared. Then Woolner went to him and said, You will read your translation, wont you? And Palgrave, Come you! A shout in the trench! No, I shant, said Tennyson in a pettish voice, standing in the room, and jerking his arms and body from the hips. No, I shant read it. It s only a little thing. Must be judged by comparison with the Greek. Can be appreciated only by knowing the difficulties overcome. Then, seeing the manuscript in Gladstones hand, This is nt fair; no, this isnt fair. He took it away, and nothing could paci- fy him. I meant to read it to Mr. Gladstone and Dr. Symonds. My father urged him to no purpose, told him he would be reading to an intelligent audience; but he cried, Yes, you 34 RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD TENNYSON and Gladstone; but the rest dont understand it. Here s my son, an Oxford first-class man. Oh, I should be afraid of him. Then my father talked to him about his poems Mariana in the Moated Grange. This took them to the Lincolnshire flats, as impressive in their extent of plain as mountain heights. My father tried to analyze the physical conditions of ideas of size, but Tennyson preferred fixing his mind on the ideas themselves. I do not know whether to think the universe great or little. When I think about it, it seems now one and now the other. What makes its greatness? Not one sun or one set of suns, or is it the whole together? Then, to illustrate his sense of size, he pictured a jour- ney through space like Jean Paul Richters, leaving first one galaxy or spot of light behind him, then another, and so on through infinity. Then, about matter. Its incognizability puzzled him. I cannot form the least notion of a brick. I dont know what it is. It s no use talking about atoms, extension, color, weight. I cannot penetrate the brick. But I have far more dis- tinct ideas of God, of love, and such emotions. I can sympathize with God in my poor way. The human soul seems to me always in some way how, we do not know identical with God. That s the value of prayer. Prayer is like open- ing a sluice between the great ocean and our little channels. Then of eternity and creation: Huxley says we may have come from mon- keys. That makes no difference to me. If it is Gods way of creation, he sees the whole, past, present, and future, as one. Then of morality: I cannot but think moral good is the crown of man. But what is it without immortality? Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die. If I knew the world were coming to an end in six hours, would I give my money to a starving beg- gar? No; if I did not believe myself immortal. I have sometimes thought men of sin might de- stroy their immortality. The eternity of punish- ment is quite incredible. Christs words were parables to suit the sense of the times. Fur- ther of morality: There are some young men who try to do away with morality. They say, We wont be moral. Comte, I believe, and perhaps Mr. Grote, too, deny that immortality has anything to do with being moral. Then from material to moral difficulties: Why do mosquitos exist? I believe that after God had made his world the devil began and added something. A move was made into the dining-room. Tennyson had consented to read his transla- tions to Gladstone and my father. I followed them, and sat unp.erceived behind them. He began by~reading in a deep bass growl the passage of Achilles shouting in the trench. Gladstone continually interrupted him with small points about words. He has a combative House-of-Commons mannerism, which gives him the appearance of thinking too much about himself. It was always to air some theory of his own that he broke Tennysons recital; and he seemed listening only in order to catch something up. Tennyson invited criticism. Tennyson was sorely puzzled about the varia- tions in Homeric readings and interpretations. They change year after year. What we used to think right in my days I am told is all wrong. What is a poor translator to do? But he piqued himself very much on his exact ren- derings. These lines are word for word. You could not have a closer translation: one poet could not express another better. There! those are good lines. Gladstone would object: But you will say Jove and Greeks. Cant we have Zeus and Achmeans? But the sound of Jove! Jove is much softer than Zeus Zeus Zeus. Well, Mr. Worsley gives us Achmeans. Mr. Worsley has chosen a convenient long meter; he can give you Achmeans, and a great deal else. Much was said about the proper means of getting a certain pause; how to give equiva- lent suggestive sounds, and so on. Some of the points which rose between the recitations I will put down. Tc~v6~tmitXo~My father asked why Gladstone translated this round-limbed. He answered that he had the notion of lateral extension of the robe, since a long trailing dress was not Ach~an, but lonian. Homer talks of the Jonians, ~xm4rwvs~. Tennyson did not heed this supersubtle rendering, but said, Ah! there s nothing more romantic than the image of these women floating along the streets of Troy with their long dresses flying out behind them. Windy Troy! I dare say it was not windier than other places, but it stood high, open to the air. As a schoolboy, I used to see them. A boy of course imagines something like a modern town. My father instanced this as a curious fixed epithet, and incongruous for a burial-field of battle. Gladstone objected that it was not a common epithet. He and Tenny- son agreed in the pathos which it strikes by way of contrast with death. The exactness of Homers epithets not nearly so fixed and formal as supposed. Tennyson translated this gray- eyed, in the Sbaksperian meaning of blue- ey~d. Gladstone said it ought to be bright- eyed. Homer knew nothing about colors: the human eye had not yet learned to distin- guish colors. Question raised whether it were not that the nomenclature of colors had not yet been perfected. Gladstone preferred to think that the sense itself had not been edu RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD TENNYSON. 35 cated to perceive colors. No green in Homer x)p~ & ~v~oTjv means truly the nightingale that loves the greenwood. But this is a rare instance, and the idea of greenness is not pre- dominant. [Query, whether this has not refer- ence to the color of the bird itself. Scholiast says, ~ iv ~)~wpoZ~ ~t~oo~r~: Liddell and Scott add, but wrongly.] Again, ~top~p6p~o~ means simply dark-brown or blue; even ion~{~ is ap- plied to sheep. [Query, what ~ov really meant a violet? or some other flower?] There was, of course, some probability in this argument; but Gladstone overworked it, and denied that even Egyptians understood color, who, how- ever, in frescos at least as old as Homer, as my father suggested, evinced a most accurate sense of color. [E.g., the Negroes, Nubians, and As- syrians, black, red, and yellow, under Rameses; even complexions finely distinguished the different colors of the lotus,etc. On the other hand, they paint some skins of men blue.] It seemed as if Gladstone were a champion in the medieval schools, throwing down theses and defending them for pure arguments sake, not for any real love of trutha dangerous quality in a statesman, and apt to make him an un- trustworthy debater. The only contribution I made to this discussion on color was to quote the fragment from Xenophanes about the rain- bow. KcX~p~~~ ~t~oLTennyson rendered beau- teous horses. He thought it meant sleek, etc.; might have said fair-haired, but wanted same quality of sound which beauteous had. Gladstone said what had occurred to me, that was meant as a picturesque epithet,to describe the flowing mane of the horses as they stopped suddenly and turned, affrighted by the shout of Achilles. This seemed supersubtle. llui~L, ~~oTennyson had made the first spake, the second shouted. Gladstone said, I think rightly, that it ought to have been & ~O~. What did this exactly mean? Tenny- son had an image of Pallas standing above Achilles with her ~gis, and shouting above himbut he had been told & it& ts~Ii~ meant a sort of echo from behind doubling her voice. Difficulty of getting Homers meaning. The old conventional translations. Ai~4~o~, Glad- stone said, used to be rendered youth; ought to be able-bodied man; from youth, when the scepter is taken into a princes hand, to old age, when he puts his garden-gloves on, like Laertes, and leaves it to his son. Tennyson instanced p~, bridge, ridge, bridge, ridge, in suc- cessive editions of Liddell and Scott. Other points: (i.) Gladstcme said Virgil had misrepre- sented Homer intentionally; had used him, but altered, so that we could gain nothing from reading Homer in Virgils light. (2.) His deep meaning. Gladstone thought a special significance might be found in the list of Thetiss nymphs. They have pure Greek names, whereas Nereus was an old non-Hel- lenic Pelasgic god. Homer, Hellenizing Thetis, the mother of his Greek hero Achilles, invents a train of pure Greek ladies for her. He never mentions Nereus by name, calls him the old man, keeps him in the background. Is not this supersubtle? He was angry with Lord Derby for cutting up these names. (i.) Lord Derbys not blank verse; prose divided into five beats. Said to have been improvised as the mood seized him, and won- dered at by some people accordingly. (i.) Could Homer be got into hexameters? Tennyson repeated some quantitative hexame- ters, beastly bad, which he had made. Eng- lish people could not understand quantity. I showed em to a man, Allingham; he wanted to scan em; could nt see they had quantity. Gladstone observed that modern Greek read- ings of Homer must be all wrong. We have lost accent, which was not emphasis, but arsis and thesis of voice. At end of word, e. g., the grave becomes the acute, and the voice is raised. There are three parts in pronunciation: time, emphasis, and pitch. Palgrave suggested a translation of Homer into biblical prose. He began it. Jowett dis- suaded him, saying he thought he had not enough command of English. [How like Jo- wettl] Rather disparaging to you, said Tennyson. Tennyson said he had read the Odyssey offhand in old English to his wife. And it struck me I did it very well. (s.) Real difficulty of translation. No two languages hit each other off. Both have some words like shot silk [Tennysons metaphor, good]. These cannot be rendered. We can never quite appreciate another nations poetry on this account. Gave as an instance the end of Enoch Arden, calling of the sea, a phrase well known to sailors, for a clear night with a sea-sound on the shore in calm. A Ger- man translator rendered it geschrei, which suggested storm, etc., wrongly. He meant a big voice of the sea, but coming through the calm. [The Venetian sailors say, Chiama il mare.] Gladstone, just before we parted, said he always slept well. He had only twice been kept awake by the exertion of a great speech in the House. On both occasions the recollec- tion that he had made a misquotation haunted him. At about one we broke up. Gladstone went off first. My father and I walked about the studio, then shook hands with Tennyson, and got home. 36 RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD TENNYSON. MY LAST INTERVIEW WITH LORD TENNYSON. THE last time I saw Tennyson was on Au- gust 28, 1892, not quite six weeks before his death. Fortunately, I related what happened in a letter to my daughter, from which I will now proceed to make extracts. Angelo (my Venetian gondolier) and I came here (Haslemere) yesterday; and to-day we walked over with our host to Aldworth. It was a lovely day, after storm and rain. The road leads through a lane overarched with witch-elms, up to moorland deep in purple heath and bracken. The prospect from those ridgy hills included the whole weald of Sussex, with Fairlight just visible above Hastings at one end of the horizon, and Leith Hill at the other. Surveyed in a straight line, the extent is said to be sixty miles. The whole pano- rama so green, so violet, so blue, so dappled with cloud-shadows, so diversified by heavy- tinted copses, meadows, yellow corn-fields lies stretched out before the windows and the terraces of Aldworth. The house, embosomed in trees, and thickly planted with conifers, seems to be suspended on a steep descending slope. XVe left Angelo in the shrubbery, and were taken up to Mr. and Mrs. Hallam Tennysons sitting-room. After a few minutes conversa- tion, we went down to Lord Tennysons study, a large room longer than its breadth. He was sitting near a window at one end of a wide lounge-sofa; shawls over his knees, and a vel- vet Skull-cap defining the massive, nobly sculp- tured bones of his forehead. He welcomed me very kindly as an old friend, and began immediately to talk of former meetings. I re- minded him how he once asked me at Far- ringford what I thought Shakspere meant by long purples in the speech about O~5 he/ias death, and how I promptly answered arums to his satisfaction. Aye, aye; you were right. I think he meant jack-in-the-box (a name I had not heard before for lords and ladies); but I have used the word in my poetry to signify a hedgerow vetch with trailing lilac flowers. We also spoke about the daisies on the lawn at Farringford, and how a ladys skirts sweeping over these flowers will make them bend their heads, and show the crimson of their under petalsa fact recorded in that line of Maud: For her feet have touched the meadows And left the daisies rosy. He showed me a French translation of Enoch Arden, which was intended to be used in schools by teachers of English. This led him to discuss grammar. I dont understand Eng- lish grammar. Take sea-change. Is sea here a substantive used adjectively, or what? What is the logic of a phrase like Catholic-Disabili- ties Annulling Bill / Does invalid chair maker mean that the chair-maker is a sickly fellow? Apropos of the French book, he repeated Renans story about himself and the Breton landlady, winding up: She made me pay her bill, though. Renan was wrong there. Then we got on to English meters, how they had neveryet been reduced to rules of prosody. True; and just as I dont understand Eng- lish grammar, so I dont understand English verse. For one man who can read poetry, there are a hundred who can whistle a tune. I heard some one the other day read out that line of mine beneath a picture of Lears Lit bf a ldrge low moon. The proper accents are, of course, on lit and laige. I remarked how, in spite of the English heroic line being described as an iambic, you could often find only one iamb, and that at the end. I quoted from his own Lucretius: Ruining along the illimitable inane. True, he said; but you will find five beats. I replied that there sometimes seemed to me to be but three beats in a blank verse, and instanced from Paradise Regained: Lancelot, and Pelleas, and Pellenore. He admitted there were only three strong beats, and repeated a line of his own from one of the Idyls of the King constructed on the same type as Miltons. The verse in question is repeated several times in The Coming of Arthur: Ulfius, and Brastias, and Bedivere. But you must be sure to say Pellen6re, Pelle- n6re, he added. Then he began to talk of Milton and Virgil, reciting passages from both to show how the English poet had modeled the pauses and ca- dence of his blank verse upon the Latin hex- ameter. Strange, considering the difference between the languages and meters. Next he told me that he was going to write a poem on Bruno; and Hallam showed me the seventh vol- ume of my Renaissance in Italy, which they had been reading together. He asked whether I could understand Brunos attitude toward Christianity. I tried to express what men like Pomponazzi, and Bruno himself before the Ve- netian Inquisition, maintained about the pos- sibilityofspeculatinglike a skeptic and believing like a churchman. Tennyson observed that Brunos great discovery was the infinity of the universe, filled with solar systems like our own, all penetrated with the divine life. That con- fF0 ALFRED TENNYSON. 37 ception must react on Christianity I mean its creed and dogma; its morality will always re- main invulnerable. Somebody had told him that astron on ~rs could calculate 550,000,000 solar systems. There is no reason why each of these should not have one planet inhabited by people like ourselves. Then see what be- comes of the sacrifice for fallen man upon this little earth! At this point a neighbor, dressed in a very neat suit of lavender-colored cloth, came in. How d ye do? said Tennyson. You look like the gray dawn, so fresh and clean! We all laughed; and he went on: Well, so you do. Look at those fellows ~my- self and my friend], how dingy they are! The conversation turned on Ireland and Gladstone. Tennyson disbelieves in Home Rule, and thinks Gladstone mischievous in politics. In his view, the Irish are the people least capable of polit- ical freedom and self-management under the sun. It was nearly time to go, when he accused me of having said he borrowed his Margery from Dame Quickly. I had forgotten utterly what and who his Margery is,a character of one of the plays, I suppose,and protested that I never said anything of the sort. Oh, but you did. I have got the article in print, signed by your name, and pasted into that book yonder. This proves me, if it be so, to be an irresponsible reviewer with a vengeance; for I cannot remember Margery, or my remarks upon her at all, at all. Then the great man wanted to see Angelo, whom I called up from the shrubbery. He looked very soldierly and 1 This gentleman, Angelo, is the greatest poet of England perhaps of the world. Never forget this moment. handsome in his gondoliers costume, bending over the poets outstretched hand, and kiss- ing the long, shapely fingers. I said in Italian: Questo signore, Angelo, ~ il put grande poeta di Inghilterraforse del mondo. Non ti scordar mai di questo momento.1 Eh? What s that you re saying to the fellow? asked the bard. I repeated my words in English, and he looked as though he thought I had not overshot the mark. He then asked me about Davos, and said he had once been in Chur, but could re- member nothing there except a grotesque in- cident in the hotel corridor. That was after crossing the Splilgen, as recorded in The Daisy. This beautiful poem, so original in rhythm and so perfect in its succession of care- fully executed landscape-vignettes, is com- paratively little known, I think; which justifies me perhaps in citing the stanza in question: What more? we took our last adieu, And up the snowy Spliigen drew, But ere we reached the highest summit I plucked a daisy, I gave it you. Angelo seemed to remind him of Italy, and he suddenly exclaimed: All the Tennysons have big calves. My brother was bathing at Naples, and as he came up the hotel-steps in his bathing costume, a maid cried out: San- tissima Madonna, che gambe! The impres- sion left on me by this visit to Lord Tennyson was of a vigorous and green old age, full of cheer and interest and humor, intellectually acute as ever. He complained only of a chronic cough and of gout in the jaws, which made mastication painful. Jo/zn Adding/on Symonds. TO ALFRED TENNYSON. nd whose loveliness in verse of thine T ~A lovelier yet than prankd on Natures page Shall prove Ihy poet in some future age, Sing thee her poet not in measured line Or metric stave, but music more benign; Shall point to British Galahads who wage Battle on wrong; to British maids who gage, Like Agnes, heart and hope to love divine. Worn men like thy Ulysses, scorning fear, Shall tempt strange seas beneath an ~alien star; Old men from honored homes and faces dear Summoned by death to realms unknown and far Thy Silent Voices from on high shall hear; With happier auspice cross the Harbour Bar. ~CEMBER 12, 1892. Aubrey de Vere.

Aubrey De Vere De Vere, Aubrey To Alfred Tennyson 37-38

fF0 ALFRED TENNYSON. 37 ception must react on Christianity I mean its creed and dogma; its morality will always re- main invulnerable. Somebody had told him that astron on ~rs could calculate 550,000,000 solar systems. There is no reason why each of these should not have one planet inhabited by people like ourselves. Then see what be- comes of the sacrifice for fallen man upon this little earth! At this point a neighbor, dressed in a very neat suit of lavender-colored cloth, came in. How d ye do? said Tennyson. You look like the gray dawn, so fresh and clean! We all laughed; and he went on: Well, so you do. Look at those fellows ~my- self and my friend], how dingy they are! The conversation turned on Ireland and Gladstone. Tennyson disbelieves in Home Rule, and thinks Gladstone mischievous in politics. In his view, the Irish are the people least capable of polit- ical freedom and self-management under the sun. It was nearly time to go, when he accused me of having said he borrowed his Margery from Dame Quickly. I had forgotten utterly what and who his Margery is,a character of one of the plays, I suppose,and protested that I never said anything of the sort. Oh, but you did. I have got the article in print, signed by your name, and pasted into that book yonder. This proves me, if it be so, to be an irresponsible reviewer with a vengeance; for I cannot remember Margery, or my remarks upon her at all, at all. Then the great man wanted to see Angelo, whom I called up from the shrubbery. He looked very soldierly and 1 This gentleman, Angelo, is the greatest poet of England perhaps of the world. Never forget this moment. handsome in his gondoliers costume, bending over the poets outstretched hand, and kiss- ing the long, shapely fingers. I said in Italian: Questo signore, Angelo, ~ il put grande poeta di Inghilterraforse del mondo. Non ti scordar mai di questo momento.1 Eh? What s that you re saying to the fellow? asked the bard. I repeated my words in English, and he looked as though he thought I had not overshot the mark. He then asked me about Davos, and said he had once been in Chur, but could re- member nothing there except a grotesque in- cident in the hotel corridor. That was after crossing the Splilgen, as recorded in The Daisy. This beautiful poem, so original in rhythm and so perfect in its succession of care- fully executed landscape-vignettes, is com- paratively little known, I think; which justifies me perhaps in citing the stanza in question: What more? we took our last adieu, And up the snowy Spliigen drew, But ere we reached the highest summit I plucked a daisy, I gave it you. Angelo seemed to remind him of Italy, and he suddenly exclaimed: All the Tennysons have big calves. My brother was bathing at Naples, and as he came up the hotel-steps in his bathing costume, a maid cried out: San- tissima Madonna, che gambe! The impres- sion left on me by this visit to Lord Tennyson was of a vigorous and green old age, full of cheer and interest and humor, intellectually acute as ever. He complained only of a chronic cough and of gout in the jaws, which made mastication painful. Jo/zn Adding/on Symonds. TO ALFRED TENNYSON. nd whose loveliness in verse of thine T ~A lovelier yet than prankd on Natures page Shall prove Ihy poet in some future age, Sing thee her poet not in measured line Or metric stave, but music more benign; Shall point to British Galahads who wage Battle on wrong; to British maids who gage, Like Agnes, heart and hope to love divine. Worn men like thy Ulysses, scorning fear, Shall tempt strange seas beneath an ~alien star; Old men from honored homes and faces dear Summoned by death to realms unknown and far Thy Silent Voices from on high shall hear; With happier auspice cross the Harbour Bar. ~CEMBER 12, 1892. Aubrey de Vere. AN EMBASSY TO PROVENCE. BY THOMAS A. JANVIER, s6ci D6u FELIBRIGE, Author of Stories of Old New Spain, The Uncle of an Angel, Color Studies, etc., WITH PICTURES BY A. CASTAIGNE. PART FOURTH. I. Fountain of Vau- AT we should go to .~I~cluse was a matter of i,~ necessity. As the am -Lr~ bassadors of a poet ~ we were, in a sense, poets ourselves; and ~ for even a vicarious ~: poet to be within a ~~~~ dozen miles of this time-honored shrine of poetic love and yet not visit it would be a sort of negative sacrilege, an outrage of neglect. To be sure, as troubadours, we were disposed to look with but little favor upon the chillingly precise verses which the calm Petrarch ad- dressed to his calm Laura; to regard somewhat disdainfully an ardor so prudently iced. But whether we approved or disapproved of his methods of love-making the fact remained that this Signor Petrarch merited some token of outward respect from us, for the reason that he belonged to our brotherhood, and was one of ourselves. Therefore we decided that before go- ing to Saint-Remy and to Salon we would bear away eastward to the Fountain ofVaucluse, and pay his memory a passing call. La Ponette and the shabby little carriage were brought forth from the stables of the H6tel de lEurope which we were led to infer from the hostlers supercilious air had been some- what contaminated by giving shelter to our poverty-stricken equipage. On the other hand, had the humble Ponette known how lordly a price we paid for her subsistence in this aris- tocratic establishment, I am confident that her short and very thick head would have been completely turned. That our own heads were a little turned by the parallel process in our own case is undeniable. For several days after emerg- ing from our golden and crimson quarters we maintained the fiction that we were ticket-of- leave sovereigns, and made a point of address- ing each other as Your Grace. Amidst the open smiles of the waiters, stable- boys, and other hangers-on of the H6tel de / lEurope, we drove forth from the courtyard, and shaped our course having a cargo of books to pick up at Roumanilles shop for the Rue St. Agricol. All the members of the household flocked out to feast their eyes upon our car of state drawn by our gallant steed. As I close my eyes I can see Roumanille lean- ing for support against the door-jamb, and I can hear the ring of his laugh. We had en- deavored to prepare him for the spectacle; but he told us frankly, in a voice broken with emo- tion, that what he had regarded as efforts of our imagination had given him but a feeble notion of the truth. But Roumanille was forced to admitas we stowed the books in the locker beneath the seat, and disposed of the big pack- age of photographs between the apron and the dash-boardthat a good deal was to be said in favor of our conveyance on the score of prac- tical convenience. What it seemed to lack, he said, was style. Our parting that day was only temporary. We were to come back presently traveling like ordinary mortals in an ordinary railway- carriagefor a long visit. Therefore we said azi revoir with good heart, and got under way without regret Roumanille standing out on the pavement, still laughing, until the turn into the Cours de la R6publique hid him from our sight. Over ourpassage down this street, the Broad- way of Avignon, I draw a veil. It is sufficient to say that we attracted more attention, a great deal more, than our modesty desired. It was with a sigh of relief that we passed the city gate, and so came in a few minutes into the quiet country road leading eastward to LIsle-sur- Sorgue. There are times in ones life, and this was one of them, when the grateful vacancy of the country brings rest and soothing to the mind harried by a citys noise and crowd. Our way led eastward; but we actually took a route southeastward, that we might spend a few hours in the gay company of the swiftest and most joyous river in all Europe, the Du- rance. It was a charming road, this, that led us through parks and gardens from the outer edge of the valley to the riverside. Great t~s 38

Thomas A. Janvier Janvier, Thomas A. An Embassy to Provence 38-51

AN EMBASSY TO PROVENCE. BY THOMAS A. JANVIER, s6ci D6u FELIBRIGE, Author of Stories of Old New Spain, The Uncle of an Angel, Color Studies, etc., WITH PICTURES BY A. CASTAIGNE. PART FOURTH. I. Fountain of Vau- AT we should go to .~I~cluse was a matter of i,~ necessity. As the am -Lr~ bassadors of a poet ~ we were, in a sense, poets ourselves; and ~ for even a vicarious ~: poet to be within a ~~~~ dozen miles of this time-honored shrine of poetic love and yet not visit it would be a sort of negative sacrilege, an outrage of neglect. To be sure, as troubadours, we were disposed to look with but little favor upon the chillingly precise verses which the calm Petrarch ad- dressed to his calm Laura; to regard somewhat disdainfully an ardor so prudently iced. But whether we approved or disapproved of his methods of love-making the fact remained that this Signor Petrarch merited some token of outward respect from us, for the reason that he belonged to our brotherhood, and was one of ourselves. Therefore we decided that before go- ing to Saint-Remy and to Salon we would bear away eastward to the Fountain ofVaucluse, and pay his memory a passing call. La Ponette and the shabby little carriage were brought forth from the stables of the H6tel de lEurope which we were led to infer from the hostlers supercilious air had been some- what contaminated by giving shelter to our poverty-stricken equipage. On the other hand, had the humble Ponette known how lordly a price we paid for her subsistence in this aris- tocratic establishment, I am confident that her short and very thick head would have been completely turned. That our own heads were a little turned by the parallel process in our own case is undeniable. For several days after emerg- ing from our golden and crimson quarters we maintained the fiction that we were ticket-of- leave sovereigns, and made a point of address- ing each other as Your Grace. Amidst the open smiles of the waiters, stable- boys, and other hangers-on of the H6tel de / lEurope, we drove forth from the courtyard, and shaped our course having a cargo of books to pick up at Roumanilles shop for the Rue St. Agricol. All the members of the household flocked out to feast their eyes upon our car of state drawn by our gallant steed. As I close my eyes I can see Roumanille lean- ing for support against the door-jamb, and I can hear the ring of his laugh. We had en- deavored to prepare him for the spectacle; but he told us frankly, in a voice broken with emo- tion, that what he had regarded as efforts of our imagination had given him but a feeble notion of the truth. But Roumanille was forced to admitas we stowed the books in the locker beneath the seat, and disposed of the big pack- age of photographs between the apron and the dash-boardthat a good deal was to be said in favor of our conveyance on the score of prac- tical convenience. What it seemed to lack, he said, was style. Our parting that day was only temporary. We were to come back presently traveling like ordinary mortals in an ordinary railway- carriagefor a long visit. Therefore we said azi revoir with good heart, and got under way without regret Roumanille standing out on the pavement, still laughing, until the turn into the Cours de la R6publique hid him from our sight. Over ourpassage down this street, the Broad- way of Avignon, I draw a veil. It is sufficient to say that we attracted more attention, a great deal more, than our modesty desired. It was with a sigh of relief that we passed the city gate, and so came in a few minutes into the quiet country road leading eastward to LIsle-sur- Sorgue. There are times in ones life, and this was one of them, when the grateful vacancy of the country brings rest and soothing to the mind harried by a citys noise and crowd. Our way led eastward; but we actually took a route southeastward, that we might spend a few hours in the gay company of the swiftest and most joyous river in all Europe, the Du- rance. It was a charming road, this, that led us through parks and gardens from the outer edge of the valley to the riverside. Great t~s 38 AN EMBASSY TO PRO VENCE. 39 arched over us; pollard willows were ranged along the irrigating canals in unending lines; the soft gurgling sound of flowing water filled the air. Now and then we met or passed a friendly traveler with whom we exchanged greetings. From an old stone gateway, just touched by a sunbeam that penetrated the thick foliage above it, a little girl came out and held up for our admiration her new doll a very Sheban of a doll, dressed in vivid yellow and girded with a scarlet sash. The Ponette jogged along in her own slow way, and we did not hurry her. Had she known our humor, she would have turned it to her private profit by going at a walk. About noon, swinging away to the north, we parted company with the Durance at Bonpas. It is a silk-factory, now, this ancient abbey a change fit to make the dust of Simon Lang- ham, the Archbishop of Canterbury who built the abbey church, compact itself again and arise in the shape of a curse. The Bridge-build- ing Brothers threw a bridge of stone across the river here; but the river promptly threw it off again, and its several successors after it. Now, quite in keeping with the silk-factory, the stream is spanned by a suspension-bridge the only sort of structure that this light-hearted devil of a river does not sooner or later get the better of. Across the valley, a couple of miles away, is Noves, where of old Laura lived. For a mo- ment we hung in the wind, at the fork of the road, while we debated the propriety of turning aside to visit her former habitation. But Laura is distinctly a second-rate personage. The best that can be said of her is that she was the con- signee of Petrarchs verses. The debate was a short one. We cannot be at the mercy of every whiff of Fancys breeze, said the Ambassador. We must occasionally be firm to our in- tentions, said the Ambassadress. And, having uttered these resolute words of wisdom, we turned our backs upon Noves and Laura, and bore away for Thor. We had been assured, I may say in passing, that in Thor, at the little H6tel de Notre Dame, we should get a gaod breakfast; had we possessed a like as- surance in regard to the breakfast possibilities of Noves, the case thus decided against Laura might have gone differently. II. MIDwAy in the village of Thor the highway takes a sharp turn; and just in its bend, so that the traveler cannot possibly miss it, is the hos- pitably open entrance to the H6tel de Notre Dame. A woman nursing a plump baby rose to greet us as we drove in,and a stern hostlerhay- ing the look and manner of Prince Bismarck came forth from the stable and took charge of the mare. That we might wash away the dust of our journey, we were shown to a little box of a bedroom. All the floors were of stone; the steps of the narrow stair were of stone, worn deeply; and in keeping with this fine flavor of antiquity was the garnishing of the kitchen fireplace with delightful tiles. Excepting the new humanity that had come into it, I doubt if there had been the smallest change in this whole establishment for a round two hundred years. The baby was very new indeed, and his young mother thought the~vorld of him. She held him on one arm during most of the time that she was engaged in getting breakfast ready, but popped him down anywhere, on the table or into a basket half filled with potatoes, when she required the use of both hands. When at last breakfast was served, he was stowed away in a big cradle in one corner of the dining- room. Four people breakfasted with us; but they all were shy and taciturn, and only one of them a carter in his shirt-sleeves looked interesting. Had we been alone with the carter, we should have made friends with him; but he was op- pressed, as we were, by the chill presence of the other half of our company, and devoted his large mouth solely to eating and drinking. Yet was he naturally a voluble man, and with a fine loud voice: as we knew a moment after he had bolted his last mouthful and had left the table with a jerky bow by hearing him roaring away in animated talk with Prince Bis- marck outside. On the wall of the dining-room was a notice stating that the Mayor of Thor had the honor to inform the public that the annual market of grapes of all qualities would be held in the com- mune, at the accustomed place, on the 25th of August and the ~ 5th of October, proximo. All about the town were vineyards, and the crisp aromatic smell of the ripening grapes hung heavy in the air. At the little caf6, whither we went when our breakfast was ended, the old man who served us spoke of the vintage with enthusiasm. The vines had done well, won- derfully well, he said. A great harvest was assured. And when our grapes are good, he added jollily, we laugh and jingle our money in our pockets through all the rest of the year.~~ He was charmingly talkative, this old man quite unlike the sad company at breakfast that had erected a chill barrier of silence between the carter and ourselves. My pipe appealed to him. It is a fine large pipe that monsieur smokes, he said cordially. And is it really so light as they say, this German clay? Will monsieur indeed permit me? . . . Mon Dieu, AN EMBASSY TO PRO VENCE. 40 how light! What a wonder of a pipe it is! After the severe repression to which our na- tures had been subjected at breakfast, coming into the presence of this genial old man was like coming forth into sunshine from a cold, dark room. While the Ponette rested what she had to rest from Heaven only knows; in all the morn- ing she had covered only eight or ten miles we paid our respects to the unknown architect who seven hundred years ago built the church for which Thor ever since has been famed. This duty to art and antiquity being discharged, we ascended into our chariot, and then the Po- nettes scarcely perceptible progress detached us gently from Thor, and set us adrift in the direction of LIsle-sur-Sorgue. From the one town to the other is but a step. Even the Ponette could not make a journey of it. By mid-afternoon we were bowling along the shady main street, beside the main channel of the Sorgue, at a spirited walk; and so came gallantly to the door of the H6tel St. Martin. It is customary for visitors to the Fountain of Vaucluse to stop at the H6tel de P6trarque- et-Laure; but in our case apart from our cool- ness toward those cool loversthere was so much of appositeness in finding shelter for our- selves and our beggarly equipage at a hotel presided over by St. Martin that we did not hesitate for a moment in making our choice. Iii. LIsLE is nothing less than a fascination a tiny Venice, without the bad smells. The Sorgue, outfiowing from the near-by Foui~itain of Vaucluse, divides above the town into three channels, which below it are united again into a single stream. Upon the northern island, and around about it, the town is built. The main stream, at its widest but a couple of rods across, shaded by ancient trees, flows beside the high- way which also is the principal street of the town. Stone bridges span it here and there; broad flights of stone steps, with the look of having escaped from a drop-curtain, lead down to its margin and are thronged with operatic washerwomen; huge undershot wheels slowly revolve in it (a good deal of unpoetic carpet- weaving is done here), and suggest melodra- matic possibilities of a comfortably shuddering sort there being always about a great water- wheel something very horrible that sends a chill to ones heart. The southern branch flows along the towns outskirts; and the northern, not more than six or eight feet wide, runs in a strait chanjiel between the houses and even un- der themwith doors and windows opening upon the stream. All day long the cool sound of rippling water is in the air; and its lulling tinkle comes soothingly across the soft silence of the night. It was the boast of the people of LIsle in former timesbefore the Fountain of Vaucluse had had thrust upon it a desecrating paper- millthat they could sit at their ease in their houses and fish for trout and eels through their open doors. Noble traditions surviv.e of these dainties, and ofa certain delicate variety of cray- fish, with which the Sorgue did once abound. According to the guide-books and the hotel people, the Sorgue abounds with them still; and the representative of St. Martin even went so far as to assure us that the specimens served for our delectation had come from the river to the pan with but a single bound. Yet, in point of fact, because of that vile paper-mill, the fish of the Sorgue are all as dead as Julius Caisar. The hotel fish really come from the Gardon, clear on the other side of the Rh6ne, and do their bounding by rail. This painful secret was imparted to us by the proprietor of the caf6: an intelligent young man who had no motive for abetting the local fiction, and whose busi- ness was of a sort to set him a little at odds with the proprietors of the hotels. Iv. WHILE these facts in regard to the migrant nature of the fish of LIsle were being con- fided to us,we were taking our after-dinner coffee, a man passed by beating loudly upon a drum. His untempered music, we found, was the announcement of a play to be given that very evening in an open-air theater down by the water-side in the rear of our hotel. The players, said our young man, were the wreck- age of a strolling company that had gone to pieces in LIsle a month or two before; they gave occasional performances to keep them- selves alive until some happy turn of fortune should enable them to get away. As we found when we had come to it, this open-air theater justified its name. The stage was a raised and covered platform, with a practicable curtain; but the seats, cut off from the rest of the universe by a wooden fence, had between them and the sky only some chance branches of trees. The best seats two rows of chairs which stood in front of the eight or ten lines of benches without backs cost twenty centimes. We unhesitatingly paid our eight cents, and took places in the front row. There were six players, all told, and the cast included seven characters. In the first act the !/IZlain quite a desperate villainvery pro- perly was killed; but in the second act he confused us by reappearing it was the same man in precisely the same costume alive and well. As the play went on, however, we discovered that he had ceased to be the Villal;,, and at a stroke had become his own uncle and the respectable father of the ilifarcizioness. We inferred that there was a shortness in the ward- robe as well as in the company; and this proba- bility was emphasized by the references in the lines to the somber black in which the Afar- cizioness was clad xvhen, actually, that in- teresting widow was arrayed in a gown of exceptionally bright blue. Between the tragedy and the farce the I,,- genue came out among the audience and supple- mented the gate-moneyby takingup a collection Vor~. XLVL6. in a tin box, her efforts being most pointedly directed to squeezing something out of the crowd that was massed outside the railing and had not paid anything at all. The Dueuia, not cast in the farce, resumed possession of her brace of children, who had been in the care of friends on the benches, and went home with them when the tragedy was at an end. We heard her say something about breakfast the next day and a pot of tripe. At the end of the performance the 7/yrazu made us all a handsome speech of thanks, and announced that on the ensuing Thursday the company would have the honor 4 L ISLE-SURSORGUE. ENGRAVED NY H AN EMBASSY TO PRO VENCE. 43 of presenting the tragedy of Jeanne dArc, to be followed by a side-splitting farce. I was disposed to arise in my place and to assure the Tyrant that for ourselves the obligation was wholly on our side. It was a longing of our hearts realizedthis veritable bit out of Le Capitaine Fracasse. v. BEFORE returning to our quarters,we walked for a while in the starlight beside the Sorgue, seeking to attune our souls by its rippling music to the key of poesy fitting to the pilgrimage on the ensuing day to the Fountain of Vaucluse. In this endeavor we succeeded so well that I was beginning to put together an apostrophic sonnet to Laura and Petrarch, when sleep over- took me and obliterated the concluding ten of the necessary fourteen lines. And then, at five oclock in the morning, came the propri- etor of the H6tel St. Martin, with violent knockings, to inform me that the Ponette had developed a severe colic and was in a very bad way indeed! For all the remainder of my days the Foun- tain of Vaucluse will be associated in my mind with the keen internal miseries of that dull lit- tle mare. Never will I hear a reference to Laura and Petrarch without instantly remembering the unpoetic nature of my frequent conferences with the veterinary surgeon, who was the bet- ter, as I was the worse, on each of these oc- casions by two francs. It was the late Lord Verulam who made the astute observation (in his essay Of Seditions and Troubles) that the rebellions of the belly are the worst. But even my Lord Verulam, who was blessed with a fine vein of fancy, never imagined a rebellion of this nature at so inop- portune a time. Instead of reveling in a luxury of poetic reminiscence, I was forced to dwell upon the prosaic details of equine pathology; while a haunting dread beset me of what would happen should the sluggish soul of the Ponette separate itself from her sluggish body, and so bring me to a direful reckoning with No~ Mourgue at Nimes! Happily for me, the Ponette was endowed with so vigorous a constitution that she did not succumb to her painful disorder. By the ensu- ing morning she practically was well again, the veterinary surgeon assured me; and as his in- terest was wholly against this statement, I did not doubt that he spoke the truth. But it was with chastened spirits that we drove her gin- gerly to the Fountain of Vaucluse; and our conversation turned not upon Laura and Pe- trarch, but upon the possible further internal disturbances of the mare. Positively, it made me nervous when she but twitched her ears! Yet, in despite of these painful memories of the trials and tribulations which befell me there, I think of LIsle-sur-Sorgue only with an affec- tionate tenderness. It possesses a beautiful old church, it is renowned for the excellence of its dried fruits, and there is in its composition a most wonderful mingling of sparkling xvater and sparkling sunshine. These merits are con- siderable; but its greater merit, wherein lies its especial charm for me, is its habit of repose. I never have known a town where a larger pro- portion of the townsfolk seemed to have so comfortably little to do. Their capacity for being negatively busythat is to say, for con- sciously and deliberately doing nothing: a very different thing from mere idleness is nothing short of ideal. During the three days of our sojourn there some masons were makingbelieve to be at work upon repairs to the wall of the main canal close beside an old stone bridge whereon was cast by a great plane-tree grow- ing beside it a rest-inviting shade. All day long relays of the townspeople accepted the invita- tion of the plane-tree and sat upon the parapet of the bridge, watching with an intelligently lan- guid interest the masons keeping up their show of toil. Sometimes the members of these self- appointed committees fairly went to sleep. But it was only by looking closely that their som- nolence was apparent so exquisite, even in their widest wakefulness, was their repose. A town like that is a bulwark of civilization, against which the Huns and Goths of our era, whose barbaric war-cry is Haste! may strive in vain. vi. SALON, where dwelt of old the prophet Nos- tradamus, lies due south of LIsle at a distance of twenty miles. But by going along two sides of a triangle, only thirty miles or so out of the direct way, we were able to lay a course through Saint-Remy and Les Baux that was much more to our minds. Our visit to Salon was a matter of diplomatic necessity to the end that, as Ambassadors, we might wait upon the chief citizen of that town: Monsieur An- toine Blaise Crousillat, oldest of all the Fdibres, to whom his brethren have given the affection- ate title of dean of their poetic guild. Early in the morning I held a final confer- ence (at the regular two-franc rate) with the veterinary surgeon; received his positive assur- ance that the revolt in the interior of the Po- nette was wholly quelled; and by seven oclock we were on the road. We started at this un- toward hour partlybecause we expected to drive far that day, and partly because the Ponettes physician in ordinary had warned us against pushing her at too great a speed. Little did this man know about her, or never would he have coupled her name with so vivacious a word! His counsel was delivered in her pres- ence, and she very obviously made a note of it for her own purposes. That day she outdid herself in prodigies of laziness, and whenever I ventured mildly to remonstrate with her, she would give a warning quiver to her fat flank~ which thrilled us with alarm. She was dull, the Ponette, but not stupidoh, no!, Although the landscape may be said to have clung to our chariot wheels with an affectionate 44 persistence, we did actually advance. By nine o clock we were in Cavaillona bowery little town, in all this part of Francs famous for its melons. The elder Dumas made a solemn gift of his collected works to the municipality of Cavaillon, on the express condition that every year he should receive a tribute of its melons; which tribute it was a good business transac- tion for the novelist, for in Paris the melons of Cavaillon are fruit of pricewas paid regu MARIUS GIRARD. AN EMBASSY TO PRO VENcE. 45 larly until the contract was liquidated by his death. By ten oclock we had crossed the Du- rance; and a little before noon we gently edged our way into Saint-Remywhen the Ponette, being of a gluttonous habit, suddenly snuffed at possibilities of breakfast, and brought us al- most at a trot into the remise of the H6tel du Cheval Blanc. Itis a delightful old tavern, this: with narrow stairways of stone, crooked passages of various OLD ROMAN WINDOW. backed in a practical fashion her display of hospitality by giving us a breakfast fit for the Lords of Baux. Most gentle is the business carried on by the people of Saint-Remy: the raising offlowers and the sale of their seed. All around the town are fields of flowers; and the flowers are suffered to grow to full maturity, and then to die their own sweet death, to the end that their seed may be garnered and sold abroad. Everywhere deli- cate odors floated about us in the air; and, although our coming was in August, bright colors still mingled everywhere with the green of leaves and grass. Insensibly, their gracious manner of earning a livelihood has reacted upon the people themselves; the folk of Saint- Remy are notable for their gentleness and kind- liness even among their gentle and kindly fellows of Provence. We understood better Roumanilles beautiful nature when we thus came to know the town of gardens wherein he was born, and we also appreciated more keenly the verse in his exquisite little poem to his motherin which he chronicles his birth: In a farm-house hidden in the midst of apple-trees, On a beautiful morning in harvest-time, I was born to a gardener and a gardeners wife In the gardens of Saint-Remy. In Saint-Remy was born, and now dwells (though we were not so fortunate, on this oc- casion, as to encounter him), still another poet: Monsieur Marius Girard, Syndic des F6libres de Provence, F~libre majoral, Maitre en Gai- savoir, Chevalier of the Order of Charles III. of Spain who especially is the laureate of the mountains near which he lives. Into his Lis Aupiho he has gathered the many strange legends of the Alpines, and has enhanced the value of his poetry by his scholarly researches into the curious history and sociology of this isolated mountain-range: and so has won de- servedly the crown of the floral games at Apt and the olive-branch of the Academy of B6- ziers. And, finally, in Saint-Remy lives the present queen of the F6libres, Mademoiselle Girard, who was chosen to her high office at the septennial festival held at Les Baux in August, 1892. But the wonder is not that two poets and a queen of poets have been born in Saint-Remy. Rather is it that the ordinary speech of every one born in this delicately delectable little town is not pure iambics; that there should not be poe- try in every mouth (as at Abdera), like the nat- ural notes of some sweet melody which drops ;from it whether it will or no. levels laid in tiles, tile-paved chambers with ancient heavy furniture, the lower rooms vaulted, the dining-room fairly extending out into the open air under a vine-clad arbor, and beyond the arbor an acre or more of tangled garden in which grow all together fruit-trees and shade-trees and shrubbery and vegetables and flowers. A beautiful woman, in the beau- tiful dress of Arles, received us with the most cordial of smiles. It was as though she had vii. been waiting long for our coming, and was IN the early afternoon we went onward, by joyful because at last we had arrived. And she a road that led up a mountain pass into the very heart of the Alpines, to Les Baux. A red- nosed man gave us the doubtful benefit of his company during our exploration of the ruined castle and the partly ruined town. It was his custom to act as a guide, he said; and he seemed to think that this exposition of his own habits, without regard to what our habits in the mat- ter of guides might be, was amply sufficient in the premises. But in his whole vinous body there was not an atom of usefulness, either as a guide or as anything else; and his meager soulinjudiciously preserved in alcohol was quite in keeping with its useless carnal; environment. There was no need for a guide. The ruins spoke for themselves a wreck so total, so wild, so harsh, that upon it seemed to have fallen 46 relentlessly the withering wrath of God. The few poverty-stricken souls, quarrymen and their ragged families, who found shelter in what re- mained of the houses seemed to be crushed down under the same general curse. The red- \nosed man officiously led us to a sheer cliff, a fall of a hundred feet or more, over which a woman but recently had cast herself, he said, because she was so miserably poor and her life was so bitter and so hard. Beholding the deso- lation amidst which this sorrowful creatures home had been, and knowing how harsh had been her life, we did not wonder that in a crisis of heroic cowardice she had leaped out from the dark certainties of that height and of Time together into the luringly bright uncertainties of Eternity. ANTOINE BLAISE CROUSILLAT. It added to the desolateness of the wreck of castle and town that our degenerate guide should be, as he seemed to be, the most prom- inent citizen of the ruin of all over which the Lords of Baux had reigned glorying in their descent in a right line from the youngest and the bravest of the Magi; bearing for their de- vice the sixteen-rayed star of Bethlehem; and upholding valiantly through the centuries their war-cry: Au hazard, Balthazar! Even on that mountain height the day was waning when at last we turned to go. We came back to the wretched inn, and there waited until the boy into whose charge I had given the Ponette should harness her again. It was an un- wise consideration for the comfort of the Ponette that had led me to order the har- ness taken off as ii perceived when that utterly incompetent boy attempted to replace it. Even the stolid little mare seemed to smile at him as she turned her head and contemplated his misdoings; and the quarrymen, standing about the door of the buvette and the worse for their evening drains, openly laughed. The red- nosed man officiously tried to help, and only got the harness more tangled. In the end, I had to shove them both aside and do the harnessing myself with an in- ward prayer that I might do it well enough to hold together until we got back to Saint-Remy. We went down the mountain road at a good trot, with the brakes set hard. The road was as smooth as French roads barring chemi;zs d exploitation always are, and the de- scent was sharp: even the Ponette could not refuse to trot with the carriage fairly pushing her along. Dusk was falling on the heights, and darkness had come by the time that we reached the plain. From the un- seen fields of flowers sweet scents were borne to us; sweetest of all being the richly delicate odor from a field ofheliotrope close beside us, but hidden in the bosom of the night. Our dinner at the Cheval Blanc was served to us at a small table in the arbor, W~US OF NOST DAMUS. 47 N ~1 ~J. ENGRAVED BY A WALDEVER MLLE. GIRARD, PRESENT QUEEN OF THE F~LIBEES. lighted by lamps hung from the lattice, close beside the vine-covered archway that opened upon the dark garden beyond. At another small table three elderly men were dining, who bowed to us gravely as we took our seats, but who were sufficiently remote from us to make an attempt at general conversation unnecessary. 48 To one of thema pleasant-looking old boy, with a mahogany face that testified to an out- door habit of life and to a liking for honest red winewe evidently were objects of interest. We caught him shooting sidelong looks at us, and he evidently was keeping his ears wide open to our English talk. They finished their AN EMBASSY TO PRO VENCE. 49 dinner before we had finished ours, and again we interchanged bows as they rose to leave. But our mahogany-faced gentleman was not quite done with us. In the doorway he paused for a moment, as though steadying himself for some venturesome deed. Then, with another bow, he said with a sharp abruptness: Good night and instantly disappeared! It was most startling to have this scrap of English fired at us, at point-blank range, with the unexpectedness of a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. Obviously, however, the effect of his deliverance was most severe upon himself the recoil incident to his lingual explosion car- rying him clear out of our sight. Doubtless his digestion that night was the worse for his violent tampering with a foreign tongue. And did we, in that single lurid gleam of speech, get the benefit of his entire English vocabulary? We never knew! Bearing in her hands our two candles, our beautiful hostess piloted us to our bed-cham- berup the narrow worn stone stairway, along the narrow crooked passages broken by inci- dental flights of steps, and so to the large tile- paved room whereof the mahogany furniture had grown black with age, and where every- thing was exquisitely clean. The bed-linen had a faint smell of lavender, and thebeds were com- fortable to a degree. As I sunk away into sleep I was aware of the delicate, delicious odor of flowers swept in through the open window by the soft night wind. VIII. ALL Saint-Remy was astirt was the Feast of the Assumption as we left it the next day. The shady Place dArmes was crowded with men in blouses, who ate melons, and smoked short pipes, and all the while talked so vigor- ously that there was a buzzing in the air as though of bees. The womenbeautiful with a stately beauty, and wearing the beautiful dress of Arleswere clustered in front of the church, wherein they attended to their religious duties in relays, and added to the buzzing a sharper note with the simultaneous going of all their tongues. Every moment the two gather- ings were enlarged by new recruits come in from the outlying farms: affluent country-folk in high two-wheeled carts drawn by round little horses of the Camargue, or less affluent country-folk who came joyfully to the feast on the two legs which God had given them. Only our strong sense of duty as Ambassa- dors enabled us to fetch away from Saint-Remy and the glad company assembled there and to go onward to Salon. As we drove off through the flower-fields, and then through vineyards and olive-orchards and plantations of almond VOL. XLVI. 7-8. trees, the feast still was present with us in the persons of those whom we met going to it, all gallant in their feast-day clothes. Toward the end of our journey we met other holiday folk returning from Salon; and then our hearts were comforted for the loss of Saint-Remy by our de- light in this bravely castellated little city set sturdily upon its hill. Our credentials to the dean of the F~libres were as slight as ever an embassy carried. He lives beside the fountain, said Rouma- nille. Tell him that you come from me. That was all! But we knew that it was suffi- cient. Doubts as~ to our calling we never had entertained; and the welcome that had been given us at Avignon had convinced us that our election was altogether sure. We had ample time to present ourselves to Monsieur Crousillat before dinnerit was but half after five when our establishment at the very comfortable H6tel des N~gociants was completed, and the days still were long. When we asked forinformation in regard to the where- abouts of MonsieurCrousillats home, Toinette, the daughter of the house,plump as a little partridge and beaming with smiles,..instantly offered to be our guide. It is but a step, she said. You turn the corner, and you are upon the boulevardin a moment you come to the fountain and the Place dAubes. But were it a great deal farther, she added earnestly, I should have the most of pleasure in showing m sieu-madame the way. She was the kind- est-hearted little creature in the world, this good Toinette. The next day she went with us to the church in which Nostradamus lies buried,where we encountered a crusty sacristan whose stock of merchantable civility was sold in small portions at the rate of fifty centimes each. The rate struck me as low; but Toinette, witnessing the purchase of that which by her creed should be given freely, was sincerely shocked. To think, she said, ofbeing paid for politeness! That is not the way in our town. And presently she repeated: No, that is not the way in our town at all! Toinettes cQurtesy was as delicately dis- criminating as it was cordial. When she had led us nearly to Monsieur Crousillats door she left us because m sieu -madame doubtless wish to make this visit alone, she said. She could not have exhibited a nicer consideration had she been the very finest lady in the land. We knocked at the door of the poets house, but there was no reply; nor was there when we knocked again. Our third knock brought out from a shoe-shop in the adjoininghouse a pleas- ant-faced young girl, who informed us that no one was at home just then, and who advised us to return at six oclock, when we would be sure to find some one, because that was the hour 50 AN EMBASSY TO PRO VENCE. at which the family supped. It was with the utmost good-heartedness that she spoke, and with the air of one to whom the success of our visit was a matter of serious concern. There is not anywhere a more delightful town than Salon in which to ramble in the quiet time of sunset. All the center of itthe part lying about the castle, within what were the limits of the ancient wallsis a tangle of narrow crooked streets, which give fresh combinations of picturesqueness at every turn; outside of this tightly compressed area, occupying the site of walls and moat, is a broad boulevard shaded by double lines of trees; and beyond the boule- vard are houses set more openly, between which are far views out over the vast level of the Crau, or across vineyards and olive-orchards to the distant hills. So charming was it all that the hour was nearer half after six than six when we returned to Monsieur Crousillats door. The pleasant- faced young girl was on the lookout for us, and with her was her pleasant-faced mother. The mother begged that we would not knock be- cause Msieu Antoine is at his supper, and it is not well, as madame no doubt knows, to in- terrupt old people at their meals. And then she added with a frank friendliness: Perhaps madame and msieu will have the goodness to seat themselves in my shop and wait for just a very little while; it certainly will not be long. They made us as welcome as though we had been old friends, yet kept in view the fact that we were distinguished strangers, and preened their featherswhile cooing perfunctory dis- sent as our magnificences were pleased to express an obviously sincere admiration for their town. Then a neighbor dropped in, and took a lively part in our dish of friendly talk; and so, for half an hour, we all chatted away to- gether as comfortably as though we had known one another through the whole of our respective lives. lx. WHEN, at last, we despatched the young girl upon a reconnoissance, Monsieur Crousillat re- turned with her in a fine state of perturbation because we had been kept waiting for so long a while. He was a most sprightly old gentle- man, with a fresh complexion decidedly at odds with his full white beard, and carried jauntily his five-and-seventy years. In his eagerness to make amends for our waiting, he scarce gave us time to say good night to our obliging friends of the shoe-shop: in a moment we were whisked out of it and into his own home. And his cordi- ality was of a sort that manifested itself in deeds as well as in words: with what an amiable energy did he lead us first to the house of Nos- tradamus, and thereafter about the town, ex pounding to us its history and its traditions, on the ensuing day! Just within the doorway his sister was wait- ing to welcome us a gracious little white- haired lady, with a lively yet gentle manner, and with the freshness of youth still lingering upon her sweet old face. With her was their elder brother, to whom we were presented with a certain amount of ceremony: a vigorous young gentleman of eighty-five. There was a becom- ing touch of gravity in his manner; but this seemed to be due to his responsible position as head of the family rather than to his years. It was the most charmingly quaint household that can be imagined where the perpetual youth of sweet and gentle natures had held a gallant guard upon the threshold against the assaults of age. The most delicate touches of all were shown in the affectionate deference of the cadet and the young sister toward the head of their house; and in the loving pride with which the poet was regarded by his kins- folk this poet who was their very own, united to them by the closest ties of blood, yet who was on terms with the Muses and had won for himselfthe recognized right to fetch honey freely from Hymettus Hill. The poetry of Monsieur Crousillat is graver in tone than is that of the majority of his fel- low F6ljbres. In the preface to his collection of No~ls which work he did the Ambas- sadress the honor to present to herhe has written: The main object of all poets being to instruct as well as to please, I have, from love of truth, though not forgetting that poe- try is tinged with fiction, imposed upon my- self the duty of avoiding a little what is legend alone and what belongs entirely to theology. And I have endeavored, within the limits of my power, to make each of my nods teach, as fables teach, a moral lesson. Yet is there a strain of exceeding tenderness in his grave verse, and a naive simplicity which gives it a touching and peculiar charm. He is a master of many tongues, this oldest of the poets of Provence: uniting with the two languages which are his birthright a know- ledge of Italian, gained in the course of an en- chanting journey into Italy in the time of his youth; an elegant Latinity, that finds expres- sion in highly finished verse; and a reading command of English. Two English poets are especially dear to him: Milton and Dryden. With the first of these his own utterances, though less grandiose and more humane, have something in common; and it is easy to per- ceive how the verse of Dryden flowing, melodious, sonorous commends itself to one whose own rich language especially is suited to the composition of poetry in which precisely these qualities are found. BENEFITS FORGOT 5 For the lack of opportunity to train his ear to its sound, Monsieur Crousillat could not understand spoken English; nor did he ven- ture to speak it. He could write it, he said; and even had carried on an English corre- spondence with a cousin living in our own country, in Philadelphi~i the daughter of a refugee from France in 89. Once she had come to Salon, this kinswoman, and had paid them a visit. But that, he adde~d slowly, was a long, long while ago nearly half a century. After her return to America their letters had sped back and forth briskly for a time; but as they had grown old the letter-writing had languished; and at last it had ended when she died. There seemed to me to be a suggestion of the delicate perfume of ashes-of-roses about this episode of the American correspondence that had withered and perished so long ago. And I am entirely confident that the welcome given by the dean of the F6libres to the Em- bassy was the warmer because America was the country whence it came. WITH this visit of respect to Monsieur Crousillatthat changed, without our taking thought about it, into a visit of affectionthe stately formalities of our mission were at an end. As an Embassy we had presented our- selves to the Capouli6, and to the Senior Poet, of the F~librige; our credentials had been ap- proved by these high functionaries, and our- selves had been accepted as ~ersonce gra/ce. For the remainder of our stay near the Court of this Poetic Power we were entitled, as rec- ognized Ambassadors, to receive from all its subjects and, verily, we did receive that cordial consideration which in such cases the comity of nations prescribes. Thomas A. fanvier. BENEFITS FORGOT. By the Author of Reffey, A Common Story, Captain, My Captain, etc. XIII. N his first groping, and bitter explana- tions of it to himself; Philip saw how- na- tural it was that he should find Jasper withher. Hehadnot known of his return, and he must have come this morning, as he was certain that he had not been in Maverick the day before; but being returned, and hearing of her presence in Maverick, what could be more in the course of things than a meeting of old lovers, long separated, in the first hours of Jaspers home-coming? Oh, it was natural enough! A type-writer! he said, in the easy and flowing tones of one who tries to be easy. I congratulate you. It s a great thing. You will write your fathers sermons now, I sup- pose. I dont know, she said. Yes, perhaps, if I can learn. It was, in fact, a longing desire with her to write her fathers sermons for him at his dicta- tionhe detested the manual labor of writing. But nothing seemed quite so possible and worth while as it had seemed a moment ago. Do you know anything about it? Perhaps you can show me, she said, to make conver- sation. She chafed under this difficult ex- change: it had never been like this between them hitherto. They had always talked freely and naturally: it was one of the things which made this Mr. Deed a pleasant man to get along with, she had thought. He was so straightforward, so simple and direct; he had no attitude, he never got himself up, he had not even that mans pose in talking to a wo- man which she disliked. He talked to her, she felt sure, as he might have talked to a man. He understood things without being told. Men to whom one had to explain irri- tated her. And now he was not going to un- derstand; and he was defending himself from the natural course of their usual talk with an artifice. Was it in fact true, then, that such a thing as a frank and cordial relation between young men and young women was an impossibility? She heard Philip saying that he had once spent a month or two in studying the type- writer, as she asked this question of herself. It was going to fall in with one of his young plans for being successful in some other way than the way his father wished, and had been dropped when the plan had followed the other plans. She heard this distantly while she passed in hasty review all possible and impossible oc

Wolcott Balestier Balestier, Wolcott Benefits Forgot 51-63

BENEFITS FORGOT 5 For the lack of opportunity to train his ear to its sound, Monsieur Crousillat could not understand spoken English; nor did he ven- ture to speak it. He could write it, he said; and even had carried on an English corre- spondence with a cousin living in our own country, in Philadelphi~i the daughter of a refugee from France in 89. Once she had come to Salon, this kinswoman, and had paid them a visit. But that, he adde~d slowly, was a long, long while ago nearly half a century. After her return to America their letters had sped back and forth briskly for a time; but as they had grown old the letter-writing had languished; and at last it had ended when she died. There seemed to me to be a suggestion of the delicate perfume of ashes-of-roses about this episode of the American correspondence that had withered and perished so long ago. And I am entirely confident that the welcome given by the dean of the F6libres to the Em- bassy was the warmer because America was the country whence it came. WITH this visit of respect to Monsieur Crousillatthat changed, without our taking thought about it, into a visit of affectionthe stately formalities of our mission were at an end. As an Embassy we had presented our- selves to the Capouli6, and to the Senior Poet, of the F~librige; our credentials had been ap- proved by these high functionaries, and our- selves had been accepted as ~ersonce gra/ce. For the remainder of our stay near the Court of this Poetic Power we were entitled, as rec- ognized Ambassadors, to receive from all its subjects and, verily, we did receive that cordial consideration which in such cases the comity of nations prescribes. Thomas A. fanvier. BENEFITS FORGOT. By the Author of Reffey, A Common Story, Captain, My Captain, etc. XIII. N his first groping, and bitter explana- tions of it to himself; Philip saw how- na- tural it was that he should find Jasper withher. Hehadnot known of his return, and he must have come this morning, as he was certain that he had not been in Maverick the day before; but being returned, and hearing of her presence in Maverick, what could be more in the course of things than a meeting of old lovers, long separated, in the first hours of Jaspers home-coming? Oh, it was natural enough! A type-writer! he said, in the easy and flowing tones of one who tries to be easy. I congratulate you. It s a great thing. You will write your fathers sermons now, I sup- pose. I dont know, she said. Yes, perhaps, if I can learn. It was, in fact, a longing desire with her to write her fathers sermons for him at his dicta- tionhe detested the manual labor of writing. But nothing seemed quite so possible and worth while as it had seemed a moment ago. Do you know anything about it? Perhaps you can show me, she said, to make conver- sation. She chafed under this difficult ex- change: it had never been like this between them hitherto. They had always talked freely and naturally: it was one of the things which made this Mr. Deed a pleasant man to get along with, she had thought. He was so straightforward, so simple and direct; he had no attitude, he never got himself up, he had not even that mans pose in talking to a wo- man which she disliked. He talked to her, she felt sure, as he might have talked to a man. He understood things without being told. Men to whom one had to explain irri- tated her. And now he was not going to un- derstand; and he was defending himself from the natural course of their usual talk with an artifice. Was it in fact true, then, that such a thing as a frank and cordial relation between young men and young women was an impossibility? She heard Philip saying that he had once spent a month or two in studying the type- writer, as she asked this question of herself. It was going to fall in with one of his young plans for being successful in some other way than the way his father wished, and had been dropped when the plan had followed the other plans. She heard this distantly while she passed in hasty review all possible and impossible oc 52 BENEFITS FORGOT casions for the scene at the door and for his constraint. Was the blame hers, in any way? she asked herself. Or, whosesoever the blame, might it be her opportunity to reconcile them? Dorothys goodness was always impulsive; the people who did not like the consequences of some of her rash bursts of kind-heartedness said that it was absurd. It was true that she b was good in haste, and often repented at lei- sure; but she liked better to stumble and wound herself, as she must, in her rush to help some one who had fallen, than to suck wise maxims about prudence in contented inaction. She kept a generous scorn for the mincing caution of the proverbs. All proverbs were stingy and selfish, she thought, and taught one to live for ones self in the handsomest security. She went to the type-writer, and began to fin- ger it with the gingerly deliberateness of the novice, while he stood above her looking on, and they exchanged question and answer with- out much notion on either side of what they were talking about. She was feeling, with a womans sense of social obligation, that she must do something to keep the affair moving; while her kindly puzzlement about the little drama at the door went on steadily in her thoughts. Philip was capable of listening at any time to the taking modulations of her sweet, rich Southern voice, without troubling his head about what she was saying; and it was in this dreamy way that he was listening to her now, thinking also, as if it were a novel thought, how utterly pretty she was. She was dressed in a house-gown of black, with the daintiest sug- gestion of a dark-green velvet at the throat, shoulders, and sleeves; and the quietness of this effect seemed to exalt the beauty of her fresh coloring, her good, honest, sincere, ad- mirable eyes, her shapely face. How she stared at her type-writing! He wished she would look about at him. It was two minutes since he had seen her eyes; the whimsical brown, floating in- termittently in their gray depths, would have had time to change or go. There suddenly seemed nothing further to say, and, leaning back from the type-writer, she patted her hand upon her dress, and called, Here, Jack! A great Newfoundland dog, which had been lying on the floor by the side of the type-writer, leaped up, placing his fore- paws in her lap, and wagging his tail. Jack had been given up by Messiter while they were at Laughing Valley City, and it had been one of the pains of her hurried departure that she must leave him behind; but Messiter had ar- ranged to have him brought over the Pass by careful hands, and it was a week since he had been restored to her. She was extremely fond of him. He plunged his paws in a moment into the keyboard of the type-writer, and Philip dragged him off. The diversion seemed to restore them to themselves, for Philip said, more in the tone of their usual talk than anything that had been said since he entered the room, I did nt know you had a type-writer. And, glad of the change, Dorothy answered: I have nt. To really have a type-writer I suppose one should know how to use it, if only a very little; and besides, it doesnt belong to me, but to a clergyman, a friend of my father, who left it for me to try. He has gone East on his vacation, and spent a night with us on his way down from Leadville. You will like it immensely. You will hate him when he comes to take it back. She shook her beautiful head, laughing. I dont know. It makes mewriggle, she said. I cant bear to pick out the letters. I dont like the noise, and it s all so mechan- ical, so barbarous. It s a great convenience, I suppose, and I shall go on with it on papas account, if I find I can. But I cant see how any one could like it. What is there to like? Everything. Let me show you. Oh, if you do it like that! she exclaimed, as he rattled off a number of sentences, in the seat she gave up to him. You must do it like that, he rejoined, without looking up from the keyboard, over which his fingers twinkled bewilderingly. You did nt think that you were to go hesitatingly from letter to letter, with a little fearsome pause between each jump, like Eliza in Uncle Toms Cabin escaping across the floating ice, did you? He was feeling much happier now. After all, it had been only a school-girl and -boy en- gagement. He knew thatit no longer existed that it had not existed for four years. Was it likely thatpshaw! Had not Jasper called on the day of his arrival in the place? He had not forgotten. Did he ever forget any purpose? He brought himself back to the consideration of the type-writer lesson with an effort. She was interested. You wont mind if I ask questions? she said, as she consented to try again for herself. She let her fingers idle over the letters without pressing their white circles. Why is nt the alphabet set in order? The better to puzzle you, my dear, quoted Philip, absently, but enjoying the use of the epithet. There is a better reason than that, re- turned Dorothy. She laughed, flushing a lit- tle at his phrase. Yes, he admitted; you will find it a very good thing, after you have gone a little farther, to have the most-used letters nearest your hand. Suppose, now, you put in a fresh BENEFITS FORGOT 53 sheet of paper, and try a sentence or two on your own account. He inserted the paper, showed her the use of the little device for separating words, taught her to pull back the running-gear at the top at the warning of the bell, made plain the means of governing the space between lines, and then gave her a little lecture on the posi- tion of the small and capital letters, the punc- tuation-marks and the numerals. She listened with serious attention, and, as he bent over to illustrate his meaning, withdrew herself to leave space for the play of.his arms, while he pressed the letters, or caught back the sliding-rack. In this close and amiable proximity the con- straint between them of a few moments back seemed already to have aged itself into an un- historied past. She was wondering how this could be the man who had given Jasper the look at the door which she could not forget; and he was saying to himself that in all the world there were not eyes like those he looked down into when she would glance up suddenly from time to time to ask him a question, or to give one of her flashing turns to his replies, with that charming manner of reserved free- dom which was constantly a new grace in her. She became proficient enough at last to write out coherent sentences for herself and together they found the things she wrote very amusiNg. Suppose you see if you can read what I write from the movement of my fingers, Mr. Deed, she said. You are not to turn the cylin- der up to look; but only to read, if you can, as I go along. She began in a kind of embar- rassment, and did not get on as well with the first words as she had in her earlier experi- ments. But she tried again, in a moment, and completed the sentence with a little air of bravado. She kept her eyes on the keyboard, but as he did not speak she glanced up at him hastily. Oh! exclaimed Philip, recalled to him- self. I was to read from your fingers. Well, shall we begin? Dorothy laughed nervously. We have be- gun, she said. Did nt you see? Oh, yes, yes! assented he. Orno; I was It was impossible to say that he had been watching the movement of her fingers, and speculating upon the question whether all women had such hands, an& why he had never noticed how adorably contrived for type-writ- ing they were. He had got to the point of remembering that he had seen a number of young girls hammering away at type-writers in offices without being moved by the specta- cle, when her glance called him back. XVill you write it again? he asked. I will really watch this time. Oh, I dont think I could write it again, returned Dorothy, quickly. Why not? As a punishment for inatten- tion? I suppose I ye deserved it, he said. No; I dont think I ought. It was a real sentence, then. I claim it as a right, in that case. You have made a com- munication to me, Miss Maurice. You ye no right to withhold it. It has passed out of your hands. Yes, owned she, with amusement, that s true; but it did nt pass into your eyes. I of- fered it to you, and you would nt look. You were engaged. Then you are punishing me; and that s equally unfair. Nono, I m not, she denied doubtfully; but with a whimsical smile that enchanted him why, it was not discreet, what I wrote. She smiled up at him. No? he asked, in pure enjoyment. No. And then, in a moment, You would nt urge me to be in-discreet? No, I should nt urge it. I should insist upon it. I do. Come! he said, and she won- dered why she liked his air of domination bet- ter than Jaspers, though she did not altogether dislike Jaspers. And the demon said unto me, Write! paraphrased she. It was an angel, said Philip. Was it? She bent her hands hesitantly above the keyboard. But you must promise to stay angel, she said, suddenly arresting herself. She glanced up doubtfully at his face. No; I wont write it again. It was nt wise; it was nt nice. That settles it, then: I must see it. No, repeated Dorothy; you would nt like it. It was a quite wrong thing to ask. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard medi- tatively. She suddenly began to pick out the letters. Philip followed her fingers closely. He read, letter by letter, Why would nt you speak to your brother at the door.? He rose abruptly from his stooping position above the machine, coloring painfully. She looked up, at his impulsive movement, and rose herself. Oh, what have I done? she exclaimed at sight of his face. After a miserable pause, You need nt tell me. It was very wrong of me. I knew it. But it was nt I who asked, Mr. Deed. I would never have asked ~-not myself. I thought, she said, gathering her explanations painfully, or the type-writer thought, it was nt Iit escaped me, that perhaps I could reconcile, bring you togeth The words died upon her lips. It was a foolish thought,I see; and yet, she added, with recovered dignity, perhaps I had a kind 54 BENEFITS FORGOT of right to it. Your brother is an old friend, Philip looked up at this,and you you have been very good. We have always felt that we partly owe our lives to you father and Isince the day of the storm, and Philip lifted his hand with an appealing ges- ture. Well, there s nothing else to say, except that I m very sorry. But, oh, Mr. Deed, she cried suddenly, why wont you make it up with him,whatever it is and be befriends? I m sure he cant have done anything very badnothing that could make it right that you should turn from him. He is good sometimes he is hard, and he is always master- ful: yesbut he is good. You must feel that. Oh, yes, said Philip; I feel that. She glanced at him doubtfully, as if in ques- tion of his tone. I m sure I ye every reason to know of his goodness, she said, after a pause, with feeling. If it had nt been for that You would nt have been here to appre- ciate it with me, perhaps. No; I remember that. It s another of the quiet things, done without talk or fuss, by which Jasper has put me in his debt. I owe him a great deal, Miss Maurice more than you know. Again she hesitated at an indefinable note in his voice; but she said immediately, with her usual openness: I suppose an elder brother has always that great advantage the advantage of being able to do a great deal for a younger brother. It must be very pleasant to him, and he must always wish, if he is a man like your brother, to do always a little more, that he may be able to make you forget his friendly advantage over you by the mere quantity of his friendliness. In the midst of his pain and bitterness, Philip could not help smiling faintly at this, but he said, with less care about his tone: Oh, yes; I ye never had to complain of short weight with Jasper. He does nt do things by halves. When he does a really friendly thing, he heaps the measure up, and runs it over. I dont always know what to do with so much magnanimity. You cant put a landslide in your pocket, you know, Miss Maurice, and sometimes you cant even find your manners in time to make your bow. She could not avoid feeling the sardonic undertone this time, and she thought she saw, at once, that the cause of offense between them, whatever it was, was largely due to Mr. Philip Deeds sensitive, almost nervous, pride; and she thought, too, that she could guess pretty clearly, from her knowledge of the two men, something about what would be the usual situation between them. She could see how Philip might detest his brother at times for his very power of doing him favors. She knew how that was, herself. She was painfully aware in herself of the strain of meanness, or self-will, or conceit, she did not know what it was, that made the kind of generosity which is open-handed enough to allow another to be generous among the most difficult kinds of unselfishness, and she could understand yes, she could understand entirely how Philip (whose pride would be less manageable than her own by the degree in which it was a mans and commanding) would feel this pecu- liarly. The very delicacy with which Jasper would try to conceal a khTldness would be an added offense: the need for delicacy was itself humiliating. She could imagine how Philip would become angered on provocation of this sort, and how Jasper would helplessly make the matter worse not that there would be any way of making it better by his for- bearance. It would be the kind of case in which neither was to blame, and in which each must blame the other. Filled with this idea, she said, with a note of sympathy in her voice that at first bewil- dered and then angered Philip, and finally caused him to laugh a little to himself at the completeness of her error: I m sure we must all have felt that. It s strange, is nt it, that it should be so hard to accej5/ a kindness as we all find it? One would think that the effort con- nected with a kindness would be all over when it had been done. It is nt so very easy even to do it; but to receive it needs heroism. At least I find it does. And I can understand how you would feel that way about your brother, even when you were most grateful to him; and you would all the time be divided between a wish to make him feel how much you appre- ciated his kindness, and a wish to box his ears.~~ Oh, it s not a divided wish, said Philip, falling in with her mistake as the easiest defense that offered; and at this they both laughed. His ears must be smarting most of the time, said she, as her laugh ended in a smile. Why, no; not all the time, returned Philip, unwarily. You mean she began, still smiling. Nothing that I d better tell you, he said, quickly withdrawing. Oh, Mr. Deed, she exclaimed, with an electrical return to soberness, I see that there is something re~ily serious between you something that I must nt intrude on. Forgive me! I have been thinking it one of those lit- tle disagreements that a word would set right one of those wretched mistakes where two per- sons need only to be explained to each other. I see I cant do it; but you can, Mr. Deed. What? Explain myself to Jasper? I dont know. Make it right with him, or whatever men call it. Some one has always to BENEFITS FORGOT. 55 play the generous part, dont you think, where there has beenhas been a disagreement? No, Miss Maurice; I cant do that. He turned away from her, and strode toward the window. Oh, that is not like you, Mr. Deed! He would not hesitate, I am sure, in your place. In my place? returned he. She began to stammer a reply; but he said, Oh, I beg your pardon my place, in the wrong? No; my brother would not hesitate in my place. I did not say that, she put in sorrowfully. She saw that she had implied it. It does nt need saying, Miss Maurice. You only recognize a universal fact. There are laws of character, you know, and a planetary orbit is wobbly to them. Everybody who knows us at all would know, without telling, that in any question between us I must be in the wrong. And are you in the wrong in this? she asked earnestly. Tell me frankly. I will be- lieve whatever you say. You bewilder me. I dont know what to think. Tell me! she re- peated. Philip laughed harshly. You must ask Jasper that. I will, she said. No; dont, Miss Maurice. Dont on any account. Dont think of such a thing. Ah, he would be more fair! Promise me that you will not say a word of this to Jasper. Tell me yourselg then, Mr. Deed. Philip took a turn up and down the room. I cant, he said at last. You see what you leave me to think, she said sadly. Nothing good of me, he answered bit- terly. She glanced up at his face. The frankness and genuineness which she had always liked in his look shone through the hurt which pos- sessed him, and gave her confidence to say, looking up to the tall, strong-limbed figure standing above her, Do you think it just to your brother to leave him under the imputa- tion of such a silence? Philip started. Jasper? he said. Surely. Your silence implies it seems to say that your brother is somehow much in the wrong; or else Or else? asked Philip, steadily. I will not say what else. But if that is so, it is fair, it is right, that you should tell me. She sat down abruptly, as if not quite certain of herself. Philip felt, girdingly, the extreme inconve- nience attaching to all endeavors to do the fair-minded thingthe impossibility, namely, of explaining with decency. In order that you may not be thinking me much in the wrong? he said. No, Miss Maurice; I could nt do that. He turned away. You are not fair, she said, after a mo- ment, with dignity. I do not know that there is any right or wrong in the matter. I am ig- norant of everything but that you would not bow to your brother in my presence. I have put my plea on the score of peacemaking, and if you feel that I have meddled, I am rightly served; but I have a right to ask why you should put a slight on a gentleman whom you meet here as as her voice broke as my guest, Mr. Deed. He came back and stood before her. You have a right to ask that, Miss Maurice, and perhaps I have no right not to answer you. But I cannot answer you. Then I must think That I have done a wrong to Jasper which I am unwilling to repair or own. Yes, Miss Maurice.~~ I do not mean that, she said wistfully, and he saw that she was on the verge of tears, yet had to blunder savagely on. What else can you mean? There is but the choice. You must believe in Jasper or in me. Oh, I knew it! she cried, as if to herself. I foresaw it! It was for that that I had to try to make it right between you. I could not bear She broke down suddenly. You mean that you wished to keep us both for friends. You know now that that is impossible. We are enemies. We cannot have or keep a common friend. Which will you choose? The passionate tone of demand roused her. She straightened herself imperceptibly in her seat on the couch, and raised her head, look- ing up, and confronting his flushed face. I will answer your question when you have answered mine, she said. She rose, and held out her hand listlessly. Philip took it as formally, and suddenly left the room. His head was down. He felt sick spiritually sick to his inmost fiber. XIV. PHILIP went out and got on his horse, and rode furiously toward the Snow Find. This was the end, he supposed. And for this, again, he had to thank Jasper. He gnashed his teeth as he set his spur in the ponys flank and swept over the long level stretch by the river, out- side the town. He had made a fool of himself again, and, as usual, not in a way in which Jasper would have made a fool of himself. His sense of the unhandsomeness, of the im- possibility, of telling her of the actual state of 56 BENEFITS FORGOT the case between them seemed in this open light of the prairie, with the wind blowing in his face, an incredible piece of folly. Why should he consider Jasper? Would he have spared him in the same situation? He saw at once that this had nothing to do with the matter, and that it was not for Jaspers sake that he had held his tongue. It was for his own: he could nt have gone on living in the body of a man who had told her that. If he had told it he knew very well with what object he would have spoken. He would have done it to malign his rival to her (it had come to that between him and Jasper; he might as well face it); he would have done it to take a sneaking advantage with a woman of an op- portunity to spike another mans guns. That would be bad enough with any man for his rival; but with Jasper it would be a thing which he would never be able to hold up his head after doing. It became too dirty a piece of reprisal to think of. The perception of the impossibility of doing anything to jaspers in- jury, which he had urged upon his father, had laid a firm and withholding grip upon him in the midst of the temptation to tell her every- thing; and now it reasserted itself as a final motive, as a thing not to be questioned or dodged; as a principle to which he must be faithful, wholly without regard to what it might cost him. It had cost him indirectly his fathers friendship, already, and had driven his father to the wretched refuge of flight from an im- agined evil; and now it had probably cost his own happiness. He cursed Jasper, as he thought of it, between his teeth. He was glad to be going to Durango on the morrow to seek his father; he thought he should remain a week. But in the event he was back the second day. It had become a necessity to him to see her, if only at a hope- less distance. Dorothy often bit her lip in the days im- mediately following Philips call, when she thought of the part she had played. She had been wrong in meddling, of course, and she accused herself bitterly; but she also accused him. What right had he to drag her into the question between himself and his brother, whatever it was? Why should she take sides? She said to herself that, whatever he might do, he should not change her neutrality. She was the friend of both. What effect could any quar- rel between them have upon that fact? She was most their friend when she refused to al- low their difference to invade her relation to them. She was grateful to Jasper for refrain- ing from making on his part so difficult a de- mand upon her friendship; she felt his silence about the whole matter to be a fine generosity. It delicately implied the real character of the difference between the brothers as she had guessed it from the first; it was part of that for- bearance which he would have used to avoid the quarrel itself, and which he would now be the first to tender to his brother if he would accept it. The other kind of generosity the freedom with which Philip gave himself and all that he had in the smaller daily mattersshe saw was, after all, a less deep and genuine un- selfishness than this patient restraint and self- effacement of Jaspers. In smaller things his attitude had not the charm of Philips gay and thoughtless open-handedness; but when a seri- ous opportunity arose an opportunity for a brave and self-denying magnanimityit was easy to see which was the stronger. She said to herself that it was true, what she had often thought, that Philip was light. When a woman makes reflections like these, it would be a mistake to seek their basis wholly in the psychological facts with which she be- lieves herself to be reasoning. It was at all events true that before Dorothy had matured all of these thoughts about the character of the brothers, Philip had remained away from the house several days, and that a certain chival- ric reserve in Jaspers bearing toward an old question between them had renewed in her a vague remorse. She had supposed herself to have settled all that, to have put it away in the lumber-room of her memory, where she need visit it only in those moments of sentiment when a dreamy willingness to pain herself possessed her. But a discarded lover is both a more material and a more importunate fact when he happens to be in the same town than when he lives before the mental vision only in the letter of dignified complaint which must be answered with the statement of an unhappy truth. Jasper, in the flesh, patient, unreproachful, and obdurately faithful to a love which she had fancied as dead in him as it was in her, was a different man from the one she had pictured as suffering for as long a time as her action had remained a vivid theme of remorse to her, and as getting over it by the same gradual process through which she had emerged from her remorse. He had not got over it, and he was by her side. Their engagement, if one could call it that, if it was the kind of engagement on which marriage is supposed to follow; Dorothy be- lieved that she had never called it that to her- self,had been one of the school-boy and -girl follies at which one smiles with wonder at twenty-five, and tells to ones grandchildren at sixty with a fond laugh, and a passing inward question touching the color of those curls now. It had been a pleasant diversion between them the kind of thing which is a little more intense and a little more entertaining than the tennis BENEFITS FORGOT 57 that one would be playing at that age if one were not engaged in being engaged; but to think of it as the sort of stuff of which one would make a life, was to speak from the dis- ordered outlook upon things in which all mea- sures and values melt into a mess of triviality. It had lasted between them until Dorothy began to go out into society, and to see the world and other men. She did not begin to compare, then, but she perceived a betrothal to be a different matter from the agreeable play- thing it had seemed at school: she began to question with her conscience whether she had a right to go on with so serious a thing unse- riously. Was it dealing fairly by him? She saw thatitwasnot; yet she tried, with a womans devotion to an impossible unselfishness, to keep it up. Jasper had gone West to the ranch by this time, and in degree as the affair seemed wrong and mistaken to her, she found herself endeavoring to make up to him for the wrong (which, if it was really any of hers, was hers un- consciously) by writing him more faithfully. This, too, seemed dishonest, after a time, and, in despair, she let the correspondence flag, believ- ing, or hoping, that he would divine what had happened, and that he would save her the pain of explaining. Surely it was natural enough; he was a man by this time, as she was a woman, and he must know how inevitable it was. He perceived as quickly as she coul4 have desired that there was a change; but he showed no inclination to spare her in defining it. Brought face to face with the necessity for ac- tion, she passed a bitter time, in which she struggled with her conscience and the propri- eties. To a young girl it still seems doubtful whether, after all, she may not better wreck her life and a mans than be talked about. In her highest moments of self-sacrifice she thought she could go on with it; then it would come time to write him a letter, and she would see that she could not even do as much as that. How was she to live with him for fifty years? Jaspers complaint took at last that tone of demand which lay under the surface of his most pliant moods; and in the end she saw that she must write him all that was in her heart. It was a very right-spirited letter, telling him the bare truth: that she did not love him as she had supposed, that to marry with no better feel- ing than she could bring to him would be a per- manent wrong to both him and her, and would merely procure their common unhappiness; and begging him to release her from their en- gagement. Jasper came on to the Pennsylvania city where her father was just then settled over a church, and an interview followed of the sort which men and women remember on their death-beds. But she did not yield, and Jasper went back to the ranch a changed man. He was hard about women now; he felt himself cruelly misused. He was very bitter. He said to himself that he did not care what he did now. She was responsible for it. He had said as much to her in his anger. Dorothy, in fact, stood for and symbolized every good thought that he had e4er had: she was the goddess of his dreams of being some time a little cleaner and a more straightforward man than he had yet contrived to be. He was accustomed to say that she could do anything with him, and he had kept her in a species of bondage to this, while they had been together during their engagement. This was one of the facts which had wrought upon Dorothy while it was still a question whether she should do right to break the en- gagement; it was part of the perilous power that there is for every woman in the passionate need for her of a man who does not on other accounts create an answering need in her. It is perhaps a phase of the mother instinct into which all forms of womans love tend to dis- solve; but it is certainly always an argument with a woman strong out of all proportion to its actual validity; and it had not only been a part of the reluctant push toward the self- sacrifice she had once contemplated, but, in meeting Jasper, the sense of it was found to have still a power for pain. She was surprised and chagrined that it should be so, but soit was; and in the solitude of her chamber at night, after Jasper had taken away his melancholy eyes, with the look of a settled sorrow in them, and she had freed herself from the influence of his patient reserve about all that had been between them, she wept mis- erable tears. She dried them when she remem- bered to be indignant at his attitude. She would rather a thousand times be upbraided for what she had doneif she had done any- thingthan to be arraigned by that deferen- tial silence which forbearingly would not bring its charge. It was a studied insult, she said to herself. But the next day it seemed a chivalry beyond praise. It seemed this most when she recognized, as she found herself doing in occa- sional flashes, her girlish ideal in his handsome face and figure, his daring and commanding manner, his air of power, his effect of having his hand on the wheel of the earth, his brilliant and indomitable will. Jasper came often during this period of Phil- ips withdrawal; but she never proposed to him the question she had told Philip she should ask him. Something in his manner when she mentioned Philip forbade it; and it would be unfair, she saw, to make him own up to the gallant gentleness and magnanimity he would have used in all this affair with his sensitive and high-strung brother. The use of the ad- 58 BENEFITS FORGOT jectives that both condemned and praised him brought Philip sharply before her mind, and she felt again, as if it had been at the moment, the pain that the scene between them had given her. She liked him too well to wish to hurt him, and she had felt that she was hurting him with every word she said. Perhaps he was too easily wounded; but that seemed, now, a fault that one might forgive nay, certainly ought to forgive to such an occasion. How hot-headed he was! She found herself saying this, with a kind of laughing fondness, to her- self. It seemed suddenly almost a likable trait in him. It was his finenessthe wrong side of it, to be sure, but still his fineness. And if he was swift to anger, he was swift to feel: it was because of that. It was easy for other men to be calm: they did not care so much per- haps did not care at all. This made her think of Jasper; and to think of Jasper made her lift her eyes from her type-writer, and allow her glance to rove out of doors, with an impulsive wish that it might be Philip instead of Jasper with whom she was to ride at two oclock. The Maurices house stood, not far from the Vertners, on the outskirts of the town, and the sun swept an unbroken stretch of plain to look on Dorothy at her window. The glowing light and the brisk air without gave her along- ing to be galloping away into the shining day. Her eyes rested with liking on the broad, sunlit level reaching to the mountains. If she looked straight before her she could keep the prospect untouched by the sight of a single habitation. She heaved a little sigh. She should probably never meet Philip again, let alone ride with him. The outlook from her window gave all her thoughts a pleasant turn, however; and she saw herself forgiving something to any one who should ride up into the foreground of this prospect leading a saddle-horse. xv. JASPER took up the interrupted thread of his life at the ranch with zest, in ignorance of what had happened in his absence. It gave him an agreeable thrill to resume his place, to vault into the seat of authority, once more, in put- ting his leg over Vixens back. He wondered, as he went about on his horse, hearing reports and giving orders, why he ever abandoned even temporarily this little kingdom, where his word was law, and where he could see from day to day his personal foresight, shrewdness, and force taking visible shape in the increase of his herd, in the extension of his domain, and in the growth of his influence among the cat- tle-men of the district. Yes, it was a mistake to spend his time in running across the conti- nent, while this position was his at home a position which he would not barter for that of any one he knew; which he would not sell, knowing what he did of the future it prom- ised, for any sum he was likely to be offered; and which he would not share with any one on earth. Ah, yes. To be sure he had done right to go to New York. The intention he foresaw in his father to force the question of Philips share in the range on him, before his marriage, threatened the position itself. It was not a thing he could wish to face out personally; and if he had ever had the slightest inclination to divide his power at the ranch, this would have been the last time he would have selected. Just now, when the fruits of the hard work, the sagacity, the devotion of his five years on the range began to show, was he to share re- sultsand, much worse, control over future results with Philip? He had borne the bur- den and heat of the day, had watered and tended his little tree, had suffered and groaned and sweated to bring it to bearing; and here came Philip loafing, in his usual way, into a soft thing that some one else had paid for, and wanting to help pick the fruit and reorganize gardening methods. Jasper had looked on with a scornful eye while Philip spread his series of idle and fatuous experiments over a wide geography. If his father was willing to pay for such cleverness in devising schemes for dodging the main point, he was nt. The main point, as he saw it, was workhard work, guided by stiff common sense. He was a worker himself, and he was nt taking into partnership fellows who liked fishing better than fence-building, and who, in place of his capacity for making one dollar two, knew only how to spend one and borrow two. In Maverick, Jasper was welcomed back heartily, for the most part. There were men who had been overreached by him in a cattle- trade who marred the pleasure he found in the general acclamation by avoiding him, or by greeting him surlily; there was a widow whom he had been obliged to press in a little fore- closure matter connected with a house he had bought on speculation in Maverick, and she had her circle of sympathizers. But these were trifling notes in the chorus of good-will. Just before leaving for New York, Jasper had succeeded in organizing the cattle-men of the valley into a Mutual Protective Association, designed to check cattle-thieving (by which many owners had suffered heavily of late); to apply a stricter system to the round-ups; to put a stop to the loose practice of branding mavericks, wherever found, between round- ups; to join other associations in petitioning Congress for a better law to prevent the spread of the foot-and-mouth disease among BENEFITS FORGOT 59 cattle; and especially to keep all newcomers out of the valley, the association officially de- claring the range to be overstocked. There had been certain difficulties in form- ing the combination; half a dozen forces, from various causes, were against it; and the fact that Jasper, against all opposition, had pushed his plan to a successful conclusion had given him, in his absence, a new and stronger position in Maverick. He had always been popular; but the town now began to feel that it owed him something. There was even talk of nominating him in the spring for the office his father had once held; and it was said that, if he played his cards xvell, he need nt stop at the mayoralty. At least one eye watched interestedly the subdued and decent air of triumph with which Jasper received these signs of the predomi- nance which he might presently claim in the town. Mr. Snells sagacious glance pursued him furtively from behind the windows of his Miners Supply Store, as he rode by on horse- back, when he came into Maverick from the ranch following his disappearance down the street with a sardonic smile, and a slow, humorous working of his tongue within his cheek, which seemed to do him good. They were all at Iras one night when some one said that he supposed the next thing they would hear would be that Jasper had bought out his fathers half interest in the ranch. He said that he had heard he did nt know whether there was anything in it or not, of course, but he had heard that Jasper had made an almighty good thing in stocks while he was on in New York. Trust him for know- ing a good thing! He seemed to have his fathers long business head with something else besides something like clutch. Nobody ever heard of his letting go of anything that he once laid his fist over, and his father, spite of his will (it was a dose for an adult, that will; the speaker had tried it), had let things slip, and lost a fortune. It would be queer if Jasper should pull up and pass his father in the race, now would nt it? It would be like Deed to be glad. He was gone on those sons of his. He did nt seem to have his natural sense where they were concerned. But it would be interesting if after his father had given him a half share in the partnership, Jasper should be able to buy the other half for himself. Queer partnership, that, anyway, grunted Mr. Snell from the other side of the cloud of smoke that filled the bar-room. Snell was re- puted to have made a fortune in fitting out mining-parties, in the early days of the Lead- ville boom, with a very bad grade of goods at prices not without a touch of naivet6 for the impartial spectator not obliged to pay them. And he had made a good thing by grub- staking two or three young men who had been lucky in prospecting the hills about Aspen. With the coming of fortune he had put on a precise habit of speech (it was a carefully made garment, but the old would sometimes play him the low trick of showing through in patches), and had waked up one morning with a respect for himself which required the use of the third person in referring to Mr. Snell. What Mr. Snell says is like this, contin- ued Mr. Snell: A man s all off as soon as he begins bringing family considerations into busi- ness. Mr. Snell has nothing against them: he s a family man himself. But he says to his sons, he says, Look here now, Fred, if you want any- thing out ofyour old father, you have got to earn it; and if you want to do business with him, you have got to do business on business prin- ciples, every time, sir. And he does it, too, gentlemen. The rate of interest is just as high under Mr. Snells roof and fig-tree as it is down at his store. The multiplication-table was. always good enough for me, and I guess it 11 have to do for my boys, he added grimly, with an unwary lapse into the first person. Two per cent. a month, unquestionable security, notes protested right alongthat s what does it, gentlemen. Ask no favors, and take none; and more especially have a cast- iron, copper-riveted, water-tight contract with your relatives, if you re foolish enough to have any, and bail the machine dry of family feel- ing before you start. Now, Mr. Deed has got a notion in his head, near as I can make out, that there s two answers to twice two. Down in town here it makes four; but out at the ranch, when he s dealing with that son of his, Jasper, it makes five, or three, or some other fool figger. A loyal murmur rose from the crowd at this, and Snell concluded doggedly: Well, any- way, what Mr. Snell says is like this: There s a place for everything, he says, and the place for family feeling is at the family fireside. Family furnace up Mr. Snells way, aint it, Snell? asked one of the group. He was joked on his peculiarity, of course, but the town did not venture far in this direction. He owned a good share of the houses of Maver- ick, was a hard landlord, and employed a number of people in his business and at his mines. Times were not alwaysperhaps never of the best in Maverick; and no one felt that he could quite afford the luxury of making an enemy of Snell. I ye put in a furnace lately, sir, I admit. Yes, sir, said he, truculently; and I may be out of my count, he went on, with a remote im- plication which was not lost on men who liked 6o BENEFITS FORGOT their humor oblique, but I think I say I think, young man Ive got a receipt for the coal bill. Come back to make things hum again out at your ranch, I judge, Mr. Snell said to Jasper when, about a week after the talk be- tween Dorothy and Philip, Jasper stopped his horse in the street to speak to him. Jasper made a point of speaking all men fair, and humoring the willingness of everybody to be- lieve his existence a constant matter for joy- ous surprise to all good fellows. Yes, Mr. Snell, yes; things get to loose ends in the masters absence, dont they? Personal supervision is the only plan, I find. I know it s your plan. Not many things escape your eye. Mr. Snell drew his lips to a point, and, strok- ing them deprecatingly, pretended to weigh the question. Well, not a great, he con- sented. I suppose, now, you rather enjoy seeing the wheels start up again, he went on in a moment, in another tone; like to crack your whip and see things moving, eh? Jasper glanced at him. XVhy, it s pleasant to be back, he said. When a man really Ukes his business, there s nothing like business, after all, is there, Mr. Snell? Nothing, agreed Mr. Snell nothing. Not if it is your business, at least, he qualified; not if you run the machine, not if you re on top. Well, we should nt care to be anywhere else, should we, Mr. Snell? laughed Jasper, easily. Mr. Snell flashed his furtive look on him, and dropped his eyes immediately. No, he assented, with his dry smile. It was a wrinkled smile, like the skin of a last years apple, with- ered and pensive and loose. It seemed to be- come in a moment a little large for his face, and he hastily smoothed it out. No, he repeated; I dont believe we should. You would nt, anyway, I judge. You would nt never be caught hankering, Mr. Snell guesses, for the place of that fellow in the theater or- chestras that hits them brasses once in a while, and dandles them sleigh-bells, and whacks his drum in between. I guess, if any one was to do much figgering about your place, they d see you belonged a leetle nigher the middle of the orchestrasomething not too all-fired far from the conductors chair; and I should nt wonder if they come around to the idee that the center of his chair was not far off the right thing. You d want a baton in your hand, and then matters would begin to rumble around there. Eh? he shouted in enjoyment, rub- bing his hands. Jasper laughed. He could enjoy even Mr. Snells attribution of the naturalness of the place of command to him. Snell went away, rubbing his hands with a glee out of proportion to the superficial dimen- sions of the joke; and when he was alone in his private office at the store, drew a paper indorsed Bill of Sale of Triangle Outfit from a bundle of documents in his safe, and, seating himself in his capacious leather chair, read it over in smiling silence. When Jasper, while still at breakfast next morning, saw Snells leathery face come sud- denly into the sunny prospect from his window, appearing and disappearing with the motions of his horse, he was unable to. imagine why he should be taking the long ride from Maverick at such an hour to see him. He had had no dealings with him fornearly a year; what should he want of him? He accounted for his pres- ence for a moment by the fantastic supposi- tion that Snell was running out to see him for a little early morning exercise, and for the plea- sure of a chat with him; and he allowed him- self a smile at this idea. Snell no more took aimless exercise on horseback than the other residents of Maverick did, and if it was a question of riding five miles for the sake of a chat with him (Jasper), he thought he saw Snell wasting good business time in that fashion. The talk of yesterday came back to him: he had thought at the time that old Snell (he called him old, though he was scarcely fifty, because, in the absence of the absolutely old in the West, middle age has to typify senility) probably wanted something with all that pala- vering, and here he was to make what profit he could out of it. Jasper determined that it should be small. It was a bore, his coming at break- fast-time. Could n2t he let a man eat his meals in peace? he growled to himself. Jasper combined with his habit of hard work certain luxurious tastes, which he did not al- low to interfere with business. He rose early for work (it was one of his counts against Philip that he was never up to breakfast); but he liked a dash of Florida water in his bath, and spent rather more than an hour in grooming himself for the day. He listened to reports about the condition of things within the immediate pre- cinct ofthe ranch-house from his cowboy cook at breakfast, and gave him his orders then; but he required a dainty table from him, and did not spare the daily energy necessary to secure a luxury so foreign to every condition of the life he was leading. He dressed like his men be- cause th~y would not have tolerated anything else, andbecause it was part of his pose of good fellow to make himself one of them; but it was one of the marvels of the Valley that he should be allowed to go so neat without losing accep- tance with his cow-punchers. It was certainly not because he was obviously a man who must be neat and dainty to live, that this unworthy BENEFITS FORGOT 6i niceness was pardoned in him, though the most casual glance must have shown any one that, but through the respect he commanded among his men on other accounts. For a range of fifty miles about the ranch it was understood that Jasper Deed was not the man one would choose to monkey with. The loose hang of his dressing-gown about his stalwart figure, as he sat at breakfast, con- cealed the physical sufficiency which was one of the sources of this feeling; as he rose and stretched himself and went to the window to bow to Snell, with his hands thrust deep into the low pockets of the robe, it might have been guessed, perhaps. He had, in fact, no such strength as Philips; but his closely knit frame gave him the credit to the eye of every ounce of force in him, while Philips sturdy figure, carded without Jaspers distinction, had only the effect of its rude power. Jasper was one of the perfectly molded physical products which Nature turns out in her most careful and work- manlike perhaps not her most inspired moods. He was built like a firmly rooted, straight, strong young tree; and his grace, his refinement, his physical adequacy were like that; they took the beholder with their absolute adaptability to theirfunction, with the propriety of their place in Nature. It was this effect in him which made it seem natural that he should keep himself trim; it was by way of being a tribute of respect to so right a figure in the pageant of things. His face had the symmetry that goes with such perfect forms. It was not very unlike cer- tain other correct and manly faces, of course. That is the penalty one pays for having the stan- dard face that in degree as other faces ap- proach the standard they must be like ones own; but even this fault was mitigated, when he spoke, by a hard line of determination which formed itself on each side of his mouth, and by the glance of resolve shining from his eyes. The little frown habitually lowering his strongly marked eyebrows, and a habit of twisting the end of his heavy golden mustache, when he spoke, as if quelling things stronger than it would be useful to say, contributed to his ef- fect of force. Jasper turned from the window, through which Snell was visible, and threw two or three sticks of wood on the andirons. The ranch- house, which was a Queen Anne cottage built by an Eastern architect under the supervision of Deed, but much influenced in its construc- tion by Jaspers wishes, was set directly under the range of mountains that one saw from Mav- erick, and the-rear windows looked out upon the pine-clad lower slopes of Mount Blanco. Ah, Mr. Snell, he said, as he turned to greet him, you re an early bird this morn- ing. Take a seat. Nothing like an early morning ride to put life into a man, is there? No no, assented Mr. Snell, absently, as he took the seat, laid his hat carefully on the floor, and fumbled in his breast-pocket for a paper. Well, I m glad to see you letting up a bit on the daily grind. We all work too hard out here. A little too hasty about chasing up the almighty cart-wheel; yes, a trifle too hurried. But it rolls, does nt it, if you dont scramble after it with the rest? Jasper put his hand to the back of his head and smoothed his carefully brushed hair. It rolls. That s my experience. It is not wealth, nor rank, nor state, But git up and git that makes men great. Our Colorado maxim says it for us, and it s about so, I suppose. Eh, Mr. Snell? Jasper gathered his dressing-gown about him, and seated himself luxuriously in his favorite chair before the fire, watching Snell warily from beneath his drooping lids, with every trading instinct in him alert under this rambling fire- of amiability and worldly wisdom. Snell was there to get an advantage over him in some shape; he knew that as well as if he had car- ried a placard about his neck to advertise him of the fact. He gathered himself together with the secure consciousness that he knew whose the advantage would be when he bowed Snell out of his door. Well, it aint quite a holiday that Mr. Snell s taking this morning, admitted Mr. Snell, smacking his dry lips, as a preliminary to business, and observing Jasper, whose eyes were on his watch-chain, with a curious look a look instantly broadened to a smile at some subtle joke which, at the lifting of Jaspers head, he apparently saw in this. I guess Mr. Snell has nt taken a vacation from chasing up his own little mighty dollar yet,not a very long one, anyhow,and he dont seem extra likely to, while the present scarcity rules. Are they scarce, Mr. Snell ? asked Jasper. Well, dont you find em so? Jasper hesitated a moment. Why, to tell the truth, no, I dont. It takes all my time and some lively rustling to keep them plenty, of course. But I dont mind telling you, Mr. Snell, that I have a pretty good thing here or my father and I have. With two or three open winters, like the last two we ye had, we shant be poor men. The increase is enor- mous, you know, if you dont lose all your cattle in the winter storms, and prices have been fairly good lately. I dont believe in the policy of running down your business, and play- ing poor all the time. I m not poor myself, and I dont know that I care who knows it. 62 BENEFITS FORGOT .Why, that s good! That s good ! nodded Such, and he let the gloating smile that had been working about the corners of his mouth go now, in sheer incapacity to contain his tri- umph longer. He longed to play his victim further, but he had to say it. That s the kind of news that warms the cockles of an owners heart, aint it? Mr. Snell dont mind owning up, if you press him, that it warms his. He s been buying some cattle himself lately. Indeed, Mr. Snell ! said Jasper, politely. Whose? Yours, returned Snell. He locked his withered hands within each other, and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, and fixing his eyes on Jasper. Jasper straightened out of his lounging atti- tude involuntarily. His face paled. He found his smile and cigarette instantly, and rose to pick out an allumette on the mantel, with a low laugh of self-contempt, which Snell took for derision of his statement. You dont believe it, said Snell to his back, with a gurgling note of contentment in his voice. Well, I dont know as I expected you to, he drawled. Mr. Snell said to him- self, when he started out to pay this little morning call, that some of his remarks might require substantiation not necessarily for publication, but as a guarantee of good faith, as the Lone Creok Rustler says in its Notices to Correspondents. Well, Mr. Deed, I dare say I can substantiate. Might cast your eye over that, he said, coiling his tongue into his cheek to keep himself in subjection; and that, he added, laying a second paper on the mantel, and still contriving to subdue an importunate smile. Jasper stooped to the fire on the hearth and kindled his allumette deliberately before rejoining. He was flushed as he rose, per- haps with stooping, but he turned and faced Snell without haste or heat. Who s your employer in this game, Snell ? He rounded his lips and shaped a ring with the smoke, watching it climb to the ceiling with affectionate solicitude. Who are you acting for? who s your principal? which of my well-wishers put you up to this scheme? he repeated as Snell did not answer. He looked down into Snells bemused face, as he thrust his hands into the pockets of his dressing-gown, and puffed at his cigarette. I swear, Snell, I gave you credit for more pene- tration than to waste your time for any one on a scheme that takes me for an unfledged tender- foot. Do you think I m here for my health? Snell had recovered himself, and said, with patient good humor: No, Mr. Deed; I never thought that; your worst enemy would nt accuse you of that. There s good reading in them papers, he added, with the effect of an afterthought. Entertain yourself with it, then, said Jas- per, taking them from where they lay on the mantel, and tossing them to him. Snell caught them dexterously, without relaxing the smile which he no longer took pains to conceal, and which spread beamingly now to all his features. I m not in want of reading-matter here, continued Jasper; and if you ye no- thing more to say, Mr. Snell Oh, I ye got plenty more to say, if that s all, responded Snell, imperturbably; and you d like this reading. Hm-hm This in- denture hm this day hm party of the first part, and Abraham Snell, party of the second part, witnesseth: would you like to know what it witnesseth? he inquired, opening wide the document he had been pre- tending to take stealthy peeps at while he read. He looked up at Jasper cunningly. Jasper scowled back darkly at him. Oh, drop that leer, Snell! XVhat are you driving at? Why, I ye got a deed here of the Tn- angle Outfit whole concern, you know, he said, looking up into Jaspers paling face blandly: house, land, fences, water privi- leges, run of the range, and one of the largest and finest bunches of cattle in the State; in- creasing enormously, I believe you said. A deed of my range of my cattle! re- peated Jasper. Well, drawled Snell, with his habitual deprecating pull at his puckered lips, not too all-firedly, tee-totally yours. Some of it your fathers, aint it ?say about two thirds. Iguess its a good deed. Ought to be deed from a Deed, you know. He leered up into Jaspers miserable face, with a smile of enjoyment. From my father! Stuff! Do you know his writing? Snell began to open out the paper. Jasper snatched it from him. At sight of the signature he burst out in a great imprecation. He turned livid, and Snell got hastily on his feet, fearing that he would fall. But he left the fireplace quickly, and going over to the window read the whole document slowly through. What devils cunning did you use with my father to get him to sign this? he asked, turn- ing on Snell, as he finished. Not any, responded Snell, cheerily. I guess you used that for me, Mr. Deed, if all your father said was true. I d have worked tooth and nail for a year to a got that deed signed, just as it is there, I dont mind telling you, Mr. Deed, and been glad of the chance. But your father saved me the trouble. He came and offered me the bargain, he urged it on me, he crammed it down my throat; and after beating him down a trifle, just for self- A LIE. 63 respect, you know, I yielded politely. He was rather in a hurry, and I did nt want to bother him with a refusal not at that price, he qualified, stroking his chin. Ranges like this aint going at $25,000well, not every day. He glanced at Jasper, and his eye dropped irresistibly in a wink. T aint no bad bar- gain, he went on, with a lapse into the cruder forms of his speech. I dont mind owning up to that, now it s signed and sealed, and the out- fit s mine. Snell did not miss the wince and the clench of the teeth with which Jasper re- ceived this. But it was nt the bargain I was afternot entirely. Jasper stared at him. I suppose you ye forgotten that little transaction of ours a year ago come next spring, Mr. Deed? Yes; I thought you would have. Well, you see I ain/. That s the difference. Oh, Mr. Snell s got a memory for kind deeds. Kind deeds can never, never die, the old song says. We used to sing it in our Sunday- school back in the New Hampshire days. Dont know that sacred toon, perhaps? But it s a good toon, all the same a good, old-fash- ioned truth-telling toon. They cant die kind deeds; and if they could, I would nt let em. But I aint had no trouble keeping this one alive: it s got up with me every morning, and made my breakfast happy for me; and it s gone to bed with me every night, and helped me to put in a good nights rest. I aint forgot, Mr. J. Deed, if you have, he said, rising, and nodding his head bitterly toward Jasper; and I ye paid out a tidy sum for this here little dokyment,snatching it from Jaspers loose clasp, and shaking it in his bony claws, just to get it to help say so for me. I hope the language is plain, Mr. Deed. Jasper kept his hands from Snells collar with difficulty. Quite, Mr. Snell, he said, with his usual coolness. You ye paid $25,000 for a piece of paper that is worth, at the outside, twenty-five cents. That makes the expense of registering your disapproval of something I ye (To be continued.) done, or left undone I really dont recall the particular villainy you allude totwenty-four thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars and seventy-five cents. It s not a bad bargain, as Mr. Snells bargains go. What! screamed Snell. I say your deed, as you call it, is nt worth the paper it s written on. Oh, it aint, aint it? sneered Snell, com- fortably. No. My father had no more right to make that sale than you would have had. Snell laughed cheerfully. Think you re the only man who aint here as a sanitary mea- sure, do you? I took a lawyers advice before I closed with that poor father of yours that aint got no rights. I m not here for my health not altogether. When will you be ready to give me possession? Never, returned Jasper, closing his lips. Oh, come! Im willing to accommodate, but the date s too late. Make it a day or two earliersay to-morrow. He flirted the deed carelessly about in his hand. I 11 tell you something I won/ postpone, said Jasper, his fingers working by his side. Yes? inquired Snell, with the irritating rising inflection. And that s putting you out of the house. Jasper began to roll up his sleeve. Inhospitable, aint you? said Snell, tak- ing up his hat nonchalantly. That aint the way I 11 treat you when I m master here. Judge I d better bring the sheriff with me when I come to take possession to-morrow, he said tentatively at the door. Jasper glared at him. Snell shut the door hastily. When he had gone, Jasper ran to his room, cast off his dressing-gown, and drew on his riding-boots. Vixen was ready for him when he came down-stairs, and he flung himself upon her. He dug his spurs into her. Snell was making his way back to Maverick by an- other road. Wo/co// Bales/icr. A LIE. SHE told a lie, a little lie, It was so small and white, She said, It cannot help but die Before another night. And then she laughed to see it go, And thought it was as white as snow. But oh, the lie! it larger grew, Nor paused by night or day, And many watched it as it flew, And, if it made delay, Like something that was near to death They blew it onward with their breath. And on its track the mildew fell, And there were grief and shame, And many a spotless lily-bell Was shriveled as with flame. The wings that were so small and white Were large, and strong, and black as night. One day a woman stood aghast, And trembled in her place, For something flying far and fast Had smote her in the face Something that cried in thunder-tone, I come! I come! i/Take back your own!~~ Ellen AL H Ga/es.

Ellen M. H. Gates Gates, Ellen M. H. A Lie 63-64

A LIE. 63 respect, you know, I yielded politely. He was rather in a hurry, and I did nt want to bother him with a refusal not at that price, he qualified, stroking his chin. Ranges like this aint going at $25,000well, not every day. He glanced at Jasper, and his eye dropped irresistibly in a wink. T aint no bad bar- gain, he went on, with a lapse into the cruder forms of his speech. I dont mind owning up to that, now it s signed and sealed, and the out- fit s mine. Snell did not miss the wince and the clench of the teeth with which Jasper re- ceived this. But it was nt the bargain I was afternot entirely. Jasper stared at him. I suppose you ye forgotten that little transaction of ours a year ago come next spring, Mr. Deed? Yes; I thought you would have. Well, you see I ain/. That s the difference. Oh, Mr. Snell s got a memory for kind deeds. Kind deeds can never, never die, the old song says. We used to sing it in our Sunday- school back in the New Hampshire days. Dont know that sacred toon, perhaps? But it s a good toon, all the same a good, old-fash- ioned truth-telling toon. They cant die kind deeds; and if they could, I would nt let em. But I aint had no trouble keeping this one alive: it s got up with me every morning, and made my breakfast happy for me; and it s gone to bed with me every night, and helped me to put in a good nights rest. I aint forgot, Mr. J. Deed, if you have, he said, rising, and nodding his head bitterly toward Jasper; and I ye paid out a tidy sum for this here little dokyment,snatching it from Jaspers loose clasp, and shaking it in his bony claws, just to get it to help say so for me. I hope the language is plain, Mr. Deed. Jasper kept his hands from Snells collar with difficulty. Quite, Mr. Snell, he said, with his usual coolness. You ye paid $25,000 for a piece of paper that is worth, at the outside, twenty-five cents. That makes the expense of registering your disapproval of something I ye (To be continued.) done, or left undone I really dont recall the particular villainy you allude totwenty-four thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars and seventy-five cents. It s not a bad bargain, as Mr. Snells bargains go. What! screamed Snell. I say your deed, as you call it, is nt worth the paper it s written on. Oh, it aint, aint it? sneered Snell, com- fortably. No. My father had no more right to make that sale than you would have had. Snell laughed cheerfully. Think you re the only man who aint here as a sanitary mea- sure, do you? I took a lawyers advice before I closed with that poor father of yours that aint got no rights. I m not here for my health not altogether. When will you be ready to give me possession? Never, returned Jasper, closing his lips. Oh, come! Im willing to accommodate, but the date s too late. Make it a day or two earliersay to-morrow. He flirted the deed carelessly about in his hand. I 11 tell you something I won/ postpone, said Jasper, his fingers working by his side. Yes? inquired Snell, with the irritating rising inflection. And that s putting you out of the house. Jasper began to roll up his sleeve. Inhospitable, aint you? said Snell, tak- ing up his hat nonchalantly. That aint the way I 11 treat you when I m master here. Judge I d better bring the sheriff with me when I come to take possession to-morrow, he said tentatively at the door. Jasper glared at him. Snell shut the door hastily. When he had gone, Jasper ran to his room, cast off his dressing-gown, and drew on his riding-boots. Vixen was ready for him when he came down-stairs, and he flung himself upon her. He dug his spurs into her. Snell was making his way back to Maverick by an- other road. Wo/co// Bales/icr. A LIE. SHE told a lie, a little lie, It was so small and white, She said, It cannot help but die Before another night. And then she laughed to see it go, And thought it was as white as snow. But oh, the lie! it larger grew, Nor paused by night or day, And many watched it as it flew, And, if it made delay, Like something that was near to death They blew it onward with their breath. And on its track the mildew fell, And there were grief and shame, And many a spotless lily-bell Was shriveled as with flame. The wings that were so small and white Were large, and strong, and black as night. One day a woman stood aghast, And trembled in her place, For something flying far and fast Had smote her in the face Something that cried in thunder-tone, I come! I come! i/Take back your own!~~ Ellen AL H Ga/es. PERSONAL IMPRESSIONS OF NICARAGUA. WITH PICTURES BY THE AUTHOR. .YLIGHT found us well off the coast of Jamaica, bound for Greytown, on the Mosquito Coast, our after- decks covered with darkies and their families going in search of work on the canal. For several days we bowled along over high rollers so blue that the strong- est color on the palette would be driven wild with envy could it but appreciate its weakness. The trade-winds were blowing strong, temper- ing the heat of the sun; not a cloud was to be seen; everything was lovely. At last a morning dawned upon usat anchor off Greytown. All vessels anchor about a mile from land, as the water is so shallow on the bar that they cannot enter. The bottom and shore of the harbor are of sand, which constantly shifts, changing the coast-line and the depth of the water from year to year. Those of the passengers about to land walked about the deck, looking strange in their hard hats and white shirts. Satchels and bags were strewn about; cabin-boys were gathering in their tips. Soon a tug came out, towing flats, or lighters, for our cargo. The sea was high: one minute a flat would be almost even with our decks, and the next fifteen or twenty feet below; one minute, thirty feet from the side, and the next, jamming intQ us with a tremen- dous crash, making the vessel tremble from bow to stern. On the flats there were many men to receive the freight, but no one seemingly in command. When a package was hanging over the boat, yells to lower would go up from every one; the constant shifting of the boat would bring some of them under the package, and a wild scramble to get out of the way would begin; again, as it would be lowered, the flat would slide out from under, and all hands would yell to have the engine stopped. Sometimes, as the bale was lowered, the flat would go down at the same time, keeping the same distance between them; then a wave would sudden- ly lift it up against the bale with such force that one would think it must go through the bottom of the boat. This is the worst thing that can happen to a show-case, even though it is welkboxed, as I had a chance to see. On the west coast all goods are taken at the ship- pers risk; it must be the same here. Ladies, babies, and old people are lowered 64 in the same way, tied in a chair, and one at a time. Two lines are tied to the chair to steady it, one held by a man on the steamer, one by a man in the float; the power is steam. But a man must climb, stay on board, or drown, and no one seems to care which. The lighters were loaded at last, and we shoved from the steamer, and headed for the harbor. In a short time we were on shore, and on our way to the hotel recommended to us by the American consul. There are several in the place. This one consisted of a very large bar- room opening on a broad veranda that ran the length of the building, a smaller dining- room, and back of that a number of small closets called bedrooms, separated by partitions about six feet high. In each of these apartments was a canvas cot with a grass mat, a sheet of mus- lin, and a small, very hard hair pillow. A wash- stand, with a grass mat before it, completed the furnishing. The town is a small one, supported entirely by the Canal Company and their employees. Most of the houses are frame-buildings; but a few ofthenatives still cling to the palm-thatched roof. The character and appearance of the town are different from the interior towns from the fact that there are so many foreigners living in it, and what is called the native population is well mixed up with black blood from Jamaica. The old town of the time of the gold fever has al- most entirely disappeared, the site being in part washed away, and the unstable buildings that were on the remainder have long since been replaced by others. Decay is very rapid here, the humidity is so great, and such instruments as cameras warp and swell so much as to be practically useless, even when kept wrapped in rubber. Everything is moldy. It is useless to try to keep dry. In the camps where men are cutting out the line of the canal, often for days they are at work in water, and the greater part of the time in the rain. Often the water is poisonous or stagnant. Near the shore we saw about the only relic of early days left in Greytown: this was the re- mains of an old fence built of musket-barrels stuck into the ground muzzle down and side by side. The guns were old flint-locks, and were used by, or were part of, the plunder of the filibuster Walker. One hears much and sees many traces of him all through Nicaragua. I found that the steamer for the head of Lake Nicaragua left Greytown only once in

Gilbert Gaul Gaul, Gilbert Personal Impressions of Nicaragua 64-72

PERSONAL IMPRESSIONS OF NICARAGUA. WITH PICTURES BY THE AUTHOR. .YLIGHT found us well off the coast of Jamaica, bound for Greytown, on the Mosquito Coast, our after- decks covered with darkies and their families going in search of work on the canal. For several days we bowled along over high rollers so blue that the strong- est color on the palette would be driven wild with envy could it but appreciate its weakness. The trade-winds were blowing strong, temper- ing the heat of the sun; not a cloud was to be seen; everything was lovely. At last a morning dawned upon usat anchor off Greytown. All vessels anchor about a mile from land, as the water is so shallow on the bar that they cannot enter. The bottom and shore of the harbor are of sand, which constantly shifts, changing the coast-line and the depth of the water from year to year. Those of the passengers about to land walked about the deck, looking strange in their hard hats and white shirts. Satchels and bags were strewn about; cabin-boys were gathering in their tips. Soon a tug came out, towing flats, or lighters, for our cargo. The sea was high: one minute a flat would be almost even with our decks, and the next fifteen or twenty feet below; one minute, thirty feet from the side, and the next, jamming intQ us with a tremen- dous crash, making the vessel tremble from bow to stern. On the flats there were many men to receive the freight, but no one seemingly in command. When a package was hanging over the boat, yells to lower would go up from every one; the constant shifting of the boat would bring some of them under the package, and a wild scramble to get out of the way would begin; again, as it would be lowered, the flat would slide out from under, and all hands would yell to have the engine stopped. Sometimes, as the bale was lowered, the flat would go down at the same time, keeping the same distance between them; then a wave would sudden- ly lift it up against the bale with such force that one would think it must go through the bottom of the boat. This is the worst thing that can happen to a show-case, even though it is welkboxed, as I had a chance to see. On the west coast all goods are taken at the ship- pers risk; it must be the same here. Ladies, babies, and old people are lowered 64 in the same way, tied in a chair, and one at a time. Two lines are tied to the chair to steady it, one held by a man on the steamer, one by a man in the float; the power is steam. But a man must climb, stay on board, or drown, and no one seems to care which. The lighters were loaded at last, and we shoved from the steamer, and headed for the harbor. In a short time we were on shore, and on our way to the hotel recommended to us by the American consul. There are several in the place. This one consisted of a very large bar- room opening on a broad veranda that ran the length of the building, a smaller dining- room, and back of that a number of small closets called bedrooms, separated by partitions about six feet high. In each of these apartments was a canvas cot with a grass mat, a sheet of mus- lin, and a small, very hard hair pillow. A wash- stand, with a grass mat before it, completed the furnishing. The town is a small one, supported entirely by the Canal Company and their employees. Most of the houses are frame-buildings; but a few ofthenatives still cling to the palm-thatched roof. The character and appearance of the town are different from the interior towns from the fact that there are so many foreigners living in it, and what is called the native population is well mixed up with black blood from Jamaica. The old town of the time of the gold fever has al- most entirely disappeared, the site being in part washed away, and the unstable buildings that were on the remainder have long since been replaced by others. Decay is very rapid here, the humidity is so great, and such instruments as cameras warp and swell so much as to be practically useless, even when kept wrapped in rubber. Everything is moldy. It is useless to try to keep dry. In the camps where men are cutting out the line of the canal, often for days they are at work in water, and the greater part of the time in the rain. Often the water is poisonous or stagnant. Near the shore we saw about the only relic of early days left in Greytown: this was the re- mains of an old fence built of musket-barrels stuck into the ground muzzle down and side by side. The guns were old flint-locks, and were used by, or were part of, the plunder of the filibuster Walker. One hears much and sees many traces of him all through Nicaragua. I found that the steamer for the head of Lake Nicaragua left Greytown only once in A NIGM(AGUA POLICEMAN & N DUTY \ToL. 66 PERSONAL /MPRESSIONS OF NiCARA C UA. ten days or two weeks; and as I had seen about all there was to see in the place, all that was left could have been done in a day, I concluded to go on the steamer that left the next day. The morning found me abroad. These steamers are small stern-wheeled crafts similar to those used on our Western and South- ern rivers. There are very few state-rooms, and most of the passengers are obliged to sleep on deck; indeed, many of the old travelers prefer to do so. Each one is expected to pro- vide his own bedding, pillow, and mosquito- net. The San Juan River averages probably a quarter of a mile in width; its length is about one hundred miles; its banks are very low except at the old town, and just off Castillo, two thirds of the way up, where there is a hill, topped by the old fort, of no earthly use except as a shelter for the garrison. It is very pretty, however, and would be prettier were it not for the fact that its gray stone and brick walls have been given a coat of whitewash. The custom-house is located here, and, after anexamination of baggage, passengers are transferred to another steamer at the other end of the town, for there is a difficult rapid here, although the boats of the natives are pulled over it in some way. Castillo is a small place of one street, built around the foot of the hill on which the fort is situated. A track is laid through this nar- row street, over which the freight is trans- ferred. It is purely a native town, and very dirty. Scavenger pigs run around the street and into the houses. No one seems to work; every house and shop has one or two ham- mocks swinging, and every one is occupied. The Transportation Company brings consider- able support to this place, of course, but many of the people live by rubber-hunting through the swamps and jungles, or by buying rubber from those who do. After leaving Castillo, the banks are again low until you near the mouth of the lake at San Carlos, where the high land of the inte- rior begins to run back into mountains and volcanoes sometimes a mile high. The river- banks are densely covered with timbers fern and cocoanut-palm branches, hanging over into the water in most places, entirely con- ceal the banks. Where one can see through the trees into the black, dark recesses of the forest, it does not look inviting. One can hear monkeys chattering, parrots screeching, and would not have to look long to find snakes. We were taking on wood one day when ~i snake of a brilliant green was seen by one of the passengers on the limb of a tree within twenty feet of the boat. Several shots were fired at it, when one from a Winchester cut the branch that it was on, and it fell to the ground, disappearing under a pile of wood. It must have been at least eight feet long. The deck- hands who were passing the wood did not seem to mind the fact that there was a snake, and possibly many, in the pile, but continued at work in their bare feet as though nothing had happened. One afternoon, at four oclock, we reached the head of the river, at the entrance to Lake Nicaragua, and tied up at the wharf of the town of San Carlos, which is built on the side of a hill, and protected by two forts, only one of which is garrisoned, the other being aban- doned and going to decay. We wandered about the place until it was time to return for dinner, but found nothing of interest except the naked babies and pigs about the streets, the parrots in the doorways, the buzzards on the roofs, and the wrecks of two of the old Vanderbilt line of steamers, the stacks and boilers of which were sticking up out of the water near the shore, where the vessels had been beached and burned by the filibuster Walker. We had hurried back to the steamer through fear of being left, but she did not sail until next morning at daylight. I was glad of this, as it gave us a chance to see the lake to advan- tage, which otherwise we would not have had. Lake Nicaragua is about seventy-five miles long, and thirty or f@rty wide. Its water is fresh and shallow, and the wheel of our lit- tle steamer sucked up the mud from the bot- tom for miles after leaving San Carlos. A big dam that is proposed at or near Castillo is to raise the water of the lake about twenty feet. There are many islands, varying in height from a few feet to the volcano Madera, which is 4100 feet, and the volcano Ometepe, which is 4190 feet in height. They are chronic grumblers, these fellows, and one has, on two different occasions, done considerable damage to the towns and plantations on its sides and base, and to Rivas, which is some six or eight miles away on the mainland. Here it has shaken down houses, and covered the tillable land with ashes. We left the steamer at Rivas, as we wished to go over the old route taken by California miners. Having secured horses and a guide, we started early the next morning, so as to go as far as possible before the sun was high. My companions horse was a stumbler, and came very near falling two or three times, and the guide did not know the way. After he had lost the road and found it again two or three times, we concluded to send him back; but as he was well mounted, we compelled him to ex- change his horse for the stumbler, and pro- 0 H C,-) ni nil (I H 0 H 0 68 PERSONAL IMPRESSIONS OF NICARAGUA. ceeded on our way, crossing the line marked by the Nicaragua Canal Company; and at last, having stopped at a native ranch for some- thing to eat, we reached the site of the old town of Virgin Bay and the landing for the Vander- bilt line of steamers. The piles of the long pier are yet sticking out of the water here and there, but the upper woodwork has long since been washed away. What was once the street of the place is now overgrown with weeds and burs. The only family living here is that of a Jamaica negro. His wife is a Nicaraguan. Stopping our horses in the shade of a tree where his children were gathering oranges, we asked for some, and the little ones filled their skirts, those that had them, the naked ones carrying all they could in their hands, and gave them to us. They were delighted with the small pieces of silver we gave them in re- turn, as they were overpaid, a bushel of oranges being worth only about five or seven cents here. We opened the door of the old hotel, and looked into the bar-room, once filled with miners, filibusters, gamblers, and natives, and in which many an exciting affair has occurred, but were met only by a cloud of bats, startled by the noise and light. The stairs had fallen down, so that we could not visit the second story, as we wished to do. Following the old road, which is about fifteen miles long, one comes to San Juan del Sur. Be- fore reaching this place, however, the country groxvs hilly, and the road somewhat better, as it is used by the people of San Juan del Sur for a little distance to reach the main road run- ning north to Rivas. Along this portion of the road are a few small plantations. We met some teamsters on their way to the interior with loads of goods that had been landed at San Juan del Sur by one of the Pacific Mail steamers. Their carts were drawn by oxen, one, two, or three pair to each cart. I should think it would take one team to draw an empty cart, for they seemed very heavy; the wheels were solid, and looked as if they were simply sections cut from the trunk of a large tree, xvith a hole bored through the center to admit the axle. San Juan del Sur is a very small place. There is a small harbor here, whence miners embarked for California. The window at which they used to buy tickets, and the hole in the wall in which they dropped their letters for home, can still be seen. Rivas is back from the lake about a mile and a half, and the people are building a horse- car route to the landing. Communication is kept up with Granada by boat and bya line of stages. I took the stage early in the morning, while it was yet so dark that one could not see the nearest thing. How the driver kept the road is more than I can tell; but he did, and the mules, be- ing fresh, were making fast time, when I saw a spark of fire waving in the road. The mules stopped, and the spark approached and came into the stage, and then I saw that I was to have a fellow-passenger. The spark was his lighted cigar. We picked up one or two more people before we left the outskirts of the town, and then came a wild rush for miles at a gallop, every one of us hanging on as best he could. As it grew lighter, one could see groups of women on their way to town, carrying loads of fruit and vegetables to the market-place to sell. It was chilly until the sun came up, when it became very warm. On we went, sometimes between high hedges of cactus ofvarious kinds surround- ing beautiful fields and orange groves; again through open and treeless prairies, looking des- olate and drear; over all kinds of roads, rough and well-made ones, hilly and level ones; past small collections of Indians huts thatched with palms, and with side-walls daubed with clay; by the homes of well-to-do planters, with their white adobe walls and thatched roofs. In front of one ranch we saw three deer hanging; a man, naked to the waist, with his white linen trousers tucked up as high as he could get them, and covered with blood, was cutting them up. On the prairies we met several herds of cattle, and at eight oclock stopped forabowl of choco- late and to change mules at a very dirty Indian hut. Then we rattled on until ten, when we stopped at a cattle-ranch for breakfast. By this time it was very warm, and we were glad to occupy one of the hammocks which were in- vitingly stretched under the shadow of the thatched porch in front of the house until the meal was prepared. Soon we were off again. It had grown un- bearably hot; a white, chalky dust filled our eyes, noses, and ears, and the mules could not be induced to go very fast. How long this continued I do not know, but it seemed a long time, when, as we entered a small town, a tire came off one of the wheels, and we had to stop in front of the prison-house and send for a blacksmith. It took some time to make the repairs, and while this was going on I took a look at the prison-pen and the church. The church was not an interesting one, but this was my first view of a Nicaragua prison. A soldier was on guard at the door, which was open. There was only one room, the walls of which were very thick; about five feet from the wall, and parallel to it, two long, squared logs of oak were placed. The lower one was fastened to the floor; the upper one, which rested on it, could be raised and lowered at will, and was held in position by wooden pins at the ends. Holes were scooped, partly from the upper and partly from the lower log, through which the ankles of the prisoners were placed; straw was thrown on the floor back of the logs, and the prisoners could lie down or sit up as they pleased, but could not stand. jar of water was placed within reach. A veranda ran across the front of the building, under which was a bench for the accommo- dation of the guard. This constituted all the furnishing. The floors were of tile, and every- thing looked tolerably clean. Then through more villages we passed, caus- ing children and pigs to scamper, and returning the salutes of adults, all of whom came to the doors. Over more hills and down into the val- ley~ we xvent, skirting the base of a volcano (Mombacho), and reaching the outskirts of Granada about seven oclock. All important towns in Nicaragua are laid out on one plan, and the architecture is the same in all. There is a plaza, around which are grouped the church or cathedral, public buildings, barracks, stores, bank, hotel, and sometimes some of the principal residences. In this square the market is usually held, and every morning picturesque men and wo- men can be_seen with trays and bags of all the products of the country for sale. The houses are all adobe, and very few have more than one story, excepting the public buildings 69 WASHING NEAR MASAYA. orhotels, and even these rarely, earthquakes be- ing too frequent. The Indian huts on the out- skirts of the town and in the villages are palm- thatched, but pretentious houses have tile roofs. All the flours are made of red tiles or of mother earth. The windows are not glazed, the cli- mate is too warm to make it either necessary or comfortable, but are closed at night on the inside by large, heavy shutters hung on hinges, and frequently cages of iron or wood are built over them on the outside. Living- and sleeping-rooms are large, averaging eighteen feet in width, with large doorways on both the street and the inside court of the house, which give a good circulation of air. The interior court, around which the differ- ent rooms are built, is often filled with trees and flowers in beds or pots of very pretty de- signs, and often there is a fountain in the houses of the rich. Under the veranda, ham- mocks are swung and parrots hang; the ve- randa is used also as a dining-room. Pictures are everywhere women bearing burdens on their heads, their draperies blown into action, and their usually strong and beautiful figures accentuated by the gentle trade-winds; bathers or washerwomen on the beach, the sunlight glancing from their wet bronzed bodies and coal-black hair, relieved against the deep blue of the sky, and reflected in the waters of the lake and the white of the Incoming waves; the market-places; the ham- mocks full of naked and sleeping babies; the beautiful young girls; the withered and wrinkled crone sucking her cigarette as she crouches over her spark of a charcoal fire, surrounded by her pots and pans; the islands of the lake; the volcanoes; the tropical rich- 70 PINEAPPLE-SELLER, GRANADA. PERSONAL IMPRESSIONS OF NICARAGUA. 7 ness of the cultivated country, with its fea- thery palms and orchids; or the weird, lone- some, gloomy jungle, with its majestic trees and festooned vines. Here is a young boy selling pineapples; he wears nothing but a breech-cloth. Here comes a girl who is a perfect scheme of color, her bronze face, black hair, yellow-white chemise, red rebozo full of quality, and her brown skirt and sandals covered with dust. You watch her until she turns the corner, and you have half a mind to follow for one more glance; but look in another direction, and behold! something but in the larger towns they are on their mettle, and are as spruce as can be. A broad sand-bank borders the lake at Gra- nada, and is the fashionable drive for the in- habitants. There is always a cool breeze coming over the water, making it very comfortable, and there are many things of interestthe pictu- resque little thatched huts, shaded by large trees and palms that make them look like toy houses; the naked babies playing in the sand or chas- ing the buzzards, which are as tame as chickens; people washing, bathing, driving. XVe came at last to Corinto, which is only a equally fine is before you. Maybe it is a young railroad terminus on a sand-bar. Our steamer sefior, with a man Qf black hair about his fore- came in that night, and we made our way to head and sticking out from under his hat-brim, her the iiext day in a canoe, our boatman wind- his mustache twisted into saucy curls, a gay ing his way among the canoes of natives that sash about his waist, a short sword at his side, were selling parrots, fruit, cigars, etc. to the and his game-cock under his arm. The soldiers, sailors and passengers. too, are picturesque. They are always expect- After the busy time I had been having on my ing a revolution, when life is eventful; but in travels, very enjoyable were the long, dreamy times of peace, the arresting of stray pigs, goats, days on board, with nothing to do but read, etc. is about all they have to do. They are smoke, and res.t, watching the natives load and small men, but look like good material, and, I unload, and the fish and sharks in the clear water have no doubt, fight bravely. They wear hardly around us. Then, too, I could hear English any uniform, and remind one of Falstaffs men; speech about me, and felt that I was home at last. Gilbert Gaul. DELIVERING MEAT, GRANADA. ENGRAVED BY C. SCHWARZBURGER. DRAWN BY HOWARD PYLE ENGRAVED B IN THE BOOKSELLERS SHOP.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich Aldrich, Thomas Bailey The Chevalier de Resseguier 72-79

DRAWN BY HOWARD PYLE ENGRAVED B IN THE BOOKSELLERS SHOP. THE CHEVALIER DE RESSEGUIER. By the author of Marjorie Daw, From Ponkapog to Pesth, The Queen of Sheba, Wyndliam Towers, etc., etc. AM unable to explain the impulse that prompted me to purchase it. I had no use for a skull ex- cepting, of course, the one I am temporarily occupying. There have been moments, indeed, when even that has seemed to me an encum- brance. Nevertheless, I bought another. it was one of three specimens which deco- rated the window of a queer book-shop that I was in the habit of passing in my daily walks between the railway station and the office of the A3lsthetic Review. I was then living out of town. I call it a queer book-shop, for it was just that. It dealt in none but works on phrenology, toxicology, evolution, mesmer- ism, spiritualism, and kindred occult sciences. Against the door-jambs, and on some shelves outside, were piled small packages of quaintly bound volumes, each set tied up with a piece of frayed twine, and bearing a tag on which was written the title of the work. These thin, dingy octavos and twelvemos, looking as if they might have come out of the library in Noahs ark, were chiefly treatises of a psy- chical and social nature, and were no doubt daringly speculative. The patrons of the estab- lishment shared its eccentricity. Now and then I caught a glimpse of a customer either enter- ing or leaving the shop. Sometimes it was a half-shabby middle-aged man, who seemed a cross between a low comedian and a village undertaker; sometimes it was a German or a Pole, cadaverous, heavy-bearded, with a rest- lessness about the eyes a fellow who might be suspected of carrying dynamite pellets in his waistcoat pocket; and sometimes it was an el- derly female, severe of aspect, with short hairin dry autumnal curls, evidently a person with ad- vanced views on Man, and so flat in figure, so wholly denuded of graceful feminine curves, as to make it difficult for one to determine, when she lingered an instant in the doorway, whether she was going in or coming out. What first attracted my attention to the shop-window was a plaster bust of the Young Augustus, for which a copy of Malthus on The Principle of Population served as ped- estal. The cranium had been neatly marked out into irregular, variously colored sections, like a map of the United States. In each sec- tion was a Roman numeral, probably having its duplicate with an attendant explanation in VOL. XLVI.io. the phrenological chart which lay in front of the bust. That first caught my eye; but the object which touched my real interest, and held it, was what I took to be a skilful imita- tion of the human skull, carved in rich old ivory. It struck me as a consummate little piece of sculpture, and I admired it greatly. After closer and repeated scrutiny, however, I discovered that it was not a reproduction, but the genuine article; yet I could never wholly divest myself of its first impression as a work of art. A work of art, indeed! It was one of a kind on which patient Nature has lavished some of her most exquisite handicraft. What inanimate object on earth so appeals to the imagination as a skull, the deserted dome of thought, the palace of the soul, as Byron called it? Reverently regarded, there is nothing depressing or repellent in it. That is a false and morbid sentimentalism which sees in such relics anything but a solemn ~nd beautiful mystery. There were, as I have said, two other speci- mens in the window, but the one signalized was incomparably the finest. I seldom passed near the shop without halting a moment to contemplate the. wide, placid brows, in which there was a beauty of even a finer kind than that in the face of the Young Augustus, in spite of the latter having all the advantage of completed features. The skull was apparently very oldsay a hundred years or so, if that is old for a skull; and had clearly belonged to a man past the prime of life at the instant of his quitting it. It was a curious reflection that while time had ceased for the man himself, the inexorable years were surely, though slowly and imperceptibly, working their will on what was once so intimate a part of him, the cast- off shell of his mind! Passing the shop day after day through those summer months, I finally became, if the phrase is permissible, on familiar terms with the skull. As I approached it morning and evening, on my passage to and fro, it grew to seem to me like the face of a friend in the crowda face that I should have missed if it had been ab- sent. Once or twice as the declining sun chanced momentarily to light up the polished marble brows, I almost fancied that I detected a gleam of recognition on the part of the mask. It had such an air of shrewdness as it looked out on the busy life of the street! What, I said to myself one evening what if by any 73 74 THE CHE VALIER DE RESSEGUIER. possibility it has some dim perception of the fret and fever of it all if some little flicker- ing spark of consciousness still lingers! The idea, fanciful and illogical as it was, suggested itself to my mind from time to time, and one afternoon the pathos of it thrilled me strangely. I had a swift desire to take posses- sion of the skull, and give it decent sepulture somewhere, though that would have been no kindly service if it were a sentient thing. At any rate, I resolved to shelter it from further publicity, and a moment afterward I found myself inside the old book-shop, and in close commercial relations with the proprietor, a moist-eyed but otherwise desiccated little man, whose ~ince-nez, attached by an elastic cord and set at an acute angle on his nose, was con- tinually dropping into his shirt-bosom. There was something in the softness of his voice and the meekness of his manner out of all keeping with the revolutionary and explosive literature amid which he passed his existence. No, he said gently, in reply to a question I had put to him; I cannot say whose it was. Of course, he added, with a feeble smile that had something of the pensiveness of a sigh, it must have belonged to some one in particu- lar; such things are not generally in common. I quite understand that, I returned. I merely thought it might possibly have some sort of pedigree. Have you any idea how old it is? There, too, I am in the dark, he replied deprecatingly. It stood in the shop-window when I came here as a boy, somewhat more than fifty years ago. I distinctly remember upsetting it the very first morning I swept out the store. Where old Mr. Waldron got it, I succeeded to the business in 1859; will you let me give you one of my cards? and how long he had had it in stock, I am unable to state. It is in perfect preservation, you will observe, and a gentleman wanting anything in this line, either for a collection or as a single specimen, could scarcely do better. As the ancient bookseller spoke, he held out the skull on his palm at arms length, and regarded it critically, giving a little purring hum of admiration meanwhile. I straightway thought of the grave-digger in the churchyard at Elsinore, and inwardly repeated Hamlets comment: Hath this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at grave-making? I was without definite views concerning the current prices of the merchandise I was about to purchase, but supposed that they ran rather high. I was astonished by the smallness of the sum named for the skull a sum at which I should hesitate to part with my own, unless it were in some acute crisis of neuralgic headache. The transaction concluded, I had an in- stants embarrassment. Could nt you wrap this in something? I said. Certainly; to be sure! exclaimed the lit- tle man, fishing up his eye-glasses for the twentieth time from the~ deep sea of his shirt- bosom. Perhaps you would like it sent? If you will give me your address No, thanks. I live out of town. I will take it with me. Ah, quite so, he said, and, retiring to an inner room, presently returned with the skull neatly wrapped in a sheet or two of pink tis- sue-paper. I put it under my arm, and passed into the street, trying to throw into my countenance the expression of a man who is carrying home a melon. I succeeded so far in this duplicity as to impose on my wife, who, meeting me on the piazza of our little country house, gaily snatched the package from my hand, and remarked: We will have it for dinner, dear! We both were smiling as we entered the house. In the mean while she was peeling off the layers of tissue-paper. But it is nt a melon! cried my wife, hastily laying the package on the hall table. No, dear, I said; it s a skull. A skull? How dreadful! Where did you get it? Whose skull ? It is mine,so far as such property can be,for I bought it. It is more distinctly mine than the one I have, which I did nt buy and pay for, but which was thrown upon my hands, so to speak, without any regard to my personal wishes in the matter. This one I wanted. But, my dear, what possessed you? It is perfectly horrid! It is perfectly beautiful, my dear; and it has the highest moral significance. It is prob- able that the original wearer of it conveyed no such deep lesson to his contemporaries as this surviving framework of him may have for us. The wise Athenians always had a skull at their banquets, to remind them of the transi- toriness and vanity of life. So, after all, we can have it for dinner, dear. Gazing upon this symbol of impermanence, you will no longer envy Mrs. Midas her coupe, and I shall feel that old Midass balance at the bank is not worth having, and that his ponderous new granite chateau, which completely cuts off our view of the river, is a thing of shifting sand. As a literary critic too much inclined, perhaps, to be severe on the shortcomings of fellow-crea- tures whose gifts are superior to mine, I need just such a memento mon to restrain my nat- ural intolerance. How absurd! What do you mean to do with it? THE CHE VALIE!? DE RESSEG UZER. 75 I intend to put it on the fafence bracket v~ he end window in the library. Is frentirely appropriate as an ornament, dear ? Js nt it a trifleghostly? It is decidedly appropriate. What are books themselves but the lingering shades of dead and gone historians, story-tellers, and poets? Every library is full of ghosts, the air is thick with them. I am sure Jane will give us warning the moment she lays eyes on it. Then Jane can retire with her own silly head-piece. It will certainly terrify little Alfred. If it prevents little Alfred from playing in the library during my absence, and breaking the amber mouthpieces off my best pipes, I shall not complain. But, seriously, I set a value on this ancient relic a value which I cannot easily make clear even to myself. In speaking of the matter I have drifted into a lighter vein than I intended. The thing will not be out of place among the books and bric-~-brac in the library, where no one spends much time, ex- cepting myself; so, like a good girl, say no more about it. The question thus pleasantly settled itself. I had scarcely installed my singular acquisition on the bracket when I was called to dinner. I paused a moment or two with my hand on the knob of the library door to take in the gen- eral effect from that point of view. The skull, which in widely different surroundings had be- come a familiar object to me, adapted itself ad- mirably to its new milieu. There was nothing incongruous or recent in its aspect; it seemed always to have stood just there, though the bracket had for years been occupied by a slen- der Venetian vase, a bit of Salviatis fragile work- manship, whiih only a few days previously had been blown from its stand by a draft caused by the sudden opening of the door. Yes, I said; it will do very well. There s nothing like it to give a tone to a library. II. WILL you take your coffee here, or have it in the library? asked my wife, while Jane was removing the remains of the dessert. In the library, I said; and as soon as Jane can fetch it. I must finish that review to- night. When I bought the small house, half villa, half chalet, called Redroof I added a two-story extension containing a spacious study on the ground-floor and a bedroom over it. As I fre- quently sat upiate, and as Redroof was in a rather isolated situation, I liked to be within speaking-distance of my wife. By locking the doors of the upper and lower vestibules, which were connected by a staircase, we wholly sep- arated ourselves from the main building. The library was a long low-studded apartment with three windows on each side, and at the end opposite the door a wide-inullioned lattice, with lead-set panes, overlooking a stretch of lonely meadows. The quiet and seclusion of the room made it an ideal spot for literary undertakings, and here it was that I did the greater part of my woik. Now I had an important piece of work on hand this night, and after I had drunk my coffee I began turning over the leaves of a certain half- completed manuscript, with the despairing con- sciousness that I was not in a mood to go on with it. The article in question was a study of political intrigue during the reigns of Louis XV. and Louis XVI. The subject had fascinated me; for a week I had been unable to think of anything else, and the first part of the article had almost written itself. But now I found it impos- sible to pick up the threads of my essay. My mind refused concentration on any single point. A hundred things I wanted to say rushed upon me simultaneously, and so jostled and obscured one another as to create nothing but confusion. This congestion of ideas is quite as perplexing as their total absence, and the result is the same. I threw down my pen in disgust, and, placing one elbow on the desk, rested my cheek on my palm. remained in that attitude for perhaps I had three minutes when I heard a voice a low but distinct voice saying: I beg monsieurs pardon, but if I interrupt him I instantly wheeled round in my chair, ex- pecting to see some one standing on the Bo- khara rug behind me, though in the very act of turning I reflected how nearly impossible it was that any visitor could have got into the library at that time of night. There was nobody visible. I glanced toward the door leading into the vestibule. It was unlikely that that door could have been opened and closed without my observing it. I beg monsieurs pardon, repeated the voice, but I am here on the bracket. Oh, I said to myself, I am careering round on the wildest of nightmares one that has never before had a saddle on her. Clearly this is the result of overwork. My next impression was that I was being made the victim of some ingenious practical joke. But no; the voice had incontestably issued from the little shelf above the window, and though the effect might have been accomplished by some acoustic con- trivance, there was no one in the house or in the neighborhood capable of conceiving it. Since the thing was for the moment inexplicable, I decided to accept it on its own terms. Recov 76 THE CHE VALIER DE RESSEG UJER. ering my composure, and fixing my eyes steadily in the direction of the bracket, I said: Are you the person who just addressed me? I am not a person, monsieur, replied the voice, slowly, as if with difficulty at first, and with an unmistakable French accent; I am merely a conscience, an intelligence imprisoned in this sphere. Formerly I was a person a person of some slight distinction, if I may be permitted so much egotism. Possibly mon- sieur has heard of me I am the Chevalier de Resseguier. Mechanically I threw a sheet of blotting- paper over the last page of my manuscript. Not five minutes previously I had written the following sentence the ink was still fresh on the words: Among tizeother intimates ofMadame die Barry at this period was an adventurer from Toulouse, apseudo man of letters, a sort ofprowl- eng ejigramone Chevalier DE REssEGUIER! I had never been a believer in spiritualistic manifestations, perhaps for the simple reason that I had never been fortunate enough to wit- ness any. Hitherto all phenomena had sedu- lously avoided me; but here was a mystery that demanded consideration something that was not to be explained away on the theory that my senses had deceived me, something that the Society for Psychical Research would have been glad to get hold of. I found myself for once face to face with the Unusual, and I did not mean to allow it to daunt me. What is seemingly supernatural is not always to be taken too seriously. The astrology of one age becomes the astronomy of the next; the ma- gician disappears in the scientist. Perhaps it was an immense curiosity rather than any spirit of scientific investigation that gave steadiness to my nerves; for I was now as cool and col- lected as if a neighbor had dropped in to spend an hour with me. I placed the German student- lamp further back on the desk, crossed my legs, and settled myself comfortably in the chair, like a person disposed to be sociable. Did I understand you to say, I asked with deliberation, that you were the Chevalier de Resseguier? Yes, monsieur. The Chevalier de Resseguier whom Ma- dame de Pompadour once sent to the Bastille for writing a certain vivacious quatrain? Ah, monsieur knows me! I was certain of it! The Chevalier de Resseguier who fluttered round the Du Barry at the time of her d6but, and later on figures in one or two chapters of her lively - M6moires~ ? What! did the fair Jeannette give her M6- moires to the world, and do I figure in them? Well, well! She had many talents, la belle Du Barry; she was of a cleverness: but I never sus- pected her of being a basbleu. And so she~t~ her M6moires! Were you not aware of it? Alas, monsieur, I know of nothing that has happened since that fatal July morning in ~ when M. Sanson it was on the Place Louis Quinze chut / and all was over. You mean you were Guillotined? Certainement! thanks to M. Fouquier-Tinville. At that epoch everybody of any distinction passed through the hands of the exicuteur des hautes ceuvres a polite eu- phemism, monsieur. They were regenerating society in France by cutting off the only heads that had any brains in them. Ah, monsieur, though some few of us may not have known how to live, nearly all of us knew how to die! Though this De Resseguier had been in his time a rascal of the first water, I had it down in black and white in my historical memo- randa, there certainly was about him some- thing of that chivalric dash, that ornateness of manner, that delightful insouciance, which we associate with the XVIIIe si?cle. This air of high breeding was no doubt specious, a thing picked up at the gateway of that gilded society which his birth and condition prevented him from entering. The De Choiseuls, the De Maupeous, the DAiguillons they were not for him. But he had breathed in a rich literary atmosphere, perhaps had spoken with Beau- marchais, or Rousseau, or Marmontel, or Did- erot at least he had seen them. He had known his Paris well, that Paris which had a mot and a laugh on its lip until the glittering knife fell. He had witnessed the assembling of the Etats G6n~raux; had listened to Camille Desmoulins haranguing the populace from his green table in the garden of the Palais Royal; had gazed upon Citizen Marat lying in state at the Pantheon; and had watched poor Louis Ca- pet climb the scaffold stairs. Was he not a mine of memories, this Chevalier de Resseguier? If the chevalier had had a grain of honesty in him, I might have secured fresh and precious material for my essay some unedited fact, some hitherto unused tint of local color; but I had his measure, and he was not to be trusted. So I attempted nothing of the sort, though the opportunity of interrogating him on certain points was alluring. The silence which followed th~ chevaliers last remark was broken by myself. Chevalier, I said, it is with great hesita- tion that I broach so delicate a matter, but your mention of M. Sanson recalls to my mind the controversy that raged among physiolo- gists, at the close of the Reign of Terror, on a question similar to the one which is at this moment occupying our electricians. It was THE CHE VALIER DE RESSEG UZER. 77 held by the eminent Dr. Sue that decapitation involved prolonged and exquisite suffering, while the equally eminent Dr. S~dillot con- tended that pain was simply impossible, an opinion which was sustained by the learned Gastellier. Will you, Chevalier, for the sake of science, pardon me if I ask you was it quite painless? M. le Docteur S6dillot was correct, mon- sieur. Imagine a sensation a thousand times swifter than th.e swiftest thought, and monsieur has it. What followed then? Darkness and sleep. For how long, Chevalier? An houra montha yearwhat know I ? And then A glimmering light, consciousness, the past a vivid reality, the present almost a blur. VoiL~t tout! In effect, Chevalier, you had left the world behind you, taking with you nothing but your personal memoriesa light luggage, after all! As you are unfamiliar with everything that has occurred since that July morning, possibly it may interest you to learn that on December 7, 1793, five months subsequent to your own departure, the Comtesse du Barry was sam- moned before the Tribunal R~volutionnaire, and the next day She, too la pauvre petite / I can fancy her not liking that at all. Indeed, Chevalier, the countess showed but faltering fortitude on this occasion. It is reported that she cried, Grace, monsieur le bourreau; encore un moment! It was not for such as she to mount the scaffold with the tread of a Charlotte Corday. Ma foi, non / She was a frank coquine, when truth is said. But who is all bad? She was not treacherous like F6licit6 de Nesle, nor vin- dictive like the Duchesse de Ch~teauroux. There was not a spark of malice in her, mon- sieur. When it was easy for her to do so, the Du Barry never employed against her ene- mies and she had many those /ettres de ca- diet which used to fly in flocks, like blackbirds, from the hand of Madame de Pompadour. It is creditable to your heart, Chevalier, or, rather, to your head, that you have a kindly word for Madame du Barry. To be sure she thrust her adorable arm up to the elbow in the treasure-chest of Louis le bien-aime, but then she was generous. She patronized art, and sometimes literature. The painter and the sculptor did not go unpaid cUe donnait e~ deux mains. Possibly monsieur has seen Pajous bust of her? Quelchefdwuvre/ And that portrait by Drouais Ze/oli museau I have seen the bust, I replied, glad to escape into the rarefied atmosphere of the arts; it is in the Louvre at present, and, as you observe, a masterpiece. The Drouais portrait has not fallen in my way. There s an engrav- ing of it, I believe, in one of Paul de Saint- Victors interesting volumes. Ah, yes, I forgot; he is not of your world. But how is it, Che- valier, that with your remarkable conversa- tional powers Monsieur is too flattering. How is it that you have not informed your- self concerning the progress of human events, and especially of the political, literary, and so- cial changes that have taken place in France? Surely youhave had opportunities rarelyoffered, I imagine, to one in your position. Now, at the book-shop where I where I made your ac- quaintance, you might have interrogated many intelligent persons. Ah, that miserable boutique! and that su perannuated vender of revolutionary pam- phlets an imbecile of imbeciles, monsieur! How could I have talked with him and his fellow cretins, even if it had been possible! But it was not possible. Monsieur is the only per- son to whom I have ever been able to commu- nicate myself. Abarrierofdense materialism has until now excluded me from such intercourse as monsieur suggests. I make my compliments to monsieur; he is tout i~f~it ~pirituei I May I inquire, Chevalier, I said, after a moment of meditation, if the mind, the vital spark, of all persons who pass through a cer- tain inevitable experience takes final lodgment in the cranium? I begin then to comprehend why that part of the anatomy of man has been rendered almost indestructible. I am grieved that I cannot dispel the dark- ness enveloping monsieurs problem. Perhaps this disposition of the vital spark, as monsieur calls it, occurs only in the case of those persons who have made their exit under peculiar cir- cumstances. I cannot say. Chance has doubt- less brought me in contact with several persons of that class, but no sign of recognition has passed between us. As I understand it, mon- sieur, death is a transition state, like life itselg and leaves the mystery still unsolved. Outside of my own individual consciousness everything has been nearly a blank. Then, possibly, you dont know where you are at present? I conjecture; I am far from positive, but I think I am in the land of Benjamin Franklin. Well, yes; but I should say the late Ben- jamin Franklin, if I were you. It is many years since he was an active factor in our public af- fairs. I was not awaremy almost absolute se- clusion monsieur understands. In your retirement, Chevalier, you have 78 THE CHE VALLER DE RESSEG UZER. missed much. Vast organic upheavals have oc- curred meanwhile; things that seemed to reach down to the bed-rock of permanence have been torn up by the roots. The impossible has be- come the commonplace. The whole surface of the earth has undergone a change, and no- where have the changes been more radical and marvelous than in your own beloved France. Would you not like me briefly to indicate a few of them? If monsieur will be so obliging. In the first place, you should know that Danton, Robespierre, and the rest, each in his turn, fell into the hands of your old friend M. Sanson. A la bonne heure! I knew it would come to that. When France wanted to regenerate society she ought to have begun with the sans- cu/of/es. The republic shortly gave way to a mon- archy. A great soldier sat upon the throne, a new Caesar, who flung down his gauntlet to the whole world, and well nigh conquered it; but he too fell from his lofty height, suddenly, like Lucifer, never to rise again. And how did men call him? Napoleon Bonaparte. Bonaparte? Bonaparte ? it is not a French name, monsieur. After him the Bourbon reigned; then there was a republic; and then another C~esar came, an imitation C~sar, who let a German king conquer France, and bivouac his Uhlans under the lime-trees in the Champs Elys~es. A German with his foot upon the neck of France! Ah, monsieur, was I not happy to escape the knowledge of all these things? Mon Diezi / but he was a prophet, that Louis XV., with his Apr~s nous le d6luge! Tell me no more! I am well content to wait in ig- norance. To wait for what, Chevalier? For the end of the world, I suppose. Really, monsieur puts the most perplexing questions like a ~uge dins/ruction. I may here remark that throughout our con- versation the immobility of the face of the Che- valier de Resseguier, taken in connection with what he was saying, had a grotesque effect. His moods were many, but his expression was one. Whether he spoke sadly, or playfully, or vehe- mently, there was that stolid, stony outline, gaz- ing into vacancy like the face of a sphinx. But, Chevalier, I said, it must be a mo- notonous business, this waiting. Yes and no, monsieur. I am at least spared the tumult and struggle of earthly existence; for what is the life of man but une mi/ice continue//el Here I am safe from debts and the want of/ouis dor to pay them; safe from false love, false friendship, and all hypocrisy. I am neither hot nor cold, neither hungry nor thirsty. Parb/eu / monsieur, I might be much worse off. Yet at intervals your solitude must weigh upon you. Then I take a little nap of four or five yearsfour or five years according to mon- sieurs computation. The Gregorian calendar does not exist for me. Perhaps you feel like taking a little nap now, I suggested, with a sudden desire to be rid of him. Not at all, replied the chevalier, briskly. I never felt less like it. I am sorry, for it is really an embarrassing question, when I come to think of it, what I am to do with you. Monsieur is too kind, to trouble himself with thinking about it. Why do anything? How charming it all has been, except that Madame for an instant mistook me for a melon! Here I find myself an micux. I am a man of letters, a poet whose works have been crowned by the Bastille if not by the Acad~mie. These volumes in polished calf and fragrant crushed levant make a congenial atmosphere, nest-ce pas? Formerly my Greek and Latin were not of the best; but now, naturally, I speak both with flu- ency, for they are dead languages, as monsieur is aware. My Englishmonsieur can judge. I acquired it in London during a year or two when my presence in Paris was not absolutely indispensable. So why not let me remain where I am? Un bel esprit is never de trot. Monsieur need never more be in want of a pleasant com- panion. I will converse with him, I will dissi- pate his ennui. I am no longer of those who disappear abruptly. I will stay with monsieur forever. This monstrous proposition struck me cold. No, Chevalier, I said, with as much calm- ness as I could command; such an arrange- ment would not suit me in any particular. You have not read the M6moires of Madame du Barry, and I have. Our views of life are antago- nistic. The association you propose is wholly impracticable. lam here by monsieurs own invitation, am I not? Did I thrust myself upon him? No. Did I even seek his acquaintance? No. It was monsieur who made all the advances. There were three of us, and he selected me. I am deeply sensible of the honor. I would give ex- pression to that sensibility. I would, if monsieur were disposed, render him important literary services. For example, I could furnish him with many curious particulars touching the ~?Eil-de- Bceuf, together with some startling facts which establish beyond doubt the identity of the Man in the Iron Mask. Such information, unfortunately, would be of no use to me. Of no use? Monsieur astonishes me! I could not avail myself of statements made by the Chevalier de Resseguier. Monsieur means? Precisely what I say. But what monsieur says is not precisely clear. His words are capable of being con- strued as insulting. Under different circum- stances, I should send two of my friends to demand of monsieur the satisfaction ~vhich one ~,rala,i/ liomme never refuses another. And you would get it! I returned warmly. I could wish that I had monsieur for one little quarter of an hour in some shady avenue at V~ersailles, or on the Terrasse des Feuillants in the garden of the Tuileries. I wish you had, and then you d wish you had nt, for I should give you a sound caning to add to your stock of permanent reminis- cences. Monsieur forgets himself; said the cheva- lier, and the chevalier was quite right. The rapier and the pistol are or were my wea- pons. Fortunately for monsieur, I am obliged to say were. Monsieur can be impertinent with impunity. 79 I ye a great mind to knock your head off! I cried, again in the wrong. A work of supererogation. I beg leave to call monsieurs unintelligent attention to the fact that my head is already off. It s a pity, I said, that persons of your stripe cannot be guillotined two or three times. However, I can throw you out of the window. Throw me out of the window ! cried the Chevalier de Resseguier in a rage. At that instant the door of the library was opened hurriedly, and a draft of wind, sweep- ing through the apartment, tumbled the inse- curely placed skull from its perch. Do you know how late it is, dear? said my wife, standing on the threshold, with a lace shawl drawn about her shoulders and her bare feet thrust into a pair of Turkish slippers. It is half-past two. I verily believe you must have fallen asleep over your work! I stared for a moment at my wife, and made no reply. Then I picked up the Chevalier de Resseguier, who had sustained a compound fracture of the jaw, and carefully replaced him, fragments and all, on the little falence bracket over the window. Thomas Bailey Aldrich. (SUPPOSED TO BE TRANSLATED FROM AN EGYPTIAN PAPyRUS.) The story hinted at in this poem seems to be as follows: The woman loved by the writer, an Egyptian living during the reign of the Ptolemies, had died, and he, in the intensity of his grief calling upon death for deliverance, sinks into a trance in which he seems to die and join his lost love among the Islands of the Blessed, after passing through the intermediate regions of the Egyp- tian Infernus. THROUGH chambers vast I swept where, throned in shade, orms of monster deities were seen In changeless gloom and solitude arrayed, Through myriad ages silent and serene. THE LAKE OF THE DEAD. THE LAKE OF THE DEAD.

Henry Morton Morton, Henry The Lake of the Dead 79-81

Of no use? Monsieur astonishes me! I could not avail myself of statements made by the Chevalier de Resseguier. Monsieur means? Precisely what I say. But what monsieur says is not precisely clear. His words are capable of being con- strued as insulting. Under different circum- stances, I should send two of my friends to demand of monsieur the satisfaction ~vhich one ~,rala,i/ liomme never refuses another. And you would get it! I returned warmly. I could wish that I had monsieur for one little quarter of an hour in some shady avenue at V~ersailles, or on the Terrasse des Feuillants in the garden of the Tuileries. I wish you had, and then you d wish you had nt, for I should give you a sound caning to add to your stock of permanent reminis- cences. Monsieur forgets himself; said the cheva- lier, and the chevalier was quite right. The rapier and the pistol are or were my wea- pons. Fortunately for monsieur, I am obliged to say were. Monsieur can be impertinent with impunity. 79 I ye a great mind to knock your head off! I cried, again in the wrong. A work of supererogation. I beg leave to call monsieurs unintelligent attention to the fact that my head is already off. It s a pity, I said, that persons of your stripe cannot be guillotined two or three times. However, I can throw you out of the window. Throw me out of the window ! cried the Chevalier de Resseguier in a rage. At that instant the door of the library was opened hurriedly, and a draft of wind, sweep- ing through the apartment, tumbled the inse- curely placed skull from its perch. Do you know how late it is, dear? said my wife, standing on the threshold, with a lace shawl drawn about her shoulders and her bare feet thrust into a pair of Turkish slippers. It is half-past two. I verily believe you must have fallen asleep over your work! I stared for a moment at my wife, and made no reply. Then I picked up the Chevalier de Resseguier, who had sustained a compound fracture of the jaw, and carefully replaced him, fragments and all, on the little falence bracket over the window. Thomas Bailey Aldrich. (SUPPOSED TO BE TRANSLATED FROM AN EGYPTIAN PAPyRUS.) The story hinted at in this poem seems to be as follows: The woman loved by the writer, an Egyptian living during the reign of the Ptolemies, had died, and he, in the intensity of his grief calling upon death for deliverance, sinks into a trance in which he seems to die and join his lost love among the Islands of the Blessed, after passing through the intermediate regions of the Egyp- tian Infernus. THROUGH chambers vast I swept where, throned in shade, orms of monster deities were seen In changeless gloom and solitude arrayed, Through myriad ages silent and serene. THE LAKE OF THE DEAD. THE LAKE OF THE DEAD. 8o THE LAKE OF THE DEAD. A solemn sense of countless ages flight Was brooding oer those shadow-peopled halls, As though the shades of Chaos gloomy night Still lingered mid their everlasting walls. Onward I hastened still, resistless led, Like thistle-down upon the summers breeze, Till, far before, the Ocean of the Dead Showed its black waves between the cypress-trees, And soon I reached that sea oer whose dark tide Forever Night and Death spread out their wings, Where sparkling waves and ripples never glide, Nor breezes on the ruffled surface sing. But ever and anon it slowly heaves Its inky tide with muffled, sullen sound, And wets the pale papyrus sickly leaves, That spring from out its black and sodden ground. Dark cypress-trees rise by the gloomy bank, And in the slimy tide their white roots lave, While beds of lotus flowers, pale and rank, Spread out their shuddring leaves upon the wave, And ever, as that heaving of the lake Comes with its silent, slow, and snake-like motion, With thrilling shudder all the lilies shake, And leaves coil backward from that deadly ocean. No fish goes flashing through the gloomy deep, No ibis plumes its wing upon the shore, But scale-clad monsters oer its mud-banks creep, And giant bats the murky air explore; A lurid sun casts rays of ruddy light, Save when some monster huge, with flapping wing, Soars oer its disk, and momentary night His loathsome pinions in their passage fling. But hark! the deadly stillness now is broke By splash of oars, and through the shrouding glooms, Urged slowly on with long and laboring stroke, A fleet of galleys in the distance looms. Slowly they urge their way through tangled weeds That snake-like fasten on the dripping oar, And, gliding mid the spears of bending reeds, At last approach that shadow-mantled shore. Fair forms that crowd their decks now beckon me, And silently stretch out the ready hand; I mount the bark, and, turning instantly, We hasten from that somber-tinted strand. Slowly at first we urge our onward way, For the pale lilies stretch their tangled necks Across the prow, and strive our course to stay, While clinging slime each sluggish oar-stroke checks. But swifter now and swifter on we glide, Till, shooting suddenly from out the gloom, We lightly plow a clear and sparkling tide Whose waves a myriad rays of light illume. Far, far ahead, upon the tranquil seas, An island clothed with emerald verdure shines, And through the leafy arches of the trees The light streams out in scintillating lines. And as we nearer float, forms heavenly fair Are seen to move amid the flickering shade, About their snowy arms and flowing hair Weaving bright flowers in golden-glowing braid. JOSEPH BONAPARTE IN BORDENTO WN. And see! Upon the wave-wet yellow sand Where the bright water ripples round her feet, With look of wondering welcome, outstretched hand, And parted lips that low my name repeat Ah, love! My love! Swift from the prow I fly: Into my longing arms that form I take Only to waken. Oh, that I might die, Rather than from that dream of love to wake! Henry Morton. JOSEPH BONAPARTE IN BORDENTOWN.1 OUR Majesty here! Oh, how glad I am to see your Majesty again! were the exclama- tions which startled the crowd in lower Broadway on the afternoon of September 6, 1815, as a man who looked like a soldier threw himself on his knees, his face bathed in tears, before a stout, elderly gentleman, who tried in vain to raise him and to calm his emotion. The passers-by stopped, asked what was the matter, and a crowd was rapidly collecting when a young fellow who was with the older man stooped over the kneeling enthusiast, whispering a few words as he helped him to his feet, and the three men forced their way through the dense throng, and took refuge from popular curiosity in a shop. Even the~e remote days were not quite unblessed by jour- nalistic enterprise, and the next morning the newspapers solemnly announced that Joseph Bonaparte, ex-king of Spain and eldest brother of the emperor, had succeeded in cheating the vigilance of the English cruisers, and in reach- ing the free and hospitable soil of the United States. He had, in fact, already been a fort- night in the country, having sailed in the American brig Commerce from the little port of Royan, near Bordeaux, on July 25, landing on August 20, the very day on which the Brit- ish man-of-war Northumberland passed the Canary Islands bearing Napoleon to eat his heart out at St. Helena. When the brig was nearing shore, the august passenger, who had been known on board only as M. Bouchard, begged to be landed on Long Island, and seemed depressed when the captain refused. 1 In preparing this paper, the writer has been able to use, by authority, advance sheets of a French work prepared with much care in this country by its author, and soon to appear in Paris: 18151832: Joseph Bona- VOL. XLVI.i I. The cause of his uneasiness was soon apparent, for, on entering the harbor the next morning, two frigates were seen flying the English flag, and one of them promptly lay to across the brigs course. At that critical moment the latter was hailed by a young pilot, who came on board and took the helm. Look at those cursed Britishers, trying to block our way, he said to the captain. But we have the wind, and I can hug the shore so that they cant fol- low us. With that, he crowded on all sail, and the brig, as if conscious of her danger, drew ahead so fast that she was soon under shelter of Forts Richmond and Lafayette, and the captain of the frigate wore ship, and bore away. The pilot explained that for the last ten days the English vessels had been watching for Na- poleon, who was said to have left France for the United States, and they had even gone so far as to revive the odious and irritating right of search. The captain of the brig, on learning at last the true character of his passenger, was par- donably incredulous, and for a long time ex- pressed his belief that the personage he had landed was Carnot. Joseph Bonaparte was of a pacific spirit, but, according to his own account, often given in later years, the Commerce might have carried a very different Caesar. After the wreck of Waterloo it was easy to persuade the ex-king of Spain that he, like the emperor, would be safer out of France; but before he sailed, he went to take leave of Napoleon, whom he found sick both in mind and body. Joseph then of- fered to take his brothers place, and to remain parte en Am~rique, par Georges Bertin. Paris, Librai- ne de la Nouvelle Revue, 18 Boulevard Montmartre, 1892 (Droits de traduction et de reproduction riser

F. Marion Crawford Crawford, F. Marion Joseph Bonaparte in Bordentown 81-90

JOSEPH BONAPARTE IN BORDENTO WN. And see! Upon the wave-wet yellow sand Where the bright water ripples round her feet, With look of wondering welcome, outstretched hand, And parted lips that low my name repeat Ah, love! My love! Swift from the prow I fly: Into my longing arms that form I take Only to waken. Oh, that I might die, Rather than from that dream of love to wake! Henry Morton. JOSEPH BONAPARTE IN BORDENTOWN.1 OUR Majesty here! Oh, how glad I am to see your Majesty again! were the exclama- tions which startled the crowd in lower Broadway on the afternoon of September 6, 1815, as a man who looked like a soldier threw himself on his knees, his face bathed in tears, before a stout, elderly gentleman, who tried in vain to raise him and to calm his emotion. The passers-by stopped, asked what was the matter, and a crowd was rapidly collecting when a young fellow who was with the older man stooped over the kneeling enthusiast, whispering a few words as he helped him to his feet, and the three men forced their way through the dense throng, and took refuge from popular curiosity in a shop. Even the~e remote days were not quite unblessed by jour- nalistic enterprise, and the next morning the newspapers solemnly announced that Joseph Bonaparte, ex-king of Spain and eldest brother of the emperor, had succeeded in cheating the vigilance of the English cruisers, and in reach- ing the free and hospitable soil of the United States. He had, in fact, already been a fort- night in the country, having sailed in the American brig Commerce from the little port of Royan, near Bordeaux, on July 25, landing on August 20, the very day on which the Brit- ish man-of-war Northumberland passed the Canary Islands bearing Napoleon to eat his heart out at St. Helena. When the brig was nearing shore, the august passenger, who had been known on board only as M. Bouchard, begged to be landed on Long Island, and seemed depressed when the captain refused. 1 In preparing this paper, the writer has been able to use, by authority, advance sheets of a French work prepared with much care in this country by its author, and soon to appear in Paris: 18151832: Joseph Bona- VOL. XLVI.i I. The cause of his uneasiness was soon apparent, for, on entering the harbor the next morning, two frigates were seen flying the English flag, and one of them promptly lay to across the brigs course. At that critical moment the latter was hailed by a young pilot, who came on board and took the helm. Look at those cursed Britishers, trying to block our way, he said to the captain. But we have the wind, and I can hug the shore so that they cant fol- low us. With that, he crowded on all sail, and the brig, as if conscious of her danger, drew ahead so fast that she was soon under shelter of Forts Richmond and Lafayette, and the captain of the frigate wore ship, and bore away. The pilot explained that for the last ten days the English vessels had been watching for Na- poleon, who was said to have left France for the United States, and they had even gone so far as to revive the odious and irritating right of search. The captain of the brig, on learning at last the true character of his passenger, was par- donably incredulous, and for a long time ex- pressed his belief that the personage he had landed was Carnot. Joseph Bonaparte was of a pacific spirit, but, according to his own account, often given in later years, the Commerce might have carried a very different Caesar. After the wreck of Waterloo it was easy to persuade the ex-king of Spain that he, like the emperor, would be safer out of France; but before he sailed, he went to take leave of Napoleon, whom he found sick both in mind and body. Joseph then of- fered to take his brothers place, and to remain parte en Am~rique, par Georges Bertin. Paris, Librai- ne de la Nouvelle Revue, 18 Boulevard Montmartre, 1892 (Droits de traduction et de reproduction riser 82 JOSEPH BONAPARTE IN BORDENTO WN in his room, feigning illness, for several days, by which time Napoleon would be well out to sea. The emperor was deeply touched, but re- fused, saying that what was possible for Joseph was not possible for him, who could not take flight and desert his faithful officers.1 One cannot but speculate upon what might have happened had he found shelter in Amer- ica, as one tries to guess what the results would have been in English history had Cromwell carried out his plan of emigrating to Connec- ticut. The ex-king took the name of Survilliers, from a village situated upon his estate of Mortefontaine. The latter name, which, ac- cording to French ideas, should have suggested itself first, was associated in his memory with the treaty of September 3, i 8oo, which might have rendered it unpopular in America. Poulsons Advertiser soon stated that Jo- seph had brought with him a great fortune, and vaguely added that he had immediately bought vast estates in the new country. This, however, was incorrect. He had devoted the greater part of his wealth to Napoleons cause, to furnish funds for the great operations of the Hundred Days, and at the time of his de- parture from Royan possessed only a little land, a collection of objects of art, and a certain num- ber of valuable precious stones, by the sale of which he afterward purchased the property which became his in the United States. Napoleon had advised his brother to reside somewhere between New York and Philadel- phia, in order to be within reach of news, and yet in a locality sufficiently secluded to se- cure immunity from constant visits. On July 2, i8i6, Joseph bought of Mr. Stephen Sayre a farm in the immediate vicinity of Borden- town, New Jersey, on the banks of the Dela- ware. This farm, known as Point Breeze, comprised two hundred and eleven acres, cost $17,500, and became the nucleus of an estate ultimately covering more than eighteen hun- dred acres. The transaction was concluded in the name of a third person, a citizen of the United States, but soon afterward the State of New Jersey passed an act enabling Joseph Bo- naparte to hold the property in his own name. In 1814 [writes M. Adolphe Mailliard], after the abdication of the Emperor Napoleon, Joseph retired to Switzerland, to the castle of Prangins, which he had purchased, and where he resided with his family. When Napoleon returned to France in i8i~, he sent word to Joseph to join him in Paris as soon as possible. 1 Cest tr~s bien arrang6; vous arriverez sans dif- ficulti. Dites an roi Joseph que jai bien r~fl~chi sur sa proposition, je ne puis laccepter, ce serait unefuite. Je ne pourrais partir sans mes grands officiers qui me Joseph left Prangins at ten oclock in the even- ing of the i9th of March, with his family, and in a few hours reached Fort de lEcluse on the French frontier. The Swiss Confederation hav- ing yielded to the menaces of the foreign ministers accredited to the Diet, a commissioner of the Federal government arrived at the castle on the following morning with a party of troopers to take possession of Josephs person, and conduct him to Berne. Before leaving for France, Joseph, ex- pecting that he might have difficulties, decided not to take with him the more valuable and impor- tant papers he possessed. The great question was where to place them. He spoke of this to Louis Mailliard, whose devotion he well knew, and in whom he placed entire trust. Mailliard was an ardent sportsman, and spent all his available time in the chase. He told Joseph that he knew of a place in the park of Prangins riddled with foxes earths, where the dogs constantly lost their way, and added that it would be easy to bury the box in one of the deep holes. It would be a simple matter to recover it, and no one would think of searching in such a wild and secluded spot. It would only be necessary to note the relative dis- tances of the trees in the neighborhood. He would be certain to know the place afterward. Joseph consented to examine the spot de- scribed, went to it immediately, and judged it per- fectly satisfactory. Returning to the castle, he made a double inventory of the precious objects, and deposited one copy in the casket, which was placed in a second box of iron, and on the same evening the whole was buried by Mailliard in the presence of Joseph, and covered with several feet of soil. A plan of the surrounding landmarks was hastily made, and kept for future use. Joseph rejoined his brother in Paris, and took part in the events of the Hundred Days, which belong to history. In 1817, after living two years in the United Seates and seeing that quiet was restored in Eu- rope, and having fixed his residence in New Jer- sey, he considered that it was time to think of the objects hidden at Prangins. He told Mailliard to prepare himself for a jour- ney to Switzerland to bring back the property which he had buried, in order to constitute him- self a fortune. He advised him to pass first through Brussels, to see Queen Julia and the princesses, and to accompany them to America on his return, should they decide upon making the journey. He was to pick them up on his way back from France. Joseph having spoken to Stephen Girard of sending Mailliard to Europe on a very important mission, Girard gave him strong letters to his correspondents in Basle, Schaffhausen, and Am- sterdam, as travelling for his (Girards) firm in Philadelphia. Armed with these letters, Mailliard left New York on the ~6th of August, 1817. He did not reach his destination immediately. The vessel, having gone too near the Irish coast, was wrecked sixteen miles from land. The weather was calm, sont tout d~vou~s, mon fr~re pent le faire, ii nest pas dans ma position, moi, je ne le puis pas. Dites-ini de partir sur le champ, il arrivera ~ bon port. Allez. JOSEPH BONAPARTE IN BORDENTO WN 83 and all the passengers were saved, but the ship was lost. Mailliard, proceeding on his way, came to Queen Julia, who by the advice of her physi- cians was obliged to give up the plan of joining her husband. The queen advised him to continue his journey to Switzerland. Louis Mailliard reached Prangins, and went to M. V6ret, Josephs steward in Switzerland; but he was so well disguised as an English tour- ist that M. V& et recognized him only when he took off his red wig. M.V~ret laughed heartily at his disguise, and assured him he would never be known at Prangins. It was decided that M. Mailliard should pass himself off as an English speculator wishing to prospect for metals and coal. M.V6ret would give him two men of the country, with tools, and would let him do as he pleased. Mailliard with his two men went to the place where he had buried the box, and he set them to work at a little distance from the spot, on the first day. On the second day he took them to the very place, and made them clear away the earth only to a certain depth, reserving to him- self the completion of the task. That evening he told the men to leave their tools in the pit un- til the morning; he then returned to the castle to dine with M.V~ret, after which he got into a carriage with the latter and took him to the point where he had been digging, wishing to have him as a witness and to profit by his assistance when it became necessary to take out the box. For some time Mailliard continued to turn out a great quantity of earth. He was beginning to be anx- ious when the crowbar with which he was sound- ing struck the box. A few minutes later the box itself was taken out of the pit, was placed upon a wagon, and taken to Nyon to M.V6rets house. Before opening it, and examining the contents, and comparing the inventories, of which he had a copy with him, Mailliard requested M. Wret to send for a second witness upon whom he could count. M. S~missaert, a friend, was consequently called, and requested to be present at the opening of the case. The contents of the box were found to be in such a state of dampness that the packages had to be dried at the fire before proceeding with the inventory. On finding everything in order, and nothing missing, Mailliard requested M. V~ret to draw up a protocol and to sign it with M. S~missaert, which both did, as follows: NYON (SWITZERLAND), December 26, 1817. In the presence of M. V~ret, M. Mailliard, and M. S%missaert the box which has been found has been opened, and the following objects have been dis- covered to be in such a state of dampness as to make it necessary to open everything and to make new pack- ages. Sixteen precious stones of divers forms and sizes, one of them square, have been replaced in two separate packages. Several packages, after having been dried, have been reincluded in two separate packages, which four pack- ages have been sealed with three different seals belong- ing to the undersigned. This present is executed in duplicate. G. SftMISSAERT. L. MAILLIARD. JAQ. V1~RET. (Red Seal) (Red Seal) (Red Seal) (Arms) (L. M.) (Arms) NOTE BY A. MAILLIARD.The value of these four packages of diamonds was nearly five million francs. After this he arranged the precious stones in two packages of the same size, opened the belt in which he carried his letters of credit, placed the two packages in it, thanked M. V6ret and his friend, took his departure immediately, and re- turned to Joseph. Mailliard reached Point Breeze late at night, but did not hesitate to wake the ex-king, who was sound asleep, and who expressed the greatest satisfaction at the safe return of his emissary. Mailliard took the two packages from his belt, placed them in Josephs hands, and gave him a history of his adventures. Joseph Bonapartes principal characteristics are said to have been a gift of great good sense, and a practical habit of mind. On becoming a landed proprietor in New Jersey, he imme- diately turned his attention to the improving and beautifying of his newly acquired estates. Numerous letters testify to the simplicity of his manner and to his supreme indifference to such details as a dusty coat and clothes splashed with mortar. He loved trees, and appears to have been delighted with the magnolias, rho- dodendrons, and kalmias. He also desired to adorn his garden kingdom with statues in the Italian manner, and prim Mrs. Frances Wright, who visited him in 1819, italicizes her disap- proval of undraped and unmajestic divinities, the greater part of which were coarsely enough executed, presumably in plaster. But she adds that he was frank, without affectation, and in- dependent, with less of roughness than the English gentleman farmer, while recalling the latter in many respects. The writer of the present synopsis was well acquainted in his early youth with those of the old houses at Bordentown which still remain standing, and the really beautiful grounds which surround them. The principal building left was not, indeed, the original dwelling, which was soon burned down, and was replaced by an- other that was afterward taken down by Mr. Beckett, who purchased the park and built a modem villa, on a new site, now occupied by a Catholic institution. There was an old-time air about the massive walls, the quiet walks, the noble trees, and the ill-kept lawns, which contrasted vividly with the neighboring New Jersey town ~in all its modernness. For, not- withstanding the old Revolutionary houses here and there, Bordentown was very modern in 1866, whatever it maybe now. There was about the neighborhood of the park a something which seems peculiar to the residences of the Bona- partes and to places associated with them. I 84 JOSEPH BONAPARTE IN BORDENTO WN have seen it even in Elba the mark of the empire, the indelible trace of a sudden and violent attempt to restore monarchic order ip the confusion resulting from general revolu- tion, the iron determination to change the worlds taste and to give an idea of stability by the abuse of the straight line in everything, from architecture to furniture and dress. King Joseph was himself a striking example of the influence of surroundings upon individ- uals, and he soon took the color of the atmo- sphere in which he had elected to live. Writing to his sister, the Comtesse de Villeneuve, he says that he could never have been so happy elsewhere as in Bordentown, had his wife and his family been with him. The inhabitants, the climate, the government, all suited his taste to perfection. Jt is hardly necessary to say that he visited the home and the tomb of Washington, and experienced the calm and moral sentiments fashionable in those days, but no doubt sin- cere with him. He even plucked a flower at Mount Vernon, and placed it in his pocket- book, making, perhaps, some curious reflec- tions on the widely different destinies, .and the results of the destinies, of his own brother and the American hero. Until his arrival in the United States the life of Joseph may be said to have been a series of contradictions. His natural tastes were for a quiet and peaceable life far from politics and great cities. He loved the country and the secluded existence of the country house, with- out noise or state. Mortefontaine was a para- dise to him, surrounded as he was by his small family and his good friends. Instead of this, as soon as Napoleon became chief of the Army of Italy, he sent him as ambas- sador to Rome, where he narrowly escaped being assassinated. Napoleon, as consul, sent him to Lun6ville and toAmiens, to make treaties. Though Joseph would have preferred to stay in France quietly at Morte- fontaine, he always obeyed. Again Napoleon pushed him on, knowing that his brother would. do everything to serve his plans faithfully. He named him colonel of the Fourth Regiment of the line at Boulogne, and made him study mili- tary science during some time, that he might be able to command an army at a future period. As emperor he gave him the throne of Naples. At last Joseph breathed more freely; he liked Na- ples, wherehe washappy; heintroducedimprove- ments in the kingdom, re~stablished peace and prosperity, and hoped that he might continue to make his people happy. But Napoleon, needing him elsewhere, sent him to Spain in spite of his constant prayers and protests. Napoleon per- suaded hinY that this was absolutely necessary for the interests of France and for the imperial throne. He departed for Spain, leaving behind him his family, to which he was deeply attached, the ease which he loved, and the quiet existence for which he longed. The life of Joseph in Spain was sad, full of trou- ble and disappointments. Three times he wrote to Napoleon in vain, sending him his abdication of the Spanish throne. In vain he begged his bro- ther to withdraw the troops and to leave him alone with the Spaniards, who were personally devoted to him. From St. Cloud Napoleon directed the armies of Spain and supported the French gen- erals, who made all Josephs efforts useless. What a life for a man of his tastes Stanislas de Girardin confirms these wordsof M. Adolphe Mailliard, and tells us that in his private life the ex-king was a most excellent person; that he had a ready intelligence, and loved letters and arts, uniting an amiable and loyal character with the most precious quali- ties, though as a king he was not equal to the difficulties he encountered. Upon the throne of a peaceable kingdom he would have been beloved, but the unsettled state of the kingdom over which he ruled, the fanatic heroism of the Spaniards, and his equivocal position at Ma- drid as the emperors lieutenant, made it impos- sible for Joseph to develop and exhibit those good qualities which would have made his sub- jects pardon his usurpation. Like most exiles, Joseph Bonaparte did his best, in his new home, to surround himself with all that would recall the memories and associations of his own country. Like most exiles of refined tastes, too, he made use of objects of art as his principal means of pro- ducing and fostering this tenderly cherished illusion, and to a certain extent he accom- plished his purpose. On entering his house at Point Breeze, he found himself at once in the presence of pictures by Italian masters such as Luca Giordano, which spoke to him of the glorious country which had been the cradle of his familys phe- nomenal fortune. A gallery of marble statues lent gravity to accentuate the frigid correct- ness of an interior planned and decorated alto- gether in the Perpendicular manner of the First Empire. Solid, heavy furniture, of mas- sive outline, and made of ponderous mahogany, solemnly fulfilled the requirements of daily life. In one of the rooms were hung copies, or- dered by Napoleon himself, of Davids famous Passage of the Alps, executed according to the conquerors own characteristic direction: I wish to be represented calm, upon a fiery horse. The inventory of the furniture in this room would made a modern undertaker look grave. There were heavy corner presses, adorned with columns aI)d brass capitals, heavy tables, heavy sofas, eight heavy mahogany chairs covered with haircloth woven in heavy designs, and inthe JOSEPH BONAPARTE ZN BORDENTO WN 85 midst a heavy billiard-table. Even the stiff, tall Empire lamps are not forgotten in the catalogue. The great drawing-room was up- holstered in blue merino, and the billiard- room had white muslin embroidered curtains with green borders. Certain tables with heavy tops of black or gray marble are chilly to write of, and a screen of needlework before the fire- place completes the picture of a room which, during the modern revival of Empire, would be the paradise of a collector. We can easily imagine the ex-monarch receiving in this solemn and dignified apartment both strangers of distinction and compatriots visiting America who made it a duty to present their respects to him,~~ and with a little imagination we can call up the scenes of noble effusion, controlled only by a dignity somewhat moved to tender- ness, which took place before the huge white marble chimneypieces sent to Joseph by Car- dinal Fesch. These chimneypieces are espe- cially spoken of as real works of art for the majesty of their lines and the richness of their sculpture. Nor should we forget the Gobelin carpet with its figure-medallions, twenty-seven feet by twenty-one, which cov- ered the wide floor, or the magnificent bronzes which gave an air of aristocratic solemnity to the great room. The author of the volume gives, indeed, a long and accurate account of the interior ar- rangements from cellar to garret, which is certainly not altogether without interest, but of which what has been said may be taken as a specimen. The house, according to the taste and standard of those days, would have been considered a fine residence anywhere; in Bor- dentown, New Jersey, it was a royal palace, and it certainly contained many works of art of real and enduring value. There were pic- tures to be seen everywhere. In the dining- room there were four great battle-scenes, representing the victories in Italy, and a dozen other paintings by famous painters, while lit- tle pictures of the Dutch and Flemish schools, of superior merit, were scattered about here and there. There were many bronzes and pieces of S~vres of great value, and notably there were two magnificent porphyry vases, presented by King Bernadotte. The total ab- sence of mirrors as an ornament, we are told, astonished the American public, accustomed even then to putting looking-glasses every- where. In spite of the ponderous magnificence of the state apartments, there seems to have been considerable comfort up-stairs, though even in the Princess Charlottes bedroom there were little tables with white marble tops and a sofa covered with blue damask. We envy the simplicity of the maids room adjoining this, which contained only a small maple bedstead with nankin curtains, a modest washing-stand, a chest of drawers, a writing-table, and three or four chairs. Like all born builders, Joseph loved to work on a large scale, and the practical American mind was sometimes surprised at the magni- tude, purely artistic in its value, which he gave to what he did. But besides following in this the dictates of his taste in art, lie yielded per- haps to the Napoleonic instinct which has dis- tinguished in a greater or less degree all the members of the Bonaparte family a certain inborn belief in their capacity to deal with large masses of whatever matter came under their manipulation. But there was another side to the character of the ex-king, which is clearly exhibited in the quotation he caused to be in- scribed on a tablet in the wall of what he called an observatory a pavilion commanding a very lovely view. Non ignara ma/i, miseris succurrere disco,1 were the words he chose as a sort of motto, and he assuredly lived up to the precept they contain. It is known that he planned and executed many superfluous pieces of work merely to provide occupation for dis- tressed workmen. He was a model proprietor and landlord, and that kind and gentle disposition which might have endeared him to his subjects in his lost kingdom made him beloved by the free people among whom he had cast his lot. The author dwells with especial enthusiasm upon Josephs love of children, and upon the plea- sure he took in watching the Bordentown boys skate and make slides in winter upon the ice of his artificial lake, or disport themselves in its waters in the hot summer days. The lake has long since disappeared, the waters having sunk back to their original course, but the pleasant picture survives, as such pictures do, and we like to think of the stout, kindly old gentle- man who loved to watch the children at play under the great trees. One day, merely to find occupation for a few needy beings, he had a quantity of dead wood carried from one point to another; and when certain other poor people appeared, a few days later, he had it carried back to its original place. He created a number of small offices, real sinecures, for old French officers driven from their country, and for whom he wished to provide a decent existence, while saving their dignity literally oiium ezim dig- nitale / The incidents mentioned in the following anecdote of an old grenadier are said to have taken place in the month of July, 1830, when Joseph was at New York on his way to Saratoga: 1 Not unacquainted with misfortune myself, I have learned to succor the unhappy. Dido to AEneas. 86 JOSEPH BONAPARTE IN BORDENTO WN This grenadier, who was about sixty-four years of age, was called Charles Vondre. He was tall, being nearly six Parisian feet in height, lean and wornwith age,bent double, and having apparently gone through much hardship; but when roused by the presence of a stranger, or by a question, he drew himself up with a certain air of dash to the position of carrying arms, and still showed the legitimate pride of an old brave of the Imperial Guard. About nine oclock in the morning the count, (Joseph) accompanied by M. Louis Mailliard and myself, were on board the steamer Lady Clinton, anchored in the North River, intending to choose state-rooms for our passage to Albany. On board the boat we met two Frenchmen, one of whom, I remember, was M. Trusson, who had formerly lived in Philadelphia and was the son-in-law of Stephen Girard of that city. Having paid for our passage, we were near the captains cabin, and were talking in French. Our conversation attracted the attention of the old grenadier, whom none of us knew. The old man had with him his two adopted children, a boy of twelve and a girl of about the same age. He came toward us and, taking a military attitude, excused himself for addressing us, saying he had heard us speak French, and asking if we had seen a little French woman no taller than that (he made a gesture with his hand at the approximate height), whom he had lost on the preceding evening. He went on to explain how he had lost her. Having thus addressed the count and his com- panions, he stood still in such a military fashion that the ex-king asked him how long he had been in America. He answered that he had just come from France. As he had heard it said that King Joseph (he did not know who was speaking to him) possessed a vast domain in the United States, upon which he gave farms to all the old soldiers of the emperor who presented them- selves, he himself was going to the king to make himself known to his majesty, and to ask a sim- ilar favor. The count asked him what he believed himself capable of doing, pointing out that he was old and worn and that the forests of the United States, where he seemed to expect a farm, were thickly wooded, and that it would be hard for him to make a clearing at his great age, so that he would find it difficult to make a living by the products of his farm. The old brave answered that since the em- perors departure he had earned his living by sawing planks, which had given him the habit of living in the woods and in a hand sawmill; that, moreover, he had been a grenadier of the Imperial Guard, and had been one of the Six Hundred who had accompanied the emperor to Elba; that he had returned with the emperor upon the brig Inconstant; that he had been constantly persecuted in France after the em- perors fall, and that almost all his uniform had been taken from him; that the payment of the pension from the Legion of Honor had been re- fused; and that to save his copper eagle from his grenadiers bearskin, and various other ornaments of copper forming part of his uniform, and his decoration of the Legion of Honor won at Wag- ram, he had been obliged to bury all these relics near his house. On removing his hat, he took from it his cross, the eagle, his certificates of service, and his diploma of the Legion of Honor. Simply, but sincerely, he drew a picture of the sufferings of France, and we were all so much moved that there was not a dry eye among us, for we had before us one of the great actors in those immortal struggles. After hearing him to the end and asking him many questions, the count informed him that he would not find King Joseph at Bordentown, as he was absent, and would not return for several weeks. At these words the good man showed the greatest distress, saying that he was reduced to his last dollar. This was too much for the count, who told Mailliard to give him twenty dollars. The latter, in handing him the money, told the old fellow that he had been talking with King Joseph himself. Instantly the poor old man went and threw himself at the feet of Napoleons brother, took his hands, and covered them with kisses, before he could be prevented by Joseph, who gently begged him to stand up. At this moment the children approached the old grenadier to ask him some question. He turned to them, and with the dignity of a monarch cried out: Be silent! It is the king! As you may imagine, this increased our emotion. Before returning to his hotel, the ex-king gave orders for the future of the veteran, who died, however, three years later, crying out incessantly in his delirium: Long live the Emperor! For- ward, grenadiers! The Old Guard dies, but does not surrender! Wagram! Austerlitz! This same old soldier is reported to have once said, on see- ing the Boston militia march through Borden- town with their band, that with 2000 such men, all thinking and feeling like himself, he would march on Paris, dethrone Louis Philippe, and set up the young Napoleon in his place. The ex-kings calm, sweet nature appears clearly enough in every page of the work be- fore us. He had been reared in the philosophy of the eighteenth century, and was as fond of the open air and the fields as every real dis- ciple of Rousseau. It is no wonder that he found the life in Bordentown congenial. And here we may not irrelevantly give a sketch of Josephs outward personality. All agree in describing him as a thorough Bonaparte, a man of middle height, inclined to stoutness, of a beautifully clear and healthy complexion, having delicate and almost wo- manly hands. His features closely resembled those of his younger brother, the emperor, but lacked at all points the keen decision and ruthless energy which characterized the con- querors face. The nose was aquiline, but not eagle-like; the lips even, not firm; the chin prom- inent, but not massive; the forehead broad and high and full, but not that forehead strong with imagination the imagination which could realize as well as dream. The eyes were grandly JOSEPH BONAPARTE IN BORDENTO WN 87 sculptured and deep-set, but had not the irre- ularly mentioned, each for a legacy, in Josephs sistible penetration, the blaze of occasional will; namely,Joseph Hopkinson, Dr. Nathaniel anger, the brightening luster, of the emperors Chapman, William Short, and Charles J. In- look. Instead, there was a meditative sweet- gersoll. The ex-monarch had the rare good ness, a sort of inward turning of the vision, fortune, well merited in his case, to meet suggesting those men whom Napoleon lightly with unbounded devotion in his friends, and stigmatized as id6ologues. with a fidelity and warmth of affection neither Indeed, from earliest youth the difference in dimmed nor cooled in the hearts of the few character had been clearly apparent in the two. among them who have survived. Of all, how- As a child, Napoleon was turbulent, adroit, ever, he was most closely drawn to Mailliard. lively, quick in the extreme, and beat and bit In his will he says, I declare here that no man his elder brother as he pleased. The old Lucien, has a stronger claim upon my confidence and their uncle, when on his death-bed, said to Jo- my esteem than Louis Mailliard ; and the seph before the assembled family: You are the author acknowledges that to the latters son, eldest, but there stands the head. Never for- M. Adoiphe Mailliard, he is indebted for much get it. And he pointed to Napoleon. valuable information in the compilation of his Napoleon once said in writing to Joseph: book. You live too much with men of letters and sci- ence. They are coquettes with whom one must During Joseph Bonapartes residence at Bor- keep up an intercourse of gallantry, and of whom dentown a deputation arrived to offer him the one must never make ones wife nor ones crown of Mexico, which he refused with the re- minister. Yet the emperor did not know, we mark that he had worn two crowns and would not take the least trouble to wear a third. are told, that Joseph was at that very time in Search, he concluded, addressing the envoys, close and continued correspondence with Ber- among your fellow-citizens for a man more nardin de Saint-Pierre and many other men of capable than I should be of playing the part of literary eminence, and far more, deeply inter- Washington. ested in their pursuits than in the destinies of the world as directed by a man who could say The news of the death of him whom the poet of himself: I love power myself; but I love has called the modem Prometheus reached it as an artist. I love it as a musician who Philadelphia on August 10, 182 i. According loves his violin. I love it in order to draw to Poulsons Advertiser, Joseph was then at sounds from it, chords and harmony; I love it Saratoga. We do not find him at Point Breeze as a.n artist. I may say, in passing, that these again until September, when the same paper, words of Napoleon form part of a passage lit- on the 2 7th, speaks of him as seriously indis- tle known, but which should be famous, quoted posed in consequence of the news of his bro- at length by Sainte-Beuve in the Causeries du thers death. Lundi, and easy to find. In a letter dated Point Breeze, December So Joseph played the part of the younger 24, i821, addressed to his intimate friend Jo- son, being himself the eldest, and his reward seph Hopkinson, the ex-king refers to the shock was a life which his great younger brother might his health had suffered in the death of the have envied, but could never have lived. emperor. Joseph Bonaparte was born to lead what is called a family life, and it is natural that he POINT BREEZE, December 24, 1821. should have formed many and enduring friend- SIR: I return you the printed matter which ships in his American home, both with Amen- you were good enough to send me; it would be cans and among the numerous immigrants who hard for me to recollect all the words I spoke in at that time found a refuge in the New World. the sufferings of the long illness. I do not fancy that the impression on myself was any more Many of these have left a record of their first ac- agree able than that of a first confession. quaintance and subsequent intercourse with the Ican no longer doubt, to-day, that my brother ex-king. Francis Lieber speaks of him with ad- died a victim to the cruelty of his enemies. Al- miration as a man, andwith gratitude as a friend, ready one of the principal accomplices has done and even says that he should be glad, in his justice upon himself. But for them, he would old age, to resemble such a man. Among those have lived in this country, as healthy as I, who who occupied the position of friends, and not am older than he was and not so strong in con- of mere passing acquaintances, the names of shtution; and there would have been no discus- Clay, Daniel Webster, andJohnQuincy sion in order to find reasons for his death, which Henry have nothing to do with the true one. Adams are prominent, as are the names of Liv- He would have been appreciated not only by ingston, Admiral Charles Stewart (grandfather enlightened persons like yourself, sir, and Dr. of the late Mr. Pamell), Richard Stockton, Gen- Chapman, but by the majority of [American] eral Thomas Cadwalader, and, besides, many citizens, whose calm reason seems to be one of others, four especially whose names were partic- their distinctive characteristics. 88 JOSEPH BONAPARTE IN BORDENTO WN. He was always greater than his fortune and selves in cohorts, choosing to be commanded superior to his glory, by superior officers, and it was natural enough It was this pride of a soul conscious of itself that such an organization should inevitably which had made him judge that he would have lead to warlike manifestations in which the been appreciated in the land of Locke and New- ton and in the country of Washington and Frank- name of the ex-king was, of course, turned to ha. Like Julius Ca~sar, he believed his enemies account. incapable of a great crime, and, like C~esar, the To American readers the man as he lived victim of Scyllas party, he perished at the hands in this country is probably more interesting of the European oligarchy.1 This sanctimoniously than the ex-king in the survival of his official and traitorously homicidal party does not pardon position and broken political relations. In a nations that shake off their chains, nor kings who paper of these dimensions it is not possible to reign by their people and for their people. do full justice to what appears to be a finished I am not aware, sir, of the length of my letter; study of Jos I forget that I am no longer talking with an idle eph Bonapartes later years. The farmer of New Jersey, but with one of the busi- present writer has endeavored to extract such est men of the capital; in any case, sir, whether portions of the work as may contribute to the in town or in the country, believe me, with as- creation of a picture rather than to the forma- surances of true esteem and complete attachment, tion of an opinion concerning political matters. Your affectionate Amidst much that is interesting, there is also JOSEPH, COUNT DE SURVILLiERS. much which few Americans would read, though, M. HoPKINsoN, Philadelphia. on the whole, the work seems worthy of trans- lation into our language. Many would read with attention, no doubt, if not with profit, the chapter in which a considerable mass of correspondence has been collected; and the chapter devoted to French opinion in regard to the ex-king is well and carefully done. An- other chapter, the one preceding the last, treats of Joseph Bonapartes position as the head of his family after the emperors death, and of his return to Europe; but those events were not followed by consequences of such importance as to justify us in dwelling upon the details carefully collected by the author. The latter has dealt solely with the ex-kings life in the United States. To use his words: And now the author goes on to speak of Joseph Bonapartes semi-official position in the United States. Such a position, indeed, he shunned, but could not altogether escape, in those days of French immigration and of still surviving belief in the empire. In the imagi- nation of so many Frenchmen violently expelled from their own country, he could not be sim- ply the Comte de Survilhiers, the retiring coun- try gentleman, the kind-hearted New Jersey squire. To them he was still King Joseph, he was still the brother of the emperor, and the position they thus assigned to him required the greatest tact, frankness, and loyalty of purpose. The creation of a camp of refuge in Texas as a rallying-point for the exiled French, and its relation to the Monroe doctrine, are mat- ters of history. It is needless to say, however, that the name of Joseph Bonaparte was to be inevitably associated with the scheme in the minds of all Frenchmen and some Americans, and for a time this rendered his position an ex- tremely difficult one. The Camp of Refuge was a momentary consequence of circumstances, and its history has little importance. It is suffi- cient to say, in order to account for that little, that the men who promoted the plan were not in any sense citizens, but were, on the con- trary, soldiers in the fullest acceptation of the term old soldiers, veterans, the heroes of Cairo, Jaffa, Marengo, or Moscow, with many survivors of the field of Waterloo. It was scarcely even to be dreamed that men edu- cated in such an existence as theirs had been, could in a single day become simple laborers and peaceable farmers. They grouped them- 1 ref~rence here is evidently to Sylla (more com- monly Sulla). EDITOR C. M. From the moment he touches the English shore, he ceases to belong to this volume, which is devoted solely to the personality of the Count of Survilliers that is, to the Joseph of the sev- enteen years of free and healthy life in America; to Bonaparte the philosopher and.., the Re- publican. With one last quotation we reach the end. The manner in which the President was to re- ceive him in Washington, at the time of his de- parture, shows to what extent this designation [ republican ] is just, and in what degree the brother of Napoleon had known how to win the sympathies of the American people; seeing that in this land of public opinion, where public opin- ion holds sovereign sway, those in power had learned to treat him, on the whole, as a private individual, and with such consideration since upon this soil of equality he could have no other title as was unanimously approved by the press. Joseph had come to America an exile, a fugi- tive, received under protest; he left as a guest publicly valued, honored, and regretted. F. Marion Crawford. JOSEPH BONAPARTE COMTE DE SURVILLIERS. VOL. XLVI. 12. ETCHED BY RODTLPHE PIGUET ACTED YE PAINTING BA J. GAUBAUD, IN EASNESNIAN AC ADALEBE MAILLIARD. LEAVES FROM THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SALVINI. I REMAINED with Domeniconi for two years after Ristori left us, and during this 1)eriod I busied myself with reading the works H of Shakspere, translated into Italian verse by Giulio Carcano. Although the name of Shak- spere had already more than once attracted my attention, the dubious outcome of the experi- ments of several meritorious artists who had made essay of him had dissuaded me from oc- cupying myself overmuch with his plays. 1 See THE CENTURy for December, 1892, and leb- roary, 1893, for other papers of this series. 90 At that time the quality of form appeared so important to me, that Voltaire seemed to be more acceptable than Shakspere, and I pre- ferred Orosmaize in Zafre to the Moor of Venice. The haughty and impassioned sultan possessedme heart and soul, and I awaited with impatience the opportunity to portray him. The character appealed to me so strongly that I could not get it out of my thoughts, and it kept fusing itself with the various new l)arts for which I was cast by my director. I already had by heart some portions of Orosmanes lines, ADELAIDE insroid.

Tomasso Salvini Salvini, Tomasso Leaves from the Autobiography of Salvini 90-100

LEAVES FROM THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SALVINI. I REMAINED with Domeniconi for two years after Ristori left us, and during this 1)eriod I busied myself with reading the works H of Shakspere, translated into Italian verse by Giulio Carcano. Although the name of Shak- spere had already more than once attracted my attention, the dubious outcome of the experi- ments of several meritorious artists who had made essay of him had dissuaded me from oc- cupying myself overmuch with his plays. 1 See THE CENTURy for December, 1892, and leb- roary, 1893, for other papers of this series. 90 At that time the quality of form appeared so important to me, that Voltaire seemed to be more acceptable than Shakspere, and I pre- ferred Orosmaize in Zafre to the Moor of Venice. The haughty and impassioned sultan possessedme heart and soul, and I awaited with impatience the opportunity to portray him. The character appealed to me so strongly that I could not get it out of my thoughts, and it kept fusing itself with the various new l)arts for which I was cast by my director. I already had by heart some portions of Orosmanes lines, ADELAIDE insroid. LEA VES FF011 THE A UTOB/OGRAPHY OF SAL V/NJ. 9 and I took pleasure in declaiming them before a mirror, with a towel xvrapped round my head in lieu of a turban; and at the start I found some effects which, as I thought, presaged a sure success. I wished, however, to avoid fix- ing an immature conception in my mind, and I let it lie for several months, so that I might form fresh impressions upon taking it up again. There is no better rule in art than not to per- mit ones self to be carried away by a first iml)ulse. When time is taken for reflection ones conceptions are always more correct. It was my aim to form a repertory of special parts so minutely studied and rounded that I might be able through them to attain a repu- tation. The conditions of the Italian stage at that time were not such as to offer me the means of attaining my end. Constrained as I was to busy myself with a new part every week, which, though often I did not know the text perfectly, I had to play without reflection, and without having a thorough grasp of it, how was it pos- sible for me to prosecute a serious study of the l)hilosophy and psychology of my art? I re- solved to accept no engagement for the coming year (1853), and to live quietly with my rela- tives in Florence with a view to carry out my I)lan. Just then the xvorks of Shakspere came again into my hands, and, to tell the truth, even on a second reading, his characters, his concep- tions, and his form seemed to me so strange that I was still in doubt whether to occupy myself with them. Nevertheless, the impres- sion that I received was a strong one, since I was unable to drive from my mind the adven- tures of the sad, perplexed, and anguish-driven Hamlet, and of the loyal, generous, and trust- ing 0/lie/la. I made up my mind that I would spend my time, during the next year, on no more than three parts. These were Saul and 0/lie/la in the tragedies of the same names by Alfieri and Shakspere, and Orosmane in Vol- taires Zaire, which last I had already gotten into pretty good shape. XVith the carnival of 1853 ended in Bologna my engagement with Domeniconi; but I had to stay through Lent in that city to play at a match in billiards which I had begun during the season. During Lent the Zannoni Company came to the Corso Theater in Bologna, and with a view to bet- tering their somewhat languishing fortunes, made me a proposal that I should appear in a few extra performances. As I was on the spot, I accepted the proposition, a little out of van- ity, and a little for the sake of laying up a few more scudi for the needs of my coming period of leisure. One of the most promising plays to give was undoubtedly Zaire; but I was not a little awed by the fame, still bright in that city, won as Orosmane by the celebrated Lombardi. Lombardi must surely have been an artist of great merit to have established himself so firmly in the popular memory. He who is afraid goes not to the wars, said I to myselg and I decided to seize the opportunity to give the play. I began my series with Orestes, Der Spieler, by Iffiand, Orlando Furioso, and Scribes La Calomnie. I did not pos- sess the costumes needful for Orosmane, but with my receipts from the first plays I was able to fit myself out with dresses at once rich and elegant. On the appointed evening the expectation of the audience was wrought up to a high pitch. Nevertheless, it was favorably disposed; and notwithstanding that in the last act my wide Turkish trousers were awkwardly disar- ranged precisely at the culminating moment of the tragedy, it was a splendid success. Thus one of the three parts in which I had deter- mined to attain superiority had already re- ceived its consecration. I settled myself very comfortably with my relatives in Florence, and laid out my hours, so many for study and so many for recreation, keeping myself free from everything which might disturb my plans. During my frequent walks I declaimed my parts mentally; but now and then I would forget myself, and instantly would become an object of public curiosity. Again I would be surprised by some passer- by in the act of practising a gesture appro- priate to the personage who was occupying my mind, and I doubt not that I was often taken for a lunatic. Very often I would seek out-of- the-way and solitary places, pushing on into a fir wood or a chestnut grove, where my only ENGRAVED BY R. A. DULLER. FRANCESCO LOMBARDI. audience would be the birds. A gentleman of Ferrara who was fond of declamation, having asked me to give him lessons, I taught him Sau4 and took the opportunity to study it myself at the same time. This was the only part in my masters repertory of tragedy which I ventured to play, and in the proper place I will explain; why. I avoided the others, fearing lest I should follow him too closely or do less well. Those actors whom I saw devote themselves to re- producing those parts awoke my disgust or 92 moved me to ridicule; and when sometimes I heard them applauded by a forgetful or igno- rant public, I became indignant, and would gladly have protested. I shall always congratu- late myself upon my decision to free myself for that year from the monotonous routine of the stage. I gained in this way the opportunity to reflect, to make comparisons, and to examine into my defects. I imposed upon myself a new method of study. While I was busying myself with the part of Sau4 I read and re-read the SALVINI AS OROSMANE IN THE ZAIRE OF VOLTAIRE. LEA VES FROA[ THE A UTOBIOGRAPHY OF SAL VINL Bible, so as to become impregnated with the ap- propriate sentiments, manners, and local color. When I took up Othello, I pored over the his- tory of the Venetian Republic and that of the Moorish invasion of Spain; I studied the pas- sions of the Moors, their art of war, their reli- gious beliefs, nor did I overlook the romance of Giraldi Cinthio, in order the better to mas- ter that sublime character. I did not concern myself about a superficial study of tbe words, or of some point of scenic effect, or of greater or less accentuation of certain phrases with a view to win passing applause; a vaster horizon opened out before me an infinite sea on which my bark could navigate in security, without fear of falling in with reefs. FAULTS IN ACTING. IN my assiduous reading of the classics, the chief places were held among the Greeks by the masculine and noble figures of Hector, Achilles, Theseus, ~1Edipus; among the Scots by Trenmor, Fingal, Cuchullin; and among the Romans by Qesar, Brutus, Titus, and Cato. These characters influenced me to incline to- ward a somewhat bombastic system of gesticu- lation and a turgid delivery. My anxiety to enter to the utmost into the conceptions of my au- thors, and to interpret them clearly, disposed me to exaggerate the modulations of my voice like some mechanism which responds toeverytouch, not reflecting that the abuse of this effort would bring me too near to song. Precipitation in de- livery, too, which when carried too far destroys all distinctness and incisiveness, was due to my very high impressionability, and to the straining after technical scenic effects. Thus, extreme vehemence in anger would excite me to the point of forgetting the fiction, and cause me to commit involuntarily lamentable outbursts. Hence I applied myself to overcome the ten- dency to singsong in my voice, the exuberance of my rendering of passion, the exclamatory (luality of my phrasing, the precipitation of my pronunciation, and the swagger of my motions. I shall be asked how the public could abide me, with all these defects; and I answer that the defects, though numerous, were so little prominent that they passed unobserved by the mass of the public, which always views broadly, and could be detected only by the acute and searching eye of the intelligent critic. I make no pretense that I was able to correct myself all at once. Sometimes my impetuosity would carry me away, and not until I had come to mature age was I able to free myself to any ex- tent from this failing. Then I confirmed myself in my opinion that the applause of the public is not all refined gold, and I became able to sepa- rate the gold from the dross in the crucible of 93 intelligence. How many on the stage are con- tent with the dross! THE DESIRE TO EXCEL IN EvERyTHING. Mv desire to improve in my art had its origin in my instinctive impulse to rise above mediocrityan instinct that must have been born in me, since, when still a little boy, I used to put forth all my energies to eclipse what I saw accomplished by my companions of like age. When I was sixteen, and at Naples, there were in the boarding-house, at two francs and a half a day, two young men who were study- ing music and singing, and to surpass them in their own field I practised the scales until I could take B natural. Later on, when the tone of my voice had lowered to the barytone, im- pelled always by my desire to accomplish something, I took lessons in music from the rnaesh-o Terziani, and appeared at a benefit with the famous tenor Boucard~, and Signora Monti, the soprano, and sang in a duet from Belisario, the aria from Maria di Rohan1 and La Settimana dAmore, by Niccolai; and I venture to say that I was not third best in that triad. But I recognized that singing and declamation were incompatible pursuits, since the method of producing the voice is totally different, and they must therefore be mutually harmful. Financially, I was not in a condition to be free to choose between the two careers, and I persevered of necessity in the dramatic profession. Whether my choice was for the best I do not know; it is certain that if my success had been in proportion to my love of music, and I have reason to be- lieve that it might have been, I should not have remained in obscurity. My organization was well suited, too, for success in many bodily exercises. When I wanted to learn to swim, I jumped from a height into the sea out of my depth, and soon became a swimmer; I took a fancy to dan- cing, and perfected myself to such good pur- pose that I was always in favor as a partner; I wanted to be a good swordsman, and for five years I handled the foils assiduously, and took part in public exhibitions for the benefit of my teachers. In like manner I became one of the best billiard-players in Italy, and so good a horseman that no horse could unseat me. My muscular strength, fostered by constant exer- cise, was such that with one arm I could lift a man seated in a chair and place him on a billiard-table. I could sew and embroider, and make any quantity of pretty little trifles, and I used to devise nexv games that gave pleasure to numbers of my friends. Everything that I tried succeeded at least moderately well, not from any personal merit of my own, but 94 LEAVES FROM THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SAL VINL owing to the happy disposition conferred upon me by nature. As to my character, I must confess that I was somewhat positive. I was extremely high- strung, and took offense at an equivocal word or a d Th~ous look. Though apparently self- but as a means of independence. I have done much good to my fellows, and have received evil in return. I have thought much for others, and have made little provision for myself; in that little I include the leaden case destined to receive my bones. controlled, I was very violent when my anger was awakened. I was patient in a very high degree, but firm and resolute in my decisions. I was constant when once my affection was seriously given, but changeable in my sympa- thies. Friendship was a religion for me, and notwithstanding frequent deceptions, I have always remained an affectionate friend. Titles of nobility have never dazzled me; I have al- ways admired the true gentleman, and vener- ated the man of real talent. The sentiment of revenge never developed in me, but that of contempt assumed great proportions. I have never felt envy of any one, but I have sought to emulate those I have admired. I have sought for money, not for the sake of riches, THE CHOLERA IN BOLOGNA. IN 1854 I became a member of the Astolfi Company, of which Carolina Santoni was lead- ing lady, and Gaspare Pieri the bri/lante. Caro- lina Santoni had a disagreement with our manager, Astolfi, and left the company in the middle of the year; her place was supplied by Gaspare Pieris wife, the charming Giusep- pina Casali-Pieri, who had some talent in comedy. We went to Bologna just as the cholera was beginning to appear there; it was threatening at the same time several other cities in Italy. I advised all to leave Bologna at once, and to go to some place that was free from infection; but CLEMENTINA CAZZOLA. LEAVES FROM THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SAL VINL 95 neither manager nor company would accept my advice, being unwilling to incur the unfore- seen expense of a new journey. To mask their stinginess, they declared that my advice was dictated by fear, and Astolfi diverted himself hugely at my expense, and ridiculed the timid- ity of my proposition. In the mean time the disease was becoming more and more serious, and one day when I saw an expression of grave anxiety on the faces of my late opponents, I said to them: You refused my advice, and said that it was due to my being afraid. Now all I have to say to you is that I shall be the last of us all to leave Bologna. Soon the vic- tims of the pestilence numbered ~oo a day. The city was in consternation, and business was forgotten or neglected. At many street-corners temporary altars were set up, and the people would kneel down before them and pray, and seek to conjure away the danger. One night I myself stumbled over the body of a person who had been suddenly stricken down. In a short time the city became a desert, and only then did my companions decide to go away. They hired carriages by the day to make the journey; and when they had all gone, I took a place in the public coach, and reached Leg- horn before them. Our manager, Astolfi, upon his arrival at Pistoja, was taken with the epi- demic, and lost his life. I received a most advantageous offerfor 1856 from the jovial and courteous, but none the less able, actor and manager Cesare Dondini. After Luigi Vestri, this actor was the most faithful follower of the school of truth. The very sight of him put one in good humor; the geniality of his disposition even influenced the audience, and made everybody in the house feel happy, no matter how diverse were the parts which he played. He was a very pearl of a man, and a model manager. A most brilliant comet was just then rising on the artistic horizon. Clementina Cazzola was born under the patronage of art; as a little girl she was called an infant prodigy. She was the child of artists of humble rank, but nature had endowed her with the sentiment of the beau- tiful; and as the workman extracts the carbun- cle from a rock, so did Cesare Dondini raise from obscurity that precious gem of the purest water. Her interpretation of her characters was faith- ful and exquisitely subtle, and the most minute analysis of every profound emotion was ren- dered by her with exactness and truth. Her eyes were like two black diamonds emitting beams of light, and seemed quickly to penetrate to the very soul of him upon whom she fixed them, and to read his inmost thoughts. In the Dame aux Cam6lias she was bewitching; in the tra- gedy of Saffo, by Marenco, she was admir- able; in Pia de Tolommei she was sublime. In this last tragedy, especially, she reached such a pitch of perfection that it seemed a miracle. I am most happy to render to this incompar- able actress a small part of that homage which the Italian public lavished upon her. We all deplored her early death in July, 1858. While I was still with the Dondini com- pany, the distinguished tragic poet G. B. Nic- colini intrusted to me the production of his ~ZEdipus at Colonos, and it met everywhere with a favorable reception. Other works, more or less worthy, came at this time to distract my attention from the studies of my choice; but these transient interruptions really contributed to ripen those studies. I could not deviate from my purpose to form a special repertory for my- self, and I had already made a beginning with Zaire, the Suonatrice dArpa, Orestes, Saul, and my study of Othello. OTHELLO. THIS last play I was able to put on the stage at Vicenza in June, 1856, with Clementina Caz- zola as the most perfect type of Desdcmouia that could ever be wished for. The usual con- ception of Desdemona is as a blonde, with blue eyes and a rosy complexion, perhaps because in his pictures Titian preferred that type, and cultivated variety in his colors and half-tints, but for all that it is not less true that the Vene- tian type is represented by dark eyes, black hair, and a skin of alabaster. In Venice ruddy- haired women are no more usual than those with jet-black hair in England. That excellent artist Lorenzo Piccinini filled most adequately the part of fago. The material of the com- pany was excellent; every care had been taken with the costumes, which were faultless; suitable scenery had been prepared by a scene-painter of ability, and the production of Shaksperes play was awaited with lively interest. It was the night of my benefit, and abundant and pro- longed applause was given in greeting to the artist; but it was the first time that a tragedy of that type had been seen in Vicenza; hence popular judgment wavered as to the worth of the work. It would be unfair to lay this too heavily to the charge of a public accustomed to the observance of the Aristotelian limits of clas- sic tragedy. It is not the little band of intelli- gent persons that we have to convince, but the mass of the public. From Vicenza we went to Venice, and our rendering of Othello met with the same re- ception there. There was applause, there were calls before the curtain, an ovation even; but the people, as they left the house, said, This is not the kind of thing for us. While that pale imitation, Voltaires Zaire, was lifted to the skies, thanks to its irreproachable form, Othello did not appeal to the taste of the Venetians. It will easily be believed that I made little account of this mistaken judgment, and repeated the play several times, until at last they found some good in it. At Rome I forced the play on public favor. A sure sign that it commanded interest was that there was always a full house. It was not to their taste, it is true, but they could not stay away.~ For four seasons I always selected that play for my benefit. The first time, people blamed me; the second, they began to be interested; the 96 third, they were pleased; and after that every time that I went to Rome they asked me how soon I should give Othello. HAMLET. I BECAME so much enamored of the great English dramatist, that I was constrained to neglect somewhat the classic school, though I still held it in warm affection, in order to occupy myself with a character extravagant indeed, but nevertheless full of attraction SALVINI AS SAMSON~ SEETCHED FROM LIFE IN NOVEMBER, 1889. LEA VES FROM THE A UTOBIOGRAPHY OF SAL VINI. 97 that of Hamlet. I chose the translations by Giulio Carcano as the most in accord with my taste, and for a fixed yearly payment he ceded to me Othello and all his other translations and abridgments from Sfiakspere. In the eyes of the public my form seemed too colossal for Hamlet. The adipose, lymphatic, and asth- matic thinker of Shakspere must change him- self, according to the popular imagination, into a slender, romantic, and nervous figure; and although my Hamlet was judged more than flatteringly by the most authoritative critics and by the first dramatic artist of that day, it will always take rank after my Othello. I do not know whether I should felicitate my- self upon having incarnated that son of Mauri- tania; sure it is that he has done some injury to other personifications of my repertory, though not less carefully elaborated. I am bound to declare that Hamlet, Orestes, Saul, King Lear, and (~orrado in La Morte Civile, cost me no less study or application than Othello, and that my artistic conscience has never doubted that there was full as much merit in my interpretation of those characters as in that of the other. Nevertheless, Othello has always been the favorite and the best applauded; Othello is a sight-draft, which the public has paid promptly every time that it has been presented. SOPHOCLES. THE reader who has become accustomed to my small modesty will permit me to make another assertion. The part in which I have the least fault to find with myself is that of Sofocle, in the drama in verse of the same name by Paolo Giacometti. The play was written expressly for me; and I venture to say that the emotions of that grandiose figure are mod- eled so well upon my capabilities that his spoils would ill become any other artist. Yet that name, venerated as poet and as citizen, cannot boast that it ever drexv a full house. Those who came were always full of enthu- siasm; but though I tried it repeatedly, the audience was always scanty, and this notwith- standing that the play is one of the most meri- torious that have been written in this century. SAMSON. ANOTHER work was written expressly for me by Ippolito dAste Sansone, a bibli- cal tragedy, rich in noble verses, striking in its conception, and of incontestable scenic effec- tiveness, but beyond a doubt, as a philosophi- cal and literary production, much inferior to Sofocle. Yet the preeminent Greek poet was forced, by the capriciousness and injustice of the public, to yield the primacy to the bib- VOL. XLVI. i3. lical hero. This play, too, became a specialty of my repertory. I must, however, acknow- ledge that my athletic figure and powerful muscles, and the strength of my voice, had their part in the great success of this play. It is idle to deny that for certain parts appropriate physical and vocal qualities are indispensable, and are an inseparable factor in success. It is an illusion that in the representative arts in- telligence and talent are alone sufficient to win a great reputation. The singer may possess an admirable method, facility in trilling, perfec- tion in intonation; but if he has not also a fine and powerful voice, he will never rise above mediocrity. The public demands, in addition to talent, physical presence; in addition to art, a sympathetic and unlabored sonority of voice. If there is deficiency in one or another natural gift, attention becomes dulled, enthusiasm is not aroused, and the public sets one down in the category of the intelligent and worthy, but not in that of the eminent. And this is not an injustice, for one is in no way constrained to join a profession of which the demands are so exacting. The public has not forced you to put yourself in a position where you must beg for its indulgence, or to expose yourself in an endeavor which is beyond your strength. Those incomplete artists are unjust who rail at the coolness of the public, at the sharpness of the critic. Such characters as Saul Samson, and Ingomar demand an im- posing form and a masculine and powerful voice, and since nature had favored me with these material advantages, I was able for long to couple my name with those of the biblical king, the hero of the Jews, and the barbarian. IN PARIS. WHEN I had become in fair measure satis- fied with my rendering of Orosmane in Zaire, of Sau4 and of Othello, I persuaded my friend and associate Cesare Dondini to try our for- tune at the Salle Ventadour in Paris. I car- ried only my art with me, and in that mare magnum of all earthly celebrities this proved to be a rather scant capital. In Paris, no doubt, true merit is appreciated; but if one has not the means of presenting his merit along with a pretty liberal dose of charlatanism, it is offered to deaf ears, and the few who do appreciate it are swallowed up in the indiffer- ence of the vast majority. Well, we arrived in Paris, and, thinking to flatter the national pride, we chose Voltaires Zaire for our first pro- duction. Our chief actress, Clementina Caz- zola, was frightened by Ristoris great success, and declined to accompany us on this ven- ture; all her parts were accordingly intrusted to a conscientious young actress, Alfonsina 98 LEA VES FROM THE A UTOBLOGRAPHY OF SAL VINI. Aliprandi, who filled them with credit. Oros- mane was acclaimed, Zafre applauded, Lu- sigmzn (Lorenzo Piccinini) praised; but the play had lived its time, the classic type was in decadence, and our choice of a piece was criticized. We promptly produced Saul. This sublime composition was pronounced by the Gallic critics heavy, dry, arid, incompre- hensible. May Heaven pardon them! They were incapable of understanding it. I con- vinced myself that this was really the case when I went to look for a French translation of Saul, in order to have librettos prepared to promote appreciation of it, and found that fine opening, Bell alba & questa, rendered, Oh, quelle belle matin6e! I became even more convinced when Alexandre Dumas,frre, maintained that Alfieri should have made his Saul a young man, and not an old one. If an acute, many-sided, imaginative talent like that was capable of making so nonsensical an ex- hibition of itself, it can easily be imagined what the smaller fry said. Thus Saul shared the fate of Zaire. There was applause, and there were flattering notices, but the play would not draw. As our last anchor of safety, we tried Othello. Shakspere was the fash- ion, and even I became the fashion, too! Paris was moved; and according to her wont, be- ing moved, she xvent into a state of exultation. The Anglo-Saxon sojourners came, too; the journalists were forced (I say forced, because they did it greatly against their wish) to fall into line with the general appreciation, to float with the current, and to bring themselves to do me justice. Othello paid the expenses of our season. The most generous praises were lavished on the artists; in especial a demon- stration was made by the Com~die-Fran9aise, which decided, in order to do honor to the Italian actor, that on the night of his benefit several of its actors and actresses should take part in the representation. I must admit that if the French once begin to be agreeable, they do not stop half-way; and it was no small achievement to have interested the manager and the artists of that model playhouse. At this time I formed the acquaintance of a lady who wields much influence among the publishing enterprises of North America, and she urged me to go to New York; she said that she was sure I should have great success there, particularly in Othello, and promised me that I could count on her friendly interest as a guaranty of a favorable outcome. I hesi- tated, however, because of the length of the journey, of my usual diffidence as to my own ability, and, above all, of the exiguity of my finances. What means had I to fall back on in the event of a disaster? I thanked the ami- able lady, and dismissed the thought. A thousand testimonials of esteem and sym- pathy followed, which it would be tedious to set forth here. Through these, as by an electric flash, knowledge of our success was dissemi- nated in Italy, and offers of new and advanta- geous engagements pelted Dondini like hail. In his function as manager he accepted one of these for Sicily, comprising the three chief cities of the island; and the results of that year were highly profitable for our association. So it is that with increase of fame comes in- crease of funds also! Upon our return to Italy, Signora Cazzola resumed her post in the company. We next went to Sicily, opening at Catania. The four years that I passed with Cesare Don- dini were the most advantageous of my career to my artistic reputation. The public, and more than the public, my colleagues, conceded to me the palm in the rendering of several parts. They affirmed that I had no rival as Ores/es, as Orosmane, as SauAin the Morte Civile, in the Suonatrice dArpa, as Sansone, in Pamela, and finally as 0/hello. This judgment, though of much weight, did not quench entirely my ardent desire to make myself a specialist in still other plays. At the end of my service with the Dondini company, I was engaged as chief actor for the Compagnia Reale de Fiorentini of Naples from the first day of Lent in the year i86o. I found but small change in the at- mosphere of the theater after my fifteen years of absence. Almost all those who had been at- tached to it in 1845 were still there. The cele- brated character-actor Luigi Taddei, who had joined the company ten years before, had be- come old and rather infirm, and, though always admirable, appeared but seldom. Only Fanny Sadowsky, though advanced in age, retained the spirit and energy of the fair days of her tri- umphs. In fine, the walls of the establishment had received a coat of whitewash, but the foun- dations were the same. The quality of the pub- lic, too, was unchanged in that hundred-year- old theater. There were still those families who subscribed for their seats by the year, and who inserted in their marriage contracts, as one of the conditions, a box at the Fiorentini for the bride. It was once their cherished pleasure to create or destroy the reputation of those who came before their supreme tribunal. At that time the company, subsidized by the Bourbon government, still enjoyed the privi- lege of playing in that theater without competi- tion, whence arose a Chinese wall between the actors of that company and all others of the pe- ninsula; so that ifany of them happened to leave Naples for Florence, for instance, they would ask him whether he was going to Italy! Never- theless, the report of my success had broken through the protecting wall, and curiosity was LEAVES FROIJ[ THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SAL VZNL 99 at a high pitch. Prepiani and Monti were dead, and Adamo Alberti alone remained as director of the enterprise, and as I could remain only one year at Naples, he had already secured my suc- cessor. Upon my arrival in Naples, Alberti asked me, in accordance with the terms of my contract, which gave me the right of choice, with what play I wished to begin,and I indicated Zaire. But they had no scenery for Zaire, and it would hardly do to be content with a makeshift. All right, said I; we will take the Suonatrice dArpa. But in that play Signora Sadowsky had not yet mastered her part. Very well; then I will give Oreste. But Bozzo, who was cast for Pilade, happened just then to be ill. Excellent, said I; in that case I 11 play whatever you like. I di- vined very clearly the motive for this spirit of opposition. The good man had engaged for the next three years an actor by the name of Achille Majeroni, and he was afraid that too marked a success on my part might be hurtful to his speculation with my successor. Finally he proposed to me to open with Goldoni s Pamela; but the Pamela could not be Fanny Sadowsky. How s that? said I; do you want a tragedian to begin his season with a comedy, and without the support of the lead- ing lady at that? Well, let us have it so! He was delighted with my answer, which certainly he had not expected, and made haste to an- nounce my first appearance in Pamela, as happy as if he had won in three numbers at the lottery. Many were surprised at this choice of a play, and to the many who remonstrated with me I made answer that I would not set out with grumbling at my manager; that in order to get first to the goal in a long race it was better to begin to run slowly, rather than to start off at the highest speed, with the risk of finishing second. On the appointed evening the size and quality of our house were imposing. The court and the first literary and artistic notabilities were there. The friends of the old actors had their guns cocked and primed; the journalists and the pseudo-authors with whom Naples abounds were all under arms, and more disposed to find fault than to praise. I had before me the double task of routing the old fogies of 1845, and of being equal to the exaggerated renown that had preceded me; in short, I had serious difficulties to oyercome, and at the same time I had against me the inveterate bad taste of that public, which is not offended by a conventional cadence in phrasing, by monotony of delivery, and by ges- tures and motions worthy of Punchinello. I was not in the least nervous in face of this serious and really difficult undertaking. My pulse did not count one beat more than the normal. I neither looked at the house, nor even saw it by chance; I identified myself entirely with the personage whose part I was playing (Lord Bonfeld), and I made such an impression on that rather hostile audience, that at the end of every act it showed me, first favor, then admira- tion, and finally enthusiasm. When I came to the scene in which Pamelas father, who is thought to be a villager, reveals his true rank to Lord Bonfield, and tells him his story, de- claring himself to be a count and proving it by authenticated documents, whence it results that his daughter Pamela is worthy to become the consort of the aristocratic and impassionedLord Bonfield, I succeeded by the mobility of my countenance and by the feverish motions of my body in folloxving every part of the tale with such intent interest and such truth, that with- out uttering a syllable I drew from the audi- ence a prolonged cry of enthusiasm, and no more doubt attended the completeness of my success. Poor Alberti! He was constrained to follow the current, and to take steps at once to put on the stage those very plays which he had found such excellent reasons for not giving, and these confirmed me emphatically in public favor Zaire Oreste, Hamlet, Saul transported Naples with enthusiasm. It would be impossible to note all the marks of esteem and appreciation which the Neapoli- tans lavished upon me. Everybody wanted to know me; everybody wished for my friend- ship; everybody made it his boast to be seen in my company on the promenades and at the places of resort; and everybody would say in passing, Here is that most excellent fellow, our Salvine / I had really come to belong to them, I was no longer my own master; and to such a point that the burden of entertainments, visits, invitations became almost oppressive. I had secured my revenge! I had won over a public that had been confirmed in its habits; I had convinced critics disposed to be severe, and overcome the hostility of the envious on the stage; and I had put the laugh on a disoblig- ing manager. During my stay in Naples, heroic acts of almost incredible valor were done in Sicily by the thousand followers of Giuseppe Garibaldi, who overran the entire kingdom of the Two Sicilies. Naples was freed from the tyranny of the Bourbons, and received in security every free citizen of Italy. Gustavo Modena, who had always been interdicted from setting foot on the soil of Naples, took a fancy to visit the Parthenopean city, and at the same time to make himself known professionally to the Nea- politans. I encouraged him in this project, eager again to come into relations with my old master, and to see him play; but he kept answering my letters with new doubts and difficulties. At last, however, the way seemed clear, and I busied myself with hiring the 100 SOME VERSES CAROL. Teatro del Fondo and with engaging several actors of other companies, who had taken ad- vantage of the annulling of the monopoly of the Fiorentini to come to Naples. In a word, I organized a company from what I could find, but it was sufficient for Modenas pur- pose; and despite Albertis unremitting hos- tility, I secured permission to give him my own support for a night. Modena arrived in due time in Naples, but he kept putting off the announcement of his appearance. I was able to see him only in the daytime, for I had to play every night; and every day I saw more clearly, to my deep regret, that his physical strength was failing. Finally he declared that his health would not permit him to face the judgment of the public, and that he found himself compelled to return at once to his home in Turin. It was a bitter disappointment, and a real grief to all who loved our art. I was eager to have him dine with me, with the Signora Giulia, before his departure; and they accepted upon condition that there should be only the three of us. I promised, and two days afterward they came. As can easily be imagined, the stage formed the staple of our conversation; and I begged him, before he left, to drop in some evening at the Fiorentini, so that I might have his opinions and advice upon what progress I might have made. I have seen you, he answered. How? said I. Where? When? And he replied, I have seen you in Hamlet and in Saul. I felt as if a bucket of cold water had been doused over my head, and for five full minutes the conversation lapsed. He had come twice to the Teatro de Fiorentini without my know- ing anything of it. Finally I took courage, and asked him his opinion. Here it is, he answered. Nobody can play Harn/etbut you; in Saul my fourth act is better than yours, but your fifth act is better than mine. Not a word more did he say. Ought I to ap- peal from this judgment, or to be so modest as not to deem it just and impartial? I do not think so; I should be wanting in respect to the infallible criticism of that unequaled judge, and should, moreover, be false to my own con- science. Yes; Modenas words were true, and I will tell why, since he did not see fit to ex- plain them. As a fervent republican and a very bitter foe of clericalism, into the diatribes of the fourth act, the reproaches heaped by Saul on the high priest Aizimelech, he put all his energy and the conviction due to his political creed, and he obtained extraordinary results. This effort left him, however, prostrated with fatigue, so that he was not in a condition to supply the great exertion demanded by the fifth act. In my own case, since I was not under obligation to fill before the audience the double character of artist and of anticlerical, I husbanded my strength so that, without weak- ening the fourth act, I was still in condition to give full effect to the passion, the delirium, and the calamitous ending of that ill-starred king. Tommaso Salvini. SOME VERSES CAROL. es carol blithely as a bird, ~ of violet and asphodel; While others slowly strike a funeral bell, Or call like clarionets till, spirit-stirred, We hear the mustering tramp in every word. In some, the ocean pounds with sledges fell, Or Neptune posts with blare of trumpet-shell By shores that visionary seas engird. As soft as flutes, they croon the lullabies Of cradle-years; play clear as citherns; wail Like harps IEolian in the grieving wind: Some are the deep-drawn human moan by pale And silent faces, neath lack-luster skies, Peering through panes on darkness unconfined! Henry Jerom,~ Slockarci.

Henry Jerome Stockard Stockard, Henry Jerome "Some Verses Carol" 100-101

100 SOME VERSES CAROL. Teatro del Fondo and with engaging several actors of other companies, who had taken ad- vantage of the annulling of the monopoly of the Fiorentini to come to Naples. In a word, I organized a company from what I could find, but it was sufficient for Modenas pur- pose; and despite Albertis unremitting hos- tility, I secured permission to give him my own support for a night. Modena arrived in due time in Naples, but he kept putting off the announcement of his appearance. I was able to see him only in the daytime, for I had to play every night; and every day I saw more clearly, to my deep regret, that his physical strength was failing. Finally he declared that his health would not permit him to face the judgment of the public, and that he found himself compelled to return at once to his home in Turin. It was a bitter disappointment, and a real grief to all who loved our art. I was eager to have him dine with me, with the Signora Giulia, before his departure; and they accepted upon condition that there should be only the three of us. I promised, and two days afterward they came. As can easily be imagined, the stage formed the staple of our conversation; and I begged him, before he left, to drop in some evening at the Fiorentini, so that I might have his opinions and advice upon what progress I might have made. I have seen you, he answered. How? said I. Where? When? And he replied, I have seen you in Hamlet and in Saul. I felt as if a bucket of cold water had been doused over my head, and for five full minutes the conversation lapsed. He had come twice to the Teatro de Fiorentini without my know- ing anything of it. Finally I took courage, and asked him his opinion. Here it is, he answered. Nobody can play Harn/etbut you; in Saul my fourth act is better than yours, but your fifth act is better than mine. Not a word more did he say. Ought I to ap- peal from this judgment, or to be so modest as not to deem it just and impartial? I do not think so; I should be wanting in respect to the infallible criticism of that unequaled judge, and should, moreover, be false to my own con- science. Yes; Modenas words were true, and I will tell why, since he did not see fit to ex- plain them. As a fervent republican and a very bitter foe of clericalism, into the diatribes of the fourth act, the reproaches heaped by Saul on the high priest Aizimelech, he put all his energy and the conviction due to his political creed, and he obtained extraordinary results. This effort left him, however, prostrated with fatigue, so that he was not in a condition to supply the great exertion demanded by the fifth act. In my own case, since I was not under obligation to fill before the audience the double character of artist and of anticlerical, I husbanded my strength so that, without weak- ening the fourth act, I was still in condition to give full effect to the passion, the delirium, and the calamitous ending of that ill-starred king. Tommaso Salvini. SOME VERSES CAROL. es carol blithely as a bird, ~ of violet and asphodel; While others slowly strike a funeral bell, Or call like clarionets till, spirit-stirred, We hear the mustering tramp in every word. In some, the ocean pounds with sledges fell, Or Neptune posts with blare of trumpet-shell By shores that visionary seas engird. As soft as flutes, they croon the lullabies Of cradle-years; play clear as citherns; wail Like harps IEolian in the grieving wind: Some are the deep-drawn human moan by pale And silent faces, neath lack-luster skies, Peering through panes on darkness unconfined! Henry Jerom,~ Slockarci. THE QUEEN AND THE DUCHESS. YEAR after the accession of William and Mary, was born the onlychild of Anne on whose life any hopes could be built. Though he was sickly at first, like all the rest, he survived the dangers of infancy, and, called William after the king, and bearing from the first day of his life the title of Duke of Gloucester, was receixed joyfully by the nation at large and everybody concerned as the au- thentic heir to the crown. He was the chief occupation of Annes life when comparative peace followed the warlike interval related in the preceding number of this magazine, and a cold and forced civility replaced the active hostilities which for years had been raging between the court and the household of the princess. Anne has never got much credit for her for- bearance and self-effacement at the critical mo- ments of her career. But it is certain that she might have given William a great deal of trouble had she asserted her rights as Marys successor, as ~he might also have done at the time of the first settlement. No doubt he would on both occasions have carried the day, and with this certainty the historians have been satisfied, without considering that a woman who was not of lofty character, and who was a Stuart, must have felt it doubly bitter to find herself the subject of a gloomy brother- in-law who slighted her, and who, her rasher partizans did not hesitate to say, ought to have been her subject so long as he remained in England after her sisters death, and not she his. The absence of any attempt on her part to disturb or molest, nay, her little advances, herletters of condolence, and of congratulation the first time that a victory gave occasion for it, showed no inconsiderable magnanimity on the part of the prosaic princess all the more that William did very little to encourage any over- tures of friendship. But though Annes rela- tions with the king were scarcely improved, her position in respect to the courtiers who had abandoned her in her sisters lifetime was differ- ent indeed. Lady Marlborough describes this with her usual force. And now it being quickly known that the quar- rel was made up, nothing was to be seen but crowds of pecfple of all sorts flocking to Berkeley House to pay their respects to the wince and princess: a sudden alteration which, I remember, occasioned the half-witted Lord Carnarvon to say one night to the princess as he stood close by her in the circle, I hope your highness will re- member that I came to wait upon you when none of this company did, which caused a great deal of mirth. Meanwhile the little boy, the heir of Eng- land, interposes his quaint little figure, with that touch of nature which always belongs to a child, in the midst of all the excitement and dullness, awakening a certain interest even in the solitary and bereaved life of William, and filling his mothers house with tender anxieties and pleasures. He was sickly and feeble from his childhood, but early learned the royal les- son of self-concealment, and was cuffed and hustled by the anxious cruelty of love into the use of his poor little legs years after his con- temporaries had been in full enjoyment of their liberty. It is characteristic of the self-absorbed and belligerent chronicler of the princesss household, whose narrative of all the quarrels and struggles of royal personages is so vivid, that she has very little to say about either the living or dying of the only child who was of importance both to her mistress and to the country. His little existence is pushed aside in Lady Marlboroughs record, and hut for a little squabble over the appointment of the dukes family, which she gives with great detail, we should scarcely have known from her that Anne had tasted that happiness of maternity, which is so largely weighted with pains and cares. But the story of little Glouces- ters life, as found in the more familiar record of his waiting gentleman, Lewis Jenkins, is both attractive and entertaining. The little fellow seems to have been full of lively spirit and observation, active and restless in spite of his feebleness, full of a childs interest in every- thing about him, and of precocious judgment and criticism. In every respect this was the brightest mo- ment of Annes life. There was no longer any possibility of treating the next heir to the crown, the mother of the only prince in whom the imagination of England could take plea- sure, with slighting or contumely. She was permitted to have her share of the honors and comforts of English royalty. St. Jamess old red-brick palace was given over to her, as be- came her position; and what was more wonder- ful, Windsor Castle, one of the noblest of royal dwellings, became the country house of Anne and her boy. King William preferred Hamp- ton Court, with its Dutch gardens, in which he 101

M. O. W. Oliphant Oliphant, M. O. W. The Reign of Queen Anne. The Queen and the Duchess 101-120

THE QUEEN AND THE DUCHESS. YEAR after the accession of William and Mary, was born the onlychild of Anne on whose life any hopes could be built. Though he was sickly at first, like all the rest, he survived the dangers of infancy, and, called William after the king, and bearing from the first day of his life the title of Duke of Gloucester, was receixed joyfully by the nation at large and everybody concerned as the au- thentic heir to the crown. He was the chief occupation of Annes life when comparative peace followed the warlike interval related in the preceding number of this magazine, and a cold and forced civility replaced the active hostilities which for years had been raging between the court and the household of the princess. Anne has never got much credit for her for- bearance and self-effacement at the critical mo- ments of her career. But it is certain that she might have given William a great deal of trouble had she asserted her rights as Marys successor, as ~he might also have done at the time of the first settlement. No doubt he would on both occasions have carried the day, and with this certainty the historians have been satisfied, without considering that a woman who was not of lofty character, and who was a Stuart, must have felt it doubly bitter to find herself the subject of a gloomy brother- in-law who slighted her, and who, her rasher partizans did not hesitate to say, ought to have been her subject so long as he remained in England after her sisters death, and not she his. The absence of any attempt on her part to disturb or molest, nay, her little advances, herletters of condolence, and of congratulation the first time that a victory gave occasion for it, showed no inconsiderable magnanimity on the part of the prosaic princess all the more that William did very little to encourage any over- tures of friendship. But though Annes rela- tions with the king were scarcely improved, her position in respect to the courtiers who had abandoned her in her sisters lifetime was differ- ent indeed. Lady Marlborough describes this with her usual force. And now it being quickly known that the quar- rel was made up, nothing was to be seen but crowds of pecfple of all sorts flocking to Berkeley House to pay their respects to the wince and princess: a sudden alteration which, I remember, occasioned the half-witted Lord Carnarvon to say one night to the princess as he stood close by her in the circle, I hope your highness will re- member that I came to wait upon you when none of this company did, which caused a great deal of mirth. Meanwhile the little boy, the heir of Eng- land, interposes his quaint little figure, with that touch of nature which always belongs to a child, in the midst of all the excitement and dullness, awakening a certain interest even in the solitary and bereaved life of William, and filling his mothers house with tender anxieties and pleasures. He was sickly and feeble from his childhood, but early learned the royal les- son of self-concealment, and was cuffed and hustled by the anxious cruelty of love into the use of his poor little legs years after his con- temporaries had been in full enjoyment of their liberty. It is characteristic of the self-absorbed and belligerent chronicler of the princesss household, whose narrative of all the quarrels and struggles of royal personages is so vivid, that she has very little to say about either the living or dying of the only child who was of importance both to her mistress and to the country. His little existence is pushed aside in Lady Marlboroughs record, and hut for a little squabble over the appointment of the dukes family, which she gives with great detail, we should scarcely have known from her that Anne had tasted that happiness of maternity, which is so largely weighted with pains and cares. But the story of little Glouces- ters life, as found in the more familiar record of his waiting gentleman, Lewis Jenkins, is both attractive and entertaining. The little fellow seems to have been full of lively spirit and observation, active and restless in spite of his feebleness, full of a childs interest in every- thing about him, and of precocious judgment and criticism. In every respect this was the brightest mo- ment of Annes life. There was no longer any possibility of treating the next heir to the crown, the mother of the only prince in whom the imagination of England could take plea- sure, with slighting or contumely. She was permitted to have her share of the honors and comforts of English royalty. St. Jamess old red-brick palace was given over to her, as be- came her position; and what was more wonder- ful, Windsor Castle, one of the noblest of royal dwellings, became the country house of Anne and her boy. King William preferred Hamp- ton Court, with its Dutch gardens, in which he 101 102 THE QUEEN AND THE DUCHESS. could imagine himself at home; the great feu- dal castle, lifting its massive towers from the crest of the gentle hill which has the value of a much greater eminence in the midst of the broad plain that sweeps forth in every direc- tion, was not, apparently, to his taste. Few prettier or more innocent scenes have been associated with its long history than those in which little Gloucester was the chief actor. He had a little regiment of boys of his own age, whom it was his delight to drill and lead through a hundred mock battles and rapid skirmishings mischievous little urchins who called themselves the Duke of Gloucesters men, and played their little pranks like their elders, as favorites will. The little prince chose St. Georges Hall for the scene of his mimic battles, and there the little army stormed and besieged one another to their hearts content. When his mothers marriage-day was cele- brated, he received his parents with salvos of his small artillery, and, stepping forth in his lit- tle birthday suit, paid them his compliment. Papa, I wish you and mama unity, peace, and concord, not for a time, but for ever, said the serious little hero. One can fancy Anne smil- ing and triumphant in her joy of motherhood, with her beautiful chestnut curls and sweet complexion and placid roundness, leaning on good Georges arm, her peaceful companion with whom she had never a quarrel, and ad- miring her sons infant wisdom. The smoke and whiff of gunpowder, the little gunners at their toy artillery, the great hall still slightly a-thrill with the mimic salute, add something to the boundless hopefulness of the scene; for why should not this little English William grow up as great a soldier and more fortunate than his grim godfather, and subdue France under the feet of England, and be the con- queror of the world? All this was possible in those pleasant days. On another occasion there was a great chap- ter of Knights of the Garter to witness the in- stallation of little Gloucester in knightly state as one of the order. The little figure, seven years old, seated under the noble canopy-work in St. Georges beautiful chapel, scarcely visible over the desk upon which his prayer-book was spread out, gazing with blue eyes intent in all the gravity of a child upon the great English nobles in their stalls around him, makes another touch- ing picture. King William himself had buckled the garter round the childs knee and hung the jewel about his neck, St. George slaying the dragon, that immemorial emblem of the victory over evil; and no doubt in the vague grandeur of childish. anticipation, the boy felt himself ready to emulate the feat of the patron saint. He was a little patriot, too, eager to lend the aid of his small squadron to his uncle when William went away to the wars, and brought a smile eyen upon that worn and melancholy face as he ma- nceuvered his little company and showed how they would fight in Flanders when the moment came. When William was threatened with as- sassination, and the country woke up to feel that though she did not love him it would be much amiss to lose him, little Gloucester, at eight, was one of the most loyal. Taking counsel with his little regiment, he dreW up a memorial, written out, no doubt, by the best master of the pen among them, with much shedding of ink, if not of more precious fluid We, your majestys subjects, will stand by you while we have a drop of blood, was the address to which the Duke of Gloucesters men set all their tiny fists. Th~ little duke himself, not content with this, added to it another address of his own: I, your Majestys most dutiful subject, had rather lose my life in your Majestys cause than in any mans else; and I hope it will not be long ere you conquer France. GLOUCESTER. Heroic little prince! a Protestant William, yet a gallant and gentle Stuart; with this heart of enthusiasm and generous valor in him, what might he not have done had he ever Lived to be king? It awoke a smile, and might have drawn an iron tear down Williams cheek, to see this faithful little warrior ready to lo~e his life in his defense. And the good pair behind him, George and Anne, who had evidently suffered no treacherous suggestion to get to the ear of the boy, no hint that William was a usurper and little Gloucester had more right than he to be uppermost, how radiant they stand in the light of their happiness and hope! The spec- tator is reluctant to turn the page and realize the gloom to come. When the Duke of Gloucester was arrived at an age to be put into mens hands, Williams relenting and change of mind were proved by the fact that Marlborough, who had been in disgrace all these years, and whom only the constant favor of Anne had kept out of entire obscurity, was recalled into the front of affairs in order to be made Governor of the young prince. It is true that this gracious act was partly neutralized by the appointment of Bishop Burnet as little Gloucesters tutor, a choice which was supposed to be as disagree- able to Anne as the other was happy. But there is no appearance that she made any protest, or showed any reluctance to accept him. The lit- tle pupil was about nine when he came into the bishops hands, and he gives the following ac- count of his charge: I had been trusted with his education now for two years, and he had made amazing progress. I had read over the Psalms, Proverbs, and Gos THE QUEEN AND JHE DUCHESS. 103 pels with him, and had explained things that fell in mywayvery copiously; and was often surprised with the questions that he put to me, and the re- ilections that he made. He came to understand things relating to religion beyond imagination. I went through geography so often with him that he knew all the maps very particularly. I explained to him the forms of government in every country, with the interests and trades of that country, and what was both bad and good in it. I acquainted him with all the great revolutions that had been in the world, and gave him a copious account of the Greek and Roman histories of Plutarchs Lives; the last thing I explained to him was the Gothic constitution and the beneficiary and feudal laws: I talked of these things at different times more than three hours a day; this was both easy and delighting to him. The King ordered five of his chief ministers to come once a quarter and ex- amine the progress he made; they seemed amazed both at his knowledge and the good understand- ing that appeared in him; he had a wonderful memory and a very good judgment. Poor little Gloucester! The genial bishop breaking down all this knowledge into pleasant talks so that it should be both easy and de- lighting ; and his lessons in fortification, which were more delightful still; and his own little private princelike observation of mens faces and minds, were all to come to naught. On his eleventh birthday, amid the feastings and joy a sudden illness seized him, and a few days after the promising boy had ended his bright little career. It would be small wonder indeed if Anne had been altogether crushed by such a calamity. It is said by some historians of the Jacobite party that her mind was overwhelmed by a sense of her guilt toward her own father and of just judgment executed upon her in the loss of her child, and that she immediately wrote to James, pouring out her whole heart in penitence, and pledging herself to support the claims of her brother should ~ie ever come to the throne. This letter, however, was never found, and does not seem to be vouched for by witnesses beyond suspicion. But for the fact that Anne was stricken to the dust no parent will need further evidence. Her good days and hopes were over; henceforward when she wrote to her dearest friend in the old confiden- tial strain, it was as your poor, unfortunate Morley that the bereaved mother signed her- self. Nothing altered these sad adjectives. Sh~ felt herself as poor and unfortunate in her un- utterable loss when she was queen, as if she had been the humblest woman that ever lost an only child. Marlborough was absent when his little pu- pil fell ill, but; hurried back to Windsor in time to see him die; and four or five days after, the little prince was carried solemnly by torchlight through the summer woods, through Windsor Park, and by the river, and under the trees of Richmond, to Westminster a silent proces- sion pouring slowly through the odorous August night. His little body lay in state in Westmin- ster Hall a noble chamber for such a tiny sleeper for five days more, when it was laid with the kings in the great abbey which holds all the greatest of England. A more heart- rending episode is not in history. William did not take any notice of the an- nouncement of the death for a considerable time, which greatly embarrassed the ambassa- dor at Paris on the subject of mourning, and has given occasion for much denunciation of his hardness and heartlessness. When he an- swered at last, however, though this was not till more than two months after, in a letter to Marlborough, it was with much subdued feeling. I d~ not think it necessary to em- ploy many words, he writes, in expressing my surprise and grief at the death of the Duke of Gloucester. It is so great a loss to me as well as to all England that it pierces my heart with affliction. It seems impossible that the loss of a child who had shown so touching an allegiance to himself should not have moved him; but perhaps there was in him, too, a touch of satisfaction that the rival pair who had been thorns in his flesh ever since he came to Eng- land were not to have the satisfaction of found- ing a new line. At St.Germains the satisfaction was more marked still, and it was supposed that the most dangerous obstacle in the way of the young James Stuart was removed by the death of his sisters heir. We know now how futile that anticipation was, but at the time this was not so clear; and the anxiety of the English parliament to secure before Williams death a formal abjuration of the so-called Prince of Wales shows that the hope was not without foundation. This anxiety, and the new and exciting coin- bination of European affairs produced by what is called the Spanish Succession, occupied all minds during the two years that remained of Williams suffering life. It was a moment of great excitement and uncertainty. Louis XIV., into whose hands, as seemed likely, a sort of uni- versal power must fall if his grandson were per- mitted to succeed to the throne of Spain, had just vowed at the death-bed of James his deter- mination to support the claims of the exiles son, and on Jamess death had proclaimed the boy king of England. Thus England had every reason of personal irritation and even of alarm for joining in the alliance against the threaten- ing supremacy of France, whose power had she been allowed to place one of her princes peaceably on the Spanish throne, to which the rich Netherlands still belonged would have been paramount in Europe. It was on the eve 104 THE QUEEN AND THE DUCHESS. of the great struggle that William died. With a determination equal to that with which he had made head against failing fortune in many a battle-field, he fought for his life, which at such a crisis was doubly important to the countries of his birth and of his crown, and to the cause of the Protestant religion and all that we have been taught to consider as freedom through- out Europe. To die at the beginning of a great European struggle, leaving the dull people whom he disliked to take his place in England, and the soldier whom he had crushed and sub- dued, and sternly held in the shade as long as he was able, to assume his baton and win the victories it had never been Williams fortune to gain, must have been bitter indeed. It would appear that he had even entertained some idea of disturbing the natural order of events to pre- vent this, and that it had been suggested to the Electress Sophia, after poor little Gloucesters death, that her family should at once be nomi- nated as his immediate successors, to the ex- clusion of Anne, a proposal which the prudent Electress evaded with great skill and ingenuity. A more impossible scheme was never sug- gested, for even the idea of Marlboroughs tri- umph was unable to raise the smallest party against the princess, and to the country in gen- eral she was the object of a kind of enthusiasm. The people loved everything in her, even the fact that she was not clever, which of itself is often highly ingratiating with the masses. Wil- liam,it is said, with a magnanimity which was infinitely to his credit, before he died named Marlborough as his fittest successor in the com- mand of the allied armies. The formal ab- juration of the Prince of Wales was made by Parliament only just in time to have his assent and then all obstacles were removed out of the princesss way. It was thought by the populace that everything brightened for the new reign. There had been an unexampled continuance of gloomy weather, bad harvests, and clouds and storms; but to greet Queen Anne the sun burst forth, the gloom dispelled, the country broke out into gaiety and rejoicing. A new reign, full of new possibilities, has always something exhila- rating in it. Williams greatness was marred by externals and never heartily acknowledged by the mass of the people, but Anne had many claims upon the popular favor. She was a wo- man, and a kind and simple one. That deser- tion of her father, which some historical writers have condemned so bitterly, had no great effect upon the contemporary imagination, nor, so far as can be judged, upon her own; and it was the only offense that could be alleged against her. She had been unkindly treated and threatened with wrong, which naturally made the multitude streniious in her cause; and everything con- spired to make her accession happy. She was only thirty-seven, and though somewhat un- wieldy in person, still preserved her English comeliness, her abundant, beautiful hair, and, above all, the melodious voice which im- pressed even statesmen and politicians. She pronounced this, says Bishop Burnet, describ- ing her address to the Privy Council when they first presented themselves before her, as she did all her other speeches, with great weight and authority, and with a softness of voice and sweetness in the pronunciation that added much life to all she spoke. The commentators who criticize so sorely the bishops chronicles are in entire agreement with him on this subject. It was a real pleasure to hear her, says Lord Dartmouth, though she had a bashfulness that made it very uneasy to herself to say much in public. Speaker Onslow unites in the same testimony: I have heard the Queen speak from the throne, and she had all the author says here. I never saw an audience more affected; it was a sort of charm.... She received all that came to her in so gracious a manner that they went from her highly satisfied with her goodness and her obliging deportment, for she hearkened with attention to everything that was said to her. Thus all smiled upon Anne in the morn- ing of her reign. Her coronation was marked with unusual splendor and enthusiasm, and though the queen herself had to be carried in a chair to the Abbey, her state of health being such that she could not walk, this did not affect the splendid ceremonial in which even to the J acobites themselves there was little to com- plain of, since their hopes that Annes influence might advance her fathers young son to the succession after her were still high, notxvith- standing that the settlement of the crown upon Sophia of Brunswick and her heirs had already been made. It is needless for us to attempt a history of the great war which was one of the most im- portant features in Annes reign. No student of history can be ignorant of its general course, nor of the completeness with which Marl- boroughs victories crushed the exorbitant power of France and raised the prestige of England. Contemporaries accused Marlbor- ough of every conceivable wickedness, of pec- ulation, treachery, even personal cowardice; but no one ventured to say that he was not a great general. And as we have got further and further from the infuriated politics of his time, more and more justice has been done to his gifts and.graces, his wisdom and moderation, as well as his wonderful military genius. It is, however, with Marlboroughs wife and not with himself that we are chiefly concerned, and with the stormy course of Annes future in- tercourse with her friend rather than the bat- tles that were fought in her name. It is said A. TIETZE. FAAM MEZLA I IN I ~MITH, AFTER THE PAIN I INN AREFREY KNELLER. THE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. VOL. XLVI. 4. io6 THE QUEEN AND THE D UCHESS. that by the time she came to the throne her faithful affection to her lifelong companion had begun to be impaired; but the date of the beginning of their severance will probably never be determined, nor its immediate cause. All the great hopes which the pair must have formed seemed likely to be fulfilled in the early part of Queen Annes reign. A very short time after her accession, Marlborough, who, accord- ing to Williams appointment, had at once entered upon the conduct of foreign affairs and the preparations for war, received the Garter which Anne and her husband had vainly asked for him in the previous reign; and when he returned from his first campaign, a dukedom was bestowed upon him with many pretty ex- pressions on Annes part. Indeed, the queens gift of writing pretty, affectionate letters, which was the only thing, according to the duchesss opinion of her ex- pressed in later days, that she could do well, is still abundantly proved by their correspon- dence. Anne was as anxious as ever to serve and please her friend and favorite. She prays God, in her little note of congratulation after the siege of Bonn in 1703, to send Marlborough safe home to his and my dear adored Mrs. Freeman, with all the grace of perfect sym- pathy, for the great duke was as abject in his adoration of that imperious, bewitching, and triumphant Sarah as the queen herself. With the tenderest recollection of her friends whims, the queen gave her the rangership of Windsor Park (strange office for a woman to hold), in which was included a lodge in the great park, which the duchess describes as a very agreeable place to live in, . . . remembering that when we used in former days to ride by it, I had often wished for such a place, although it was necessary to turn out Portland, King Williams friend and favorite, in order to re- place him by Lady Marlborough. No doubt, however, this summary displacement of the Dutchman added to the pleasure both of giv- ing and receiving. Lady Marlborough had a multiplicity of other offices in addition to this, such as those of mistress of the robes, groom of the stole, and keeper of the privy purse offices, however, which she had virtually held for years in the household of the princess. All these brought in a great deal of money, a matter to which she was never indifferent; and as along with the dukedom the queen bestowed upon Marlborough a pension of ~ooo a year, the resources of the new ducal house were abundant. They would seem by their posts and perquisites alone to have had an income between them not far short of ~6o,ooo a year, an enormous sum for those times, not to speak of less legitimate profits, presents from con- tractors, and percentages on the pay of the troops, which Marlborough took, as everybody did, as a matter of course, though it was after- ward charged against him as if he had in- vented the custom. The queen also promised a little fortune to each of their daughters as they married a promise certainly fulfilled in the case of Henrietta, who married the son of Godolphin, thus uniting the colleagues in the closest family bonds. At the same time Anne offered a~ pension of ~j~2ooo a year to the duchess from the privy purse a bounty de- clined at first, but of which afterward, in the final breaking up of their relations, Sarah was mean enough to demand the arrears, amount- ing to no less asum than i8,ooo. Thus every kind of gift and favor was pressed upon the royal favorite in the early days of Annes reign. Before this the means of the pair had been but small. Marlborough had been long de- prived of all preferment, and the duchess in- forms us that she had discharged in the prin- cesss household all the offices for which after- ward she was so highly paid, on an allowance of ~4OO a year. It was for this reason that the dukedom was unwelcome to her. I do agree with you, her husband writes to her, that we ought not to wish for a greater title till we have a better estate; and he assures her that I shall have a mind to nothing but as it may be easy to you. It was in this strain that the great conqueror always addressed his wife; and it would be difficult to say which of her two adorers, her husband or her queen, showed the deeper devotion. When Marlborough set out for his first campaign in the war which was to cover him with glory, and in which for the first time he had full scope, this is how he writes ENGRAVED SY R. A. MULLER. FROM MNIATARE MY LEWIS CROSSE, IN THE COLLECTION AT WINDSOR CSSTLE; BR SPECIAL PERMISSION OP QUEEN RICTORIA. TH DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. FROM COPPE ~~AYING BY PIETER VAN GUNOT, AFTER PAINTING BY SIR GODFREY KNEELER. Q!JEEN ANNE. to the companion of his life, who had gone soul nor spirits, but I do at this time suffer so with him to Margate to see him embark: much that nothing but being with you can recom- pense it. It is impossible to express with what a heavy heart I parted from you when I was by the waters side. I could have given my life to have come back, though I knew my own weakness so much that I durst not, for I know I should have exposed myself to the company. I did for a great while with a perspective glass look out upon the cliffs, run hopes I might have had one sight of you. We are now out of sight of Margate, and Ihave neither o8 These lover-like words were written by a man of fifty-two to his wife of forty-two, to whom he had been married for nearly a quarter of a century. In all the pauses of these wars, amid the plans and combinations of armies, and all the hard thinking and hard fighting, the per- petual activity and movement of his life for the ENGRAVED NV J. H. E. WHITNEY. FROM AN ENGRAVING HF FIETER VAN GANGT, AFTER PAINTING DV ADRIVAN VANDER WERFF. THE DUKE OF MAELBOEOUGH. next ten years, the same voice of passionate attachment, love, and longing penetrates for us the tumults of the time. She was flattered to the top of her bent both by husband and mistress, and it is not much to be wondered at if she came to think herself indispensable and above all law. But in the midst of this prosperity and quickly growing greatness, the same crushing calamity which had previously fallen upon Anne overwhelmed these companions of her life. Their only son, a promising boy of seven- teen, died at Cambridge, and both father and mother were bowed to the dust. The queen s letter on this occasion expresses her sense of yet another melancholy bond between them. It is evident that she had offered to go to her friend in her affliction. It would he a great satisfaction to your poor, unfortunate, faithful Morley if you would have given me leave to 009 ENGRAVED BY R. A. TiETZE. FROM MEZZOTINT AFTER PAINTING MY RIM GODFREY KNELLER. THE DUCHEVA OF MARLBOROUGH. 110 THE QUEEN AND THE DUCHESS. come to St. Albans, she writes; for the un- fortunate ought to come to the unfortunate. XVith a heavy heart Marlborough changed his ~vill, leaving the succession of the titles and honors, so suddenly deprived of all value to him, to the family of his eldest daughter, and betook himself sadly to his fighting, deriving a gleam of satisfaction from the thought that other children might yet be granted to him, yet adjuring his wife to bear their joint calam- ity with patience whatever might befall. She herself says nothing on this melancholy sub- ject. Perhaps in her old age, as she sat sur- veying her life, that great but innocent sorrow no longer seemed to her of the first importance in a record crossed by so many tempests; or perhaps it was of so much importance that she could not trust herself to speak of it at all. The partizans of the exiled Stuarts were eager to point out how both she and her mistress had suffered the penalty of their sin against King James and his son by being thus deprived of their respective heirs. It was a judg- menta thing dear to the popular imagina- tion, and most easily concluded upon at all times. It would not seem, however, that this natu- ral drawing of the unfortunate to the unfor- tunate had the effect it might have had in further cementing the union of the queen and the duchess. The little rift within the lute That by and by will make the music mute began to be apparent shortly after, though not at first showing itself by any lessening of warmth or tenderness. The existence of a division of opinion is the first thing visible. I cannot help being extremely concerned that you are so partial to the Whigs, because I would not have you and your poor unfortunate faithful Morley differ in the least thing. And, upon my word, my dear Mrs. Freeman, adds Queen Anne, you are mightily mistaken in your no- tion of a true Whig. For the character you give of them does not in the least belong to them. We need not discuss here the difference be- tween the meaning of the names Tory and Whig as understood now and then. Lord Mahon and Lord Macaulay both consider a complete transposition of terms to be the easi- est way of making the matter clear; but in one particular at least this seems scarcely necessary, for the Tories then, as now, were emphatically the church party, which was to Anne the only party in which safety could be found. The queen had little understanding of history or politics, in the wider sense of the words, but she was an excellent churchxvoman, and in the sentiments of the Tory leaders she found, when brought into close contact with them, something more in accord with her own the one sympathy in which her bosom friend had been lacking. These were men who had all a wonderful zeal for the Church a sort of public merit that eclipsed all others in the eye of the Queen. . . . For my own part, the duchess adds, I had not the same preposses- sions. The word Church had never any charm for me in the mouths of those who made the most noise with it, for I could not perceive that they gave any other proof of their regard for the thing than a frequent use of the word, like a spell to enchant weak minds, and a perse- cuting zeal against dissenters and against the real friends of the Church who would not ad- mit that persecution was agreeable to its doc- trine. This difference had not told for very much so long as neither the queen nor her friend had any share in public affairs; but it became strongly operative now. How much the queen had actually to do with the business of the nation, and how entirely it depended upon the influence brought to bear upon her limited mind who should be the guide of England at this critical moment, is abundantly evident from every detail of history. Queen Victoria, great as her experience is, and not- withstanding the respectful attention which all classes of politicians naturally give to her opin- ion, changes her ministry only when the ma- jority in Parliament requires it, and has only the very limited choice which the known and acknowledged heads of the two parties permit when she transfers office and power from one side to the other. But Queen Anne had no compact body of statesmen one replacing the other as occasion required to deal with, but put in here one high official, and there another, according as intrigue or impulse gained the upper hand. There is something about a quarrel of wo- men which excites the scorn of every chronicler. There is an insidious contempt for the weaker half of the creation, which probably no one would own to, lying dormant in the minds of the race generally, even of women themselves. Had Anne been a king of moderate abilities, and Marlborough the friend and guide to whom he owed his prosperity and fame, the relationship would have been noble and hon- orable to both; and when the struggle began, the strenuous efforts of the great general to se- cure the ~odperation of ministers with whom he could work, and whose support would have helped toward the carrying out of his great plans for the glory of his country and the de- struction of her enemies, would, wliether the historical critic approved of them or not, have at least secured his respect and a dignified treat- ment. But when it is Sarah of Marlborough, with all the defects of temper that we know in her, who, while her lord fights abroad, has to fight for him at home, to scheme his enemies out of and his friends into power, to keep her hold upon her mistress by every means that her imagination can devise, the idea that some nobler motive than mere self-aggrandizement may be in the effort occurs to no one, and the hatred of political enmity is mingled with all the ridicule that spiteful wit can discharge upon a feminine squabble. Lady Marlborough was far from being a perfect woman. She had a fiery temper and a stinging tongue. When she was thwarted at the very moment of apparent victory, and found herself impotent where she had been all-powerful, her fury was like a tor- rent against which there was no standing. But with these patent defects it ought to be alloxved her that the object for which she struggled was not only a perfectly legitimate but a noble one. What the great William had spent his life and innumerable campaigns in endeavoring to do, against all the discouragements of frequent failure, Marlborough was doing with a match- less and almost unbroken success. It was no shame to either the general or the generals wife tobelieve, as William did, that this was the great- est work of the time, and could alone secure the safety of England as well as of her allies; and the gallant stand of Lady Marlborough for the party and the statesmen who were likely to carry out this object deserved some better inter- pretation from history than it has ever received. It cannot be said that there was anything petty in Annes public acts while she remained under the influence of her first friend. The be- BISHOP GILBERT BURNET. ginning of her reign showed no ignoble spirit. One of the first things the queen did was to abolish the old and obstinate practice of selling places, which had hitherto been accepted as the course of nature: so much so that when Marl- borough fell into disgrace under King William, he had been bidden to sell or dispose of the places he held, and the princess had herself informed Sarah, at least on one occasion, of vacancies, in order that her friend should have the profit of filling them up. Afterwards I be- gan to consider in my own mind this practice, the lady says. But whether she took the initia- tive in so honorable a measure it would be rash to pronounce upon the authority of her own word alone. However, it certainly was one of the first acts of the queen, and the credit of such a departure from the use and wont of courts should at least be allowed to the new reign. Anne did various other things for which there was no precedent. As soon as her civil list was settled, she gave upvoluntarilyfioo,ooo a year to aid the public expenses, then greatly in- creased by the war; and shortly after she made a still more important and permanent sacrifice by giving up the ecclesiastical tribute of first- fruits and tithesnamely, the firstyears stipend of each cure to which a new incumbent was ap- pointed, and the tenth of all livingsto which the crown, as succeeding the Pope in the head- ship of the Church, had become entitled. Her object was the augmentation of small livings, and better provision for the necessities of the Church; and there can be little doubt that this act at least was exclusively her own. The fund thus formed continues to this day under the name of Queen Annes Bounty, but unfortu nately remained quite inefficacious during her reign, in consequence of various practical dif- ficulties, and has never been by any means the important agency she intended it to be. But the intention was munificent, and the de- sire sincere. Throughout her life the Church was the word which most moved Anne. She was willing to do anything to strengthen it, and to sacrifice any one, even (as turned out) her dear friend, in its cause. The first subject which quickened a vague and suspicious disagreement into opposition was the bill against what was called occasional conformity: a bill which was aimed at the dis- senters, and abolished the expedient formerly taken advantage of in order to admit noncon- formists to some share in public life of peri- odical compliance with the ceremonies of the Church. The new law not only did away with this important easement, but was weighted with penal enactments against those who, hold- ing office under government, should be present at any conventicle or assemblyforworship in any form but that of the Church of England. Upon this subject the queen writes as follows: I must own to you that I never cared to mention anything on this subject to you because I knew you would not be of my mind, but since you have given me the occasion, I cant forbear saying that I see nothing like persecution in the bill. You may think it is a notion Lord Nottingham has just put into my head, but, upon my word, it is my own thought. I promise my dear Mrs. Free- man faithfully I will read the book she sent me, and beg she would never let difference of opinion hinder us from living together as we used to do. Nothing shall ever alter your poor, unfortunate, DID ENGRAVED RD RNGLING. GARDEN FRONT, HAMPTON COURT. THE QUEEN AND THE DUCHESS. I 13 faithful Morley, who xviii live and die with all truth and tenderness yours. As the differences go on increasing, however, Queen Anne gradually changes her ground. At first she hopes her not agreeing with anything you say will not be imputed to want of value, es- teem, or tender kindness for my dear, dear Mrs. Freeman; but at last, as the argument goes on, she plucks up spirit, and finds courage enough to declare roundly that whenever public affairs are in the hands of the Whigs, I shall think the Church beginning to be in danger. Thus the political situation became more and more difficult, and gradually embittered even the per- sonal relations between the friends. Moreover, the duchess had not even the support of her hus- band in her political preferences. He himself had belonged to the moderate Tory party, and though they thwarted and discouraged him, showed no desire to throw himself into the arms of the Whigs, whither his wife would so fain have led him. He too remained obstinately indiffer- ent while she stormed and entreated, and wrote a hundred letters, and used in vain every art both of war and peace. It is easy to see how this perpetual letter-writing, her determination to prove that her correspondent was in error and she right, and her continual reiteration of for she foresaw what actually did happen, and perceived whither the current was tending, but was refused any credit for her prognostications, or help in subduing the dangerous forces she dreaded. How irritating this position must have been to a fiery temper it is needless to point out, and the duchess would not permit herself to be silenced by either husband or queen. Meanwhile Marlborough was going on in his career of conquest. It was a very costly lux- ury; but the pride of England had never been so fed with triumphs. Queen Anne was in her closet one day at Windsor a little turret cham- ber with windows on every side looking over the green and fertile valley of the Thnmes, with all the trees in full summer foliage, and the harvest beginning to be gathered in from the fields when there was brought to her a scrap of crumpled paper bearing upon it the few hurried lines which told of the glorious victory of the battle of Blenheim. It had been torn off in haste from a memorandum-book on the field, and was scribbled over with an inn reckoning on the other side. The commotion it caused was not one of unmixed joy; for though the queen wrote her thanks and con- gratulations, and there was a great thanksgiv- ing service at St. Pauls which she attended in state, the party in power did all that in them the same charges and reproaches, must have lay to depreciate the importance of the victory. exasperated the queen and troubled Marlbor- When, however, Marlborough appeared in Eng- ough in the midst of the practical difficulties of land with his prisoners and trophies, a mar- his career. But yet there are many points on shal of France among the former, and many which Sarah has a just claim to our sympathy; standards taken in the field,the popular sen- VOL. XLVI. 5. ENGRAVED BR A. NARLRB. LION GATES AT HAMPTON COURT ERECTRO BY QUEEN ANNE. timent burst all bounds, and his reception was enthusiastic. The crown lands of Woodstock were bestowed upon him as a further reward, and the queen herself commanded that a pal- ace should be built upon the estate at the, ex- pense of the crown, to be called Blenheim in commemoration of the extraordinary victory. A curious relic of ancient custom religiously carried out to the present day was involved in this noble gift. The quit-rent which every holder of a royal fief has to pay was appointed to be a banner embroidered with three fleurs-de-lis, the arms then borne by France, to be pre- sented on every anniversary of the battle. Not very long ago the present writer accompanied a French lady of distinction through some part of Windsor Castle, under the guidance of an important member of the queens household. When the party came into the armory, on each side of which, a vivid spot of color, hung a lit- tle standard fresh in embroidery of gold, the kind cicerone smiled, and whispered aside, We need not point out these to her. One of them was the Blenheim, the other the Wa- terloo banner, both yearly acknowledgments, after the old feudal fashion, for fiefs held of the crown. Among the honors done to Marlborough at this triumphant moment when, an English duke, a prince of the Holy Roman Empire, and still more splendid title the greatest soldier of his time, he came home in glory to England, were the verses with which Addison saluted him. There were plenty of odes piping to all the winds in his honor, but this alone is worthy of record. Every reader will recollect the simile of the great angel who drives the furi- ous blast, And, pleased the Almightys orders to perform, Rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm. It is not necessary for our purpose to enter into those changes of ministry which first tem- porarily consolidated the Marlborough inter- est and afterward wrought its destruction, nor into the intrigues by which Harley and St. John gradually secured the reins of state. It is not to be supposed that these fluctuations were wholly owing to the influences brought to bear upon the queen; but that her prevailing dis- position to uphold the party which to her rep- resented the Church. kept the continuance of the war and the foreign policy of the country in constant danger, there can be no doubt. It is only in 1707, however, that we are made aware of the entry of a new actor upon the scene, in the person of a smooth and noiseless woman, always civil, always soft-spoken, apolo- getic, and plausible, whose sudden appearance in the vivid narrative of her great rival is in the highest degree dramatic and effective. This was the famous Abigail who has given her name, somewhat injuriously to her own position, to the class of waiting-women ever since. She was in reality bedchamber-woman to the queen a post now very far removed from that of a waiting-maid, and even then by no means on a level, notwithstanding the duchesss scornful phrases, with that of the class which ever since has been distinguished by Mrs. Hills remarkable name. Her intro- duction and the vigorous mise en sc?ne of this new episode in history are fine examples of the graphic power of Duchess Sarah. Her suspicions, she informs us, were roused by the information that Abigail Hill (a relation of her own, and placed by herself in the royal household) had been married without her knowledge to Mr. Masham, who was one of the queens pages; but there are allusions be- fore this in her letters to the queen to flat- terers, which point at least to some suspected influence undermining her own. She tells us first in a few succinct pages who this was whose private marriage excited so much wonder and indignation in her mind. Abigail and all her family owed their establishment in life to the active exertions of the duchess, who had taken them upon her shoulders in their poverty or rather had succeeded in passing them on to the broader shoulders of the public, which was still more satisfactory. Thus she had been the making of the whole band, henceforward through other members besides Abigail to D04 DRAWN BY JOSEPH PENNELL. ENGRAVED BY K. C. ATWOOD. STATUE OF QUEEN ANNE SN FEONT OF AT. PAUL A, LONDON. THE QUEEN AND THE P UCHESS. 5 prove thorns in her flesh. Harley, who was at this time Secretary of State, and aiming at higher place, was related in the same degree on the fathers side to Mrs. Abigail; so that, first cousin to the great duchess on the one hand and to the leader of the House of Commons on the other, though it suits the narrators pur- pose to humble her, Mrs. Hill was no child of the people. It is curious to remark here that Harley too came to his first advancement by Marlboroughs patronage. From the moment of this discovery, and of the further facts that the marriage had taken place under Annes auspices, and that Abigail had already taken advantage of her favor to bring Harley into close relations with the queen, the duchess gave her mistress little peace. Fiery letters were showered daily upon the queen. She let nothing pass without a hasty visit or a long epistle. Every new affront, every symptom of failure in the policy which she supported with so much zeal, made her rush, if possible, to the presence with a storm of reproaches and invective, with tears of fury and outcries of wrath or to the pen, with which she reiterated the same burning story of her wrongs. Anne is represented to us throughout in an attitude of stolid and pas- sive resistance which increases our sympathy with the weeping, raging, passionate woman, whose eloquence, whose arguments, whose ap- peals and entreaties, all dash unheeded against the rock of tranquil obstinacy, which is no more moved by them than the cliff is moved by the petulance of the rising tide; although, on the other hand, a similar sympathy ~s not wanting for the dull and placid soul which could get no peace, and which longed, above all things, for tranquillity, for gentle attentions and soft voices, and for the privilege of nominat- ing bishops and playing basset in peace. Poor lady! On the whole, it is Queen Anne who is most to be pitied. She was often ill, always unwieldy and uncomfortable. She had no- body but a soft, gliding, smooth-tongued Abi- gail to fall back upon, while the duchess had half the great men of the time fawning upon her, putting themselves at her feet; her hus- band prizing a word of kindness from her more than anything in the world; her daughters de- scribing her as the dearest mother that ever was; money, which she loved, accumulating in her coffers; great Blenheim still a-buildin0 and all kinds of noble hangings, cut velvets and satins, pictures and every fine thing that could be conceived getting collected for the adornment of that great house. Nevertheless, there can be little doubt that ST. JAMESS PALACE. Duchess Sarah represented a nobler ideal and grander national policy than that into which her mistress was betrayed. Her later inter- course with Anne was little more than a per- secution; and yet what she aimed at was better than the dishonoring and selfish policy by which she was finally conquered. A certain enlightenment was in all her passionate inter- ferences with the course of public affairs. The men whom she labored to thrust into office were the best men of the time; the ascendancy she endeavored so violently to retain was one under which England had been elevated in the scale of nations, and all her liberties con- firmed. Such persecuting and intolerant acts as the bill against Occasional Conformity, which was a test of exceptional severity, had her strenuous opposition. In short, had there been no Marlborough to carry on the half- begun war at Williams death, and no Sarah at Annes ear to inspire the queens sluggish nature with spirit, and to keep her up to the mark of the large plans of her predecessor, England might have fallen into another driv- eling period of foreign subserviency, into a new and meaner Restoration. That the reader may see, however, to what an extraordinary pass the friendship which had been so intimate and close had come, we add the duchesss account of the concluding inter- view. Every kind of exasperating circumstance had accumulated in the mean time between the former friends. There had been violent meet ings, violent letters by the score; even in the midst of a thanksgiving service Sarah had taken her mistress to task, and imperiously bidden her not to answer. Indeed, the poor queen was more or less hunted down, pursued to her last corner of defense, when the Mistress of the Robes made her sudden appearance at Kensington one April afternoon in the year 1710, when everything was tending toward her downfall. As I was entering, the Queen said she was just going to write to me, and when I began to speak she interrupted me four or five times with these repeated words, Whatever you have to say you may put it in writing. I said her Majesty never did so hard a thing to any as to refuse to hear them speak, and assured her that I was not go- ing to trouble her upon the subject which I knew to be so ungrateful to her, but that I could not pos- sibly rest until I had cleared myself from some par- ticular calumnies with which I had been loaded. I then xvent on to speak (though the Queen turned away her face from me) and to represent my hard case, that there were those about her Majesty that had made her believe that I said things of her which I was no more capable of saying than of killing my own children. The Queen said with- out doubt there were many lies told. I then begged, in order to make this trouble the shorter and my own innocence the plainer, that I might know the particulars of which I had been ac- cused, because if I were guilty that would quickly appear, and if I were innocent this method alone would clear me. The Queen re- plied that she would give me no answer, laying ~NGRAVEI BY J. W. EVANS AFTER AQUATINT BY P. SANIBY. WINDSOR TERRACE, LOOKING WESTWARD. THE QUEEN AND THE D UCHESS. 7 hold on a word in my letter that what I had to say in my own vindication need have no conse- quence in obizging her Malesty to answer, & c., which surely did not at all imply that I did not desire to know the particular things laid to my charge, without which it was impossible for me to clear myself. This I assured her Majesty was all I desired, and that I did not ask the names of the authors or relaters of these calumnies, saying all that I could think reasonably to enforce my just request. . . . I protested to her Majesty that I had no design, in giving her this trouble, to so- licit the return of her favor, but that my sole view was to clear myself, which was too just a design to be wholly disappointed by her Majesty. Upon this the Queen offered to go out of the room, I following her, and begging leave to clear myself; and the Queen repeating over and over again, You desired no answer, and shall have none. When she came to the door I fell into great dis- order; streams of tears flowd down against my will, and prevented my speaking for some time. At length I recovered myself; and appealed to the Queen, in the vehemence of my concern, whether I might not still have been happy in her Majestys favor if I could have contradicted or dis~embled my real opinion of men or things; whether I had ever, during our long friendship, told her one lie, or playd the hypocrite once; whether I had offended in any thing, unless in a very zealous pressing upon her that which I thought necessary for her service and security. I then said I was informed by a very reasonable and credible person about the court that things were laid to my charge of which I was wholly in- capable; that this person knew that such stories were perpetually told to her Majesty to incense her, and had begd of me to come and vindicate myself; that the same person had thought me of late guilty of some omissions toward her Maj- esty, being entirely ignorant how uneasy to her my frequent attendance must be after what had happened between us. I explained some things which I had heard her Majesty had taken amiss of me, and then, with a fresh flood of tears and a concern sufficient to move compassion, even where all love was absent, I begd to know what other particulars she had heard of me, that I might not be denied all power of justifying myself. But the only return was, You desired no answer, and you shall have none. I then begd to know if her Majesty would tell me some other time? You desired no answer, and you shall have none. Thus ended this remarkable conversation, the last I everhadwith berMajesty [the duchess adds]; After this there was no more possibility of reconciliation. Attempts of all kinds were made, and there is even a record of a some- what pitiful scene in which great Marlborough himself; on his return from the wars, appears on his knees, pleading with Queen Anne to take back into favor her old companion, but without effect. Unfortunately for himself; he did not resign at this turning-point, being persuaded both by friends and foes not to do so, and with the evident risk before his eyes of hazarding all the combinations of the war and giving a distinct advantage to the enemy against whom he had hitherto operated so forcibly. He kept his com- mand, therefore, for the public interest rather than for his own, and returned, when the season of warfare recommenced, to the post which all these events made uneasy forhim, and where his credit was shaken and his prestige dimin- ished by the disfavor of the court and the op- position of the ministry. The responsibility was therefore left upon Anne and her ministers of dismissing him, which they did in the end. of 1711, to the consternation of their allies, the delight of the French, and the bewilderment of the nation. The party plots by which this came about are far too long and involved to be capable of explanation here; neither can we enter into the semi-secret negotiations for the humiliating and disgraceful peace secured by the treaty of Utrecht, which were carried on unknown to Marlborough, to the destruction of the alliance and the confusion of all his plans. Never, perhaps, was so great a man treated with such contumely. His associate in his work, the Lord Treasurer Godolphin, the great finan- cier of his time, had already fallen, leaving office so poor a man that he would have been wholly dependent on his relations but for the unexpected death of a brother, who left him a small fortune. He has left an account of his dismissal by the queen herself; and on the ST. GEORGES CHAPEL, WINDSOR. ii8 THE QUEEN AND THE DUCHESS. ground, apparently, of personal offense, which is extraordinary indeed. Anne herself was no doubt little more than a puppet in the hands of successive politicians at this unfortunate period. She had no longer an audacious Freeman to tell her unwelcome truths, and tease her with appeals and re- proaches: but it is probable that she soon found her soft-voiced Abigail, her caressing duchess (of Somerset), little more satisfactory; never was a head that wore the crown more uneasy. She held fast to the power which she had been persuaded she was to get into her own hands when she was delivered from the sway of the Marlboroughs, and for a little DRAWN BR A. F. JACCACI. while believed it possible that she could reign unaided. But this was a delusion that could not last long; indeed her death was hastened, it is said, by a violent altercation between Har- ley and St. John, when the inevitable struggle between the two who had pushed all com- petitors out of place occurred at last. They wrangled over the staff of office in Annes very presence, overwhelming her with agitation and excitement. Apart from politics, the royal existence was dull enough. When Dean Swift was at Wind- sor, following Harley and waiting for the deci- sion of his Irish business, we have occasional glimpses through his eyes which show the tedium of the court. There was a drawing- room to-day, he says; but so few company that the queen sent for us into her bedchamber, where we made our bows, and stood, about twenty of us around the room, while she looked round with her fan in her mouth, and once a minute said about three words to some that were nearest her; and then she was told dinner was ready, and went out. The same authority mentions her way of taking exercise, which was a strange one. The queen was hunting the stag till four this afternoon, he says; she drove in her chaise about forty miles, and it was five before we went to dinner. She hunts in a chaise with one horse, which she drives herself, and drives furiously like Jehu and is a mighty hunter like Nimrod. Queen Annes Ride and Queen Annes Drive are still well- known names in the locality where the strange apparition of the queen, solitary in her high chaise, and driving furiously after the hunt, must once have been a familiar sight. The end of this poor queens life was dis- turbed by a new and terrible struggle, in which natural sentiment and public duty, and all the prepossessions and prejudices ofher nature, were set in conflict one against the other. This was upon the question of the succession. The fam- ily of Hanover, the Electress Sophia and her son and grandson, had been chosen solemnly by Parliament as the nearest members of the royal race who were Protestants, and were rec- ognized as the heirs to the throne in all public acts and in the prayers of the Church. But to Anne the house of Hanover was of no special interest. She did not love the idea of a successor at all. She had declared passionately to Marl- borough that the proposed visit of the Hano- verian prince was a thing which she could not bear, and there was no friendship, nor even ac- quaintance, between her and relatives so far removed. But apart from all public knowledge, in the secret chambers and by the backstairs came whispers now of another name, that of James Stuart, more familiar and kindlythe baby brother about whom Anne had believed the prevailing fable that he was a supposititious child, for whom she had invented the name of the Pretender, but who now, in her child- less decay, began to be presented before her as the victim of a great wrong. Poor queen! she was torn asunder by all these contradictions; if. BLENHEIM. THE QUEEN AND THE DUCHESS. I 19 and if her heart was melting toward her fa- thers son, all the dull experience which she had acquired in spite of herself must have con- vinced her that this solution of the difficulty was impossible. Her life of late had been one long conflict; imperious Sarah first, then Har- ley and St. John quarreling in her very pres- ence-chamber, and when the door was shut, and the curtains drawn, and all the world de- l)arted save Abigail lying on a mattress on the floor to be near her mistress, here was the most momentous question of all. She who de- sired nothing so much as quiet, and to be left in peace, was once again compelled to face a l)roblem of the utmost importance to England, and on which she alone had the power to say a decisive word. Little wonder if Anne was harassed beyond all endurance. But those who pressed this question upon her waning senses were the instruments of their own over- throw. The poweis of life, worn outbefore their time, could bear no more. The hopes of the 3 acobite party were rising higher every day as the end drew near; but at the last she escaped them, having uttered no word of support to their cause, and in the confusion which ensued George I. was peacefully proclaimed as soon as the queen had slipped out of her lethargy l)eyond the boundaries of any earthly kingdom. The Marlboroughs, who had been living on the Continent since their disgrace, came back after this new change. The dukes entry into London in great state, attended by hundreds of gentlemen on horseback and some of the nobility in their coaches, a few days after, is rej)orted by one of the chroniclers of the time. The duchess followed him soon after, and whether her temper and disposition had so far mended as to allow him to enjoy the peace he had so often longed for by the side of her he loved, he had at least a tranquil evening time among his friends and dependents and the grandchildren who were to be his heirs, for only one of his own children survived at his death. Duchess Sarah lived long after him. She was sixty-two when he died, but neverthe- less, in spite of temper and every other failing, was still charming enough to be sought in mar- riage by two distinguished suitors one of them that proud Duke of Somerset whose first wife had supplanted her at court. She an- swered this potentate in the only way consis- tent with the dignity of a woman of her age and circumstances, but added, with a noble pride which sat well upon her, that had she been but half her age, not the emperor of the world should ever have filled the place sacred to great Marlborough. It is a pity we could not leave her here in the glow of this proud ten- derness and constancy. She was capable of that and many other noble things, but not of holding her tongue, of withdrawing into the background, or accepting in other ways the natural change from maturity to age. Her rest- less energies, however, had some legitimate outlet. She finished Blenheim, and she wrote innumerable explanations and memoranda, which finally shaped themselves into that Ac- count of the Conduct of the Duchess of Marl- borough from her first Coming to Court, which is one of the most interesting of all m~moires pour servir. This was published in her eighty- second year, and it is curious to think of the vivacious and unsubdued spirit which could throw itself back so completely out of the calm of age into the conflicts and the very atmo- sphere of what had passed thirty years before. She also did her best to prepare for a great life of Marlborough, which should set him right with the world. But her time was not always so innocently employed, and it is to be feared that she wrangled to the end of her life. The characters of her contemporaries which she left behind are full of spite and malice. There was no peace in her soul. A characteristic little story is told of her in an illness. Last year she had lain a great while ill without speaking; her physicians said she must be blis- tered or she would die. She called out, I wont be blistered and I wont die! and appa- rently for the moment kept her word. She lived long enough to be impaled by Pope in verses which an involuntary admiration for this daring, dauntless, impassioned woman makes us reluctant to quote. She survived almost her entire generation, and was capable of living a hundred years more had nature permitted. She was eighty-four when she succumbed at last, in the year 1744, thirty years after the death of the queen. AL 0. W 0lz~/Jzan/. JOHN MUIR. THE name of John Muir is inseparably con- nected with the Yosemite Valley and the alpine regions of the Sierra Nevada, and with the glaciers of Alaska, the greatest of which bears his name. When Ralph Waldo Emerson visited the Yosemite, Muir was his guide for a week, and on his return Emerson said of him, He is more wonderful than Thoreau. Of Emerson, Muir wrote, He is the Sequoia of the human race. When Agassiz and Joseph Leconte met in San Francisco, and were talk- ing about the glaciers of the Pacific coast, Pro- fessor Leconte remarked that John Muir knew more about the subject than any other man.? Yes, said Agassiz, bringing his hand down on the table by way of emphasis; he knows all about it. John Muir was born in Dunbar, Scotland, in 1836. His mother, Anne Gilrye, is a descen dant of the old Scotch family of Gilderoy. His father,Daniel Muir,was a grain-merchant. John was the third child in a family of eight children, three boys and five girls. At three years of age he was sent to the public school, where for eight years he was put through the ordinary English branches, Latin, French, the Cate- chism, and the Bible, in the old Scotch style. In spite of hard lessons and many fioggings, he grew up savagely strong, healthy, and active, fond of all kinds of games and of long tramps into the country and along the sea-shore. In 1850 his father emigrated to the United States, and settled as a pioneer in the wilder- ness near Fox River, Wisconsin, twelve miles from Fort Winnebago, on an uncleared section of land bordered by a beautiful stream and a small lake, white with water-lilies. Birds and flowers, game and fish, made the farm a boys

John Swett Swett, John John Muir 120-124

JOHN MUIR. THE name of John Muir is inseparably con- nected with the Yosemite Valley and the alpine regions of the Sierra Nevada, and with the glaciers of Alaska, the greatest of which bears his name. When Ralph Waldo Emerson visited the Yosemite, Muir was his guide for a week, and on his return Emerson said of him, He is more wonderful than Thoreau. Of Emerson, Muir wrote, He is the Sequoia of the human race. When Agassiz and Joseph Leconte met in San Francisco, and were talk- ing about the glaciers of the Pacific coast, Pro- fessor Leconte remarked that John Muir knew more about the subject than any other man.? Yes, said Agassiz, bringing his hand down on the table by way of emphasis; he knows all about it. John Muir was born in Dunbar, Scotland, in 1836. His mother, Anne Gilrye, is a descen dant of the old Scotch family of Gilderoy. His father,Daniel Muir,was a grain-merchant. John was the third child in a family of eight children, three boys and five girls. At three years of age he was sent to the public school, where for eight years he was put through the ordinary English branches, Latin, French, the Cate- chism, and the Bible, in the old Scotch style. In spite of hard lessons and many fioggings, he grew up savagely strong, healthy, and active, fond of all kinds of games and of long tramps into the country and along the sea-shore. In 1850 his father emigrated to the United States, and settled as a pioneer in the wilder- ness near Fox River, Wisconsin, twelve miles from Fort Winnebago, on an uncleared section of land bordered by a beautiful stream and a small lake, white with water-lilies. Birds and flowers, game and fish, made the farm a boys JOHN MUIR. 121 paradise, in spite of the hardest kind of toil in chopping, grubbing, and general farm-work. At the age of fifteen Johns mechanical genius stirred within his brain, and while doing a man s work on the farm he rose, for months in succes- sion, at one oclock in the morning and worked until daylight, inventing and making mill- wheels, wooden clocks, and various other me- chanical appliances. At the same time he read every book within reach, and studied grammar, algebra, and geometry, improving every availa- ble moment,keeping an open book beside him at his meals, and working out mathematical prob- lems on chips or on the ground while he was at work in the field. At twenty-two he entered the University ofWisconsin,where he continued for four years. He taught school one winter, and worked at harvesting during the summer vaca- tions, to earn money to pay his college expenses. He pursued a special scientific course, and, when that was completed, went off into the wil- derness on a long botanical excursion around the great lakes. While on the Canada shore he worked for a year in a mill for making hand- rakes, lathes, boring-machines, and agricultural implements. Here he set about improving the old machinery, inventing new appliances, and in many ways increasing the product of the mill. All his leisure time was given to botanizing. The mill, however, took fire and burned down, and Muir went to Indianapolis, where he worked for a year in a large manufactory of carriage and wagon material. Here he was so highly appreciated that he was offered the place of foreman, with a prospective partnership; but one of his eyes was accidentally penetrated by the sharp point of a file, and after several weeks of confinement in a dark room, to quote his own words, he determined to get away into the flowery wilderness to enjoy and lay in as large a stock as possible of Gods wild beauty before the coming on of the times of darkness. Ac- cordingly, he had scarcely recovered from the shock of his injury when he set out on his travels, afoot and alone, going southward on a botani- zing tour across Kentucky, Tennessee, North Carolina, Georgia, and Florida, reaching tide- water at Cedar Keys on the Gulf of Mexico. In consequence of exposure in swamps, and from lying out at night on the bare ground, he was taken down with malarial fever. After partial recovery, he took passage in a schooner for Havana, intending to proceed thence to South America to explore the head waters of the Amazon and to float down the river to its mouth. But after spending a few months amid the trop- ical vegetation of Cuba, and finding that fever still lingered in his system, he reluctantly changed his plans, and turned his face toward California, where, going by the Panama route, he arrived in April, i868. Heatonce set out on VOL. XLVI. i6. foot for the Yosemite Valley, botanizing on his way across the broad plains of the San Joaquin Valley, then covered with flowers. He made his way into the valley without a guide, while the trails were yet deeply buried in snow, and after a stay often days, his money having given out, returned to the lowlands and worked as a harvest hand in the wheat-fields. The follow- ing winter, glad to find any employment that allowed contact with nature, he herded sheep to earn a living while studying the flora of that region. With a migratory sheep-camp as his headquarters, he passed the summer in botanizing, and in sketching the head waters of the Merced and Tuolumne rivers. Returning to the plains in the autumn, he worked on a ranch for a few months, breaking mustangs and running a gang-plow, and then again pushed over the mountains into the Yosemite. There he was fortunate enough to find em- ployment, and was thus enabled to make the great valley his home. At that time Mr. J. M. Hutchings, the Yo- semite pioneer, desiring to build some cottages to accommodate the increasing travel to the valley, and finding that cutting lumber by hand with whip-saws was a slow and very expensive method, determined to build a small sawmill. The frame of the mill was already up when Mr. Muir arrived on his second visit to the valley, and Mr. Hutchings was anxiously look- ing for some one to put in the machinery and run it. Finding, on inquiry, that John Muir the botanist was also a millwright, he gave him the job, and thus enabled him to carry on his famous explorations in the high Sierra until he began to write and could depend on his pen for bread. But it must not be supposed that any of the trees were cut down to supply the mill. All the logs were obtained from fallen timber, mostly yellow pine blown down in a gale. John Muir, of all men, would be the last one to lift an ax against the Yosemite groves. When the mill was completed, he hung his bed in the peak of it, beneath the rafters, for the sake of fresh air and the music of the wa- ters. On the end of the gable overhanging the stream he built a small room for a study and as a storehouse for his collections of plants, cones, sketches, and papers. In this little study, which could be entered only by climb- ing a narrow, rough-hewn plank, he had the honor of several visits from Emerson. Here, too, was written his first article on the Yosem- ite glaciers, which was published in the New York Tribune in 1871. By working in the mill, Muir soon earned a few hundred dollars, enough to buy his bread for several years, and set out in glorious inde- pendence to make a systematic survey of the mountains, tracing every river to its source, 122 JO/IN MUIR. going from cafion to cafion in regular order, noting particularly the distribution of the for- ests and of the flora in general, the structure of the rocks, the traces of the ancient glaciers, and the influence they exerted in sculpturing the mountains, in creating valleys and lake-basins, and in fashioning the landscape. Wherever night overtook him, he made his camp. The scope of his studies was ever increasing, but he was never in a hurry. He took no note of time, for he had all the time there was. Throughout an entire day he could sit mo- tionless, studying the habits of squirrel, or bird, or grasshopper; and every plant and animal was his friend. How lonely and adventurous his life was is strikingly manifested by the fact that during ten years of exploration in the high Sierra, with the single exception of a band of Mono Indians, he never met a human being. His outfit on one of his ten-day excursionS was the lightest possible. It consisted of a pocket aneroid, chronometer, and thermometer, a note-book and pencil, a few pounds of bread and oatmeal, a little tea and sugar, and a small tin can. After climbing a summit during the day, he descended at night to the timber-line, built a fire, made a can of tea, ate his bread, and lay down by the side of his camp-fire, with no other covering than that which he had worn during the day. At an elevation of from nine to twelve thousand feet (the height of the timber-line in the Sierra) the nights are severe, and the fire required to be replenished at intervals of about an hour, thus making his sleep a broken one. But this hardship was not without fine com- pensation in enabling him to hear the many strange sounds of the night, and to see the glories of the starry mountain sky. Blankets would have been a convenience, but in the rugged regions where he climbed it was impossible to carry them. A gun was too heavy to carry, and a pistol would have been only a useless encumbrance. Bears never molested him, and other animals - were his companions. In this manner for years he studied the channels of ancient glaciers, pushed through the wildest cafions, and noted the forest-covered moraines. Muirs numerous note-books of the period are filled with sketches of forest trees, mountain meadows and lakes, glaciers and moraines, domes and pinnacles, the cleavage planes of rocks,the direction of glacial strife, and sections of mountains and valleys. So careful were his observations, so accurate his notes and sketches, that when he writes on geological subjects his statements and conclusions have the force of mathematical demonstration. He discovered and located sixty-five glaciers among mountain heights where none had been supposed to exist. From these fragmentary heads he traced the course of ancient glaciers far down the slopes of the Sierra toward the plains, in the valleys where now flow the rivers. Probably no liv- ing geologist has recognized so fully as he the vast amount of denudation effected by ice during the glacial period, and it is doubtful if any other man has made so exhaustive a study of the subject. In his ten years of field-work he had some narrow escapes from death. Once he was caught in a snow-storm on the summit of Mount Shasta, where he lay all night long over the jets of sul- phur steam in the crater, with the thermometer at twenty degrees below zero. He was in his shirt-sleeves, without food or fire, and a less hardy or less resolute man would have perished. He escaped with frozen feet, and a back blistered by the hot steam of the fumaroles. Once, when out with a surveying party in the Great Basin, he nearly perished with thirst, and but for his endurance and will-power the whole partymight have been lost. On the Muir Glacier in Alaska he had a hair-breadth escape from a tomb in a deep crevasse. For many successive summers and for five winters Muir made his home and headquarters in the Yosemite region. He spent the summers and autumns in exploring the mountains, and the winters in writing out his notes, studying storms and avalanches, and the habits of birds and animals. During his longer trips, when the last crumbs of bread were gone, he descended the range to the nearest point on the bread- line, filled his sack, and again vanished into the wilderness, often saying, at such times, that he wished he could eat one meal in the spring that would last all summer, so that he could go on with his studies uninterrupted. During this period he met many noted scientists who became his friends Guyot, Harrington, the Lecontes, Sir Joseph Hooker, Asa Gray, Dr. Torrey, Dr. Parry, Professor Runkle of the Boston Institute of Technology, and others. Emerson, Gray, Professor Runkle, and others offered him flattering inducements with a view to drawing him from the obscurity of his moun- tain haunts; but he declined them all, heartily choosing to pursue his studies in perfect in- dependence, saying that there were already plenty of professors in the colleges and few ob- servers in the wilderness; that he wanted to be more than a professor, whether noticed in the world or not. In 1876, after his ten years residence in the Yosemite region, Mr. Muir joined an exploring party connected with the geodetic survey in the Great Basin, chiefly on account of the oppor- tunity it afforded to study the botany and ge- ology of the plateau between the Sierra Nevada and the Rocky Mountains. With this party he passed three summers, during which he became familiar with the country. In 1879 he went to JOHN MUIR. 123 Alaska, and, in a canoe manned by Indians, began a careful exploration of the rugged icy region to the north of Fort Wrangel. It was then that he discovered the now famous Glacier Bay and the great glacier that bears his name. Here he saw glaciers on a yet grander scale than those which he claims once covered the summits and plowed out the cafions of California. He also pushed in- land to the head waters of the Yukon and the Mackenzie rivers. He has since made three exploring trips to that region. In i88i he accompanied one of the search expeditions for the lost Jeanne//c, and returned with a note- book full of sketches, and with an enlarged idea of the vast scale of ice denudation in the north. The scope of his studies during this cruise of the Corwin may be traced in the series of twenty-one letters to the San Francisco Bulle- tin, and by his paper On the Glaciation of the Pacific Coast and the Polar Region about Behring Sea and the Arctic Ocean. John Muir has not been a voluminous writ- er. He has chosen, in his enthusiastic. love of nature, to be an original observer. His first notable articles appeared in the Overland Monthly, in the form of a series of illustrated papers on mountain sculpture. Later, he con- tributed papers to Harpers Magazine, which were followed in The Century (old series) by a number of illustrated articles on the forests, glaciers, and scenery of the Sierra. Two recent papers in THE CENTURY on the Yosemite Valley (August and September, 1890), and one on t~e great Kings River Cafion (November, 1891), complete the list of his magazine articles.1 He has also contributed from time to time many interesting articles to the San Francisco Bulletin. For two years his leisure time was chiefly occupied in edit- ing Picturesque California, for which he himself wrote most of the descriptive text re- 1 It was to one of these papers, describing the won- derful country in the neighborhood of Yosemite, and setting forth the desirability of reserving these envi- rons for public use, that was primarily due the estab- lishment, in October, 1890, of the great Yosemite National Park, embracing a territory almost as large as the State of Rhode Island. Mr. Muirs article on the Kings River Cafion, entitled A Rival of the Yo- semite, contained a similar suggestion, wbich led to lating to the mountain scenery of the Pacific coast. He has recently been elected first president of the Sierra Club. As an original observer and interpreter of nature, as a hardy and enthusiastic explorer, John Muir is without a rival in California. Indeed, it is safe to say that no other geolo- gist has ever made so exhaustive a study, in so grand a field, of the agency of glaciers. He combines scientific accuracy of statement with a poetic expression which lends a singu- lar charm to his writings. His descriptions of Shasta Bees, Mount Shasta, and the Water Ousel are prose poems; but the facts are as accurate as they could be made by the baldest statement of the most technical scientist. It will be pleasant for those who read this brief sketch of his early struggles to know that John Muir is now in the enjoyment of a happy home and a comfortable income. In 1879 he married the only daughter of the late Dr. John Strentzel, a wealthy fruit-grower of Contra Costa County, and since that time, when not out on exploring trips, has been kept busy in the management of a large vine- yard and orchard. Though money-making has been with him altogether secondary to science, his inherited Scotch thrift and his hard training on a Western farm combine to make him a shrewd and successful man of business. In person Muir is tall and slender, pos- sessed of great power of enduring hunger, thirst, and fatigue. As a mountain-climber few can keep pace with him. He is unassum- ing in manner, and simple in his tastes and habits. He is a ready talker, and, when drawn out by an interested listener, discourses in the most charming manner about birds and flow- ers, glaciers and mountains. He possesses an exhaustless fund of humor, and is inclined to look on the sunny side of life as well as of nature. John Swe//. the important series of forest reservations made by President Harrison and Secretary Noble in 189293, one of which includes the territory specifically pro- posed. It is not surprising that such a lover of Yo- semite was also among the first to make energetic protest against the uninstructed meddling with the beauty of wildness of the valley, and to show the need of greater skill and care in the management of its affairs. EDITOR. MR. GADSBURYS BROTHER. WITH PICTURES BY E. W. KEMBLE. O more cheerful place could be found, Neven~thatearlyhour,~quarterofnine in the morning, than Mr. Gadsburys study. This remote little room presented a strange and whimsical contrast to all other parts of the Gadsbury establishment. On the broad hearth blazed a typical country fire. The hearth itself was of rough, irregular stones, filled in with sand, which, as time wore on, had packed into the interstices. The burning logs of oak and hickory rested upon oblong pieces of limestone instead of highly polished brasses. The big, uncouth fireplace, and splint-seated chair in front of it, related the first page of Mr. Gads- burys history, before New York knew the prom- inent banker and prosperous business man. It embalmed and conjured up familiar scenes, for Mr. Gadsbury was a mountaineer by birthright. If New York had left him any sentiment what- ever, it perhaps evinced itself when he became a rich man and endeavored to recreate the crude comfort of the log cabin in a secluded corner of his city home. However, he basked in the 124 genial warmth of the fire that morning, appa- rently unconscious of its cheeriness. The door behind him opened and closed without break- ing his deep, absorbing contemplation of the coals glowing on the hearth. A letter, papa such an. odd, wholesome- looking letter. The girl laid the letter a folded sheet of foolscap on his knee. She watched him in eager curiosity, while he read the difficult chi- rography of a hand not used to the pen. Something is wrong with you, papa, she said suddenly. What is it? Business troubles, daughter, he said, strok- ing her hair gently. But there are no business troubles in this letter, and with the audacity of a petted child she read the letter overhis shoulder. It says oh, dear, what does it say? no beginning and no date. I that is an I will be thar a wensday This is Wednesday; he will come to-day to git the money in yo bank. F. Gadsbury. Now, who is the writer of this epistle, papa? My brother. The reply, brief as he could make it, brought the bright eyes back to his harassed coun- tenance. .0 There are coal and iron on his tract of moun- tain-land, Mr. Gadsbury went on, and it has brought him a great sum of money. Is it in your bank, papa? He thinks it is, Margaret, slowly replied her father; but I invested it without asking his consent. It seemed absurd, he added more has- tily, to let such a sum of money lie in bank idle. The investment has not been fortunate; indeed none of my business has been fortunate of late. Oh, well, you may be fortunate to-day, papa, i~nd that will remedy all. Margaret kissed him, laughingly, and Mr. Gadsbury went away to his office, wondering to himself that such scant supplies of truth suf- ficed even the most interested parties. Every word had been absolutely true, but few be- yond Mr. Gadsburyguessed how far short it fell of the whole truth. The age of miracles is past, and only a miracle c~n save a ruined man, he reflected, as the terrible retrospect mirrored mistake after mistake with startling fidelity, now that it was too late. How he had lost his own in the muddy waters of stock-spec- ulation, and then used his brothers money in futile efforts to retrieve himself. It was the old story an every-day affair; only the rustic in I M A-LOOKIN FER HUGH GADSBURY.

M. Frances Swann Williams Williams, Frances Swann, M. Mr. Gadsbury's Brother 124-132

MR. GADSBURYS BROTHER. WITH PICTURES BY E. W. KEMBLE. O more cheerful place could be found, Neven~thatearlyhour,~quarterofnine in the morning, than Mr. Gadsburys study. This remote little room presented a strange and whimsical contrast to all other parts of the Gadsbury establishment. On the broad hearth blazed a typical country fire. The hearth itself was of rough, irregular stones, filled in with sand, which, as time wore on, had packed into the interstices. The burning logs of oak and hickory rested upon oblong pieces of limestone instead of highly polished brasses. The big, uncouth fireplace, and splint-seated chair in front of it, related the first page of Mr. Gads- burys history, before New York knew the prom- inent banker and prosperous business man. It embalmed and conjured up familiar scenes, for Mr. Gadsbury was a mountaineer by birthright. If New York had left him any sentiment what- ever, it perhaps evinced itself when he became a rich man and endeavored to recreate the crude comfort of the log cabin in a secluded corner of his city home. However, he basked in the 124 genial warmth of the fire that morning, appa- rently unconscious of its cheeriness. The door behind him opened and closed without break- ing his deep, absorbing contemplation of the coals glowing on the hearth. A letter, papa such an. odd, wholesome- looking letter. The girl laid the letter a folded sheet of foolscap on his knee. She watched him in eager curiosity, while he read the difficult chi- rography of a hand not used to the pen. Something is wrong with you, papa, she said suddenly. What is it? Business troubles, daughter, he said, strok- ing her hair gently. But there are no business troubles in this letter, and with the audacity of a petted child she read the letter overhis shoulder. It says oh, dear, what does it say? no beginning and no date. I that is an I will be thar a wensday This is Wednesday; he will come to-day to git the money in yo bank. F. Gadsbury. Now, who is the writer of this epistle, papa? My brother. The reply, brief as he could make it, brought the bright eyes back to his harassed coun- tenance. .0 There are coal and iron on his tract of moun- tain-land, Mr. Gadsbury went on, and it has brought him a great sum of money. Is it in your bank, papa? He thinks it is, Margaret, slowly replied her father; but I invested it without asking his consent. It seemed absurd, he added more has- tily, to let such a sum of money lie in bank idle. The investment has not been fortunate; indeed none of my business has been fortunate of late. Oh, well, you may be fortunate to-day, papa, i~nd that will remedy all. Margaret kissed him, laughingly, and Mr. Gadsbury went away to his office, wondering to himself that such scant supplies of truth suf- ficed even the most interested parties. Every word had been absolutely true, but few be- yond Mr. Gadsburyguessed how far short it fell of the whole truth. The age of miracles is past, and only a miracle c~n save a ruined man, he reflected, as the terrible retrospect mirrored mistake after mistake with startling fidelity, now that it was too late. How he had lost his own in the muddy waters of stock-spec- ulation, and then used his brothers money in futile efforts to retrieve himself. It was the old story an every-day affair; only the rustic in I M A-LOOKIN FER HUGH GADSBURY. MR. GADSBURYS BROTHER. 125 the log cabin down in the Virginia mountains might not see it in that light. Mr. Gadsbury sat down before the capacious desk in his private office, and rested his chin on one hand in unwonted idleness. For the first time in his occupancy of the place he noted the bare outlook from the window. Naked, ugly, rain-stained walls; chimneys from which the good old-time blue smoke never curledhe had nevgr observed them until to-day. In the past busy years no poesy to him had been so sweet and thrilling,no symphony soharmonious, as a rise in the stocks he held; no sentiment so no- ble as a first mortgage trust-deed. There was utter absence of excitement noxv. Life looked gray and barren and wretched, as it narrowed into a rugged path. With mechanical precision he read and replied to numerous letters. An hour had passed when the door opened unceremoni- ously, and a visitor walked in. He was a tall, lank man, in a long, ill-fitting home-made over- coat of homespun, a rusty, broad-brimmed slouch-hat, a blue cotton shirt, and heavy boots. Removing his yarn mittens, the stranger drew out a red bandana, and mopped his swarthy, wrinkled face. I m a-lookin fer Hugh Gadsbury, he presently announced. I m kin to him, en come ter settle a trifle o business xvith his bank. Mr. Gadsbury gazed at the visitor in some surprise, and a slow gladdening of expression checked by the concluding words. He himself had changed beyond recognition, in thirty years separation, but this tall mountaineer had merely wrinkled and grown thinner. Frederick, you dont remember me; I am Hugh. Mr. Gadsbury held out his smooth, white hand. It was grasped with uncomfortable cordiality. Dunno es I d a thought so, ef you had nt a told me, retorted Mr. Gadsburys brother. You re a-gittin ter look settled like, en ac- tilly you re a-gittin gray. You must expect me tochange in thirty years, although I perceive small alteration in you. Sit down. This is my office; later in the day we will go to my house. The visitor seated himself, and pushed his hat to the back of his head. It s been thirty yeah sence you lef us, but thar aint no gret change savin fer the ore, he remarked pensively, tugging at a griz- zled forelock; but seems like thar s some news. He proceeded to relate the happen- ings upon the ridge, with a quaint assump- tion of interest and familiarity on the part of his hearer, bridging the gap, and taking up life where it had stopped in the mountains thirty years before. Mr. Gadsbury listened without in- terruption. For one instant he seemed to see the steep gray ledges, and to hear the whir of the startled pheasant or the wail of snipe de- scending the ravines; he seemed to feel the fresh mountain air blowing in his face the resinous odor of pines. Enwelldunno but that s all as has took place sence you lef, his brother was saying; that ar jacket en pants you lef home whenst you kem heah has been thar evy sence. I had nt no load on the beas when I rid ter station, so I fotched it. Diving into his well-worn saddle-bags, Fred- erick Gadsbury extracted therefrom an atten- uated suit of butternut. You ye kind o stoutened, you hey. I dont blieve you kin git em on. The mountaineer held up the elaborately patched trousers. Their dimensions appeared woefully diminutive beside the bankers well- rounded legs. I was a slim boy at fifteen, remarked Mr. Gadsbury, smiling. Why did you not use them, Frederick, for your boys, instead of keeping them thirty years? They war nt mine, an ef I aint got things belongin ter me, I low to mek shift thout em. Mr. Gadsbury was holding the trousers at arms-length, surveying their grotesque shab- biness with curious interest. They dropped suddenly to the floor. I 11 keep them, Frederick. They were my sole possessions to commence with; who knows that I may have anything more valuable at the end of life? suddenly replied Mr. Gads- bury, folding the garments carefully, and push- ing them back into one of the compartments of the huge walnut desk. The banker turned to his paper, intense anxiety and harassment drifting back into his countenance. Its gittin on ter leving oclock, observed the mountaineer. I told them men as wants my ore ter come heah, ef they bed a notion er buyin out my foddah fiels. You were very wise, Frederick. I can, of course, make better terms. What value do you put upon your share of the ore lands? in- quired Mr. Gadsbury, zealous that no advan- tage should be taken of this new and verdant Crcesus. nii~ I aint got no shur. I ye got the begin- en eand of it. It goes up Gum Holler, en crost Piney Ridge, en though Huckleberry Gap, en I ye kind o fixed what I m a-goin ter arsk em. Dunno es they 11 give it, but ef they dont, I kin bun coal the balance o my life, en save haulin wood, explained Mr. Gads- burys brother, as he drew from his inexhaus- tible pockets a formidable knife, and fell to a vigorous whittling of his hickory walking-stick. At least you will not close the transaction without consulting me, urged the banker. 126 MR. GADSBURYS BROTHER. They will discover your lack of experience, and outwit you; besides, I can point out good investments, in which you may double your money. Dunno but it s nough fer memo n I keer fer. I kin put it in lan, er suthin; least- ways I wont hey no specalatin, es I tol you bout the money you ye got now. The one hundred en fifty thousand dollars, aint it ? A shadow drifted across Mr. Gadsburys features as he said, That was the sum. En seventy-five cents, added his brother, slowly. Yes; and seventy-five cents, echoed Mr. Gadsbury. You are very precise. The seventy-five cents air paht of the money, was the logical response. I loant you that case I paid my boy fer them pat- idges you bought las fall, when that feller es wuks the ore brung em heah ter sell fer him. I remember the partridges. The man stated that you would call for the money yourself. True nough. We kin settle up when them men is done their talk. He was int& rupted by the arrival of the ex- pected purchasers of his property. Mr. Gads- bury recognized them as men whose wealth and business schemes were on a plane with his own, but while the bankers wealth and for- tunate deals must already be spoken of in the past tense, theirs might be so described any day. Dismay at the bare idea, the sheer mad- ness, of a verdant mountaineer venturing to bargain with these shrewd capitalists outran surprise, although plainly that individual did not share this apprehension. Removing his hat, Frederick Gadsbury produced a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles, slipped the string holding them together over his head, replaced his hat, tilted his chair, and went on whittling. Of the preliminary skirmish-line of remark Mr. Gadsburys brother seemed totally un- conscious, until the banker, who had borne a large part in the general affability, turned to him and said impressively: Frederick, these gentlemen have met here by appointment on your business. Their time is of great value. They wish you to give close attention to what they are saying. Jes so; but they aint said nothin yit wuth tendin ter, candidly rejoined the whittler, glancing over his spectacles at the opulent New Yorkers. They desire to know the lowest possible sum you will take for your property, went on Mr. Gadsbury, ignoring the reflection upon their conversation. Yes, sir; the lowest, the very lowest, briskly added Mr. Asbury, the manufacturer. We do not consider the investment a safe one, but we are willing to risk moderately. We may lose money in the end. Think so? You 11 hey ter be powful tri- fin ef you do, returned the mountaineer. It fotches me a sight o foddah fer the cattle. I aint no call ter sell, savin fer the pesterin of them Yankees, es is nosin roun in evry- thin. Ah, yes; I presume they do develop the natural resources of a region, re~51ied Mr. Jonas, the rich railway king, who managed his roads so skilfully that in the end they were bought in by himself and a syndicate of con- genial capitalists. Now, what price do you ask for your fod- der fields? Mr. Gadsburys brother settled the steel- rimmed spectacles further down toward the tip of his nose. Sence you arsk me, I cant do no less n tell you. I wont teck nary cent uner fo hundred thousing dollahs, he slowly replied. It s preposterous! Perfectly insane! ejaculated Mr. Jonas, excitedly. Say fifty thousand, and we may talk to you! cried Judge Hexham, in the tone he was wont to use when extinguishing a damag- ing witness. Or even one hundred thousand, supple- mented quiet Mr. Gadkins, astutely observant of the utterly unmoved aspect of the tanned and wrinkled visage opposite them. Its value must be fairly estimated, observed Mr. Gadsbury in an inexplicable tone, which might be interpreted in a partizan light, by either buyer or seller. Very true, chimed in Mr. Jonas; such a sum of money ought to buy out your State. Or twenty ore beds, added Mr. Asbury. We dont entertain any such proposition. Now, my friend, we offer you one hundred thousand dollars for right, title, and possession of your land, and its minerals, or whatever it has on it, or under it, summed up Judge Hexham, making very great effort to reduce his English to the comprehension of a back- woodsman. Mr. Gadsburys brother readjusted his spec- tacles, and scanned the staring white face of an overgrown silver watch interrogatively. It s jes twenty minutes ter twel, he said, placing the formidable timepiece on the desk beside him. That s nigh bout grub-time, aint it? Right you are, sir; and as soon as our business is settled, you must take a glass of moonshine with me, seductively observed the manufacturer, in the firm belief that this was the natural beverage of a mountaineer. Dunno es t would hurt me, onliest I dont drink liquor; but I was a-goin ter say es twel s MR. GADSBURYS BROTHER. 127 my eatin-time, en I m a-goin ter say mo, es I d give you till twel by sun ter mek up yo mine, whuthab you kin gimme fo hundred thousing fer my cattle-grazin er no,, Preposterous! Positively preposterous! wildly interrupted Mr. Asbury, nettled by the imperturbable mien of the man. It s more money than you know what to do with. Come down to business, now what do you want for the property ? I said fo hundred thousing, did nt I? inquired Frederick Gadsbury, in perplexed effort to remember. That s your asking price; now give us your selling price. These gentlemen wish to give you a fair price, Frederick, interposed the banker in a conciliatory manner, meant to encourage all parties. Mebbe so. I ye heern es Yankees is pow ful tight-fisted en stingy,Y was the phleg- matic reply. Mr. Gadsbury ventured no further remarks. His efforts, slight as they were, proved less than fortunate. The four capitalists retired to a window, and conferred in low voices for several minutes. The banker resumed his writing, the whittler continued his whittling; the big silver watch ticked remorselessly on its way to midday. Having arrived at some agreement with one another, the gentlemen again approached the desk, against which the mountaineer now rested the back of his chair. My dear sir, persuasively began Judge Hexham, we have reconsidered this matter. Jes so, stranger. Our outlay, he continued, has been enormous, in machinery, hands, and opening up the ore: in short.we have determined not to lose what we have already invested, but to offer you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Mr. Gadsburys brother shut his knife, and restored it to his pocket with great delibera- tion. That s a powful pile o money, he assented. Immense, answered several voices at once. Dunno but it s jes this way. I tol you the lan were wuth fo hundred thousing dollahs, en I wont tek no less fer it, en I m a-goin ter say moovah es it s eatin-time, en I m a-goin ter git my victuals. But, my dear sir! One moment. Two hundred and fifty thousand! The loud remonstrant voices failed to detain the mountaineer. I said I d talk till twel, he paused to reiterate in his monotonous tone. It s twel now; I hey nt no mo talk in me. A very real consternation overspread the faces of the shrewd bargainers for mountain values. He wants to sleep on our offer, suggested Mr. Asbury, in angry jest. He cant take in the idea of so much money. There is nothing more difficult than business with these illiterate Southern moun- taineers, Judge Hexham commented, in ill- concealed irritation. One must haggle and chaffer like an old woman over a dozen eggs, or a scrap of tape. Such dense ignorance is found nowhere else. The poor wretch dont know when he has a good thing. You must give him time; he is quite unac- customed to business, apologetically observed Mr. Gadsbury. Yes; we must give him a chance to re- cover his breath, jocularly retorted Mr. Jonas, without relaxing the frown drawing his heavy brows together. They easily agreed to appoint the same hour on the following day, provided the banker could prevail upon his brother to meet them. Mr. Gadsbury engaged to do so, as far as in him lay; he would at least impress upon him the heinous sin of wasting so much valuable time, by making four such men hold a useless rendezvous in his office. It was plain to Mr. Gadsbury that as possession of the property appeared elusive it became the more eagerly desired. The mountaineer assented indifferently to the proposed interview, but if the banker med- itated suggestion or counsel, no opportunity offered. The subject filling and absorbing every thought of one brother seemed forgotten by the other. For obvious reasons, Mr. Gadsbury ex- perienced intense relief that the sale of the lands reached no conclusion. He well knew that the reckoning with himself must follow. The final blow at his own tottering fortunes must then fall, and a conviction gained upon him, as he sat on one side of the ugly fireplace that night, and watched the red light of the flame glim- mer and gleam on the wrinkled countenance of his brother, that this man, so tenacio us,so stoical, so self-contained, would never condone the wrong against him. Under whatever rhetor- ical guise he might present it, as a blunder, misfortune, speculation, Mr. Gadsbury feared, with a mighty terror in his heart, it would avail him nothing. It was robbery, neither more nor less than robbery. The delay was merely a brief respite to himself. He apologized eloquently, the next morning, when thewould-be purchasers entered his office, only to find the owner of the coveted property not yet arrived. I am positive he will be here, the banker assured them. Have you any idea of his state of mind this morning ? inquired Mr. Asbury. Mr. Gadsbury confessed himself befogged, 128 MR. GADSBURYS BROTHER. and utterly incapable of even conjecture upon that occult subject. He will come to terms; he is getting used to the expectation of wealth, predicted Judge Hexham, holding to a lawyers faith in the subtle seductions of money. At that moment the door opened hurriedly, and Frederick Gadsbury hastened in. I aint skurcely got my wind yit, he said, balancing his spectacles upon the acute angle of his nose. Abum Moonlight from our way is waitin out n the road fer me; then we re a-goin ter git sommut to eat. I 11 be glad to have you take some oysters with me, when our little affairs are straight, airily insisted Mr. Asbury. You really must do it. The mountaineer declined. I dont eat no sech thing es osters, he said; but time s gittin long, en Abum s out yandeh. We made you an offer yesterday, began Judge Hexham, a liberal offertoo liberal, but we mean to stand by it to-day; we still say two hundred and fifty thousand. The four gentlemen smiled simultaneously, in admiration of their own magnanimity. It dont come up ter my figgah, the moun- taineer rejoined. The offer is simply fabulous; did nt you think it over last night? Dunno but I thought a powful lot o that two hundred en fifty thousing, was the frank admission. Of course you did; kept you awake all night, cried Mr. Jonas, in triumph. It mought a done it, the mountaineer slowly answered, fer I tuned it ovah in my mm I was sure of it. Pray remember, gentle- men, that I expressed myself as to his inten- tions before he came in. In my profession we read human nature. Judge Hexham nodded to his companions as he spoke, and smiled meaningly. I was a-goin ter say, the mountaineer went on, es I d offah it fer fo hundred en fifty thousing dollahs. You said four hundred thousand. You ye added fifty thousand. It s extortion! You re insane! said the three men together. Think so? queried the bankers brother, patiently. Then its no good a-talkin. Ef you gimme fo hundred en fifty thousing you 11 git it; ef you dont gimme fo hundred en fifty thousing you wont git it. We wont give it! We decline to be fleeced! You cant ~et it from anybody else! sharply replied Mr. Asbury. Think not? Dunno es I kin. Its my price to- day. Abum s a-waitin, en my say-so s out. One moment, Frederick, Mr. Gadsbury said, as his brother rose, shook out his long coat- tails, and crossed the floorin two or three strides. Stop a bit, cried Mr. Jonas. Meet us here to-morrow, my friend. We mean to do right by you we do indeed, urged the judge, speaking in a gush of generous feel- ingbornoftheimminentjeopardy of his scheme. The mountaineer pondered, while he slowly pulled at his long forelock. Monin me n Abum s ter see them ships Say three in the afternoon, suggested the judge; but suit yourself. 1 11 come to-morry aftahnoon, he said, disdaining any reference to the hour. Five minutes later, when Judge Hexham and his friends walked down the street together, they saw Mr. Gadsburys brother and Abum Moonlight purchasing gingerbread at a neigh- boring stall. Is the man shrewd or simple? askedthe lawyer, meditatively. No one answered the question. Their belief was that no one could be shrewd whose wits were not sharpened upon those of their fellows. They were not mountain-bred. They knew no- thingof the unsounded depths of men who lived with nature, always in the grand limitless open men who thought all things human and human- made trivial and unworthy of effort. Hugh Gadsbury leaped the interim of thirty years, and comprehended something of the hid- den force of a man who had no ends to serve, no ambitions, no longings, no envies to cause a divergence from the simple purpose before him. According to Frederick Gadsburys lights, poverty was the natural following of rash ex- penditure. He saw no humiliation or self-de- nial in not spending money when one had no money of his own. It was not an enlightened creed, perhaps, but civilization did not march apace in the gloomy recesses of the mountains. The hands of the clock pointed to five minutes of three when Mr. Gadsbury and his brother reached the office of the former. The banker doffed his shining beaver. The mountaineer pushed his rusty felt to the back of his head. Notwithstanding the keen winter air, Hugh Gadsburys complexion had lost even its nat- ural glow. Pale, careworn, and miserable, the once prosperous and confident man of business cowered in dread before this ignorant clod. whose homely wisdom he had despised. He knew that the finale had come, that he stood upon the brink of his own financial grave, and that in less than an hour he must be entombed therein. No convicted criminal waiting under the black beam ever cast a more shuddering glance into the yawning chasm at his feet than the banker mentally turned upon the reckon- MR. GADSBURYS BROTHER. 129 ing that in an hour would complete and publish his ruin. He had risked his brothers money, and lost it. What might not this mountaineer do when he discovered the truth? He who held to the seventy-five cents must be enraged when he required the hundred and fifty thou- sand dollars, and found it absolutely gone. Cone every penny swept away. The penuri- ous countryman would go mad with rage at such wholesale plundering. XVhat what would he do? The clear, cruel figures of the appalling deficit inscribed themselves everywhere upon the windows, the floor, the blank walls, as of old the affrighted eyes of Belshazzar read the casting up of lifes account. A miserable de- spair closed over Mr. Gadsbury as he unlocked his desk. One of the compartments opened, and something tumbled in a loose heap before him. It was only the shabby, patched suit of homespun, but to the distorted fancy of the unnerved, ruined speculator, the garments sug- gested the prison garb of shame. A cold moisture gathered over Mr. Gadsburys face. It grew livid in hue, old and broken in as- liect. Those eternal minutes dragged on, while the mountaineer fitted the antiquated specta- cles to his nose, and studied out the limit of his time on the staring white face of the silver watch. Punctually at three the four gentlemen ap- peared, all affable, smiling, and a trifle jocular. Trust that we have not kept you waiting, Mr. Gadsbury, courteously remarked Mr. Jonas. With a cold suspicion enhancing the chill already upon him, the banker noted that the capitalist saluted him carelessly. \TOL XLVI.17. T wont hut nuthin ef you hey, rejoined the mountaineer, indifferently. You take life at a leisurely pace very xvise indeed. I hope that becoming a rich man will make no alteration in your primitive habits, agreeably observed Judge Hexham, seating himself in a chair, and resting his beaver on his knee. Dunno es it will. Shill git new specs es 11 stay on thout jerkin off my hat ter slip that ar string ovah my head, en I m goin ter git a new gun en two mo settah pups. It s turrible ex- travagant, but I low ter pay fer it squanderin foxes. They re powful bad, our way, replied Frederick Gadsbury, with unusual loquacity. Fine sport, I grant you; nothing more exciting than a fox in full run, enthusiasti- cally cried Mr. Jonas, who had never seen a live fox in his life, except in a collection of animals. We dont run em fer aftah we wunst draw a bead on the varmints, was the slow answer. Well, we must finish up our business now; then you can get your new gun, pleasantly interposed Mr. Asbury. And your specsdont forget your specs, added Mr. Jonas, facetiously. Come right down to business, no chaff; what do you say to two hundred and sixty thousandjust ten thousand more than we offered yesterday, more than a quarter of a million of money. So t is; but I hey nt nuthin ter say. T want nevah nuthin gained by a-singin the same chune ovah en ovah. Two hundred en sixty thousing wont git my foddah fiels. The unhurried, monotonous drawl of the mountaineer seemed clipped sharply off by the brisk, acrid tones of Mr. Jonas. What will get them, then? Tell us that, and be done with it. Sence you arsk me, I m a-goin fer ter say es my ole foddah fiels en cattle-grazin kin be got fer fo hundred en seventy-five thousing dollahs. You re a madman, a sharper! cried Mr. Jonas. You offered it for four hundred and fifty. Jes so, kurnel, rejoined the mountaineer; but I said that yistidday er were it the day befo? Yesterday you said four hundred and fifty thousand, and now you go back on your own offer, savagely retorted Mr. Jonas. You dont understand business, sir, fiercely added Mr. Asbury. An offer is an offer. Dunno es I unerstan much bout busi- ness, admitted the mountaineer in his unag- gressive, spiritless manner. It were yistidday I made that offahwant it? Yes, sir, it was. Yistidday were yistidday, was the logical GADSBURY AND ABRAM MOONLIGHT. 130 MR. GAJ9SBURYS BROTHER. reply; s mornin fo hundred en seventy-five will fotch em. It s ruinous. You are plucking us unmer- cifully, commented Mr. Jonas, to all intents vanquished by such dense stolidity. It s too much. The ore may soon be ex- hausted, and there is very little coal, deject- edly urged Mr. Asbury, leaning his chin on the smooth golden head of his cane. The mountaineer pulled at his grizzled fore- lock pensively, then tore off a formidable piece of home-grown tobacco-leaf. It s my idee, he said patiently, es coal is wuthless. A couple o hickory logs, with a sight o fat pine-knots chocked uner em, a-bunin feuyus, beats coal; but ef you hanker aftah it, you wont nevvah root ter bottom o that coal. Your figures are above us. Suppose now, my friend, that you take back that offer, be- gan Judge Hexham in insidious persuasion. You want to deal generously with us. Jes so; I ye tuk it. And, my good friend, you are an honest, long-headed man, a man of shrewd intelli- gence, willing to do the fair thing by us; the judge smiled gently, and dropped into con- fidential accentuation now, suppose you make another reasonable offer of the property. We have left it to you all alongwe leave it to you nowto say what you will take. We all know the open-hearted liberality of your section. XVe wont chaffer about it. The bankers brother lifted his gaze from an earnest contemplation of the big watch. T wont hut ter tek back my offah, he agreed. The shrewd faces enlivened at this reiter- ated acquiescence. They eyed him hopefully, as he stretched his legs to their full length, indifferently. Not at all. Reconsider by all means, my dear sir, urged the judge. Bein as you arsk me ter tek back my offah, I ye greed es I d do it. I m a-goin ter say, you kin get my ore en the balance o truck you re aftah fer five hundred thousing dollahs, en not a penny un er. One instant of dazed, intensified silence evinced the shock of this announcement; then the manufacturer brought his cane down upon the floor with a ferocious force. Give him the five hundred before he gets up to a million, he said angrily. Yes, yes; give it to him! Take him up! cried the others, in apparent haste to escape. We will give your price. Jes es you choose; t wont hut nuthin, assented the mountaineer, without moving a muscle of his weather-browned face. Half an hour later the ore lands had passed from the possession of Mr. Gadsburys brother to that of the company of New-York capitalists, and those enterprising gentlemen appeared in no wise dissatisfied with their bargain. Come out en tek a hunt, en kick up yo heels on Piney Ridge, the mountaineer hos- pitably urged, with an inclusive wave of his hand toward the dignified citizens buttoning their overcoats as they hastened away to other schemes and speculative investments. Time s a-gittin on, Hugh, he added, facing the banker, as the door shut out the strangers. Me n you must squaire up moughty fas. Yes; sit down, Frederick. I have some ex- planations to make. Mr. Gadsbury spoke in faint tones. Dismay and cowardice overpowered him in this su- preme moment of his career. T aint no time fer explainin things that can be writ, replied the mountaineer. You THE FOUR CAPITALISTS. MR. GADSBURYS BROTHER. hed a moughty sight o money them furnace- men paid you on my say-so. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars, stated Mr. Gadsbury, shifting his gaze to avoid the keen eyes. En seventy-five cents, supplemented his brother. Yesyes; in Gods name take the sev- enty-five cents, Frederick, lest I forget it. The banker laid three silver quarters on the desk before him, breaking into an angry laugh as he did so. It struck him as grimly humor- oiis that these three coins were all his brother would ever see of the great sum intrusted to him for deposit in bank. The mountaineer eyed the modest sum doubtfully. That seventy-five cents oughter drawed intrus, he said, without touching it. Som- mut mo n what I fust loant oughter come back. How much is it? feverishly demanded the banker, a look of fierce despair on his coun- tenance, as he nervously twisted the tiny key in the lock of a small drawer of the desk. Ef it hed been a dollab, t ud a brung me six cents intrus, hem it s been out a yeah an two months, was the perplexed response. Reckon five cents intrus mought mek it right. There it is, if you want it. Mr. Gadsbury laid a nickel on the pile of quarters. I want it sho, case it blongs ter me, the mountaineer replied, gathering in the money carefully. Mr. Gadsbury looked on, despair mingling with bitter amusement in the expression of his countenance; then with an abrupt movement he unlocked the small drawer, and opened it an inch or two. He could see what the other could not, the black muzzle of a pistol. What- ever his thought or intent, he had unlocked the drawer, and the drawer contained only a pistol. Now we ye settled bout that seventy- five cents, we kin talk bout the balance. I dont git no intrus on anythin savin the seventy-five cents, resumed his brother, open- ing a huge wallet, and dropping the quarters one by one into it. Thur now, I ye dropped that five-cent piece! he exclaimed, as the nickel bounced from the desk and rolled out of sight. Whur kin it hey got ter? he re- iterated helplessly, while he crawled on hands and knees over the carpet in fruitless search for the missing coin. Seems like I m on- lucky: fust lose my mule critter, and now that five-cent piece. With a deep and dismal sigh, he rose reluc- tantly from his quest for the nickel. We must settle the balance now. Mr. Gads- bury folded his arms on the desk, and dropped 3 his head upon them, in an attitude of misery painful to behold. I was a-goin t say, Hugh, his brother said, casting his eyes over the carpet in evident recollection of the lost coin, that hundred en fifty thousing which come ter me fer ryalty on my truck Yes; your royalty per ton, until you sold out, corrected Mr. Gadsbury, without look- ing up. Jes sothat hundred en fifty thousing, en the five hundred thousing t-day, seem I hey sol, meks six hundred en fifty thousing, dont it? Yes, was the low, unsteady reply. En it 11 draw intrus wunst it s put out, won t it? Yes. En it s a powah o money, aint it? Yes. T ud be a fohtin mongst city folks, ud nt it ? Yes. Lower and lower the monosyllables sank. Harf of it ud be wuth hevin? Yes.~~ I m ga-oin t say es harf that money is youn; harf of it, savin the money I give you fer yur shur o the land. Mr. Gadsbury raised his head, the color reddening and surging over his face. What do you mean, Frederick? he asked, a quiver of feeling in his voice. I m a-goin t say furder the mountaineer paused to raise the waste-basket, to satisfy him- selfthat the nickel had not lodged beneath es harf that big claim fathah lef us was youn. You sol it out t me, en gimme my own time ter pay fer it es I could git the money. T were hard nough, savin fer the cattle; they was lucky on it. Dunno es I could a done it ef you had nt ~ eased me long fer nigh on ten yeah. You was a-wantin it yerself too, case you were p0 then; but ef you d a pushed me fer the money, I d a bed ter sell the lan t git it. I could work along without it then, Fred- erick. The bankers voice was tremulous and husky. En I kin do thout mo n harf this money now, answered his brother. I hol es you bed rights ter shur whatsomdevah s top er bot- tom o that claim fathah lef us two boys, en I mosly do what I hold is hones ter do. God is my witness, it is fairly and honestly yours. Mr. Gadshury gave the assurance earnestly, almost pleadingly, the flush deepening on his cheek as he gazed into the homely, rugged face confronting him. Fathabs meanin were as one should nt git 132 no mo from him en t other. I bought the Ian, hut I did nt buy the truck uner it. A passionate intensity of perfect relief, of tender, grateful, peacehow great, how deep, no living creature guessed seemed to over- whelm the hanker. Thank God! Thank God! he whispered. I 11 jes write my name ter this heah check, he found the mountaineer saying. It s fer yo shur o the balance o the money; then I 11 look agin fer that five-cent piece. Mr. Gadsbury laughed in boyish glee, as he ~had not laughed for years. I 11 bring it when I come to shoot par- tridges this fall, he said gaily; or,better still, I 11 give you a nickel now, and take yours when it turns up. The mountaineer laid down the pen, and handed the check to his brother. I alays fogit ter put a rin Gadsbury, he said, but I ye put it ovah. We re squaire now, Hugh shur en shur ekil. I mus be a-goin ter that alavated railroad, es they call it. Me n Abum Moonlight s off fer home. Thanky fer the five cents. Ef you dont fin mine, jes write. I 11 pay it sho. Good-by; come in shootin-time; dont fogit. On the rough hearth, in the remote little study, the logs of hickory and oak are always aflame when nightfall brings Mr. Gadsbury to sit in the splint-seated chair, and to gaze into the red glow. The features limned in the blaze, the tones resonant in the hum of the burning, are perhaps those of Mr. Gadsburys brother. MI Frances Swann Williams. RELICS OF ARTEMUS RTEMUS WARD lived a life of unrest; he never had an abode. His sum- mer vacations at the old homestead in Waterford, Maine, were only brief moments of rest, and they were absolute periods of idleness. He liked to bag and turned the practice into an accom- plishment. For years a roving printer, his fame made him more of a pilgrim. For the last six years of his life he lived in a valise, and accumulated no literary reserve. There are no old secretaries in the Waterford house lined with scraps and letters. Indeed, the house contained scarcely a reminiscence of the genius who went out from it. Just before her death, Mrs. Caroline E. Browne, Mr. Brownes mother, pre- sented the writer with the only literary relic left her by her son. It is an old- fashioned black morocco-bound note- book of the pattern of i86o, the year in which it was bought,combining the qualities of a pocket-book, calendar, and guide to New York city, a thing much needed by the showman, as he came fresh and green from the West. It did service until after his return from the Pacific coast in 1864. Here, in its worn pages, are to be found all the traces of his literary ways that survive. They show that he really had no methods at all beyond responding to the devils call for copy in the office of Vanity Fair. Humor must be jostled to display itself. To chance and incident Artemus owed much that was merry. These notes were jotted down in the cars with a blunt pencil stray thoughts that RELICS OF ARTEMUS WARD. WARD. CHARLES F. BROWNE ( ARTEMUS WARD) AT TWENTY.

Don C. Seitz Seitz, Don C. Relics of Artemus Ward 132-135

132 no mo from him en t other. I bought the Ian, hut I did nt buy the truck uner it. A passionate intensity of perfect relief, of tender, grateful, peacehow great, how deep, no living creature guessed seemed to over- whelm the hanker. Thank God! Thank God! he whispered. I 11 jes write my name ter this heah check, he found the mountaineer saying. It s fer yo shur o the balance o the money; then I 11 look agin fer that five-cent piece. Mr. Gadsbury laughed in boyish glee, as he ~had not laughed for years. I 11 bring it when I come to shoot par- tridges this fall, he said gaily; or,better still, I 11 give you a nickel now, and take yours when it turns up. The mountaineer laid down the pen, and handed the check to his brother. I alays fogit ter put a rin Gadsbury, he said, but I ye put it ovah. We re squaire now, Hugh shur en shur ekil. I mus be a-goin ter that alavated railroad, es they call it. Me n Abum Moonlight s off fer home. Thanky fer the five cents. Ef you dont fin mine, jes write. I 11 pay it sho. Good-by; come in shootin-time; dont fogit. On the rough hearth, in the remote little study, the logs of hickory and oak are always aflame when nightfall brings Mr. Gadsbury to sit in the splint-seated chair, and to gaze into the red glow. The features limned in the blaze, the tones resonant in the hum of the burning, are perhaps those of Mr. Gadsburys brother. MI Frances Swann Williams. RELICS OF ARTEMUS RTEMUS WARD lived a life of unrest; he never had an abode. His sum- mer vacations at the old homestead in Waterford, Maine, were only brief moments of rest, and they were absolute periods of idleness. He liked to bag and turned the practice into an accom- plishment. For years a roving printer, his fame made him more of a pilgrim. For the last six years of his life he lived in a valise, and accumulated no literary reserve. There are no old secretaries in the Waterford house lined with scraps and letters. Indeed, the house contained scarcely a reminiscence of the genius who went out from it. Just before her death, Mrs. Caroline E. Browne, Mr. Brownes mother, pre- sented the writer with the only literary relic left her by her son. It is an old- fashioned black morocco-bound note- book of the pattern of i86o, the year in which it was bought,combining the qualities of a pocket-book, calendar, and guide to New York city, a thing much needed by the showman, as he came fresh and green from the West. It did service until after his return from the Pacific coast in 1864. Here, in its worn pages, are to be found all the traces of his literary ways that survive. They show that he really had no methods at all beyond responding to the devils call for copy in the office of Vanity Fair. Humor must be jostled to display itself. To chance and incident Artemus owed much that was merry. These notes were jotted down in the cars with a blunt pencil stray thoughts that RELICS OF ARTEMUS WARD. WARD. CHARLES F. BROWNE ( ARTEMUS WARD) AT TWENTY. RELICS OF ARTEMUS WARD. 33 whisked into his mind on the railway rushes from place to place, between timid ponderings on the possibility of getting an audience at the next stop, for he was poor and felt the finan- cial need of success beyond any craving for fame. Yet these dim lines were the threads upon which he strung the jewels of his wit. Often the ideas are found repeated, and in many cases the thoughts do not appear in any of his writings. But in almost every case the notion crops out somewhere, a better idea having popped into being at the moment of writing. It is not possible, therefore, to make a tran- script of these scribblings altogether intelli- gible. Only they do not need to be considered a meaningless jumble. Here, rambling across the pages, are such phrases of common quo- tation as What is home without a mother? Coffee is a slow poisonslowest poison known. Nearly all men are mortal. Why do summer roses fade? Because it is their biz. In the midst of life we are in debt. His wifes mother on the female side. His first lectures were not well attended. His reputation was purely that given by news- paper reprints of the showmans jokes, and newspapers did not reach as far then as now. Besides, the country was seething with excitement over the political situation pre- ceding the near at hand outbreak of the rebellion. Yet for the public the note-book records this single reproach: People who dont like my lecture wont come to a good end. The same page records the opinion that Albany, N. Y., is a way-station. Albany did not attend the lecture. New Haven pleased him little better. The note-book says crossly, New Haven depotthought it was a dun- geon. Artemus once remarked that Shakspere would not have succeeded as the Washington correspondent of a New-York newspaper, be- cause he lacked the rekesite fancy and ima- ginashun, and he evidently believed that Shakspere had not done his best, for the note-book observes critically, Shakspere would have signalized himself if he had tried. The number of notices given the lecturer in the newspapers of the time was not so great that space could not be found for them in this note-book. Here they are gummed to the well-thumbed pages, evidently much read, and with wonderment whether more were to fol- low. The tone of them all is congratulatory not exactly to the humorist, but that he should have succeeded in some measure in equaling anticipation. Besides strings of lecture dates, and memo- randa of money loaned, there are other pencil- marks in the book, the printed autographs VOL. XLVI.i8. of children whom he met in his travels. He encouraged them to write to him, and never failed to respond. The only relics in possession of the family are a scrap-book, kept in London, and filled with the complimentary opinions of the Eng- lish newspapers, and an account-book cover- ing the year previous to Mr. Brownes depar- ture for Europethe season of 186566. It opened at Irving Hall, on Fifteenth street and Irving Place (now the Amberg Theater), on the evening of August 28, 1865, and the receipts for the first two weeks were $2117.50, of which the book notes Ward got $961.85. Six nights in Washington yielded $2008.75, of which Ward received $476. Two nights in Baltimore lacked just 25 cents of a tie, the receipts being $551.25 and $55i. He had bad luck in Brooklyn, the town .then possess- ing a smaller intellectual colony than now. Three nights were spent here, and $375, $75, and $279.25 were respectively received. Philadelphia did much better. Here the re- ceipts for three nights were $485, $629.50, and $564. Montreal totaled $612.75 in four nights, and Cincinnati $io8x. All these ac- counts, including a detail of expenses, were kept by the humorist, and may be classed as the first and only fiscal performances on his part. His agent, the late E. P. Hingston, had a heavy share in the receipts, and the expendi- tures were considerable. The lecture was The Mormons. This last season was his most prosperous one. He hoped by success in England to make his American audiences larger. That success came, but brought with it the end of his life. On one occasion he was tempted to tease his practical-minded mother. She visited Bos- ton under the escort of Horace Maxfield, who was Mr. Brownes agent for a time, and who now drives the old-fashioned stage along the lake road from the railway terminus at Bridg- ton. Artemus was to lecture, and she was to hear him for the first time. The old lady had a favorite uncle by the name of Ransford Bates, and when she wished to give especial weight to some statement she would add, My uncle Ransford Bates said so. Before the lecture began Artemus said to Maxfield: I am going to bring in Uncle Ransford this evening. You watch mother, and see her jump. Sure enough, at the end of some shocking absurdity he added, I know it is true, for my uncle Ransford Bates said so. She jumped, and never quite forgave him for his irreverent use of such an important au- thority. Artemus and Mr. Charles A. Shaw, now an attorney in Boston, traveled together as star and manager for a time, and the tours 34 RELICS OF ARTEMUS WARD. were very successful. Autograph-hunting was at that time a national misdemeanor. Every night after the lecture an armful of albums would be found in the lecturers room. Often he would be so much exhausted that he would throw himself on the bed with his feet on the foot-board, and refuse to see anybody, much less to write autographs. Being the right kind of advance agent, Mr. Shaw would write up the autographs himself; so that the community of collectors might not be disappointed in the morning, when they called for their books. evening in company with Artemus, Shanly, and Neil Bryant, the trio broke out in a joy- ous carol. The song was interrupted by one of the then despised metropolitan policemen, who roughly ordered them to stop the noise. At this rude interruption Artemus stopped his song, and, turning, threw himself upon the broad bosom of the astonished policeman, and gave way to a gush of passionate tears. His friends endeavored to calm him, and the em- barrassed officer, half choked by his warm embrace, begged him to desist, which he did, TO ALL TO WI-ION THESE PRESBNT~ RHALL COME, GREETLNG KNl~ YE, i~/oooo~y ~ in !/e 4~d~d7 a~ia14 o/.~~od inn t~ 400/ ~ ~ ~. 3A W. N7~ O~sa~za /i~ ~ ~o/oii, /~oa4 ~ *tame aai~(sdy /d?/y/~ Mae/i Al7 2~ i/~ ~ /IA ~ 1~o~aei//9e P a~4c1a4,e~ aceaa~n~ 4 4w, /i(e 4& i~4 2Aud~7e, Ii~ 1t~ 4a~e, /WA 4~l ~~/i //e /~ d, A + ~ .nenh guelo a//ia4 , 1%e Ia / L~1 ~e-~-~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~y f4e ~n~no~ ##44~ ~n ~eztimon~ ~Uhertof, ~, s # 1, 4, q ~ 2-~o-.~-~ .o,44 ~~d,tS.( o~d~# ~ 4y ~ elwoy of i~ ARTEMUS WARDS APPOINTMENT TO PUBLIC OFFICE. His life in New York has left but few me- morials. In one of his sketches he notes with emotion that the house in Varick street in which he used to board was being torn down, and that some of the timbers were being con- verted into canes that were cheap at a dol- lar. They would have been, indeed, had they existed. It was the merriest period in a career that was, after all, full of mental melancholy. His companions were a band of brilliant young Bohemians for whose kind the metropolis now contains no room. They were the last of their kind, and most of them lived but brief lives. They produced much that was brilliant, but nothing that lasted. Artemus alone won endur- ing fame. The others were writers, actors, and minstrels. The brothers Dan and Neil Bryant were eminent members of the clan, together with Charles Dawson Shanly, and a shining cluster of young men about town. One of the latter, who lived to become a staid merchant, used to relate with glee how, on leaving the little theater in Twenty-third street late one with the declaration that the metropolitan policeman is the noblest work of God. This sentiment secured escape and a continuance of the song. He dearly loved his friends, especially those who had been such in adversity. One of these, Charles W. Coe of Cleveland, once visited Mr. Brownes mother at Waterford, and brought a letter of introduction prefaced thus: Charles W. Coe of Cleveland, a friend who lasts all the year round, and reading: Mother, this is Charles W. Coe, who was as much my friend when I was worth $15 per week as now. His affection for Daniel Setchell, the come- dian, was brotherly. Setchell often visited Waterford on his summer loaf; as Ward called it. Setchells pranks and Artemuss quaint, subtle humor and pensive jokes were a constant source of vexation to Mrs. Browne, who, being totally devoid of any humorous sense, could see nothing but annoying nonsense in such actions, as she termed them. Setchell AN INSIDE VIEW OF THE PENSION B UREA U. 35 was growing stout. When at Waterford he diligently sawed and split wood, carried water from the old well, and exerted himself as much as possible with a view to reducing his flesh. Artemus, who was thin and unutterably lazy, used to sit on the wood-pile and contemplate in a state of pleasurable indolence the exer- tions of his friend. Poor Mr. Setchell, said the old lady once, in relating the performance, he was always afraid he would die of apo- plexy, and did the chores to get thin. And to think that, after all, he should have been drowned at sea! Poor Setchell took pas- sage for Australia on a ship that was never heard from again. The portrait shows Artemus Ward at twenty. It was taken in Toledo, Ohio, where he went from Tiffin, his first Western stopping- place, and where he began his newspaper work. There is only one copy in existence. The woman in whose house Artemus found his home received it from him when he went to Cleveland, where his career really began. She ascertained that his mother was living, from an article in THE CENTURY describing his home and family, and sent the photograph to Mrs. Browne, who had never seen it. It shows the face of the gentle, whimsical coun- try lad as it appeared at the period when he was passing from the crude apprenticeship of a wandering printer to an enduring place in American humorous literature. Indeed, he first taught the citizens of the republic how funny they really were. The most successful experience in the lec- turers career, except the English experiment, was his journey to the Pacific coast and back across the continent, talking jokes to the mining-camps and dodging predatory Indian war-parties. He met with a wonderful welcome everywhere. In Virginia City, Nevada, then an astonishing town with an opera-house, and three daily newspapers, and the Comstock pouring out its wealth, he had some of his most agreeable adventures. Here he met General James William Nye, then territorial governor, and the Bill Nye of the Heathen Chinee. Nye was a living evidence of the kind of hu- mor which Artemus so delightfully depicted, and he did not fail to give gratifying exhibi- tions of his accomplishments. The lecturer was greeted by great houses during his stay, and was treated in true mining-camp style. In a pocket of the old note-book there reposes an official certificate made out on one of the roughly printed territorial blanks, designating Artemus Ward as official Speaker of Pieces to the People of Nevada Territory. Such a court as Nye kept was rich in securing such a jester even for a few nights only. The miners sent him a great golden chain so long that it could be worn about the neck, but so heavy that it could not be so carried without much discomfort. Since the death of Mrs. Caroline E. Browne, which occurred in 1884, and by the provisions of her will, a simple but beautiful granite monu- ment marks the plot in the Elm Vale Cemetery at Waterford where all the immediate family lie at rest together. Elm Vale takes its name from a noble farm christened and long owned by Robert Haskins, the uncle of Ralph Waldo Emerson, and under its towering trees the Concord philosopher passed many happy hours. Don C. Sei/z. [For other articles and illustrations relating to Artemus Ward, see this magazine for October, 1878, November, i88o, and May, 1881.EDITOR.] AN INSIDE VIEW OF THE PENSION BUREAU. BY AN EMPLOYEE OF THE BUREAU.1 HE pension laws consist of a great many different enactments, pass- ed by different Congresses, and constituting a codewhich is not in all respects consistent or harmo- nious. The general pension law, so called, provides for pensions on account of disability from wounds, injury, or disease in- curred in, and by reason of, military service; and I assume that all will agree that the theory and purpose of such laws are just and benefi- cent. Certain ~other laws provide for pensions on account of past military service, without proof that the applicant became disabled there- by; and several thousand private pension bills have been enacted within the past few years, granting pensions to certain individuals, by name, who were not entitled to pension under the general pension law. The justice of some of these special enactments is more than doubtful; and I presume it is agreed also that there have been abuses and frauds practised in the ad- ministration of these laws, and that a desire pre- vails among a large class of the best citizens, irre 1 In i88i a clerk in the bureau; after 1882 special examiner and supervising examiner of the Chicago district; since January i, 1895, acting member of the Board of Pension Appeals.

A. B. Casselman Casselman, A. B. An Inside View of the Pension Bureau 135-140

AN INSIDE VIEW OF THE PENSION B UREA U. 35 was growing stout. When at Waterford he diligently sawed and split wood, carried water from the old well, and exerted himself as much as possible with a view to reducing his flesh. Artemus, who was thin and unutterably lazy, used to sit on the wood-pile and contemplate in a state of pleasurable indolence the exer- tions of his friend. Poor Mr. Setchell, said the old lady once, in relating the performance, he was always afraid he would die of apo- plexy, and did the chores to get thin. And to think that, after all, he should have been drowned at sea! Poor Setchell took pas- sage for Australia on a ship that was never heard from again. The portrait shows Artemus Ward at twenty. It was taken in Toledo, Ohio, where he went from Tiffin, his first Western stopping- place, and where he began his newspaper work. There is only one copy in existence. The woman in whose house Artemus found his home received it from him when he went to Cleveland, where his career really began. She ascertained that his mother was living, from an article in THE CENTURY describing his home and family, and sent the photograph to Mrs. Browne, who had never seen it. It shows the face of the gentle, whimsical coun- try lad as it appeared at the period when he was passing from the crude apprenticeship of a wandering printer to an enduring place in American humorous literature. Indeed, he first taught the citizens of the republic how funny they really were. The most successful experience in the lec- turers career, except the English experiment, was his journey to the Pacific coast and back across the continent, talking jokes to the mining-camps and dodging predatory Indian war-parties. He met with a wonderful welcome everywhere. In Virginia City, Nevada, then an astonishing town with an opera-house, and three daily newspapers, and the Comstock pouring out its wealth, he had some of his most agreeable adventures. Here he met General James William Nye, then territorial governor, and the Bill Nye of the Heathen Chinee. Nye was a living evidence of the kind of hu- mor which Artemus so delightfully depicted, and he did not fail to give gratifying exhibi- tions of his accomplishments. The lecturer was greeted by great houses during his stay, and was treated in true mining-camp style. In a pocket of the old note-book there reposes an official certificate made out on one of the roughly printed territorial blanks, designating Artemus Ward as official Speaker of Pieces to the People of Nevada Territory. Such a court as Nye kept was rich in securing such a jester even for a few nights only. The miners sent him a great golden chain so long that it could be worn about the neck, but so heavy that it could not be so carried without much discomfort. Since the death of Mrs. Caroline E. Browne, which occurred in 1884, and by the provisions of her will, a simple but beautiful granite monu- ment marks the plot in the Elm Vale Cemetery at Waterford where all the immediate family lie at rest together. Elm Vale takes its name from a noble farm christened and long owned by Robert Haskins, the uncle of Ralph Waldo Emerson, and under its towering trees the Concord philosopher passed many happy hours. Don C. Sei/z. [For other articles and illustrations relating to Artemus Ward, see this magazine for October, 1878, November, i88o, and May, 1881.EDITOR.] AN INSIDE VIEW OF THE PENSION BUREAU. BY AN EMPLOYEE OF THE BUREAU.1 HE pension laws consist of a great many different enactments, pass- ed by different Congresses, and constituting a codewhich is not in all respects consistent or harmo- nious. The general pension law, so called, provides for pensions on account of disability from wounds, injury, or disease in- curred in, and by reason of, military service; and I assume that all will agree that the theory and purpose of such laws are just and benefi- cent. Certain ~other laws provide for pensions on account of past military service, without proof that the applicant became disabled there- by; and several thousand private pension bills have been enacted within the past few years, granting pensions to certain individuals, by name, who were not entitled to pension under the general pension law. The justice of some of these special enactments is more than doubtful; and I presume it is agreed also that there have been abuses and frauds practised in the ad- ministration of these laws, and that a desire pre- vails among a large class of the best citizens, irre 1 In i88i a clerk in the bureau; after 1882 special examiner and supervising examiner of the Chicago district; since January i, 1895, acting member of the Board of Pension Appeals. 136 AN INSIDE VIEW OF THE PENSION B UREA U. spective of party, including a great many of the veterans of the late war, to remedy these abuses. The condition of public sentiment in the Northern States is undoubtedly favorable to great liberality in legislating pensions to the soldiers of the late war. The public is not in- clined to scrutinize the claims of individuals, nor, in fact, is the public able, if it were in- clined, to distinguish always between the just and the fraudulent claim. It is not the busi- ness of the public to make these distinctions. It is the business and duty of the Pension Bu- reau to determine who are, and who are not, justly and legally entitled to pensions. Whe- ther frauds are to be permitted, or winked at, must depend upon the efficiency and honesty with which that bureau is administered. In considering the methods of the Pension Bureau in the annual disbursement of one hundred and fifty millions of dollars, it should first be remembered that the business of that bureau has been conducted, hitherto, with a view to political results; that is, with a view to show that the party in power is the friend of the soldier. This purpose underlies the of- ficial methods of the bureau. The Commis- sioner of Pensions seeks to show, in his annual reports, that he has transacted a larger vol- ume of business than his predecessor; that is to say, has issued a larger number of pension certificates. This has been the aim, and it has been the achievement, of each successive commissioner for the past twelve years. Com- missioner Dudley, Commissioner Black, Com- missioner Tanner, and Commissioner Raum, each, in his turn, surpassed the record which had been made by his predecessor in the num- ber of pension certificates issued per annum. About the first of July, 1891, the beginning of the fiscal year, the Commissioner of Pen- sions called together the Chiefs of Division and announced to them his wish (which was con- strued as in the nature of a request or order) that the bureau should issue a thousand pen- sion certificates per day, for each working day of the next ensuing year. In issuing this order, or request, the commissioner assumed to decide in advance that the claims which were to be adjudicated during the year following were meritorious, and must necessarily be allowed. He did not contemplate that any considerable number could be rejected, nor even that there would be any delay or difficulty about the proof. The Chiefs of Division exerted themselves not to disappoint his expectations, and there were issued during that year 311,589 certificates. The aim and purpose of the Commissioner of Pensions to issue a large number of pension certificates are necessarily shared by his subor- dinates, of all grades, who aspire to stand well with their superior officers. Commissioner Dudley, in i88i, stated to a congressional committee that if Congress would increase the clerical force of the bureau, as recommended by him (which Congress did), he would in three years time wind up the busi- ness of the Pension Bureau by granting pen- sions to all who deserved them. No doubt Colonel Dudley was sincere in this statement, and expected by expediting the work of the bureau to perform his promise; but that astute and skilled politician was unable to foresee the immense and growing pressure of claims which was to ensue, and the facility with which they would be allowed. The rejection of a claim is rarely consid- ered a final action. The office never refuses to reopen and reconsider a claim upon the filing of any new and material evidence. Thousands of claims rejected by one commissioner are ad- mitted by his successor. In fact, that a claim was rejected twelve, ten, or eight years ago would be but little reason for supposing that it would be rejected now. Even the allowance of a claim is seldom a final action, for no sooner is a pension granted, usually, than the pensioner files another claim for increase. In many admitted claims, an application for increase has been filed as often as once a year, on an average, for many years. Claims for increase are frequently appealed to the Secretary of the Interior, and by him al- lowed. In a majority of such cases the ap- plication for increase originates with the at- torney, whose object is to. make his fee; in many cases the attorney files his appeal with the Secretary of the Interior without the know- ledge of the pensioner, and sometimes after he is dead. The pensioners of the United States may be divided into various classes. i. They may be classified with reference to the rates of pension which they receive, which vary from $~ to $ioo per month. 2. They may be classified with reference to the length of time the pensioner was in mili- tary service. Service in the late war varied, usually, from three months to four years. It counts nothing in favor of a claimant for pen- sion that he served four years; and nothing against him that he served only three months. 3. They may be classified with reference to the date of filing the application. The date of filing, by the survivors of the late war, has varied from 1862 to the present year. The lateness Qf filing an application counts noth- ing against the applicant. Thus A, who served four years and was wounded in battle, filed his application in 1865, and is receiving a pension of $~ per month for his wound. B, who served three months in 1861, and was never in a battle, filed his claim in x888, and AN INSIDE VIEW OF THE PENSION B UREA U. 37 is now receiving a pension of $30 per month for malarial poisoning. 4. They may also be classified with refer- ence to the diseases, injuries, or wounds on account of which they are pensioned. There is a laxness, growing out of the haste to accomplish results, in the administration of the pension laws, which tends to encourage and invite frauds. This opinion I know prevails extensively amongst the employees of the bu- reau. I heard the statement made by a super- vising examiner in i888, that thirty per cent. of the claims which were then being admitted were entirely without merit. This statement was probably an exaggeration; but it expressed an opinion which I think was not uncommon among the employees of the bureau. To illustrate, by an example, the laxity of the present practice in the allowance of claims, I will refer to a certain case where pension was granted on account of partial deafness, notwithstanding that it was officially admitted that the deafness did not develop in a pen- sionable degree until twenty-nine years after the termination of the claimants military ser- vice. I refer to the case of J S, where- in a decision was rendered and published under the date of October 29, 1892, by the Assistant Secretary of the Interior, to whom the claim had been appealed. This claimant had filed his ap- plication in 1885, alleging that he incurred partial deafness in the service in the year 1862. The Pension Bureau allowed his claim, but, in accordance with what was stated to be its usual practice in such cases, granted the pen- sion to commence in the year 1891, on the ground that, although he had filed his claim in 1885, his deafness had not existed in such a degree as would entitle him to a pension un- til 1891. The assistant secretary approved the allowance of the claim, and admitted that the action in fixing the date of commencement of pension~as logical under the practice which had obtained; but he directed that the rules of the bureau should be modified so that Mr. S should be granted a nominal rate, com- mencing in 1885. This decision was published by the assistant secretary as a precedent for the guidance of the Pension Bureau in dispos- ing of similar clain~ in the future, and for the information of the ~ublic. There is a certain class of claims in connec- tion with which I may consider the question, which has sometimes been mooted, whether col- lusion orvenality has been practised by persons high in authority, in the allowance of fraudu- lent claims. Ifsuch frauds have been committed they have not, so far been detected, although vigilant efforts have been made, at different times, to discover them. Colonel Dudleys rec- ord was vigorously investigated by his succes sor, General Black, who failed to discover any trace of venality in the formers administration. General Black himself retired from his office a poorer man than when he entered it. It is prob- ably too soon to anhounce a confident opinion regarding the administration of the bureau dur- ing the past four years. The class of claims to which I refer, as affording opportunities for col- lusion and fraud in their allowance, are those in which pension is granted on account of the insanity of the applicant, and is paid to his guardian. Such pensions are always large in amount, the arrears frequently amounting to $~ooo, and in some cases $io,ooo, the rates varying, usually, from $24 to $72 per month with arrears. The pensioner is usually confined as an inmate of an insane asylum, in many cases has no near relatives, and derives little or no personal benefit from the pension which is paid to his guardian. The large sum of money paid in such cases serves as an incentive to the fil- ing of claims on behalf of all ex-soldiers who are insane, it being always alleged (whether true or not) that the ex-soldiers insanity is the result of his military service. There are prob- ably few insane ex-soldiers, in or out of the asy- lums, in whose behalf some guardian has not filed a claim for pension; the guardian procur- ing an appointment, frequently, with no other purpose than to prosecute such a claim. I ven- ture to state the opinion, based upon some ob- servation, that the files of the bureau would disclose that a large percentage of the admitted claims of this character are entirely without merit; hence, in respect to such claims, it is not surprising that venality is sometimes sus- pected. The motive of an act is properly judged by its quality. If the act is illegal or wrong- ful, the motive becomes a proper subject of suspicion. In the claim of the guardian of G W insane, a decision was rendered and published by the Assistant Secretary of the Interior, July ii, 1889, which has served as a precedent for the settlement of similar claims since. That claim is a fair type of its class, and the deci- sion of the assistant secretary is therefore in- teresting. Pension in this case was granted in i88~ not on account of insanity, but on ac- count of disease of the bowels and malarial poisoning. (Incidentally it may be remarked that a great many pensions are now granted on account of malarial poisoning.) At the time this pension was first granted in i88~, it was ad- judged that the disability had theretofore been slight, and had in fact ceased to exist pnor to 1882. A pension of $2 per month was granted for the period from i86~ to 1882, and was dis- continued from the latter date on the ground that the disability had ceased to exist. It was at that time decided, in accordance with the 138 AN INSIDE VIEW OF THE PENSION B UREA U. opinion of the medical referee of the Pen- sion Bureau, that the soldiers insanity was not a result of the diseases above mentioned, nor of his military service. The assistant secretary, in his decision, concedes it to be a fact that the claimant had fully recovered his physical health prior to the year I877. But the claim had in the mean time been reconsidered in the Pension Bureau; in 1888, pension had been restored and r erated; the guardian had been granted a rate of $8 per month from 1865, and ~24 per month from and after 1882, on account of the diseases first mentioned and resulting insanity, a decision by which he obtained additional ar- rears of pension amounting to nearly $3000. The guardian, however, was not satisfied with this amount, and appealed to the assistant sec- retary, who decided that the rate which had been granted him was too low; and, notwith- standing that the pension had once been re- rated by the Pension Bureau, the assistant secretary rerated it again for the period from 1877 to 1889, and gave the guardian about $i~oo more, besides increasing the rate for the future to $50 per month. The ex-soldier, Mr. W , had spent the ten years from 1867 to 1877 in the Western Territories, and during said period it is conceded that he had fully recovered physical health. Yet his guardian is pensioned for his insanity, at $~o per month, upon the theory that this malady was caused by the slight previous disease of the bowels, and the inevitable malarial poisoning; he was loaded down with pension, first by the coin- missioner and then by the assistant secretary. It may or it may not be significant that the guardian of G W had brought his patient to Washington, and had him confined in the Insane Asylum in that city, while his claim for rerating and increase was being pushed. To be more direct, I do not regard it as improbable that more or less collusion has been practised in the allowance of such claims. A pension of $3000, $~ooo, or $8ooo, with a current rate of $30, $~o, or $72 per month, paid to the guardian of an insane man who is confined in an asylum, and who proba- bly has no near relatives, ~is well adapted to being used or pledged for corrupt purposes. It appears that a good many claims have been filed on behalf of inmates of the Gov- ernment Insane Asylum in the District of Columbia, a fact to which allusion is made in the report of the Deputy Commissioner of Pensions for 1891. These claims, as a class, are also referred to more fully in the annual report of the Assistant Secretary of the Interior for 1892. The same assistant secretary who, in July, 1889, had increased and rerated the claim of G W above mentioned, in his an- nual report dated November, 1892 (near the end of his term of office), recommends that the law authorizing the allowance of such claims shall be repealed, or radically amended. The trouble, perhaps, is not with the law, but with the manner in which it has been executed. In a claim of this character which came to my notice recently, I found it stated that the attorney was prosecuting the claims of five in- sane claimants, through their respective guar- dians. Undoubtedly this attorney had searched the records of some insane asylum to find cli- ents. The importance of this class of claims arises not from their number, but from the large amount of money paid out on each claim. The 3253 pensioners who receive $72 per month receive, in the aggregate, $500,000 per annum more than the 48,000 who receive only per month. There is little room to suspect collusion in the allowance of a pension of $~. per month; but it is quite different in respect to a pension of $~o or $72 per month, with back pension amounting to $~ooo or $io,ooo. It is easier to recognize the fact that abuses have been practised than to suggest a proper remedy. Public sentiment does not demand and would not sanction radical measures, conceived in any spirit of unfriendliness to the veterans as a class. Reform should he through con- servative methods, with scrupulous care to pro- tect all just rights. Furthermore, I believe that great administrative reforms can be accom- plished without new legislation, at least with- out radical changes in existing law. The most important, practical question is, How can the expenditures for pension be ma- terially reduced by the correction of abuses and without any injustice to any who are right- fully entitled to pension? I believe that this result can be accomplished by the reduction of excessive rates. The rates of pension vary, as I have stated, from $r to $100 per month, de- pending (in theory) upon the degree of the pen- sioners disability caused by the wound, injury, or disease for which he is pensioned. Now those who are receiving the higher rates ofpension are frequently those who were the latest to file their claims, who were but a short time in the military service, and whose claims are the most dubious in character,but have been pushed with the most vigor and persistency. A ~ension of $2 or per month, granted a few y~trs a go, has in many cases been increased, through the persistency of the applicant or his attorney, to $i6, $24, or $30 per month. In the case above mentioned of the guardian of G W ,the rate of $2 per month, granted in 1885, was increased by the assistant secretary to $~o per month in 1889. The following figures will show the number of invalid pensioners (as distinguished from widows and dependent relatives) on the rolls on June 30, 1885, 1887, and 1892, together AN INSIDE VIE W OF THE PENSION B UREA U. 39 with the average monthly rates of pensions paid for those years, respectively. The aver- age rate for those years is stated approximately, in round numbers: Number of Invalid Pensioners A verage rale ~er mon/k. 1885 .. .240,201 about $8.95 1887... .297,726 9.50 1892... .687,862 11.35 Of the 687,862 invalid pensioners on the rolls on June 30,1892, there were 293,068 who were pensioned under the law ofJune 27, 1890, some- times called the Dependent Pension Law, on account of disabilities which, either in whole or in part, were not the result of military ser- vice. Notwithstanding this heavy addition to the pension rolls, the ax~erage rate of pension has also steadily increased, as shown by the pre- ceding tabulated statement. Since 1887 there have been no important changes in the laws which could warrant any material increase in the average rate of invalid pensions. On the contrary, the act of June 27, i89o,which author- izes rates only from $6 to $12 per month, instead of from $~ to $ioo, ought to have resulted, per- haps, in reducing the average. The increase in rates since 1887 is due almost entirely to the exercise of the discretionary power which is lodged in the Commissioner of Pensions. The pension roll in 1887 no doubt included every man who had lost a leg or arm, or had been seriously injured in any battle, or who, from any cause, was likely to be entitled to a high rate of pension. Yet the average rate of pen- sion is higher now than it was in 1887, while the number of pensioners has more than doubled. The difference in the average rate, which amounts to about $i.8~ per month, applied to 687,862 pensioners, amounts in the aggre- gate to over $15,000,000 per annum. In other words, if the Government paid the same aver- age rate per month to all of the 687,862 invalid pensioners who are now on the roll, that was paid in 1887 to the 297,726 who were then on the roll, the annual appropriation would be about $15,ooo,ooo less than is now required. The following figures will show the percen- tage of increase in the number of invalid pen- sioners to whom have been granted some of the higher rates, since 1887 Number receiving $14 per month. 1887 4829 1892 19,176 Increase of this class in five years, nearly 400 per cent. Number receiyingfrom $i5 to $i8 per month, inclusive. 1887 15,521 1892 47,091 Increase in five years, 300 per cent. Number receiving $24 per month. 1887 12,581 1892 22,028 - Increase in five years, 8o per cent. Number receiving $30 per month. 1887 9739 i8~z 15,818 Increase in five years, 66 per cent. Number receiving $5o and $72 per month (consoli- dated owing to changes in the law). 1887 $50.. .1313 1892 $50.... 285 $72....1114 $72.... 3253 2427 3538 Increase, 45 per cent. In certain cases, as where the pensioner has lost a limb, the rate of pension is specified in the statute; and for certain other injuries and causes of disability, the rate is prescribed in a schedule adopted by the Commissioner of Pen- sions. The rates in such cases, therefore; are not subject to be varied. But in a lar~ge major- ity of cases the rate of pension is determined without reference to any fixed or invariable schedule, and is governed mainly by the cer- tificate and recommendation of a local Board of Examining Surgeons. There are in the United States 1237 Examining Boards, of three members each,who during the fiscal year ended June 30, 1892, rendered 431,166 certificates of examination, for which their fees amounted in the aggregate to $1,733,958. The board at Baltimore received in fees for the year the sum of $993o. The tWo boards at Boston received $9186 and $8956, respectively. The three Philadelphia boards received $8992, $8712, and $8454, respectively. The three boards at Washington City received $6227, $6445, and $6699, respectively. Necessarily the rate of pension depends to a great extent, in many cases, upon the pleasure of the Examining Board; upon their integrity, medical skill, and good judgment, and the ex- tent to which they may be affected by local bias or favoritism toward the applicant. I en- tertain no doubt that a majority of the boards are efficient and honest; that they discharge their duties faithfully, and endeavor to comply with their instructions and with what they understand to be the wishes and policy of the Commissioner of Pensions by whom they are appointed. But it would hardly be reasonable to suppose that all of these twelve hundred Examining Boards are equally conscientious and disinterested in the discharge of their duties. I was told recently that the secretary of a cer- tain board in a western city had declared that no claimant should ever be turned from their office without a favorable recommendation; and I find that the record of this board con- firms the statement of my informant. This board rendered during the year about 900 certificates, 250 of which I examined in con- secutive order, without finding one in which they did not describe the claimant as being 140 WITH THE TREAD OF MARCHING COL UMNS. entitled to a substantial rate of pension. There is published in the Congressional Record for February ii, 1893, a letter of the medical referee of the Pension Bureau, who strongly recommends a change in the system of con- ducting these examinations. The higher rates of pension that are now being paid, in comparison with those paid in former years, are granted in a very large per- centage of cases on account of infirmities which are the natural results of advancing years, and are not due to the military service. If the pen- sion laws can justly be construed to warrant the policy of increasing the pensions of those who are on the rolls, from year to year, so as to keep pace with their growing infirmities from age and other natural causes, then, of course, the aver- age rate must continue to increase in the future, with growing rapidity, as it has been increas- ing during the past five years, without specific amendment of the law to authorize it. But I do not believe that the law fairly admits of this construction. Hence my suggestion, and be- lief; that the annual appropriation for pensions can be reduced very materially by a discrimi- nating reduction of excessive rates which have heretofore been granted, a reduction which could be accomplished without necessarily dropping a name from the pension roll. To reduce the pensions of one hundred pensioners who are wrongfully receiving $50 or $72 per month, on account of disabilities which are not fairly traceable to the military service, or to cut off the pensions of one hundred guardians whose wards in the insane asylums derive little or no benefit from the pensions granted, would effect a saving to the Government almost as great as by dropping from the rolls the names of one thousand pensioners who receive only $~ or $6 per month. One great abuse that has grown up in the Pension Bureau, overshadowing other abuses, costing the Government unnecessary millions of dollars every year, an abuse which has no warrant or foundation in justice, reason, or good policy, is the practice of granting continual increase of pension from year to year to those who are on the roll: a practice which frequently stimulates the loudest clamor from those who are least entitled to consideration. I believe there should be one change in the law, establishing a presumption, or rule of evi- dence, namely, the enactment of a statute providing that in any case where a claimant served less than six months, where the records of his command in the War Department, if complete, contain no evidence of incurrence of the wound, injury, or disease for which he claims pension, and where it further appears that the claim was not filed within twenty-one years from the date of the claimants discharge from mili- tary service, the pension granted in such case should not exceed $12 per month. The enact- ment of such a law would reduce a good many pensions, and would, in my opinion, be war- ranted by the lessons of experience and justice. A. B. Cczssehnan. WITH THE TREAD OF MARCHING COLUMNS. i. WITH the tread of marching columns the forests and hills are stirred, With the dust of marching columns the smiling fields are blurred, With the swing of marching columns the air is vibrant and warm, The listening waters shiver, as if at a coming storm. And the bridges that span the rivers bend to oppressive Fate, With the burden of marching men, and the cannons murderous weight. The waters shiver, the bridges shudder, and groan, and sigh, With the rhythm of marching columns, and horse and foot hurry by. ii. With the thunder of cannon and shouting the valleys are flooded with sound, Till the church-bells are silent with terror, the peals of the organ are drowned: Hushed is the life of the village, stricken and palsied with dread; Dumb are its dwellers as those of the city nan~ed for the dead; Closed are the shutters and doors the village has closed its eyes, Like the helpless quarry when sudden and pitiless foes surprise! There is none to be seen, there is none to be heard there is death, while the feet Of marching columns resound through the emptied and desolate street. S. R. Elliot.

S. R. Elliot Elliot, S. R. "With the Tread of Marching Columns" 140-141

140 WITH THE TREAD OF MARCHING COL UMNS. entitled to a substantial rate of pension. There is published in the Congressional Record for February ii, 1893, a letter of the medical referee of the Pension Bureau, who strongly recommends a change in the system of con- ducting these examinations. The higher rates of pension that are now being paid, in comparison with those paid in former years, are granted in a very large per- centage of cases on account of infirmities which are the natural results of advancing years, and are not due to the military service. If the pen- sion laws can justly be construed to warrant the policy of increasing the pensions of those who are on the rolls, from year to year, so as to keep pace with their growing infirmities from age and other natural causes, then, of course, the aver- age rate must continue to increase in the future, with growing rapidity, as it has been increas- ing during the past five years, without specific amendment of the law to authorize it. But I do not believe that the law fairly admits of this construction. Hence my suggestion, and be- lief; that the annual appropriation for pensions can be reduced very materially by a discrimi- nating reduction of excessive rates which have heretofore been granted, a reduction which could be accomplished without necessarily dropping a name from the pension roll. To reduce the pensions of one hundred pensioners who are wrongfully receiving $50 or $72 per month, on account of disabilities which are not fairly traceable to the military service, or to cut off the pensions of one hundred guardians whose wards in the insane asylums derive little or no benefit from the pensions granted, would effect a saving to the Government almost as great as by dropping from the rolls the names of one thousand pensioners who receive only $~ or $6 per month. One great abuse that has grown up in the Pension Bureau, overshadowing other abuses, costing the Government unnecessary millions of dollars every year, an abuse which has no warrant or foundation in justice, reason, or good policy, is the practice of granting continual increase of pension from year to year to those who are on the roll: a practice which frequently stimulates the loudest clamor from those who are least entitled to consideration. I believe there should be one change in the law, establishing a presumption, or rule of evi- dence, namely, the enactment of a statute providing that in any case where a claimant served less than six months, where the records of his command in the War Department, if complete, contain no evidence of incurrence of the wound, injury, or disease for which he claims pension, and where it further appears that the claim was not filed within twenty-one years from the date of the claimants discharge from mili- tary service, the pension granted in such case should not exceed $12 per month. The enact- ment of such a law would reduce a good many pensions, and would, in my opinion, be war- ranted by the lessons of experience and justice. A. B. Cczssehnan. WITH THE TREAD OF MARCHING COLUMNS. i. WITH the tread of marching columns the forests and hills are stirred, With the dust of marching columns the smiling fields are blurred, With the swing of marching columns the air is vibrant and warm, The listening waters shiver, as if at a coming storm. And the bridges that span the rivers bend to oppressive Fate, With the burden of marching men, and the cannons murderous weight. The waters shiver, the bridges shudder, and groan, and sigh, With the rhythm of marching columns, and horse and foot hurry by. ii. With the thunder of cannon and shouting the valleys are flooded with sound, Till the church-bells are silent with terror, the peals of the organ are drowned: Hushed is the life of the village, stricken and palsied with dread; Dumb are its dwellers as those of the city nan~ed for the dead; Closed are the shutters and doors the village has closed its eyes, Like the helpless quarry when sudden and pitiless foes surprise! There is none to be seen, there is none to be heard there is death, while the feet Of marching columns resound through the emptied and desolate street. S. R. Elliot. 4LL have heard enough of that imagi- 177k native lover who went away from his mistress for the express purpose of writing to her; but Knox D. Lanfair (employed in the service of the Excelsior Screw and Tack Company) was not in the least that sort of person. In t~he first place, he would have scoffed with strong contempt at any such fantastic refine ment, and would have considered it a deroga- his course by an uncommonly pretty girl. He tion from the solid nature of his love for Rosina. saw her first in the kaleidoscopic brilliancy of He did not mean to go away from her for any a garden-party at the Grand Union. In her reason whatever, except when, as now, he was white embroidered muslin gown, and navy removed almost by main force. In the second jacket with gilt buttons over it, she lighted up place, he had a good reason for remaining even under the electric lamps amid the illuminated longer yet, if such a thing may be considered fountains as if she were a part of the same possible. ethereal elements. To tell the truth, Lanfair was It was this, that he had serious doubts as traveling with a dangerous sort of baggage; to his ability to write love- he was expecting soon a letters. They had seemed to promotion by the Screw jog on comfortably enough and Tack Company which by word of mouth, but he would enable him, among had a secret dread that, other things, to marry, if he when it came to correspon- wished. It was the first time dence, he would be found he had been near so desir- lacking, and his letters able a situation, and he would not be at all to Miss proceeded to discount it, as Rosina Bermonds liking. if it were already realized. He maybe described, there- He took to watching for fore, as a lover who clung Rosina in that focus of in- to his mistresss side with a terest on Broadway where peculiar persistence for the the half miles of piazza of express purpose of not writ- Congress Hall look to the ing to her. miles of piazza of the United Had the acquaintance States and the GrandUnion, been formed in town, very across the stream of vehicles likely the case would never and stylish or eccentric pe- have arisen, but he met his destrians. He tooktowatch- fate at the mammoth Amen- ing for her in the early can summer resort, Sara- morning hour, when she toga Springs. Lanfair had not meant to stay made faces over her glasses of mineral water there atall; he hadmerelybeenpassingthrough at Congress Spring. Then, once blessed with for a fortnights well-earned vacation in the her acquaintance, he was forever ensconced in a Adirondack woods, when he was turned from corner of the quiet little hotel at which she lived VOL. XLVI. 19. 14 ~WRJTJNG 70 i~CSJ47~( IN Two PARTS: PART I.

William Henry Bishop Bishop, William Henry Writing to Rosina 141-149

4LL have heard enough of that imagi- 177k native lover who went away from his mistress for the express purpose of writing to her; but Knox D. Lanfair (employed in the service of the Excelsior Screw and Tack Company) was not in the least that sort of person. In t~he first place, he would have scoffed with strong contempt at any such fantastic refine ment, and would have considered it a deroga- his course by an uncommonly pretty girl. He tion from the solid nature of his love for Rosina. saw her first in the kaleidoscopic brilliancy of He did not mean to go away from her for any a garden-party at the Grand Union. In her reason whatever, except when, as now, he was white embroidered muslin gown, and navy removed almost by main force. In the second jacket with gilt buttons over it, she lighted up place, he had a good reason for remaining even under the electric lamps amid the illuminated longer yet, if such a thing may be considered fountains as if she were a part of the same possible. ethereal elements. To tell the truth, Lanfair was It was this, that he had serious doubts as traveling with a dangerous sort of baggage; to his ability to write love- he was expecting soon a letters. They had seemed to promotion by the Screw jog on comfortably enough and Tack Company which by word of mouth, but he would enable him, among had a secret dread that, other things, to marry, if he when it came to correspon- wished. It was the first time dence, he would be found he had been near so desir- lacking, and his letters able a situation, and he would not be at all to Miss proceeded to discount it, as Rosina Bermonds liking. if it were already realized. He maybe described, there- He took to watching for fore, as a lover who clung Rosina in that focus of in- to his mistresss side with a terest on Broadway where peculiar persistence for the the half miles of piazza of express purpose of not writ- Congress Hall look to the ing to her. miles of piazza of the United Had the acquaintance States and the GrandUnion, been formed in town, very across the stream of vehicles likely the case would never and stylish or eccentric pe- have arisen, but he met his destrians. He tooktowatch- fate at the mammoth Amen- ing for her in the early can summer resort, Sara- morning hour, when she toga Springs. Lanfair had not meant to stay made faces over her glasses of mineral water there atall; he hadmerelybeenpassingthrough at Congress Spring. Then, once blessed with for a fortnights well-earned vacation in the her acquaintance, he was forever ensconced in a Adirondack woods, when he was turned from corner of the quiet little hotel at which she lived VOL. XLVI. 19. 14 ~WRJTJNG 70 i~CSJ47~( IN Two PARTS: PART I. 142 with her widower father, or issuing forth to walk with her from the white Greek colonnade it presented to the elm-shaded road of Circu- lar street. One afternoon they were seated in comfort- able arm-chairs at the fish-breeding ponds, well down below the race-course, where people used to hook out trout at a dollar a pound for the pleasure and their catch. A number of car- riages were drawn up on the grass near them, for the enjoyment of this mild sport. Rosina wore another very knowing jacket that day. It was of tennis flannel, and the stripes ran over the roundness of her figure in a compli- cation of wondrous curves which it might have astonished and delighted a mathemati- cian to follow. There was something too much of this charming roundness, the wearer thought, ignorant of her best point, as often happens to perverse human nature. She struggled more or less between a naturally good appetite and the fancied necessity of training down to a severer model. This was, for instance, the starting-point of one among the variety of nick- names which Lanfair dar- ingly twisted out of her own. It was a way he had, and he applied to her these products of his not very brilliant genius much as if she had been another fel- low. How she ever came to permit it, who shall ex- plain? From Rosina he evolved Rosin and Rosin the Bow, and then Senior, and Steam- er, from certain go-ahead qualities of hers, and Leaner from the fact above named. Their talk was of the far more considerable fishing excursion to the Adiron- dacks that he had given up. Why did you do it? asked Rosina. To tell the truth, Steamer, I fell in love with a girl at Saratoga Springs, New York; that s why. Would you like to hear about it? No; I dont think I would. There s no- thing interesting to me either in the place orpeo- ple. She kept her eye steadfastly fixed upon her line, though a rosier flush than usual stole into her delicate cheek. Oh, he commented, a little crestfallen; then why do you keep coming every year to Saratoga? If you knew my father a little better, you would nt ask such a foolish question. He has been coming to Saratoga every season for the last thirty or forty years. He finds all his old judges and governors here that he s so fond of talking to, and he could nt get along with- out them. I should just like to see anybody change my fathers ideas of what is the best place for me to spend my summers ~ By a queer coincidence, Leaner, that was the very thing I was thinking of trying to do and the best place to spend your winters in, too. I was going to take your respected parent con- fidentially aside, Steamer, and say to him I was going to suggest in factsee here, you re a good fellow, Leaner, and I m another. I like you, you like me, we like each other. Then why cant we make a match of it? The idea! rejoined Rosina, receiving this offer of marriage at first with defiant scorn, and set- ting him down in his proper place. Butbefore they had returned to the hotel she had fully relented, and it was a match indeed. It seemed hardly more Rosinas way than Knox D. Lanfairs to indulge in sentimentalities of expres- sion. They used a good deal of the more permis- sible current slang, often so bright for the instant, but so unspeakablyvapid when its brief instant of vogue has departed; they talked of the merits of various hotels; of the latest thing in dance movements; and a good deal was said about a Gordon setter of Lan- fairs,named Spot, whose fore pawhe had had to wash of late, twice a day, for a swelling. To supplement any deficiencies in ro- mantic speech, Lanfair had a passion for open- ing wide his purse-strings, and getting up things, dinners and excursions of all kindsa tangible way of recommending himself to favor. In the first enthusiasm of the engagement he got up so many things, so many dinners at the lake and Mount McGregor, that Rosinas fa- ther, who had only one digestion to lose, and that already much impaired, had peremptorily to suppress him. Notwithstanding all this, Lanfair felt, as has been said, that his letters would not do, and that even Rosina, during absence, would look for something very different. Vague ideas floated in his head that, on paper, you must deal in airy, mellifluous nothings, force your emotions into a poetical cast whether they will or no, and thus get up a fictitious existence to com- pensate for the loss of the original. Being a WRITING TO ROSINA. WRITING TO ROSINA. woman, Rosina would hardly be sa ~sfied with over at a place called East Lee, Massachusetts. less than others. Love sometimes makes wise I m thinking of taking a position there. It s men of fools, as well as fools of wise men; a good thing: iron gives command of gold, you but wise or foolish as Knox D. Lanfair had been know. in this respect, that he remained. The period Then I trust you 11 get it. of his ordeal the day of his departure It depends upon how the directors feel arrived, and he was not sensible of any change about it. But I m not sure, on the whole, I having come about in himself to repair his should not prefer the newspaper place over deficiency. Glens Falls way. Town growing, circulation Thus, when all further delay and postpone- could be worked up, and I might hold the post- mentshadproved useless, and he wasinexorably mastership at the same time. That would give called back to his business desk by the mandate me more congenial work while passing through of the Excelsior Screw and Tack Company, the present crisis in my regular literary pursuits. Beekman street, New York, a special burden Perhaps you did nt know I had been doing of heaviness weighed him down. As he stood poems and a novel lately? upon the platform at the station to bid fare- No; I m sorry I did not. well to Rosina and her father, a peculiar and You would nt have been likely to hear of secret melancholy possessed him, in addition the novel, as it is nt published yet. I have some to the natural pain of parting. He had not ideasofmyown. Theliteraryworldisallwrong; been much over half an hour on the train when there s got to be a new day, a complete revo- he was tapped on the shoulder from behind. lution in public taste. The disturbance caused him to put away hastily I recollect you were always good at that a photograph of Rosina, in a Russia-leather sort of thing. It was never any trouble at all case, which he had been contemplating at lei- for you to write off anything that came into your sure; and turning, he saw an old acquaintance head. Upon this, an idea seemed to enter Lan- or friend, one Hampton Gorledge of Beaver fairs head with afresh interest; however, he dis- County, Pennsylvania, who had come through missed it again as impracticable, and finished: from the smoking-car. So I see you 11 take the newspaper place; it suits your taste. We 11 see what the directors say, and then I 11 decide. Or I may work into a professor- ship in some university, or as superintendent of a small railroad. And then my father, you know, was one of the leading politicians in Beaver County in his day, and though his party is out of power now, and we ye had to take a back seat, he has got considerable influence still, and he s on the lookout all the while to see if he cant command some good paying office for me. My talent is nt of the circumscribed order; most anything well up to the top of the social ladder is in my line. Living up at Chotank still ? Yes; but Chotank is pretty slow as a per- manent place of residence. That s the reason I want to get away. Much of this later conversation, however, was very perfunctory to Lanfair. He was but human. Gorledge, he exclaimed, I ye been get- ting engaged. No? cried the other, responding with the most cordial heartiness and surprise. My Ah, there you are, said he, affably, making dear friend! Let me congratulate you, my dear a place for Gorledge. What are you doing fellow, my comrade in elementary learning, and in this part of the world ? associate up to the confines of active life! I re- Only just passing through, stopping off here joice with you in the warmest recesses of my and there about various business matters I ye heartfrom the very bottom of my soul! got under way. Hampton Gorledge had a deep-voiced,melo- Plenty of irons in the fire, as usual? dramatic way with him, and his address was Well, yes. One of them is an iron-furnace impressive, and worthy of the occasion. 44 WRITING TO ROSINA. I trust you 11 have a chance to see her, after after our marriage, returned Lanfair, much gratified. I suppose I shall be sent up to the factory at Chotank sometimes, as be- fore, we all take our turn at it, and I 11 bring her with me. Then you 11 always find me at the old Beaver County home unless, of course, some of the things I ye been telling you of should call me away. By the way, the name of the novel I mentioned to you is Aureliana Dan- ville. It s short, really more a novelette than a novel. It has been sent to every leading magazine and syndicate in the country, and come back; yet they re all constantly print- ing far worse stuff than that insufferable slush, in fact. Again the idea that Lanfair had a little before dismissed from his mind returned with force. Gorledge, he began, hemming and hawing a little, I remember well how par- ticularly good you were on the literary act at Knoblocks military school. Now I find you at it as hard as ever. So that fact, and meeting you in this way, put it in my head to consult you on a matter that has bothered me some of late. Its a delicate matter, that I could nt speak of to every one; but recollecting old times and so on, I d just like to lay it before you, and see how it strikes you. Strike away! returned Gorledge, thump- ing his chest vigorously, as if to indicate that there was unlimited room there for confidences. Well, the case is like this. Now, for in- stance, Rosina and I are just engaged. Rosina lives in Thirty-sixth street, New York, and she cant come back to town before the end of September. To-day is August 28; so that makes an even month or more that we have got to be separated. Hard lines, hard lines! I know, said Gor- ledge, sympathetically. No; that is nt so much the point as this. It s right here. Now suppose well, you see now here. We have got to correspond during this time. It will be all right and easy for Rosina, of course, but I m no hand at a love-letter the regulation yum-yum business, you know. What do women expect in such matters? They generally want any quantity of gushy soft sawder and fiummery, dont they? Expect a man to stand on his head for em, and do a pen- and-ink fandango that they d sit on him for in a jiffy in common life, eh? Im not up to it. Do you catch on? Do you, see what I mean? I do, to a certain extent; but there is much exaggeration in this. No; not at all. There are some men who might come within cannon-shot of the mark, in putting things down in black and white; others within gun-shot; and some can hit it plumb in the center. Well, you can rate me in the first-named class. Why, do you know what I do about my own private correspon- dence? In the first place, I dont have any if I can help it. But if there s any message I cant send by a friend that happens to be go- ing the same way, I work it off on a postal, or, better still, by telegram. It s short and easy, and no time wasted. What more does a man want? Have you thought at all how you would arrange it after marriage? the friend in- quired reflectively. That s quite different. When we are mar- ried, it will regulate itself; it will be easier to explain things to each other. Or, if not, I shall take care that we are never apart long enough to make letterwriting necessary.~~ It will save postage-stamps, at any rate. You re undoubtedly a first-class judge, Gorledge. I m satisfied that you re an expert in all such matters second to none. Now, the question is, what would you do to tide over this time of writing? A gift for appreciating the merits of others makes a man friends. Gorledge was pleased by the appeal to his superior wisdom, and his satisfaction might have resulted in something useful in the case; but just then the train rushed, screeching, into the station at Albany, and the time was lacking to him. Be yourselg he adjured at parting. Look within and write. Let the heart speak its honest emotions, the plain unvarnished truth. Trust not too much to elaborately polished periods and classic forms of expression: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. Ha! ha! And he tore away to catch his train for Beaver County, Pennsylvania, which made a close connection. Er just so, said Lanfair, gazing after him in a blank, dazed way. The only con- clusion to which he could come, when thus abandoned, was that he must lookout forhappy accidents to aid him, and have recourse in the mean time to a policy of excuses, postpone- ments, and general subterfuges. He began very well by telegraphing back a few words at once, from the Albany station. Then he telegraphed again from Hudson, and once more from Poughkeepsie, and finally from the Forty-second street station in New York, to make known his safe arrival. A month is no very great shakes, after all, he reflected more cheerfully; and who knows but what Rosina may be got back to town even before that time? WRITING TO ROSINA. 45 So far, so good. Rosina welcomed the nu- merous, fast-succeeding messages as a flatter- ing proof of affection for her. They show that he is always thinking of me, and seizes every chance to renew com- munication, she said. He s almost too ex- travagant, the dear fellow. But it was not in keeping with this that an interval of nearly five days should now elapse without her hearing from him at all. Surely the time was ample for a letter, and a full and circumstantial one, too. Even then nothing came but another telegram. It was somewhat longer than those despatched en route, it is true, but what a strange thing under the cir- cumstances! It read about as follows: Ah there, Steamer! how goes it? how goes the day? Dont forget that last breakfast out at Moons on the lake, do you? Hope not. I dont. All broke up down here. Looks would stop a clock. Guess customers notice it. Fall trade booming this year. Weather uncommon good. Would be good for you if you wanted to come home earlier than you expected. Show this to your father. So long! Be good to yourself! Excuse haste. Yours on the spin. K. D. L. Miss Rosina Bermond was filled with aston- ishment. Was this the sort of thing a girl just engaged, whether she were very romantic or not, would naturally be satisfied to receive from her affianced, called away from her side by their first parting? A further interval elapsed, one day less this time, and another despatch ar- rived. It read: Esteemed favors of 28th to 31st ult., and Ist, 2d, 3d, and 4th inst., duly received and contents noted. All right here; no cause alarm. Took in Harrigans Theater last night, but kept thinking of you just the same. Dont forget to be good to yourself. Did I ask you about that? Looks now as if Cleveland would go in next Presi- dent, but may not; what do you think? Fall trade regular corker this year. Weather lays over anything generally known. Excuse mis- takes. Yours on the jump, KNOX-v. Meantime Rosina, on her side, had performed her duty conscientiously. She had written nearly every da~y, filling up from four to eight pages, in a large hand, with matter that could easily have been condensed into one, and sprinkling them liberally with capitals, interjections, and Un- derscorings, at random. But she was fairly driven to slack up in her own correspondence. XVhat can be the cause of this astonishing neglect, this curtness and brevity? she que- ried. How can he so completely ignore all my questions, and refuse to tell me anything about himself? With the tolerance of affec- tion, she tried to imagine all sorts of excuses for her lover, even imagined that letters were lost, and interrogated the hotel and post-office Voi.. XLVI.2o. people rather sharply about it. At any rate, she awaited daily the full letter of explanation which should clear up the mystery. The brief postal-card that arrived next certainly could not be said to fill the void. Just a postal to say, how are you? and all right here. Hurt hand some lately. Makes it bad about writing. Do you catch on to this scrawly fist? afraid not. You dont seem to be coming down yet, Leaner! Big times for us ahead when you get on deck againeh, Rosin the.Bow? Must catch noon mail, so no more at present But finally there did come a letter, a real letter,in an envelop, with a stamp on it. Rosina tore it open with fevered haste, and trembled with conflicting hope and fear. She found an inclosure, type-written with great pro- fessional correctness, and substantially thus expressed: Miss RosINA C. BERMOND, Saratoga Springs, Saratoga County, N. Y. DEAR ROSINA: Have a pretty lively hustle here all the time. Not much time for things in general. Could go on all day about feelings and so forth, etc., but you know how it is yourself. Think of getting up Spot for the dog show when it comes round. He 11 be a winner. Note your remarks about short letters; so look out for long lengthy ones ahead! Dined at Bruns- wick restaurant last night. I feel it in my bones, Steamer, that in case we get satisfactorily set- tled down in life we 11 net from ~o to ioo per cent. per annum more happiness than now. Yours all the time. KNOX. (Dictated) per J. Rosina shut her pretty hands not clinch- ing her nails into the rosy palms until the blood flowed, as a heroine of romance would have done, but quite smartly enough. She fancied Lanfair walking up and down the office dictat- ing this effusion to the type-writer. She recog- nized the J. as a grim, cranky old Miss Jib- berson of whom she had heard him speak. Or, worse yet, perhaps there was, by this time, an- other J., a fascinating young one, who was let into their confidence, and sneered as she wrote. The most enduring patience may be exhausted; the end was drawing near. The finishing touches were given by two telegrams of the utmost brev- ity, received only a day apart. Lanfair seemed now to be traveling, somewhere near town, on a business trip. The first was phrased: Letters to hand, and strike the right spot. Keep it up, keep doing it! Weather here cool, and col- lections fair to middling. Missed evening mail, so wire you direct. Yours on the skip. The second read: Collections average lighter hereabouts. You re taking care of yourself, these days, I hope? Missed 146 WRITING TO ROSINA. morning mail, so think best telegraph you at once. Called away to send despatch to firm. Yours on the wing. Rosina swept away her dainty, initialed note- paper, and dismissed for good and all her in- quiries, speculations, entreaties, and reproaches. She went out instead, secured a dozen or so telegram-blanks, sat down with these, and, after many attempts, tearing up the product, finally composed a telegram on her own ac- count. In the interim, Knox Lanfair,while not really proud of the character of his efforts, was be- ginning to take a not uncomplacent view of them. At any rate, the time was passing; by hook or by crook he had got through some three weeks of the new month; he would soon meet Rosina face to face, and the emergency would be ended. He returned from the collecting-trip above mentioned in quite a jaunty frame of mind. But it was only to meet with a new and most serious mischance. His mood of self-congratulations was broken in upon by directions from his company to re- pair at once to Chotank, Penn., to overlook the running of their factory there. He might be gone a month or more. The order was peremptory; there was no gainsaying it; and he went. This was bad enough, but even worse mmained. No sooner had he arrived at Chotank than he was handed the following blunt despatch, which, having come to New York after he started, and being forwarded, had preceded him: Spare trouble of further weather- and market- reports. Engagement absolutely off. No answer. On the lightning double-quick, R. C. B. Knox D. Lanfair was completely floored by this crushing disaster. His wits were scattered, almost benumbed, by its magnitude, and for a while he was wholly incapable of service on the mission on which the Excelsior Screw and Tack Company had sent him. The place was small; Hampton Gorledge was one of its principal resources; and, in any event, his meeting with Gorledge could not have been long delayed. But Gorledge hap- pened in to see him, to welcome him back to the factory, and found him almost in the worst throes of the calamity. Lanfair handed him the despatch he had just received, with a brow of gloom. Well, who is R. C. B.? demanded the visitor, briskly; for their last interview had left no very deep impression on his mind. Rosin~ Camilla Bermond. And.if you un- derstood a little fancy she has for signing it in full, you d see all the more what it means. Oh, she s got no time for ornamentalism now. Gorledge looked yet harder at the paper, and whistled silently. I followed your advice, pursued Lanfair, wretchedly, and there is the result. I ye lost her; that s all. My advice? Come, that s good; what ad- vice did I give you? You told me to be myself and I was. It s plain enough, said the other, when he had heard some of the details, you ye got to knock off your telegraphing and the other short-cuts, and write to her. Write her in full, with a complete, thorough explanation, and you 11 get her yet. What sort of explanation, for instance? Why, you re settled in a quiet retreat at last, and for the first time since leaving her you find the opportunity you have longed for to devote yourself properly to her. You were so distracted before with maddening business cares that you hardly knew what you were about; but now you propose to make ample amends. Put it in in full; dont stint it. Yes; many thanks. I er I 11 think it over. No; if I were you, I should sit right down and do it on the instant. It looks to me as if there was no time to lose. I 11 just look over the paper here, and, if you will do it imme- diately, I will mail it myself. I ye got to go to the post-office when I leave here. He picked up a copy of a metropolitan daily, strolled through the not uncomfortable rooms that the company provided for its super- intendents and inspectors, found a volume of some poet in the small library, and buried him- self in it for half an hour. When he looked up again, Lanfair was still hard at it. Looks to me a.s though there were going to be a rise in the price of ink, said he, refer- nng to numerous heavily blotted sheets lying by the hand of the scribe. The other, without a word, passed him over the latest, beginning thus: Dear Rosina, or if you will still tumble to the friendly expression of Rosin the Bow,your most esteemed favor, per wire, duly received, as usual, and contents carefully noted. In regard to same, would say Oh, no, no, no! cut in Gorledge, impa- tiently. Excuse mebeg pardonbut that sort of thing wont do at all. There s a a coldness about it. I was going to go on in a musical way. I was going to see if I could nt work in about how there was some discord in music, and how I wished the Bow could be Rosined up so we could get out the kinks, and everything be all right. Yes; but those plays upon words, that WRITING TO ROSINA. 47 figurative language, are hard to carry out. I would nt if I were you. Now, my own idea would be something more like this, and he struck an attitude of meditative inspiration. Now here. My idolized one! my peerless darling! my own! oh! what is this dreadful gulf that seems to yawn between us? What is this hideous mis- understanding? Oh, speak and tell me it is not real! Say that I have not read aright the cruel words brought by a trick of the enslaved electric fluid along the chilling wire. Lanfair gave a most approving attention, threw off his despondent air, and started up as if glowing with a new hope. Gorledge, said he, yours is a talent of the first water; I al- ways knew it, and this proves it. I should nt have thought of stating it exactly in that way, myself. I believe this will bring her; I know it will. You ye got a splendid start; keep it going; probably I 11 get into the swing of it for the next time. The other magnanimously consented to con- tinue, and a letter in this vein was soon com- pleted and sent off. Its effect was to draw out a conciliatory, relenting reply from Rosina. Not to waste time, the morning it came Lan- fair guided his buggy slowly home from the post-office with one hand, while he perused the precious missive held in the other. It was capi- talized and italicized in her usual way, and united into pretty much all one sentence by a munificent use of ands. It appeared that Rosina had had the advantage of a not un- fashionable seminary in considerable vogue; but it had made no great impression, up to this time, upon a wayward exuberance and a native soil largely grown to very irrelevant matters. I will admit I was at first surprised and indig- nant, but it is all over now and of all conceited in- dividuals I ever knew I thought you went ahead of Any to try and get a silly girl in love with You and then go away and send them back nothing but entirely Unsatisfactory short telegraph mes- sages and postal-cards, which I must say was Highlyflattering to Me indeed, was nt it? At this point the reader stopped to mop his brow with conviction. He had been so wholly engrossed in his own difficulties that he had not seen the case from her point of view. And about the worst of all [the letter went on] was your telling about how you d been to the theater and dined at the Brunswick when I Re- member so well Your old Habit of Always sitting up late after everybody else had gone to bed and Going rounct to find some one to Talh with You and smoke if you could, so I thought it~z5retty strange you did not Have time to write to me if you wanted to Even when the Theater, etc., were over and I said nothing to Anybody about it but merely contrary to my Usual custom did not even tell my Father about it, but nirn~orte as I say all that is over and Past now. 0, another tiece of News for you [she con- cluded] is an old Friend of mine named Isabel Bryce is Expected here in a few days, and what do you think Papa insists when she goes back home I shall go and Visit her at her home~~ in Stockbridge, Mass., which place her family removed from New York and have resided at for some time and Everybody who visits there always enjoys Themselves, but I should not go for that Reason, but only because papa says I look Run Down and really Need it before re- turning to Town. It was joy indeed to Lanfair that the breach between them was closed. As to Rosinas going away to make a visit at a yet more distant point, that made the less difference now, as they must be separated anyway. But though the breach was closed, it was still in a very precarious con- dition. Might it not reopen at any moment if Lanfair were not of the necessary force to keep up the correspondence? He sat down manfully to the task, but no new inspiration came now any more than before. In despair he betook himself again to Hampton Gorledge. Take charge of this whole thing for me, Gorledge, he begged. You ye got consider- able time on your hands while you re waiting for these various projects of yours to mature; and if there s anything I can do to help them along, either personally or through the com- pany, all you ye got to do is to let me know, and I 11 do it. Andererif you d take that best pup of Spots, and drive my sorrel mare all you want to, I should look upon it as a solid favor, I should really. I dont recollect your being any such par- ticular slow-coach when we were at Knoblocks Academy. What s the matter with you, any- way? responded Gorledge. Well, I suppose Iergot into business kind of early, and did nt go to college, and er Ive often thought going to college is what played the deuce with my natural originality. But that s neither here nor there; the ques- tion is, will you do it? You know my inborn tendency to help a friend. If you really think I can be of any use to you, put me in possession of the facts, and I 11 go ahead. Such facts as what? In the first place, the fair ones photograph; I must get before my mind a distinct image of her. The treasured Russia-leather case was pro- duced in response to this request. Very good; that 11 do. Pretty as as a picture, or rather a whole gallery of em, all 148 WRITING TO ROSINA. masterpieces. Now some account of her family, her prospects, her belongings, and surroundings generally. Lanfair gave these details as well as he could. It came out, among the rest, that Rosina had a snug little fortune of her own. Ah, ah, these out-and-out business men! Trust them for an eye to the main chance! I never was practical, and never shall be. In the next place, her letters, Gorledge pursued. I ought to glance briefly over them, to get the general drift of what s been going on, and the style and tone that I must adapt myself to. I have nt got the collection by me. Never mind; the last one will do. Lanfair expressed considerable surprise at this. The fact is, said he, that as there was no reason for filing them away, I ye fol- lowed my business rule of clearing off at once anything that would take up useful room. I have destroyed them as soon as read. This time Gorledge emitted an audible whistle. Dont do it again, he adjured, in a tone of involuntary commiseration. Let me see the next few you get, at any rate. I shall have to have the replies to the letters I write, so as to make connection. Lanfair described to the best of his ability the contents of Rosinas latest epistle. His coun- selor took the most commodious place in the room, cleared for action in a large way, and began the answer to it he deemed appropriate. Rosina, my most precious Is nt that rather strong? interrupted his patron, alarmed, as he looked over his shoulder. Strong? It is nt half as strong as the last time, if you recollect. And language does nt really contain expressions strong enough to suit the feminine taste in these matters. You cant by any chance overdo it; it would be impos- sible. In fact, you can never half begin to come up to what they demand. Yes; but I only meant if it was goingto be a regular thing, you know. He was taken with a tremor at the desecra- tion. What gross freedom was he permitting! What a violation of delicate sanctity it was to allow this stranger to lavish upon Rosina the whole contents of the lovers dictionary even though she should never know it was not himself! It s merely one of the stages of the case, returned his amanuensis, coolly. I m not in the least anxious to continue. We 11 drop the thing right here, while no harm has been done. Oh, n~, no, my dear friend; I wont hear of it; we must not think of it. Very well. Where was I? Oh, yes. Darling! now that I know we have not lost faith in each others love, I shall have strength to suffer, to endure to the utmost. Banished? how truly passionate Romeo says, Banished, the damn~d use that word in hell! Death alone can still the inward voice that calls out for you with a resistless yearning, and yet I will tell you of a singular thing. Here, I feel a relief in being able to keep your image wholly free from the impertinent intrusion of commercial affairs, which, in spite of my volition, divided it some- what in the world without. Now, even though I but suffer the sharper pain of loss, nearly every moment of my day may be passed in thoughts of you alone. There is a sweet sort of rest- fulness in this idea, or rather shall I say, a restful sort of sweetness? His principal was lost in admiration at such strokes as the last. These were the things, he thought, this fine grandiloquence, this easy pitching about of the mysteries of speech, so far beyond himself,by which Rosina would securely be held. Fate was against us [the letter terminated] I cannot too much dwell upon it in making even my deep despair at being torn from your side wear the aspect of indifference. Shall I say that in those first bitter days of parting I poured out my soul to you in almost countless pages, and then tore them to fragments, as too incoherent, too wild, too unworthy of you in every way? No, I will not! Why evoke anew such poignant memories? Thats rather neat, you observe, he said to Lanfair. I dont say you did write them, you know. That will have a good effect in soothing her; you 11 find that that first apparent neglect cannot be too much accounted for. Lanfair winced, but no doubt that, too, was one of the stages of the case. Early in this correspondence it struck Hampton Gorledge as a happy thought that he would think of Rosina as the Aurelianci of his unaccepted novel; he would consider her as a sort of in- carnation of his heroine. Thus, this should be a new chapter in Aureliana Da;ivilles ex- periences; she was separated from the hero Edgar by insurmountable obstacles, and both were suffering excruciating torments accord- ingly. This effort would aid yet more the play of his imagination, to which the task was already a congenial one. The only objection to this was that in the heat of composition Aureliana sometimes slipped into the manu- script by mistake, and remained there; but as it was afterward copied by Lanfair, this, in the beginning, was of no great consequence. (To be concluded.) William Henry Thkop. TOPICS OF THE TIME. Lincoln on the Spoils System. CIVIL-SERVICE reform had not made its appear- ance in American politics when Mr. Lincoln was President, hut there is evidence that he was at heart a disciple of it, and would have been one of its most vigor- ous champions, had he lived. The descent of the office- seekers upon him was stupendous. Colonel John Hay, in his Life in the White House in the Time of Lincoln, published in THE CENTURY for November, 1890, says that in the first days after the inauguration there was the unprecedented rush of office-seekers, inspired by a strange mixture of enthusiasm and greed, pushed by motives which were perhaps at bottom selfish, but which had nevertheless a curious touch of that deep emotion which had stirred the heart of the nation in the late election. . . . The numbers were so great, the competition was so keen, that they ceased for the mo- ment to be regarded as individuals, drowned as they were in the general sea of solicitation. Colonel A. K. McClure gives a similar picture in his personal rec- ollections, saying in reference to the condition of affairs in Washington at the beginning of Lincolns administration: The place-seekers swarmed in numbers almost equal to the locusts of Egypt, and the President was pestered day and night by the leading statesmen of the country, who clamored for offices for their henchmen. I well re- member the sad picture of despair his face presented when I happened to meet him alone for a few moments in the Executive Chamber as he spoke of the heartless spoilsmen, who seemed to he utterly indifferent to the grave dangers which threatened the government. He said: I seem like one sitting in a palace assigning apartments to importunate applicants while the structure is on fire, and likely soon to perish in ashes. The reform is moving on surely. It would be expe- dited if those who believe in it would live up to it. As we have said before, one trouble is that people are good- natured, and when their friends want places under a new administration, that is, places not vacant, and only to be made vacant by the demands of the office- seekers, these good-natured people allow themselves to become part of the pressure for the places, by their recommendations and solicitations. It must sometimes look to the appointing powers as if the whole country rose up and demanded not civil-service reform, but po- sitions in the civil service. There is such a thing as rushing a reform ahead of public opinion, and thus injuring the reform; and there are many positions which are political in the true sense, and should be taken possession of by the party of the majority after every election. But it is the duty of every citizen to do his share in eliminating not only the spoils system, but the spoils idea, from politics; to press upon the authorities the necessity of continually extending the m#rit system, and of acting according to its spirit outside of the classified service. For it is no exagger- ation to say that the evils of the spoils system are illus- trated in every sinister career in the history of modern American politics; every disgraceful success is to be laid at its doors; every corrupt ring has here its ori- gin. It is the menace and enemy of honest adminis- tration in every community in the country; it degrades our legislatures, State and national; and the cause of good government triumphs only when this pernicious system is thwarted or overcome. Two Values of the Silver Dollar. THE following letter of inquiry comes to us from a reader in Lincolnville, Kansas: Your answer to a letter from Arkansas in the January number encourages me to ask a question in the hope of having it accorded similar courteous and instructive treat- ment. And it is with no hostile critical object that I ask it, for I am inclined to think your position on the money subject the right one. It is this: Why, if a 66-cent dollar will buy only 66 cents worth of goods, can we go into any store in the land and, laying down five silver dollars, as readily get five dollars worth of goods as if we had offered a five-dollar gold piece? The reason why this can be done is because the coun- try is on the gold standard, and the credit of the United States government is behind every silver dollar. Our inquiring friend in Lincolnville can take his five silver dollars to his local bank and ask to have them ex- changed for five gold dollars, and the bank will grant him his request. The bank will do this because its officers know that they can send the silver dollars to their correspondent bank in t-he East and get gold dol- lars in exchange. The Eastern bank will oblige the Western one in this transaction because it in turn can effect a similar exchange with the United States Trea- sury. It is knowledge of the ability of the United States Treasury to do this which induces the local banks, and, through them, all tradespeople, to receive silver on equal terms with gold. The United States government is able to do this only so long as the coinage of silver is limited, or only so long as the supply of gold in the Treasury is sufficient to meet all demands upon it. Unlimited coinage of sil- ver, or very large currency inflation brought about by the issue of legal-tender notes by the Treasury in pay- ment for silver bullion, tends to drive gold out of the country,andthus to diminish theTreasury supply. When this gold supply becomes so reduced that the Govern- ment can meet its obligations only by paying out its hoarded silver, and cannot exchange that silver on de- mand for gold, then the five silver dollars of our inquir- ing friend will drop instantly to their real value, of about 64 cents each at this writing, and he will be able to buy only $3.20 worth of goods with them. The drop from the gold to the silver standard would come with astounding suddenness at the very first whis- per that the Government could no longer exchange silver dollars for gold dollars. The bank in Lincoln- ville, like the banks in every other part of the land, would get the news instantly, and from the banks it would spread to the tradesmen, who would instantly mark their prices up to the requirements of the silver standard that is, more than a third above their former 149

Two Values of the Silver Dollar Topics of the Time 149

TOPICS OF THE TIME. Lincoln on the Spoils System. CIVIL-SERVICE reform had not made its appear- ance in American politics when Mr. Lincoln was President, hut there is evidence that he was at heart a disciple of it, and would have been one of its most vigor- ous champions, had he lived. The descent of the office- seekers upon him was stupendous. Colonel John Hay, in his Life in the White House in the Time of Lincoln, published in THE CENTURY for November, 1890, says that in the first days after the inauguration there was the unprecedented rush of office-seekers, inspired by a strange mixture of enthusiasm and greed, pushed by motives which were perhaps at bottom selfish, but which had nevertheless a curious touch of that deep emotion which had stirred the heart of the nation in the late election. . . . The numbers were so great, the competition was so keen, that they ceased for the mo- ment to be regarded as individuals, drowned as they were in the general sea of solicitation. Colonel A. K. McClure gives a similar picture in his personal rec- ollections, saying in reference to the condition of affairs in Washington at the beginning of Lincolns administration: The place-seekers swarmed in numbers almost equal to the locusts of Egypt, and the President was pestered day and night by the leading statesmen of the country, who clamored for offices for their henchmen. I well re- member the sad picture of despair his face presented when I happened to meet him alone for a few moments in the Executive Chamber as he spoke of the heartless spoilsmen, who seemed to he utterly indifferent to the grave dangers which threatened the government. He said: I seem like one sitting in a palace assigning apartments to importunate applicants while the structure is on fire, and likely soon to perish in ashes. The reform is moving on surely. It would be expe- dited if those who believe in it would live up to it. As we have said before, one trouble is that people are good- natured, and when their friends want places under a new administration, that is, places not vacant, and only to be made vacant by the demands of the office- seekers, these good-natured people allow themselves to become part of the pressure for the places, by their recommendations and solicitations. It must sometimes look to the appointing powers as if the whole country rose up and demanded not civil-service reform, but po- sitions in the civil service. There is such a thing as rushing a reform ahead of public opinion, and thus injuring the reform; and there are many positions which are political in the true sense, and should be taken possession of by the party of the majority after every election. But it is the duty of every citizen to do his share in eliminating not only the spoils system, but the spoils idea, from politics; to press upon the authorities the necessity of continually extending the m#rit system, and of acting according to its spirit outside of the classified service. For it is no exagger- ation to say that the evils of the spoils system are illus- trated in every sinister career in the history of modern American politics; every disgraceful success is to be laid at its doors; every corrupt ring has here its ori- gin. It is the menace and enemy of honest adminis- tration in every community in the country; it degrades our legislatures, State and national; and the cause of good government triumphs only when this pernicious system is thwarted or overcome. Two Values of the Silver Dollar. THE following letter of inquiry comes to us from a reader in Lincolnville, Kansas: Your answer to a letter from Arkansas in the January number encourages me to ask a question in the hope of having it accorded similar courteous and instructive treat- ment. And it is with no hostile critical object that I ask it, for I am inclined to think your position on the money subject the right one. It is this: Why, if a 66-cent dollar will buy only 66 cents worth of goods, can we go into any store in the land and, laying down five silver dollars, as readily get five dollars worth of goods as if we had offered a five-dollar gold piece? The reason why this can be done is because the coun- try is on the gold standard, and the credit of the United States government is behind every silver dollar. Our inquiring friend in Lincolnville can take his five silver dollars to his local bank and ask to have them ex- changed for five gold dollars, and the bank will grant him his request. The bank will do this because its officers know that they can send the silver dollars to their correspondent bank in t-he East and get gold dol- lars in exchange. The Eastern bank will oblige the Western one in this transaction because it in turn can effect a similar exchange with the United States Trea- sury. It is knowledge of the ability of the United States Treasury to do this which induces the local banks, and, through them, all tradespeople, to receive silver on equal terms with gold. The United States government is able to do this only so long as the coinage of silver is limited, or only so long as the supply of gold in the Treasury is sufficient to meet all demands upon it. Unlimited coinage of sil- ver, or very large currency inflation brought about by the issue of legal-tender notes by the Treasury in pay- ment for silver bullion, tends to drive gold out of the country,andthus to diminish theTreasury supply. When this gold supply becomes so reduced that the Govern- ment can meet its obligations only by paying out its hoarded silver, and cannot exchange that silver on de- mand for gold, then the five silver dollars of our inquir- ing friend will drop instantly to their real value, of about 64 cents each at this writing, and he will be able to buy only $3.20 worth of goods with them. The drop from the gold to the silver standard would come with astounding suddenness at the very first whis- per that the Government could no longer exchange silver dollars for gold dollars. The bank in Lincoln- ville, like the banks in every other part of the land, would get the news instantly, and from the banks it would spread to the tradesmen, who would instantly mark their prices up to the requirements of the silver standard that is, more than a third above their former 149

Lincoln on the Spoils System Topics of the Time 149-150

TOPICS OF THE TIME. Lincoln on the Spoils System. CIVIL-SERVICE reform had not made its appear- ance in American politics when Mr. Lincoln was President, hut there is evidence that he was at heart a disciple of it, and would have been one of its most vigor- ous champions, had he lived. The descent of the office- seekers upon him was stupendous. Colonel John Hay, in his Life in the White House in the Time of Lincoln, published in THE CENTURY for November, 1890, says that in the first days after the inauguration there was the unprecedented rush of office-seekers, inspired by a strange mixture of enthusiasm and greed, pushed by motives which were perhaps at bottom selfish, but which had nevertheless a curious touch of that deep emotion which had stirred the heart of the nation in the late election. . . . The numbers were so great, the competition was so keen, that they ceased for the mo- ment to be regarded as individuals, drowned as they were in the general sea of solicitation. Colonel A. K. McClure gives a similar picture in his personal rec- ollections, saying in reference to the condition of affairs in Washington at the beginning of Lincolns administration: The place-seekers swarmed in numbers almost equal to the locusts of Egypt, and the President was pestered day and night by the leading statesmen of the country, who clamored for offices for their henchmen. I well re- member the sad picture of despair his face presented when I happened to meet him alone for a few moments in the Executive Chamber as he spoke of the heartless spoilsmen, who seemed to he utterly indifferent to the grave dangers which threatened the government. He said: I seem like one sitting in a palace assigning apartments to importunate applicants while the structure is on fire, and likely soon to perish in ashes. The reform is moving on surely. It would be expe- dited if those who believe in it would live up to it. As we have said before, one trouble is that people are good- natured, and when their friends want places under a new administration, that is, places not vacant, and only to be made vacant by the demands of the office- seekers, these good-natured people allow themselves to become part of the pressure for the places, by their recommendations and solicitations. It must sometimes look to the appointing powers as if the whole country rose up and demanded not civil-service reform, but po- sitions in the civil service. There is such a thing as rushing a reform ahead of public opinion, and thus injuring the reform; and there are many positions which are political in the true sense, and should be taken possession of by the party of the majority after every election. But it is the duty of every citizen to do his share in eliminating not only the spoils system, but the spoils idea, from politics; to press upon the authorities the necessity of continually extending the m#rit system, and of acting according to its spirit outside of the classified service. For it is no exagger- ation to say that the evils of the spoils system are illus- trated in every sinister career in the history of modern American politics; every disgraceful success is to be laid at its doors; every corrupt ring has here its ori- gin. It is the menace and enemy of honest adminis- tration in every community in the country; it degrades our legislatures, State and national; and the cause of good government triumphs only when this pernicious system is thwarted or overcome. Two Values of the Silver Dollar. THE following letter of inquiry comes to us from a reader in Lincolnville, Kansas: Your answer to a letter from Arkansas in the January number encourages me to ask a question in the hope of having it accorded similar courteous and instructive treat- ment. And it is with no hostile critical object that I ask it, for I am inclined to think your position on the money subject the right one. It is this: Why, if a 66-cent dollar will buy only 66 cents worth of goods, can we go into any store in the land and, laying down five silver dollars, as readily get five dollars worth of goods as if we had offered a five-dollar gold piece? The reason why this can be done is because the coun- try is on the gold standard, and the credit of the United States government is behind every silver dollar. Our inquiring friend in Lincolnville can take his five silver dollars to his local bank and ask to have them ex- changed for five gold dollars, and the bank will grant him his request. The bank will do this because its officers know that they can send the silver dollars to their correspondent bank in t-he East and get gold dol- lars in exchange. The Eastern bank will oblige the Western one in this transaction because it in turn can effect a similar exchange with the United States Trea- sury. It is knowledge of the ability of the United States Treasury to do this which induces the local banks, and, through them, all tradespeople, to receive silver on equal terms with gold. The United States government is able to do this only so long as the coinage of silver is limited, or only so long as the supply of gold in the Treasury is sufficient to meet all demands upon it. Unlimited coinage of sil- ver, or very large currency inflation brought about by the issue of legal-tender notes by the Treasury in pay- ment for silver bullion, tends to drive gold out of the country,andthus to diminish theTreasury supply. When this gold supply becomes so reduced that the Govern- ment can meet its obligations only by paying out its hoarded silver, and cannot exchange that silver on de- mand for gold, then the five silver dollars of our inquir- ing friend will drop instantly to their real value, of about 64 cents each at this writing, and he will be able to buy only $3.20 worth of goods with them. The drop from the gold to the silver standard would come with astounding suddenness at the very first whis- per that the Government could no longer exchange silver dollars for gold dollars. The bank in Lincoln- ville, like the banks in every other part of the land, would get the news instantly, and from the banks it would spread to the tradesmen, who would instantly mark their prices up to the requirements of the silver standard that is, more than a third above their former 149 150 TOPICS OF THE TIME. level. The local tradesmen would have to do this be- cause the merchants in all the large cities from whom they purchase their supplies would do it the moment the country slid from the gold standard. But while prices would be advanced instantly, wages of all kinds would advance at a much more moderate pace, and the result would be the same that it always is in such times of inflation the wage-earner and the poor man generally would be the chief sufferers from the change. The Government has two remedies at hand when its gold reserve which it keeps in its treasury as a guarantee of its pledge to redeem its legal tenders in gold begins to melt away. It can stop the issue of legal tenders, or it can issue gold bonds, which amounts to buying gold at a premium. In regard to the legal tenders, which have been issued on silver bullion purchases at the rate of 4,500,000 ounces per mouth since the passage of the Sherman Act of i89o, these can be stopped by the repeal of the act. Under that act the Government had, up to February I of the present year, bought 129,926,785 ounces of silver, paying therefor $127,237,4io, and issuing legal ten- ders to that amount. Under the Bland Act, which preceded the Sherman Act, the purchases cost $305,- i35,497, making a total outlay for silver, during fifteen years, of $432,372,907. The market value of this silver on January 25 of the present year was $~5 I,- 457,257, showing a total loss to the Government, since the silver purchases began, of $80,915,650, or an av- erage of more than $5,000,000 a year. To understand the difficulties which confront the Government in maintaining a gold standard, it should be borne in mind that since January i, 1879, there had remained intact and tindisturbed in the Treasury, down to the beginning of February last, a gold reserve of $100,000,000, as a fund pledged substantially to the redemption of the outstanding legal-tender notes, or greenbacks, amounting to $346,ooo,000. The addi- tion of over ~ i,ooo,ooo in silver certificates to the volume of legal tenders, taken in connection with the Treasury notes and other outstanding Government promises, raises the total of such legal tenders and promises to $813,000,000, or which there is a re- demption fund of only $100,000,ooo. For redemption purposes the millions of hoarded silver in the Treasury, coined and bullion, are of no use whatever. It could not be sold for gold, for the mere offering of it would start a panic in the silver-market, and send the price far below its present level. Its presence in the Trea- sury is a constant menace to the financial and industrial stability of the country, and to the welfare of the people. The continuation of the policy which has led to the accumulation benefits nobody, except the mine- owners who have silver to sell, and for whom the United States now generously creates a market at an annual expense to the American people of $5,000,000. It would be much better for the country to pay them the five millions as an annual bounty, and stop taking the silver, for we should then escape the peril which is aggravated by every fresh issue of silver certificates. Why Our Corrupt Practices Laws Fail. THE first trial of the Massachusetts Corrupt Prac- tices Act, which is unquestionably the best of the few similar laws thus far adopted in this country, revealed many merits and several serious defects. As we pointed out in our discussion of this law in this de- partment of THE CENTURY for November, 1892, it is an improvement on the New York law in several re- spects, notably in the requirements for sworn publica- tion after election of all receipts and expenditures by campaign committees as well as by candidates. These requirements have proved valuable and effective in practice, for they gave to the public for the first time full, itemized accounts of the money which the State, county, city, and town committees received, the sources from which it came, and the uses to which it was put. This was valuable information for the pub- lic to receive, and the knowledge that the revelation must be made undoubtedly exercised a restraining and wholesome influence upon both contributors and dis- pensing agents. The publication of the sworn returns of the two State committees of the leading political parties showed that the politicians in both had been quick to discover a defect which enabled them to conceal the sources of their largest contributions. The law requires full ac- counting for all contributions received inside the State, but for those coming from outside the State no such accounting is required. The returns of the com- mittees showed that they had their heaviest contribu- tors forward their money to the national committees at New York, which had in turn sent it back to the State committees at Boston. In this way it could be set down in the sworn returns as having come from the national committees. Thus the report of the Democratic State Committee showed an expenditure of $53,000, of which $23,ooo was recorded as having been received from the National Democratic Com- mittee, and the report of the Republican State Com- mittee showed that of $59,000 spent, $23,000 had come from the Republican National Committee. No names of contributors were given for these amounts, so that the intent of the law in that particular was defeated. It is difficult to see what remedy there can be devised for this evasion, which is a practical one only in Presi- dential election years. But a more serious defect in the law was revealed when its penalty clauses were examined. These im- pose a fine of one thousand dollars upon candidates, and the same fine, or imprisonment not exceeding one year, upon the treasurer of a committee, for violations of the law, but it is made nobodys duty to bring offenders to trial, or to enforce the law in any respect. This is a defect common to other American laws of the kind, and it is the one which is mainly responsible for their indifferent success in practice. Then, too, if by chance a successful candidate were to he convicted and fined, he would still be able to hold the office to which he was elected, a condition of things which would amount to a public scandal. For guidance in remedying these and other defects, we must go to the English Corrupt Practices Act, the remarkable efficacy of which has been demonstrated anew by the contested cases growing out of the last parliamentary election. There was an unusual number of these cases, and they resulted in the unseating of five members. In each of these five cases the mem- ber was deprived of his seat for offenses which it would be impossible to prove under any existing American law. One member lost his seat, and was

Corrupt Practices Laws: Why They Fail Topics of the Time 150-151

150 TOPICS OF THE TIME. level. The local tradesmen would have to do this be- cause the merchants in all the large cities from whom they purchase their supplies would do it the moment the country slid from the gold standard. But while prices would be advanced instantly, wages of all kinds would advance at a much more moderate pace, and the result would be the same that it always is in such times of inflation the wage-earner and the poor man generally would be the chief sufferers from the change. The Government has two remedies at hand when its gold reserve which it keeps in its treasury as a guarantee of its pledge to redeem its legal tenders in gold begins to melt away. It can stop the issue of legal tenders, or it can issue gold bonds, which amounts to buying gold at a premium. In regard to the legal tenders, which have been issued on silver bullion purchases at the rate of 4,500,000 ounces per mouth since the passage of the Sherman Act of i89o, these can be stopped by the repeal of the act. Under that act the Government had, up to February I of the present year, bought 129,926,785 ounces of silver, paying therefor $127,237,4io, and issuing legal ten- ders to that amount. Under the Bland Act, which preceded the Sherman Act, the purchases cost $305,- i35,497, making a total outlay for silver, during fifteen years, of $432,372,907. The market value of this silver on January 25 of the present year was $~5 I,- 457,257, showing a total loss to the Government, since the silver purchases began, of $80,915,650, or an av- erage of more than $5,000,000 a year. To understand the difficulties which confront the Government in maintaining a gold standard, it should be borne in mind that since January i, 1879, there had remained intact and tindisturbed in the Treasury, down to the beginning of February last, a gold reserve of $100,000,000, as a fund pledged substantially to the redemption of the outstanding legal-tender notes, or greenbacks, amounting to $346,ooo,000. The addi- tion of over ~ i,ooo,ooo in silver certificates to the volume of legal tenders, taken in connection with the Treasury notes and other outstanding Government promises, raises the total of such legal tenders and promises to $813,000,000, or which there is a re- demption fund of only $100,000,ooo. For redemption purposes the millions of hoarded silver in the Treasury, coined and bullion, are of no use whatever. It could not be sold for gold, for the mere offering of it would start a panic in the silver-market, and send the price far below its present level. Its presence in the Trea- sury is a constant menace to the financial and industrial stability of the country, and to the welfare of the people. The continuation of the policy which has led to the accumulation benefits nobody, except the mine- owners who have silver to sell, and for whom the United States now generously creates a market at an annual expense to the American people of $5,000,000. It would be much better for the country to pay them the five millions as an annual bounty, and stop taking the silver, for we should then escape the peril which is aggravated by every fresh issue of silver certificates. Why Our Corrupt Practices Laws Fail. THE first trial of the Massachusetts Corrupt Prac- tices Act, which is unquestionably the best of the few similar laws thus far adopted in this country, revealed many merits and several serious defects. As we pointed out in our discussion of this law in this de- partment of THE CENTURY for November, 1892, it is an improvement on the New York law in several re- spects, notably in the requirements for sworn publica- tion after election of all receipts and expenditures by campaign committees as well as by candidates. These requirements have proved valuable and effective in practice, for they gave to the public for the first time full, itemized accounts of the money which the State, county, city, and town committees received, the sources from which it came, and the uses to which it was put. This was valuable information for the pub- lic to receive, and the knowledge that the revelation must be made undoubtedly exercised a restraining and wholesome influence upon both contributors and dis- pensing agents. The publication of the sworn returns of the two State committees of the leading political parties showed that the politicians in both had been quick to discover a defect which enabled them to conceal the sources of their largest contributions. The law requires full ac- counting for all contributions received inside the State, but for those coming from outside the State no such accounting is required. The returns of the com- mittees showed that they had their heaviest contribu- tors forward their money to the national committees at New York, which had in turn sent it back to the State committees at Boston. In this way it could be set down in the sworn returns as having come from the national committees. Thus the report of the Democratic State Committee showed an expenditure of $53,000, of which $23,ooo was recorded as having been received from the National Democratic Com- mittee, and the report of the Republican State Com- mittee showed that of $59,000 spent, $23,000 had come from the Republican National Committee. No names of contributors were given for these amounts, so that the intent of the law in that particular was defeated. It is difficult to see what remedy there can be devised for this evasion, which is a practical one only in Presi- dential election years. But a more serious defect in the law was revealed when its penalty clauses were examined. These im- pose a fine of one thousand dollars upon candidates, and the same fine, or imprisonment not exceeding one year, upon the treasurer of a committee, for violations of the law, but it is made nobodys duty to bring offenders to trial, or to enforce the law in any respect. This is a defect common to other American laws of the kind, and it is the one which is mainly responsible for their indifferent success in practice. Then, too, if by chance a successful candidate were to he convicted and fined, he would still be able to hold the office to which he was elected, a condition of things which would amount to a public scandal. For guidance in remedying these and other defects, we must go to the English Corrupt Practices Act, the remarkable efficacy of which has been demonstrated anew by the contested cases growing out of the last parliamentary election. There was an unusual number of these cases, and they resulted in the unseating of five members. In each of these five cases the mem- ber was deprived of his seat for offenses which it would be impossible to prove under any existing American law. One member lost his seat, and was TOPICS OF THE TIME. 5 disqualified from being again a candidate before the same constituency during the existing Parliament, be- cause his son, who was acting as his agent, had made an illegal payment for 6ooo hat-badges bearing the candidates portrait, which had been distributed among the voters. Such expenditure is forbidden in the law, together with payments for bands of music, torches, flags, banners, cockades, ribbons, or other marks of distinction, because in former times, before the enactment of the present law, vast sums used for corrupting the voters were set down as having been ex- pended for these purposes, and it was feared that if such payments were not expressly forbidden the prac- tice would be continued under the law. It is a note- worthy fact that in the county and town committee reports in Massachusetts, a very large proportion of the total expenditure is set down to flags, cam- paign uniforms and torches, and similar items. Another of the English members was unseated, and disqualified as a candidate for seven years, because his agent had paid bills amounting to /326 for various treats to the electors, in the form of picnics, ex- cursions, etc. His agent was fined /ioo, and disfran- chised for five years. Another was unseated, and disqualified as a candidate during the existing Parlia- ment, because his agents had been guilty of treating and corrupt practices, he bearing the consequences of their acts, though pronounced personally innocent of all knowledge of or complicity in them. His agents were condemned to pay the costs of the prosecution, and were disfranchised for five years. Two others lost their seats for districts in Ireland, and were dis- qualified for seven years, because the Catholic Church had exerted its spiritual power, through its priests, in their behalf. All these English cases were brought into court under the provision of the law which enables any qualified elector to petition for the unseating of a can- didate against whom illegal practices are charged. This makes the enforcement of the law an easy and assured thing, for practically all the electors of one party are lying in wait for the candidate of the oppo- site party, and are accumulating evidence for unseating him in case he catries the election by illegal methods. The law is so minute in its specifications of what acts constitute illegal offenses that the accumulation of in- criminating evidence is a comparatively easy task, and the fact that all petitions are tried before a regular court of two judges makes a fair and non-partizan ver- dict certain. Nobody ever thinks of questioning the verdicts in these cases, any more than in non-political cases. The lessons for Americans to draw from English experience are very plain. First, let us make our laws as specific, as comprehensive, and as rigorous as the English law. Let us also imitate it by placing a maxi- mum limit to all expenditures. Then let us change our penalties upon offending candidates from fine and imprisonment, which experience has shown cannot be enforced, to loss of office, and disqualification to be again candidates for a period corresponding to the magnitude of the offense; and inflict upon offending agents and committeemen the penalties of fine and disfranchisement for a definite period. Finally, let us give every qualified voter the privilege of filing peti- tions for the purpose of bringing offenders to trial. When these things shall have been done, we shall still need to take a further step before the reform will be complete: we must have the decision of all contested election cases transferred from our legislative bodies to the courts. In this way alone can we have a penalty of loss of office enforced against successful legislative candidates who violate the law. In other words, we can- not hope for thorough reform unless we adopt thorough measures for bringing it about. If we continue to adopt half-way, defective, and ill-considered measures, what reason have we for either surprise or discouragement when they prove partial or complete failures in prac- tice? Should they prove anything else, there would be genuine cause for wonder. American Boys and American Labor. SHALL American boys be permitted to learn trades, and, having learned them, shall they be permitted to work at them? These are apparently simple questions, and the answering of them is an apparently simple matter. Most persons thus interrogated would reply at once: Certainly they should. Why do you ask such unnecessary questions? We ask them because under the present conditions of trade instruction and employment in this country the American boy has no rights which organized labor is bound to respect. He is denied instruction as an apprentice, and if he be taught his trade in a trade school, he is refused admis- sion to nearly all the trade-unions, and is boycotted if he attempts to work as a non-union man. The questions of his character and skill enter into the matter only to discriminate against him. All the trade-unions of the country are controlled by foreigners, who comprise the great majority of their members. While they refuse admission to the trained American boy, they admit all foreign applicants with little or no regard to their train- ing or skill. In fact, the doors of organized labor in America, which are closed and barred against American boys, swing open, wide and free, to all foreign comers. Labor in free America is free to all save the sons of Americans. These are neither idle nor exaggerated statements. They are sober, solemn truths, expressed with studied moderation. So-called Americanlabor to-day is a com- plete misnomer, as far as the trades are concerned. How has it come about that the United States, alone among the nations of the earth, has not merely surren- dered possession of her field of mechanical labor to for- eigners, but acquiesces when the foreign possessors exclude from that field her own sons? THE CENTURY has been so strongly impressed with the evils of this anomalous situation, so unjust to American boys and so fraught with danger to the na- tional welfare, that it has instituted a thorough inquiry into the causes which have produced it. The results of this inquiry will be set forth in subsequent articles, each devoted to a particular phase of the question. It will be shown that the two great causes have been the passing away of the old apprentice system, and the enormous immigration to this country from all parts of Europe. It will be shown that all the trade-unions of this country are controlled by men of foreign birth; that nearly all of them have such rules against the employ- ing of apprentices that American boys can no longer, in any of the large cities of the country, learn a trade

American Boys and American Labor Topics of the Time 151-152

TOPICS OF THE TIME. 5 disqualified from being again a candidate before the same constituency during the existing Parliament, be- cause his son, who was acting as his agent, had made an illegal payment for 6ooo hat-badges bearing the candidates portrait, which had been distributed among the voters. Such expenditure is forbidden in the law, together with payments for bands of music, torches, flags, banners, cockades, ribbons, or other marks of distinction, because in former times, before the enactment of the present law, vast sums used for corrupting the voters were set down as having been ex- pended for these purposes, and it was feared that if such payments were not expressly forbidden the prac- tice would be continued under the law. It is a note- worthy fact that in the county and town committee reports in Massachusetts, a very large proportion of the total expenditure is set down to flags, cam- paign uniforms and torches, and similar items. Another of the English members was unseated, and disqualified as a candidate for seven years, because his agent had paid bills amounting to /326 for various treats to the electors, in the form of picnics, ex- cursions, etc. His agent was fined /ioo, and disfran- chised for five years. Another was unseated, and disqualified as a candidate during the existing Parlia- ment, because his agents had been guilty of treating and corrupt practices, he bearing the consequences of their acts, though pronounced personally innocent of all knowledge of or complicity in them. His agents were condemned to pay the costs of the prosecution, and were disfranchised for five years. Two others lost their seats for districts in Ireland, and were dis- qualified for seven years, because the Catholic Church had exerted its spiritual power, through its priests, in their behalf. All these English cases were brought into court under the provision of the law which enables any qualified elector to petition for the unseating of a can- didate against whom illegal practices are charged. This makes the enforcement of the law an easy and assured thing, for practically all the electors of one party are lying in wait for the candidate of the oppo- site party, and are accumulating evidence for unseating him in case he catries the election by illegal methods. The law is so minute in its specifications of what acts constitute illegal offenses that the accumulation of in- criminating evidence is a comparatively easy task, and the fact that all petitions are tried before a regular court of two judges makes a fair and non-partizan ver- dict certain. Nobody ever thinks of questioning the verdicts in these cases, any more than in non-political cases. The lessons for Americans to draw from English experience are very plain. First, let us make our laws as specific, as comprehensive, and as rigorous as the English law. Let us also imitate it by placing a maxi- mum limit to all expenditures. Then let us change our penalties upon offending candidates from fine and imprisonment, which experience has shown cannot be enforced, to loss of office, and disqualification to be again candidates for a period corresponding to the magnitude of the offense; and inflict upon offending agents and committeemen the penalties of fine and disfranchisement for a definite period. Finally, let us give every qualified voter the privilege of filing peti- tions for the purpose of bringing offenders to trial. When these things shall have been done, we shall still need to take a further step before the reform will be complete: we must have the decision of all contested election cases transferred from our legislative bodies to the courts. In this way alone can we have a penalty of loss of office enforced against successful legislative candidates who violate the law. In other words, we can- not hope for thorough reform unless we adopt thorough measures for bringing it about. If we continue to adopt half-way, defective, and ill-considered measures, what reason have we for either surprise or discouragement when they prove partial or complete failures in prac- tice? Should they prove anything else, there would be genuine cause for wonder. American Boys and American Labor. SHALL American boys be permitted to learn trades, and, having learned them, shall they be permitted to work at them? These are apparently simple questions, and the answering of them is an apparently simple matter. Most persons thus interrogated would reply at once: Certainly they should. Why do you ask such unnecessary questions? We ask them because under the present conditions of trade instruction and employment in this country the American boy has no rights which organized labor is bound to respect. He is denied instruction as an apprentice, and if he be taught his trade in a trade school, he is refused admis- sion to nearly all the trade-unions, and is boycotted if he attempts to work as a non-union man. The questions of his character and skill enter into the matter only to discriminate against him. All the trade-unions of the country are controlled by foreigners, who comprise the great majority of their members. While they refuse admission to the trained American boy, they admit all foreign applicants with little or no regard to their train- ing or skill. In fact, the doors of organized labor in America, which are closed and barred against American boys, swing open, wide and free, to all foreign comers. Labor in free America is free to all save the sons of Americans. These are neither idle nor exaggerated statements. They are sober, solemn truths, expressed with studied moderation. So-called Americanlabor to-day is a com- plete misnomer, as far as the trades are concerned. How has it come about that the United States, alone among the nations of the earth, has not merely surren- dered possession of her field of mechanical labor to for- eigners, but acquiesces when the foreign possessors exclude from that field her own sons? THE CENTURY has been so strongly impressed with the evils of this anomalous situation, so unjust to American boys and so fraught with danger to the na- tional welfare, that it has instituted a thorough inquiry into the causes which have produced it. The results of this inquiry will be set forth in subsequent articles, each devoted to a particular phase of the question. It will be shown that the two great causes have been the passing away of the old apprentice system, and the enormous immigration to this country from all parts of Europe. It will be shown that all the trade-unions of this country are controlled by men of foreign birth; that nearly all of them have such rules against the employ- ing of apprentices that American boys can no longer, in any of the large cities of the country, learn a trade 152 OPEN LETTERS. by working in shops with journeymen; that such boys as learn trades in trade schools are refused admis- sion to the unions not because they are not well taught, but because they have not served apprenticeship ac- cording to union rules, and are boycotted and perse- cuted if they attempt to work as non-union men. It will be shown also that while the unions combine in this effective conspiracy against American boys, they admit freely to their organizations foreign workmen who have not served full apprenticeships, and who have only a slight knowledge of their crafts, and in- struct them to a fuller knowledge while obtaining for them full pay as journeymen. It will be shown also that the bulk of foreign laborers who come to America are the poorest of their trades in Europe, the best workmen always finding abundant work and satis- factory pay at home; that in addition to being in- different workmen, they are in many instances men of inferior moral training and instincts, frequently of turbulent and anti-social proclivities and practices, and are often without sympathy for American institutions, and have no regard whatever for the countrys welfare. It will be shown also that in addition to the foreign laborers who take up their abode here and possess the field, there are many thousands of others who come here in every busy season, work while that season lasts, and return to their homes when it is ended. It will be shown that while these harvesters, as they are called, are admitted to the unions and are given work on equal terms with union members, the union authorities refuse American boys as apprentices and journeymen on the ground that the labor-market is crowded, and the interests of labor will be harmed if Americans are allowed to come in. We shall set forth these and other points with evi- dence drawn from official and other authentic sources, and shall illustrate them with incidents and occur- rences drawn from actual experience. Our object in so doing will be to call public attention to what we believe to be a question of paramount national im- portance. Statistics show that one fifth of our able- bodied male population are engaged in the mechanic arts, and are what are known as skilled workmen. This great body ought to be one of the most conservative and steadfast elements in our system of popular govern- ment. In the earlier days of the republic the American mechanic was everywhere known as one of the sturdiest representatives of American character. He was an honest man, a good workman, a loyal, faithful citizen. To-day he is an almost extinct species. As a nation we lead the world in mechanical skill, yet we are the only nation in the world that has almost ceased to pro- duce its own mechanics. We not only take the great mass of ours from other countries, but we accept their poorest specimens, and, having accepted them, we al- low them to control the field against our own sons. The consequences of this policy, already momentous, are destined to become more so as time advances. We are not only bringing up our sons in idleness, not only depriving our experiment in popular govern- ment of the invaluable support of a great body of con- servative citizens of American birth, but we are ac- cepting in place of such a body one that is composed of and controlled by men of foreign birth, whose instincts and character are not merely un-American, but often- times anti-American. This body, acting frequently as a unit throughout the country, is able to paralyze all business and industry, and to bring the nation itself al- most to the brink of social revolution and industrial war. Is it not time that Americans began to think seriously of these things? Have not the developments of the past few years in the so-called conflicts be- twixt capital and labor been portentous enough to give pause to all patriotic Americans? Could any- thing else have been reasonably expected from a policy which is so full of injustice to our own countrymen, and consequently so humiliating to us as a people? Is there any remedy save in a reversal of that policy? These are questions which we shall consider and answer in subsequent articles, beginning with one in an early number upon the present condition of the apprentice system. OPEN LETTERS. What the Phonograph will do for Music and Music- Lovers. J GOKING at the phonograph from the point of view a erson professionally interested in music, I cannot see room for doubting the tremendous r6le which this extraordinary invention is to play in the future of music and musicians. Few people seem to realize that the phonograph, even in its present stage,which is admitted to be one of imperfection as compared with what may be expected before many years have passed, has really title to be called a musical instrument. My own skill with the phonograph is certainly not that of an expert, and yet I get no little enjoyment from the dan~e-music and the operatic fantasias which it reels off in the evening for the amusement of the family, while people less pampered than I am in the matter of music are filled with enthusiasm over its perform- ances. It is really music, and not a mere suggestion of music. The different instruments employed are per- fectly distinct, while the time is of course perfect. Tak- ing, for instance, a chord of the piano, not only are the notes of the chord heard, but the after-vibrations, last- ing for several seconds. When a small funnel is used to magnify the sound, every person in a large room can hear distinctly, and the music is almost loud enough to be used for dancing. In one of the phonograms, as the wax cylinders are called, the rounds of applause, the hand-clapping, the pounding of canes upon the floor, which followed the spirited performance of a pop- ular melody at Mr. Edisons Orange laboratory, have been allowed to appear, making most people start with amazement as, after the last chords have died away, come these sharp cries of Bravo! ~nd the confused rattle of applause from the audience. Such being the case, and every musician familiar with the musical doings of the phonograph will admit that the foregoing is a moderate statement,what may the phonograph, as a music-maker and -teacher, not do

Philip G. Hubert, Jr. Hubert, Philip G., Jr. What the Phonograph will do for Music Open Letters 152-154

152 OPEN LETTERS. by working in shops with journeymen; that such boys as learn trades in trade schools are refused admis- sion to the unions not because they are not well taught, but because they have not served apprenticeship ac- cording to union rules, and are boycotted and perse- cuted if they attempt to work as non-union men. It will be shown also that while the unions combine in this effective conspiracy against American boys, they admit freely to their organizations foreign workmen who have not served full apprenticeships, and who have only a slight knowledge of their crafts, and in- struct them to a fuller knowledge while obtaining for them full pay as journeymen. It will be shown also that the bulk of foreign laborers who come to America are the poorest of their trades in Europe, the best workmen always finding abundant work and satis- factory pay at home; that in addition to being in- different workmen, they are in many instances men of inferior moral training and instincts, frequently of turbulent and anti-social proclivities and practices, and are often without sympathy for American institutions, and have no regard whatever for the countrys welfare. It will be shown also that in addition to the foreign laborers who take up their abode here and possess the field, there are many thousands of others who come here in every busy season, work while that season lasts, and return to their homes when it is ended. It will be shown that while these harvesters, as they are called, are admitted to the unions and are given work on equal terms with union members, the union authorities refuse American boys as apprentices and journeymen on the ground that the labor-market is crowded, and the interests of labor will be harmed if Americans are allowed to come in. We shall set forth these and other points with evi- dence drawn from official and other authentic sources, and shall illustrate them with incidents and occur- rences drawn from actual experience. Our object in so doing will be to call public attention to what we believe to be a question of paramount national im- portance. Statistics show that one fifth of our able- bodied male population are engaged in the mechanic arts, and are what are known as skilled workmen. This great body ought to be one of the most conservative and steadfast elements in our system of popular govern- ment. In the earlier days of the republic the American mechanic was everywhere known as one of the sturdiest representatives of American character. He was an honest man, a good workman, a loyal, faithful citizen. To-day he is an almost extinct species. As a nation we lead the world in mechanical skill, yet we are the only nation in the world that has almost ceased to pro- duce its own mechanics. We not only take the great mass of ours from other countries, but we accept their poorest specimens, and, having accepted them, we al- low them to control the field against our own sons. The consequences of this policy, already momentous, are destined to become more so as time advances. We are not only bringing up our sons in idleness, not only depriving our experiment in popular govern- ment of the invaluable support of a great body of con- servative citizens of American birth, but we are ac- cepting in place of such a body one that is composed of and controlled by men of foreign birth, whose instincts and character are not merely un-American, but often- times anti-American. This body, acting frequently as a unit throughout the country, is able to paralyze all business and industry, and to bring the nation itself al- most to the brink of social revolution and industrial war. Is it not time that Americans began to think seriously of these things? Have not the developments of the past few years in the so-called conflicts be- twixt capital and labor been portentous enough to give pause to all patriotic Americans? Could any- thing else have been reasonably expected from a policy which is so full of injustice to our own countrymen, and consequently so humiliating to us as a people? Is there any remedy save in a reversal of that policy? These are questions which we shall consider and answer in subsequent articles, beginning with one in an early number upon the present condition of the apprentice system. OPEN LETTERS. What the Phonograph will do for Music and Music- Lovers. J GOKING at the phonograph from the point of view a erson professionally interested in music, I cannot see room for doubting the tremendous r6le which this extraordinary invention is to play in the future of music and musicians. Few people seem to realize that the phonograph, even in its present stage,which is admitted to be one of imperfection as compared with what may be expected before many years have passed, has really title to be called a musical instrument. My own skill with the phonograph is certainly not that of an expert, and yet I get no little enjoyment from the dan~e-music and the operatic fantasias which it reels off in the evening for the amusement of the family, while people less pampered than I am in the matter of music are filled with enthusiasm over its perform- ances. It is really music, and not a mere suggestion of music. The different instruments employed are per- fectly distinct, while the time is of course perfect. Tak- ing, for instance, a chord of the piano, not only are the notes of the chord heard, but the after-vibrations, last- ing for several seconds. When a small funnel is used to magnify the sound, every person in a large room can hear distinctly, and the music is almost loud enough to be used for dancing. In one of the phonograms, as the wax cylinders are called, the rounds of applause, the hand-clapping, the pounding of canes upon the floor, which followed the spirited performance of a pop- ular melody at Mr. Edisons Orange laboratory, have been allowed to appear, making most people start with amazement as, after the last chords have died away, come these sharp cries of Bravo! ~nd the confused rattle of applause from the audience. Such being the case, and every musician familiar with the musical doings of the phonograph will admit that the foregoing is a moderate statement,what may the phonograph, as a music-maker and -teacher, not do OPEN LETTERS. 53 for the world? Bear in mind that these phonograms do not deteriorate by constant use, the same music coming out the hundredth time as perfectly as the first; also that, by the duplication through a special electrotyping process, facsimiles of a good phonogram can be made in large numbers at almost nominal cost. If each phono- gram turned out required the actual performance of mu- sic for its production, the output would be restricted and costly; it would be like setting anew the type for every copy of a book. Again, if the phonogram could be used only a few times, as was the case with the zinc-foil sheets used in the crude form of the instrument, the apparatus would remain a toy for the rich. Conceding its power of musical reproduction by means of wax cylinders, which are both cheap and lasting, the imagination may run riot without exhausting the field opened before one. Besides giving musical pleasure past present computa- tion to the million, it will do wonders for the musician. First, it will offer the composer a means of indicating his wishes concerning time and expression compared with which the metronome and all printed directions and expression-marks of the present are but the clumsi- est of makeshifts. Secondly, it will become a great teacher of music, as even the phonographic echo of the piano, of singing, or of orchestral work, will be suffi- cient to furnish pupils with precise models. In the third place, it offers a means for solving tone problems too delicate for the powers of the human ear, and here- tofore beyond solution. At Herr von Billows farewell concert in this country, two years ago, a phonograph was employed to make a record of the whole concert, and particular care was taken with Beethovens symphony, the Eroica. The learned conductor left the country before the phonograms, the results of the evenings work, could be prepared for his hearing, but these results surprised and de- lighted a host of musical experts. Musicians of repute have confessed to me that, whereas they had looked upon the stories concerning the phonographs musical achievements with incredulity, what they heard far sur- passed the promises made by the advocates of the in- vention, and showed possibilities for the device as a help to the musician of the future which would set every musician a-dreaming. It may be granted without dis- cussion that the phonographic record of our music will give for all future time the exact wishes of our composers and performers with regard to temj5i, shades of ex- pression, phrasing, dynamic gradations, and all the niceties of interpretation which no written marks, how- ever minute, can begin to convey. The metroiiome has until now been the only means of marking the time or pace at which a composition is intended to be played by the composer. As contrasted with the phonographic guide to correct time, it is crude enough. The worst phonograph will at least give a faithful record of the exact time of a piece, and for every bar in fact, the exact length of every note in the score. The experi- ments made with the records of piano-playing show that, so far as accuracy is concerned, no limit can be placed upon its possibilities as an echo. Every minute change of time, every shade of expression, is heard in the echo as plainly as in the original. It is no exagger- ation to say that an expert can distinguish between the playing oftwo pianists as reproduced in the phonograph. There are certain things about piano-playing in- deed, about all musical performances that cannot be VOL. XLVI. 2i. taught. Pianists, violinists, and singers are apt to sur- pass themselves under certain conditions, due perhaps to the applause of a great audience, perhaps to peculiar personal conditions favorable to artistic expression. Ef- fects are produced which escape analysis, and cannot be reproduced at will or for the benefit of pupils. The ar- tist may not ever be able to do again what has been done once, and the exact elements or constituents of an effect are lost. The niceties of phrasing cannot he indicated by written marks; they must be left to the musical in- stinct or intelligence of the singer or player: yet ex- pressive phrasing constitutes an important element of all fine musical work. The half-dozen notes of a bar may each one have a different length and different power, and yet be all alike on paper. If we can obtain at trifling cost a perfect echo of any musical performance, it is highly probable that, when the phonograph is found in every house, a phonographic version of every piece of music will accompany the printed sheet. The latter will give the actual notes, while the phonogram will give the reading of some great player. Or, perhaps, inasmuch as the phonograms can be reproduced for almost noth- ing, the readings of half a dozen artists will follow the printed page. For instance, the music-shops might sell with Beethovens pianoforte concertos the phono- graphic readings of the same concertos by Rubinstein, Billow, and Saint-Sa~ns. The whole need not cost more than a few cents, so far as the phonograms are concerned. Some persons have expressed a fear lest the wide distribution of an apparatus capable of echoing all sorts of music, in a more perfect fashion than any music-box, might lead to the gradual extinction of piano-playing or violin-playing except for purposes of public exhibi- tion, the phonographic echo of some great performer s work being so much superior to what most people could hope to accomplish. It seems to me that the contrary would be the result. Cheap phonographs, giving more or less perfect echoes of music, might make superfluous the painful attempts painful to others as well as to herself of the unmusical young woman to master impossibilities. To the person of real musi- cal instinct and capacity, the wealth of good music would certainly prove an incentive. When the phono- graph goes everywhere, and phonographic music is cheap, the housewife can listen to Rubinstein as she darns the stockings in the evening, and get superb les- sons at the great fountains of musical art, if she has any taste that way. There is no reason to suppose that it will be any more difficult to record a performance of Die Meistersinger than a recitation by Coquelin, or a Beethoven symphony under Billows baton. There is a good time coming for the poor man of good taste. An interesting question, perhaps to be solved by means of the phonograph, concerns the differences be- tween a good and a bad performance, whether of a piano piece or of an opera. It has often been remarked that a particular performance would not go. In the case of a soloists work, failure to produce the desired effect might be attributed to the shortcomings of the soloist. But operas and plays sometimes fail signally when, according to all rules, they ought to succeed. Every music-lover will remember certain performances which ought to have been superb,but were nothing of the kind. Opera-goers of the city of New Vork will be pretty sure to cite the memorable performance of Faust which OPEN LETTERS. 154 opened the Metropolitan Opera-House in the autumn of 1883 memorable because of its bitter disappoint- ments. A faithful phonographic record of that per- formance contrasted with a record of some of the suc- ceeding successful performances of Faust by the same artists might disclose interesting features. It might show that success, or artistic effect, lay in tak- ing one part of this chorus a trifle slower and another part~a trifle faster, in emphasizing the bass part here or the soprano part there. A few years ago there was a performance of Wagners Tristan and Isolde that was also curi- ously ineffective. The opera had already been given half a dozen times that season with remarkable success; it was the musical achievement of the winter. A repe- tition was announced for the last night of the year, and the house was well filled. The singers were those who had already made so great a success in Wagners mas- terpiece Friluleins Lehmann and Brandt, Herren Niemann, Fischer, and Robinson. The conductor was Herr Seidl. Yet long before the evening was over people wondered what the matter was. It may be sus- pected that the audience was tired out with Christmas shopping, and that the singers, finding no response to their efforts, grew discouraged and careless; the anti- Wagnerite may hint that after six performances of Tristan, the long-suffering public turned upon its persecutors. But every one cannot have been tired out that New Years eve. Every ones dinner cannot have gone wrong. Whatever the cause, whether the trouble was in the auditors or the performance, Herr Seidl was thoroughly discontented with the results, and one devoted Wagnerite, who had been known to rave over Tristan by the hour, said to me as we passed out of the Opera-House, I feel as if I do not care to hear Tristan again for the next ten years. A fort- night later there was another performance of Tris- tan, which was as conspicuous for success as the one just mentioned had been for failure. A careful com- parison of the phonographic records of these two per- formances might have shown wherein the fault lay. As the sublime is very near the ridiculous, so the im- pressive performance may be very near the dismal failure only the phonograph, with its minute and faithful record, faithful beyond the power of human perceptions, can tell us how near. The phonograph as a musical educator offers en- couragement to the composer. His work, if it has value, will be known to millions where now it is known to thousands, and it will not take a generation for its worth to be recognized. It was not until twenty years after the production of Tristan that we New-York- ers were enabled to hear its wondrous beauties; and the masterwork of the high priest of musical art, Wag- ners Nibelung trilogy, was not heard here until more than ten years after all musical Europe had been ringing with it. In a very few years I fully expect to receive from Europe not only written accounts of the new operas of Berlin, Yienna, and Paris, but phono- grams enabling me to hear them from end to end. As the wide distribution of literature which followed the cheap books of modern times has helped the author to a living income, so this wide distribution of music through the phonograph will probably do the same thing for the composer of good music. Then the fu- ture Wagner may perhaps receive as much for the composition of a music-drama as the author of another Silver Threads Among the Gold gets for his gib- berish which has not been the way in our day. PAiZ~p C. Hubert, Jr. Indians Who Deserve Pensions. I SAw recently in one of our prominent magazines a reference to what the writer was pleased to call the murder of Sitting Bull, the great Sioux medicine chief, who was for so many years the mainspring of hostility to the United States among the Dakota tribes, being even a greater bane to his own people than to ours. Of course to speak of Sitting Bulls killing as mur- deris a piece of simple hysterics. Sitting Bull had always been an arch-plotter and stirrer-up of mischief. In the fall of 1890 various causes combined to bring about a condition of extreme unrest among the Sioux in North and South Dakota. Some of them were due to our own governmental mismanagement, notably to the parsimony of Congress in cutting down the needed appropriations for the Indian service, and to the work- ing of the spoils system in thoroughly disorganizing the agency service. The main fault, however, was with the Indianf themselves, or rather with that large minor- ity of them constituting the heathen and hostile party. Among these an epidemic of ghost-dancing broke out, the leaders prophesying that a Messiah would shortly arise through whose agency the Indians would be re- stored to power and the whites swept off the face of the earth. Fierce, superstitious, fickle, and suspicious savages can very easily he thrown into a state of mind which inevitably results in war a war certain to end in their own ultimate ruin, and only too apt in the mean while to entail untold suffering upon all the friendly In- dians and all the white settlers roundabout. In this case the prompt action of the Government, and the skill with which large masses of troops were handled, together with the unflinching loyalty of the Indian police, and the fact that the majority of the Sioux remained stead- fast in their attitude of peace, brought the war to a close with comparatively little loss of life. As always hap- pens in an Indian contest, some of the lives lost were those of innocent non-combatants on the one hand, and of men the community could ill afford to spare on the other. It is, however, a matter for congratulation, so long as lives had to be lost at all, that Sitting Bulls was one of the number. In 1890 he was active in foment- ing the discontent, and was the most influential of the powerful chiefs who were inciting the reckless young men to hostilities. As the outbreak drew to a head, he gathered around him a band of hostiles on the Standing Rock reservation, and took up a position some forty miles from the military post, declining to come in. When it was learned positively that he intended to take all of the young men who were willing to go on the war- path, and to march overland to join the ghost-dancers at Pine Ridge, the commander, after consulting with the agent (who was himself one of the best agents in the service, with a long experience in dealing with In- dians), decided to try to arrest him. Hoping to accom- plish the arrest without bloodshed, it was arranged that it should be made by a party of the Indian police, a small battalion of white troops following some miles in

Theodore Roosevelt Roosevelt, Theodore Indians who Deserve Pensions Open Letters 154-155

OPEN LETTERS. 154 opened the Metropolitan Opera-House in the autumn of 1883 memorable because of its bitter disappoint- ments. A faithful phonographic record of that per- formance contrasted with a record of some of the suc- ceeding successful performances of Faust by the same artists might disclose interesting features. It might show that success, or artistic effect, lay in tak- ing one part of this chorus a trifle slower and another part~a trifle faster, in emphasizing the bass part here or the soprano part there. A few years ago there was a performance of Wagners Tristan and Isolde that was also curi- ously ineffective. The opera had already been given half a dozen times that season with remarkable success; it was the musical achievement of the winter. A repe- tition was announced for the last night of the year, and the house was well filled. The singers were those who had already made so great a success in Wagners mas- terpiece Friluleins Lehmann and Brandt, Herren Niemann, Fischer, and Robinson. The conductor was Herr Seidl. Yet long before the evening was over people wondered what the matter was. It may be sus- pected that the audience was tired out with Christmas shopping, and that the singers, finding no response to their efforts, grew discouraged and careless; the anti- Wagnerite may hint that after six performances of Tristan, the long-suffering public turned upon its persecutors. But every one cannot have been tired out that New Years eve. Every ones dinner cannot have gone wrong. Whatever the cause, whether the trouble was in the auditors or the performance, Herr Seidl was thoroughly discontented with the results, and one devoted Wagnerite, who had been known to rave over Tristan by the hour, said to me as we passed out of the Opera-House, I feel as if I do not care to hear Tristan again for the next ten years. A fort- night later there was another performance of Tris- tan, which was as conspicuous for success as the one just mentioned had been for failure. A careful com- parison of the phonographic records of these two per- formances might have shown wherein the fault lay. As the sublime is very near the ridiculous, so the im- pressive performance may be very near the dismal failure only the phonograph, with its minute and faithful record, faithful beyond the power of human perceptions, can tell us how near. The phonograph as a musical educator offers en- couragement to the composer. His work, if it has value, will be known to millions where now it is known to thousands, and it will not take a generation for its worth to be recognized. It was not until twenty years after the production of Tristan that we New-York- ers were enabled to hear its wondrous beauties; and the masterwork of the high priest of musical art, Wag- ners Nibelung trilogy, was not heard here until more than ten years after all musical Europe had been ringing with it. In a very few years I fully expect to receive from Europe not only written accounts of the new operas of Berlin, Yienna, and Paris, but phono- grams enabling me to hear them from end to end. As the wide distribution of literature which followed the cheap books of modern times has helped the author to a living income, so this wide distribution of music through the phonograph will probably do the same thing for the composer of good music. Then the fu- ture Wagner may perhaps receive as much for the composition of a music-drama as the author of another Silver Threads Among the Gold gets for his gib- berish which has not been the way in our day. PAiZ~p C. Hubert, Jr. Indians Who Deserve Pensions. I SAw recently in one of our prominent magazines a reference to what the writer was pleased to call the murder of Sitting Bull, the great Sioux medicine chief, who was for so many years the mainspring of hostility to the United States among the Dakota tribes, being even a greater bane to his own people than to ours. Of course to speak of Sitting Bulls killing as mur- deris a piece of simple hysterics. Sitting Bull had always been an arch-plotter and stirrer-up of mischief. In the fall of 1890 various causes combined to bring about a condition of extreme unrest among the Sioux in North and South Dakota. Some of them were due to our own governmental mismanagement, notably to the parsimony of Congress in cutting down the needed appropriations for the Indian service, and to the work- ing of the spoils system in thoroughly disorganizing the agency service. The main fault, however, was with the Indianf themselves, or rather with that large minor- ity of them constituting the heathen and hostile party. Among these an epidemic of ghost-dancing broke out, the leaders prophesying that a Messiah would shortly arise through whose agency the Indians would be re- stored to power and the whites swept off the face of the earth. Fierce, superstitious, fickle, and suspicious savages can very easily he thrown into a state of mind which inevitably results in war a war certain to end in their own ultimate ruin, and only too apt in the mean while to entail untold suffering upon all the friendly In- dians and all the white settlers roundabout. In this case the prompt action of the Government, and the skill with which large masses of troops were handled, together with the unflinching loyalty of the Indian police, and the fact that the majority of the Sioux remained stead- fast in their attitude of peace, brought the war to a close with comparatively little loss of life. As always hap- pens in an Indian contest, some of the lives lost were those of innocent non-combatants on the one hand, and of men the community could ill afford to spare on the other. It is, however, a matter for congratulation, so long as lives had to be lost at all, that Sitting Bulls was one of the number. In 1890 he was active in foment- ing the discontent, and was the most influential of the powerful chiefs who were inciting the reckless young men to hostilities. As the outbreak drew to a head, he gathered around him a band of hostiles on the Standing Rock reservation, and took up a position some forty miles from the military post, declining to come in. When it was learned positively that he intended to take all of the young men who were willing to go on the war- path, and to march overland to join the ghost-dancers at Pine Ridge, the commander, after consulting with the agent (who was himself one of the best agents in the service, with a long experience in dealing with In- dians), decided to try to arrest him. Hoping to accom- plish the arrest without bloodshed, it was arranged that it should be made by a party of the Indian police, a small battalion of white troops following some miles in OPEN LETTERS. 155 the rear, merely to give assistance if the police were en- dangered. A bloody skirmish followed. I give the facts concerning it as I gathered them from conversation with a number of Indians who were present at the fight, in- cluding both Indian policemen and members of the hostile party. For corroboration of their accounts I refer to the report of Captain Fechet of the Eighth Cavalry, commanding the battalion which came to the rescue of the Indian police. The police, under the command of Lieutenant Bull Head, entered Sitting Bulls camp, or village, about daybreak on December 15, arrested Sitting Bull in his house, and were immediately surrounded by several times their number of furious hostile Indians. They used no violence, and did their best to persuade Sit- ting Bull to go with them quietly and without resis- tance. At first it seemed likely that he would do so; but the hostiles, including his own son, kept calling to him, and taunting him, and demanding that he ask them to rescue him. After going a few steps quietly with the police, he stopped, and began to call out to his followers to come to his assistance; arid one of the latter, named Catch The Bear, shot the lieutenant of police, Bull Head. The latter immediately, and properly, killed Sitting Bull, and a desperate fight ensued, the police getting possession of the village, while the hostile Indians surrounded them under the cover of the adjoining woods and hills, and kept them prisoners until themselves driven off two hours later by the approach of the white troops. Eight of the hostile Indians were killed, including Sitting Bull, Catch The Bear, and Sitting Bulls son, Crow Foot. Seven of the Indian police were killed or mortally wounded, including their gallant leader. The hostile Indians whom I questioned, and who had been present at the fight, substantially agreed to this account, although some of them asserted that the Indian police fired first, while others said that both the police and hostiles fired together. All agreed, how- ever, that Sitting Bull was shot while resisting arrest, and while inciting his followers to rescue him from the hands of the police; and all agreed that he at first went quietly with the police, but was taunted by his son and other Indians until he halted, refused to go further, and began to call for help. A curious in- stance of the spread of our habits of thought among the Indians is to be seen in the fact that all those I in- tervie~ved, including both Indian policemen and mem- bers of the hostile party, were particular to request me to keep their names out of the papers, lest it should bring them into trouble. Recapitulating, the testimony shows that in the first place Sitting Bull was inciting the heathen party to outbreak, so that his arrest was a matter of absolute necessity in the interests of the public peace; sec- ondly, that with due warrant of law the Indian police tried to arrest him, acting without violence until forced to take arms in self-defense; and thirdly, that Sitting Bull was shot while resisting arrest and inciting his followers to rescue him, and only after one of the lat- ter had himself shot the commander of the police. The killing was not only a most righteous deed, but was absolutely inevitable, and very beneficial in its re- sults. It would be difficult to speak too highly of the loyalty and~ courage of the Indian police engaged, and I most earnestly wish that Congress would see that the relatives of those who were killed while thus man- fully doing their duty (in the interests not only of their own people, but of all the white settlers) should receive some pension or other reward. No white veteran, of no matter what war, can have a better claim on the Government. Theodore Roosevelt. WAsHINOToN, D. C., January I, 1893. A Hint in Municipal Reform. Now that America is beginning to take an outside interest in her municipal institutions,by an outside interest I mean a ratepayers interest, it would be worth while to investigate the various independent or- ganizations through which English taxpayers control their civic representatives. There are no more useful institutions in England than the Ratepayers Protection Associations, that watch over the work and expenses of vestries and cor- porations, and at election times bring to bear upon the polls a powerful influence for the general good of wards, parishes, or boroughs, irrespective of politics. What American cities lack, it seems to me, is an earnest and practical interest in the doings of local governments. In England the ratepayers look into the expenditure of their representatives, consider every new movement belonging to the management of streets, sewers, pavements, all questions of improvement, and, indeed, every act of their local legislatures; and by public meetings, pamphlets, or the newspaper press expose any attempt at jobbery, or check any mis- directed civic energy. It is by the aid of such independent associations as these that the municipal machine in England works efficiently, not for cliques, not for bosses, hut for the people; and it is through the codperation of the representatives of the ratepayers in the local legis- latures with the societies outside that it has been possible for the municipalities to become the owners of the gas-works and water-works of various towns and cities. In this respect Bradford, Birmingham, and other great towns in the provinces are ahead of London; but the metropolis will eventually have to buy up the water and gas services. I can speak especially of Brad- ford, where the citizens not only are the owners of their gas and water, but get these commodities cheap, and still have a profit for the reduction of taxation. I once discussed these subjects with a great New York merchant, who said: The fact is, I pay city taxes for my street to be swept, and also for my premises to be watched; but all the same I pay, with pthers of my neighbors, a private cleaner and a private watchman. Why dont I see after the citys expenditure of the rates I pay? Why dont I combine with my neighbors and get u~ a ratepayers protection society? Have nt time; would rather pay five or six hundred dollars a year for nothing than be bothered with trying to stop stealing. What I would desire to emphasize is the fact that the American ratepayer, the American shopkeeper, mer- chant, and private citizen, take no part, as a matter of duty, in seeing that the men whom they elect to munici- pal power properly fulfil their obligations to their con- stituents; and they fail to organize themselves into independent representative bodies in opposition to the encroachments, not to say outrages, of mere capital.

Joseph Hatton Hatton, Joseph A Hint in Municipal Reform Open Letters 155-156

OPEN LETTERS. 155 the rear, merely to give assistance if the police were en- dangered. A bloody skirmish followed. I give the facts concerning it as I gathered them from conversation with a number of Indians who were present at the fight, in- cluding both Indian policemen and members of the hostile party. For corroboration of their accounts I refer to the report of Captain Fechet of the Eighth Cavalry, commanding the battalion which came to the rescue of the Indian police. The police, under the command of Lieutenant Bull Head, entered Sitting Bulls camp, or village, about daybreak on December 15, arrested Sitting Bull in his house, and were immediately surrounded by several times their number of furious hostile Indians. They used no violence, and did their best to persuade Sit- ting Bull to go with them quietly and without resis- tance. At first it seemed likely that he would do so; but the hostiles, including his own son, kept calling to him, and taunting him, and demanding that he ask them to rescue him. After going a few steps quietly with the police, he stopped, and began to call out to his followers to come to his assistance; arid one of the latter, named Catch The Bear, shot the lieutenant of police, Bull Head. The latter immediately, and properly, killed Sitting Bull, and a desperate fight ensued, the police getting possession of the village, while the hostile Indians surrounded them under the cover of the adjoining woods and hills, and kept them prisoners until themselves driven off two hours later by the approach of the white troops. Eight of the hostile Indians were killed, including Sitting Bull, Catch The Bear, and Sitting Bulls son, Crow Foot. Seven of the Indian police were killed or mortally wounded, including their gallant leader. The hostile Indians whom I questioned, and who had been present at the fight, substantially agreed to this account, although some of them asserted that the Indian police fired first, while others said that both the police and hostiles fired together. All agreed, how- ever, that Sitting Bull was shot while resisting arrest, and while inciting his followers to rescue him from the hands of the police; and all agreed that he at first went quietly with the police, but was taunted by his son and other Indians until he halted, refused to go further, and began to call for help. A curious in- stance of the spread of our habits of thought among the Indians is to be seen in the fact that all those I in- tervie~ved, including both Indian policemen and mem- bers of the hostile party, were particular to request me to keep their names out of the papers, lest it should bring them into trouble. Recapitulating, the testimony shows that in the first place Sitting Bull was inciting the heathen party to outbreak, so that his arrest was a matter of absolute necessity in the interests of the public peace; sec- ondly, that with due warrant of law the Indian police tried to arrest him, acting without violence until forced to take arms in self-defense; and thirdly, that Sitting Bull was shot while resisting arrest and inciting his followers to rescue him, and only after one of the lat- ter had himself shot the commander of the police. The killing was not only a most righteous deed, but was absolutely inevitable, and very beneficial in its re- sults. It would be difficult to speak too highly of the loyalty and~ courage of the Indian police engaged, and I most earnestly wish that Congress would see that the relatives of those who were killed while thus man- fully doing their duty (in the interests not only of their own people, but of all the white settlers) should receive some pension or other reward. No white veteran, of no matter what war, can have a better claim on the Government. Theodore Roosevelt. WAsHINOToN, D. C., January I, 1893. A Hint in Municipal Reform. Now that America is beginning to take an outside interest in her municipal institutions,by an outside interest I mean a ratepayers interest, it would be worth while to investigate the various independent or- ganizations through which English taxpayers control their civic representatives. There are no more useful institutions in England than the Ratepayers Protection Associations, that watch over the work and expenses of vestries and cor- porations, and at election times bring to bear upon the polls a powerful influence for the general good of wards, parishes, or boroughs, irrespective of politics. What American cities lack, it seems to me, is an earnest and practical interest in the doings of local governments. In England the ratepayers look into the expenditure of their representatives, consider every new movement belonging to the management of streets, sewers, pavements, all questions of improvement, and, indeed, every act of their local legislatures; and by public meetings, pamphlets, or the newspaper press expose any attempt at jobbery, or check any mis- directed civic energy. It is by the aid of such independent associations as these that the municipal machine in England works efficiently, not for cliques, not for bosses, hut for the people; and it is through the codperation of the representatives of the ratepayers in the local legis- latures with the societies outside that it has been possible for the municipalities to become the owners of the gas-works and water-works of various towns and cities. In this respect Bradford, Birmingham, and other great towns in the provinces are ahead of London; but the metropolis will eventually have to buy up the water and gas services. I can speak especially of Brad- ford, where the citizens not only are the owners of their gas and water, but get these commodities cheap, and still have a profit for the reduction of taxation. I once discussed these subjects with a great New York merchant, who said: The fact is, I pay city taxes for my street to be swept, and also for my premises to be watched; but all the same I pay, with pthers of my neighbors, a private cleaner and a private watchman. Why dont I see after the citys expenditure of the rates I pay? Why dont I combine with my neighbors and get u~ a ratepayers protection society? Have nt time; would rather pay five or six hundred dollars a year for nothing than be bothered with trying to stop stealing. What I would desire to emphasize is the fact that the American ratepayer, the American shopkeeper, mer- chant, and private citizen, take no part, as a matter of duty, in seeing that the men whom they elect to munici- pal power properly fulfil their obligations to their con- stituents; and they fail to organize themselves into independent representative bodies in opposition to the encroachments, not to say outrages, of mere capital. OPEN LETTERS. Most English cities not only own their gas- and water-works, but are proprietors of the local cemeteries and horse-cars. Some of them own real estate, all con- trol their police, and recently, by a new act of Parlia- ment, have acquired power to buy land to be let to the people for gardening, in small allotments. I am writing without any means of reference at band as to these privileges of the local legislatures; but they have many which are not dreamed of elsewhere; and they are rendered possible because the ratepayers are jealous of their liberties, and look after the proper administra- tion of their affairs. Better United States Senators. PERMIT me to call your attention to a not very ma- terial error in your interesting and timely article entitled, How Can We Secure Better United States Senators? in the March CENTURY. Speaking of the equal power of the States in the Senate, your writer says: The smaller States wilt never consent to any diminu- tion of their power, and as such diminution could be brought about only by a constitutional amendment, for the adoption of which a vote of three fourths of all the States would be necessary, they could defeat it easily. The foregoing might have been put much more strongly, for, according to the Constitution, an amend- ment of the class suggested must have the acquies- cence of every State whose representation would be re- duced before it can become a part of our Constitution. Article V. of the Constitution, after providing that amendments may be made by the concurrence of three fourths of the States, contains two exceptions. The first relates to the clause permitting the importa- tion of slaves until i8o8, and is therefore no longer in force; the second provides that no State, without its consent, shall be deprived of its equal suffrage in the Senate. Having ventured this much in criticism, let me add my belief that the subject is one of much importance, and intimately connected with the future welfare of the nation. If there is any objection to the mode suggested of electing senators by the popular vote of the States which they are to represent, it is that this might foster a tendency to magnify the office at the expense of State officers voted for on the same ticket. It might happen that in a contest where both a senator and State officers were to be elected, the interest in the rivalry for the senatorship would so overshadow that in the governorship that it would leave a popular im- l)ression that to be the governor of a single State is insignificant in importance compared with a seat in the smaller branch of the national legislature. Fur- ther, such contests would offer new opportunities for the exercise of the arts of practical politics in trading votes for State officers in return for those for senator, and vice versa. These objections could, however, be met by holding elections for State and national officers on separate dates, which, with the further separation of those for municipal officers from either, is, I believe, a remedy for many of the evils at present so apparent. Certainly no one who compares the personnel of the present Senate with those of former days, when it was the arena of such titanic combats as those between Webster and Hayne, can doubt that there is somewhere a serious evil requiring on the part of patriotic men an earnest and thoughtful effort to discover the true remedy. In bringing about this result, and in direct- ing the attention of serious men to the existence of the evil, I am assured your article will be of great benefit. H. Turner Newcomb. An American Theater in London. Joseph Hat/on. IT seems at first thought an odd coincidence that in this summer of 1893, when the best players of Eng- land and France are coming to this side of the Atlantic, and the art of the whole world, plastic, graphic, and dramatic, is expected to find a center, for the time being, at Chicago, the first American theater will be established in London. The foremost dramatic com- pany of the United States that organized and con- trolled by Mr. Augustin Dalywill, indeed, spend the greater part of the Columbian year in the capital of Great Britain. Without arguing too curiously, this may be considered a part, and an important part too, of our great national celebration; for it will serve to exhibit to many Englishmen who will not see the Chicago Fair the progress made in at least one branch of American art. Englishmen already know how good of its kind is the work of Mr. Daly and his players, what fine taste and skill are shown alike in the selection ~nd production of the plays in the Daly repertory, and how well the players, guided by the ablest and most energetic stage director American actors ever had, contrive to give the lightest possible touch to the performance of modern farce and comedy, while in their treatment of the old masterworks they make poetry seem real, and yet do not crush the flower of it, or make discord of its melody. The players of Dalys have acted in old and new comedy in London five seasons since 1884, and the great and growing success of these experimental visits has led to the building, in historic Leicester Square, in the neighborhood of many other popular playhouses, of the new Dalys Theater. The exquisite harmony of the acting of the troupe, in which Miss Rehan, Mrs. Gilbert, and Mr. Lewis are prominent members, has been cordially appreciated also in other cities of the British Isles, and in Paris and Berlin as well. There is no doubt of the warmth of the greeting they will get when they formally open, in June, their luxuriously appointed new theater, which hereafter they are to occupy half of every year. This establishment in London of an international theater was inevitable, and Mr. Daly, above all other American managers, was the one to do it. For a quarter of a century he has been a theater manager in New York, and he has produced plays as a true artist paints his pictures, because he has felt those were the plays he ought to produce. He has thought of something besides money gains, and he has not missed substantial pecuniary rewards either, which surely proves that the theater-going public is not, collectively, such a fool as some managers think. The last season at Dalys Theater in New York reflected much honor on the American stage. The succession of poetical comedy revivals, beginning in December and ending in April,

An American Theater in London Open Letters 156

OPEN LETTERS. Most English cities not only own their gas- and water-works, but are proprietors of the local cemeteries and horse-cars. Some of them own real estate, all con- trol their police, and recently, by a new act of Parlia- ment, have acquired power to buy land to be let to the people for gardening, in small allotments. I am writing without any means of reference at band as to these privileges of the local legislatures; but they have many which are not dreamed of elsewhere; and they are rendered possible because the ratepayers are jealous of their liberties, and look after the proper administra- tion of their affairs. Better United States Senators. PERMIT me to call your attention to a not very ma- terial error in your interesting and timely article entitled, How Can We Secure Better United States Senators? in the March CENTURY. Speaking of the equal power of the States in the Senate, your writer says: The smaller States wilt never consent to any diminu- tion of their power, and as such diminution could be brought about only by a constitutional amendment, for the adoption of which a vote of three fourths of all the States would be necessary, they could defeat it easily. The foregoing might have been put much more strongly, for, according to the Constitution, an amend- ment of the class suggested must have the acquies- cence of every State whose representation would be re- duced before it can become a part of our Constitution. Article V. of the Constitution, after providing that amendments may be made by the concurrence of three fourths of the States, contains two exceptions. The first relates to the clause permitting the importa- tion of slaves until i8o8, and is therefore no longer in force; the second provides that no State, without its consent, shall be deprived of its equal suffrage in the Senate. Having ventured this much in criticism, let me add my belief that the subject is one of much importance, and intimately connected with the future welfare of the nation. If there is any objection to the mode suggested of electing senators by the popular vote of the States which they are to represent, it is that this might foster a tendency to magnify the office at the expense of State officers voted for on the same ticket. It might happen that in a contest where both a senator and State officers were to be elected, the interest in the rivalry for the senatorship would so overshadow that in the governorship that it would leave a popular im- l)ression that to be the governor of a single State is insignificant in importance compared with a seat in the smaller branch of the national legislature. Fur- ther, such contests would offer new opportunities for the exercise of the arts of practical politics in trading votes for State officers in return for those for senator, and vice versa. These objections could, however, be met by holding elections for State and national officers on separate dates, which, with the further separation of those for municipal officers from either, is, I believe, a remedy for many of the evils at present so apparent. Certainly no one who compares the personnel of the present Senate with those of former days, when it was the arena of such titanic combats as those between Webster and Hayne, can doubt that there is somewhere a serious evil requiring on the part of patriotic men an earnest and thoughtful effort to discover the true remedy. In bringing about this result, and in direct- ing the attention of serious men to the existence of the evil, I am assured your article will be of great benefit. H. Turner Newcomb. An American Theater in London. Joseph Hat/on. IT seems at first thought an odd coincidence that in this summer of 1893, when the best players of Eng- land and France are coming to this side of the Atlantic, and the art of the whole world, plastic, graphic, and dramatic, is expected to find a center, for the time being, at Chicago, the first American theater will be established in London. The foremost dramatic com- pany of the United States that organized and con- trolled by Mr. Augustin Dalywill, indeed, spend the greater part of the Columbian year in the capital of Great Britain. Without arguing too curiously, this may be considered a part, and an important part too, of our great national celebration; for it will serve to exhibit to many Englishmen who will not see the Chicago Fair the progress made in at least one branch of American art. Englishmen already know how good of its kind is the work of Mr. Daly and his players, what fine taste and skill are shown alike in the selection ~nd production of the plays in the Daly repertory, and how well the players, guided by the ablest and most energetic stage director American actors ever had, contrive to give the lightest possible touch to the performance of modern farce and comedy, while in their treatment of the old masterworks they make poetry seem real, and yet do not crush the flower of it, or make discord of its melody. The players of Dalys have acted in old and new comedy in London five seasons since 1884, and the great and growing success of these experimental visits has led to the building, in historic Leicester Square, in the neighborhood of many other popular playhouses, of the new Dalys Theater. The exquisite harmony of the acting of the troupe, in which Miss Rehan, Mrs. Gilbert, and Mr. Lewis are prominent members, has been cordially appreciated also in other cities of the British Isles, and in Paris and Berlin as well. There is no doubt of the warmth of the greeting they will get when they formally open, in June, their luxuriously appointed new theater, which hereafter they are to occupy half of every year. This establishment in London of an international theater was inevitable, and Mr. Daly, above all other American managers, was the one to do it. For a quarter of a century he has been a theater manager in New York, and he has produced plays as a true artist paints his pictures, because he has felt those were the plays he ought to produce. He has thought of something besides money gains, and he has not missed substantial pecuniary rewards either, which surely proves that the theater-going public is not, collectively, such a fool as some managers think. The last season at Dalys Theater in New York reflected much honor on the American stage. The succession of poetical comedy revivals, beginning in December and ending in April,

H. Turner Newcomb Newcomb, H. Turner "Better United States Senators" Open Letters 156-157

OPEN LETTERS. Most English cities not only own their gas- and water-works, but are proprietors of the local cemeteries and horse-cars. Some of them own real estate, all con- trol their police, and recently, by a new act of Parlia- ment, have acquired power to buy land to be let to the people for gardening, in small allotments. I am writing without any means of reference at band as to these privileges of the local legislatures; but they have many which are not dreamed of elsewhere; and they are rendered possible because the ratepayers are jealous of their liberties, and look after the proper administra- tion of their affairs. Better United States Senators. PERMIT me to call your attention to a not very ma- terial error in your interesting and timely article entitled, How Can We Secure Better United States Senators? in the March CENTURY. Speaking of the equal power of the States in the Senate, your writer says: The smaller States wilt never consent to any diminu- tion of their power, and as such diminution could be brought about only by a constitutional amendment, for the adoption of which a vote of three fourths of all the States would be necessary, they could defeat it easily. The foregoing might have been put much more strongly, for, according to the Constitution, an amend- ment of the class suggested must have the acquies- cence of every State whose representation would be re- duced before it can become a part of our Constitution. Article V. of the Constitution, after providing that amendments may be made by the concurrence of three fourths of the States, contains two exceptions. The first relates to the clause permitting the importa- tion of slaves until i8o8, and is therefore no longer in force; the second provides that no State, without its consent, shall be deprived of its equal suffrage in the Senate. Having ventured this much in criticism, let me add my belief that the subject is one of much importance, and intimately connected with the future welfare of the nation. If there is any objection to the mode suggested of electing senators by the popular vote of the States which they are to represent, it is that this might foster a tendency to magnify the office at the expense of State officers voted for on the same ticket. It might happen that in a contest where both a senator and State officers were to be elected, the interest in the rivalry for the senatorship would so overshadow that in the governorship that it would leave a popular im- l)ression that to be the governor of a single State is insignificant in importance compared with a seat in the smaller branch of the national legislature. Fur- ther, such contests would offer new opportunities for the exercise of the arts of practical politics in trading votes for State officers in return for those for senator, and vice versa. These objections could, however, be met by holding elections for State and national officers on separate dates, which, with the further separation of those for municipal officers from either, is, I believe, a remedy for many of the evils at present so apparent. Certainly no one who compares the personnel of the present Senate with those of former days, when it was the arena of such titanic combats as those between Webster and Hayne, can doubt that there is somewhere a serious evil requiring on the part of patriotic men an earnest and thoughtful effort to discover the true remedy. In bringing about this result, and in direct- ing the attention of serious men to the existence of the evil, I am assured your article will be of great benefit. H. Turner Newcomb. An American Theater in London. Joseph Hat/on. IT seems at first thought an odd coincidence that in this summer of 1893, when the best players of Eng- land and France are coming to this side of the Atlantic, and the art of the whole world, plastic, graphic, and dramatic, is expected to find a center, for the time being, at Chicago, the first American theater will be established in London. The foremost dramatic com- pany of the United States that organized and con- trolled by Mr. Augustin Dalywill, indeed, spend the greater part of the Columbian year in the capital of Great Britain. Without arguing too curiously, this may be considered a part, and an important part too, of our great national celebration; for it will serve to exhibit to many Englishmen who will not see the Chicago Fair the progress made in at least one branch of American art. Englishmen already know how good of its kind is the work of Mr. Daly and his players, what fine taste and skill are shown alike in the selection ~nd production of the plays in the Daly repertory, and how well the players, guided by the ablest and most energetic stage director American actors ever had, contrive to give the lightest possible touch to the performance of modern farce and comedy, while in their treatment of the old masterworks they make poetry seem real, and yet do not crush the flower of it, or make discord of its melody. The players of Dalys have acted in old and new comedy in London five seasons since 1884, and the great and growing success of these experimental visits has led to the building, in historic Leicester Square, in the neighborhood of many other popular playhouses, of the new Dalys Theater. The exquisite harmony of the acting of the troupe, in which Miss Rehan, Mrs. Gilbert, and Mr. Lewis are prominent members, has been cordially appreciated also in other cities of the British Isles, and in Paris and Berlin as well. There is no doubt of the warmth of the greeting they will get when they formally open, in June, their luxuriously appointed new theater, which hereafter they are to occupy half of every year. This establishment in London of an international theater was inevitable, and Mr. Daly, above all other American managers, was the one to do it. For a quarter of a century he has been a theater manager in New York, and he has produced plays as a true artist paints his pictures, because he has felt those were the plays he ought to produce. He has thought of something besides money gains, and he has not missed substantial pecuniary rewards either, which surely proves that the theater-going public is not, collectively, such a fool as some managers think. The last season at Dalys Theater in New York reflected much honor on the American stage. The succession of poetical comedy revivals, beginning in December and ending in April, and comprising works of Shakspere, Sheridan, J. S. Knowles, Hannah Cowley, and Tennyson, all with pictorial settings of rare beauty and appropriateness, and with acting often of the highest order, and always excellently discreet and well finished, gave such satis- faction to cultivated men and women as they do not commonly get in the theater of to-day. Edward A. Dithmar. A Friend of the Kindergarten. Died. In Dresden, January 9, in her 82d year, Madame the Baroness de Marenholz-von Billow. THIS honored name has for many years been identi- fied with the most progressive educational movement on the Continent, and also, through her writings, with the work in our own country. Of noble birth and a most influential family, pos- sessed of a rare intelligence united with an intense de- sire for practical usefulness in the cause she so dearly loved, it is not strange that the womanly intuition and perception of Madame von Marenholz should at once feel the power of Froebels idea. In her Reminiscences of Froebel (translated by the late Mrs. Horace Mann), one finds a most delightful account of her first meeting with Froebel, and the quick grasp of the underlying thought of the old masters play with the little children in the meadow, which to the uninitiated was fool- ishness, but to her was a key to the right understanding and development of humanity. Through the influence of the baroness many of the most prominent educators in Prussia were made will- ing converts, and most heartily upheld Froebels ideas of a new education. The edict in i8~i prohibiting the kindergarten in Prussia, because of its socialistic and atheistic tenden- cies, was a sore trial to all of Froebels friends; the more so, as the pamphlet which contained the danger- ous germs feared by the Government was not written by Froebel, nor was it in any way authorized or indorsed by him. Foremost among the noble little army whose faith in the cause never wavered, was Madame the Baroness, whose unremitting endeavors, especially with the min- ister of the new era, finally succeeded in the ab- rogation of this law. Madame von Marenholz has left many valuable works on education. Among the best-known are the Rem- iniscences of Froebel, The Child and its Nature (translated by Alice M. Christie ; also a free ren- dering of the san~e by Mine. M. H. Kriege), Edu- cation by Work (translated into English by Mrs. Horace Mann; also translated into Russian, French, and Italian), besides many most valuable contributions to educational and philosophical journals. Of one of her conversations with Froebel the baroness writes: As we were speaking of the future life, he said: Just as we know that the sun only apparently goes round the earth, and that the converse is true, so we shall some time know that the present life and the other life lie in the same universe, in which there is no real separation, and in which everywhere there exists the closest and most un- broken connection. Think of my words separation is only for union there. CHICAGO, February 22, 2893. 57 The Kindergarten in Canada. Ma. WILLIAMS did not name Canada in his admira- ble article in the January CENTURy as one of the coun- tries that have adopted the kindergarten. Canada has really taken a very advanced position in regard to the kindergarten. The province of Ontario was the first place in the world to make the kindergarten an organic part of its state system of education. Twelve years ago I had the honor of being appointed a commissioner by the Education Department of Ontario to prepare a report on the kindergarten system. In 1881 the To- ronto Public-School Board decided to adopt the kin- dergarten, and there are now in Toronto thirty-five kindergartens, with an attendance of 2275. The Public- School Board provides all material used, and pays the kindergartners, so that the kindergarten is as free as any other part of the public-school system. Five years ago the Education Department of Ontario made the kindergarten a part of the public-school sys- tem of the province. All training-classes are conducted under the direction of the department, and all assis- tants and directresses have to be examined by a pro- vincial board of examiners. A special grant is made by the Government for kindergarten attendance. There are training-classes for kindergartners under governmen- tal supervision in Toronto, Ottawa, Hamilton, Brant- ford, atid London, and the system has been introduced by the school-boards of several other cities and towns throughout Ontario. The kindergarten department is recognized as one of the regular departments of the Provincial Teachers Association. In the other provinces the kindergarten is being established in Montreal, Winnipeg, St. John, and Truro. Mrs. Ada Marean Hughes of Toronto has been chosen to preside at the Worlds Kindergarten Con- gress in Chicago this year. James L. Hughes, Zns~5ec/or of Schools. Californias Presidential Electors. IN our editorial article in the March number on Direct Presidential Voting, it was stated that the failure of one Cleveland elector in California was due to the greater personal popularity of one elector on the Harrison ticket. We are in receipt of a letter from Mr. J. F. Thompson, the Cleveland elector referred to, and take pleasure in presenting his explanatiqp of the fail- ure of his candidacy. Mr. Thompson says: I was nominated for the elector at large, and by all rules of right and of precedent should have had my name at the head of the electoral ticket; but through an over- sight or blunder on the part of our State Central Com- mittee, our electors names were not arranged as they should have been, and the Secretary of State placed them on the ticket in alphabetical order, my name being last. Under the Australian system of voting, requiring each voter to stamp names voted for, the last two or three names on each ticket suffered, the last one being cut the most. I lost in the entire State 311 votes, or ran that many votes behind the head name on the ticket. In practically the same vote, Mr. Hanscom, the last Republican elector, lost over 500, or ran 529 votes behind the head man on his ticket. This came about in part by some voters pla- A. H. P. cing only one stamp-mark after the group, some after the first name, others at or near the middle of the tickets, TORONTO. OPEN LETTERS.

A. H. P. P., A. H. A Friend of Kindergarten Open Letters 157

and comprising works of Shakspere, Sheridan, J. S. Knowles, Hannah Cowley, and Tennyson, all with pictorial settings of rare beauty and appropriateness, and with acting often of the highest order, and always excellently discreet and well finished, gave such satis- faction to cultivated men and women as they do not commonly get in the theater of to-day. Edward A. Dithmar. A Friend of the Kindergarten. Died. In Dresden, January 9, in her 82d year, Madame the Baroness de Marenholz-von Billow. THIS honored name has for many years been identi- fied with the most progressive educational movement on the Continent, and also, through her writings, with the work in our own country. Of noble birth and a most influential family, pos- sessed of a rare intelligence united with an intense de- sire for practical usefulness in the cause she so dearly loved, it is not strange that the womanly intuition and perception of Madame von Marenholz should at once feel the power of Froebels idea. In her Reminiscences of Froebel (translated by the late Mrs. Horace Mann), one finds a most delightful account of her first meeting with Froebel, and the quick grasp of the underlying thought of the old masters play with the little children in the meadow, which to the uninitiated was fool- ishness, but to her was a key to the right understanding and development of humanity. Through the influence of the baroness many of the most prominent educators in Prussia were made will- ing converts, and most heartily upheld Froebels ideas of a new education. The edict in i8~i prohibiting the kindergarten in Prussia, because of its socialistic and atheistic tenden- cies, was a sore trial to all of Froebels friends; the more so, as the pamphlet which contained the danger- ous germs feared by the Government was not written by Froebel, nor was it in any way authorized or indorsed by him. Foremost among the noble little army whose faith in the cause never wavered, was Madame the Baroness, whose unremitting endeavors, especially with the min- ister of the new era, finally succeeded in the ab- rogation of this law. Madame von Marenholz has left many valuable works on education. Among the best-known are the Rem- iniscences of Froebel, The Child and its Nature (translated by Alice M. Christie ; also a free ren- dering of the san~e by Mine. M. H. Kriege), Edu- cation by Work (translated into English by Mrs. Horace Mann; also translated into Russian, French, and Italian), besides many most valuable contributions to educational and philosophical journals. Of one of her conversations with Froebel the baroness writes: As we were speaking of the future life, he said: Just as we know that the sun only apparently goes round the earth, and that the converse is true, so we shall some time know that the present life and the other life lie in the same universe, in which there is no real separation, and in which everywhere there exists the closest and most un- broken connection. Think of my words separation is only for union there. CHICAGO, February 22, 2893. 57 The Kindergarten in Canada. Ma. WILLIAMS did not name Canada in his admira- ble article in the January CENTURy as one of the coun- tries that have adopted the kindergarten. Canada has really taken a very advanced position in regard to the kindergarten. The province of Ontario was the first place in the world to make the kindergarten an organic part of its state system of education. Twelve years ago I had the honor of being appointed a commissioner by the Education Department of Ontario to prepare a report on the kindergarten system. In 1881 the To- ronto Public-School Board decided to adopt the kin- dergarten, and there are now in Toronto thirty-five kindergartens, with an attendance of 2275. The Public- School Board provides all material used, and pays the kindergartners, so that the kindergarten is as free as any other part of the public-school system. Five years ago the Education Department of Ontario made the kindergarten a part of the public-school sys- tem of the province. All training-classes are conducted under the direction of the department, and all assis- tants and directresses have to be examined by a pro- vincial board of examiners. A special grant is made by the Government for kindergarten attendance. There are training-classes for kindergartners under governmen- tal supervision in Toronto, Ottawa, Hamilton, Brant- ford, atid London, and the system has been introduced by the school-boards of several other cities and towns throughout Ontario. The kindergarten department is recognized as one of the regular departments of the Provincial Teachers Association. In the other provinces the kindergarten is being established in Montreal, Winnipeg, St. John, and Truro. Mrs. Ada Marean Hughes of Toronto has been chosen to preside at the Worlds Kindergarten Con- gress in Chicago this year. James L. Hughes, Zns~5ec/or of Schools. Californias Presidential Electors. IN our editorial article in the March number on Direct Presidential Voting, it was stated that the failure of one Cleveland elector in California was due to the greater personal popularity of one elector on the Harrison ticket. We are in receipt of a letter from Mr. J. F. Thompson, the Cleveland elector referred to, and take pleasure in presenting his explanatiqp of the fail- ure of his candidacy. Mr. Thompson says: I was nominated for the elector at large, and by all rules of right and of precedent should have had my name at the head of the electoral ticket; but through an over- sight or blunder on the part of our State Central Com- mittee, our electors names were not arranged as they should have been, and the Secretary of State placed them on the ticket in alphabetical order, my name being last. Under the Australian system of voting, requiring each voter to stamp names voted for, the last two or three names on each ticket suffered, the last one being cut the most. I lost in the entire State 311 votes, or ran that many votes behind the head name on the ticket. In practically the same vote, Mr. Hanscom, the last Republican elector, lost over 500, or ran 529 votes behind the head man on his ticket. This came about in part by some voters pla- A. H. P. cing only one stamp-mark after the group, some after the first name, others at or near the middle of the tickets, TORONTO. OPEN LETTERS.

James L. Hughes Hughes, James L. The Kindergarten in Canada Open Letters 157

and comprising works of Shakspere, Sheridan, J. S. Knowles, Hannah Cowley, and Tennyson, all with pictorial settings of rare beauty and appropriateness, and with acting often of the highest order, and always excellently discreet and well finished, gave such satis- faction to cultivated men and women as they do not commonly get in the theater of to-day. Edward A. Dithmar. A Friend of the Kindergarten. Died. In Dresden, January 9, in her 82d year, Madame the Baroness de Marenholz-von Billow. THIS honored name has for many years been identi- fied with the most progressive educational movement on the Continent, and also, through her writings, with the work in our own country. Of noble birth and a most influential family, pos- sessed of a rare intelligence united with an intense de- sire for practical usefulness in the cause she so dearly loved, it is not strange that the womanly intuition and perception of Madame von Marenholz should at once feel the power of Froebels idea. In her Reminiscences of Froebel (translated by the late Mrs. Horace Mann), one finds a most delightful account of her first meeting with Froebel, and the quick grasp of the underlying thought of the old masters play with the little children in the meadow, which to the uninitiated was fool- ishness, but to her was a key to the right understanding and development of humanity. Through the influence of the baroness many of the most prominent educators in Prussia were made will- ing converts, and most heartily upheld Froebels ideas of a new education. The edict in i8~i prohibiting the kindergarten in Prussia, because of its socialistic and atheistic tenden- cies, was a sore trial to all of Froebels friends; the more so, as the pamphlet which contained the danger- ous germs feared by the Government was not written by Froebel, nor was it in any way authorized or indorsed by him. Foremost among the noble little army whose faith in the cause never wavered, was Madame the Baroness, whose unremitting endeavors, especially with the min- ister of the new era, finally succeeded in the ab- rogation of this law. Madame von Marenholz has left many valuable works on education. Among the best-known are the Rem- iniscences of Froebel, The Child and its Nature (translated by Alice M. Christie ; also a free ren- dering of the san~e by Mine. M. H. Kriege), Edu- cation by Work (translated into English by Mrs. Horace Mann; also translated into Russian, French, and Italian), besides many most valuable contributions to educational and philosophical journals. Of one of her conversations with Froebel the baroness writes: As we were speaking of the future life, he said: Just as we know that the sun only apparently goes round the earth, and that the converse is true, so we shall some time know that the present life and the other life lie in the same universe, in which there is no real separation, and in which everywhere there exists the closest and most un- broken connection. Think of my words separation is only for union there. CHICAGO, February 22, 2893. 57 The Kindergarten in Canada. Ma. WILLIAMS did not name Canada in his admira- ble article in the January CENTURy as one of the coun- tries that have adopted the kindergarten. Canada has really taken a very advanced position in regard to the kindergarten. The province of Ontario was the first place in the world to make the kindergarten an organic part of its state system of education. Twelve years ago I had the honor of being appointed a commissioner by the Education Department of Ontario to prepare a report on the kindergarten system. In 1881 the To- ronto Public-School Board decided to adopt the kin- dergarten, and there are now in Toronto thirty-five kindergartens, with an attendance of 2275. The Public- School Board provides all material used, and pays the kindergartners, so that the kindergarten is as free as any other part of the public-school system. Five years ago the Education Department of Ontario made the kindergarten a part of the public-school sys- tem of the province. All training-classes are conducted under the direction of the department, and all assis- tants and directresses have to be examined by a pro- vincial board of examiners. A special grant is made by the Government for kindergarten attendance. There are training-classes for kindergartners under governmen- tal supervision in Toronto, Ottawa, Hamilton, Brant- ford, atid London, and the system has been introduced by the school-boards of several other cities and towns throughout Ontario. The kindergarten department is recognized as one of the regular departments of the Provincial Teachers Association. In the other provinces the kindergarten is being established in Montreal, Winnipeg, St. John, and Truro. Mrs. Ada Marean Hughes of Toronto has been chosen to preside at the Worlds Kindergarten Con- gress in Chicago this year. James L. Hughes, Zns~5ec/or of Schools. Californias Presidential Electors. IN our editorial article in the March number on Direct Presidential Voting, it was stated that the failure of one Cleveland elector in California was due to the greater personal popularity of one elector on the Harrison ticket. We are in receipt of a letter from Mr. J. F. Thompson, the Cleveland elector referred to, and take pleasure in presenting his explanatiqp of the fail- ure of his candidacy. Mr. Thompson says: I was nominated for the elector at large, and by all rules of right and of precedent should have had my name at the head of the electoral ticket; but through an over- sight or blunder on the part of our State Central Com- mittee, our electors names were not arranged as they should have been, and the Secretary of State placed them on the ticket in alphabetical order, my name being last. Under the Australian system of voting, requiring each voter to stamp names voted for, the last two or three names on each ticket suffered, the last one being cut the most. I lost in the entire State 311 votes, or ran that many votes behind the head name on the ticket. In practically the same vote, Mr. Hanscom, the last Republican elector, lost over 500, or ran 529 votes behind the head man on his ticket. This came about in part by some voters pla- A. H. P. cing only one stamp-mark after the group, some after the first name, others at or near the middle of the tickets, TORONTO. OPEN LETTERS.

J. F. Thompson Thompson, J. F. California's Presidential Elections Open Letters 157-158

and comprising works of Shakspere, Sheridan, J. S. Knowles, Hannah Cowley, and Tennyson, all with pictorial settings of rare beauty and appropriateness, and with acting often of the highest order, and always excellently discreet and well finished, gave such satis- faction to cultivated men and women as they do not commonly get in the theater of to-day. Edward A. Dithmar. A Friend of the Kindergarten. Died. In Dresden, January 9, in her 82d year, Madame the Baroness de Marenholz-von Billow. THIS honored name has for many years been identi- fied with the most progressive educational movement on the Continent, and also, through her writings, with the work in our own country. Of noble birth and a most influential family, pos- sessed of a rare intelligence united with an intense de- sire for practical usefulness in the cause she so dearly loved, it is not strange that the womanly intuition and perception of Madame von Marenholz should at once feel the power of Froebels idea. In her Reminiscences of Froebel (translated by the late Mrs. Horace Mann), one finds a most delightful account of her first meeting with Froebel, and the quick grasp of the underlying thought of the old masters play with the little children in the meadow, which to the uninitiated was fool- ishness, but to her was a key to the right understanding and development of humanity. Through the influence of the baroness many of the most prominent educators in Prussia were made will- ing converts, and most heartily upheld Froebels ideas of a new education. The edict in i8~i prohibiting the kindergarten in Prussia, because of its socialistic and atheistic tenden- cies, was a sore trial to all of Froebels friends; the more so, as the pamphlet which contained the danger- ous germs feared by the Government was not written by Froebel, nor was it in any way authorized or indorsed by him. Foremost among the noble little army whose faith in the cause never wavered, was Madame the Baroness, whose unremitting endeavors, especially with the min- ister of the new era, finally succeeded in the ab- rogation of this law. Madame von Marenholz has left many valuable works on education. Among the best-known are the Rem- iniscences of Froebel, The Child and its Nature (translated by Alice M. Christie ; also a free ren- dering of the san~e by Mine. M. H. Kriege), Edu- cation by Work (translated into English by Mrs. Horace Mann; also translated into Russian, French, and Italian), besides many most valuable contributions to educational and philosophical journals. Of one of her conversations with Froebel the baroness writes: As we were speaking of the future life, he said: Just as we know that the sun only apparently goes round the earth, and that the converse is true, so we shall some time know that the present life and the other life lie in the same universe, in which there is no real separation, and in which everywhere there exists the closest and most un- broken connection. Think of my words separation is only for union there. CHICAGO, February 22, 2893. 57 The Kindergarten in Canada. Ma. WILLIAMS did not name Canada in his admira- ble article in the January CENTURy as one of the coun- tries that have adopted the kindergarten. Canada has really taken a very advanced position in regard to the kindergarten. The province of Ontario was the first place in the world to make the kindergarten an organic part of its state system of education. Twelve years ago I had the honor of being appointed a commissioner by the Education Department of Ontario to prepare a report on the kindergarten system. In 1881 the To- ronto Public-School Board decided to adopt the kin- dergarten, and there are now in Toronto thirty-five kindergartens, with an attendance of 2275. The Public- School Board provides all material used, and pays the kindergartners, so that the kindergarten is as free as any other part of the public-school system. Five years ago the Education Department of Ontario made the kindergarten a part of the public-school sys- tem of the province. All training-classes are conducted under the direction of the department, and all assis- tants and directresses have to be examined by a pro- vincial board of examiners. A special grant is made by the Government for kindergarten attendance. There are training-classes for kindergartners under governmen- tal supervision in Toronto, Ottawa, Hamilton, Brant- ford, atid London, and the system has been introduced by the school-boards of several other cities and towns throughout Ontario. The kindergarten department is recognized as one of the regular departments of the Provincial Teachers Association. In the other provinces the kindergarten is being established in Montreal, Winnipeg, St. John, and Truro. Mrs. Ada Marean Hughes of Toronto has been chosen to preside at the Worlds Kindergarten Con- gress in Chicago this year. James L. Hughes, Zns~5ec/or of Schools. Californias Presidential Electors. IN our editorial article in the March number on Direct Presidential Voting, it was stated that the failure of one Cleveland elector in California was due to the greater personal popularity of one elector on the Harrison ticket. We are in receipt of a letter from Mr. J. F. Thompson, the Cleveland elector referred to, and take pleasure in presenting his explanatiqp of the fail- ure of his candidacy. Mr. Thompson says: I was nominated for the elector at large, and by all rules of right and of precedent should have had my name at the head of the electoral ticket; but through an over- sight or blunder on the part of our State Central Com- mittee, our electors names were not arranged as they should have been, and the Secretary of State placed them on the ticket in alphabetical order, my name being last. Under the Australian system of voting, requiring each voter to stamp names voted for, the last two or three names on each ticket suffered, the last one being cut the most. I lost in the entire State 311 votes, or ran that many votes behind the head name on the ticket. In practically the same vote, Mr. Hanscom, the last Republican elector, lost over 500, or ran 529 votes behind the head man on his ticket. This came about in part by some voters pla- A. H. P. cing only one stamp-mark after the group, some after the first name, others at or near the middle of the tickets, TORONTO. OPEN LETTERS. IN LIGHTER VEIN and having that vote counted for only the man opposite that time having given basis for the theory of the whose name it was placed. editorial. A Psychological Suggestion. Mr. Bard did not defeat me on account of his great popularity. He is an estimable and wealthy gentleman of Ventura, and ran only a few votes ahead of his ticket at home; hut many a voter placed the stamp after his name, intending to vote for all the Repnhlican electors, and in some cases they were counted only for Mr. Bard. Ihus he ran over two hundred votes ahead of the other memhers of his ticket. The system of voting is defec- tive, and the Electoral College is also a cumhersome and useless appendage to a system that should he changed to allow a direct vote for President by the people. Mr. Thompsons explanation gives us a view of the matter not accessible at the time of the prepara- tion of our article, the reports from California at I HAVE received a letter from a Mr. D. L. Merrill of Union City, Michigan~ which suggests an idea worthy of preservation. It is that the cases of double conscious- ness, such as I related, are simply instances of twins, in which, instead of there being born two minds and two bodies, joined together, as in the case of the Siamese twins, two minds have been born into different parts of the same body, and that sometimes one mind gets ahead, and sometimes the other. Trusting that your psychological readers will be stimulated to renewed studies by this novel and inter- esting thought, I remain yours truly, H. C. Wood. 1925 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA. IN LIGHTER VEIN. Reflections on Adversity. GRIEF that is wild is not so serious a matter as the tame grief which follows the footsteps and rests in the bosom. THE wisest of us do a great deal more grieving over vanished joys than we do of rejoicing over vanished griefs. SWEET are the uses of adversity; but a superfluity of sweets is unwholesome. WHAT seems to be adversity to you may look like prosperity in the eyes of another. The clay in the hands of the potter considers itself the mere tool of fortune; yet it is envied by the clay in the hands of the clay-eater. IF you cannot learn to swim, learn to float; many have been drowned in the waters of affliction in plain sight of solid land. ADvERSIrv is not undiluted disagreeableness. Even adverse criticism gives pleasure to the writer. IN this world we shall have tribulation; in the next world we shall have opportunities for wondering why we gave it a seat at the head of the table. IT is true that life is short, but one may always have the consolation of making a long face over it. WHEN poverty comes in at the door, love takes the pattern of her garment, and thinks it will not be so unbecoming, after all. EI/zeiwyn We/herald. The Prig. THOUGH genius clad you with a golden mist, For him your verses would but lamely stammer If in their texture should by chance exist One least, unholy blemish of bad grammar. Vainly for him the powers you would unite Of Shakspere, Dante, Molii~re, Lope de Vega, If, quoting Greek, you once presumed to write An omicron in place of an omega! Michael Will Not Be In It. (A 5T. PATEIcKs nAy EPIC.) To-MoaRow will be the parade, The parade of St. Patrick St. Patricks day parade. There will he many bands of music, Horses gaily caparisoned, File after file of Hibernians, Mile after mile of high beavers; Patrick and Lawrence, Peter and Terence, They will all be there. But Michael Michael will not be in the parade. They will march through Canal street, through Hester, Through the Bowery, through Grand street Oh, how the Grand street girls grand girls! would admire Michael! For he is handsome and stalwart. But Michael Michael will not be in the parade. Michaels father was an army contractor. Michael is rich, and can do as he pleases. He loves fair women; He is a leader of men. - He has a black horse, an Arabian charger; No man who will march on the morrow Would look so imposing as Michael. But Michael Michael will not be in the parade. For he, is he not a Russian? Does he not live in St. Petersburg? How has he ever heard of St. Patrick? No; Michael Michaelovitch Papoff He will not be in the parade! Edgar Fawcett. Charles Ba/tell Loomis. Mr. Thompsoss adds:

Ethelwyn Wetherald Wetherald, Ethelwyn Reflections on Adversity In Lighter Vein 158

IN LIGHTER VEIN and having that vote counted for only the man opposite that time having given basis for the theory of the whose name it was placed. editorial. A Psychological Suggestion. Mr. Bard did not defeat me on account of his great popularity. He is an estimable and wealthy gentleman of Ventura, and ran only a few votes ahead of his ticket at home; hut many a voter placed the stamp after his name, intending to vote for all the Repnhlican electors, and in some cases they were counted only for Mr. Bard. Ihus he ran over two hundred votes ahead of the other memhers of his ticket. The system of voting is defec- tive, and the Electoral College is also a cumhersome and useless appendage to a system that should he changed to allow a direct vote for President by the people. Mr. Thompsons explanation gives us a view of the matter not accessible at the time of the prepara- tion of our article, the reports from California at I HAVE received a letter from a Mr. D. L. Merrill of Union City, Michigan~ which suggests an idea worthy of preservation. It is that the cases of double conscious- ness, such as I related, are simply instances of twins, in which, instead of there being born two minds and two bodies, joined together, as in the case of the Siamese twins, two minds have been born into different parts of the same body, and that sometimes one mind gets ahead, and sometimes the other. Trusting that your psychological readers will be stimulated to renewed studies by this novel and inter- esting thought, I remain yours truly, H. C. Wood. 1925 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA. IN LIGHTER VEIN. Reflections on Adversity. GRIEF that is wild is not so serious a matter as the tame grief which follows the footsteps and rests in the bosom. THE wisest of us do a great deal more grieving over vanished joys than we do of rejoicing over vanished griefs. SWEET are the uses of adversity; but a superfluity of sweets is unwholesome. WHAT seems to be adversity to you may look like prosperity in the eyes of another. The clay in the hands of the potter considers itself the mere tool of fortune; yet it is envied by the clay in the hands of the clay-eater. IF you cannot learn to swim, learn to float; many have been drowned in the waters of affliction in plain sight of solid land. ADvERSIrv is not undiluted disagreeableness. Even adverse criticism gives pleasure to the writer. IN this world we shall have tribulation; in the next world we shall have opportunities for wondering why we gave it a seat at the head of the table. IT is true that life is short, but one may always have the consolation of making a long face over it. WHEN poverty comes in at the door, love takes the pattern of her garment, and thinks it will not be so unbecoming, after all. EI/zeiwyn We/herald. The Prig. THOUGH genius clad you with a golden mist, For him your verses would but lamely stammer If in their texture should by chance exist One least, unholy blemish of bad grammar. Vainly for him the powers you would unite Of Shakspere, Dante, Molii~re, Lope de Vega, If, quoting Greek, you once presumed to write An omicron in place of an omega! Michael Will Not Be In It. (A 5T. PATEIcKs nAy EPIC.) To-MoaRow will be the parade, The parade of St. Patrick St. Patricks day parade. There will he many bands of music, Horses gaily caparisoned, File after file of Hibernians, Mile after mile of high beavers; Patrick and Lawrence, Peter and Terence, They will all be there. But Michael Michael will not be in the parade. They will march through Canal street, through Hester, Through the Bowery, through Grand street Oh, how the Grand street girls grand girls! would admire Michael! For he is handsome and stalwart. But Michael Michael will not be in the parade. Michaels father was an army contractor. Michael is rich, and can do as he pleases. He loves fair women; He is a leader of men. - He has a black horse, an Arabian charger; No man who will march on the morrow Would look so imposing as Michael. But Michael Michael will not be in the parade. For he, is he not a Russian? Does he not live in St. Petersburg? How has he ever heard of St. Patrick? No; Michael Michaelovitch Papoff He will not be in the parade! Edgar Fawcett. Charles Ba/tell Loomis. Mr. Thompsoss adds:

H. C. Wood Wood, H. C. A Psychological Suggestion Open Letters 158

IN LIGHTER VEIN and having that vote counted for only the man opposite that time having given basis for the theory of the whose name it was placed. editorial. A Psychological Suggestion. Mr. Bard did not defeat me on account of his great popularity. He is an estimable and wealthy gentleman of Ventura, and ran only a few votes ahead of his ticket at home; hut many a voter placed the stamp after his name, intending to vote for all the Repnhlican electors, and in some cases they were counted only for Mr. Bard. Ihus he ran over two hundred votes ahead of the other memhers of his ticket. The system of voting is defec- tive, and the Electoral College is also a cumhersome and useless appendage to a system that should he changed to allow a direct vote for President by the people. Mr. Thompsons explanation gives us a view of the matter not accessible at the time of the prepara- tion of our article, the reports from California at I HAVE received a letter from a Mr. D. L. Merrill of Union City, Michigan~ which suggests an idea worthy of preservation. It is that the cases of double conscious- ness, such as I related, are simply instances of twins, in which, instead of there being born two minds and two bodies, joined together, as in the case of the Siamese twins, two minds have been born into different parts of the same body, and that sometimes one mind gets ahead, and sometimes the other. Trusting that your psychological readers will be stimulated to renewed studies by this novel and inter- esting thought, I remain yours truly, H. C. Wood. 1925 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA. IN LIGHTER VEIN. Reflections on Adversity. GRIEF that is wild is not so serious a matter as the tame grief which follows the footsteps and rests in the bosom. THE wisest of us do a great deal more grieving over vanished joys than we do of rejoicing over vanished griefs. SWEET are the uses of adversity; but a superfluity of sweets is unwholesome. WHAT seems to be adversity to you may look like prosperity in the eyes of another. The clay in the hands of the potter considers itself the mere tool of fortune; yet it is envied by the clay in the hands of the clay-eater. IF you cannot learn to swim, learn to float; many have been drowned in the waters of affliction in plain sight of solid land. ADvERSIrv is not undiluted disagreeableness. Even adverse criticism gives pleasure to the writer. IN this world we shall have tribulation; in the next world we shall have opportunities for wondering why we gave it a seat at the head of the table. IT is true that life is short, but one may always have the consolation of making a long face over it. WHEN poverty comes in at the door, love takes the pattern of her garment, and thinks it will not be so unbecoming, after all. EI/zeiwyn We/herald. The Prig. THOUGH genius clad you with a golden mist, For him your verses would but lamely stammer If in their texture should by chance exist One least, unholy blemish of bad grammar. Vainly for him the powers you would unite Of Shakspere, Dante, Molii~re, Lope de Vega, If, quoting Greek, you once presumed to write An omicron in place of an omega! Michael Will Not Be In It. (A 5T. PATEIcKs nAy EPIC.) To-MoaRow will be the parade, The parade of St. Patrick St. Patricks day parade. There will he many bands of music, Horses gaily caparisoned, File after file of Hibernians, Mile after mile of high beavers; Patrick and Lawrence, Peter and Terence, They will all be there. But Michael Michael will not be in the parade. They will march through Canal street, through Hester, Through the Bowery, through Grand street Oh, how the Grand street girls grand girls! would admire Michael! For he is handsome and stalwart. But Michael Michael will not be in the parade. Michaels father was an army contractor. Michael is rich, and can do as he pleases. He loves fair women; He is a leader of men. - He has a black horse, an Arabian charger; No man who will march on the morrow Would look so imposing as Michael. But Michael Michael will not be in the parade. For he, is he not a Russian? Does he not live in St. Petersburg? How has he ever heard of St. Patrick? No; Michael Michaelovitch Papoff He will not be in the parade! Edgar Fawcett. Charles Ba/tell Loomis. Mr. Thompsoss adds:

Charles Battell Loomis Loomis, Charles Battell Michael Will Not Be In It In Lighter Vein 158

IN LIGHTER VEIN and having that vote counted for only the man opposite that time having given basis for the theory of the whose name it was placed. editorial. A Psychological Suggestion. Mr. Bard did not defeat me on account of his great popularity. He is an estimable and wealthy gentleman of Ventura, and ran only a few votes ahead of his ticket at home; hut many a voter placed the stamp after his name, intending to vote for all the Repnhlican electors, and in some cases they were counted only for Mr. Bard. Ihus he ran over two hundred votes ahead of the other memhers of his ticket. The system of voting is defec- tive, and the Electoral College is also a cumhersome and useless appendage to a system that should he changed to allow a direct vote for President by the people. Mr. Thompsons explanation gives us a view of the matter not accessible at the time of the prepara- tion of our article, the reports from California at I HAVE received a letter from a Mr. D. L. Merrill of Union City, Michigan~ which suggests an idea worthy of preservation. It is that the cases of double conscious- ness, such as I related, are simply instances of twins, in which, instead of there being born two minds and two bodies, joined together, as in the case of the Siamese twins, two minds have been born into different parts of the same body, and that sometimes one mind gets ahead, and sometimes the other. Trusting that your psychological readers will be stimulated to renewed studies by this novel and inter- esting thought, I remain yours truly, H. C. Wood. 1925 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA. IN LIGHTER VEIN. Reflections on Adversity. GRIEF that is wild is not so serious a matter as the tame grief which follows the footsteps and rests in the bosom. THE wisest of us do a great deal more grieving over vanished joys than we do of rejoicing over vanished griefs. SWEET are the uses of adversity; but a superfluity of sweets is unwholesome. WHAT seems to be adversity to you may look like prosperity in the eyes of another. The clay in the hands of the potter considers itself the mere tool of fortune; yet it is envied by the clay in the hands of the clay-eater. IF you cannot learn to swim, learn to float; many have been drowned in the waters of affliction in plain sight of solid land. ADvERSIrv is not undiluted disagreeableness. Even adverse criticism gives pleasure to the writer. IN this world we shall have tribulation; in the next world we shall have opportunities for wondering why we gave it a seat at the head of the table. IT is true that life is short, but one may always have the consolation of making a long face over it. WHEN poverty comes in at the door, love takes the pattern of her garment, and thinks it will not be so unbecoming, after all. EI/zeiwyn We/herald. The Prig. THOUGH genius clad you with a golden mist, For him your verses would but lamely stammer If in their texture should by chance exist One least, unholy blemish of bad grammar. Vainly for him the powers you would unite Of Shakspere, Dante, Molii~re, Lope de Vega, If, quoting Greek, you once presumed to write An omicron in place of an omega! Michael Will Not Be In It. (A 5T. PATEIcKs nAy EPIC.) To-MoaRow will be the parade, The parade of St. Patrick St. Patricks day parade. There will he many bands of music, Horses gaily caparisoned, File after file of Hibernians, Mile after mile of high beavers; Patrick and Lawrence, Peter and Terence, They will all be there. But Michael Michael will not be in the parade. They will march through Canal street, through Hester, Through the Bowery, through Grand street Oh, how the Grand street girls grand girls! would admire Michael! For he is handsome and stalwart. But Michael Michael will not be in the parade. Michaels father was an army contractor. Michael is rich, and can do as he pleases. He loves fair women; He is a leader of men. - He has a black horse, an Arabian charger; No man who will march on the morrow Would look so imposing as Michael. But Michael Michael will not be in the parade. For he, is he not a Russian? Does he not live in St. Petersburg? How has he ever heard of St. Patrick? No; Michael Michaelovitch Papoff He will not be in the parade! Edgar Fawcett. Charles Ba/tell Loomis. Mr. Thompsoss adds:

Edgar Fawcett Fawcett, Edgar The Prig In Lighter Vein 158-159

IN LIGHTER VEIN and having that vote counted for only the man opposite that time having given basis for the theory of the whose name it was placed. editorial. A Psychological Suggestion. Mr. Bard did not defeat me on account of his great popularity. He is an estimable and wealthy gentleman of Ventura, and ran only a few votes ahead of his ticket at home; hut many a voter placed the stamp after his name, intending to vote for all the Repnhlican electors, and in some cases they were counted only for Mr. Bard. Ihus he ran over two hundred votes ahead of the other memhers of his ticket. The system of voting is defec- tive, and the Electoral College is also a cumhersome and useless appendage to a system that should he changed to allow a direct vote for President by the people. Mr. Thompsons explanation gives us a view of the matter not accessible at the time of the prepara- tion of our article, the reports from California at I HAVE received a letter from a Mr. D. L. Merrill of Union City, Michigan~ which suggests an idea worthy of preservation. It is that the cases of double conscious- ness, such as I related, are simply instances of twins, in which, instead of there being born two minds and two bodies, joined together, as in the case of the Siamese twins, two minds have been born into different parts of the same body, and that sometimes one mind gets ahead, and sometimes the other. Trusting that your psychological readers will be stimulated to renewed studies by this novel and inter- esting thought, I remain yours truly, H. C. Wood. 1925 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA. IN LIGHTER VEIN. Reflections on Adversity. GRIEF that is wild is not so serious a matter as the tame grief which follows the footsteps and rests in the bosom. THE wisest of us do a great deal more grieving over vanished joys than we do of rejoicing over vanished griefs. SWEET are the uses of adversity; but a superfluity of sweets is unwholesome. WHAT seems to be adversity to you may look like prosperity in the eyes of another. The clay in the hands of the potter considers itself the mere tool of fortune; yet it is envied by the clay in the hands of the clay-eater. IF you cannot learn to swim, learn to float; many have been drowned in the waters of affliction in plain sight of solid land. ADvERSIrv is not undiluted disagreeableness. Even adverse criticism gives pleasure to the writer. IN this world we shall have tribulation; in the next world we shall have opportunities for wondering why we gave it a seat at the head of the table. IT is true that life is short, but one may always have the consolation of making a long face over it. WHEN poverty comes in at the door, love takes the pattern of her garment, and thinks it will not be so unbecoming, after all. EI/zeiwyn We/herald. The Prig. THOUGH genius clad you with a golden mist, For him your verses would but lamely stammer If in their texture should by chance exist One least, unholy blemish of bad grammar. Vainly for him the powers you would unite Of Shakspere, Dante, Molii~re, Lope de Vega, If, quoting Greek, you once presumed to write An omicron in place of an omega! Michael Will Not Be In It. (A 5T. PATEIcKs nAy EPIC.) To-MoaRow will be the parade, The parade of St. Patrick St. Patricks day parade. There will he many bands of music, Horses gaily caparisoned, File after file of Hibernians, Mile after mile of high beavers; Patrick and Lawrence, Peter and Terence, They will all be there. But Michael Michael will not be in the parade. They will march through Canal street, through Hester, Through the Bowery, through Grand street Oh, how the Grand street girls grand girls! would admire Michael! For he is handsome and stalwart. But Michael Michael will not be in the parade. Michaels father was an army contractor. Michael is rich, and can do as he pleases. He loves fair women; He is a leader of men. - He has a black horse, an Arabian charger; No man who will march on the morrow Would look so imposing as Michael. But Michael Michael will not be in the parade. For he, is he not a Russian? Does he not live in St. Petersburg? How has he ever heard of St. Patrick? No; Michael Michaelovitch Papoff He will not be in the parade! Edgar Fawcett. Charles Ba/tell Loomis. Mr. Thompsoss adds: IN LIGHTER VEIN Saints and Sinners. THE same clear ray of light that paints The windows full of holy saints, Be sure it fails not in its search To find the sinners in the church. Frank Demps/er Sherman. The Decline of Profanity. IT is reported of a dignitary of the Church that once in a moment of severe trial, he expressed the opinion that the House of Bishops had neglected its duty, in that it had not prepared an appropriate form of impre- cation to he used on extraordinary occasions. I sup- pose it conceivable that persons hound hy the conven- tions of organized religious bodies sometimes feel at a certain disadvantage through the interdiction laid upon them from expressing acute annoyance or even indig- nation or detestation hy the use of language that laymen permit themselves, however impiously, with practical immunity from open rehuke. But the curious fact is that this disadvantage is likely to be felt only by English-speaking men. No French- man would he conscious of it, and, of course, no woman of standing in any civilized race. It would be an inter- esting speculation, perhaps too tempting to be safe, whether the habit of profanity, in its two quite distinct hranches of swearing and cursing, goes with more pronounced energy and rudeness of character, and is absent where these are absent. The English races have it; the Germans have it, perhaps in less de- gree; the Latin races have hardly a trace of it; and women do not have it at all. I have sometimes fancied that it went with the Hebrew Scriptures, which may have furnished the ideas of which profanity is the per- verted expression. But that is a question far too deep for these pages. The point I should like to note is that the habit is dying out. It was, within the memory of those who do not like to think themselves old, very common. I have heard, on what I am sure is trust- worthy authority, of a clergyman of the last generation who, summoned to breakfast while at his morning de- votions, turned upon the unfortunate messenger with the exclamation: you! How dare you interrupt my prayers! Much less extreme instances are known to many of us which would now be simply impossible. Are we becoming more pious? That is not the general impression. Is the fiber of the race softening? That is often maintained, but I do not think successfully. The civil war is there to disprove it for Americans, at least. Or are we, as Frenchmen and women did long ago, learning more adequately to master the re- sources of our own tongue, and becoming independent of this crude and rather stupid to call it nothing worse device? Edward Cary. The Contributors Dream. WE scribblers are human, and sometimes cross; Besides, I d been up all night~ And I thought with gloom on the probable fate Of the story I could nt write. I thought, and nodded, and fell asleep, With my head on that spotless page; And I dreamed a dream of the editor As he 11 be in the Golden Age. I dreamed that I knocked at the editors door, And at once there did appear A beautiful damsel, robed in black, With a pen behind her ear. She bowed and smiled as she took my card, And she did not ask me to wait, But opened the door of the inner room Where the editor sat in state. The editor rose with a courtly grace, And brought me an easy-chair; Then he begged to see my manuscript, And he read it then and there. He read it with interest, every word; He laughed at its humor keen; And the tears rolled down his intelligent face At every pathetic scene. And when he had ended, he grasped my hand, And said: I cannot express Our warm and sincerely heartfelt thanks For the favor of this MS. But if I may venture to speak the word (Here he fell upon my neck), Perhaps you 11 permit us the small return Of a thousand-dollar check. We sincerely hope this is but the first Creation of your brain; And whenever a second tale is evolved, We beg you will call again. If a personal call would be too much, In the rush of your busy life, Pray trust your sheets to the U. S. mail, Or send them up by your wife. For a man of your very evident worth We keep an open account, And shall always be glad to make an advance Of cash to any amount. We never give up a poem or tale That once gets into our grip; But because a good many are sent to us, We use this printed slip. (Here he read from a slip:) Your MS. received, And accepted with ardent thanks; We send you a signed and certified check, And beg you 11 fill up the blanks. It is not for poor devils of editors To refuse good authors, I ween; And of course, if we suffer from lack of space, We enlarge the magazine. I awoke; and, alas! it was but a dream, And my story not even begun; And I know it must go the usual rounds, If ever I get it done. P. 5. I respectfully beg to submit this verse While yet the ink is damp; In case of refusal I 11 call for it Not having an extra stamp. H. S. Huntington. 59

Edward Cary Cary, Edward The Decline of Profanity In Lighter Vein 159

IN LIGHTER VEIN Saints and Sinners. THE same clear ray of light that paints The windows full of holy saints, Be sure it fails not in its search To find the sinners in the church. Frank Demps/er Sherman. The Decline of Profanity. IT is reported of a dignitary of the Church that once in a moment of severe trial, he expressed the opinion that the House of Bishops had neglected its duty, in that it had not prepared an appropriate form of impre- cation to he used on extraordinary occasions. I sup- pose it conceivable that persons hound hy the conven- tions of organized religious bodies sometimes feel at a certain disadvantage through the interdiction laid upon them from expressing acute annoyance or even indig- nation or detestation hy the use of language that laymen permit themselves, however impiously, with practical immunity from open rehuke. But the curious fact is that this disadvantage is likely to be felt only by English-speaking men. No French- man would he conscious of it, and, of course, no woman of standing in any civilized race. It would be an inter- esting speculation, perhaps too tempting to be safe, whether the habit of profanity, in its two quite distinct hranches of swearing and cursing, goes with more pronounced energy and rudeness of character, and is absent where these are absent. The English races have it; the Germans have it, perhaps in less de- gree; the Latin races have hardly a trace of it; and women do not have it at all. I have sometimes fancied that it went with the Hebrew Scriptures, which may have furnished the ideas of which profanity is the per- verted expression. But that is a question far too deep for these pages. The point I should like to note is that the habit is dying out. It was, within the memory of those who do not like to think themselves old, very common. I have heard, on what I am sure is trust- worthy authority, of a clergyman of the last generation who, summoned to breakfast while at his morning de- votions, turned upon the unfortunate messenger with the exclamation: you! How dare you interrupt my prayers! Much less extreme instances are known to many of us which would now be simply impossible. Are we becoming more pious? That is not the general impression. Is the fiber of the race softening? That is often maintained, but I do not think successfully. The civil war is there to disprove it for Americans, at least. Or are we, as Frenchmen and women did long ago, learning more adequately to master the re- sources of our own tongue, and becoming independent of this crude and rather stupid to call it nothing worse device? Edward Cary. The Contributors Dream. WE scribblers are human, and sometimes cross; Besides, I d been up all night~ And I thought with gloom on the probable fate Of the story I could nt write. I thought, and nodded, and fell asleep, With my head on that spotless page; And I dreamed a dream of the editor As he 11 be in the Golden Age. I dreamed that I knocked at the editors door, And at once there did appear A beautiful damsel, robed in black, With a pen behind her ear. She bowed and smiled as she took my card, And she did not ask me to wait, But opened the door of the inner room Where the editor sat in state. The editor rose with a courtly grace, And brought me an easy-chair; Then he begged to see my manuscript, And he read it then and there. He read it with interest, every word; He laughed at its humor keen; And the tears rolled down his intelligent face At every pathetic scene. And when he had ended, he grasped my hand, And said: I cannot express Our warm and sincerely heartfelt thanks For the favor of this MS. But if I may venture to speak the word (Here he fell upon my neck), Perhaps you 11 permit us the small return Of a thousand-dollar check. We sincerely hope this is but the first Creation of your brain; And whenever a second tale is evolved, We beg you will call again. If a personal call would be too much, In the rush of your busy life, Pray trust your sheets to the U. S. mail, Or send them up by your wife. For a man of your very evident worth We keep an open account, And shall always be glad to make an advance Of cash to any amount. We never give up a poem or tale That once gets into our grip; But because a good many are sent to us, We use this printed slip. (Here he read from a slip:) Your MS. received, And accepted with ardent thanks; We send you a signed and certified check, And beg you 11 fill up the blanks. It is not for poor devils of editors To refuse good authors, I ween; And of course, if we suffer from lack of space, We enlarge the magazine. I awoke; and, alas! it was but a dream, And my story not even begun; And I know it must go the usual rounds, If ever I get it done. P. 5. I respectfully beg to submit this verse While yet the ink is damp; In case of refusal I 11 call for it Not having an extra stamp. H. S. Huntington. 59

H. S. Huntington Huntington, H. S. The Contributor's Dream In Lighter Vein 159

IN LIGHTER VEIN Saints and Sinners. THE same clear ray of light that paints The windows full of holy saints, Be sure it fails not in its search To find the sinners in the church. Frank Demps/er Sherman. The Decline of Profanity. IT is reported of a dignitary of the Church that once in a moment of severe trial, he expressed the opinion that the House of Bishops had neglected its duty, in that it had not prepared an appropriate form of impre- cation to he used on extraordinary occasions. I sup- pose it conceivable that persons hound hy the conven- tions of organized religious bodies sometimes feel at a certain disadvantage through the interdiction laid upon them from expressing acute annoyance or even indig- nation or detestation hy the use of language that laymen permit themselves, however impiously, with practical immunity from open rehuke. But the curious fact is that this disadvantage is likely to be felt only by English-speaking men. No French- man would he conscious of it, and, of course, no woman of standing in any civilized race. It would be an inter- esting speculation, perhaps too tempting to be safe, whether the habit of profanity, in its two quite distinct hranches of swearing and cursing, goes with more pronounced energy and rudeness of character, and is absent where these are absent. The English races have it; the Germans have it, perhaps in less de- gree; the Latin races have hardly a trace of it; and women do not have it at all. I have sometimes fancied that it went with the Hebrew Scriptures, which may have furnished the ideas of which profanity is the per- verted expression. But that is a question far too deep for these pages. The point I should like to note is that the habit is dying out. It was, within the memory of those who do not like to think themselves old, very common. I have heard, on what I am sure is trust- worthy authority, of a clergyman of the last generation who, summoned to breakfast while at his morning de- votions, turned upon the unfortunate messenger with the exclamation: you! How dare you interrupt my prayers! Much less extreme instances are known to many of us which would now be simply impossible. Are we becoming more pious? That is not the general impression. Is the fiber of the race softening? That is often maintained, but I do not think successfully. The civil war is there to disprove it for Americans, at least. Or are we, as Frenchmen and women did long ago, learning more adequately to master the re- sources of our own tongue, and becoming independent of this crude and rather stupid to call it nothing worse device? Edward Cary. The Contributors Dream. WE scribblers are human, and sometimes cross; Besides, I d been up all night~ And I thought with gloom on the probable fate Of the story I could nt write. I thought, and nodded, and fell asleep, With my head on that spotless page; And I dreamed a dream of the editor As he 11 be in the Golden Age. I dreamed that I knocked at the editors door, And at once there did appear A beautiful damsel, robed in black, With a pen behind her ear. She bowed and smiled as she took my card, And she did not ask me to wait, But opened the door of the inner room Where the editor sat in state. The editor rose with a courtly grace, And brought me an easy-chair; Then he begged to see my manuscript, And he read it then and there. He read it with interest, every word; He laughed at its humor keen; And the tears rolled down his intelligent face At every pathetic scene. And when he had ended, he grasped my hand, And said: I cannot express Our warm and sincerely heartfelt thanks For the favor of this MS. But if I may venture to speak the word (Here he fell upon my neck), Perhaps you 11 permit us the small return Of a thousand-dollar check. We sincerely hope this is but the first Creation of your brain; And whenever a second tale is evolved, We beg you will call again. If a personal call would be too much, In the rush of your busy life, Pray trust your sheets to the U. S. mail, Or send them up by your wife. For a man of your very evident worth We keep an open account, And shall always be glad to make an advance Of cash to any amount. We never give up a poem or tale That once gets into our grip; But because a good many are sent to us, We use this printed slip. (Here he read from a slip:) Your MS. received, And accepted with ardent thanks; We send you a signed and certified check, And beg you 11 fill up the blanks. It is not for poor devils of editors To refuse good authors, I ween; And of course, if we suffer from lack of space, We enlarge the magazine. I awoke; and, alas! it was but a dream, And my story not even begun; And I know it must go the usual rounds, If ever I get it done. P. 5. I respectfully beg to submit this verse While yet the ink is damp; In case of refusal I 11 call for it Not having an extra stamp. H. S. Huntington. 59

Frank Dempster Sherman Sherman, Frank Dempster Saints and Sinners In Lighter Vein 159-160

IN LIGHTER VEIN Saints and Sinners. THE same clear ray of light that paints The windows full of holy saints, Be sure it fails not in its search To find the sinners in the church. Frank Demps/er Sherman. The Decline of Profanity. IT is reported of a dignitary of the Church that once in a moment of severe trial, he expressed the opinion that the House of Bishops had neglected its duty, in that it had not prepared an appropriate form of impre- cation to he used on extraordinary occasions. I sup- pose it conceivable that persons hound hy the conven- tions of organized religious bodies sometimes feel at a certain disadvantage through the interdiction laid upon them from expressing acute annoyance or even indig- nation or detestation hy the use of language that laymen permit themselves, however impiously, with practical immunity from open rehuke. But the curious fact is that this disadvantage is likely to be felt only by English-speaking men. No French- man would he conscious of it, and, of course, no woman of standing in any civilized race. It would be an inter- esting speculation, perhaps too tempting to be safe, whether the habit of profanity, in its two quite distinct hranches of swearing and cursing, goes with more pronounced energy and rudeness of character, and is absent where these are absent. The English races have it; the Germans have it, perhaps in less de- gree; the Latin races have hardly a trace of it; and women do not have it at all. I have sometimes fancied that it went with the Hebrew Scriptures, which may have furnished the ideas of which profanity is the per- verted expression. But that is a question far too deep for these pages. The point I should like to note is that the habit is dying out. It was, within the memory of those who do not like to think themselves old, very common. I have heard, on what I am sure is trust- worthy authority, of a clergyman of the last generation who, summoned to breakfast while at his morning de- votions, turned upon the unfortunate messenger with the exclamation: you! How dare you interrupt my prayers! Much less extreme instances are known to many of us which would now be simply impossible. Are we becoming more pious? That is not the general impression. Is the fiber of the race softening? That is often maintained, but I do not think successfully. The civil war is there to disprove it for Americans, at least. Or are we, as Frenchmen and women did long ago, learning more adequately to master the re- sources of our own tongue, and becoming independent of this crude and rather stupid to call it nothing worse device? Edward Cary. The Contributors Dream. WE scribblers are human, and sometimes cross; Besides, I d been up all night~ And I thought with gloom on the probable fate Of the story I could nt write. I thought, and nodded, and fell asleep, With my head on that spotless page; And I dreamed a dream of the editor As he 11 be in the Golden Age. I dreamed that I knocked at the editors door, And at once there did appear A beautiful damsel, robed in black, With a pen behind her ear. She bowed and smiled as she took my card, And she did not ask me to wait, But opened the door of the inner room Where the editor sat in state. The editor rose with a courtly grace, And brought me an easy-chair; Then he begged to see my manuscript, And he read it then and there. He read it with interest, every word; He laughed at its humor keen; And the tears rolled down his intelligent face At every pathetic scene. And when he had ended, he grasped my hand, And said: I cannot express Our warm and sincerely heartfelt thanks For the favor of this MS. But if I may venture to speak the word (Here he fell upon my neck), Perhaps you 11 permit us the small return Of a thousand-dollar check. We sincerely hope this is but the first Creation of your brain; And whenever a second tale is evolved, We beg you will call again. If a personal call would be too much, In the rush of your busy life, Pray trust your sheets to the U. S. mail, Or send them up by your wife. For a man of your very evident worth We keep an open account, And shall always be glad to make an advance Of cash to any amount. We never give up a poem or tale That once gets into our grip; But because a good many are sent to us, We use this printed slip. (Here he read from a slip:) Your MS. received, And accepted with ardent thanks; We send you a signed and certified check, And beg you 11 fill up the blanks. It is not for poor devils of editors To refuse good authors, I ween; And of course, if we suffer from lack of space, We enlarge the magazine. I awoke; and, alas! it was but a dream, And my story not even begun; And I know it must go the usual rounds, If ever I get it done. P. 5. I respectfully beg to submit this verse While yet the ink is damp; In case of refusal I 11 call for it Not having an extra stamp. H. S. Huntington. 59 i6o IN LIGHTER VEIN. Over the Sea Lies Spain. PERHAPS they may count me a beggar here, With never a roof for the wind and the rain; But there is the sea with its wave-lashed pier, And over the sea lies Spain. And there am I held by a title high, As befitteth the lord of a broad demesne; For there is my kingdom, and here am I, With only the sea between. And what ~f the sea be deep, be deep, And what ~f the sea be wide? Some day I shall float in my own fair boat, And sail to the other side. A certain man in the city T meet, As he steps to his coach at the curbstone there, From a solemn house in a stately street You would know him rich by his air. He gives me a finger or two to hold, Or only a passing nod may deign: He does not know of my title and gold, My castle and lands in Spain. But what care I for his bonds and stocks? No solemn house in the city for me! His are the ships that lie at the docks, But I have a ship at sea. And what ~f the land be for, be far, And what ~/ the sea be wide? Some day / shall sail with afavoring gale To a port on the other side. And now while I lie on the sea-beach here, With the fisherman yonder mending his seine, I know that only the sea sweeps clear Twixt me and my castle in Spain. I can see the sun on its airy towers, And a white hand beckon from over-sea; I can smell the breath of the rosy bowers, Where somebody waits for me. So content do I walk in this World of men To which by an alien name I am known; But how it will gape in wonder when Don Carlos comes to his own! Be never the land so far, so far, Be never so broad the main, There s a ship on the sea that belongs to me, And over the sea lies Spain. Charles Washington Coleman. Mrs. Fulsoms Journey. I LOOKED forward considerabul to the journey, said Mrs. Fulsom, after her return from a short visit to Montreal and Quebec; and I own to it that when Mr. Fulsom said as he had business in the provinces, and ~vas goin to take me along, I was real pleased. Mr. Pike, who does a wholesale bean business, kind o made up his mind to go an take Mis Pike, an I lotted on havin her fer company. She had nt been nowhere more n I had, an I thought we should take a sight of comfut together. But, land sakes, she was most the death of the whole of us, she was so. Mr. Pike s a master stirrin man, an he wanted to see all he could, an~ was anxious to hey Mis Pike see too. But soon s we got well seated in the cars she jest dozed off, an though Mr. Pike would shake her arm now n then to point out somethin, she did nt seem to sense much till we got to Montreal. Then, I may say, my troubles begun. The men folks had their customers to see, so I thought as Mis Pike an I would get out bright an early; but before we d got well out n the hotel I could see as t was wearin on her. She managed to get up some interest, though, after we d got lost. She said she knew we should, an fer her part she did nt never expect to get home alive. After a spell we found a man who knew where the hotel was, an showed us the way back. But the hotel did nt seem to please her no better a hem lost did. I was calculatin on goin out n the afternoon, but Mis Pike thought t was goin to rain; so I said I d go alone, bein as our time was limited, an I wanted to see what I could. But she seemed to feel mournful about it, said she should nt take a minutes peace to be left alone in a strange house; so I settled down an stayed with her till I got to be about her mind as fer as hotels went. The next day we took the boat to go to Quebec. I d read some about the French and Indian wars, an I was a-lookin forard to tellin the folks to home all about the river. But t want no use. We went aboard the boat about two in the afternoon, an Mis Pike went right to her state-room an went to bed. Mr. Pike he came on deck lookin kind o worn an~ discouraged, an said Mis Pike wanted me to come down an set with her a spell, an I felt obliged to go. He said be was afeared Mis Pike was nt enjoyin herself, an I said I was afeared not. I went down, an says I, Be you feelin bad, Mis Pike? No, Mis Fulsom, says she; I m a-feelin as well as common; but I aint never been on the water before, so I thought I d be on the safe side, an not take no chances. There want much I could amuse myself with, an I did nt feel none the better fer hevin to stay down there; aii t want long before I begun to be sick, an t want so I could get up till the boat was tied up to the wharf in Quebec. That s the way t was all the way. She acted jest as if she was a livin sacrifice, so s to speak, fer our diversion. Fer all that I see, except the day we was lost in Montreal, I might jest as well set right here to home. Then, though I would nt a minded clothes if she d only acted well, I felt sort of troubled about Mis Pikes dress. T was a brown plaid gingham, an she wore her Paisley shawl. T want what I call suitable, an fore we got home she looked himpsy enough. She said she was glad enough to get home alive, an I spose she was. But it did seem dreadful hard to me that the only journey I ever took had to be took along with Mis Pike, though she said a number of times that, she did nt know what she d a done if I had nt been along. An she really seemed to enjoy hevin me sit in state-rooms an hotels with her, so I dunno as I ought to complain. Still, I cant tell you niuch that I saw, fer Mis Pike seemed to be about all there was to it. Alice Turner. THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YO5K.

Alice Turner Turner, Alice Mrs. Fulsom's Journey In Lighter Vein 160

i6o IN LIGHTER VEIN. Over the Sea Lies Spain. PERHAPS they may count me a beggar here, With never a roof for the wind and the rain; But there is the sea with its wave-lashed pier, And over the sea lies Spain. And there am I held by a title high, As befitteth the lord of a broad demesne; For there is my kingdom, and here am I, With only the sea between. And what ~f the sea be deep, be deep, And what ~f the sea be wide? Some day I shall float in my own fair boat, And sail to the other side. A certain man in the city T meet, As he steps to his coach at the curbstone there, From a solemn house in a stately street You would know him rich by his air. He gives me a finger or two to hold, Or only a passing nod may deign: He does not know of my title and gold, My castle and lands in Spain. But what care I for his bonds and stocks? No solemn house in the city for me! His are the ships that lie at the docks, But I have a ship at sea. And what ~f the land be for, be far, And what ~/ the sea be wide? Some day / shall sail with afavoring gale To a port on the other side. And now while I lie on the sea-beach here, With the fisherman yonder mending his seine, I know that only the sea sweeps clear Twixt me and my castle in Spain. I can see the sun on its airy towers, And a white hand beckon from over-sea; I can smell the breath of the rosy bowers, Where somebody waits for me. So content do I walk in this World of men To which by an alien name I am known; But how it will gape in wonder when Don Carlos comes to his own! Be never the land so far, so far, Be never so broad the main, There s a ship on the sea that belongs to me, And over the sea lies Spain. Charles Washington Coleman. Mrs. Fulsoms Journey. I LOOKED forward considerabul to the journey, said Mrs. Fulsom, after her return from a short visit to Montreal and Quebec; and I own to it that when Mr. Fulsom said as he had business in the provinces, and ~vas goin to take me along, I was real pleased. Mr. Pike, who does a wholesale bean business, kind o made up his mind to go an take Mis Pike, an I lotted on havin her fer company. She had nt been nowhere more n I had, an I thought we should take a sight of comfut together. But, land sakes, she was most the death of the whole of us, she was so. Mr. Pike s a master stirrin man, an he wanted to see all he could, an~ was anxious to hey Mis Pike see too. But soon s we got well seated in the cars she jest dozed off, an though Mr. Pike would shake her arm now n then to point out somethin, she did nt seem to sense much till we got to Montreal. Then, I may say, my troubles begun. The men folks had their customers to see, so I thought as Mis Pike an I would get out bright an early; but before we d got well out n the hotel I could see as t was wearin on her. She managed to get up some interest, though, after we d got lost. She said she knew we should, an fer her part she did nt never expect to get home alive. After a spell we found a man who knew where the hotel was, an showed us the way back. But the hotel did nt seem to please her no better a hem lost did. I was calculatin on goin out n the afternoon, but Mis Pike thought t was goin to rain; so I said I d go alone, bein as our time was limited, an I wanted to see what I could. But she seemed to feel mournful about it, said she should nt take a minutes peace to be left alone in a strange house; so I settled down an stayed with her till I got to be about her mind as fer as hotels went. The next day we took the boat to go to Quebec. I d read some about the French and Indian wars, an I was a-lookin forard to tellin the folks to home all about the river. But t want no use. We went aboard the boat about two in the afternoon, an Mis Pike went right to her state-room an went to bed. Mr. Pike he came on deck lookin kind o worn an~ discouraged, an said Mis Pike wanted me to come down an set with her a spell, an I felt obliged to go. He said be was afeared Mis Pike was nt enjoyin herself, an I said I was afeared not. I went down, an says I, Be you feelin bad, Mis Pike? No, Mis Fulsom, says she; I m a-feelin as well as common; but I aint never been on the water before, so I thought I d be on the safe side, an not take no chances. There want much I could amuse myself with, an I did nt feel none the better fer hevin to stay down there; aii t want long before I begun to be sick, an t want so I could get up till the boat was tied up to the wharf in Quebec. That s the way t was all the way. She acted jest as if she was a livin sacrifice, so s to speak, fer our diversion. Fer all that I see, except the day we was lost in Montreal, I might jest as well set right here to home. Then, though I would nt a minded clothes if she d only acted well, I felt sort of troubled about Mis Pikes dress. T was a brown plaid gingham, an she wore her Paisley shawl. T want what I call suitable, an fore we got home she looked himpsy enough. She said she was glad enough to get home alive, an I spose she was. But it did seem dreadful hard to me that the only journey I ever took had to be took along with Mis Pike, though she said a number of times that, she did nt know what she d a done if I had nt been along. An she really seemed to enjoy hevin me sit in state-rooms an hotels with her, so I dunno as I ought to complain. Still, I cant tell you niuch that I saw, fer Mis Pike seemed to be about all there was to it. Alice Turner. THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YO5K.

Charles Washington Coleman Coleman, Charles Washington Over the Sea Lies Spain In Lighter Vein 160-162

i6o IN LIGHTER VEIN. Over the Sea Lies Spain. PERHAPS they may count me a beggar here, With never a roof for the wind and the rain; But there is the sea with its wave-lashed pier, And over the sea lies Spain. And there am I held by a title high, As befitteth the lord of a broad demesne; For there is my kingdom, and here am I, With only the sea between. And what ~f the sea be deep, be deep, And what ~f the sea be wide? Some day I shall float in my own fair boat, And sail to the other side. A certain man in the city T meet, As he steps to his coach at the curbstone there, From a solemn house in a stately street You would know him rich by his air. He gives me a finger or two to hold, Or only a passing nod may deign: He does not know of my title and gold, My castle and lands in Spain. But what care I for his bonds and stocks? No solemn house in the city for me! His are the ships that lie at the docks, But I have a ship at sea. And what ~f the land be for, be far, And what ~/ the sea be wide? Some day / shall sail with afavoring gale To a port on the other side. And now while I lie on the sea-beach here, With the fisherman yonder mending his seine, I know that only the sea sweeps clear Twixt me and my castle in Spain. I can see the sun on its airy towers, And a white hand beckon from over-sea; I can smell the breath of the rosy bowers, Where somebody waits for me. So content do I walk in this World of men To which by an alien name I am known; But how it will gape in wonder when Don Carlos comes to his own! Be never the land so far, so far, Be never so broad the main, There s a ship on the sea that belongs to me, And over the sea lies Spain. Charles Washington Coleman. Mrs. Fulsoms Journey. I LOOKED forward considerabul to the journey, said Mrs. Fulsom, after her return from a short visit to Montreal and Quebec; and I own to it that when Mr. Fulsom said as he had business in the provinces, and ~vas goin to take me along, I was real pleased. Mr. Pike, who does a wholesale bean business, kind o made up his mind to go an take Mis Pike, an I lotted on havin her fer company. She had nt been nowhere more n I had, an I thought we should take a sight of comfut together. But, land sakes, she was most the death of the whole of us, she was so. Mr. Pike s a master stirrin man, an he wanted to see all he could, an~ was anxious to hey Mis Pike see too. But soon s we got well seated in the cars she jest dozed off, an though Mr. Pike would shake her arm now n then to point out somethin, she did nt seem to sense much till we got to Montreal. Then, I may say, my troubles begun. The men folks had their customers to see, so I thought as Mis Pike an I would get out bright an early; but before we d got well out n the hotel I could see as t was wearin on her. She managed to get up some interest, though, after we d got lost. She said she knew we should, an fer her part she did nt never expect to get home alive. After a spell we found a man who knew where the hotel was, an showed us the way back. But the hotel did nt seem to please her no better a hem lost did. I was calculatin on goin out n the afternoon, but Mis Pike thought t was goin to rain; so I said I d go alone, bein as our time was limited, an I wanted to see what I could. But she seemed to feel mournful about it, said she should nt take a minutes peace to be left alone in a strange house; so I settled down an stayed with her till I got to be about her mind as fer as hotels went. The next day we took the boat to go to Quebec. I d read some about the French and Indian wars, an I was a-lookin forard to tellin the folks to home all about the river. But t want no use. We went aboard the boat about two in the afternoon, an Mis Pike went right to her state-room an went to bed. Mr. Pike he came on deck lookin kind o worn an~ discouraged, an said Mis Pike wanted me to come down an set with her a spell, an I felt obliged to go. He said be was afeared Mis Pike was nt enjoyin herself, an I said I was afeared not. I went down, an says I, Be you feelin bad, Mis Pike? No, Mis Fulsom, says she; I m a-feelin as well as common; but I aint never been on the water before, so I thought I d be on the safe side, an not take no chances. There want much I could amuse myself with, an I did nt feel none the better fer hevin to stay down there; aii t want long before I begun to be sick, an t want so I could get up till the boat was tied up to the wharf in Quebec. That s the way t was all the way. She acted jest as if she was a livin sacrifice, so s to speak, fer our diversion. Fer all that I see, except the day we was lost in Montreal, I might jest as well set right here to home. Then, though I would nt a minded clothes if she d only acted well, I felt sort of troubled about Mis Pikes dress. T was a brown plaid gingham, an she wore her Paisley shawl. T want what I call suitable, an fore we got home she looked himpsy enough. She said she was glad enough to get home alive, an I spose she was. But it did seem dreadful hard to me that the only journey I ever took had to be took along with Mis Pike, though she said a number of times that, she did nt know what she d a done if I had nt been along. An she really seemed to enjoy hevin me sit in state-rooms an hotels with her, so I dunno as I ought to complain. Still, I cant tell you niuch that I saw, fer Mis Pike seemed to be about all there was to it. Alice Turner. THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YO5K. THE JUNO OF ARGOS. T~ISCOVERED IN 1892 BY THE AMERICAN SCHOOL OF ATHENS.

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The Century; a popular quarterly. / Volume 46, Issue 2 Century illustrated monthly magazine Century monthly magazine Century magazine Scribner's monthly Forum Forum and century The Century Company New York June 1893 0046 002
Lieut. William Henn Henn, William, Lieut. Caught on a Lee Shore 163-178

THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. VOL. XLVI. JUNE, 1893. No. 2. CAUGHT ON A LEE SHORE. PLEASURES AND PERILS OF A CRUISE ON THE FLORIDA COAST.1 IOWARD the end of 1890 we matured our plans for a cruise (our second) in Florida waters. Accordingly, about the end of December, my wife, I, and the steward of our yacht Galatea left England in the Umbria, and arrived at New York December 29. There we remained for a week, completing our camp outfit and fishing- gear, not forgetting charts and sailing directions. Arriving at Jacksonville January 11,1891, we made our final preparations, and departed for Titusville, at the head of Indian River, where we were met by our old acquaintance Captain Vann, the owner of the sloop Minnekaka, which we had chartered. Deep-draft vessels are use- less for Florida waters: a maximum of three feet is all that is admissible. The Minneha/ui was of a type common on Indian River, locally known as a skipjack. She was flat-sided, with a rise of floor of about fifteen inches, and drew, with all her stores on board, about twenty-six inches of water. Over all she was 28 feet 7 inches; extreme beam, 12 feet 9 inches. She was decked as far aft as the cockpit, and had a deck-house, or booby-hatch, over the cabin, which gave about 4 feet 10 inches head-room. The cabin itself was i~ feet long by i o feet wide, divided 1 This paper is a condensation of portions of a manuscript diary by Lieutenant William Henn,the well- known naval officer and yachtsman, who, in i886, sailed fore and aft by the center-board trunk, which rose about 2 feet 6 inches from the floor. The cabin extended underneath the fore deck, and in that part of it all our light gear was stowed. There were two rudely constructed trestles, which did duty for bedsteads. My wife appro- priated the starboard one, while I occupied the port. All the fittings were of the very roughest description; there was nothing yacht-like about them, but it was the best boat available that we knew of. Abaft the cabin was an open cockpit 7 feet by 5 feet. In this space the crew consisting of the skipper and the steward lived, cooked, and slept, except at such times as we were able to pitch the tent and make a camp on shore. An awning spread over the main boom gave them shelter at night. The rig was a simple one, consisting of two sails, jib and mainsail, both laced to booms. She spread a large area of canvas for her size. Although she had less than five hundredweight of ballast, she carried her canvas well, and in smooth water was very fast to windward (her draft was seven feet with the center-board down); but in anything of a lop or seaway she spanked and pounded, and proved very wet. Off the wind she was hard to steer, like all her type. She was good enough for smooth- the Galatea against the Alayftower for the Americas cup. The pictures are after drawings hy the author and photographs by Mrs. Henn. EDITOR. Copyright, 1893, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved. 163 164 CA !JGHT ON A LEE SNORE. water work, but was very uncomfortable in the least bit of sea, and soon after we started she began to leak badly. At 9:30 of a lovely morning, January 15, we cast off from the wharf. Properly speaking, Indian River is not a river, but a long, shallow salt-water lagoon running parallel with the Atlantic Ocean. This lagoon is about i~o miles in length, and, except in the narrows, is from one to five miles in width. It has two commu- nications with the ocean, one opposite St. Lucie or Fort Capron, about ninety miles south of Titusville, and the other at its southern ex- tremity at Jupiter. The depth varies from ten feet to as many inches, but channels have been dredged through the principal shoalsandoyster- bars for craft drawing four feet of water. An hour or two after starting, the wind shifted and came dead ahead, and we had an opportunity of seeing what the Minnekaka could do to wind- ward. Slowly but surely we caught up and passed boat after boat, and I could see Skipper was getting the last inch out of her, and out the cruise we suffered much inconvenience and discomfort from this trouble. January i8, in Indian River narrows, we ran hard and fast on an oyster-bar. All hands, except my wife, who worked away with a setting-pole, had to jump overboard to shove the sloop off a style of navigation called by the Indian River boatmen shirt-tailing. At 6:30 on January 19 we were under way with a fresh breeze from the north, bound to Jupiter, forty miles to the southward, and the iWinnekalia made short miles of it. About noon the lighthouse was abeam of us, and we were steering for the point near the inlet where we had made our camp four years before. We soon cleared the ground and pitched the tent. While engaged in this work, our old friend Captain Carlin, who is in command of the life-saving station at Jupiter, made his appearance, and welcomed us warmly. The fishing proved as good as ever, large numbers of bluefish and pompano being caught daily. One day Captain Carlin brought a young doing it well. At ~ P. M. we were off Rock- ledge, twenty-two miles from Titusville, and there we decided on anchoring for the night. After midnight on January 17 the rain came down in torrents, and lasted until morning. The downpour soon searched out all weak places on deck, and, to our great disgust, we found the water had penetrated in quantities, which showed that the leaks were serious. Skipper guessed he d find them out and fix them, but this he never was able to do, and through- racoon on board as a present for my wife. The little creature, which we named Chero- kee Kate, was nine or ten months old, and was still very wild and vicious. At sunrise on January 23 the weather was fine, so I gave the order to strike the tent and prepare for sea. Skipper showed signs of be- ing unwilling to start, and was very dilatory, but by seven we had everything stowed on board, and, hoisting our sails, finally got off. We had to help her along with the setting- DRAWN BY CARLTON T. CHAPMAN. ENGRAVED BY F. A. PETTIT. AGROUND. poles, as a strong flood was running, but at the inlet we had xvind enough to burst through it, and we crossed the bar without shipping a drop of water, disturbing in our passage over it several large sharks and saw-fish, some of which were close enough to be touched with the boat-hook. Shaping our course south, we ran parallel to the beach, keeping about a quarter of a mile outside the surf to avoid as much as possible the current of the Gulf Stream, which here sets close along the shore. We were at last fairly started on our cruise, and the Mlii- ne/ia/ia, for the first time in her existence, was breasting the waters of the broad Atlantic. The sea was smooth, the wind being light, and Skip- pers spirits revived; but in spite of it all be was not very cheerful, and opined that a norther was brewing, and hoped we d be lucky enough to reach a harbor before it struck us. We soon passed the life-saving station, and the crew turned out and gave us a cheer, at the same time running up the American ensign at the flagstaff. We dipped our burgee, as an acknowledgment, little imagining that the next time we saw them we should be in dire distress and in want of their assistance. At ~: 25 P. M. we were off New River Inlet, about fifty-three miles distant from Jupiter, and Skippers forebodings as to being caught by a norther were not going to be fulfilled. We had intended to stop at New River for a few days, as the fishing there is excellent, and game abounds in the vicinity; but as it was dark be- fore we reached the inlet, and there being only three feet of water on the bar, we decided on proceeding to Biscayne Bay, about twenty miles further south. At i :30 we sighted the light on the northern extremity of the Florida Reef, and at 2 A. I\I. ari-ived off the passage between Virginia Key and Key Biscayne. Here we anchored to await daylight, having sailed seventy-three miles from Jupiter. On approaching Cocoanut Grove, we ob- served several yachts at anchor, their white sails glistening in the bright morning sun. A signal was flying from a wharg which proved to be the burgee of the Biscayne Bay Yacht Club. We hauled down our private signal, substitut- ing for it the burgee of the Royal Northern Yacht Club. A yacht now got under way and came out to meet us, and we were warmly welcomed by her owner, the secretary of the club, who piloted us to the anchorage. Our mud-hook bad hardly reached the bottom before the genial commodore, whose flag was flying on board his sharpie, the Presto, came on board, and tendered to us all the privileges of the club. The sharpie is, without doubt, both for build, rig, and accommodation, the best type of craft for navigating Florida waters that I am ac- quainted with, especially the type which finds favor with the yachtsmen of Biscayne Bay. These sharpies are round-bottomed, and carry several tons of ballast, but the draft, without the center-board, does not exceed three feet. They are far superior to the flat-bottomed type, which pound heavily in the least lop of the sea, and are wet and uncomfortable except in smooth water. They sail fast both on and off the wind, are easily handled with a small crew, and are good and safe sea-boats. They are ketch-rigged, with one head-sail, and have a peculiarly cut topsail, which is very effective off the wind. We left Miami on January 29, bound to Key West, distant to the southward about m ~o miles, and after several stops reached there Feb- ruary 4. About noon we anchored among a fleet of small yachts whose crews appeared 165 DRAWN BY OBALTON T. CAAPMAN. JUPITER INLET. i 66 CAUGHT ON A LEE SHORE. to regard us with a certain amount of curiosity, for our craft was of a build unfamiliar to the Key-XVesters, and their interest was further aroused by seeing the signal of the Royal Northern Yacht Club fluttering at our topmast- head, and observing a lady on board. February 6 we set sail for Cape Sable; but our bobstay snapped before we reached the bell-buoy, so we had to return for repairs, mak- ing an early start on the 7th. Aboutfour oclock we ran on a bank of coral mud and grass, and stayed there till 9~ 30, when, getting afloat, we anchored for the night. The next evening we were moored alongside a shelving bank of sand in Little Cape Sable Creek, about ten miles west of Cape Sable. Skipper and I started to explore the creek, which was hedged in with an almost impenetrable growth of tall mangrove-trees. Presently the air became dark with mosquitos, and, pursued by the pests, we pulled back to the sloop, which, to our dismay, we found had been left aground by the ebbing tide. Night was rapidly approaching, and the mosquitos were more numerous and fiercer than ever. We were literally devoured by them; our clothes were little protection; they penetrated every- where. So, leaving the sloop, we made two large fires on the sand-bank, cutting down and piling on the green mangrove-branchesany- thing to make a smoke, or smudge. To a cer- tain extent our efforts were crowned with suc- cess, and, wrapped in wreaths of smoke, we made a hasty dinner, and anxiously watched the rising tide. The light of the fires threw a ruddy glare on the surface of the creek, light- ing up the dark, impenetrable walls of man- groves, and now and again we could see the dorsal fins of the sharks that were coming in on the flood-tide. In spite of our sufferings we determined to fish for them, and in a few minutes the shark-line was rigged. Baiting the hook with a four-pound Spanish mackerel, we pitched it out a few yards from the shore, and, making the end fast to a tree, waited de- velopments. We were not kept long in sus- pense; in less than five minutes the slack line, which was coiled on the sand, began to run out. After twenty feet or so had disappeared, we seized it, and held on, jerking it hard to drive the hook well home; in an instant we felt we were fast in something, for in spite of the com- bined efforts of Skipper, steward, and myself, all DRAWN BY CARLTQN T. CHAPMAN. FROM JUPITER INLET INTO THE OPEN. of us were swiftly dragged toward the waters edge, and the next moment the quiet waters of the creek were lashed into foam, as a huge shark plunged and rolled on the surface, vainly endeavoring to get rid of the good steel hook with its three feet of chain. The struggle was of short duration, for after a momentary tug of wartwelve feet of shark versus seven- teen feet of manwe dragged the great brutes head on the shelving sand, and sent a four- pound ax crashing into its brain. The hook being then cut from its jaws and rebaited, was again cast out. In less than an hour we had hooked five, and landed three ranging from nine to twelve feet in length, and, feeling we had done our duty by the sharks, we were satisfied. At 9:30 the next morning we were sailing up the coast. We were all feeling very sorry for ourselves, suffering terribly from mos- quito-bites, and many were the imprecations we uttered against Little Cape Sable Creek. I have had considerable experience with mos- quitos and their ways, in many parts ofthe globe; but except on one occasion, when elephant- hunting in Ceylon, I was never so badly bitten, nor have ever suffered as much. We afterward heard that this creek was notorious as being the worst place on the coast for these pests. At 4 P. M. we were abreast of Pavillion Key, which seemed to be alive with pelicans sitting on the mangrove-trees, while many frigate- birds were soaring high overhead. On landing, we found the sand covered with the tracks of racoons and possums, and we saw traces of a deer. Returning on board, we rigged up and baited the shark-line, putting it overboard after dark, and securing the end to the mast. Soon after midnight we were awakened by the vio- lent motion of the sloop. At first I was at a loss to account for it; then suddenly remembering the shark-line, I roused my wife and crew, and hurried on deck. Sure enough, something was hooked, for the line was as taut as a bar, and the sloop, tugging and straining at her cable, was sluing and sheering about in a very lively fashion. We soon got hold of the line, and then it was a case of pull devil, pull baker, the huge fish plunging and lashing on the surface and nearly dragging us overboard, and with blows from his powerful tail making the phos- phorescent water fly in all directions. At last we mastered him, and, dragging him alongside, bent the fore-halyards on to the line for a pur- chase, and succeeded in lifting the brutes head clear of the water. Then the question arose, How to get the hook out of his jaws? My wife was equal to the occasion, and appeared on the scene with her 45-caliber Smith & Wesson pistol, loaded and ready for action, four rounds from which fired into his brain had the effect of quieting the monster, when, after wetting us all over with a final convulsive lash of his tail, he turned belly up. We quickly cut out the hook with an ax, after first measuring the fishs length with a boat-hook (it proved to be a little under twelve feet), and then turned in again. Seven oclock A. M., February io, saw us underway with a light southeast wind, bound to Great Marco, distant about twenty-five miles. x67 A WHARF AT KEY WEST. i68 CAUGHT ON A LEE SHORE. At noon the temperature of the air was 820 in the shade, and the sea-water was 740. Off Cape Romano the wind fell very light, and on the numerous sand-banks in its vicinity we saw great numbers of pelicans, both white and brown, the white variety being the more nu- merous. At4 i. M. we were off Caximbas Pass, and the wind had almost died out. The sea was alive with porpoises, which were leaping clear out of water, and presently we sailed through a shoal of great devil-fish, some of them being close enough to strike with a har- poon; but although we had on board the wea- pons and lines, I had no desire to use them devil-fish, as I well know from former expe- riences, being awkward customers to tackle, even in a properly equipped craft with skilled hands to throw the irons, and afterward to man- age the lines and boat. Some of the fish we passed seemed fully eighteen or twenty feet across, from wing to wing, and would probably be the same length from the tips of their horns to the ends of their tails. Many years ago I as- sisted at the capture of one near Port Royal, Jamaica, which towed us for more than two hours. We were in a i-oared 27-foot whale- boat, and had no less than three whale-irons fast in the fish; but before we killed it the boat had shipped a great deal of water, and we were all soaked to the skin by the shower of spray which the monster threw over us. This speci- men, which was considered by no means a large one, measured sixteen feet in length, about seventeen in breadth, and was estimated to weigh more than a ton. Wonderful stories are told about these fish, of their lifting ships anchors, and enveloping swimmers with their enormous wings, and drowning them; but I cannot vouch for their accuracy. Skipper, who had never before seen nor heard of these crea- tures, seemed relieved when we saw the last of them. Just as the sun was setting we arrived off Great Marco Pass, the wind being so light that we were barely able to hold our own against the tide, which was setting out by the channel with a velocity of nearly three knots an hour; but at last we succeeded in passing the inner fairway buoy, and brought up for the night. The settlement on Marco Island consists of two or three families, and here there is a post- office. We anchored off the dock, and soon settled with Mr. C about hauling out the Minnehaluz. She had been leaking badly ever since leaving Indian River. At Marco I met Joe,the skipper of a 30-foot sloop,which was undergoing repairs,who offered to pilot me on a tarpon expedition. After row- ing for half an hour we headed for a bight which Joe called Tarpon Bay. We anchored in five feet of water on the edge of the chan nel, and began operations by several exciting encounters with sharks, which bit off the hooks. Then we lighted our pipes, and patiently watched. Half an hour passed, and still no sign. The tarpon had disappeared, and so had the sharks; not a fin was visible, but the sun was blazing hot, and I was beginning to think tarpon-fishing a delusion. Even Joe was not very sanguine, and said it was rather early in the season for them to bite well. We were discussing the advisability of shifting our ground, when once more the line began to move, very gently and slowly, but evenly and with increasing ve- locity. The slack had almost run overboard when, a hundred feet away from the skiW a dazzling mass of silver some six feet in length shot high into the air, and fell back with a crash which whitened the water with foam, and could be heard half a mile off. Tarpon! Tar- pon! shouted Joe. To pick up the rod was the work of an instant, and then the reel began to whiz as the noble fish dashed away at a tre- mendous speed, throwing a succession of mag- nificent leaps, shaking his head (as a dog does with a rat), and making extraordinary contor- tions in the air in vain endeavor to eject the hook. In a jiffy Joe had the skiff under way, and we followed the fish, which was tearing down the channel, as fast as we could, while I put on all the strain I dared, trying to check or turn him; but I might as well have tried to stop a torpedo-boat. He had now got about one hundred and fifty yards away, and the line in the reel was getting low, when out he jumped again, and, on regaining the water, turned and made straight for the skiff, passing within a few yards of it long before I had time to get a taut line on him. Keep a level head, boss, and I guess you 11 get him; he s got the hook well down. Start in now and work him for all you re worth, said Joe, who was handling the skiff admira- bly. I soon got in all the slack, and was bearing hard on him, yet could make no im- pression. The fish was swiftly and steadily heading down the bay, keeping in the deep water, and we followed, sticking as close as we were able. Then, for the first time, I realized that I had a pretty big contract on hand. Another wild rush was followed by a couple of grand jumps. Now s your time to make him tired. Worry him; dont give him a rest. I worried him all I knew how, until the ten- sion of the line made it fairly sing again. The fish slowly yielded, and I succeeded in turning his head toward the shallow water. The last jumps appeared to exhaust him somewhat, and, by putting on all the strain the gear would bear, I at last got him out of the chan- nel on the flats, where the water was barely four feet deep. He was now moving lazily DRAWN DY GILBERT GAUL VOL. XLVI. 23. ENGRAVED DY C. GCRWARZDURGER. SHARK-FISHING, LITTLE CAPE SABLE CREEK. 170 CA UGHT ON A LEE SHORE. along; we were literally towing him toward the shore. But it was hard work; my hands and arms were getting tired, and my garments were soaked with perspiration. Suddenly the tarpon stopped, and, turning rapidly, made another desperate rush for the deep water. The reel whizzed like a buzz-saw, and, in spite of all my efforts to check him, full eighty yards ran off before the king again flung himself high in the air; another spurt, followed by more leaps, showed that he had taken a new lease of life, and I began to despair of ever being able to tire him. It was a stand-up fight be- tween man and fish, and so far the fish seemed to be the less tired of the two. More than an hour had elapsed since the first jump, and to all appearances his majesty was as fresh and lively as ever. I was feel- ir~g sore and strain- ed about the hands and arms, and my fingers had scarcely strength to turn the crank of the reel. Joe now volun- teered to give me a spell, but I declined the offer, and, getting a fresh grip of the rod, sitting well back, and bracing my feet against the bot- tom boards of the skiff, put on all the strain the rod would bear, and again brought my huge an- tagonist to a standstill. Then I started in to pull at him and to worry him, and presently he gave way, and again I led him into the shallow water. He was now much easier to manage, and soon I succeeded in getting him two or three hundred yards away from the channel, within twenty yards of the skiW butting him hard, and doing all I could to bring him within reach of the gaff; but my efforts were in vain. Suddenly he came to the surface, and blew like a porpoise. Now, look out, said Joe; hell be off again. That breath of air had undoubtedly put new life into him, for like a flash he ran out fifty or sixty yards of line, and again broke water. That makes twelve jumps; he s a bully one. Hold on, and turn him again, roared Joe, and almost immediately the fish came straight for the skiff, actually passing under the bottom, though fortunately the line went clear. Again he rose to the surface to breathe, then another frantic rush, and two more leaps. But these were his last. We were now close to a small mangrove island, in shallow water, and the great fishwasunmistakablybeginningtotire, for now and then, as he turned, we could see his magnificent broadside; but still he was far from being played dead, although I was very nearly played out. Try to lift him, said Joe, who had unshipped the oar. The fish was now within six feet of the skiW almost motion- less, and we could see that the snell outside his jaw was badly frayed. Joe then stealthily seized the ga~ and as quick as lightning struck the tar- pon through the shoulder. A desperate strug- gle ensued, but Joe held on, and so did the good barbed gaff and its long hickory pole. After an exciting ten or fifteen seconds, which 4 & CHARMING BILLY AND HIS DRAWN BY CARLTON T. CHAPMAN. ENGRAVED RY C. DCNWARZBARAER. EVERGLADES AND INDIAN CAMP. to me seemed a lifetime, we had his head above the gunwale of the skiW which was nearly half full of water (shipped during the final act), and reeving a stout line through his gills, secured it to the after thwart, cutting the snell, which was almost frayed through, adrift from the line; five minutes more would have done for it, but Joes clever strike secured the fish. I felt thoroughly tired, my hands and arms were cramped and stis as were also the muscles of my back and shoulders. The fight had lasted for an hour and twenty-seven minutes. Then, taking our prize in tow, we proceeded homeward; but on the way we nearly lost part of him, as a huge shark made a dash at the body of the defunct monarch, and just missed getting a mouthful. As it would not do to run any more risks, with considerable difficulty we lifted the tarpon into the skiff and reached home without further adventures. The figures were: Length, 6 feet 6 inches; girth, 3 feet 2 inches; weight, 14534 pounds. Joe said the fish was lean, and not in the very best condition, or it would have weighed i 6o pounds. After it was photographed, Joe took off the scales, my wife securing the best of them for preservation. On February 14, the Mi;znelzalzas repairs being complete, we sailed in company with the Gzjpsy, owned by a friend, for Charlotte Har bor, the limit of our cruise up the west coast, and Skippers spirits rose when he saw the light on Sanibel Island. In the afternoon an old friend, ex-Commodore C of the New York Yacht Club, arrived in his 38-foot water- line sloop A/ala. We had been antagonists in more than one hard-fought race since we first met on the Riviera. We decided to fish and sail in company, and had many days of pleasant sport. On February 25 I hooked a tarpon, which after a hard fight of over two hours was cleverly struck by the commodores goffer. On March i, the AII;uzclzalia, in company with the & zjpsy and the A/ala, cruised up the Caloosa River twenty miles to Fort Myers, a thriving settlement with a population of about 700. Here we had varied experiences with tar- pon. On March 5,at5 A. M.,whenthefirststreak of yellow light brightened the eastern sky, and while the good people of Fort Myers were wrapped in sleep, we weighed anchor, and with the last of the ebb-tide, and a faint draft of southerly wind, we dropped slowly down the river, followed by the A/ala. We had reached the farthest point of our voyage, and hence- forth every mile we sailed would be bringing us nearer to Indian River again. It was a quiet and lovely scene: the broad river was like a mirror framed on each side by the dark 7 DRAWN BY CARLTON T. CHAPM~. HANGING ON BY THE EYELIDS. 172 pine forests, and there was not wind enough to ruffle its surface, which reflected the exquisite hues and colors of a glorious sunrise. Our prog- ress was very slow, and as we soon would have the tide against us, we began to think we were in for a long passage, when we saw smoke as- cending astern, and presently the little steamer which plied between Punta Corda and Fort Myers hove in sight, and, on coming up to the A/a/a, took her in tow; she then steered for us, and, hailing Skipper to throw our line, pulled us down to Punta Rassa at an eight-knot speed. We landed, and after collecting our mails pro- ceeded to St. Jamess City, arriving there about 10 A. M. Taking leave of our friends, we pre- pared to set out on the return voyage, which was begun on March 6. A week later we ar- rived at Indian Key. The first streak of light of March i 7 saw us under way, with a fresh southerly wind, and under a double-reefed mainsail we went fly- ing up Hawks Channel. Off Key Largo we were struck by a sharp squall from the south- west; we dropped the peak of the mainsail to it, and afterward close-reefed the sail; then skirting the shore of Old Rhodes Key, and keeping close to the northeast point, we sailed into Caesars Creek, having done the forty knots from Indian Key in a little over six hours. Af- ter passing Rubicon Keys we were once more in Biscayne Bay, and, the wind having moder- ated, we shook out all reefs and steered for Cocoanut Grove, off which place we anchored at 4:30 P. M., receiving a hearty welcome from the members of the Biscayne Bay Yacht Club. My great ambition was to catch a tarpon in Biscayne Bay, as several noted New York an- glers had fished for them without success, and I had been told it was useless to try, as the tarpon there lived principally on shrimps, and would nt look at a mullet. I made up my mind to give them a fair trial, and on March 21 took one which in length was 6 feet 3 inches, girth 3 feet 2 inches, probable weight about 130 pounds. On Sunday, March 22, we made an early start, and under a double-reefed mainsail, with a slashing northwest wind, soon reached the sheltered waters of the Miami River. A friend had very kindly arranged for us an expedition by land to the Indian village on the edge of the Everglades; and as there was no church service to be held at Miami, a mission to the Seminoles was decided on. Crossing the river to old Fort Dallas, we set forth. The track was rough; the coralline rocks everywhere cropped up, and the tough roots of the saw-palmettos protruded across the trail. Our wagon plunged into the midst of the great pine forest and a jungle of palmetto undergrowth, pitching and CA UGH7L ON A LEE SHORE. LAUNCH OF THE SURF-BOAT, JUPITER LIFE-SAVINO STATION. CA UGHT ON A LEE SHORE. 73 rolling in a manner that threatened destruc- tion to the vehicle, but which served only to increase the mirth of the passengers. Soon all semblance of a track ceased; then the colored coachmans navigation was marvelous, and the way in which he avoided disaster against the trunks of the huge pine-trees proved him to be an old helmsman. At length the prairies which mark the beginning of the Everglades hove in sight, and we soon emerged from the forest. A collection of palm-thatched huts on the edge of the great pine-woods which ex- tended away to the north and eastward, and skirted the vast level expanse that stretched away to the south and west as far as the eye could reach, came in view, and the home of the Seminole was before us. We soon drew near the camp, and found at home only Charming Billy, his squaw, and papoose. All the others were at work in their fields in the Namak, some distance off. These Indians are very quiet and friendly. They culti- vate sugar-cane, pumpkins,sweet-potatoes,etc. ,- and they also make a good deal of starch from the root of the cassava, quantities of which grow in the pine-woods. They hunt in the fall and winter, and find their way frequently by water to Miami, bringing with them veni- son, skins, alligator-hides, birds, plumes, and starch, which they exchange fortobacco, calico, ammunition, etc. Billy expressed no cunosity as to the object of our visit, the real purpose of which was to enable my wife to photograph the Indians and their homes. Upon broach- ing the subject there was some slight demur, but after a little persuasion, and a friendly chat in which it was explained to Billy that we were strangers from beyond the sea, he was won over, and consented. Mrs. Billy, however, ut- terly declined being pictured, but I managed to get a rough pencil sketch of her without being perceived. On our way back we had gone scarcely a mile from the edge of the prairie when we be- came aware of a strong smell of burning wood, and on reaching an open spot observed great columns of dense smoke rising in the southwest. We were well to windward, and out of danger, but a strongwestwindwas blowing, andbetween the lulls we could plainly hear the hoarse roar of the flames, and the crashing of trees and branches, as they were overwhelmed and fell in the fierce conflagration, while clouds of light ashes were floating in the air, and falling all around us. We reached Fort Dallas with- out mishap, when, bidding adieu to Andrew and our kind host, we crossed the river to Miami, and regained our little vessel. On March 24 we had a splendid morning, with a light northeast wind, and all of us felt sorry it was to be our last at lovely Miami. Our friends came down to the wharf to see us start, and fairly loaded the M~ inehaka with green co- coanuts, tomatoes, and flowers. After exchang- ing salutes with the commodore and the Yacht Club at Cocoanut Grove, we turned our head toward Bears Cut, and steered for the open sea. On nearing Bears Cut, the wind, which had been gradually dropping, died out to a light air, and as it was impossible to stem the strong flood-tide which was setting through it, we an- chored for the night near the Key Biscayne in about six feet of water. The next day broke fine, with a flickering wind from the northward, and after sunrise a light fog rolled in, but soon lifted, and we got under way, and afterward anchored off the south beach of Virginia Key. At Io:3o the wind had shifted to the northeast, and the weather was looking fine and settled. As we could lay our course up the coast, the water being smooth, we weighed and proceeded to New River, distant about twenty miles. We put out the trolling-lines, and were soon busy with the kingfish. We made good pro- gress, and at 3:30 P. M. arrived off New River bar, which seemed to be smooth; but we decided on anchoring outside until we saw what the weather was going to do, for if the night promised well we made up our minds to give up the expedition to New River, and make a dash for Jupiter Inlet, the state of New River Bar auguring well for finding Jupiter Bar passable. We were now about to undertake the long- est and most dangerous run on the southeast coast of Florida; for we had between fifty and sixty miles to go, with no available harbor, if the sea should rise, for more than two hundred miles, unless we could regain Biscayne Bay. Jupiter Inlet had no more than four feet of wa- ter on the bar, and except in fine weather and with smooth water was a dangerous one to at- tempt. Hillsboro and Lake Worth inlets, both of which we would have to pass before reach- ing Jupiter, were no better. If Jupiter Bar was impassable, we would be in an awkward pre- dicament. But everything appeared to be in our favor settled weather, a fair wind, and smooth water; so, congratulating ourselves on our good fortune, we made the requisite prep- arations for a night at sea, and at 6:30 P. M. let her go north. Until midnight all went well. We had passed Hillsboro Iiilet, and were some twenty miles to the northward of it, when suddenly the wind increased, and hauled farther ahead, with pass- ing showers of light rain; but the water was still smooth, so we reefed the mainsail and held on. At 3 A. M., having then passed Lake Worth Inlet, and being within ten miles of Jupiter, we ran into a heavy swell setting from 74 CA lIGHT ON A LEE SHORE. the northeast, and at once knew that Jupiter Bar was impassable. We could already hear the thunder of the surf on the beach, and see the line of white breakers on our lee beam. The wind all the time was increas- ing, so we now close-reefed tbe mainsail and stowed the jib. For a craft of her size the Aknne/iaka was doing right well, but it was try- ing work. She was shipping water, and I could see Skipper was anxious. I must confess I felt the same. It was no use disguising the fact, we were regularly caught on a lee shore, and cut off from gaining any harbor. However, we remem- bered the life-saving station at Jupiter; if we could manage to gain it, I knew I could de- pend on the captain and crew to do all in their power to save us. We spoke but little, for all were aware of the danger we were in; but we drove tbe sloop to the best of her powers, and longed for daylight. About four oclock we caught sight of Jupi- ter Light, the bright flash of which sent a ray of hope into our hearts, for it seemed like an old friend, and told us we should soon be within reach of assistance. Would the night ever pass away? The Minnehaka was pounding and smashing into the short lop on the long, heavy swell, sending the spray flying all over us; but we were making headway, and gradually claw- ing off the shore. The little craft,however, was straining an4 leaking badly, and the pumps had to be kept going without intermission. At last a dim light appeared on the eastern horizon, and the white crests of the waves to windward seemed more distinct; then, as the stars began to pale, a gray light came stealing over the water, and soon it was bright enough for us to distinguish the white beach with its darker back- ground; and to our great relief a dark blurred mass appeared about two points away on our lee bow. This quickly took a definite shape, and proved to be the buildings of the United States life-saving station at Jupiter. But to leeward, as far as the eye could distinguish to the north and south, ran several lines of furious break- ers, the spray from which rose in sheets of va- por enveloping the sand-hills in clouds of mist. It was anything but a pleasant sight, and then I think we all realized the peril we were in, and the small chance we had of gaining the shore, if; as a last resource, we should try to beach the boat. We were now witbin a mile of the station, and about half a mile from the beacb. There was no time to lose, so I ordered Skipper to hoist the ensign union down, and to half- mast our private signal, which was flying at the topmast-head. The moment had arrived to lay the boat to. Would she do it? Skipper said, No; but try it we must. We watched for a smooth, and eased down the helm. She came up nearly head to the wind; then, gather- DRAWN BY CARLTON T. CHAPMAN. ENGRAVED DY GEG. P. RARTLE. CROSSING JUPITER BAR. CAUGHT ON A LEE SHORE. 75 ing steinway, fell off in the trough of the sea. The next moment a crest struck her amidships, and sent the water flying half-way up the main- sail. Then she came up to the wind, only to fall off again. It was no use; she would not lay to. But we had still one resource left before trying to run her through the breakers. Get the anchor ready! was the order. She 11 never hold on; she will go clean un- der, declared Skipper, a bit scared. Do as I tell you; see everything clear, and let go. It was no easy matter to get forward, but at last he managed to reach the bow, and, cutting the lashings, hove the mud-hook overboard, paying out the cable to the last inch. Will it hold? we involuntarily asked ourselves, and some moments of intense anxiety elapsed, as heaving and tossing on the heavy swell she drifted astern, the mainsail flapping and bang- ing from side to side. Suddenly she stopped, and drove herbowsprit clean under, trembling from stem to stern with the heavy jerk, and then swung head to the sea. She was holding on, but would she be able to ride in such a sea? She 11 go bows under, said Skipper; better chance it, and try to beach her; the cable will never stand. Lower and stow the mainsail, was the next order, and this was quickly executed. She did make some wild plunges, at times going bows under, right into the mast, sending the water flying into the cockpit; but she held on, and if the cable should not part or the sea become heavier, there seemed still a chance of saving her. We went forward, and, watching for an opportunity, secured the end of the cable to the mast, and served it round with a bit of small rope to prevent it from chafing on the bows, at the same time seeing everything clear, in case it should part, for setting the jib, as in that case the sole chance of saving our lives would be to run her ashore. We now turned our attention to what they were doing at the station, and saw the United States ensign flying in answer to our signals, and the life-boat on the beach with the crew about her. They made a gallant effort to launch her, but the breakers proved too heavy, and to our great disappointment they desisted from mak- ing any further attempts. We afterward learned that the boat had swamped. The crew re- mained on the beach, standing by the boat, watching for a chance to come to us. We still held on, but were in a very critical position. At any moment the cable might part, as a portion of the rope of which it was com- posed was, according to Skipper, old and un- trustworthy. This information was not likely to raise our spirits much, so we prepared for the worst. We had no life-buoys, or anything on board that would float, except the oars of the skiff and the setting-poles, which would nt have been of much account; and, to add to my anxiety, two of our ships company, my wife and the stew- ard, were unable to swim. The danger in beach- ing the sloop was very great, as there was an outer line of breakers, with deep water between them and the shore. If we were swamped in crossing it, we should sink before we could reach the beach, and there was the additional risk of encountering sharks, several of which were ac- tually visible. We emptied the water-casks and improvised a couple of life-buoys by slinging and attaching to them beckets for life-lines. Then we could do no more but await develop- ments. The swell was now very heavy, but the wind was not increasing, evidencing a strong blow somewhere up the coast, which was sending this big sea down to us. We were anchored in four fathoms of water, about half a mile from the shore, and within two hundred yards to lee- ward, in a depth of eighteen feet, the swell was topping and breaking. The Minneliaha was making much better weather of it than we had expected, but now and again she would almost stand on end when an unusually steep sea rolled in, and then, slid- ing down the opposite slope, would bury her- self to the mast, sending green water over the fore end of the deck-house. Still, if the sea be- came no worse and the cable held, we stood a good chance; on the other hand, we were lit- erally hanging by a thread, and at any mo- ment might be fighting for our lives. Skipper had lost all heart, and was seasick into the bargain, poor fellow. The sloop was pretty nearly all he owned in the world, and I think he had made up his mind that he was going to lose her. Our feelings were not en- viable, for even if we escaped with our lives, we were nearly certain to lose everything else. It was, however, reassuring to see the crew of the life-saving station standing about their boat, watching us, and we knew that every man of them would risk his life to save us. They had hoisted a signal at the flagstaff but, having no signal-book on board, we were unable to ascer- tain its meaning. Toward noon there was a decided lull, and we saw the crew gather round the boat, and run her down the beach. They were going to make another attempt to launch her. Would they succeed? It was about as anxious a five minutes as ever I spent, for when they got near the waters edge they were hidden from our sight by the heavy rollers. We could not speak, but we watched with mingled feelings of hope and almost breathless anxiety. Even poor Skip- per, who was utterly prostrated, raised his head. Five minutes elapsed,less perhaps,but to us it seemed an hour; then, tossed high on the crest of a great sea, appeared the boat with her gallant crew. They were clear of the beach, and the boat was coming over the breakers like a sea-gull. The feeling of relief was intense; our dan- gerous position was forgotten, and soon Cap- tain Carlin and his boys were within hail. They approached cautiously, and the bowmen, laying in their oars, flung a grapnel to us, which was quickly made fast; then, hauling up alongside, Carlin and two of the crew sprang on board. A warm grasp of the hand, and then to business. We had no need to ex- plain the situation; a few hurried words set- tled everything. Carlin, you must take my wife and the steward ashore, for they cant swim. Lend us an anchor and cable, and a couple of cork life-jackets, and I think we can hold on. We want, if possible, to save the boat and gear. What do you say? All right; well man- age it for you. We had a hard job to get out; the surf on the beach is the heaviest we have had for a year. Look alive there, boys, with an anchor and line. Pull well out to wind- ward, and let go. This was quickly acconi- plished; then Carlin and a couple of his hands went forward and re-secured the cables. By this time my wife, who was very unwilling to leave, was persuaded to go, as her presence on board only added to my anxiety; and, taking with her a few valuables, including Cherokee Kate an4 another coon which had been given to us a few days before, she and the steward were quickly put on board the life-boat, and cork life-jackets fastened round them. Then Carlin tossed two to us, and, saying they would keep a watch on us, and show a light during the night to mark the best place to run ashore, gave the order to let go. In a few minutes the boat was among the breakers. We watched her shooting on the crests of the rollers, losing sight of her in the hollows, and at last, to my great joy, I saw her run up on the beach, and all hands land in safety. The sea had now moderated, and the sloop was riding easier. Having a second anchor down made us more hopeful, for we now had two strings to our bow, and I began to feel more cheerful, and as if I could eat and drink something, having had nothing for nearly twenty-four hours. I rummaged about, and finding the ribs and trucks of a ham, a box of sardines, and a box of crackers, made a good meal; but Skipper, who was lying prostrate in the cockpit, could nt touch anything. It was the roughest sea he had ever been in. Standing on the deck-house, I took a survey of our surroundings. Away to the north and west, distant about a mile, was Jupiter Inlet, D76 DRAWN DY CARLTON T. CHAPMAN. ENGRAVED DY H. C. COLLINS CAMP AT JUPITER INLET. CA UGH] ON A LEE SHORE. 77 across which a furious sea was breaking. The rollers on the bar wildly tossed their great white crests, as they curled and broke in a smother of foam, and a smoke-like mist hung over the coast, rendering its outline almost in- visible. Inside the line of breakers I could see the placid waters of Indian River, the ha- ven where we would be, and the tall, sym- metrical tower of Jupiter Light on its wooded bluff. Wistfully I gazed at it, and longed to be safely moored in the smooth waters that it overshadowed. Abreast of us was the life- saving station, and I could see the life-boat on its carriage, all ready for launching, and some of the crew on watch. To seaward the weather looked fine; the swell had unmistaka- bly decreased, and the wind was dropping and veering to the southeast. Telling Skipper to rouse up and keep a look- out, I lay down and took a nap; but in an hour or so was awakened by an unusually heavy plunge, and found that both wind and sea had increased, and things were not looking very rosy. The flood-tide was making, and the Afinnehaluz would not lie head to the sea; she was shipping water, taking it green over the deck-house. I felt anxious again, and Skipper was in decidedly low spirits, and called my at- tention to a twelve-foot shark which was slowly cruising to and fro. I admitted that he wouldnt be a desirable companion if we had to swim for it, and remarked: We are not going to get to it this time. Cheer, oh! But Skipper would not be comforted, and wished to goodness we had gone into New River. We took another look at the cables to see that they were not being chafed, got our an- chor-light ready, and before dark saw every- thing clear for making sail. About eight oclock the weather became finer, and the wind fell, and hauled more to the south. We could see the light on the beach, and knew that our friends were keeping an eye on us; then, being thor- oughly tired and wet, we lay down, both of us falling so soundly asleep that it was daylight be- fore we awoke. During the night the wind moderated, and shifted to the westward of south, with heavy rain-showers, which put down the sea consider- ably; but at daylight of March 27 there was still a big ground-swell, and the surf on the beach and the breakers on the bar looked very for- midable, and Skipper agreed with me in think- ing the bar was impassable. However, all immediate danger was past; for, barring the long ground-swell, the water was smooth and the wind inclined to come off the land. So, lighting the stove, we put on the coffee-pot, and started breakfast. Skipper seemed to be quite himself again, and had forgotten all the perils and dangers he had been through since VOL. XLVI. 24. leaving New River. At 8 :~o A. M., Car- lin and his crew mustered on the beach in front of the station, and hoisted a flag; then, waving to us and pointing in the direction of the inlet, they all walked toward it, evidently meaning that we should attempt to take the bar. I must confess that I did nt like the look of it, but having implicit confidence in Captain Carlins judgment, we got under way and prepared to run in. Then, stripping off everything with the exception of our trousers, we clad ourselves in the cork jackets, and steered for the bar. On nearing it, the skiff, which was towing astern, swamped, and as she was much strained, and would have been a hindrance to us, we cut her adrift, and never saw her again. We sailed along the outer edge of the rollers, looking out for the channel, but the breakers ex- tendedright across the inlet,four formidable lines of them, roaring and flinging their snowy crests in the air as they curled and broke. A surf never looks so dangerous from seaward as it is in reality, and I hesitated. Sharks were vis- ible, plenty of them an additional risk. But Carlin and his crew had arrived at the inlet, and were ranging themselves on the beach, with their life-sticks and -lines all ready to heave. I also caught sight of my wife; she too was there, standing near Carlin, and I felt more than thankful that she, at all events, was on the iight side of the hedge. Being about high water, it was the most favorable time for at- tempting the passage, and we had a nice steady breeze. The chief danger lay in broaching to; and as we would have to raise the center- board on account of the shoal water, the chance of doing so was thereby increased. We hove to, and reduced the after sail; then, steeling our hearts, we pointed her head for the break- ers, and let her go. The men on shore were still in line, as if on parade; suddenly it struck me that this was not merely accidental: they had been placed in range to show us the best course through the breakers. By keeping them end on we should strike the deepest water on the bar. We instantly altered course, and, jumping forward on the deck-house, I held on to the mast, di- recting Skipper how to steer. We rapidly ap- proached the broken water, and seemed to fly. As the first roller lifted and literally hurled us forward, the water seethed and boiled in over our decks, but comparatively little of it found its way into the cockpit, as it broke ahead, ex- pending itself in an acre of foam. We were still moving fast, but a great transparent wall of green water was rapidly coming up astern, omi- nously curling and hissing. I held my breath; the critical moment was at hand, for if the roller did not break before it overtook us, to a cer 178 WHERE HELEN SITS. tainty we should be swamped. Skippers teeth were hard set, and his whole weight was thrown against the tiller to keep the sloop straight. Suddenly I felt her dragging; she was touch- ing the ground, and the roller was almost over- shadowing us, when in an instant the green wall changed to a flood of milk-white foam, which, surging down on us, lifted the sloop, tossing and bearing her onward at a tremen- dous pace. A flood of water swept in over the stern and weather-quarter, and half filled the cockpit, nearly washing Skipper overboard, as we almost broached to; but we were safe. We had crossed the shallowest spot, and when the next breaker thundered astern of us, we shot into smooth water, and all our troubles were over. A loud cheer went up from our friends as we ran the Minnekaka alongside the beach at our old camping-ground, and there securely moored her. Indian River once more! Farewell to bars and breakers; good-by to the Gulf Stream and its clear blue sea, to coral reefs and sandy keys; henceforth smooth water and sheltered anchor- ages! Skipper hailed with delight the change to landlocked waters; but for myself, knowing our delightful cruise was nearing its end, I c6uld not help feeling sorry that it was so. We had just finished mooring the Minnehaka and cloth- ing ourselves when my wife, with Carlin and his men, appeared on the scene; and after exchang- ing congratulations we heard all that had taken place since parting from us. They had landed without mishap, and Carlin had taken my wife to his house at Jupiter, where Mrs. Carlin showed her much hospitality and kindness. From first to last Carlin and his crew behaved admirably. The zeal and intrepidity they dis- played were worthy of the service to which they belonged, and we must ever feel grateful for the assistance they rendered to us. The coasts of Florida, from the head of In- dian River on the east to Tampa Bay or Ce- dar Keys on the west, are about the best cruising-grounds for a small or medium-sized yacht that I am acquainted with. As for the fishing, for variety, gameness, size, and quantity of the fish, I believe it to be the best in the world. And game, both fin and feather, is more or less abundant, according as the country is more or less settle& . William Hen;i WHERE HELEN SITS. WHERE Helen sits, the darkness is so deep, No golden sunbeam strikes athwart the gloom; No mothers smile, no glance of loving eyes, Lightens the shadow of that lonely room. Yet the clear whiteness of her radiant soul Decks the dim walls, like angel vestments shed. The lovely light of holy innocence Shines like a halo round her bended head, Where Helen sits. Where Helen sits, the stillness is so deep, No childrens laughter comes, no song of bird. The great world storms along its noisy way, But in this place no sound is ever heard. Yet do her gentle thoughts make melody Sweeter than aught from harp or viol flung; And Love and Beauty, quiring each to each, Sing as the stars of Eden~s morning sung, Where Helen sits. Laura E. Richards. 1 Helen Keller, deaf dumb, and blind.

Laura E. Richards Richards, Laura E. "Where Helen Sits" 178-179

178 WHERE HELEN SITS. tainty we should be swamped. Skippers teeth were hard set, and his whole weight was thrown against the tiller to keep the sloop straight. Suddenly I felt her dragging; she was touch- ing the ground, and the roller was almost over- shadowing us, when in an instant the green wall changed to a flood of milk-white foam, which, surging down on us, lifted the sloop, tossing and bearing her onward at a tremen- dous pace. A flood of water swept in over the stern and weather-quarter, and half filled the cockpit, nearly washing Skipper overboard, as we almost broached to; but we were safe. We had crossed the shallowest spot, and when the next breaker thundered astern of us, we shot into smooth water, and all our troubles were over. A loud cheer went up from our friends as we ran the Minnekaka alongside the beach at our old camping-ground, and there securely moored her. Indian River once more! Farewell to bars and breakers; good-by to the Gulf Stream and its clear blue sea, to coral reefs and sandy keys; henceforth smooth water and sheltered anchor- ages! Skipper hailed with delight the change to landlocked waters; but for myself, knowing our delightful cruise was nearing its end, I c6uld not help feeling sorry that it was so. We had just finished mooring the Minnehaka and cloth- ing ourselves when my wife, with Carlin and his men, appeared on the scene; and after exchang- ing congratulations we heard all that had taken place since parting from us. They had landed without mishap, and Carlin had taken my wife to his house at Jupiter, where Mrs. Carlin showed her much hospitality and kindness. From first to last Carlin and his crew behaved admirably. The zeal and intrepidity they dis- played were worthy of the service to which they belonged, and we must ever feel grateful for the assistance they rendered to us. The coasts of Florida, from the head of In- dian River on the east to Tampa Bay or Ce- dar Keys on the west, are about the best cruising-grounds for a small or medium-sized yacht that I am acquainted with. As for the fishing, for variety, gameness, size, and quantity of the fish, I believe it to be the best in the world. And game, both fin and feather, is more or less abundant, according as the country is more or less settle& . William Hen;i WHERE HELEN SITS. WHERE Helen sits, the darkness is so deep, No golden sunbeam strikes athwart the gloom; No mothers smile, no glance of loving eyes, Lightens the shadow of that lonely room. Yet the clear whiteness of her radiant soul Decks the dim walls, like angel vestments shed. The lovely light of holy innocence Shines like a halo round her bended head, Where Helen sits. Where Helen sits, the stillness is so deep, No childrens laughter comes, no song of bird. The great world storms along its noisy way, But in this place no sound is ever heard. Yet do her gentle thoughts make melody Sweeter than aught from harp or viol flung; And Love and Beauty, quiring each to each, Sing as the stars of Eden~s morning sung, Where Helen sits. Laura E. Richards. 1 Helen Keller, deaf dumb, and blind. THE DEATH OF THE PRINCE IMPERIAL. was in Zululand, on the evening of June i, 1879. A little group of us were at dinner in the tent of General Marshall, who commanded the cavalry brigade in the British army which was marching on Ulundi, King Cetewayos royal kraal. The sun was just going down when Colonel Harri- son, the quartermaster-general, put his head inside the tent door, and called aloud in a strange voice, Good God, the Prince Im- perial is killed ! Harrison, though stolid, sometimes jested, and for the moment this an- nouncement was not taken seriously. Lord Downe, Marshalls aide-de-camp, threw a crust of bread at his head, and Herbert Stewart, then brigade-major, afterward killed in the desert march in the Soudan, laughed aloud. But sitting near the door, I discerned in the faint light of the dying day the horror in Har- risons face, and sprang to my feet instinc- tively. The news was only too fatally true, and when the dismal, broken story of the survivors of the party had been told, throughout the force there was a thrill of sorrow for the poor gallant lad, a burning sense of shame that he should have been so miserably left to his fate, and deep sympathy for the forlorn widow in England on whom fortune seemed to rejoice in heaping disaster on disaster, bereavement on bereavement. I knew the Prince well. On the first two occasions I saw him, it was through a binocu- lar from a considerable distance. On August 2, 1870, the day on which the boy of fourteen, in the words of his father, received his bap- tism of fire, I was watching from the drill- ground above Saarbrtick, in company with the last remaining Prussian soldiers, the oncoming swarm-attack of Batailles /irailleiirs, firing as they hurried across the plain. The tirailleurs had passed a little knoll which rose in the plain about midway between the Spicheren hill and where I stood, and presently it was crowned by two horsemen followed by a great staff. The glass told me that without a doubt the senior of the foremost horsemen was the Em- peror Napoleon, and that the younger, shorter and slighter, mere boy he looked, was the Prince Imperial, whom we knew to be with his father in the field. A fortnight later, in the early morning of the ~5th, the day before Mars- la-Tour, when the German army was still only east and south of Metz, I accompanied a Ger- man horse-battery which, galloping up to within five hundred paces of the chateau of Longue- ville, around which was a French camp of some size, opened fire on chateau and camp. After a few shells had been fired, great confusion was observed about the chateau and in the camp, and I distinctly discerned the Emperor and his son emerge from the building, mount, and gal- lop away followed by suite and escort. Years later, in Zululand, when the days work was done for both of us, and the twilight was falling on the rolling veldt, the Prince was wont oc- casionally to gossip with me about those early days of the great war which we had witnessed from opposite sides, and he told me his expe- riences on the morning spoken of. A crash awoke him with a start, and he was sitting up in bed, bewildered, when his father entered with the exclamation: Up, Louis, up and dress! The German shells are crashing through the roofs. As the Prince looked out of the window while he hurriedly dressed, he saw a shell fall and burst in a group of officers seated in the garden at breakfast, and when the smoke lifted three of them lay dead. That the story of his nerves having been shattered by the bul- let-fire at Saarbriick was untrue seems proved by an episode he related to me of that same morning an hour later. On the steep ascent of the chaussee up to Ch~tel the imperial party was wedged in the heart of a complete block of troops, wagons, and guns; a long delay seemed inevitable. But the lad had noticed a wayside gate whence a track led up through the vineyard. He followed it to the crest, and marked its trend; then riding back, he called aloud, This way, papa! The Princes side- track turned the block, and presently the party were in the new quarters in the aulerge of Gravelotte. That excellent American publication, John- son s Universal Cyclop~edia, errs for once in stating that after the downfall of the Empire the Prince escaped with his mother to Eng- land. He never saw his mother after leaving Paris for the seat of war until she came to him in Hastings after the revolution in Paris. The wife who presse~1 her tortured husband to re- main with the army to the bitter end by the telegraphed message, Do not think of return- ing here to have people saying that you were fleeing from danger, was also the mother who kept in the field her only son, and he a mere boy, by the curt instruction to his father, For 79

Archibald Forbes Forbes, Archibald The Death of Prince Imperial 179-186

THE DEATH OF THE PRINCE IMPERIAL. was in Zululand, on the evening of June i, 1879. A little group of us were at dinner in the tent of General Marshall, who commanded the cavalry brigade in the British army which was marching on Ulundi, King Cetewayos royal kraal. The sun was just going down when Colonel Harri- son, the quartermaster-general, put his head inside the tent door, and called aloud in a strange voice, Good God, the Prince Im- perial is killed ! Harrison, though stolid, sometimes jested, and for the moment this an- nouncement was not taken seriously. Lord Downe, Marshalls aide-de-camp, threw a crust of bread at his head, and Herbert Stewart, then brigade-major, afterward killed in the desert march in the Soudan, laughed aloud. But sitting near the door, I discerned in the faint light of the dying day the horror in Har- risons face, and sprang to my feet instinc- tively. The news was only too fatally true, and when the dismal, broken story of the survivors of the party had been told, throughout the force there was a thrill of sorrow for the poor gallant lad, a burning sense of shame that he should have been so miserably left to his fate, and deep sympathy for the forlorn widow in England on whom fortune seemed to rejoice in heaping disaster on disaster, bereavement on bereavement. I knew the Prince well. On the first two occasions I saw him, it was through a binocu- lar from a considerable distance. On August 2, 1870, the day on which the boy of fourteen, in the words of his father, received his bap- tism of fire, I was watching from the drill- ground above Saarbrtick, in company with the last remaining Prussian soldiers, the oncoming swarm-attack of Batailles /irailleiirs, firing as they hurried across the plain. The tirailleurs had passed a little knoll which rose in the plain about midway between the Spicheren hill and where I stood, and presently it was crowned by two horsemen followed by a great staff. The glass told me that without a doubt the senior of the foremost horsemen was the Em- peror Napoleon, and that the younger, shorter and slighter, mere boy he looked, was the Prince Imperial, whom we knew to be with his father in the field. A fortnight later, in the early morning of the ~5th, the day before Mars- la-Tour, when the German army was still only east and south of Metz, I accompanied a Ger- man horse-battery which, galloping up to within five hundred paces of the chateau of Longue- ville, around which was a French camp of some size, opened fire on chateau and camp. After a few shells had been fired, great confusion was observed about the chateau and in the camp, and I distinctly discerned the Emperor and his son emerge from the building, mount, and gal- lop away followed by suite and escort. Years later, in Zululand, when the days work was done for both of us, and the twilight was falling on the rolling veldt, the Prince was wont oc- casionally to gossip with me about those early days of the great war which we had witnessed from opposite sides, and he told me his expe- riences on the morning spoken of. A crash awoke him with a start, and he was sitting up in bed, bewildered, when his father entered with the exclamation: Up, Louis, up and dress! The German shells are crashing through the roofs. As the Prince looked out of the window while he hurriedly dressed, he saw a shell fall and burst in a group of officers seated in the garden at breakfast, and when the smoke lifted three of them lay dead. That the story of his nerves having been shattered by the bul- let-fire at Saarbriick was untrue seems proved by an episode he related to me of that same morning an hour later. On the steep ascent of the chaussee up to Ch~tel the imperial party was wedged in the heart of a complete block of troops, wagons, and guns; a long delay seemed inevitable. But the lad had noticed a wayside gate whence a track led up through the vineyard. He followed it to the crest, and marked its trend; then riding back, he called aloud, This way, papa! The Princes side- track turned the block, and presently the party were in the new quarters in the aulerge of Gravelotte. That excellent American publication, John- son s Universal Cyclop~edia, errs for once in stating that after the downfall of the Empire the Prince escaped with his mother to Eng- land. He never saw his mother after leaving Paris for the seat of war until she came to him in Hastings after the revolution in Paris. The wife who presse~1 her tortured husband to re- main with the army to the bitter end by the telegraphed message, Do not think of return- ing here to have people saying that you were fleeing from danger, was also the mother who kept in the field her only son, and he a mere boy, by the curt instruction to his father, For 79 I 8o THE DEATH OF THE PRINCE IMPERIAL. reasons which I cannot here explain, I desire Louis to remain with the army. When the shadows were darkening on MacMahons ill- fated march, the Emperor sent his son away from the front, and the story of the vicissitudes and dangers the lad encountered before reach- ing England after Sedan would make of itself a long article. When his parents settled at Chiselhurst, the Prince, then in his fifteenth year, entered the Royal Academy of Woolwich to receive a scientific military education. He had not un- dergone the usual preparation, and he might have joined without the preliminary exami- nation; but never then nor throughout the course would he accept any indulgence, and his preliminary was satisfactory, in spite of his want of familiarity with the language. In the United States West Point affords the same instruction to all cadets alike, those who are most successful passing into the scientific branches; but in England the cadets for the line are educated at Sandhurst, and the severer tuition of Woolwich is restricted to candidates for the engineer and artillery branches. The Prince took his chance with his comrades, both at work and play. His mathematical instructor has stated that he had considerable powers, evincing an undoubtedly clear insight into the principles of the higher mathematics; but he added that he often failed to bring out specifically his knowledge at examina- tions, owing to his imperfect grasp of the ne- cessary formulie and working details. Indeed, details wearied him, then and later. In Zulu- land he more than once told me that he hated desk work, and M. Deleage, his coun- tryman and friend, who accompanied the Zulu- land expedition, wrote that on the day before his death, after he had left the staff office tent, Lieutenant Carey found the Princes work done with so much haste and inattention that he had to sit up all night correcting it. In spite of this defect in steady concentration, at the end of his Woolwich course he passed seventh in a class of thirty-five, and had he gone into the English service he would have been entitled to choose between the Engineers and Artillery. He would have stood higher, but that, curiously enough, he comparatively failed in French. He was an easy first in equitation. During his Woolwich career he won the love and respect of his comrades; his instructors spoke warmly of his modesty, conscientious- ness, and uprightness, and pronounced him truthful and honorable in a high degree. After leaving Woolwich he lived mostly with his widowed mother at Chiselhurst, but trav- eled on the Continent occasionally, and mixed a good deal in London society, where from time to time I met him. After he attained manhood, it was understood that a marriage was projected between him and the Princess Beatrice, the youngest of the Queens offspring, who is now the wife of Prince Henry of Batten- berg. The attainment of his majority was made a great occasion by the Imperialist adherents to testify their adherence to a cause which they refused to consider lost. More than 10,000 Frenchmen of all ranks and classes congre- gated on Chiselhurst Common that day, the tricolor waved along the route to the little Ro- man Catholic chapel on the outskirt of the quiet Kentish village, and as the members of the imperial family passed from Camden Place to the religious service, every head was un- covered, and shouts of Vive lEmpereur! rose from the ardent partizans, numbers of whom had already paid homage to the remains of their dead Emperor, which lay in the marble sarcophagus in front of the high altar of the chapel. Later in the day the large company of French people assembled in the park of Camden Place, in rear of the deputations from the different provinces of France, each deputation headed by a leader bearing the pro- vincial banner. The Prince, with his mother by his side, stood forward; behind them the princes, nobles, and statesmen of the late empire, and many Imperialist ladies of rank. When the Duc de Padoue had finished read- ing a long address expressive of attachment and devotion, the young Prince spoke to his supporters with great dignity, earnestness, and modesty. I remember the last sentences of his speech, the manly tone of which I can never forget. If the time should ever arrive when my countrymen shall honor me with a majority of the suffrages of the na.tion, I shall be ready to accept with proud respect the de- cision of France. If for the eighth time the people pronounce in favor of the name of Na- poleon, I am prepared to accept the responsi- bility imposed upon me by the vote of the nation. Once again, and only once, I heard the Prince speak in public. It was at the an- nual dinner of an institution known as the Newspaper Press Fund. Lord Salisbury, one of the most brilliant speakers of our time, was in the chair; Cardinal Manning, the silver- tongued; Lord Wolseley, better speaker than general,and Henry M. Stanley, fresh from Darkest Africa were among the orators, but, quite apart from his position, the short ad- dress made by the Prince Imperial was unani- mously regarded as the speech of the evening. In features, with his long, oval face, his black hair and eyes, attributes of neither of his parents, and his lean, shapely head, the Prince was a Spaniard of the Spaniards. One recognized in him no single characteristic of the French- man; he was a veritable hidalgo, with all the THE DEATH OF THE PRINCE IMPERIAL. i8x pride, the melancholy, the self-restraint, yet ardor to shine, the courage trenching on an ostentatious recklessness, and indeed the child- ishness in trifles, which marked that now all but extinct type. Whether there was in his veins a drop of the Bonapartist blood (remem- bering the suspicious King Louis of Holland with regard to Hortense)Is a problem now probably insoluble; certainly neither he nor his father had any physical feature in com- mon with the undoubted members of the race. The Montijos, although the house in its latest developments had somewhat lost caste, and had a bourgeois strain on the distaff side, were ancestrally of the bluest blood of Spain; and it has always been my idea that the Prince Im- perial illustrated the theory of atavism by throwing back to the Guzmans, the Corderas, or the Baros, all grand old Spanish families whose blood was in his veins. How strong was his self-restraint even in youth an anec- dote told in Miss Barlees interesting book 1 of his Woolwich days may evidence. Hearing one day that a Frenchman was visiting the academy, he sent to say that he should be glad to see his countryman. The person, who, as it happened, was a bitter anti-Imperialist, was presented, and the Prince asked from what part of France he came. The fellow, looking the youth straight in the face with a sarcastic smile, uttered the one word Sedan, and grinningly waited for the effect of his bru- tality. The Prince flushed, and his eye kindled; then he conquered himself, and quietly re- marking, That is a very pretty part of France, closed the interview with a bow. I never saw dignity and self-control more finely manifested in union than when the lad, not yet seven- teen, dressed in a black cloak over which was the broad red ribbon of the Legion of Honor, followed his fathers coffin as chief mourner along the path lined by many thousand French sympathizers; and his demeanor was truly royal when later on that trying day the masses of French artisans hailed him with shouts of Vive Napoleon IV., and he stopped the per- sonal ovation by saying: My friends, I thank you, but your Emperor is dead. Let us join in the cry of Vive la France! baring at the same time his head, and leading off the accla- mation. His craving for effect curiously dis- closed itself during a parade in Scotland of a number of Clydesdale stallions at which were present the Prince of Wales and a number of noblemen and gentlemen. One horse, which was plunging violently, was described as never having allowed a rider to remain on its back. At the word the Prince Imperial vaulted on to the bare back of the animal, mastered 1 Life of the Prince Imperial, compiled by Helen Barlee: Griffith & Farran, London. its efforts to dislodge him, and rode the con- quered stallion round the arena amid loud ap- plause. The forced inaction of his life irked him in- tensely. His good sense and true patriotism induced him steadily to decline the urgency of young and ardent Imperialists that he should disturb the peace of France either by intrigue or more active efforts to restore the dynasty. It stung him to the quick that the scurrilous part of the French press taunted him with the quietness of his life, which it chose to attribute to cowardice and lack of enterprise. In Zu- luland he told me of a circumstance which I have nowhere seen mentioned, that a year be- fore he had applied to the French government for permission to join the French troops fighting in Tonquin; that MacMahon, who was then President, was in his favor, but that the Min- istry refused the request. The English war of 1879 in Zululand was his opportunity. His con- stant belief was that ten years would be the term of his exile. Dix ans de patience, et apr~s! he used to mutter in his day-dreams. The ten years were nearly up, and what prestige would not accrue to him if he should have the good fortune to distinguish himself in the field,which he was resolved to do at any cost! The dis- aster of Isandlwana, to retrieve which troops were being hurried out, and the heroic de- fense of Rorkes Drift, were lost opportuni- ties at which he chafed. He felt that he was forfeiting chances which, taken advantage of might have acclaimed his path to the imperial throne. Determined to lose no more chances, he went to the British commander-in-chief and begged to be permitted to go on service to South Africa. His attitude and yearnings were quite intel- ligible, and were in no sense blameworthy. He desired to obtain the means toward a spe- cific and obvious end, if England only would give him the helping hand. But this ultimate aim of his being so evident, it was singularly improper and ill-judged on the part of the Eng- lish authorities,by actively furthering his object, to give well-grounded umbrage to the friendly power across the channel. The Princes cam- paign was nothing other than an intrigue of the English court, always naturally adverse to republicanisman intrigue the purpose of which was to help toward changing republican France into imperial France, and to contribute toward the elevation of this young man to the throne which ~his father had lost. The com- mander-in-chief had his scruples, for he is a man of discretion; but they wereoverruled, and it was from Windsor, bidden God-speed by the sovereign, that the Prince departed to embark. France sullenly watched his career in South Africa had it ended differently the mood 182 THE DEATH OF THE PRINCE IMPERIAL. .might have intensified. If it be asked why for the last fourteen years France has never for an hour worn a semblance of cordial accord with the insular power its neighbor, the answer is, that this attitude of chronic umbrage has its main source in the intrigue which sent the Prince Imperial to Zululand. At the news of Isandlwana I had hurried from the Khyber Pass to South Africa, and the Prince had already joined the army when first I met him in May, 1879, at Sir Evelyn Woods camp of Kambula, which he was visiting with Lord Chelmsford and the headquarters staff. The Duke of Cambridge had specially confided him to his lordships care. But poor Lord Chelmsfords nerve had been sore shaken by the tragedy of Isandlwana, after which he had begged to be relieved. Like Martha, he was careful and troubled about many things; his will-power was limp and fickle, and the Prince was to him in the nature of a white elephant. The latter, for his part, was ardent for oppor- tunities of adventurous enterprise, while the harassed Chelmsford had been bidden to dry- nurse him assiduously. The military arrange- ments were lax, and the Prince had been able to share in several somewhat hazardous recon- naissances, in the course of which he had dis- played a rash bravery which disquieted the responsible leaders. After one of those scout- ing expeditions in which he actually had come to close quarters with a party of Zulus, and it was said had whetted his sword, he was said to have remarked naively: Such skirmishes suit my taste exactly; yet I should be au desesj5oir did I think I should be killed in one. In a great battle, if Providence so willed it, all well and good; but in a petty reconnaissance of this kindah! that would never do. His penultimate reconnaissance was with a detachment of Frontier Light Horse, under the command of Colonel Buller, V. C., now Sir Redvers Buller, Adjutant-General of the British army. The Zulus gathered, and a fight seemed impending, to the Princes great joy; but they dispersed. A few, however, were seen skulking at a distance, and against them he rode yen/re d terre in a state of great excite- inent. He had to be supported, which occa- sioned inconvenience; during the night, which was bitterly cold, and during which the Princes excitement continued, he tramped up and down constantly, singing at intervals, Malbrook sen va-t-en-guerre, not wholly to the contentment of the more phlegmatic Britons around him. Colonel Buller reported his inconvenient reck- lessness, protested against accepting~ responsi- bility for.~ him when his military duties called for all his attention, and suggested that he should be employed in camp on staff duty in- stead of being permitted to risk himself on re connaissance service. Thereupon Lord Cheims- ford detailed him to desk-work in the quarter- master-generals department, and gave Colonel Harrison a written order that the Prince should not quit the camp without the express permis- sion of his lordship. The Prince, made aware of this order, obeyed, for he had a high sense of discipline; but he did not conceal his dis- like to the drudgery of plan-making in a tent. He was fond of and expert in sketching in the field. The orders issued to the little army in the Koppie Allein camp on the 31st of May for the morrow were, that the infantry should march direct to a camping-ground on the Itelezi Hill about eight miles forward, the cavalry to scout several miles further, and then to fall back to the Itelezi camp. Early on the morning of June 10 the Prince, dead tired of routine desk-work, begged Colonel Harrison to allow him to make a sketching expedition with an escort, beyond the ground to be covered by the cavalry. The matter was under discussion, Harrison reluctant to consent, when Lieutenant Carey, a staff- officer of the department, suggested that he should accompany the Prince, and proposed that the expedition should extend into the Ityotyozi valley, where the next camp beyond the Itelezi was to be, and a sketch of which he (Carey) had two days previously left unfinished. Harrison then made no further objection, con- senting the more readily because the whole terrain in advance had been thoroughly scouted over recently. He instructed Carey to re- quisition a mounted escort of six white men and six Basutos, and he subsequently main- tained that he had intrusted the command of the escort to Carey. This Carey denied, re- pudiating all responsibility in regard to the direction of the escort, since the Prince, in his rank of honorary captain, was his senior officer, and maintaining that his function as regarded the latter was simply that of friendly adviser. I was afterward told that before leaving camp, the Prince wrote a letterthe last he ever wrote to his mother, and that, hearing I was about to ride back to the post-office at Sande- manns Drift, he left the message for me, with his best regards, that he should be greatly obliged by my carrying down his letter. As it happened, I did not quit the camp until I did so as the bearer to the telegraph-wire of the tidings of the Princes death. I was with Stewart, the cavalry brigade- major, when Carey came to him with Har- rison s warrant for an escort. Carey did not mention, nor did the document state, that the escort was for the Prince Imperial. Stewart ordered out six men of Beddingtons Horse, a curiously mixed handful of diverse national- ities,and he told Carey that he would send THE DEA 7TH OF THE PRINCE IMPERIAL. 183 Captain Shepstone an order for the Basuto de- tail of the escort; but that time would be saved if Carey himself; on his way back to headquar- ters, would hand Shepstone the order and give his own instructions. Carey chose the latter alternative, and departed. An hour later, while I was still with Stewart, the six Basutos paraded in front of his tent. Either Carey or Shepstone had blundered in the instructions given them, that was clear; but nothing could now be done but to order the Basutos to hurry forward and try to overtake the balance of the escort. Mean- while the Prince had been impatient, and he, Carey, and the white section of the escort had gone forward. Careymade no demur to the scant escort, since nothing was to be apprehended, and since he himself had been recently chaffed for being addicted to requisitioning inordinately large escorts. Harrison later met the party some miles out, and sanctioned its going for- ward, notwithstanding that the Basutos had notjoined, which, indeed, they never succeeded in doing. The party then consisted of the Prince, Carey, a sergeant, a corporal, four troopers, and a black native guide nine per- sons in all. WHEN Harrison had announced the tidings of the tragedy, I went to my tent, and sent for each of the four surviving troopers in succes- sion. They were all bad witnesses, and I could not help suspecting that they were in collusion to keep something back. All agreed, however, that Lieutenant Carey headed the panic-flight; and next day it transpired that when a mile away from the scene, and still galloping wildly, he was casually met by Sir Evelyn Wood and Colonel Buller, to whom he exclaimed, Fly! Fly! the Zulus are after me, and the Prince Imperial is killed! The evidence I took on the night of the disaster, and that afterward given before the court of inquiry and the court- martial on Carey, may now be briefly sum- marized. The site of the intended camp having been planned out by the Prince and Carey, the party ascended an adjacent hill, and spent an hour there in sketching the contours of the surround- ing country. No Zulus were visible in the wide expanse surveyed from the hilltop. At its base, on a small plain at the junction of the rivers Tambakala and Ityotyosi, was the small Zulu kraal of Etuki, the few huts of which, accord- ing to the Zulu custom, stood in a rough cir- cle, which was surrounded on three sides at a little distance by a tall growth of mealies (Indian corn), and the high grain known as Kafir corn. The party descended to thiskraal, off-saddled, fed the horses, made coffee, ate food, and then reclined, resting against the wall of a hut, in full sense of assured safety. Some dogs skulking about the empty kraal, and the fresh ashes on the hearths, might have warned them, but they did not heed the suggestion thus afforded. About three oclock Corporal Grubbe, who understood the Basuto language, reported the statement of the guide that he had seen a Zulu entering the mealie-field in their front. Carey proposed immediate saddling-up. The Prince desired ten minutes longer rest, and Carey did not expostulate. Then the horses were brought up and saddled. Carey stated that at this moment he saw black forms mov- ing behind the screen of tall grain, and in- formed the Prince. Throughout the day the lat- ter had acted in command of the escort; and he now in soldierly fashion gave the successive orders, Prepare to Mount! Mount! Next moment, according to the evidence, a volley of twenty or thirty bullets one witness said forty bullets were fired into the party. Let me be done with Carey for good and all. He had mounted on the inner, the safe, side of the hut, and immediately galloped off. On the night of the event, he expressed the opinion that the Prince had been shot dead at the kraal, but owned that the first actual evidence of misfortune of which he became cognizant was the Princes riderless horse gal- loping past him. The men were either less active or less precipitate than was the officer. One of their number fell at the kraal, another on the grassy level some 150 yards across, between the kraal and a shallow donga, or gully, across which ran the path toward the distant camp. As to the Prince, the tes- timony was fairly unanimous. Sergeant Coch- rane ~stated that he never actually mounted, but had foot in stirrup when, at the Zulu volley, his horse, a spirited gray sixteen hands high and always difficult to mount, started off; pres- ently broke away, and later was caught by the survivors. Then the Prince tried to escape on foot, and was last seen by Cochrane running into the donga, from which he never emerged. Another trooper testified that he saw the Prince try to mount, but that, not succeeding, he ran by his horses side for some little distance, making effort after effort to mount, till he either stumbled or fell in a scrambling way, and seemed to be trodden on by his horse. But the most detailed evidence was given by trooper Lecocq, a Channel-islander. He stated that after their volley the Zulus bounded out of cover, shouting Usuta! ( Cowards! ) The Prince was unable to mount his impatient horse, scared as it was by the fire. One by one the troopers galloped by the Prince, who, as he ran alongside his now maddened horse, was endeavoring in vain to mount. As Lecocq passed, lying on his stomach across his saddle, not yet having got his seat, he called to the 184 THE DEATH OF THE PRINCE IMPERIAL. Prince, D~pechez-vous, sil vous plait, Mon- seigneur! The Prince made no reply, and was left alone to his fate. His horse strained after that of Lecocq, who then saw the doomed Prince holding his stirrup-leatherwith one hand, grasping reins and pommel with the other and trying to remount on the run. No doubt he made one desperate effort, trusting to the strength of his grasp on the band of leather crossing the pommel from holster to holster. That band tore under the strain. I inspected it next day, and found it no leather at all, but paper-faced so that the Princes fate really was attributable to shoddy saddlery. Lecocq saw the Prince fall backward, and his horse tread on him and then gallop away. According to him, the Prince regained his feet, and ran at full speed toward the donga on the track of the retreating party. When for the last time the jerseyman turned round in the saddle, he saw the Prince still running, pursued only a few yards behind by some twelve or fourteen Zulus, assagais in hand, which they were throwing at him. None save the slayers saw the tragedy enacted in the donga. Early next morning the cavalry brigade marched out to recover the body, for there was no hope that anything save the body was to be recovered. As the scene was neared, some of us rode forward in advance. In the middle of the little plain was found a body savagely mutilated; it was not that of the Prince, but of one of the slain troopers. We found the dead Prince in the donga, a few paces on one side of the path. lie was lying on his back, naked, save for one sock; a spur bent out of shape was close to him. His head was so~ bent to the right that the cheek touched the sward. His hacked arms were lightly crossed over his lacerated chest, and his face, the features of which were in no wise distorted, but wore a faint smile that slightly parted the lips, wasmarred by the destruction of the right eye from an assagai- stab. The surgeons agreed that this wound, which penetrated the brain, was the first and the fatal hurt, and that the subsequent wounds were inflicted on a dead body. Of those there were many, in throat, in chest, in side, and on arms, apart from the nick in the abdomen, which is the Zulu fetish-custom invariably prac tised on slain enemies as a protection against being haunted by their ghosts. His wounds bled afresh as we moved him. Neither on him nor on any of the three other slain of the party was found any bullet-wound; all had been killed by assagai-stabs. Round the poor Princes neck his slayers had left a little gold chain, on which were strung a locket set with a miniature of his mother, and a reliquary containing a fragment of the true cross which was given by Pope Leo III. to Charlemagne when he crowned that great prince emperor of the West, and which dynasty after dynasty of French monarchs had since worn as a talisman. Very sad and solemn was the scene as we stood around, silent all and with bared heads, looking down on the untimely dead. The Princes two servants were weeping bitterly, and there was a lump in many a throat. An officer, his bosom friend at Woolwich, detached the necklet, and placed it in an envelop, with several locks of the Princes short dark hair, for transmission to his mother, who a year later made so sad a pilgrimage to the spot where we now stood over her dead son. Then the body, wrapped in a cloak, was placed on the lance-shafts of the cavalrymen, and on this extemporized bier the officers of the brigade bore it up the ascent to the ambulance-wagon which was in waiting. The same afternoon a solemn funeral service was performed in the Itelezi camp, and later in the evening the body, escorted by a de- tachment of cavalry, began its pilgrimage to England, in which exile, in the chapel at Earn- borough, where the widowed wife and child- less mother now resides, the remains of husband and son now rest side by side in their marble sarcophagi. The sword worn in South Africa by the Prince, the veritable sword worn by the first Napoleon from Arcola to Waterloo, in reference to which the Prince had been heard to say, I must earn a better right to it than that which my name alone can give me, had been carried off by his Zulu slayers, but was restored by Cetewayo when Lord Chelms- fords army was closing in upon Ulundi. To be slain by savages in an obscure cor- ner of a remote continent was a miserable end, truly, for him who once was the Son of France! Archibald Forbes. THE PRINCE IMPERIAL, IN ARTILLERY UNIFORM, Voi. XLVI. 25. ILLUSTRATION FROM GiL BLAS. THE FATHER OF MODERN ILLUSTRATION. DANIEL VIERGE URRABIETA. dIE recent great develop- ment of the art of illustra- tion has made it one of the typical features of our time. In the last thirty years the art has undergone a complete renovation, and, being transformed to fit new necessities, it has branched out into many new channels more or less directly connected with journalism. The illustrated press, following in the wake of the newspaper, now stands beside and completes it, being, like it, the logical out- come of our universal craving for news. In such periodicals as deal with subjects of timely interest to the people, the enormous de- mand for illustrations that is, for graphic rep- resentations setting forth in a clear manner those aspects of scenes and incidents that no word-description, however elaborate, can givehas created a supply as great. But the demand is that of an age hurried and utili- tarian, and the supply, taking on a corre- sponding form, impresses the observer by its ~S6 superficiality and cheapness, in place of sub- stance and carefully wrought results involv- ing more time and a finer quality of labor; by its sensationalism and its tawdriness, in place of artistic refinement. These pictures therefore not only portray events of the day, but are a significant evidence of the tendencies of an age which cares less to be touched by beauty and sincerity than to be tickled by novelty, and by a sort of ready-made prettiness. Though hinted at in early days, and followed during centuries, illustration may justly be called a modern art. It is a province of the kingdom Beautiful which we have made ours by right of conquest; where our advance has been untrammeled by tradition, and unham- pered by the crushing achievements of the old masters those stumbling-blocks to modern architects, sculptors, and painters. Here we have experimented in our own way, confronted by obstacles and problems new and to be solved according to our intuitions and original ideas. Whatever result has been achieved is ours, in so far as all new forms of human pro-

August F. Jaccaci Jaccaci, August F. Vierge: The Father of Modern Illustration 186-204

ILLUSTRATION FROM GiL BLAS. THE FATHER OF MODERN ILLUSTRATION. DANIEL VIERGE URRABIETA. dIE recent great develop- ment of the art of illustra- tion has made it one of the typical features of our time. In the last thirty years the art has undergone a complete renovation, and, being transformed to fit new necessities, it has branched out into many new channels more or less directly connected with journalism. The illustrated press, following in the wake of the newspaper, now stands beside and completes it, being, like it, the logical out- come of our universal craving for news. In such periodicals as deal with subjects of timely interest to the people, the enormous de- mand for illustrations that is, for graphic rep- resentations setting forth in a clear manner those aspects of scenes and incidents that no word-description, however elaborate, can givehas created a supply as great. But the demand is that of an age hurried and utili- tarian, and the supply, taking on a corre- sponding form, impresses the observer by its ~S6 superficiality and cheapness, in place of sub- stance and carefully wrought results involv- ing more time and a finer quality of labor; by its sensationalism and its tawdriness, in place of artistic refinement. These pictures therefore not only portray events of the day, but are a significant evidence of the tendencies of an age which cares less to be touched by beauty and sincerity than to be tickled by novelty, and by a sort of ready-made prettiness. Though hinted at in early days, and followed during centuries, illustration may justly be called a modern art. It is a province of the kingdom Beautiful which we have made ours by right of conquest; where our advance has been untrammeled by tradition, and unham- pered by the crushing achievements of the old masters those stumbling-blocks to modern architects, sculptors, and painters. Here we have experimented in our own way, confronted by obstacles and problems new and to be solved according to our intuitions and original ideas. Whatever result has been achieved is ours, in so far as all new forms of human pro- gress are necessarily evolved from the previous efforts and achievements of mankind. And it is most gratifying to note that despite its rapid growth, and its adaptation to the tastes of a multitude which, while it certainly has a yearn- ing for art, yet lacks artistic instinct, latter-day illustration evinces a vigorous progress. Less than half a century ago, illustrations were con- cocted like drugs by industrial workers who had learned the trade of making pictures to suit purely mercantile requirements, and such work in such hands had no pretense to art. Considering what has since been done, it seems reasonable to suppose that even in those days a master would have made clear the possibil- ities of the highest class of illustration that of books. Not so, however; since Meissonier s drawings for the Contes R6mois show that, instead of trying to lift the debased profession, he had sunk to its level, curtailing his talent within the narrow limitations that cramped the illustrators of the days before the seventies. As artistic expressions, these drawings are leagues behind the refined, exquisitely elegant if mannered productions of the eighteenth-cen- tury Little Masters. They are still further 187 DRAWN BY A F. JACCACI. DANIEL VIERGE URRABIETA. i88 THE FATHER OF MODERN ILL US TEA TION removed from the works out of which our modern art of illustration has been slowly evolved those early woodcuts whose hard formulas, long since grown obsolete, never- theless express admirably all the power, senti- ment, thoughts, fancies, and genius of a Diirer or a Holbein. Since its obscure birth, while stumbling on through elementary stages and incessant transformations, illustration has been raised to its legitimate place in art when treated by men like these, who felt and thought for themselves, and ever tried to express their in- dividuality. Meissonier, in giving us little fig- ures, cold, posed, inexpressive of anything save of the correctness of a good Jraficien, that cold- blooded quality which a writer has called in- sufferable negative goodness, and ignoring all the higher possibilities of his task, left the art of illustration just where he found iton the level of a trade. Of the causes that have prepared the way for the contemporary advance, three are pre- eminent. First, the steady perfecting of me- chanical appliances and the invention of more perfect methods of reproduction. Second, the raising to a higher plane of the serious and thorough qualities of painting and sculpture, especially in France, which in turn compelled a higher degree of excellence in all branches of artistic production. The third cause is the influence of a few il- lustrators belonging to that rare and pro- vidential class of men who, when needed, suddenly blossom forth to do the work of the day. The first two causes have aided more particularly in the line of technical -~ advance, while the ~ work of these great il- lustrators has been of such wide range, has touched in such a vivifying manner the possibilities of the art, that it seems as if they were the prime factors in the new departure. Among these few, but towering above them, stands Vierge. All illustrators have felt his in- fluence, too many have been his servile imi- tators; but for the best he has enlarged the horizon, opening hitherto unsuspected fields of activity, and showing by his example what can and what ought to be done. For twenty years all artists have received every produc ILLUSTRATION FROM DON PABLO DR SEGOVIA. FIRST DRAWING MADR BY VIERGE WITH HIS RIGHT HANG SINCE HIS ILLNESS. ~r ~ ~ 7 7 4, 4,2 ILLUSTRATION FROM MICHELETS HISTOIRE DE FRANCE. tion of this admirable draftsman as the lesson of a master. The public must have felt in a vague way the intense sincerity which emanates from Vierges work, but one may doubt whether it has been con- verted to the originality of manner, to the bold effects of black and white, the study of values, the striving for character, type, and local color,which stamp every drawing of Vierge. In- deed, in glancing over most illus- trated periodicals, which, after all, are business ventures managed with an eye to profit, there is good reason to believe that the masses still prefer the common stuff of mechanical crafts- men, probably because, having long been used to it, they understand it at a glance, and though it fails to start their thoughts into new channels, at least it neither puzzles nor irritates them. It is a story repeated in all times how real worth, if original and for that reason running counter to the prevailing taste, is decried, and how it always ends by entering into the common inheritance. Gustave Flau- bert beautifully compares the man of genius to a powerful horse tortured by the cruel bit and spur of routine and ignorance, who nevertheless forges forward, bearing along with him his reluctant riderhumanity. Vierge has been rarely fortunate in seeing during his lifetime, and un- der the impulse he had given, the advance of even the inferior produc- tions of the craft. They try now to masquer- ade in the new costume, to assume some character and invention, and they possess at least a semblance of verity, heretofore ignored. What mattered a subject to the earlier illus- trators? Day and night effects, gay and sad events, scenes of savage or civilized life, peas- ants and aristocrats, were cast by them in the same artificial, expressionless mold. As on the walls of an Egyptian temple there defiles a monotonous procession of hieratic figures, end- lessly repeating one profile, gesture, costume, expression, so the old pictorial newspapers presented a repetition of wooden types and conventional elements arranged in the same stereotyped manner. Comparing the Paris LIllustration or Le Monde Illustr~ of twenty-five years ago with that of to-day, one cannot but be struck by the definiteness and suggestiveness of the present pictures. The best among them give not only scenes snatched from reality, living people in living attitudes, but they render the very atmosphere, the am- 390 bient of reality, and with black and white go so far as to suggest color. In the face of such progress, it is remarkable how little recognition other than material illus- tration receives. The world at large, while en- joying it, is wont to consider it a branch of utilitarian, and therefore not of pure or of high, art; not reflecting, apparently, that art is art wherever it be found, and, moreover, that much of the greatest art of the world was born to serve practical ends. As the Bible has been saddled with explana- tions and commentaries that have not made a whit clearer its original text,nay, have ob- scured it,in like manner has art suffered. Zealous friends and critics have taken infinite pains to explain and qualify, divide and sub- divide, it into all sorts of degrees and classes which, however interesting they may prove to scholars and connoisseurs, almost inevitably re- sult in misleading the crowdthe great throng of people who, because they fear mistakes in using their own judgment, follow blindly a DRAWN BY VIERGE. ILLUSTRATION FROM SPANISH TALES.~ leader, and, never taking his views cuin grano sails, become rabid upholders of the letter, not of the spirit, of his law. Hence the pitiftil spec- tacle, so familiar, of the ignorant Philistine turning his back on what he terms inferior art, to worship ostentatiously before the Masters. What he disdains, being near him, has an in- telligible message for him which would nat- urally become the sound foundation of his personal judgment of things artistic. What he adores is usually beyond his comprehension, but in adoring it he feels secure, for he follows the leaders of the day. While his authorities change with the fashion, he remains always correct, for when his authorities are found after a time to have been wrong, as they are peren- nially, it is their fault, not his. He does not think; they do his thinking for him. One of the vulgar traits of human nature is to consider as a sign of refinement, a proof of good taste and superior knowledge, the be- longing to a circle of worthies who adore in super-refined language the only true god, one whose chief trait is to be beyond the reach of commonplace mortals. There is a multitude of such sects, a multitude of unique gods, and these idols succeed one another in the worship of the crowd, a procession of short-lived fads. At one time, not so long ago, Mr. Ruskins ideas on art were sound and right, the best the world had heard. It is stating it mildly to say that while his literary gift is highly valued noxv adays, his opinions of art have been found wanting. Again, the same Claude Monet who was thought a practical joker or a crank in 1875, is to-day idolized. Neither he nor Mr. Ruskin has changed. The only thing changed is the opinion of those who professed to know. In the study of art broad-mindedness, catho- licity, sympathy with the multiple forms of ex- pression, are absolute requisites, as each artist has a perfect right to play his own melody in his own way, and on the instrument best suited to him. Criticism has too often been used as a weapon by men of one idea, who want every- body to see just as they see and just what they see. It was no more absurd for certain Parisian critics, influential makers of opinion in their day, to request Jean Fran9ois Millet to paint nymphs and ~Cupids instead of peasants, than for Mr. Ruskin to ask every artist to Venetianize or Turnerize, or for the present self-appointed drum-beaters of the impressionist school to see salvation only in that one road. Claude Mo- net, leaving exaggeration to the rank and file, touched the great truth which should be the vital spark of all criticism as of all study of art when he said to a would-be pupil: What could I teach you? To do what I am doing? Then you would become a little Monet, per- hapsa bad Monet, surely. If it is in you to be an artist, go and look at nature, and do what you see and feel. An artist must render impressions personally received, ideas person- 9 WEIGHING THE JOCKEY. 192 THE PA THEE OF MODERN ILL (IS TRA TION. ally formed; he must extract from his conscious- its message to all, is essentially democratic, ness an individual interpretation of the eternal and consequently in absolute harmony with subject-matter of artnature. Why should he the tendencies of the age. And it is not the fashion himself on anothers pattern, however less good because it descends to the masses. perfect? Why substitute another head, heart, Art is the little flower that finds substance or instrument for his own? on which to grow and blossom even in the Above all is it wrong to narrow art to an barren desert. Scorning theories, it seizes every occasion to assert itself and to lend its charm and dignity, its ennobling in- fluence, to things we judge the least worthy of them. Why should not we recog- nize its ability to adapt it- self to the special needs of our civilization, when the relics from Pompeian homes gathered in the Naples Museum afford only one of the many ex- amples history gives us of how art has been yoked to utility, and made a familiar in the home, not alone a divinity in the temple? Why,then, should we un- dervalue illustration, that vine which, climbing over the prosaic masonry of the printed matter, enriches and beautifies it? When carelessly fingering the pages of current periodi- cals, why dismiss with a light word all the images thereon? The medium counts for little, the result is everything. Certain of Raphaels drawings, of Rembrandts etchings, are purer works of art than many of their paintings, and the quantity and qual- ity of that indescribable something which consti- tutes genius are as evident in their scratchy mono- chromes as in their elab- orate pictures. So seldom are we treated to art at all, that when we are, what matters it in which special abstract esthetic convention, and to deny to it way it is expressed? Moreover, it isinthe its most important function as a refining social very nature of illustrations to set in evidence influence, an educator of all times and of a~l some of the most precious qualities an artist people, not merely a preacher for the benefit can show. As they need of necessity to be of the elect. Illustration, in its dealing with quickly done, the original idea of their authors subjects in which all take a lively interest, in is carried out in its freshness, in telling strokes the fact of its being scattered broadcast over pregnant with suggestiveness. Because of those the land, available to high and low, conveying qualities, too often lost in their big works, we ILLUSTRATION FROM GIL BLAS. prize so highly the rough sketches of great masters, where we see the creative and ima- ginative faculties in the white heat of the first expression: the goal those men had in view is there plainly visible; each touch, each line, seems to tremble with the emotion they have felt. Not one of the least important results of the entering of illustration into the daily lives of the masses has been to familiarize them with the abbreviated, the spiritual, writing of the artists mindthe few lines that give all the idea and do no more than hint at those parts of minor importance, the rosettes and buckles which have had the privilege to hold the ex- clusive attention of the ignorant. VoL. XLVI.26. The value of the preceding considerations is not lessened because of their applying only to the highest class of illustrations, as the best work, equally rare in any art or profession, is the one basis whereon to build the possibilities of the future. Daniel Vierge has shown pre- eminently how modern, varied, serious, and high an art-illustration could be made. It was his good fortune to be born amid the circurri- stances most favorable for the development 6f his talent. His father, Vincente Urrabieta Ortiz, the best-known illustrator of Spain in his day, though only an artisan, was at heart an artist, passionately devoted to the work to which he gave the best of his thoughts and all 93 STUDY BY YIERGB. 6 ni H z LL~ K z ni ~1i 0 z 0 nii o (1 0 ~7i -Ii ni ni 0 z ni C __ __ P1 0 (I) __ K H CII 1 196 THE FATHER OF MODERN ILL US TEA TION of his time. Under his influence little Daniel knew how to draw before he could read, and when at thirteen he applied for admission at the Fine Arts Academy of Madrid, he was re- ceived with honors into the highest class. There he spent five busy years with classmates who have since won wide recognition in the world Pradrilla Villegas, Rico, the younger Madrazo, Carbonero, etc. Notwithstanding a few inroads into the paternal field, he wanted to become a painter, and had been looking eagerly toward the time when he would go abroad to follow in the footsteps of that Fortuny whose fame was just beginning to dawn on the studios of Europe. Arrived in Paris, the Mecca which was to become his home, Vierge at once set about composing little pictures, which readily assured him the means necessary to pursue his studies. It would be interesting to trace in his work at this time the germs of the future master, but no one knows what has be- come of these first attempts. That they showed already the bent of his mind is evident from their subjects; turning away from consecrated paths, he chose these from the life about him, in streets and markets, popular f6tes and fairs. There are on the walls of his studio some oil-sketches showing him as a colorist of superb frankness, and in his portfolios a few water- colors quite summarily treated, yet of a clear- ness, a force of tone, a vibration of light, and a boldness and refinement of color, absolutely remarkable. It is evident to those who have seen them that should Vierge abandon black and white for color, he would take place in the first rank of contemporary painters. Is it not better that he should stand as he does, the pioneer and supreme master of a decadent art which he has again made young, vigorous, full of possibilities one that answers the most genuine and general demand of our time? Vierge had hardly begun to realize his youth- ful ambition, when evil fortune, in the guise of the Franco-Prussian war, shattered his plans. Apparently his only alternative was to follow the frightened Muses in their flight before Mars to that poor native land of his,where the Muses, worshiped in florid Castilian periods, are never- theless left to starve. Distressed and dispirited, he was packing to go, when an acquaintance and half-countryman, Charles Yriarte, the art wri- ter, asked him to become a contributor to Le Monde Illustr6, the Parisian weekly, of which Yriarte was then director. Was Yriarte aware of the possibilities of Vierges talent in the direc- tion of illustration, or was the proposition made simply to help bridge over an embarrassing time? At all events, thus unexpectedly began a laborious career, which, in 1881, was violently ended by paralysis, resulting from overwork. If during that career the son has not produced a million published drawings, the number his father proudly acknowledged to have made, it is for no other reason than because the days of those eleven short years had only twenty- four hours. The feature of this extraordinarily abundant production is that it kept steadily growing in quality. It never entered Vierges head to con- sider the purely business aspect of his relations with publishers a fact the more noticeable because so rarely met with, and which alone shows the fine fiber of the man. With the fa- cility acquired by practice, how easily he could have improvised dashing compositions that, with economy of time and effort, would have brought him more material reward. Being bountifully gifted, how he could have reveled in pot-boiling, and still have been by far the cleverest of his craft! But Vierge studied every one of these illustrations, ordered as hack-work and thrown to an unappreciative public, as conscientiously as though they were to be sub- mitted to a jury of his peers. After all, the lives of great artists are peculiarly alike, woven in the same fashion on the same loom of com- monplace circumstances such as befall the rest of mankind. Their key-note is the ability of these men to concentrate and unify their pow- ers in the struggle for the realization of an ideal. Such lives are narrow in the sense that all in them is subservient to one purpose, and at that cost alone can they be made so effective. In all other senses they are deep and of wide range, as the faculties, unceasingly trained and sharp- ened, are constantly on the alert to further the one aim of those strong and useful lives. The precious lesson of Vierges career is that his high accomplishment is the result of single- ness of purpose and indefatigable study. In the family, at school, in Paris, as a boy and as a man, he worked with that truly southern enthusiasm which transfigures common drudg- ery, and makes a happiness of dull and dreary routine. All was food for his buoyant energy, and to all he brought a broad spirit of search- ing inquiry, a passionate desire to find what his individuality (his temperament, the French would say) could assimilate, and therewith strengthen itself. No preconceived theory ever directed him; he simply followed that instinct which enables an artist to gather from all that comes in his way, from things sympathetic and antipathetic, the good and the bad, what he needs to en- large, refine, and complete his talent. As a birds nest is built, so a mans talent grows to a consistent whole, though composed of stray bits gathered here and there. Each individual organism is enabled to work out the problem of its salvation by a law of nature whose subtle workings cannot be traced a law that baf fies our theories by showing that what is death to one man is the source of life to another. Most students would have been ruined by scat- tering their efforts in so many different fields, and essaying every conceivable medium of expression. Yet such a loose training has brought out the artist of whom Meissonier said that he and Meuzel were the greatest draftsmen of the century. What would appear on the surface rambling and desultory labor, was for Vierge the best of preparation the chrysalis from which, radiant and full-winged, his inspiration was to emerge. The siege of Paris marks the ending of that period of apprenticeship. If until then he had been, like a true Spaniard, partial to all that shines and details prettily, and inclined to in- sist upon preciousness of rendering, his shackles to mannerism fell as he worked in a whirlpool of splendid inspirations. Spurred on by spec- tacles which made a profound impression on him, his feelings found an expression sponta- neous, yet sober, virile, and of surpassing individuality. It has been said that to remain in the French capital during those troubled times was, for a foreigner with few acquaintances and little knowledge of the language, an act of courage. If it were, Vierge never realized it. For him it was that blessed opportunity to FRIAR S HEAD. 198 THE FA THEE OF MODERN ILLUSTRATION show what he could do which every true artist seeks. As a man, he gave his earnings and the pity of his heart to sufferers about him; as an artist, he was elated, lifted high into pure re- gions which the miseries of this world cannot reach. The crazy enthusiasm of the populace in the days immediately following the decla- ration of war, its wild antics at the repeated news of disaster, the fall of the empire, the establishment of the republic, the nation in arms, the months of famine these thousand scenes of a great drama found in him an in- defatigable and truthful interpreter. With Vierge fatigue and hunger were de- spised; dangerin many forms was ignored. One day when, draped in his national mantle, the caj5a, no doubt looking very odd even in the medley of queer, semi-civilian, semi-military costumes of the Parisians, he was sketching a street post of militiamen, his attention was at- tracted by growing rumors, A Prussian spy! A Prussian spy! Turning to see the spy, he found every flaming eye riveted upon him. The Prussian spy? It was he! Was he not sketching, and in broad daylight taking plans of a militia barrack, and portraits of the militiamen loafing in front of it? And for what other reason possible than to furnish the execrated Bismarck with precious data on the actual condition of the citys defenses? Upon so well-founded suspicions Vierge was put in jail, but when rescued by Yriarte, his collec- tion was enriched with the portraits of the sen- tries who had kept guard over him a fine lot of types he considered it a privilege to have been able to get at so slight a cost. Here, there, everywhere, always on the alert and incessantly working, Vierge filled sketch-book after sketch-book with impres- sions, often simple, rough indications, yet so full of movement, of life, of such incisive accuracy, that they bring back the reality to those who have seen it, and to others they are revelations, not stamped with the cold and dead reality of the photograph, but alive with the very spirit of the things portrayed. When bombs began to fall in the outlying districts of the besieged city, he sought his inspiration in those dangerous precincts from which all others fled. On hearing that the cellars of the Panth6on were used as a refuge by the inhabitants of the rag-pickers ghetto, the Quartier Mouffetard, he found his way there. In the large open space around the monument, while the missiles were dropping as thick as hail, Vierge made some fine studies of the irrepressible street gamins chas- ing the hot fragments of exploded shells, as flying sparrows in a thunder-storm snatch at insects. Crossing the square, now at a run, again stretched flat on the pavements when an ominous hissing announced the approach of danger, he came to the cellars filled with terrified women clutching their children, and men frenzied with rage. Laments and blas- phemies, dolorous stories of mutilation, de- struction, and death, echoed along the re- sounding vaults in a great wail, drowned as by magic when a door was opened and the thunderclaps of bursting bombsthose mighty throbs of the agonizing city set a-trembling people, monuments, the very earth, and com- pelled an awful silence. There, amid the con- fusion, he brushed one of his most tragic compositions. It was at the risk of his life, and under dif- ficulties of all sorts, that during the Commune he made the collection of some twenty draw- ings which he ranks as his most precious notes from life. The originals, who never dreamed that they posed for him, are of the most char- acteristic type furnished by that tempestuous period, when from vile haunts and unknown crevices of beautiful Paris there crawled forth into the light of day creatures no imagination of romantic poet could create, stranger than fiction, more grotesque than Quasimodo, and full of the cunning and ferocity of brutes; all those sad and repulsive types of popular upns- ingsselfish leaders, exalted utopists, loafers, criminals, and the great flock of bedraggled sheep. Vierges portraits of Flourens and of cruel, cold-blooded Raoul Rigault have the value of historical documents, and so have his pictures of unfeminine canhini?res, of brawlers in fantastic, truculent costumes, and of sailors with bushy beards, and short clay pipes between their teeth, bursting all over with impudent swagger. The capital piece of the series depicts an episode of the entrance of the regulars into Paris. Against a wall, half crouching, half erect, an old frtroleuse, dishev- eled, the breast nude, the low, depraved face distorted with rage, slobbers anathemas and infamous vituperations on the men who are about to shoot her. A few strokes of the pen- cil, and she is there so atrociously real that one hears her curses. The test of Vierges career came after this, when, finding himself thrown by the force of circumstances in the gearing of journalism, he had to enter the domain of the commonplace, and to seek his inspiration in the humdrum routine of nineteenth-century life. It was as if, after having been carried along by a strong current, he was left to push his way in a deadly calm. It was trying to come down from the subjects of the war, worthy indeed of a man of genius, to what was in comparison infinitely prosy and uninteresting. But as great writers find ever new ways of treating that hack- neyed theme, the human heart, so Vierge, look- THE INFANTA. ( LE MONDE ILLUSTRE.) ing at daily life in the same lofty manner with which he had looked upon great historical events, revealed to us a new significance in spectacles familiar, and new aspects of pictur- esqueness and beauty of which we were igno- rant. The temptation was almost irresistible to let ones self become a mere technician, or a mirror that does no more than reflect unfeel ingly what stands before it. But putting his heart into the task confronting him, Vierge en- nobled his subjects by his manner of treating them, making jewels of the trifles constituting that actuality which is the small change of history. He dealt with them not in the flip- pant manner of the reporter, but with the dig- nity of a sane and robust nature, whose acute- 99 BY VERGE. 200 THE PA THEE OF MODERN ILLUSTRATION ness of vision reaches through the external aspects to the essentials, whose large and ac- tive human sympathy at once puts him in touch with widely diverse subjects. Thereby Vierge has rendered, not only to illustrators, but to us all, an invaluable service in showing what a rich unexplored mine is that which lies directly under our daily observation. His drawings are to us the same kind of revelation as was a pic- ture of Van Ostade to Goethe. The author of Faust had often looked with eyes that did not see at the little shoemakers shop of his Dresden landlord, until he entered it one day after a visit to the museum where he had been studying an interior of Van Ostade. The suf- fused light which filled the humble place, bring- ing out the old cobbler at his last, made a scene the beauty of which for the first time dawned upon him. The Flemish painter had thus helped Goethe to discover the beauty of that which lay at his own door. Notwithstanding the exigencies of an enor- mous production with exacting limitations of time, Vierge would not consent to do anything without exact documents. On occasions the necessary indications came from eye-witnesses, but whenever possible he went to take them himself. In no case would he condescend to compound those magical fantasies peculiar to a large class of illustrators that depict an event before it happens. His sketch-books testify eloquently to his scrupulous professional hon- esty, for in looking them over one finds all the elements of his published works. I know few things so captivatingly interesting as those innumerable sketch-books, which fill all the closets of his house. The history of French society, of its interests, fads, manners, hab- its, pastimes, is there written day by day, al- most hour by hour. They make a unique monument of priceless value to future histori- ans, one of the curiosities of the intellectual world. To an artist they present another ele- ment of interest, as only an artist can appre- ciate the courage there shown: how Vierge forgot the science he had at his fingers ends, and voluntarily deprived himself of the re- sources of a consummate execution, to be born again for each new subject. In that respect what a contrast, andhow much superior, is Vierge to the craftsman who tries not so much to interpret what he sees, as to make some thing clever out of it! The one before nature is naive, humbly attentive; he has the almost religious respect of the student, all his efforts are concentrated in the attempt to render what he sees as he sees it, and with means born of the impression he receives. The other tries in some way to liken what he sees to what he has fallen into the habit of doing, BASHI-BAZOUKS RETURNING FROM A RAIDING RXPRDITIGN. ( LR MONDE ILLUSTRE.) THE FATHER OF MODERN ILL US TEA TION 201 to adapt it to certain tricks of execution which he possesses; so that freshness, the bloom of truth, being brushed away, the conventional result is, perforce, unimportant. That super- ficial way of touching de omni re scibili may be amusing, but it is as shallow and profit- less as small talk. When trying to enter into the analysis of a man s talent, one is reminded of the saying of a French critic that in art even the finest descrip- tions are not equal to a hasty view of things. One is conscious, also, of seeing an artist in a partial and incomplete fashion, of dwelling at length upon sides understandable, and pass- ing over others equally worthy of attention. Fortunately the sketches which are the raison dl/re of this article give Vierge the opportu- nity to speak for himself. It can be but a re- stricted opportunity, the range of his work is too great to be given adequately, and the large compositions which form an important part of his productions~ cannot be reduced to the size of a magazine page,yet these frag- ments do him better justice than any words could do. Though generously revealing themselves in his work, how can one do more than hint at the characteristic traits of Vierges talent; how analyze or describe that felicity of inspiration, subtle and evanescent, which asserts itself so joyfully in his drawingshis discrimination in selecting in each subject the aspect most worthy to be dwelt upon? Nature being al- ways luxuriant and diffuse, with what artful taste he eliminates the superfluous! How intel- ligently he touches the accessories needful to the impression he wishes to convey, and assigns them to their just place, and gives them their relative importance! In France he is called a fac/ziste, because he simplifies to be more forcible, to bring out more clearly the important features of his sub- jects. His wash-drawings, looked at closely, are a confused mass of blots and lines, but two feet away these rough elements, assuming their significance, melt and harmonize in a palpi- tating impression of light movement and life. Each brush-mark, however careless it may ap- pear, is forceful, and lays bare the essence of whatever it touches; and it is as expressive of the refined, the delicate, as of the virile. In a few synthetic strokes, Vierge exhausts a type, an expression, an effect which would be dwelt upon to tiresomeness by the craftsmen who accumulate smart little details for want of something better to produce a skin-deep sem- blance of reality. Btit to render sensations and impressions; to express the vision mental and physical of beings and things in the milieu and atmosphere to which they belong; to show movements, VOL. XLVI. 27. attitudes, gestures, play of physiognomy, the thousand aspects of dress, of architecture, ac- cording to the dimness or exaltation of the light; to attempt effects considered impossible; to say so i~nuch that none had dared to say be- fore Vierge has had to manufacture for him- self an instrument at the same time large and fine, firm and flexible, an incisive tool, a new language. Hence the great difficulty confront- ing him at the outset, and against which he has had constantly to contend of finding engravers capable of being translators and not traitors. In their bold revolutionary garb his audacious compositions were unintelligible to men who had become accustomed to a nar- row routine. When Vierge began his career of illustrator, the wood-engravers were pains- taking artisans who hugged with the same affection and lack of discrimination unimpor- tant as well as important facts; they who la- bored to give the word for the word attached little importance to the meaning of the phrase. In not only inspiring, but in personally training his engravers, Vierge bears the same relation to contemporary wood-engraving that he does to contemporary illustration. He is the father of a school of engravers who, permeating their work with light, color, and refreshing unex- pectedness of treatment, putting playfulness, and character, and feeling into it, have infused with vigorous life an art which had grown old, stiff, and mechanical. Vierge is a realist in that he is a worshiper of truth; but realist is a misleading epithet, embracing as many sins as virtues. Far from the low realism of commonplaceness and nas- tiness is that realism of Vierge, which beau- tifies all it feeds upon, because it delights in dwelling on those elements of beauty and good- ness existing latent or revealed in all things. Perhaps the most personal, and thus the most strongry felt, trait of Vierge is his faculty of imparting a sort of heroic character all his ownto his representations of reality. It seems as if there was more of the Moor than of the Spaniard in his nature, as if his work was a revelation of that fine race that knows how to drape itself in a rag, and on whose lips the honey of beautiful verses is born of a ray of sunlight. But his art is as naturally alert and joyous as it is dignified. One feels that the artist loves his work as a lover his mistress, that it is not work to him, but a constant delight. VIERGE was making the illustrations for a French translation of Quevedos Don Pablo de Segovia, when, in the ripeness of his talent, stiil young, and with a glorious future before him, he was stricken by the thunderbolt of paralysis. His right side was as dead, his speech and part of his memory were annihilated, and 202 THE TA THER OF MODERN ILL USTRA HON the athletic physique, the superb working-force to which an hour of idleness had been unknown, were wrecked in an instant. Shy of society, and so continually busy that he was ever beyond reach of friends, his con- dition remained long unknown to those who would have hastened to help him. Only after six months, when his incomplete Don Pablo de Segovia was published, did the world and his friends learn of his trouble. After two years of living death, the resurrection of his energies and faculties began. Slowly he reacquired a few half-articulate sounds, which constitute all that he has now of human language, gradually the cloud over his memory lifted, and his right side woke again to life, until now the wrist and hand alone are helpless. His mental robust- ness and sanity have passed through the ordeal unscathed, and his motive in life remaining foremost within him, he has trained his left hand to draw, and returned to his beloved labor. Naturally he now works very slowly, but with the crisis of his life there came something new and greater into his character, which is reflected in his work. If he has lost traits of pure virtuosity, his observation has grown graver, more impressive, his touch more severe. To his dramatic instinct, his verve, his fer- tility of invention, there is added that which makes certain artists and poets speak to more than their time and generation, because they depict not alone the surface aspects of human- ity, but humanity itself. As a draftsman with the pen, Vierge com- bines in a high degree the widely diverse qual- ities which distinguish the old painters in their occasional use of the pen, and the modern artists who have dedicated themselves to this branch of art. The old pen-drawings, simple notes from nature, studies of figures or com- positions made in reference to futu~e paintings, are emphatically expressive of the artists idea. Not admitting of delicate minutiae, but large of treatment, as of conception, they show one of the sides of the man of many parts, and with slight means say well all they wish to say. Unlike the old painters, the modern special- ists, regarding the pen as fully adapted to the interpretation of nature and the rendering of their own creations, have achieved excellence in the line in which we usually reach excellence nowadays in the line of technic. Speaking generally, therefore, one might say that they depend upon the execution, while their prede- cessors depended upon the idea. In Vierges pen-and-ink drawings these two contending elements are united. They are clever beyond any ones cleverness, and in the most varied manner. Mr. Pennell well says that if any professional thinks he has invented some new mode of rendering, he has only to look at Vierges sketches to find himself mistaken. No one has reached such mastery in any of the different styles, simple or complicated, of pen- work. No matter how made, his sketches always compose a sort of dainty filigree: pure blacks, pearl-gray tints, isolated lines forming exquisite combinations which, irrespective of subject, fascinate the eye. That these lines are few, admirably chosen, expressive of charac- ter, form, and texture,becomes evident only after one is struck by the first seductive impression of the ensemble. In looking more attentively, it seems impossible that simple black lines on white paper should be made to tell so much: the strong relief of the foreground, the airy indistinctness of distance, the differences in materials, the sheen or dullness of stuffs, the very substance of flesh and bone. And to ex- press it all in so subtle a way that it baffles analysis! But they do this admirably, and what they cannot say aloud they seem to suggest. However, Vierges technic, extraordinarily fine though it is, is of secondary importance. Like the old painters, he uses it as a means to an end. His medium, infinitely finer, more com- plicated, and more resourceful than theirs, is, like theirs, a costume that, becoming the liv- ing figure, would lose all beauty if thrown over a puppet. What distinctly separates Vierge from the purely picturesque school, over which master rendering holds tyrannic sway, is the versatility and the grandeur of his ideas and inventions. That is what, with his worship of truth, his broad human sym- pathy, his sensibility, and his sense of measure, he gives expression to in a form exquisitely wrought, but not mannered, and what prevents the richness and abundance of his picturesque instinct from asserting themselves unduly. A drawing full of reliefs, extraordinarily good and true; the choice of the best effect, of the typical gesture, the sobriety of details, the great art to sacrifice and let a few necessary accents sing out from the ensemble all combine to make his creations what they are, and it is after a careful process of choosing and prun- ing, after many preliminary studies, that those superbly free pen-and-ink drawings which seem improvised are finally made. Much of their charms come, no doubt, from their ad- mirable freshness and crispness, their unequaled grace of rendering, but their value lies far be- yond and deeper than external qualities. The artists triumph over difficulties is the greaser that, in the cramped sphere of an art full of limitations, he has treated so many different subjects. During the twelve years of his collaboration with Le Monde Illustr6, he has pictured with the pen the principal THE FATHER OF MODERN ILL USIRA lYON 203 scenes of new plays produced in Parisian the- aters: the drama, the comedy, the pageantry of opera, and the pretty foolery of opera bouffe each intensified in its character, each telling its story plainly, completely, and with the emphasis, the glittering artificiality, of the stage. The civil wars of Spain, the conflict in the East, have also given him the opportunity to relate many an unusually picturesque or dramatic incident. But the subjects he was best qualified to treat, because all the instincts of his nature were in sympathy with them, and had been at that early age when things make an indelible impression on the receptive brain, are the subjects of his native land. Refractory to the influences of his second home, Vierge has remained as typical a Spaniard as if he had never left Madrid, and his dearest pleasure has been to make scenes of Spanish life familiar to the French public. Amid such a production as his has been, it is difficult to select and par- ticularize, but surely his Spanish scenes with the pen or the brush count among the most brilliant of his performances on the illustrated press. His masterpiece as a pen-and-ink artist is an illustration of a classic of old Spanish literature. The Tacafio of Quevedo, one of many fine picturesque novels half philosophi- cal, half satiric, preceding Don Quixote, pro- bably inspired Cervantes. The Tacafio(bad boy, sharper), otherwise known as Don Pablo de Segovia, is the story of a barbers son, vitiated in body and soul by bad company, an exce~s of misery, and the example of a society corrupt and hypocritical. Pablo passes through a series of hyperbolical adventures, struggling like a demon with alguazils and robbers, beaten and beating, here cutpurse, there cutthroat, and ever inconceivably full of audacity, of nerve, and of wit. Wily Figaro is a holy person- age compared with this wild ancestor of his,who, unbridling throughout Spain his extravagant tricks, skips between the clutched fingers of the Inquisition, flouts the nobility, shears the good wool of the rich bourgeois, affiliates himself to every band of scoundrels, and is ever ready to stake his life for a piece of cake. What a pic ture of the Spain of the sixteenth century! What morals, and what a society! Brawlers, duennas, poets, mendicants, pilferers, hangmen, amorous nuns, filibusters, gamblers all these swarm, swaggering with life, through that fan- tastic book. Its pages are filled with thefts and fights, embraces and murders, done with rosary in hand and with profound reverences which make the hat-feathers trail in the dust. Nothing is of importance but to have a fine supper, nothing sacred but a full stomach. Loaded dice and marked cards are more ne- cessary than clean linen, and sword-thrusts are ever ready for those who too keenly notice the game. When the conscience squeaks, two candles at the Virgins altar, a present to the beadle, and all goes on as nicely as may be under the guardianship of his majesty the king, wham God preserve! In such strange milleux Vierge has roamed, handling his pen like a rapier. Evidently these rascals amused him, and he was interested in them. His drawing has the color, the furious wit, of Quevedos style. He has made of Don Pablo as entertaining and extraordinary a figure in graphic art as he is in literature, and inter- preted him as only a Spaniard can interpret a Spaniard. He has depicted his antics with a buoyant humor savoring of the soil and full of the perfume of the air of Spain. He said that while doing these illustrations, he would often leave his work-table, pick up his guitar, and inspire his pictures to the accompaniment of the twanging string. Indeed, they evoke the very raspings of guitar and castanet, the nasal cadences of seguidillas, the bursting 016, o16 of Spanish students. In Don Pablo inspiration and rendering unite to form an ideal masterpiece. So far it is the artists book. He is still young,barely forty-two years, so we may confidently look forward to worthy successors of Don Pablo; but should his career end to-morrow, that one work will make all lovers of art eager to ac- quaint themselves with the wonderfully solid and beautiful monument he has erected on the sands of ephemeral journalism. Augus/ F faccaci. In calling Vierge the Father of Modern Illustration, the writer does not mean that of the two artists Men- zel and Vierge, who stand in a position of unique eminence in relation to the modern development of illustration, the art of the latter is superior to the art of the former. The epithet is simply a recognition of the fact that Vierge is essentially an illustrator, while Menzel is a draftsman. (Menzel the painter, it is need- less to say, had no more to do with the development of illustration than all other great modern painters.) The difference between the two is radical, for whereas the draftsmans object is accomplished when he has carried out his idea in a drawing the size, medium, and manner of which are of his own choice, the illustrator has to make a drawing the size, medium, and manner of which are imposed, and one that will produce its full and best effect, not as an original, but in the reproduc- tion. Laboring exclusively within the restricted field of illustration, Vierge has had on contemporary illustra- tors the specific influence of a specialist on specialists. Both men are master draftsmen, but the drawings of Vierge have one side that the drawings of Menzel have not. They were composed and executed, just like the paintings of a decorator, in view of certain definite con- ditions. 1-lence, without comparing the two men as artists, the epithet of Father of Modern Illustration be- longs to Vierge, and to Vierge alone. COLLEGE ATHLETICS. TRAINING. ELL, I ye sent him, George; but I dont believe they will have him six months before he gets into some scrape,~~ remarked General Bradhurst to one of his old friends, whose advice he had taken in sending a rather self-willed boy to college. His friend dined with the general recently, and afterward related the conversation to me as follows: I asked him, he chuckled, if his boy had come home in disgrace yet. To tell the truth, he replied, I begin to think you hit the mark in telling me to send him. He has been home, home only last week, but not in disgrace, and he went back Monday morning bright and early. At dinner Sunday night I noticed he did nt take any of the en- tree, and would nt have any dessert, and turned down his wine-glass when the claret was passed, and I thought something must be wrong with the boys appetite, so I said: What ails you, Jim? Digestion out of or- der? Oh, no, he said; and that was all I got out of him. When Mary brought in the coffee, he would nt have any, and I said: Look here, young man; I dont understand this. Let s go into the library, and you shall tell me all about it while we have a cigar. I pushed the cigars over to him, but he said he guessed he would nt smoke. Now, what is the matter with you, Jim? Let s have it out, said I. Nothing, replied the young rascal; but I m on the foot-ball team, and we are in training; and before ten oclock he ended our confab with the words: Well, I m going to turn in. Good night. And to bed he went. Now, George, I begin to believe there must be some~ing in your new-fangled athletic fads, when they re strong enough to make a boy like Jim give up his sweets, turn down his glass, shake his head to a cigar, and go to bed before ten oclock. They are going to make a man of him there, after all. Yes, my dear sir, and yes, my dear madam, when your boy at college says he is in train- ing, it means that he is following, with the closest observation, the laws of health. He is free from the taint of dissipation, and is mak- ing of himself a clean, strong young man. This training has been made a study, and the results have been handed down through col- lege and school until every boy now enjoys 204 the advantages. The enforcement, too, of these laws of training is stricter than that of any rules of teacher or faculty, for, instead of surveillance, the boy is bound by his honor to his captain and his fellows. When the collegian first took up training he had as a guide only the conceited follies of broken-down prize-fighters to guide him. The pug was the only man who trained in those days, and he was put through a course of purging to take away the effects of months of debauch. It is no wonder, then, that the early training laws in our universities were worse than crude. The governing principle was to feed a man as much nearly raw beef as he could be induced to take, and to give him as little liquid in any form as possible. The ex- ercise, like the diet, was an exaggerated copy of the follies of men who knew next to nothing about the human animal. In i85~ the Yale crew was wont to run four miles before break- fast; then, in the forenoon, to pull weights and wrestle for an hour; and finally, in the afternoon, to do their rowing, which always in- cluded one pull over the entire course. By 1864 this had grown to a run before breakfast of from three to five miles, sometimes with weights in the hands, and that before a mouthful was eaten. Then, in addition to general work about the quarters, they rowed the full coursefour miles at speed twice a day. As late as 1876 the foot-ball men were made to practise general work in the morning, then to play an hour and a half in the afternoon, and at nine oclock at night to run three miles at speed on a dusty gymnasium track. Base- ball men and track athletes escaped more easily, for their training had hardly become very strict until the days of a more rational sys- tem. Training for the varsity teams of to-day means keeping early hours, a generous diet of the very best that the markets afford in the way ofbeef, mutton, and occasionally turkey and chicken; fruit; a limited supply of vege- tables, toast, sometimes very plain puddings, oatmeal water, and milk. In the way of exer- cise, there is a very gradual increase from the beginning of the season up to within a week of the actual contests, and then light work un- til the event itself. As for the time all this takes from a mans studies, that depends chiefly upon the individual. Probably more than half the athletes average less than three hours a day of actual work in their sport. The length of time consumed in going to the field or boat-

Walter Camp Camp, Walter College Athletics 204-211

COLLEGE ATHLETICS. TRAINING. ELL, I ye sent him, George; but I dont believe they will have him six months before he gets into some scrape,~~ remarked General Bradhurst to one of his old friends, whose advice he had taken in sending a rather self-willed boy to college. His friend dined with the general recently, and afterward related the conversation to me as follows: I asked him, he chuckled, if his boy had come home in disgrace yet. To tell the truth, he replied, I begin to think you hit the mark in telling me to send him. He has been home, home only last week, but not in disgrace, and he went back Monday morning bright and early. At dinner Sunday night I noticed he did nt take any of the en- tree, and would nt have any dessert, and turned down his wine-glass when the claret was passed, and I thought something must be wrong with the boys appetite, so I said: What ails you, Jim? Digestion out of or- der? Oh, no, he said; and that was all I got out of him. When Mary brought in the coffee, he would nt have any, and I said: Look here, young man; I dont understand this. Let s go into the library, and you shall tell me all about it while we have a cigar. I pushed the cigars over to him, but he said he guessed he would nt smoke. Now, what is the matter with you, Jim? Let s have it out, said I. Nothing, replied the young rascal; but I m on the foot-ball team, and we are in training; and before ten oclock he ended our confab with the words: Well, I m going to turn in. Good night. And to bed he went. Now, George, I begin to believe there must be some~ing in your new-fangled athletic fads, when they re strong enough to make a boy like Jim give up his sweets, turn down his glass, shake his head to a cigar, and go to bed before ten oclock. They are going to make a man of him there, after all. Yes, my dear sir, and yes, my dear madam, when your boy at college says he is in train- ing, it means that he is following, with the closest observation, the laws of health. He is free from the taint of dissipation, and is mak- ing of himself a clean, strong young man. This training has been made a study, and the results have been handed down through col- lege and school until every boy now enjoys 204 the advantages. The enforcement, too, of these laws of training is stricter than that of any rules of teacher or faculty, for, instead of surveillance, the boy is bound by his honor to his captain and his fellows. When the collegian first took up training he had as a guide only the conceited follies of broken-down prize-fighters to guide him. The pug was the only man who trained in those days, and he was put through a course of purging to take away the effects of months of debauch. It is no wonder, then, that the early training laws in our universities were worse than crude. The governing principle was to feed a man as much nearly raw beef as he could be induced to take, and to give him as little liquid in any form as possible. The ex- ercise, like the diet, was an exaggerated copy of the follies of men who knew next to nothing about the human animal. In i85~ the Yale crew was wont to run four miles before break- fast; then, in the forenoon, to pull weights and wrestle for an hour; and finally, in the afternoon, to do their rowing, which always in- cluded one pull over the entire course. By 1864 this had grown to a run before breakfast of from three to five miles, sometimes with weights in the hands, and that before a mouthful was eaten. Then, in addition to general work about the quarters, they rowed the full coursefour miles at speed twice a day. As late as 1876 the foot-ball men were made to practise general work in the morning, then to play an hour and a half in the afternoon, and at nine oclock at night to run three miles at speed on a dusty gymnasium track. Base- ball men and track athletes escaped more easily, for their training had hardly become very strict until the days of a more rational sys- tem. Training for the varsity teams of to-day means keeping early hours, a generous diet of the very best that the markets afford in the way ofbeef, mutton, and occasionally turkey and chicken; fruit; a limited supply of vege- tables, toast, sometimes very plain puddings, oatmeal water, and milk. In the way of exer- cise, there is a very gradual increase from the beginning of the season up to within a week of the actual contests, and then light work un- til the event itself. As for the time all this takes from a mans studies, that depends chiefly upon the individual. Probably more than half the athletes average less than three hours a day of actual work in their sport. The length of time consumed in going to the field or boat- COLLEGE A THLE TICS. 205 house in some universities would add half an hour more. A week before the important con- test, it must be confessed, the great interest in the event, the enthusiasm of the non-contes- tants, and the general public heralding and predicting, lead the competitors to forget every- thing else, and studies suffer accordingly. Af- ter the contest nine tenths of the men en- gaged make equally determined application to their studies in order to make up for that week of excitement and neglect. The total result is that the average rank of the athlete is rather above than below the average rank of any other body of men selected without reference to scholarship. RULES. IN the warm summer of 1844, at Yale, the crew manning a dugout canoe having chal- lenged the crew of a lapstreak gig to a race, and that challenge having been eagerly ac- cepted, it became necessary to adopt a code of rules to govern the contest. The rules then made were as follows: The race to be a four- mile race from the boat-house to the light- house; the start to be made by both crews standing on the pier, who should then proceed to enter their respective boats and to row to the finish; and finally, neither to do anything in the mean time in the way of cleaning the boat or in any way preparing the bottom for the race. Upon the appointed day the two crews lined up on the float, the word was given, and both crews sprang into the boats, shipped the oars, and started. While in the swift current they kept nearly even, but as soon as they were out of it, although her crew struggled manfully, the gig seemed to be lagging. At last, realizing that something must be radically wrong with their boat, they pulled to the shore, and dis- covered that a ring had been secured to the keel of the gig and a heavy stone attached. As expressed by a writer, It was the universal belief that neither crew had violated any of the articles of agreement in doing anything to the bottom of their own boat. This was the first recognized set of rules governing a college boat-race, and showed conclusively that apparently fair rules do not always insure a fair contest. From that time the rules of college boat- ing went through many changes. With the in- troduction of intercollegiate contests in 1852 came greater legislative necessities. For a few years opinions differed as to the size and man- ning of the boats, and a rule was made allow- ing any boat to be entered, manned by any number of men, and one race (in i8~~) saw three boats entered, equipped as follows: Iris of Harv4rd, eight-oared barge, with coxswain; Y Y. of Harvard, four-oared lapstreak, with- out coxswain; and the Yale boats Nereid an.d Nautilus, six-oared barges, with coxswains. To accommodate such a variety, the rule was made that small boats should be allowed eleven seconds for each extra oar in the larger boats. The necessity of such a rule was, however, rather doubted when the result of the race proved to be as follows: First boat in, the eight-oared barge, three seconds ahead of the four-oared lapstreak, and the two six-oared boats over a minute and a half behind. Perhaps no race ever showed the error of rowing under the wrong set of rules more glar- ingly than the contest which Yale turned into a bumping race at Lake Quinsigamond in 1870. Harvard led, and, in attempting to round the turning-stake, caught the buoy, and came to a sudden stop. Yale rowed directly into her stern, and gave a most glorious English bump, carrying away Harvards steering-gear. Fi- nally the boats were separated, and Yale rowed home in good order, Harvard creeping in, in damaged condition, nearly two minutes later. The race was naturally awarded ,under Ameri- can rules, to the bumped boat. Certain hot- headed persons found fault with the Yale management for not having foreseen this re- sult, and for not allowing bumping rules to govern. This was not the only bumping race between Yale and Harvard, as several oars- men who sat in the Yale and Harvard boats at Saratoga in 1874 might be willing to testify. But we learn from experience, and the col- lege boat-racing rules of to-day are not made for a dozen crews rowing in indiscriminate fashion, nor for two crews turning the same stake-float; but the boats are few, and each has its own lane marked out, and the course is straight away. The development of what seem now thoroughly satisfactory racing rules has been the work of years. But that work has had a strangely circular course. The first inter- collegiate race was a straightaway eight-oared race, with coxswain, and with only two crews on the water. The next race was for a mile and a half and return, and it took seventeen years to get back to straightaway races. The race of 1855 had four boats entered, and it took until 1864 to get back to two competitors, which number continued until the reform of straightaway courses came in 1872, when the number of competitors was increased to six. The next year there were eleven, and in 1875 thirteen, boats. This last crowd killed the National Rowing Association of American Colleges, and since that time the great college boat-race has had only two crews. After the eight-oared race of 1852 all sorts of boats and rigging came infour-oared, six- oared, with and without coxswains; shells, 206 COLLEGE A ZFHLEZJZCS. barges, and lapstreaks. It took, again, over twenty years to get back to eight oars and cox- swains, but the shell replaced the 1852 barge. The principal points of the boating rules of i 852, then, are the chief points in the boating rules of 1892; namely, two crews, a straightaway course, eight oars, and a coxswain. Only the distance is four miles instead of two, though had Mr. Sargents proposed regulations of a few years ago gone into effect, we should have had the two-mile race of forty years ago as well as all the other conditions. But in other sports there has been a more ap- preciable distance traversed by th erule-makers. The foot-ball game of the forties was an annual rush between the freshmen and sophomores with a foot-ball as an excuse. The answer of the sophomores to the freshmens challenge a few years later, in a slight paraphrase of Hot- spurs words, characterizes the game and its rules sufficiently: Come! like sacrifices in their trim, And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war, All hot, and bleeding will we offer you! In 1872 there had come to be something in the nature of a game, with rules to govern. The important rule bearing upon the history of the sport was, No player shall pick up, throw, or carry the ball in any part of the field. To- day the chief employment is to pick up, throw, and carry the ball. Then, when there was a violation of a rule: The player so offending shall throw the ball perpendicularly into the air from the spot where the foul occurred. To-day, when a violation of a rule occurs, a player of the opposite side puts the ball down on the ground upon the spot where the foul occurred. Until the fall of 1875 American college foot- ball was a sport sul generis, rebelling against any other known code of foot-ball rules. Then, Harvard, having become enamoured of the English Rugby through some matches with Canadian teams, made the first step toward its introduction among American colleges by ef- fecting a compromise with Yale, and playing a game under four fifths Rugby Union and one fifth American nondescript laws. The following year Rugby Union rules were adopted. Since that time rapid changes have been made, but in- stead of the game having gone to pieces under the alterations, a new game has been evolved which now in point of interest challenges the foot-ball game of any other country. The American scrimmage, though developed from the Rugby scrimmage, has a more clean-cut and satisfactory termination, is faster and more accurate in changing the play, and admits of a wider field for the development of tac tics. The American system of interference is a most direct breaking away from the Rugby law of off side, but possesses many advan- tages in the way of increased opportunity for team work; and finally, the scoring by points, and the ruling by two men, insure more cer- tainty of determining the issue, no matter how closely the teams be matched. In base-ball the progress of the rules has been chiefly along the pitchers crease. The straight-arm pitch, no balls, and no strikes, but the batsman hitting when he chose these were the characteristics of the early days. Home runs without number, scores of fifty and over, time of games from three to four hours to these were the patrons of the sport treated in the fifties and sixties. Then came the underhand throw, the hand passing below the hip, and every third ball called; next followed the underhand throw, the hand swinging on a line below the shoulder, nine balls to take the base; then quickly fol- lowed seven balls, and the putting back of the pitcher farther from the batsman; then five balls, and the throw instead of the pitch, and the aboli- tion of restriction as to the pitchers swing; and now we have four balls, and the determination to place the pitcher still farther from the bats- man. Such has been the record of our base- ball rules. In track athletics the seven-mile walk, the three-mile walk and the three-mile run, and the graduates seven-mile walk have all disap- peared, but an effort is being made to revive the three-mile run. The tug of war came in, dug holes in the ground, attained the dignity of a wooden platform, cleats, and harness, and then had its head lopped off. The standing jump had a short life, but the sprints and hurdles have held their own and increased. Throwing the base-ball and graduate events were swept away before having a chance to demonstrate their value. Bicycles whirled into the procession: first the high machines, which nearly murdered the riders when the almost inevitable collision occurred; now the low safety, with its huge bulging tire, which, like the fabled hoop-snake of our youthful fancy, rolls faster than man or - horse can flee. Stricter rules, closer matches, longer and more systematic training, have all combined to stimulate interest and endeavor to a higher pitch, and records have fallen until one is almost ready to fancy that the limit has been reached. But as we approach that time there again enters the unceasing restlessness of the American collegian as an element in all rules governing athletics in our universities, and changes in events and rules will probably usher in the unforeseen development to satisfy this craving. The first signs come in the pro- posal to reinstate the three-mile run. Who knows but that, like the boating legislation, the COLLEGE A THLE TICS. 207 track-athletic lawmakers are about to move in a circle, approaching again the old-fashioned distance events and separate graduate con- tests, especially should the new advocacy of confining the general events to undergradu- ates strictly meet with general favor? ELIGIBILITY. THERE is a story of a famous physician who was asked to write a prescription for a patient afflicted with rheumatism. With it he sent a note which read as follows, If this does you any good, I wish you would let me know, as I have been troubled with rheumatism myself for the last few years. A similar desire to try experiments outside of their own person has always afflicted the colleges when dealing with the disease of pro- fessionalism, or with any question of eligibility of players. Before college sports became of sufficient importance to provoke symptoms of professionalism, there were differences of opinion as to whether graduates should be per- mitted to take part. In 1874, at the meeting of the Rowing Association, Harvard proposed that professional school students should be eligible for crews. The question was put to a vote, but the motion was lost, Yale and eight other colleges voting against it. Later, in 1876, Yale and Harvard passed a rule to the effect that all undergraduates of either college, and all of its graduates who were study- ing for a second degree, should be eligible for the crews. These two points in the history of the legislation bear very directly upon the questions now being so fiercely agitated. In base-ball, when the Intercollegiate Asso- ciation was formed at Springfield in i88o, the Yale delegates refused to join in the formation because the association was unwilling to bar out professionals, and did not apply for mem- bership until, in the following year, a rule was adopted rendering professionals ineligible. The particular individuals at that time against whom the rule was directed were Richmond and Wins- low, the battery of the Brown nine. Both these men went into the professional ranks, and the former played for some years in professional teams. Since then there have been several poorly disguised instances of professionalism among college ball-players, but the point most in question has come to be how far a college player may go in the way of taking expenses sometimes rather lavish ones, too for sum- mer ball-playing in local nines. Action restrict- ing this practice is likely to come before long. But in foot-ball have been seen the most bitter quarrels upon this issue. Professional base-ball and professional boating rather pre- pared the way for a laxity of opinion in these sports, while in foot-ball, up to a few years ago, there had been no question or supposition of professionalism. It was purely a gentleman s game. When, therefore, a man who had played base-ball avowedly for money, and who was commonly considered a member of one of the professional league nines for the coming sea- son, undertook to play upon one of the teams in the Intercollegiate Association, it gave rise to a storm of protest and not only the passage of a rule forbidding professionalism among col- lege players, but also a bitterly fought quarrel, the after effects of which still keep two of our leading college foot-ball teams apart. The rule passed at that time provided that no profes- sional should be eligible, nor any man who had received any pecuniary inducement, directly or indirectly, nor any man not pursuing a course of study requiring a certain number of hours~ attendance each week. That same year, and under this rule, Harvard questioned a majority of Princetons players, and Princeton ques- tioned a majority of Harvards men. Feeling ran so high that not one of the colleges repre- sented has since brought a single challenge under this rule. Nor has it been because of lack of cases coming under it, but because of the vivid memory of that most acrimonious set of meetings, and the recrimination indulged in for months thereafter. This brings us to the vital point: College men as a class are bitterly opposed to profes- sionalism, but college representatives in any law-making meeting are able to see clearly only the professionalism in the rival teams, and the rules proposed by each college are prepared to fit the case abroad rather than the case at home. Then, when the trouble begins, the college likely to get the worst of the arrangement in the matter of players threatens to resign; and what is even worse, if these representatives do not legislate to save their own bacon at home, their college is likely to make it unpleas- ant for them. Fortunately, the unusual publicity given this year to the fact that men are hired in one way or another on account of their athletic ability, has resulted in stirring up the better element among college men to the necessity of action, and all the colleges are at last vying with one another to discover and adopt the best mea- sure to attain the result. Yale has passed a rule confining membership in her nines, teams, and crews to undergraduates, and strictly to undergraduates of her own college, barring out any man who comes from another college. Princeton has adopted a similar rule. Harvard will undoubtedly adopt some equally stringent measure, but not until a year from now. The other colleges are equally active, and presum- ably are determined to stamp out the evil, so 208 COLLEGE A THLE TICS. that there is little doubt of the final extinction of the most apparent part of it. But there is still an evil existing against which no very satisfactory rules have yet been directed, and that is, the inducements offered young boys to determine their choice of a college. The difficulty here arising is similar in one sense to that which existed in the first rule, as above described, adopted in foot-ball. Where the proof required is of a nature involving more or less detective work, the obtaining of it is obnoxious to gentlemen. To ferret out the inducement, to play the detective, and to trace back the benefit, whether in the form of dol- lars and cents, or the remission of usual dues, room rent, board, or tuition, from its recipient to the instigators, and to show that the sugges- tion of that benefit came in some way from the fact that the man was likely to be service- able in some athletic branch, is not only an extremely difficult undertaking, but an essen- tially repugnant one. On this account, any rule that involves detective work will never be practically operative. It will sound well, but the procuring will never be affected by it, be- cause the better. class of college men and they are the ones upon whom, from the nature of things, the ferreting out of infractions of the rule must devolve will revolt from the only methods which could end in successful search. The summer ball-playing, which is productive of pecuniary gain, and the inducement by sim- ilar means which leads a school-boy athlete to be influenced in his choice of a college, are the next two evils to be faced and overcome by some legislation requiring no detective work. ATTITUDE OF FACULTIES. THAT professor who rushed into the faculty meeting one day, and, after stating that he had just learned that in base-ball the pitcher was wont to deceive the batsman by curving the ball, proposed that the faculty should at once do away with a sport which placed a premium upon deception, had the right idea in his hon- est old head, although in the particular in- stance his lack of technical knowledge led him to pose as something very near a fool. He abhorred cheats and shams, and he did not want his boys taught trickery. Faculties have al- ways been upon the side of honesty of purpose, but where they have undertaken to interfere in points requiring technical knowledge, the results have, in many instances, been disas- trous both to their amour projre and to the sports themselves. The student, graduate and undergraduate, has built up his own sports. He began with them when none but he took any interest in them. He sat up nights and worked days to make them better, and, as they grew, he puzzled out for himself all the prob- lems involved. Neither the public nor the fac- ulty took any particular interest. That is one of the reasons why the student body has of late years often resented interference with what was regarded as the internal management of the sports. So long as the sports did not interfere with studies, they asked to be allowed to enjoy immunity from interference. Such intolerance of meddling can hardly be regarded as pecu- liar. But, unfortunately, the line was not al- ways clearly drawn eitherby the student body or by the faculty, and cases are on record of over- stepping the line on the part of both bodies. Moreover,both sides have occasionallychanged their minds, and hence their policies have been woefully inconsistent. In 1883 the Harvard faculty astonished the college world, just previous to the Yale-Har- vard foot-ball match, by forbidding Harvard to play the game in New York. But they were over-persuaded, and the game was played. In i88~ Harvard was forbidden to play foot-ball at all, and in 1890 a rule was passed forbidding any athletic contests of any kind by Harvard students outside of New England. A certain exception to this rule has been made in favor of the men engaged in track athletics. These rules, and those of recent date, have been made by a committee composed at first of three mem- bers of the faculty. This committee was ap- pointed by the faculty, and was known as the Standing Committee upon the Regulation of Athletic Sports. This was the committee which forbade foot-ball at Harvard. Questions of importance were referred to the faculty for discussion. After some three years of control, this faculty committee recommended the appointment of a new committee with student representation. The faculty agreed to the composition of the committee, but restricted its powers, requiring it to consult with the faculty on all questions in- volving general principles. This committee con- sisted of five, two being undergraduates, but all being appointed by the president of the univer- sity, and making reports to the faculty. After three years of experience with this committee, it was recommended that the control of athlet- ics be removed from the hands of the college faculty by the appointment of a committee ex- isting by the authority of the corporation, and responsible to that body alone. This the fac- ulty refused, giving the committee power suW ject to such general regulations as the college faculty should from time to time adopt. Then by a later rule they appointed a committee con- sisting of three undergraduates to be elected by the management of the Athletic Associa- tion, and six graduates, three to be members of the faculty, and all six to be appointed by COLLEGE A THLE TICS. 209 the corporation with the consent of the Board of Overseers. This committee was allowed control of ath- letics, subject to the authority of the faculty of the college, and it is this committee, under such authority, that has supervision and control of all athletics at Harvard. Almost the exact opposite of all these con- ditions has prevailed at Yale. There, in the early days, the faculty did not even recognize the existence of athletic sports, and their only rec- ognition of them (with the single exception mentioned later) has come from them rather as individuals than in their official capacity. The exception mentioned is in recognizing the peculiarly powerful means of discipline which lies ready to their hand in the existence of these sports. An act of disorder by any body of men of any class is likely to be punished, whether these men be athletes or not, by the depriva- tion of that class of their class games either at home or with other colleges, and there is no doubt that any unusual outbreak of the college at large would result to the disadvan- tage of the university contests of the following season. This tacit understanding has done much to prevent disorder of all kinds, because the captains and general management of the ath- letic teams make a point of using their influence and authority toward the suppression of all kinds of disorder. The measure of popularity enjoyed by the varsity captains insures their wishes being heeded and their suggestions be- ing, in the main, carried out. One of the striking features of this system lies in the fact that the Yale boat-house, the Yale field, and the Yale gymnasium are the re- sults of unaided subscriptions, mostly in small sums, from undergraduates and graduates, to- gether with the earnings of the athletic teams; and with the exception of the gymnasium, the property is owned not by the college author- ities or corporation, but by the boat club and field corporation. The gymnasium was given over by the gymnasium committee to the col- lege a few months ago, but the college author- ities paid nothing for it. Not even have the graduates been given a voice in the manage- ment of athletics at New Haven, though of course they are at liberty to offer advice. Some twelve years ago an advisory com- mittee was appointed, but it had no execu- tive powers; and upon the occasion of an attempt to invest it with such powers, several of the members prepared their resignations, declining to serve except in an advisory ca- pacity. This advisory committee has not held a meeting for years, and of the present mem- bers of the college few are even aware of its former existence. The faculty had one mem- ber upon this committee, but only as a grad- VOL. XLVI. 28. uate of Yale who was interested in athletics, and not as a representative of the faculty. There is, however, one point of similarity not only between Harvard and Yale, but also between them and almost all the other colleges. Wher- ever there has been any favor shown in the way of appropriation or salary to a man to direct athletics, it has always been with a leaning toward the indoor rather than the outdoor side a gymnasium director. That is one feature of the faculty relations which is even now changing, and which the next dec- ade of athletics must see radically changed if the best results are to be obtained. It is the outdoor