Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 71, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 996 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0071 /moa/harp/harp0071/

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

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 71, Note on Digital Production 0071 000
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 71, Note on Digital Production A-B

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 71, Issue 421 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 996 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0071 /moa/harp/harp0071/

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

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 71, Issue 421 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York June 1885 0071 421
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 71, Issue 421, miscellaneous front pages i-2

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOLUME LXXI. JUNE TO NOVEMBER, 1885. NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 327 to 335 PEARL STREET, FRANKLIN SQUARN. 18 85. ~i CONTENTS OF VOLUME LXXI. JUNE TO NOVEMBER, 1885. ADIRONDACKS.SeO Ampersand. AIX-LES-BAINS 391 AMERICA, THE STORY OF THE. With Illustration General Benjamin F. B~itler 304 AMPERSAND .Henry J. Van Dyke, Jun. 217 ILLUSTRATIONS. Head-piece 217 Making a Portage 222 Ampersand Lake 218 On the Trail 223 Bartletts Village 219 Heart of the Adirondacks 225 Trouting 221 View east from Ampersand 226 ARITHMETICIAN AN OLD Mary E. Wil~n8 611 ARTILLERY.See Defense of our Sea-ports. ART STUDY AN 938 ILLUSTRATIONS. Study of Murillo for his Picture of St. Elizabeth St. Elizabeth of Hungary cleansing the Head of of Hungary 938 a leprous Beggar 941 AUNT POWELLS WILL Robert J. Burdette 278 BACK-YARD STUDIES William Hamilton Gibson 684 ILLUSTRATIONS. Head-piece 684 Wood-sorrel expelling its Seed 689 Only look at ~vhat is to be seen 685 A Silhouette 690 Cranes-hill and Vetch 687 BARYE, ANTOINE LOUIS Theodore Child 585 ILLUSTRATIONS. The Tiger Hunt 488 Standing Bear 894 Tiger devouring a Crocodile 885 Lion and Serpent 895 Head of the Lion of the Tuileries (right side). - 886 The grand Prize of 1865 897 Head of the Lion of the Tuileries (front view). 887 The Seine 898 Moullins Bust of Barye 888 Tiger and Hare 899 Barye at the Age of Thirty-five 589 Tiger rolling on its Back 601 The Tiger Hunt (right side of group) 591 Two young Bears fighting 602 Lion and Boa-constrictor 893 Panther devouring a Gazelle 603 BEER, A GLASS OF G. Pomero~j Keese 666 ILLUSTRATIONS. Hop-vine 667 The Mash-tub 676 Stripping the Vines 669 Cooling: the Lake of Beer 677 Hop-picking 671 Cooling: the Beer-fall - 678 The Maltin~ Floor 673 The Fermenting Cellar 679 Boiling thei3eer 675 Filling the Kegs 681 BIRDS, DECORATIVE SENTIMENT IN J. C. Beard 405 ILLUSTRATIONS. The Motmot 407 Gardener-birds 414 Illuminated Nest of the Baya 409 Nest of the Weaver-bird 415 The Hammer-head and its Nest 411 Play-house of the CoUar-bird 416 Nest of the Golden Robin 413 BOGOTA, SANTA FE DE Lieutenant H. R. Lemly 47 ILLUSTRATIONS. Santa Fe de Bogota 47 Plaza and Statue of Bolivar 53 Section of Mountain Ranges 48 Falls of Tequendama 84 Sabana of Bogota 49 Monument m the Plaza of Los Martires 85 Natural Bridge of Pandi 80 A Glass of Aguardiente 86 Patio or Inner Court of Bogota House 81 La Mantilla 87 Dr. Rafael Nunez, President 82 BUFFALO, THE CITY OF Jane Meade Welch 193 ILLUSTRATIONS. Old Fort Erie 193 In the Cr~che 208 The City of Buffalo 198 The City Hall 206 Among the Elevators 197 Landing at Falconwood 207 The Coal Docks 198 On the Canal 208 Along the Wharves 199 Delaware Avenue 209 Light-house at Entrance of Harbor 200 The State Insane Asylum 211 Joseph Ellicott 201 The Market 211 Soldiers and Sailors Monument 202 Dining in the Cr3che 213 A Reminder of Holland 203 Lake ln the Park 215 New LibraryBuilding of theYoung MeusAssoIi 204 iv CONTENTS. CAPITAL, A MODEL STATE George Parsons Lathrop 71~ ILLUSTRATIONs. The Capitol 715 Samuel Clemenss House 724 Centre Congregational Church 717 Samuel Clemenss Library 725 George Williamson Smith 718 Charles Dudley Wariiers House 726 Trinity College 718 Charles Dudley Warner 727 Joseph It. Hawley 719 Corner of one End of Music-room in Charles Stairway in the Capitol 720 Dudley Warners House 728 Bust of Samuel Clemens 721 Harriet Beecher Stowe 729 Soldiers and Sailors Monument 722 William B. Franklin 780 CAPTAIN OF THE HEATHER BELL, THE H. H. 873 CAVALRY COLUMN, ACROSS COUNTRY WITH A Rufu8 Fairchild Zogbaurn 605 ILLUSTRATIoNs. The Ford 604 Breaking Camp 607 The Herd 6015 A Halt 608 Taps 606 CHESS-BOARD, THE SIRDARS. With Diagrams Mrs. E. W. Ldtimer 359 COW-BOYS, MONTANA, A DAYS DRIVE WITH Rufus Fairchild Zoybaum 188 ILLUSTRATIONs. A Cow-boy 189 A refractory Steer 192 Through the Cation 191 DEFENSE OF OUR SEA-PORTS, THE Henry P. Wells 927 ILlUSTRATIONs. Krupps 71-ton Gun 927 Powder for 100-ton English Gun 933 The Sims Torpedo and End View of Fish Tor- Powder for United States 8-inch rifle and 15- pedo 928 inch smooth-bore Gnu 933 Fixed Torpedo 929 Diagrams of Guns 934 Comparative Dimensions of Foreignand United Comparative Penetration 935 States Projectiles 932 12-inch rifled Mortar 936 Powder for Krupps heavier Guns 933 DOORGA, A PRIEST OF Phil Robinson 734 DRUZES, A LUNCH WITH THE James H. Ludlow 427 ILLUSTRATIONS. Old Bridge at Banias 427 Demanding our Boots 430 A Driize Village on Mount Hermon 428 EARTHQUAKES ARE CAUSED, HOW Richard A. Proctor 139 EAST ANGELS Constance Fenimn-e Woolson 102, 284, 451, 5~22, 691, 901 EDITORS DRAWER. DRAWER FOR JUNE 159 DRAWER FOR SEPTEMBER 644 DRAWER FOR JULY 320 DRAWER FOR OCTOBER 807 DRAWER FOR AUGUST 483 DRAWER FOR NOVEMBER 957 EDITORS EASY CHAIR. Newspaper Pictures of Life, 147. Henry Irving, 148. Celebration of the Fourth, 63g. The proposed Summer General Simeoii De Witts Pepper-box, 149. Au nn- Garden on the Battery, 636. Women in Politics, 636. scrupulous Interviewer, 150. Lincoln and Grant, 151. Not General De Witts Pepper-box, 637. Some unpub Authors Readings in New York atid International lished Letters from Thomas Carlyle on the Subject of Copyright, 308. Poe and Willis, 309. Costa Rican Ac- Slavery in America, 797. General Grant, 800. The complisliments, 310. Reminiscences of Lincoln, 311. Emancipation of Niagara, 801. The historic Impor- The Afghan Frontier, 312. Two recent Books on Lou- tance of the Individual 957. The professional Swagger don Society, 473. Victor lIngo, 474. The Bartheldi of Newspapers, 958. The Revision of American Histo- Statue, 47s. The Statue of the Pilgrim in Central Park, ry, 959. General Grants Monument, 261. The ~vise 476. The Reception of the Bartholdi Statue, 534. The Conservatism, 961. EDITORS HISTORICAL RECORD. UNITED STATiIS.Adjournment of United States San- sylvania Democratic, 967; Iowa Republican, 967; New ate, 158. Appointments by President Cleveland: Minis- York Prohibition, 967; Massachusetts Prohibition, 967. tars, Great Britain, 158, France, 158, Germany, 158, Tur- Mormon Protest, 319. United States Debt Reduction, key, 158, Mexico, 158, Italy, 158, Netherlands, 158, Per- 319,482. New York Legislature Adjournment, 319; Ex- tugal, 158, Denmark, 158, Austria, 319, RIlsais, 319, tra Session, 319; Field Civil Code defeated, 319; Veto Switzerland, 319, Hayti, 319, Bolivia, 319, China, 482, of new Censns Bill, 482. Illinois Civil Rights Bill, 482. Italy, 482, Belgium, 543, Liberia, 968; Consul at Glas- Robert E. Odium jumped from East River Bridge aiid gow, 806; Assistant Secretary of State, 158; Assistant was killed, 319. Bartholdis Statue of Liberty received Secretary of Treasury, 158; Assistant Secretary of Inte- in New York, 643. Funeral of General U. S. Grant, 806. nor, 158; First Assistant Postmaster-General, iss, 643; Yacht Race between the Genesta and Puritan, 968. Chi- Treasurer of United States, 319; First Auditor of Trea- nasa Miners massacred at Rock Springs, Wyoming, 968. sury, 319; Assistant Treasurer of United States, 482; Elephant Jumbo killed, 968. Register of the Treasury, 482; Postmaster, New York, EUROPE, ASIA, AFineA, NoaTn AND SOUTn AMERICA. 138; Pension Commissioner, 158; Commissioner of Pat- Great Britain: Threatened War with RussiaReserves ants, 158; Commissioner of Indian Affairs, 158; Coin- aiid Militia called out by the Queen, 158; General Ko- missioner of Railroads, 158; Collector, Surveyor, and maroff attacks the Afghans, 158; War Credit voted Naval Officer of New York, 643; General Appraiser of by Parliament, 319; The netv Afghan Boundary, 968; Merchandise, 643; Governor of Alaska, 319; Governor Mr. Gladstones Announcement of Agreement, 482; Da- of Montana, 643. Anti-polygamy Law declared consti- feat and Resignation of time Gladstone Ministry, 482; tiltional, 158. Woman Suffrage in Rhode Island, 158. Lord Salisbury appointed Premier, 482; Names Proclamation by President Cleveland for Removal of of Salisbury Cabinet, 643; Vote of Thanks to thin Fences from Public Lands, 806. Ex-Governor J. H. Bar- Army and Navy, 806; Prince and Princess of Wales ry elected United States Senator from Arkansas, 158; Tour, 319; Medical Mission to Spain, 319; Wadding of General John A. Lo~an elected United States Senator Princess Beatrice and Prince Henry of Battenberg, 806. from Illinois, 319; H. XV. Blair re-elected United States Canada and British America: The Rich RebellionBat- Senator from New Hampshire, 482. George P. Wet- tieford burned and Massacre at Frog Lake, 158; Capture more elected Governor of Rhode Island, 153; Henry of Riel, 319; Surrender of Chief Poundmaker to General Lloyd becomes Governor of Maryland, 158; Minor Offi- Middleton, 482. Russia and England (see Great Brit- cars of New Hampshire elected by Legislature, 482. sin): Russia and Greek Chmurdi in Baltic Provinces, State Conventions: Ohio Greenback and Republican, 968. Franca: The Troubles in Tonquirm, 158; Riot in 482; Ohio Prohibition, 643; Virginia Repnblican, 643; Paris, 158; Change of Cabinet, 158; Scratin de Liste Virginia Democratic, 806; Iowa Democratic, 967; Mis- Bill, 482; Thin Pantheon secularized, 482; Treaty of sissippi Democratic, 967; Ohio Democratic, 967; Penn- Peace with China, 482. Africa: Raid by tIme King of CONTENTS. EDITORS HISTORICAL RECORD.Continued. Dahomey, 806. South and Central America: President Barrios, of Guatemala, killed in Battle, 158; Aspinwall burned by Insurgents, 158; Panama Rebellion ended, 1119; Rebel Assanit on tbe City of Cartagena, 482; End of Venezuela Revolution, 806; Prestan, the Destroyer of Colon, hanged, 968. Egypt: British Troops defeat Arabs near Suakin. 158; General Wolseleys Farewell Address, 319; El Mabdis Defeat at Kassala, 806; Osman Di gna killed, 968. China: Corean Difficulty settled, 319; Massacre of Christians by Black Flags, 806; Mas- sacres in Quinhon, 968. Germany: Temporalities of the a o ic Clergy, 319; Prince Bismarck on bimetallic Standard, 482. Seizure of Roumelia by Bulgaria, 968. Greece: New Ministry, 319. The new King of Anam, 968. DisAsTaRs: 168, 319, 482, 644, 806, 968.Music Hall, Buffalo, burned, 188; Coal-dust Explosion at McAllis- ter, 158; Gas Explosion in Chilean Mines, 158; Steamer Orestes sunk in Collision, 158; Explosion at Martinello, 168; Thirty Lives lost in Sea of Azof (Steamer Marinpol), 188; Collapse of eight Houses in Ne~v York, 158; Vol. canic Eruption in Java,.319; Fire at Vicksburg, 319; Snow-slide near Homestake Mine, Colorado, 319; Burn. lug of Japanese Village Exhibition and Humphreys Hall, London, 319; Tenement-house Fire in New York, 319; Collapse of Factory in Brooklyn, 319; Ava- lanche on Border of Lake Van, Armenia, 319; Iceland Avalanche, 319; Suffocated in burning Building, 482; Bark Georges Jeanne sunk by Steamer City of Rome, 482; Collapse of House, Jersey City, 482; Earthquakes in Vale of Cashmere, 482; Durham Explosion, 482; Paso de Cuarenta destroyed by Water-spout, 482; Accident in Court-house, Thiers, 482; Tunnel Accident, Chatta- nooga, 482; Sinking of Steamer Speke Hall, 482; Colliery Accident, Manchester, England, 644; Burley Pit Explo- sion,Apedale,England,644; Cashmere Earthquakes,644; Steamer Italia lost, 644; Powder-mill Explosion, Lucca, Italy, 644; Fire-damp Explosion at Dudweiler, Prussia, 644; Loss of a Steam-yacht on Lake Minnetonka, 644; Steamer Cheerful sunk in Collision, 806; Terrific Storm in Italy, 806; Collapse of Buildings in Cologne, 8061; Earthquakes in Asiatic Russia, 806; Bark Napoleon lost, 806; Fire at Las Vegas Hot Springs, 806; Accident in Coal Mine near Wilkesbarre, 806; British Ship Haddiug- EDITORS LITERARY RECORD. Adrian Vidal (W. E. Norris), 643. Adventures of Timias Terrystone, The (Oliver B. Bunce), 643. Afghan- istan and the Anglo-Russian Dispute (Theodore F. Rn- denbrngh), 481. Aldrich, Thomas Bailey (Marjorie Daw and other Stories), 418. Annals of a Sportsman (Ivan Tonrgm(neff), 643. Archipelago, A Naturalists Wan- derings in the Eastern (Henry 0. Forbes), 805. At Loves Extremes (Maurice Thompson), 643. At the Red Glove (illustrated by C. S. ReInhart), 477. Bancroft, George (History of the United States of America from the Dis- covery of the Continent, Vols. V. and VL), 154. Bea- consfield, Home Letters Written by the late Earl of, 481. Bi~elow, John (The Writings and Speeches of Samuel J. rilden),803. Browning, Robert (Ferishtahs Fancies), 156. (By Shore and Ledge (Bret Harte), 643. Carleton, W ii ~(City Ballads), 804. Carristons Gift, and other Tales (Hugh Conway), 643. Central Asia, Russian (Hen. ry Lansdell), 965. Cerebral Localization in Relation to Insanity (J. M. Carnochan, M.D.), 316. Cholera (Alfred Stell~), 804. Christian Church (liinng the Middle Ages, History of the (Philip Smith), 961. City Ballads (Will Carleton), 804. Colonel Enderbys Wife (Lucas Mallet), 643. Congo, The, and the Founding of its Free State (Henry M. Stanley), 639. Congressional Government (Woodrow Wilson), 314. Constitutional and Political History of the United States (Dr. H. Von HoIst), 966. Conway, Hugh (Carristons Gift, and other Tales), 643. Cradock, Charles Egbert (Down the Ravine), 805. Dem- ocratic Government (Albert Stickney), 315. Dictionary of the English Language, A (Rev. James Storinouth), 152. Diet for the Sick (Mrs. Mary F. Henderson), 642. Down the Ravine (Charles Eghert Cradock), 805. Eng- lish Language, A Dictionary of the (Rev. James Stor~ month), 152. Ferishlabs Fancies (Robert Browning), 156/ Fireside Travels (James Russell Lo~veil), 479. Fly- rods and Fly-tackle (H. P. Wells), 157. French Revolu- tion, rhe (Hippolyte Adoiphe Tame), 963. Greek States- men, Lives of (George W. Cox), 480. Gnstavns Adol- phus, History of (John L. Stevens), 155. Hamilton, Al- exander, The Works of (Ilenry Cabot Lodge),962. Hard Knot. A (Charles Gibbon), 643. Ilarte, Bret (The Luck of Roaring Camp, and other Stories), 479. Harte, Bret (By Shore and Ledge), 643. Hatton, Joseph (John Need- hams Doubje), 643. hay, Mary Cecil (Lesters Secret), 318. Hayne, Paul Hamilton, Poems of, 156. Hearts Delight (Charles Gibbon), 643. Herat, Russians at the Gates of (Charles Marvin), 313. History of the Christian tonshire wrecked, 968; Corvette Augusta wrecked, 968; Pilgrims drowned in the Gulf of Aden, 968; Cyclone at Savannah and Charleston, 968; Floods in China, 968; Steamer Hanoverian ~vrecked, 968; Washington Court House, Ohio, destroyed by Tornado, 968; Steamer Auck- land lost in Collision, 968; Collision between Steamers Drenda and Dolphin, 968. OBITUARY: 158, 319, 482, 644, 806, 968.Alden, Joseph, 968; Apgar, E. K., 806; Benedict, Sir Julius, 482; Cairns, Earl, 158~ Cheney John, 968; Clark, Edward D., 158; Clinton, George W., 968; Converse, Ex-Governor Julius, 806; Courbet, Admiral, 482; Cowan, Ex-Senator Edgar, 968; Dc Neuville, Alphonse, 482; Emma, Queen Dowa- ger of the Sandwich Islands, 319; England, Isaac W., 319; Fenton, Ex-Governor Reuben E., 968; Frederick Charles Nicholas, Prince, 482; Frelinghuysen, F. T., 482; Garrison, Commodore Cornelius K., 319; Gilbert, Dr. Rufus H., 644; Gorringe, Henry H., 644; Grant, Ex- President U. 5., 806; Guy, William Augustus, 968; Gwin, Ex-Senator William M., 968; Hiller, Ferdinand, 319; Hineks, Sir Francis, 806; Houghton, Lord, 806; Hugo, Victor, 482; Jackson, Mrs. Helen Hunt, 806; Liv- ingston, Rear-Admiral John W., 968; Lord, Scott, 968; Mace, Dan, 319; The Mabdi, 806; Manteuffel, Baron Von, 482; Marshall, James W., 806; Marston, Rear-Ad- miral John, 158; McDowell, Brigadier-General Ir~vin, 319; MeQuade, General James, 168; Meissner, Alfred, 482; Merrick, Richard T., 644; Mimes, Richard Monek- ton, Lord Houghton, 806; Montehlore, Sir Moses, 806; Morrell, Hon. D. J., 968; Nachitigal, Dr. Gustavus, 319; Nichols, Colonel George Ward, 968; Orloff, Prince, 158; Phillips, Moro, 806; Pond, William A., 806; Prime, Rev. Dr. S. L, 806; Renier, Charles Alfonse, 482; Rich- ards Brinley, 319; Rutter, James henry, 482; Sartorius, Sir 4eorge Rose, 158; Selden, Ex-Judge Henry E., 968; Stafford, Major Aaron, 968; Stager, General Anson, 168; Storrs, Emery A., 968; Tempest, Lord Ernest Vane, 806; Thompson, Jacob, 158; Tynv Rev Dr Ste- phen H., 968; Walker, Gilbert C., 319; ~Varner, Susan, 158; Whedon, Rev. D. D., 482; White, Richard Grant, 168; Williams, Rev. Dr. William R., 158; Winston, Fred- erick 8., 158; Withington, Rev. Leonard, 319; Zeigler, John Q. A., 644. Church during the Middle Ages (Philip Smith), 967. History of Gustavns Adolphus (John L. Stevens), 155. History of the People of the United States, from the Revolution to the Civil War, Vol. II. (John Bach MeMas- ter), 640. Ihistory of the United States of America from the Discovery of the Continent, Vols. V. and VI. (George Bancroft), 154. History of the United States, The Con- stitutional and Political (Dr. H. Von Hoist), 966. Histo- ry of the United States under the Constitution (James Schouler), 967. Home lnfiuence (Grace Aguilar), 643. Ho~vells, W. D. (Venetian Life), 479. Human Race at the North Pole, The Cradle of the (William F. Warren), 479. John Needhiams Double (Joseph Hatton), 643. Kentucky: a Pioneer Commonwealth (N. S. Shaler), 153. Lesters Secret (Mary Cecil Hay), 318. Louisa (Katharine S. Macqunid), 478. Lowell, James Russell (Fireside Travels), 479. Luck of Roaring Camp, and other Stories, rime (Bret Harte), 479. Macquold, Kath. S. (Louisa), 478. Malmesbury, Earl of (Memoirs of an Ex- Minister), 641. Marjorie Daw, and other Stories (Thomas Bailey Aldrich), 478. Marsh Island, A (Sarah Orne Jew- ett), 477. Marvin, Charles.(The Russians at the Gates of Herat), 313. Maryhand, the History of a Palatinate (William Ilaud Brown), 153. Matilda, Princess of Eng- land (Sophie Cottin), 643. MeMaster, John Bach (A History of the People of time United States from the Revoimmihon to the Civil War, Vol. IL), 640. Memoirs ol an Ex-Minister (Earl of Mahinesbury), 641. Mignon; or, Bootles Baby (J. S. Winter), 478. Missy (Author of Rutledge), 643. Mis. Butlers Ward (F. Mabel Robin- son), 643. My Summer iii a Garden (Charles Dudley Warner), 479. Naturalists Wanderings in the Eastern Archipelago (Ilenry D. Forbes), 805. Norris, W. E. (Adrian Vidal), 643. Paradise Found: Time Cradle of the Human Race at the North Pole (William F. Warren), 479. PoetS of the Church, The (Edwin r. Hatfield), 156. Praise Songs of Israel (John Dc Witt(, 804. Professor, The (Charlotte Bronthl), 643. Revolution, The French (Hippolyte Adolphe Tame), 963. Russia Under the Tsars )Stepniak), 480. Russian Revolt, The: Its Causes, Conditions, aiid Prospects (Edmund Noble), 480. Rue- sian Ceumtral Asia: Including Knldja, Bokhara, Klmiva, and Merv (Henry Lansdehl), 965. Russians at the Gates of Herat, The (Charles Marvin), 313. Second Life, A (Mrs. Alexander), 643. School Officers and Teachers, Thie Power and Authority of, 157. Schotiler, James (History of the United States under the Constitution), V vi CONTENTS. EDITORS LITERARY RECORD.Continued. 961. Shes All the World to Me (T. Hall Caine), 643. a Sentimental Young Man (Henry F. Keenan), 155. Society in London, 318. Sportsman, Annals of a (Ivan United States of America, History of the, Vols. V. and Tourgmlneff), 643. Stanley, Henry M. (The Congo, and VL (George Bancroft), 154. United States, The Consti- the Founding of its Free State), 639. Stell6, Alfred tutional and Political History of (Dr. H. Von Hoist), 966. (Cholera), 804. Stormonth, Rev. James (A Dictionary United States under the Constitntion, History of the of the English Language), 152. Sylvan Holts Daughter (James Schonler), 967. Upon a Cast (Charlotte Dun- (Holme Lee), 643. Tales from Many Sources, 479. Tay- ning), 643. Venetian Life (W. D. Ho~vells), 479. Von br, Henry, Autobiography of, 317. That Terrible Man Hoist, H. (The Constitutional and Political History of (W. E. Norris), 317. Tilden, Samuel J., The Writings the United States), 966. Wake Robin (John Burroughs), and Speeches of (John Bigelow), 803. Timias Terry- 479. Warner, Charles Dudley (My Summerin a Garden), stone, The Adventures of (Oliver B. Bunce), 643. Tint- 479. Waters of Hercules, The 643. Wells, H. P. (Fly- ed Venus, The (F. Anstey), 643. Tourgudneff, Ivan rods and Fly-tackle), 157. ~Vyllards Weird (M. E. (Annals of a Sportsman), 643. Trajan: The History of Braddon), 155. ELDER BROWNS BACKSLIDE H. S. Edward8 394 ENGLISH IN THE SCHOOLS Professor A. S. Hill 122 FAMILISTLRE AT GUISE, FRANCE, THE. With Portrait of Jean Baptist Andr6 Godin Edward Howland 912 FRONTISPIECES.. Paolo and Francesca, 2; Pandora, 164; A Love Song, 326; The Tiger Hunt, 488; Then Ecod your Worship must not tell the Story of Old Grouse in the Gun- room, 650; The Otter Hunt, 812. FULLER, MARGARET Rebecca B. Spring 146 GEORGIAN AT THE OPERA, A Mary Tucker Magill 135 GERMANS, A NIGHT WITH THE Rufus Fairchild Zogbaum 60 ILLUsTaATIoNs. Skirmishers in Pursuit 61 The Fire-guard 65 Artillery Outpost: A quiet Game 62 A Vidette 67 The Evening Prayer 63 GRANT, GENERAL, REMINISCENCES OF. With Portrait, 585* Horace Porter 587k GUATEMALA 0. J. Victor 886 ILLUsTaATIoNs. Landing at San Jose 887 Yniensi Gate, Guatemala 895 A Central American Hotel 888 Fort of San Jos6 896 In the rainy Season 889 On a Coffee Plantation 897 On the Road to the Capital 891 Diagrams ............... ........~ 898 View of Guatemala 893 Church of San Francesca, GuatemalalaAntigna 899 Market-place, Guatemala 894 Justo Rufino Barrios 900 GUISE, FRANCE, THE FAMILIST~RE AT.See Familist~re at Guise. HARTFORD.See Capital, A Model State. HEBRIDES, AN OTTER HUNT IN THE. With Illustration 812 Robert D. Somers 909 HIS ROYAL HIGHNESSS LOVE AFFAIR. With lllustration E. C. Grenville-Murray 227 HOUGHTON, LORD, SOME RECOLLECTIONS OF John Bigelow 952 INDIA, THE MOHAMMADANS IN.See MQhammadans in India. INDIAN JOURNEY, AN Lucy C. Lithe 813 ILLUSTRATIONS. Death of the Indian Chief Alexander 815 Fort Phcenix 823 Evening Primrose 816 TwilIght: Salt Mills at Dartmouth 824 Miss Doily Nash 817 Marshy Bends 825 Wild Parsley 818 Sign at the Old Inn, Middleborough 826 Chiccory 819 Old Inn, Middleborough 827 Old Roadway with Orchard 821 Tail-piece . 828 INDIAN SUMMER William D. Howells 261,433,616,780, 854 INDUSTRIESX AMERICAN, SERIES OF: A Silk Dress (R. R. Bowker), 240; A Glass of Beer (U. Pomeroy Keese), 666. JUTLAND AND VIERLANDESee Wild-Goose Chase. KANSAS RANCH, LADIES DAY AT A.See Ranch. KNOXVILLE IN THE OLDEN TIME Edmund Kirke 68 ILLUSTRATIONs. John Sevier 69 The Cherokees are coming 74 Rescue of Sevier 71 LABRADOR C. H. Fain ham 489, 651 ILLUSTRATIONS. Map of the St. Lawrence Coast 490 Netting Seals 654 Haying on the Coast of Labrador 491 A Seal-oil Furnace 655 Unloading Cattle 492 Winter-quarters 657 A solitary Camp 493 Dog Teams fighting 658 Kippering Salmon 494 Little Mecatina 659 Spreading Cod-fish on the Rocks, Magpie Bay. 496 Drying Nets at Sea 660 Watching for Fish 497 Chftteau Bay 661 A County Court-house 499 Wharf at Henley Harbor 662. Almost Swamped 501 Peat Huts 663 Drylug Nets 502 Canoeing among Icebergs 664 A Labrador Home 653 Stop of Herring 665 LAND POLICY, OUR PUBLIC Veeder B. Paine 741 LONG ISLAND.See New England Colony in New York. LOVE SONG, A. Frontispiece 326 MEXICAN POLITICS T. S. Van Dyke 761 ILLUSTRATIONS. Porfirlo Diaz 763 Guillermo Prieto 767 Sal~ator Diax Miron 765 CONTENTS. vii MOHAMMADANS IN INDIA, THE ~. Marion Crawford 165 ILLUSTRATIONS. Head-piece 165 Palace in Agra 173 Tomb in old Delhi 167 Rani Sepre Mosque, Ahmedabad 175 Sandstone Doorway, MultAn 169 Detail of Rani Sepre Mosque 177 Section of Kutab Minar, Delhi. 171 Balcony in Ahmedabad 179 MONTANA COW-BOYS, A DAYS DRIVE WITH.See Cow-boys. MURILLOS ST. ELIZABETH OF HUNGARY CLEANSING THE HEAD OF A LEP ROUS BEGGAR 941 MURRAY, THE HOUSE OF F. E8pinasse 503 ILLUSTRATIONS. The Old House in Fleet Street 503 William Gifford, Editor of London Quarterly 515 John Murray I 505 The new house, No.50 Albemarle Street 515 John Murray IL as a Child 507 Drawing-room, No. 50 Albemarle Street 517 John Murray II. as a young Man 509 The annual Murray Trade Dinner 518 Silver Urn presented to John Murray IL by Lord Mr. Murrays Library at Newstead, Wimbledon. 519 Byron 511 John Murray III 520 NEW ENGLAND COLONY IN NEW YORK, A A. A. Hayes 350 ILLUSTRATIONS. Village of Southampton 351 Doorway, Easthampton 354 Peconic Bay 351 King of the Montauks 351 The Windmill Cottage 352 Tail-piece 358 Glimpse of Water Mill 353 NEW YORK STOCK EXCHANGE, THESee Stock Exchange. OHIO, THE EARLIEST SETTLEMENT IN Alfred Mathews 552 ILLUSTRATIONS. Rufus Putnam 553 Arthur St. Clair 581 Powder-horn of Israel Putnam 553 The Muskingum Academy 582 Manasseh Cutler 555 General Rufus Putnams House 562 General Rufus Putnams Land-office 556 Abraham Whipple 563 Site of Marietta in 1788 557 Marietta College 564 Fort Liarmar, built iii 1785 558 Ephraim Cutler 565 Campus Martins, the first Home of the Pioneers 559 The old Ichabod Frye House 565 Return Jonathan Meigs, Jun 560 OPERA, A GEORGIAN AT THE Mary Tucker Magill 135 OTTAWA, A TRIP ON THE Agnes Fraser Sandham 327 ILLUSTRATIONS. Parliament Buildings 329 Trappist Fathers at Work 339 Waiting 330 Divine Office in the Field 340 Islands below Thurso 332 Tom Moores House 341 The Ferry 335 Steering a Raft through the Rapids 342 Oka 337 OTTER HUNT AN. With Illustration 812 Robert D. Somers 909 OTTER HUNT, THE. Frontispiece 812 PANDORA. Frontispiece 164 PANDORA, A MODERN. With Three Illustrations Charles Ledyard Norton 417 PAOLO AND FRANCESCA. Frontispiece 2 PATAGONIA, THE.See Secret of the Sea. PAWNEE PANIC, THE Rev. John B. Edwards 403 PRIEST OF DOORGA, A Phil Robinson 734 PUBLIC LAND POLICY, OUR Veeder B. Paine 741 PURITAN INDEED, A. With Illustration Mary Gray Morrison 769 RAILWAYS, ENGLISH AND AMERICAN 375 ILLUSTRATIONS. Booking Office, English Railway Station 375 The Guard 383 Third-class 376 Au English Signal-box 334 The Wild Irishman 377 The interlocking Switches at Clapham Juuc- An American Passenger-coach 378 tion, England 385 First-class at Night 379 An English Railway Station 386 Claiming Luggage at an English Railway Sta- A Train passing through an American City 387 tion 381 A Penny a Mile 389 Baggage Checks not wanted 382 RANCH, LADIES DAY AT THE Alice Wellington Rollins 3 ILLUSTRATIONS. Buffalo-grass 4 Old Ewe and Lambs 11 Kansas Daisies 5 A Kansas Barn 12 Indian Picture Writing outside of the Cave 6, 7 Kansas Thistle 13 Columbus 8 Sensitive Rose 14 Entrance to the Cave 9 Kansas Millet iS A Kansas House 10 Tail-piece 17 RED GLOVE, AT THE 32 ILLUSTRATIONS. Head-piece 32 Madame, I thank you 43 What does this mean? he said at last 34 REICHSTAG, SOCIAL DEMOCRATS IN THE.See Social Democrats. SEA, A SECRET OF THE Brander Matthews 78 SEA-PORTS, THE DEFENSE OF OUR.See Defense of our Sea-ports. SCHOOLS, ENGLISH IN THE Professor A. S. Hill 122 SECRET OF THE SEA, A Brander Matthews 78 SEWAGE DISPOSAL IN CITIES J. S. Billing8, M.D. 577 viii CONTENTS. SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. Illustrated Oliver Gold8mith 747, 919 SILK DRESS, A R. B. Bowker 240 ILLUSTUATIONS. Mulberry Leaf, Silk Moth Eggs, Silk Worm, Making the Warp 253 and Cocoons 245 Jacquard Card and Piece of Pattern 254 A Hand-reel 247 The Jacquard Loom 255 Assorting Cocoons 249 Hooking through the Harness 257 Gassing-machine 250 Diagram of Ribbon Loom 259 In the Dyeing-room 251 SINGULAR CASE OF MR. SAMUEL SPOOLIN, THE F. Anstey 942 SIRDARS CHESS-BOARD, THE. With Diagrams Mrs. E. TV. Latimei- 359 SOCIAL DEMOCRATS IN THE REICHSTAG Edwin A. Curley 343 ILLUSTRATIONS. August Bebel 344 Ignatz Aner Wilhelm Liebknecht 345 Wilhelm Hasenclever 348 Baron von Voilmar 348 Louis Viereck 349 SOCIAL PALACE.See Fami1ist~re at Guise, France. SOUTH, IMPRESSIONS OF THE Charles Dudley Warner 546 STOCK EXCHANGE, THE NEW YORK B. Wheatley 829 ILLUSTRATIONS. President J. Edward Simmons 829 C. J. Osborne 840 The New York Stock Exchange 830 Cyrus W. Field 841 The Bond Room 831 Addison Cammack 842 Treasnrer D. C. Hayes 832 Russell Sage 843 On New Street 833 Christmas Carnival in the New York Stock Ex- Secretary George W. Ely 834 change 845 Jacob Little 835 Brayton Ives 847 Chairman James Mitchell 836 The Ticker 849 Interior of New York Stock Exchange 837 5. V. White 850 W. E. Connor 838 Jay Gould 852 W.H.Xanderbilt 839 SUMMERS DECAY. Illustration 885 SYRIA.See Druzes, A Lunch with the. THEN ECOD YOUR WORSHIP MUST NOT TELL THE STORY OF OLD GROUSE IN THE GUN-ROOM. Frontispiece 650 THURINGIA.See Germans, A Night with the. TIGER HUNT, THE. Frontispiece 488 WATTS EXHIBITION, THE F. D. Millet 96 WHEN HALF-GODS GO, THE GODS ARRIVE. With Illustration. Julian Hawthorne 566 WILD-GOOSE CHASE, A F. D. Millet 18 ILLIJ5TRATIONS. - Bergedorf, from the Dike 18 A Rope-walk 26 Gardeners in Vierlande 19 A Vierlande Farm-house 27 Going to Market 20 Brick and Stucco Work 28 Flower Girls of Vierlande 21 Interior of Church in Vierlande 29 A Vierlande Interior 23 Corner of Grave-yard in Vierlande 31 A friendly Call 25 WORDSWORTHS INTRODUCTION TO MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. Illustration. 391 POETRY. ALCYONE Frances L. Mace 908 AT END Louise Chandler Moulton 17 BEES THAT SOAR FOR BLOOM, ETC Wordsworth 390 DIMIDIUM FACTI 11. D. Blaclenlore 683 FROM AFAR Charles TV. Coleman, Jun. 77 HIGH DAYS AND HOLIDAYS Ha~-riet Prescott Spofford 277 JUNE CRICKET, TH1~ Joel Benton 46 JUNE DAYS Robert Burns Wilson 134 JUNE ROSE, TO A. With One Illustration Austin Dobson 59 LOVE SONG, A. With Illustration, 326 Austin Dobson 374 MESSAGE OF THE ROSE, THE Margaret Deland 746 MIDSUMMER ON MOUNT DESERT. With Illustrations Frances L. Mace 181 MOUNT DESERT, MIDSUMMER ON. With Illustrations Fl-ances L. Mace 181 ROSE, THE WILD Eliza Scudder 373 STRENGTH OF THE HILLS, THE Louise Chandler Moulton 576 SUMMER COMPANIONS A. F. 584 SUMMERS DECAY. With Illustration Nora Perry 884 TO NIGHT Louise Chandler Mo-ulton 937 TRUMPET BLOWS, THE D. Ii!. B. Goodale 121 WHEN DAY MEETS NIGHT ~Jharles IV. Coleman, Jun. 779 WHEN EVENING COMETH ON Robert Burns Wilson 713 WORDSWORTHS INTRODUCTION TO MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS 391 With Illustration. PAOLO AND FRANCESCA.Frorn the painting by G. F. Watts, RA. Quali colorabe, del disie chiamate, Con 1 oh, operte e ferme al dolee nido Volan per 1 ocr, del voler portote. DANTES INFEaNO, V.

Alice Wellington Rollins Rollins, Alice Wellington Ladies' Day At the Ranch 3-17

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOL. LXXI. JUNE, 1885. No. CCCCXXJ. LADIES DAY AT THE RANCH. To river pastures of his flocks and herds Admetus rode, where sweet-breathed cattle grazed; ileifers and goats and kids and foolish sheep Dotted cool, spacious meadows with bent heads, And necks soft wool broken iii yellow flakes, Nibbling, sharp-toothed, the rich, thick-growing blades. THERE was once a firm. It was in its way quite an ideal firm. Consisting as it did of a Millionaire blissfully indiffer- ent to the manner in which his millions were being spent, a Man of Leisure with nothing to do but to travel, for the best interests of the concern, between New York and Carneiro, and an Enthusiast who desired nothing but the privilege of doing all the work, I can not see that it lacked any element desirable in firms. For some time the Enthusiast was indulged in his passion for living and laboring at the ranch, for the Millionaire had a yacht, and the Man of Leisure had a family. The prairie was not supposed to be adapted to the yacht, and seemed equally unattract- ive to people who required schools, libra- ries, and the opera. But summer came, when school was not, and society palled. Some of them were too young to be carried to Europe, and others were too old to start for California. Mount Desert was too crowded, and Montclair too lone ly. They went to the Adirondacks last year, and were going to the Great Lakes next year. They know all about New- port and Nonquitt, and not enough about Tadousac. Where were they to go? Why not go out to the ranch ? It was, of course, the young gentleman of the family who made the suggestion. He was gazed at. Was he quite crazy? Did he remern- ber that to live on a ranch meant to do without fish? Had he forgotten that they would be not only twelve miles from a lemon, but a thousand miles from a straw- berry? . Was he, perhaps, aware that it was hot in Kansas, and that there were undoubtedly mosquitoes? that there was never any breeze, though always too much wind? and that they would suffer from an utter dearth of trees and ice, and that it would not be a place where they could wear embroidered white dresses, and that the only things. of which there would be a sufficient supply would be rattlesnakes and cyclones? A was also sure that there were no sunflowers, though this aft~ erward proved to be a mistake. To all of which the young gentleman replied, stol- idly, Well, what is the use of having a ranch if you are never going to see it? The family reflected. After all, the En. thusiast had always said that life at the ranch was not only profitable but delight- ful. It was barely possible that he might be tellipg the truth. He was put upon his honor; and the following facts were elicited: There were no mosquitoes, and occa- sionally it was cool. Sometinies the ther- mometer stood at iOO~ in the shade ~ or would if there were any shadebut in the rarer air they would not realize it. They would live through the cyclones, and foi~- get all about the strawberries. Besides~ there were melons. They could buy sad- dle-horses for from thirty to sixty dollars apmece,feed them all summer on the prairie, and sell them in the fall probably at a profit. Some of them didnt care for mountains, and so they wouldlike it, and the rest of them didnt care for the sea, and so they would like it. The shoot- ing was prime, and there were fifty acres of sunflowers. Moreover, there. was a new ram, pure Atwood breed, and if they did not consider a mere journey of two days and three nights worth undertaking for the pleasure of seeing that ram alone it was quite hopeless to think of present- ing any farther attraction, and they were unworthy of possessing even a pecuniary interest in a ranch. Entered according to Act of congress, in the year 1885, by Harper and Brothers, in the Office of the Librarian of congress, at washington. All rights reserved. voL. LXXI.No. 421.i 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. They not only went, but they went in April; and theynot only staid, but they staid till November. If the proof of the pudding is in the eating, it is sufficiently evident that ranch life was delightful. Early as they had arrived, the flowers had come before them, and the barbaric splendor of the scenes in Aida and LAfri- caine seemed repeated as the glorious panorama of blossoming prairie unrolled day after day. Can you picture to your- self ten acres of portulaca? or whole hill- sides curtained with what seems a superb variety of wistaria, except that it grows on a stalk instead of hanging from a vine? Do you know how it feels not to be able to step without crushing a flower, so that the little prairie-dogs, sitting contentedly with their intimate friends the owls on the little heaps of earth thrown up around their holes, have every appearance of hav- ing planted their own front yards with the choicest floral varieties? Think of driving into a great field of sunflowers, the horses trampling down the tall stalks, that spring up again behind the carriage, so that one outside the field would never know that a carriage-load of people were aily- where in it; or riding through a grove of them, the blossoms towering out of reach as you sit on horseback, and a tall hedge of them grown up as a barrier be- tween you and your companion! Not a daisy, or a buttercup, or a clover, or a dandelion, will you see all summer; but new flowers too exquisite for belief; the great white prickly poppies, and the sensi- tive rose, with its leaves delicate as a maiden-hair fern, and its blossom a count- less mass of crimson stamens tipped with gold, and faintly fragrant. Even famil- iar flowers are unfamiliar in size and pro- fusion and color. What at home would be a daisy, is here the size of a small sun- flower, with petals of delicate rose-pink, raying from a cone-shaped centre of rich maroon shot with gold. A had brought with her numerous packages of seeds and slips, nobly bent on having ribbon flower beds and mosaic parterres about the house; but she sat on the steps and threw them broadcast, never knowing, in the profusion of flowers that would have been there any- way, whether hers ever came up or not. And how beautiful were the grassesthe most useful one the most beautiful of all; the delicate little buffalo - grass, for which the prairie is famous, waving its tiny curled sickle of feathery daintiness as if its beauty were its only excuse for being, yet bravely curing itself into dry hay as it stands, when the autumn winds begin to blow, that the happy flocks may nibble. sharp - toothed, the rich, thick- growing blades all through the winter, without their being gathered into barns. They raised their vases too. Bric-h-brac does not flourish in rooms whose doors and windows are open all day long to a Kansas breeze; so, when something was necessary for holding flowers, they would wander out over the prairie with a ham- mer, pick up a round stone, perhaps the size of a thimble, perhaps as big as a large bowl, crack it open, pour out the fine sand within it, and find a cavity as perfect as if hollowed out with an instrument, and as smooth as if lined with porcelain. My mother says that sand is splendid for cleaning knives, observed a small herder one day, watching their operations. Not eliciting any decided enthusiasm, he continued: Im going to Chicago next week! Chicagos an awful big city. But not so big as New York, where we live, you know. LADIES DAY AT THE RANCH. 5 Oh, I know all about York! its down by the ocean. Ive never seen an ocean, but Ive heard one. Where ? In a shell. But weve been across the ocean! way over on the other side of it. Ho! that aint nothin. My mother was born over there. In Ireland. Nor did they miss the flowers after dark; for then the prairie fires lit up the scene with rare magnificence of color. Not the deadly autumn fires, bringing with them, when the grass is dry, fear and desolation, but the fires set purposely in safe places in the spring, that the young grass may come up greener. There is iiothing terrible in the sight; there are no falling buildings, and you hear no hissing, crackling flames. The low grass burns so quietly and stead- ily that the effect is simply that of great lighted cities in the distance. I suppose some of those fires must be in the next county, remarked A one evening. All our own fires on our own proper- ty, I can assure you, answered the proud Enthusiast. It was long before they could accustom themselves to this magnificent scale of things; to realizing that they were living on ten thousand acres of their own; to the thought of caring for ten thousand sheep; to driving all the afternoon on their own lawn, and making excursions for the day on their own property. Once, when they had ridden late and far, and had quite lost their way, they stopped at one of the adobe hutswonderfully picturesque with flowers blossoming on the roof, and near by the Kansas stable, with its one horse only sheltered as to its headto ask their way. And what property are we on now ? asked Admetus. The Monte Carneiro Ranch, sir. Thank you; good - day ! and Adme- tus rode on, to hide his smile at having to be told that he was on his own land. The sense of ownership was not slow to de- velop, however, and even the Baby became so imbued with the size of the ranch as to say sometimes, when they were driving fifteen or twenty miles from home, Papa, I suppose youll be cutting this grass pret- ty soon In the middle of the summer came Col- onel Higginsons article in the Harper on the Indian hieroglyphics, with illustra- tions to prove the similarity between the famous Dighton rock and many found at the West. They say that there are Indian hiero- glyphics on our rocks at the Cave, re- marked the Enthusiast, carelessly. Why havent you told us before ? Because my enthusiasm is limited to sheep; but you can investigate, if you like. Whereupon an imperative order was sent to the stable for ponies for six, irn- mediately after luncheon. Many and many a time they had been to the Cave, which was quite the piece de r~- sistance of their excursions. It was no mere cavern in the side of a hill, but a cave so high that they could ride into it, with KAN5AS DAISiES. 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. two entrances on different sides, and a charming little oriel - window shaded by trees. Curiously enough, they had never happened to dismount and explore the op gave them long evenings of delicious rest- fulness; one was artistic, and preserved for them in the amber of her brush the delicate hue and fragile texture of the posite exit, but it was on the outer wall just beyond this that the hieroglyphics were said to be. Truly it was a strange sensation, in that lonely spot, as they cane out of the sec- ond entrance and crept carefully along the steep bluff overgrown with underbrush, to look up at the natural wall of rock tow- ering above them, and see, clearly outlined on the space where it must have been sin- gularly difficult to work at all, the crude and curious efforts of Indian drawing, and the full-length, life-size fi~ure of a re- cumbent Indian chief. There w re many resources besides the never-failing ponies: hammocks and piaz- zas, lawn tennis, a piano, and a billiard- room. Of the ladies, one was musical, and flowers that else they could have carried away with them only in memory; and one was literary, and kept them in the latest books and freshest magazines from New York; while one was a reserve fund, drawn upon in every emergency. Then, for culture, there was the Professor, the genial, absorbed Professor, filling even the least scientific with something of his own enthusiasm for the splendid fossils of the region, the superb impressions of leaves, and the fo3sil shells picked up two thou- sand miles from either ocean. Who of them will ever forget the day when the first and only nautilus was found, just as they had decided that there were only clam shells; or the findin~, of the sharks tooth? For those who sought in nature no INDIAN rIcTIJRE WRITING OUTSIDE OF THE CAVE. LADIES DAY AT THE RANCH. 7 charm unborrowed from the eye, there was fun enough in collecting the freaks, the queer shapes intt which accident had moulded the soft rockshoes, boots, stock- ings, match-safes, and trinkets. Once a perfect sheeps head, eveu to the eyes, was picked up, like a curious bass-relief, not twenty feet from the front door. By this time I can conceive of the gen- tle readers saying, I thought it was a sheep ranch ? in the tone of voice em- ployed by Miss Betsy Trotwood when she asked, Why do you call it a Rookery ~ I dont see any rooks. Sheep there were, indeed; thousands of them, objects of un- failing concern to the gentlemen and de- light to the ladies. What is that stone wall ? asked, one afternoon, a lady sitting on the piazza with her opera-glass. That stone wall, madam, answered a Harvard graduate, politely, is the sheep coming in to the corral. To see the sheep go in and out, night and morning, was a never-failing amuse- ment. Sometimes the ladies wandered down to the corrals at sunset to see the herds come in, and you would have sup- posed them to be waiting for a Fourth-of- July procession with banners, from the eagerness with which they exclaimed, Oh, here they come! there they are ! as the first faint tinkling of the bells was heard in the distance. If two herds appeared at once from opposite directions, the one with lambs had the right of way, and SI.y, the sheep - dognot the only com- mander who has controlled troops by sit- ting down in front of themwould hold the other herd in check till the lambs were safely housed. The lambs born on the prairie during the day frisked back at night to the corral beside their mothers, a lamb four hours old being able to walk a mile. When shearing-time came, they went INDIAN PICTURE WRITING OUTSIDE OF THE cAVE. 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.. into the sheds expecting to see the thick wool fall in locks beneath the sheai~s, like the golden curls of their own darlings: great was the amazement to see the whole woolly fleece taken off much as if it had been an overcoat, looking still, if it were rolled up in a ball, like a veritable sheep, and often quite as large as the shorn and diminished creature that had once been part of it. One very hot day they braved the heat themselves for the sake of going out on the prairie to see how sheep keep cool. Instead of scattering along the creek, seeking singly the shade of the bushes or the tall trees only to be found near the creek, they huddle together in the middle of the sunny field more closely than ever, hang their heads in the shadow of each others bodies, and remain motionless for hours. Not a single head is to be seen as you approach the herd; only a broad level field of woolly backs, supported by a small forest of little legs. Like a banyan-tree, remarked Ad- metus. A large part of the satisfaction of these simple pleasures was the charm of finding that they could be happy with such simple pleasures. To discover that you can not only live without the opera, but that you are reallybetter amused than you everwere with the opera at your command, gives a sense of satisfaction with yourself very potent in the element of content. Yet they were not without their social excite- ments and their adventures. One Har- vard graduate attracts another, and with- in a radius of thirty miles quite a colony of personal friends has formed itself, whose gatherings for little dinners or dances, ten- nis or whist, are most enjoyable. A hun- dred guests were entertained at Monte Car- neiro alone in the season; ranch friends from all over the county, Eastern friends stopping over on their way to Colorado, or California, or Japan, and some who had learned even then that to see the ranch was really quite worth the trouble of two days and three nights in a Pullman car. They thought little of driving or riding fifteen miles to a neighbors for lunch- eonalways provided, however, that they knew the way. To find the way for your- self to a new ranch across the prairie, or to drive anywhere after dark, is a feat only attempted by the unwary. Love will COLUMBUS. 9 LADIES DAY AT THE RANCH. find out a way through bolts and bars and parental interdiction; but Love itself would be baffled on the prairie, where the whole universe stretches in endless invita- tion, and wherethere is absolutelynothing to hinder from going in any direction that you please. Foller a kind of a blind trail, one mile east and two mile south, is the kind of direction usually given in the vernacular; and so closely does one culti- vate the powers of observation in a coun- try where a bush may be a feature of the landscape, and a tall sunflower a land- mark, that I am tempted to copy verbatim the written directions sent by a friend by which we were to find our way to her hos- pitable home: Cross the river at the Howards; turn to the right, and follow a dim trail till you come to the ploughed ground, which you follow to the top of the hill. Follow the road on the west side of a corn field, and then a dim trail across the prairie to a wire fence. After you leave the wire fence, go up a little hill and down a little hill, then up another till ~ou reach a road leading to the right, which angles across a section and leads into a road going south to Dr. Reads frame house with a wall of sod about it. Through his door-yard, and then through some corn. Leave the road after driving through the corn, and angle to the right to the corner of another corn field. Take the road to the west of this ENTRANCE TO THE cAVE. 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. corn, and go south, up a hill, then turn to the right and follow a plain road west; afterward south, past Mr. Devers home- stead, a frame house on the right with a stone house unroofed. South, past a corn field and ploughed land on the right. The road turns to the right, toward the west, for a little way, then south, then a short distance east, and you reach the guide-post, which is near a thrifty-look- ing farm owned by Mr. Bryant; a frame house, corn field, wheat stacks, and melon patch. At the guide-post take the road going south, with corn field on the right, till you come to two roads. Follow the right- hand road (a dim trail at first) down the hill, past some hay-stacks, to the Osage- orange hedge. Follow that to the creek crossing, then through the grove of sun- flowers to a sod house. Go through the corn directly west, following the creek to the crossing near our house. The distance was sixteen miles, but we took the letter with us, and found the way without the slightest difficulty, though a little puzzled at first by finding that at the Howards meant anywhere within three miles of the Howards. As for adventures, some of them were thrilling. First, there was the rattle- snake under the piazza, its presence an- nounced by the innocent Baby, who com- plained of it as disturbing his play, and whistlin wid its tail. Then Admetus lost his way upon the prairie after dark, LADIES DAY AT THE RANCH. 11 and after two or three hours of riding in a circle, found on hastening to a friendly lighted window for information that by accident he had ridden up to his own front door. The Enthusiast had once ridden seven miles with his wife to make an afternoon call, only to find on their re- turn that the creek had risen mysterious- ly so that it would be impossible to cross. A herd of sheep with the herder and a friend were waiting quietly at the same spot, within five minutes walk of the house, if they could only cross. You stay with the sheep, said E , to his friend, and C and I will ride down to find a better crossing. They rode five miles, and of course by the time they had re- traced the five on the other bank it was too dark for their friend to attempt the ~ame course. There was nothing to do but camp out for the night, with the bright windows of home shining just across the creek. Ropes were thrown over, supper and blankets slung across to the sufferers, and in the morniug the creek had fallen again. Then there were the grasshoppers. If you are quite sure that they are not in- tending to light, a flight of grasshop- pers is a beautiful thing to see. All day they floated over us; millions upon mill- ions upon millions of airy little creatures, with their white gauzy wings spread to the light, mounting steadily toward the sun, as it seemed. It was like a snow-storm in sunshine, if you can picture such a thing, with the flakes rising instead of falling. The most terrible experience came with the least warning. It had been a lovely day, and the ladies were dressing for a tea at Elk Horn Ranch, four miles away, when some one exclaimed, What a cu- rious cloud ! A perfectly cylindrical cloud, seeming- ly iiot more than two feet in diameter, reached perpendicularly from the sky t~ the earth. The ladies grew a little anxious as it did not change its aspect, but the En- thusiast, who had lived through one cy- clone, and knew the signs, said, careless- ly, as he sauntered up the avenue: Oh, you need not fear anything in that OLD EWE ANT) LAMBS. 12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A KANSAS BARN. shape !that is only a rain-cloud; no wind out for the tea, and insisted that his in that. A cyclone is spiral; very wide wife should add to her incomplete toilet at the top, and tapering down to a mere the touches of lace and jewels. Why, point, as if it were boring into the earth. my dear, you may never see your things Its a horrid thing to see. again, was his explanation; but whether As he spoke, the cloud in question, as if he hoped to rescue the things that were mocking his depreciation of its power, be- put on, or whether he was anxious for the gan assuming the very shape described, family to be found beautifully dressed in It is a cyclone ! he said, quietly, but case they were buried beneath the ruins, with whitening cheek. You had better was not at all clear. get your things. It is twenty-five miles It had been previously arranged that in away, but if the wind should change, it case of cyclone they were to run to the would be upon us in five minutes. sprin~,-house. To the feminine mind the He shouted to the men at the corrals. cellar presented greater attractions; but Those who were busy in the wool-house the very strength and size of the great came to the door, glanced at the sky, but stone house would make it a terrible mass went quietly back again. As one of them of ruins if it were blown over, and if it expressed it later3 If it was a-comm, I came in the path of the cyclone, its walls dont believe the spring-house would save would be but a shaving before it. The us, and if it wasnt comm, we might as small spring-house was built into a hill, well finish the work. and it was confidently hoped that cyclones The things which they were to secure would blow over it, instead of blowing it received the usual foolish interpretations, over. A ran for a shawl to wrap Baby in, be- A marked precursor of a cyclone is the fore she secured Baby himself; F ran appearance of the sky. It is not darkly to her chamber for a pocket-book with a terrible; it may even be of a clear and precious fifty cents in it; some one won- perfect blue, and the clouds may be daz- dered if she would not have time to change zlingly white; but they shape themselves her boots, it was such a pity to wet her new into immense cobble-stones, till the hea- ones running through the grass, for the vens look like an inverted pavement; what rain was now falling heavily. The En- adds to the strangeness of this appearance thusiast himself put on his best coat, laid is the apparent weight of the distinct, oval, LADIES DAY AT THE IRANCH. 13 egg-shaped clouds; it is impossible to con- ceive of them as ever dissipating in gentle rain, or even hail; if they fall, you feel that each one will fall heavily, crushing with terrible cruelty everything beneath it. For an hour they watched and waited. Then the water-spout began to fade, and the cobble-stones disappeared. The horses were ordered, and the ladies finished their toilets, while the Baby was heard to mur- mur, in a tone of disappointment, Papa, you said you were going to take me to the springhouse. And at last they saw a genuine prairie fire. What are your precautions against fire ? Admetus had asked a few days be- fore. Such as will delight your homceopath- ic soul, answered the Enthusiast. A can of kerosene and a bundle of matches to set back fires with, though the fire- guards of ploughed grouud that you have seen all round the ranch are the ounce of prevention, better than any cure. Then we always keep a hogshead full of water at the stable, ready for carting to the spot. A hogshead of water! What good can a hogshead of water do against a prai- rie fire h Oh, we dont put it on with a hose, I assure you. My imagination gasps at the conception of managing a prairie fire with a hose. We dip old blankets and old clothes in it, or boughs of trees if we can get them, and beat the fire down with them. The illustration followed soon. All day smoke had been drifting over Car- neiro, and at night-fall the scouts reported that the whole force had better be put on. The whole force at the moment con- sisted of about twenty men who had just come in to supper, and who started at once in wagons and on horseback. Ponies were ordered after dinner for the entire house- hold, even the ladies riding far enough to have a view of the exciting scene. There were no tumbling walls or blazing build- ings, and there was no fear of lives being lost in upper stories; but there were miles upon miles, acres upon acres, of low grass burning like a sea of fire, while in the twi- light shadows could be seen men gallop- ing fiercely on swift ponies, while the slow wagons crept painfully, lest the precious water should be spilled, from every home- stead, each with its one pitiful hogshead. It seemed incredible that such a mass of flame could ever be put out by such a handful of workers; and it was only, in- deed, by each mans laboring steadily at his own arc of the great circle, trusting blindly that others were at work on the other side, as of course they always were, that the lurid scene darkened down at last. As the season advanced, interest in the great crops almost overshadowed that in the stock. The wild flowers had faded away, and no wonder, poor things! In their innocent joy at being admiredfor none but sheep-men had ever visited the ranch before the ladies came, and what sheep-man ever stopped to look at a flow- er ?they had crowded close up to the KANSAS TILISTLE. 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. front door, and sprung up under the very horses feet, vying with each other for the honor of being worn at a ladys belt, or painted on a panel, or pressed in a herba- rium to be sent to the cultured East, or chosen to adorn an a~sthetic parlor. But they had had quite enough of it, and had grown shy and sensitive. We can not believe that they will ever bloom at Carneiro in just such profusion again. They have crept away to more deserted places, and inayhap the day will come when they will only bloom for us in stately greenhouses, at a cost that shall insure for their loveliness respect as well as admiration. But we hardly missed them, as the great grain fields took their places, and covered the land with the green shimmering of corn, the pale yellow of the wheat, the golden russet of rye, the stately rows of sorghum, like glorified cat-o-nine - tails, the great pearly clusters of the rice-corn bending with their weight of rich loveli- ness, and, most beautiful of all, the golden millet. You do not know what millet is? Ah, no! but then you do not know what Kansas is. You do not know what it is to own a winding creek that would be worth its weight in gold to the commis- sioners of Central Park if they could buy it. You do notknow what it is to have your landscape gardening done for you without a gardener. And as the harvests were ~ gathered in, the great labor- saving machines were as good as a circus the header, leaving all the stubble stand- ing in the field, cutting off - only the heads of the grain, which then walked solemnly up an inclined plane only to throw themselves from the top in despair into the wagon that rolled alongside; the thresher, with its circular treadmill for a dozen horses, with their master on a re- volving platform in the centre, from which lie controlled them with his long-lashed whip; and the graceful go-devil rake, travelling idly over the hay fields and gathering up the hay with all the ease of a lady~s carpet-sweeper. This was the true glory of the year. At the East, people were hurrying back from the sea-shore or mount- ains; for them the summer was over and the harvest ended; but for us it had just begun. Some of us took the won- derful trip to Colorado for we were only twelve hours from Denver and some of us took to shooting prairie-chick- en; but all of us were out-of-doors ev- ery day and all day long. Now began the season of the famous little duck sup- pers, when six or eight of us would start for a friends ranch to spend the night, taking the precaution to eat our duck that night for fear the gentlemen wouldnt shoot any the next morning, but return- ing the next day laden with the spoils of the victors, shot in the cool gray of the misty dawn. Now it was that the En- thusiast discovered a method of rousing his rebellious comrades to the early break- fast that he himself affected: stationing himself in the billiard-room, he had only to shout, Gentlemen, nineteen duck in the pond ! and in five minutes every man of the household, from the geological pro- fessor and the elegant young man from Chicago down to the boy who was going to have a gun next year, could be seen rushiug down the hill in habihiments that brought back to these graduates of Har- vard reminiscences of an early call to prayers. And then it was in October that the Griffin caine. Why, hes nothing buta gentleman! exclaimed the Baby, who had insisted on SENSITIVE ROSE. LADIES DAY AT THE RANCH. 15 going to the station, with many inquiries as to whether the expected arrival, which he took to be a flock of some rare kind of lambs, would be conveyed to the house on legs or in wagons ? I feel called upon to chronicle the no- ble zeal with which the Griffin immedi- ately attacked his official duties. He did, indeed, wait a few moments to assuage the pangs of hunger with coffee and beef- steak; but almost immediately he remark- ed that it was a glorious day for sketch- ing, and he must not lose such an op- portunity. The ladies who put up the luncheon noticed that several gentlemen who had never bean addicted to brush or pencil proposed to join this sketching ex- pedition, and that the sketching materials seemed to consist largely of guns and cartridges; but the studies of prairie- chicken, duck, plover, and quail, taken from life, which they brought back with them, made so valuable an addition to the next evenings dinner that no explana- tion was required, and no complaint made of a day of prolonged feminine solitude. And the landscape only grew lovelier. The flowers had faded, and the great grain fields had been swept away; but the wild beautiful prairie, taking on the tawny coloring dear to the artist, with here and there a broad belt or mantle of the brill- iant low red sumac, grew ever dearer. For the first time in my life I understood Emily Brontihs passion for her desolate brown moors. There is rare charm in a sense of isolation that you do not feel to be loneliness. And for the very reason that the undulating prairie offers so few salient points, the picture appeals to the eye and lingers in the mind more effectively than many a more impressive scene. The val- ues count; every stroke tells. The identity of interests between mas- ter and men is a pleasant feature of ranch life. Occasionally, of course, there will be a disaffected laborer, who may even work up matters to a concentrated strike ; but as a rule the men are hap- py and contented, proud of the ranch, and devoted to its success. They have their own cook at their own quarters, from which, in the evening, come cheerful strains of Moody and Sankey or of native jollity, the chorus being not unfrequently, Oh, Im a jolly herder, I want you for to know! I herd the sheep for Wellington For Wellington and Co. When we asked a man who was putting bunks into a small house for some of the men to sleep in why he hadnt taken a larger one opposite, he replied, dryly: Oh, this one aint near nice enough for the hens; so we took it. The hens are to have the other one. There is something very enjoyable in the consciousness not only of controlling the movements of forty or fifty men, but of caring for all their interests, mental, physical, and moral. The men with fam- ilies have separate houses, and to supply them with literature, see that their gro- ceries are good, cure their sick children, and in fact administer everything they need, from advice to flannel, is not only an intense moral satisfaction to the ladies of the household with a taste for benevo- lence, but a source of much entertain- ment. Think, 0 blasts philanthropists, of getting up a Christmas tree for children who never saw one! A regarded as one of her pleasantest experiences of the summer the opportunity afforded her to make converts to homceopathy. You are as proud of having cured that child, remarked the Enthusiast, one day, as if your little sugar pills had re- ally done it some good. Oh no, said the lady, Im not proud of hav- ing cured it; Im thankful for not having killed it. What is it, James ? as a new applicant present- ed himself. If you please, marm, Id like some more medi- cine; the babys almost well. The delighted homecopathist, on the alert for symptoms,pro- posed to change the prescription. Oh no, marm; I wouldnt make no change if I was you. Them other little pills was just boss. Someofus,how- KANSAS MILLET. 16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ever, still thinkthat she owed her converts to the fact that she never sent in any bills. Why, I paid that other feller fifty cents for just one pill ! exclaimed the grateful recipient of medicine for ail- ments described as follows: Well, my throats sore, and my back aches, and my stomachs gin out, and my heads bad, and I dont feel very well myself. What were our deprivations? Really, at the moment, I can not recall any. We had no set tubs, but then we had no washing - day; once a week one of the teams going every day to Ellsworth took all the washing into town, where it was excellently done at the rate of thirty-seven cents a dozen, including the embroidered white dresses. We had no gas; but were we not using a duplex burner in our New York parlors, and carrying candles to our bed-chambers as the highest tribute to ~es- theticism? We had no door-bell; but do you know how pleasant it is not to have one? We had no mountains; but in that rarer air we had countless mountain ef- fects on the low-lying hillsone slope crimson with the reflected glory of a su- perb sunset long after the others lay in violet shadow. We had no sea; but, strangely enough, of nothing is the prai- rie so suggestive as of the sea; no East- ern visitor ever failed to notice and to wonder at it. It seems incredible, but you have a constant impression that the sea is tossing just out of sight; perhaps because of doors and windows thrown wide open all day long to the soft glare of utterly unshaded sunshine, only toler- able on the prairie or at the sea-shore; perhaps because of the low murmur of the wind behind the hills, like the cease- less monotone of surf. Papa, its just like the Point Road, was the criticism of one of the children as we drove rapid- ly across a favorite sectionthe Point Road being a drive of six miles along the sea, to which he had always been ac- customed in summer. A brisk walk on a cool morning or even- ing up and down the long and wide piaz- za, roofed over only at the porch, was pro- nounced by the Europeans fully equal to a promenade on the Atlantic steamers, and the gentleman who had hesitated longest over the temporary parting from the yacht of his friend the Millionaire declared the scene to be fully equal to the deck of the Peerless, as he lay in the hammock swung gently by the cool clear breeze, with that moan of surf out of sight, the stars over- head, and the flag-staff over the porch creaking slightly in the wind like strain- ing cordage. We had no groves, but there were plenty of trees, tall, beautiful elms, following the curves of the creeks. In other words, there were plenty of trees to look at, but we could always see over, or beyond, or through them, so that when, on our return trip to the East, we began to catch glimpses of prettily shaded lawns and cottages shut in by woods in the sub- urbs of Cincinnati, M expressed the feelings of us all when she said, wonder- ingly, Somehow Im riot half so glad to see trees again as I thought I should be. We could not talk about the lawn, or the garden, or the woods, but we soon knew the numbers of the sections by heart, so that we understood, when we asked the whereabouts of a new flower or fossil, if we were told that it had been found over in Seven. Ali! said the lady of Elk Horn one day, you really ought to come over and spend the night, just to see Twenty-one by moonlight. But was it hot? Certainly it was hot by the thermome- ter; but at the great elevation the heat was not felt to be so excessive as a lesser de- gree of it at home. Hardly a night did we sleep without a blanket, and there were evenings in August when it was too cool to sit on the piazza after dinner. Children play fearlessly bare-headed in the sun on the hottest days, and it is said that there has never been a case of sunstroke in Kansas. It was not a rare thing for us to drive into town in an open carriage with the thermometer at 1000, and with- out a particle of shade any of the way, the high wind making even parasols and broad-brimmed hats an impossibility. As for our menu, I am glad of an op- portunity to explain that the proverbial bacon and salt pork of the West have a raison d dre not suspected at the East. With chickens a dollar and a half a dozen, eggs ten cents a dozen, butter fifteen cents a pound, and quail, plover, duck, and prairie-chicken to be had for the shooting, the appetite of ranchmen becomes so sa- tiated with what in New York would be the delicacies of the season, as to crave the stimulus of a bit of delicate bacon or a slice of rosy ham. And now one word of warning. If you would see Kansas as we saw it, you must see it where we saw it. We refuse to be AT END. 17 responsible for the Kansas seen from the car windows, in a frame of mind bordering on exasperation at the maddening slow- ness of a train of cars conscious of being a monopoly, and dragging its slow length along through a country so horribly level that you feel as if it would be some relief to spring to your feet and recite Excel- sior. No; you inust leave the cars and the railroad and the dismal little railroad towns, and find your way to the big ranches where life and work are one long holiday. Should you choose Monte Carneiro, the Enthusiast will show you his corrals, and drive you round his corn fields; you can shoot your own quail for dinner, have a game of tennis and a siesta in the ham- mock after luncheon, and a game of bill- iards after dinner; then, as the little maid brings in the tray of tea, you can saunter into a parlor with great broad windows, full of rugs and portircs and screens of Kensington embroidery, and the lady who pours your tea will afterward sing for you Schuberts Serenade, or I know that my Redeemer liveth. This is not the popular conception of ranch life; nor is it, I confess, the common mode of ranch life. Too many young ranchmen, eager to put all their capital into stock, think they can manage to live any way for a few years, and remain too long con- tented with ham and bacon in a dug- out; but the little knot of friends who have gathered about Ellsworth believe that to make their homes not only com- fortable but luxurious, to live not only de cently but resthetically, to have not only a parlor but portires, is as much for their business interest as Tiffany undoubtedly considers his high rent and plate - glass windows. Then, as your host steps out on the piaz- za to haul down the American flaghis only method of locking up for the night you will catch a glimpse of the shifting lights of a train on the Union Pacific, pleasantly suggestive of a post-office, with two mails from the east and two from the west every day, a railroad station and telegraph office, within two miles. In the moonlight you can see the stablemen care- fully housing for the night the choice Jer- sey and Swiss cattle; for our firm is quite too recently from New York to have ]ost its faith in blood and pedigree. Not yet has it been seriously affected by the West- ern passion for numbers rather than for quality, for so many head rather than so many registered. Ten thousand sheep and five hundred cattle they will have, of course; but the Enthusiast insists upon pure Atwoods, while the Million- aire and the Man of Leisure would scorn to belong to any firm that did not appreci- ate registered Jerseys. When at last you seek the little East- lake bedroom, it will be, I think, with the intention of leaving for the East by the earliest morning train; only, however, that you may gather together your Lares and Penates to return to Kansas as soon as possible, that you too may become an early settler before it is too late. AT END. AT end of Love, at end of Life, At end of Hope, at end of Strife, At end of all we cling to so, The sun is settingmust we go? At dawn of Love, at dawn of Life, At dawn of Peace that follows Strife, At dawn of all we long for so, The sun is risinglet us go!

Louise Chandler Moulton Moulton, Louise Chandler At End 17-18

AT END. 17 responsible for the Kansas seen from the car windows, in a frame of mind bordering on exasperation at the maddening slow- ness of a train of cars conscious of being a monopoly, and dragging its slow length along through a country so horribly level that you feel as if it would be some relief to spring to your feet and recite Excel- sior. No; you inust leave the cars and the railroad and the dismal little railroad towns, and find your way to the big ranches where life and work are one long holiday. Should you choose Monte Carneiro, the Enthusiast will show you his corrals, and drive you round his corn fields; you can shoot your own quail for dinner, have a game of tennis and a siesta in the ham- mock after luncheon, and a game of bill- iards after dinner; then, as the little maid brings in the tray of tea, you can saunter into a parlor with great broad windows, full of rugs and portircs and screens of Kensington embroidery, and the lady who pours your tea will afterward sing for you Schuberts Serenade, or I know that my Redeemer liveth. This is not the popular conception of ranch life; nor is it, I confess, the common mode of ranch life. Too many young ranchmen, eager to put all their capital into stock, think they can manage to live any way for a few years, and remain too long con- tented with ham and bacon in a dug- out; but the little knot of friends who have gathered about Ellsworth believe that to make their homes not only com- fortable but luxurious, to live not only de cently but resthetically, to have not only a parlor but portires, is as much for their business interest as Tiffany undoubtedly considers his high rent and plate - glass windows. Then, as your host steps out on the piaz- za to haul down the American flaghis only method of locking up for the night you will catch a glimpse of the shifting lights of a train on the Union Pacific, pleasantly suggestive of a post-office, with two mails from the east and two from the west every day, a railroad station and telegraph office, within two miles. In the moonlight you can see the stablemen care- fully housing for the night the choice Jer- sey and Swiss cattle; for our firm is quite too recently from New York to have ]ost its faith in blood and pedigree. Not yet has it been seriously affected by the West- ern passion for numbers rather than for quality, for so many head rather than so many registered. Ten thousand sheep and five hundred cattle they will have, of course; but the Enthusiast insists upon pure Atwoods, while the Million- aire and the Man of Leisure would scorn to belong to any firm that did not appreci- ate registered Jerseys. When at last you seek the little East- lake bedroom, it will be, I think, with the intention of leaving for the East by the earliest morning train; only, however, that you may gather together your Lares and Penates to return to Kansas as soon as possible, that you too may become an early settler before it is too late. AT END. AT end of Love, at end of Life, At end of Hope, at end of Strife, At end of all we cling to so, The sun is settingmust we go? At dawn of Love, at dawn of Life, At dawn of Peace that follows Strife, At dawn of all we long for so, The sun is risinglet us go! BERGEDORF, FROM THE DIKE. A WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 111.THE DESCENT. NOTWITHSTANDING the suggestive- Patcho~,ue, Mattituck, and Setauket look ness of the name, a fiord may be a as though they must be picturesque relics ommonpiace and unattractive inlet. The of the pioneer period, and there is almost Lym-Fiord, though not without interest, as much attractive antiquity in these has no naturalfeatures which made our first towns as in the villages on the Lym-Fiord. oya~,e on a fiord particularly memorable. The truth of the matter is that the Danes The Great South Bay, on Long Island, is are too enterprising, and have the modern quite as picturesque, although its name be commercial spirit too highly developed, for purely descriptive of size and location, and the nation to hold a second place in gen- not inspiring to writers of poetry and ftc- eral civilization. The same mental and tion. Still, we thought the very fact of be- physical characteristics which once made ing on an actual fiord was of some interest them the masters of northwestern Europe in itself, and on the beautiful summer day still distinguish them, and their~ energy we spent between Aalborg and Thisted we and activity, now directed to the cultiva- were more happy and harmonious than tion of the arts of peace and to the internal would be expected of three disappointed improvement of their country, place them artists in search of the unpainted pictur- among the most highly cultured people in esque. The fiord was as calm as a Vene- the world. Our relations with the people tian laguna. The sails of the boats, the were, without exception, agreeable. At lazylittle towns (all wharf andwarehouse), railway stations and in hotels volunteer the rare trees, the low hills, and the sum- interpreters frequently helped unravel mer sky were perfectly reflected in the the tangle of attempted conversatiom, and mooth water, except where the wake of the courtesy was offered with such grace the steamboat shivered the surface into and good feeling that, even when it was .a broad band of quivering ripplets. The unnecessary to take assistance, we accept- fiord is so shallow that a large part of it is ed it for the sake of the one who so polite- not navigable, and at one place the dikes ly tendered it. of an English land - reclaiming company The Lym-Fiord and its branches divide have inclosed a goodly extent, and the northern Jutland into several islands of pumping works, which are to transform a irregular shape. A triweekly passenger great shoal into arable land, have already steamer connects all the ports, and there been built. Ldgstdr, Aggersund, Nykjd- are few towns of importance which do not bingall these names look most attract- have railway communication with the lye on the map, but with the exception of south. The character of this extreme end an old church at the last-mentioned place of Jutland, as we saw it from the steamer there is no noteworthy architecture in any on the Lym-Fiord, varies from east to west of them. On the map of Long Island, to correspond with the difference between

F. D. Millet Millet, F. D. A Wild Goose-Chase 18-32

BERGEDORF, FROM THE DIKE. A WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 111.THE DESCENT. NOTWITHSTANDING the suggestive- Patcho~,ue, Mattituck, and Setauket look ness of the name, a fiord may be a as though they must be picturesque relics ommonpiace and unattractive inlet. The of the pioneer period, and there is almost Lym-Fiord, though not without interest, as much attractive antiquity in these has no naturalfeatures which made our first towns as in the villages on the Lym-Fiord. oya~,e on a fiord particularly memorable. The truth of the matter is that the Danes The Great South Bay, on Long Island, is are too enterprising, and have the modern quite as picturesque, although its name be commercial spirit too highly developed, for purely descriptive of size and location, and the nation to hold a second place in gen- not inspiring to writers of poetry and ftc- eral civilization. The same mental and tion. Still, we thought the very fact of be- physical characteristics which once made ing on an actual fiord was of some interest them the masters of northwestern Europe in itself, and on the beautiful summer day still distinguish them, and their~ energy we spent between Aalborg and Thisted we and activity, now directed to the cultiva- were more happy and harmonious than tion of the arts of peace and to the internal would be expected of three disappointed improvement of their country, place them artists in search of the unpainted pictur- among the most highly cultured people in esque. The fiord was as calm as a Vene- the world. Our relations with the people tian laguna. The sails of the boats, the were, without exception, agreeable. At lazylittle towns (all wharf andwarehouse), railway stations and in hotels volunteer the rare trees, the low hills, and the sum- interpreters frequently helped unravel mer sky were perfectly reflected in the the tangle of attempted conversatiom, and mooth water, except where the wake of the courtesy was offered with such grace the steamboat shivered the surface into and good feeling that, even when it was .a broad band of quivering ripplets. The unnecessary to take assistance, we accept- fiord is so shallow that a large part of it is ed it for the sake of the one who so polite- not navigable, and at one place the dikes ly tendered it. of an English land - reclaiming company The Lym-Fiord and its branches divide have inclosed a goodly extent, and the northern Jutland into several islands of pumping works, which are to transform a irregular shape. A triweekly passenger great shoal into arable land, have already steamer connects all the ports, and there been built. Ldgstdr, Aggersund, Nykjd- are few towns of importance which do not bingall these names look most attract- have railway communication with the lye on the map, but with the exception of south. The character of this extreme end an old church at the last-mentioned place of Jutland, as we saw it from the steamer there is no noteworthy architecture in any on the Lym-Fiord, varies from east to west of them. On the map of Long Island, to correspond with the difference between A WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 19 the Cattegat and the North Sea. The bogs abound all over Jutland, and the cut- former, a well-sheltered, land-locked gulf, ting and stacking of peat is the only visi- washes pleasant beaches bordered by ken- ble industry in a very large territory. The tle slopes and sand dunes, while the bois- churches are the only noteworthy archi- terous North Sea dashes its breakers at the tectural features, and indeed it is on the foot of high cliffs, and a stunted, hardy churches alone that may be found speci- vegetation clin~,s with difficulty to the mens of the characteristic construction summits of wind - swept hills. Trees are and ornamentation which mark a distinct scarce in all northern Jutland, although artistic period in the history of Denmark. the rest of the peninsula is well wooded Barren, inhospitable structures they are, and fertile. North of the Lym-Fiord we too, most of them. The people, like the saw scarcely enough trees to make a days New-Englanders, have generally erected fire for an Adirondack sportsman. Peat the houses of worship on the most exposed VOL. LXXJ.No. 4212 GARDENERS IN VIERLANDE. 20 HAIRPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. GOING TO MARKET. point in the landscape, where the winter latter town we had a faint and forlorn blasts and the summer sun make it alike hope that we might find what we wer& - uncomfortable the year round. A wea- after. Our movements were accelerated ther-beaten stone church on a barren hill- now by two causes: first, the certainty top in Jutland is, next to the sepulchral that we would profit by a quick return to structures of the New England coast; the Hamburg, where we had found a perfectly most forbidding of all religious edifices. satisfactory picturesqueness; and second, We left the steamer at the little town the near exhaustion of our cash, letters of of Thisted, the most northwesterly village credit having been useless since our de- of Jutland, and took a mail - train down parture from Copenhagen. the island until we came ,to the fiord After the dreary hill-sides of North Jut- again, where, crossing the narrow inlet by land, the rich meadows and luxuriant foli- a ferry, we again took the railway through age of Schleswig were a welcome change in Holstebr6 southward to Esbjerg. At the the view. Even the landscapist, who wa& A WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 21 usually tormented by an unsatisfied long- ing for a gray quality of tone in the land- scape, which exists only a.t certain hours and under certain atmospheric conditions, fairly basked in the green reflections from the brilliant sun-lit foliage, and never once complained, as was his wont, Good for farmers, but too crude for painters. On that ~hort railway trip our spirits rose wonderfully. This was undeniably the effect of the rapid descent from the ambi- tious flight in search of primitive pictur- esqueness. Neither of us having any idea of the Schleswig-Holstein dif- ficulties, we never knew what we were missing in the way of historical sight-seeing as we rumbled swiftly past sight- ly towns and fertile farms. Whatever the casus belli might have been, Schleswig- Holstein certainly is a coun- try worth fighting for and worth keeping. For a cam- paign, no more agreeable pic-- nic ground could be imagined. We reached the hotel in Hamburg at ten oclock in the evening, and settled down there with inexpressible satisfac- tion at the termination of our flight, and at the eradication of the desire for explo- ration which had led us such a chase. Hamburg, notwithstanding the mod- ernization since the great fire of 1842, is more interesting and picturesque than any other sea-port of Germany, except Liibeck. The tortuous streets of the old quarter, the maze of narrow canals that intersect the town in all directions, the FLOWER GIRLS OF VIERLANDE 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. imposing rows of Hanseatic houses, give it a character which generations of mod- ern improvement will not obliterate. In the arrangement of its parks, and of the great water basins, which add so much to the attractiveness of the town as a place of residence, the inhabitants have display- ed a spirit of enterprise quite transatlan- tic in scope. Indeed, signs of American influence are prominent on all sides. Even the centre-board cat-boat has been imported to decorate the intermural lakes with its swan-like hull and spotless sails. The American visitor is continually sur- prised by the familiar look of variousob- jects of use and luxury which the Ham- burgers have readily adopted as their own. In the market-place, where we had seen the picturesque peasantry of Vierlande on our previous visit, we readily found plen- ty of communicative country women, who supplied the guide-book deficiencies with voluble descriptions in Platt-iDeutsch of the natural charms of their province. We had been on a wild-goose chase of some weeks duration, and were anxious to set- tle down and browse awhile. We there- fore followed the directions of a talkative old flower-seller, and took the train for Bergedorf, a small village a dozen miles east of Hamburg. We might have search- ed for the rest of the season and not found so attractive a resting-place. It is an old- time village, with its chateau, its church, its sixteenth-century inns, and a confused jumble of decrepit dwellings of every pe- riod, supporting each other in rows which look as if they would fall like cards if one of them were removed. A restful quiet has settled on the town. Except at morn- ing and evening, when the peasants pass through on their way to and from the railway station, there is little or no clat- ter of carts. The growing activity of the near sea-port and the contagion of im- provement have not yet fastened upon the village, although the railway has long since supplanted the diligence and the market wagon. In the old inn, which for two hundred and fifty years had been kept by the same family, there was an air of privacy and domestic comfort which made us hesitate before we asked whether we could be accommodated with lodgings there. Once installed, we became mem- bers of the family, and everything that belonged to the house was at our disposal. Bergedorf is the chief town of the little province of Vierlande, which, with all its villages and farms, counts no more than 1500 inhabitants, scattered over a territory of about forty square miles. The prov- ince is made up of four great polders in- closed by dikes, which keep out the wa- ters of the Elbe and its tributaries, which intersect the valley at this point. These polders correspond in a measure to town- ships, each having its village, with church and school-house, and each distinguished by different customs and peculiarities of costume. In productiveness they rival the most famous gardens of Holland. Quite distinct from the surrounding coun- try by reason of its peculiar situation, Vierlande is looked upon by its neighbors as a semi-foreign territory, and this idea is encouraged by the remarkable dress of the Vierlanders, and their quaint lan- guage, which few of the neighboring peo- ple can well understand. By the time we had reached Vierlande the joint patois which our party spoke had been so much mangled and adulter- ated that we could pretty well make our- selves understood anywhere, but especial- ly in any place where good German was at a discount. We started out, therefore, to interview the Vierlanders, armed with that amount of confidence in our lan- guage which assured success at the start. The road into Vierlande leads along the top of a dike overlooking the meadows below. A mile or more beyond Berge- dorf the dike loses itself among the luxu- riant growth of fruit and shade trees which cover the country. . Tall hedges border the road, which is now shaded by interlaced branches of the great trees which hold the banks of the dike firmly by their spreading roots. Through the openings in the hedges we got glimpses of beautiful garden plots, with great beds of tulips, dahlias, lilies-of-the-valley, and a wilderness of rose bushes. Apricot-trees were bent by the weight of the yellow fruit the great apple-trees, with fresh smooth bark denoting perfect vigor and health, promised a harvest dangerous to their slender limbs. In this paradise of flowers and fruit we saw quaint old men solemnly, stalking about, peering among the bushes, poking with their canes among the flower beds, killing insects, and fright- ening away voracious birds. Very Rip van Winkle-like they were in appear- ance. Their small-clothes were of rusty black velveteen, and their thin shanks dis A WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 23 appeared in clumsy shoes. A long waist- dently of a different stock from the farm- coat with a profusion of silver buttons, ers beyond the dikes, who, equally hard- half concealed by a shapeless long-sleeved working but less intelligent, have re- jacket, hung over the hips. In the faces mained in a state of comparative pover- of these old men, the guardians of the ty. After a life of successful toil, these harvest, we saw lines indicatin0 prosper- old men, surrounded by their families ity and contentment. They were evi- and by the visible fruits of their la A VIERLANDE INTERIOR. 24 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. bor, pass their last days in comfort and peace. They want for nothing, their self - imposed task of watching the gar- dens is more pleasant than burdensome, and an easy-chair by the fire-place is al- ways reserved for their use. Only a suc- cessful farmer can look forward to such a happy end. Fairly in the heart of this paradise we stopped to watch one of the old men, who, with two women, was busy at a flower bed. It was not a dramatic scene but there was a rare charm about it. and we stood there quietly observing them, half ashamed of being spectators of a group which seemed to have been for- gotten by Time in his march. Three centuries had not altered the cut of their garments nor the shape of their garden tools. At last the queer little man turn- ed his twinkling eyes upon the three faces peering through the hedge, smiled and nodded pleasantly, and said some- thing, which we dutifully pretended to understand. He then came up on the dike and led the way to an adjoining house, and we went in with him. The woman there greeted us as if we were old acquaintances, and we were placed at a table and beer was put before us. Then the old man quietly went away to his work again, leaving us to wonder why he had led us thither, but glad enough that the ice had been broken and the way seemed open for an acquaintance with these quaint people. We were in a little room all oak-pan- elled, and lighted by a row of windows with small panes which filled one side of the room. Doors in the panelling,hung with curiously wrought iron hinges, open- ed into cupboards where glasses and dish- es were kept. The oaken table, construct- ed after the pattern of two centuries ago, was worn thin with constant scrubbing, and was still damp from the mornings bath of soap and sand. The chairs we sat in soon attracted our notice, for they were of a style corresponding with the date of the table, beautiful in design, and bearing on the back a marquetry panel with figures, ornaments, and a name and date. The sight of these chairs started in the bric-~-brac collector the mania which had lain dormant since our flight from Denmark. He began to get unhappy, and to long for a chance to purchase some- thing. As no one seemed to pay any at- tention to us except a poor bedridden man who occupied a berth in the wall between two rooms, so arranged that he could slide the panels on either side, and shut him- self out of sight, we started to explore the house. The building itself, though not as large and as rich architecturally as some we had seen along the, dike, was, nevertheless, a typical Vierlande dwelling. A great hall or common room ran across the house, di- viding it into two distinct parts. The por- tion next the dike was devoted to the fani- ily apartments, while the rear served as barn and farm building generally. The great common room had no floor except hard trampled earth. A huge fire-place with great closets for smoking occupied nearly all the wall against the living- rooms, and around this fire-place all the domestic labors went on. One woman washed clothes in a tub as large and as strong as a tank; another, seated beside a rude mill, made quite like the mill of the Bible, was patiently grinding something for the evening meal; a third was engaged at the dye-pot, which, like the similar uten- sil of our grandmothers, stood in the cor- ner of the fire-place. Ranged against the wall on either side stood great chests, mar- vels of curious workmanship, inlaid with colored woods, bound with brass and beat- en iron, all kept in perfect order. High oaken cabinets black with age and smoke were brushed by the hay straggling from the mow above. The rococo carving con- trasted strangely with the rough and din- gy partition behind. The chairs which we thought at first very unique we now found to be as common as cane-bottomed chairs in New England country houses. In various stages of decrepitude, they rep- resented the family history for a century or more. It has always been the custom in Vierlande for a bride and bridegroom each to have a chair made for the installa- tion of the new house. The brides chair is lower and more delicate in shape than that of the groom, but it is of the same style, and like its mate bears the name of the possessor and the date of the marriage ceremony. These wedding chairs are pre- served with great care, and are rarely if ever parted with except long after the death of the original owners. The Vier- lande housewife by constant scrubbing wears the legs round and smooth, but the inlaid work is kept carefully polished. The secret of the old mans interest was out when three or four natives came into A WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 25 the house and called for beer. We were in one of the inns of the district. On in- quiry we found that they furnished meals, but not lodgings. The landlady said that the nearest place where we could pass the night was Bergedorf, so we were obliged to give up our half-formed plan of taking up our quarters in the interior of the prov- ince. Our extravagant orders for beer for the new-corners so won the heart of the landlady that she volunteered to show us the treasures of her house, apologizing that they ~yere meagre enough beside the store of some of her neighbors. Before we went with her, however, we took our lunch- eon, and she placed before the three of us four dozen hard-boiled eggs freshly cooked. In a cool, dark, musty-smelling room the counterpart of a New England parlor, she spread before us the holiday dresses of A FRIENDLY CALL. 26 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. herself and family. The straw hats that look like inverted tin pans; the skull-cap with the great silken bows, the ends of which, a foot or more long, are varnished with gum-arabic and carefully shaped; the curiously pleated and embroidered apron; the heavy, short petticoat; the barbaric bodice; the stockings; shoes; silver brooch- es and clasps, like ancient fibula~ ; kerchiefs and knick-knackswere all piled up proud- ly before us, proving the diligence and skill of the sweet-faced woman whom the ill- ness of her husband had kept in what she called comparative poverty. Leading us into the attic, she showed us chest after chest of bed-linen and clothing, spun and woven by her own hand. From under the smoky rafters she drew little precious in- laid boxes, heirlooms of her family. Like any Yankee farmers wife she sat there and indulged in picturesque reminiscences, until we were obliged to offer the dis- tance to Bergedorf as an excuse for haste. Her great grief was not the incurable con- dition of her husband, for years had dull- ed the edge of that sorrow, but she was mournfully eloquent over the degeneracy of the present generation, which led the young people to substitute Haniburg text- iles and garments for the homespun and home-made articles of attire, of ~hich every Vierlande woman should be proud. She spoke very good German, and we only lost the drift of her lament when the climax of her discouragement was reached, and she deplored the fact that many of the young people were discarding the Vier lande costume for the awkward garments. which did not distinguish them from the Germans around them. Her pride of race was very strong, her appreciation of the superior qualities of her own people quite beyond argument or contradiction. It was thus that we began to study the people and their surroundings. Laden with our sketching materials, we wandered like Handwerksburschen from house to house, and in one way or another usually managed to get acquainted with the peo- ple, see the interior of the houses, and in- spect the treasures. Such a possible field for the bric-~-brac hunter and the Hebrew furniture dealer had never met our eyes. When we began to try to acquire some~ of the treasures ourselves, we found out that the Hamburg dealer with smooth tongue and plethoric purse had been there before us, and had used his persuasive ar- guments in every house. With the te- nacity with which the New England farm- er now clings to each piece of apocryphal Chippendale, these sentimental and shrewd peasants long since began to hold fast to their effects until they should find an eager purchaser. The Vierlanders are too wide- awake not to understand the maiket value of their heirlooms, as well as the selling price of their produce. Then, too, they really enjoy the luxury of possessing ar- tistic furniture, and can afford this luxury, for richer farmers do not till the ground in Europe. The unparalleled fertility of the polders, the proximity to great markets, and the inherited industry and skill of A ROPE-WALK. A WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 27 these people give them every advantage world for little besides the luxuries and a over all competitors, and secure to them few necessities like the metals. The so- a reputation which is in itself a fortune. ciety lines are as sharply drawn in this lit- Flowers from the Vierlande gardens dec- tie world as in other communities where orate the tables at court festivities in St. the rigid conventionalities of the Middle Petersburg and Berlin. and the early vege- tables from the sheltered beds under the dikes find their way to all the great North- ern cities. A world by itself, Vierlande might exist within its own dikes. Rope- walks in which women spin the long cords used in tying the baskets of vege- tables show to what extent this province is independent of its neighbors. The peo- ple have their own mills, their own man- ufactories, and depend on the outside Ages have come down with the costume and speech of that period. When a wed- ding takes place between parties of differ- ent districts, the new-coiner must adopt the dress and the customs of the new residence. Outside alliances are discouraged, and have been hitherto exceedingly rare. If a Garden of Eden can exist in that latitude, Vierlande certainly has superior claims to that title. Nothing lovelier can be imagined than a walk along the shady A VIERLANDE FARM-HOUSE. 28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. dikes, the air heavy with the perfume of flowers, the hum bf bees and the twitter of birds making a sweet harmony of sound, enriched by the deep notes of the lowing of cattle knee-deep in the juicy grass. With the peace of nature there is the peace of a quiet-loving people. There is little of the Jan Steen spirit among them, and they appear to take their amusements, as they take their life burdens, with an equa- ble temper and a sober head. That they have an innate love of the artistic and the beautiful is richly proved by the exam- ples of carved, inlaid, and turned work which is so common in their furniture. In a still more conspicuous way is their taste displayed in the construction of their houses. These usually unite, as I have before said, the barn and the dwelling in one. They are built on the simple gen- eral plan of an oblong rectangle, some- times twice the length of the width, and often measuring 75 by 150 feet in extent. The sides are always of one story, the great thatched roof stretching down from the high ridge-pole in an unbroken slope to within about ten feet of the ground. The number of stories at the end where the living-rooms are varies according to the taste of the builder, sometimes count- ing four or five distinct floors. The thatch is always brought down over the gable end, either as a separate roof to form a wide, protecting shelter for the end win- dows, or else forming a hip of the main roof. The thatch is a marvel of excellent workmanship, as true and as unbroken as a billiard table. No chimneys break the lev- el line of the ridge or the broad expanse of the sides. Crossed boards, curiously carved, like dragons or in scroll-work, adorn the ends of the ridge-pole, and give an almost barbaric finish to the structure. The walls of the houses are of timber and brick fantastically combined, making pat- terns varied both by the shapes of the timbers and by the arrangement of the bricks. Every conceivable design that can be worked out with the brick in its ori- ginal or its modified shape is distinctly shown by the mortar lines. One of the stories usually projects over those below, giving an opportunity for the carving of the timber ends, which is not often l4eg- lected. Neither does the great beam which supports the upper part lack for carving, for on this is often seen long in- scriptions, some of which are very curious. These imposing farm-houses, palatial in size if not in structure, are usually as neat and as fresh in the interior as the churns which dry in the sun by the but- tery hatch. They are not, however, alto- gether as comfortable as they are impos- ing. Either the fear of fire or the dic- tates of long - established custom forbid anything like a chimney to be attached to the kitchen or the tiled stoves. The smoke BRICK AND STUCCO WORK. A WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 29 makes its way into an upper story, and thence to the outside air through the windows or chinks in the wall, blacken- ing the timber and brick work, and per- fuming the whole house with the odor of burning peat. No one seemed able to give a satisfactory reason why chimneys were not quite as safe as and much more com- fortable than this primitive method of dis- posing of the smoke. Considering the fact that the farm stock live under the same roof, the family rooms are surprisingly sweet and wholesome. No visitor would suspect the proximity of a herd of cat- tle, a drove of pigs, and a flock of fowl. Some of the richest of the farmers add spacious out-buildings, but these are used for store-barns for grain and hay, and the pleasant family relations with the animals always continue under the domestic roof. INTERIOR OF CHURCH IN VIERLANDE. 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The churches of Vierlande do not indi- cate a strong religious sentiment among the people, but point rather to a lax Protestantism. They are, in comparison with the surroundings, shabby and pov- erty-stricken. Neither of them has any pretensions to architectural style, and they all have a dilapidated, neglected appear- ance. The interiors are in the highest degree unique, and even bizarre. Wall decorations there are none, unless the painting of the wooden galleries and the doors with staring red and green be call- ed decoration. The taste and mechanical skill of the church-goers had been expend- ed in one of the churches we visited on the elaboration and enrichment of the wood and iron work of the family pews. The whole body of this church is crowd- ed with high narrow stalls of uncomfort- able propartions. Doors, pilasters, and panels have served successive genera- tions since the first part of last century with a field for the exercise of artistic skill in carving, inlaying, and fancy painting. The result is a perfect muse- um of decoration of various periods and every style. The family name and the date of ownership are all prominent fea- tures of the pew decorations. Coats of arms worked out with conscientious elab- oration also furnish themes for fantastic illustration. The strangest decoration of all is the curious tree-like ornaments of wrought iron which rise from the end of every pew and at intervals along the back rail. These are very elaborate in de- sign, evidently the chefs - dceuvre of na- tive blacksmithing. They are partly gild- ed and partly painted, and the reason for these prominent appendages is not at first apparent. They are, in fact, individual hat trees, and during service they are hung with the head-gear of the male por- tion of the congregation. Many of the domestic interiors which we saw in the course of our wanderings would be worthy a place in almost any museum. One in particular is entirely panelled in oak, beautifully carved, and bears the date of 1687. Great panels of Dutch tiles, a stove of the same materi- al, and a floor of the original red tiles of Low Country manufacture make the room harmonious in style and beautiful in color. A quaint old lady, who readi- ly consented to stand as model, and put the whole household in a flurry to dress her quickly in her holiday costume, was an accessory to the furniture neither un- interesting nor insignificant. From this same old lady, who became communica- tive as the sketches advanced, we gleaned the only intelligent tradition of the origin of the Vierlander~. More than ten generations ago, she said, my ancestors emigrated from North Holland, bringing with them all their household goods. That cabinet, those tw~ chairs, and all those dishes were brought from Holland as long ago as the time when this polder was only a marsh where the salt sea ebbed and flowed. Our cos- tumes are Dutch, and our language re- sembles the sweet speech of the Nether- landers. No, we are not Germans. We are Vierlanders, and we always shall be. She crooned away the same old medimeval melodies which old people still sing in Friesland: To the eastward let us ~vander; To the eastward let us away; Straight over the fresh green meadows: There can we in peace ever stay. The music and the unmistakable accent of the Dutch were better proof of the ac- curacy of the tradition than a volume of history. This simple-hearted old body took our interest in the Vierlanders as a personal compliment, and her motherly hospitality knew no bounds. We lingered and lin- gered until late in the afternoon befor& we started for home. When we left the house there wer& signs of a storm, and the darkness was fast increasing. We knew the way just well enough to think that we were mor& familiar with it than we actually were. The distance to Bergedorf was like a Cap& Cod leagueshort enough if the pedestri- an be fresh and without a burden, but of discouraging length to tired legs and la- den shoulders. As we went along the~ dike under the overarching trees the branches sighed and creaked, and as the- rising wind gained strength, leaves were swept off, and with the first great drops. of rain fell all around us. In our previous walks we had taken a. cross-cut through the meadows from one part of the dike to another, and when we had made this journey after dark had al- ways cheered ourselves on the latter part of the way by speculating on the lights of Bergedorf, which twinkled hospitably under the hills in the distance. On the- dark and rainy evening in question, when~ A WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 31 we came to the spot where, as we thought, very long. According to our former ex -we usually went down the dike to strike perience, we should have seen the lights the cart path which led across the mea- of Bergedorfnay, even been clattering dows, we went confidently down the bank, along its rou~h1y paved streetswithin a and soon came to a path half full of wa- half-hour after leaving the dike. At last, ter, which led off into the darkness. We after we were becoming confused as to splashed along this hopefully, passed our position, a low flickering light was groups of dripping pollarded willows, visible in front of us, and as we ap- caught glimpses of dark masses of cattle proached it with quickened pace we saw crowded near the gateson and on, until still farther away a long row of twink- it seemed as if we had walked for two ling points in the horizon. Of course hours. We saw no lights, but we rea- that must be our destination, although we soned that the rain was so violent that could hardly understand how we could we could not see far. The country was have walked so far and made so little not large, anyway, we thought; we must progress. come to the hills or to the river before While we were speculating on this we CORNER OF A GRAvE-YARD IN VLERLANDE. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ran plump into a great gate, and before us loomed up in the obscurity the immense masses of farm buildings and huge hay- stacks. A chorus of dogs followed our at- tempts to open the gate. The door of the house opened, and the figure of a woman was seen in black silhouette against a glow- ing interior. We shouted our inquiries to her, and she, trying all the while to calm the angry dogs, shouted her answers back. Which way do we go to reach Berge- dorf ? Along thedown! down! I say! roaddown to the dike. Cant you be still, stupids ?Then along the dike to oh, you beasts !to the village. Then whack! whack! with a stick among the dogs. But we have just come from the dike, we remonstrated. Isnt that row of lights behind the house Bergedorf ? No you ugly brutes! quiet, I say! Thats Hamburg. We had come along a side path parallel with the river leading to this remote farm- house, nearly half-way to the city. We retraced our steps the best we could to the dike again, and did not leave it until its ruts mingled with the muddy side streets of Bergedorf. The storm was still continuing the next day, and the day after. On the third morning, seeing no signs of a change in the weather, we grew despondent. Boys, said the landscapist, if we stay here an.y longer,well have to send tG Hamburg and get some oil-colors, forwater- colors are unseasonable in this district. The elements are against us. Oh, lets skip ! ventured the walking dictionary of slang. Dry Vierlanders are good enough for any one, but wet ones dont suit me. And skip we did, leaving the besodden meadows and the drenched gardens with less regret, now that the season of sunshine was past, and the perfect days in the flow- ery paradise seemed no longer possible. AT THE RED GLOVE. Engemann pressed her hand and whispered, I will be with you later. And now as he stood look- ing after the carriage as it drove away from the gates of the Schiinzli he felt a strange mixture of relief and perplexity; at last he was free from the spell which had kept him beside the widow, he was free to think over all that had happened. But there were still several lingerers near the entrance gates, and he turned back into the gar- dens, for lie wanted to be alone. He found the walk beside the terrace already deserted, and going a little way across the grass which bordered it, he flung himself on a bench under the trees. Here at least he was safe from intrusion; the trees overhead increased the gloom around him, and he sighed with a pleasant STARLIGHT. sense of freedom as he leaned back against VOU are not coming with us, Ma- the tree trunk to which the bench was I dame Carouge said, and there was fixed, and clasped his hands behind his tender reproach in her eyes. head. CHAPTER XXXI. 32

At the Red Glove 32-46

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ran plump into a great gate, and before us loomed up in the obscurity the immense masses of farm buildings and huge hay- stacks. A chorus of dogs followed our at- tempts to open the gate. The door of the house opened, and the figure of a woman was seen in black silhouette against a glow- ing interior. We shouted our inquiries to her, and she, trying all the while to calm the angry dogs, shouted her answers back. Which way do we go to reach Berge- dorf ? Along thedown! down! I say! roaddown to the dike. Cant you be still, stupids ?Then along the dike to oh, you beasts !to the village. Then whack! whack! with a stick among the dogs. But we have just come from the dike, we remonstrated. Isnt that row of lights behind the house Bergedorf ? No you ugly brutes! quiet, I say! Thats Hamburg. We had come along a side path parallel with the river leading to this remote farm- house, nearly half-way to the city. We retraced our steps the best we could to the dike again, and did not leave it until its ruts mingled with the muddy side streets of Bergedorf. The storm was still continuing the next day, and the day after. On the third morning, seeing no signs of a change in the weather, we grew despondent. Boys, said the landscapist, if we stay here an.y longer,well have to send tG Hamburg and get some oil-colors, forwater- colors are unseasonable in this district. The elements are against us. Oh, lets skip ! ventured the walking dictionary of slang. Dry Vierlanders are good enough for any one, but wet ones dont suit me. And skip we did, leaving the besodden meadows and the drenched gardens with less regret, now that the season of sunshine was past, and the perfect days in the flow- ery paradise seemed no longer possible. AT THE RED GLOVE. Engemann pressed her hand and whispered, I will be with you later. And now as he stood look- ing after the carriage as it drove away from the gates of the Schiinzli he felt a strange mixture of relief and perplexity; at last he was free from the spell which had kept him beside the widow, he was free to think over all that had happened. But there were still several lingerers near the entrance gates, and he turned back into the gar- dens, for lie wanted to be alone. He found the walk beside the terrace already deserted, and going a little way across the grass which bordered it, he flung himself on a bench under the trees. Here at least he was safe from intrusion; the trees overhead increased the gloom around him, and he sighed with a pleasant STARLIGHT. sense of freedom as he leaned back against VOU are not coming with us, Ma- the tree trunk to which the bench was I dame Carouge said, and there was fixed, and clasped his hands behind his tender reproach in her eyes. head. CHAPTER XXXI. 32 AT THE IRED GLOVE. 33 Engemann had lived very much alone, and he was not quick-witted; both these causes made it difficult for him to disen- tangle his thoughts when with others. The glow of feeling which he had expe- rienced beside Madame Carouge had cre- ated a mental disturbance, a sort of chaos, which he longed to set in order. His first idea was that he had gone too far with her to draw back. Well, let it be so; what did it matter now? Then, as the events of the evening passed in review be- fore him, he started up from his seat and began to walk up and down; he frowned, and it was easy to see that he was suffer- ing mentally. But he turned resolutely from the thought of Marie, and seated himself once more on the bench. I do not wish to draw backhis thoughts went on to Madame Carouge and her tenderness. I care quite enough for her to make her a good husband, and I believe she cares for me. If I can make her happy, that is all that is neces- sary to such a plain man as I am. He must speak out plainly this even- ing. He wished there could have been a longer delay. Though Marie was nothing to him, yet I was a fool to come here, he cried out. This stillness makes the bitterness worse. Oh, Marie, can you be false and worldly, when you look as pure and true as an angel might? How is one to believe in anything ? The poor fellow groaned in his anguish. Maries sweet face rose before him as he had seen it last at the Red Glove, with that look of pathetic en- treaty in her soft gray eyes. I will not believe it, cried he. She is honest; she is true. There has been some terrible mis- take. If Marie is deceitful, then no woman can be true He remained dumb while a tempest of sorrow swept over him; and then came re- action. Reality asserted itself, reminded him of Marie smiling in the captains face, and blushing with pleasure at his admira- tion. Good heavens, the young fellow said, furiously, how could she bear it ? It was easier now to go back to Madame Carouge. Yes, he had gone too far to de- lay; he had perhaps compromised her; he must marry her. And then his lower nature came to help him, called up the image of the beautiful woman who had shown him such favors and revealed sweet possibilities of love in those deep passionate eyes. Then, too, she could re- move all anxiety from his life; she could give him ease and comfort, the means of travellinga wish so near his heart that he let his thoughts go out to it gladly as to an escape from the miserable thoughts which he knew would return. All at once he thought he heard a voice among the trees. Rudolf listened, but all was again silent. Overhead, the stars were beginning to show themselves large and luminous, shining with a pure peace- ful light that calmed him. He sat gazing at them, and he felt more peaceful, less bitter toward Marie. I do not know why I call the poor child false, he said. I never asked for her love; I never even said a word of love to her. Ah, but, lie said, impetuously, I did not hide what I felt for her, and shewell, her eyes told me more than she knew, if they spoke truly. He got up again and paced up and down on the grass, angry with his own weak- ness; he knew that he had himself re- called the temptation. The only safety would be in putting a barrier between him and his love for Marie. What am I about ? his thoughts went on. I have no right even to think of Marie; I belong to another woman. What I have to do is to marry her and make her happy. He set his teeth defiantly, and then he laughed. One impression effaces another, he said. I suppose people will say I am a very lucky fellow. Well, per- haps I am. She is rich and beautiful, and she loves me. I dare say I shall soon for- get this evening, or think of it as a foolish dream. There! it is done with. I am due. at the H6tel Beauregard. He said this sturdily enough, but he did not at once turn toward the entrance gate. He again paced up and down, striving for calm and for relief from the bitterness which made the duty he had set himself so distasteful. I should have staid with Madame Carouge, he said, angrily, and then she would have kept me fascinated, and left me no time to think in. Well, Ill marry her as soon as she likes, and then all this folly will pass out of remembrance. But still he kept pacing up and down. Whatis that? He stopped. Is any one in there ? he called out. He peered in among the trees. There was certainly a noise; it sounded like a woman sobbing. He stood still, listening with strained ears. 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? HE SAID AT LAST. AT THE RED GLOVE. 35 Ah, he said; and as a louder sob reached him he turned into the darkness under the trees. As he advanced he made out a fig- ure on a seat placed against the outside fence. It was a woman, for her light gown showed distinctly. His steps sounded on the twigs and dead leaves, and as the figure raised its head the sobbing ceased. It is a woman in trouble, Engemaun said. Poor soulbut she will get lock- ed in. I will tell her she must not stay here. By this time he had reached the seat, and he felt puzzled how to act. The wo- man kept her head turned away, as if, like the ostrich, she thought this would shield her from discovery; and indeed it was too dark to see her face, the trees formed so thick a canopy. Engemann bent down. Madame, he said, gently, I beg your pardon. You do not know, perhaps, that the gardens will soon be closed for the night. There was a sudden start, but there was no answer, and he waited. He began to distinguish better as his eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom, and he saw that she clasped her fingers tightly together. You are in trouble. Engemaun felt strangely moved by this deep sorrow be- fore him. Can I be of use to you ? Please go awayyou can not help me, came in a broken voice. But he recognized it. The shock of his surprise struck him dumb, lie stood thrilled with strong emotion, unable to believe that he had really heard Maries voice. What does this mean ? lie said at last; then, stooping, he took hold of her arm, drew her up from the seat, and then, too much moved to care for anything but cer- tainty, he hurried her out of the shadow of the trees to the open space, where it was lighter. Then, as he held her by both hands, the better light showed him her pale, tear-stained f~ce, which she sought vainly to hide from his gaze. Made- moiselle Peyrolles, he said, severely, what does this mean? Why are you here alone? Where is Captain Loigerot ? As he said the name he let go her hands, and they fell straight beside her. I do not know; I do not care. Go away, monsieur. I wish to be alone. She spoke sullenly, and turned to go back among the trees. You can not stay here alone, he said. ~ I will take you out of the gardens, and VoL. LXXL.No. 4213 then, if you wish it, I will leave you, or I will take you home. I have no home, she said, in the same sullen voice. Then she ran back among the trees, and he heard that she was sob- bing again. Engemann stood for a moment irreso- lute; then he went after her. She had not gone far; he found her leaning against a tree, sobbing and quivering with an- guish, for indeed it seemed to her that she had become an outcast; it did not sig- nify what happened to her now. Her distress softened him. Poor child, he said, you have lost your friends. You had better go home at once. Or shall Ihe could hardly get the words outshall I go and find Captain Loi- gerot and Madame Bobineau, and send them to you ? She turned to him and held out her hands beseechingly. No, no; for pitys sake, monsieur, do not tell them where I am. I will never see either of them again. A sudden glow of hope spread over En- gemann. Mariehe caught her hands pas- sionately in hiiswhat do you mean? Which is the truth? Are you the girl I saw just now smiling on the captain~ s arm? or are you really feeling this sor- row? Which is your true self? What has changed you in this short time ? Marie drew her hands away, but she checked her tears. I have not changed, monsieur; in- deed I always try to be true, she said, in a broken voice. Then why did you promise yourself to Captain Loigerot ? Marie looked up at him in surprise; he had forgotten everything but her presence; but she remembered quite well that he was engaged to marry Madame Carouge, and that she must not betray her feelings to him. What could I do ?Madame Bobineau had arranged it, she said, quietly. Then you did not care for him I She longed to say Yesthis would end his questioningbut she could not. . No, monsieur; I was very unhappy. And yet you agreed to marry him, he said, severely. Oh, Marie ! ho went on, passionately, you knewyou must have seen that I loved you. She started vio- lently. And just because that old man is rich you agreed to marry him without giving me a chance. 36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Youlovedme ! broke from her in tones of wonder. She hesitated; then she raised her eyes to his. I was told you loved some one else, and then And then ? He had taken her hand again. And then nothing seemed to signify to me, the poor child said. Her face was hot with shame, though she knew the dark- ness hid it. Darling Marie, he whispered. Marie was greatly frightened when she felt his arm round her waist, but she was very happy too. That strong arm was such a safe shield and resting-place; all trouble seemed to melt away at the touch of it. Darling Marie, my sweet one ! and he kissed her. CHAPTER XXXII. THE CAPTAIN LEARNS THE TRUTH. AN irritable bachelor is a common saying; but the fact that a single man, as he is called, has no one with whom to share his troubles, ought to excuse the unwillingness with which he submits his back to the burden laid on it. Perhaps, too, having no legitimate back on which to lay the blame of disasters, he has a hab- it of bestowing it freely in all directions. It is certain that by the time Captain Loigerot had reached the steep approach to the Schanzli he had considerably eased his mind by the amount of abuse, mingled with some unsavory epithets, which he, as he went along, bestowed on Madame Bo- bineau. It is indecent of her, he said, savagely, at last pulling himself up, and setting his hat firmly; there is no other word for the conduct of an old woman who leaves a girl to run about alone in the dark. Ton- nerre! what would have become of little Maries character if I had not had presence of mind? Ah, that is a quality, Achille, that one makes acquaintance with when one comes suddenly on an ambush or a masked battery. Ma foi! when I remem- ber Well, well, I shall keep the girl amused with my stories one of these days, though, indeed, II shall not forgive her at once. No, no; she shall ask me to take pity on her. To run about alone in the dark! Bon Dieu! But then if the little rascal smiles at me with her sweet eyes and mouth, it will be all over with me in a moment; you must take care, Achille; you must keep a steady hand, and your eyes wide open, my friend Hallo! stop! Who the devil Why, Marie ! He had nearly rolled against Engemann, who was coming down the road with Marie on his arm. Sacr~! what have you been doing with mademoiselle, Monsieur Enge- mann ? Then he stood, choked and silenced by his anger and surprise. But Marie snatch- ed quickly at his right hand, and in spite of his resistance Engemann seized on the other. Pardon, monsieur,~~ Marie said. Monsieur, said Engemann, you have been badly used, and it has been my fault-- No, no, monsieur, Marie interrupted; it was my fault; I was much the worst. You have been deceived. II can not marry you, monsieur.~~ Deceived! Can not marry me ! The ~ captain pulled his hands roughly away; he stood gasping for breath, his legs spread apart till they looked like a large inverted V. Deceived! he puffed out, angrily; it is you who are deceived, mademoiselle; you have promised yourself to me with the consent of your guardian, and you are not of age; therefore you can not take back that promise. Listen, please to listen, monsieur. Do not touch me. He shook her off angrily. You are a heartless girl. But Marie clasped both hands round hi& arm. She did not feel shy of him now, for although he might perhaps part her from her lover, something told her he would not compel her to marry him if he knew that she loved Monsieur Engemann. Monsieurshe looked frankly at him you are very angry with me, and I do not wonder; but indeed, monsieur, you should have been much niore angry with me when I said I would marry you. Bah ! Loigerot turned away his head. It was much lighter out here on the road than it had been under the trees in the Schiinzli, and Marie saw that he had turn- ed a deep red, and his ears looked the col- or of a peony. Monsieur, she went on, be pitiful; do not judge me too hardly; andand, monsieur, surely you can not care for a girl who does not love youwho never could love you. Then why did you consent ? but he did not trust himself to look at her, and he spoke in a blustering voice over his. shoulder. AT THE RED GLOVE. 37 Marie looked at her lover. Please to go a little back, she said to him, timidly. The girl began to feel that she had wronged this good kind man. Till now love and Captain Loigerot had seemed incompatible; she now felt that she had misjudged him, that she had been altogeth- er selfish in regard to him. Monsieur, she said, listen to me: I will tell you the simple truth. I have been a thoughtless girlheartless too, if you will; but indeed I did not mean to be. II never thought that you cared much for me. Madame Bobinean said you wanted a wife, and that I wanted a home, andand that if I did not consent to marry you she would give me up, and that no one else would employ me. I was miserable, and I said Yes. I have been very wrong, monsieur; butbut now I should be wicked if I were to marry you. Something in the last words struck the captain: Engemanns silence had quieted his first suspicions: he turned round and looked at Marie. What do you mean ? he said, crossly; for the sight of her fair imploring face made his disappointment yet keener. Do you mean, by chance, that you have a fan- cy for Monsieur Engemann ? Marie hung her head, and made no an- swer. Did Madame Bobinean know this ? he said, savagely. Maries courage was nearly gone: his rude manner frightened her. She wished she had not asked her lover to go away. Madame Bobineau told meI cared for Monsieur Engemann, she said; but I I never knew he cared for me tilltill just now. Loigerot swore loudly, and Marie drew back in alarm. Engemann came forward and stood beside her. Monsieur, you must not be angry with Marie. You must please listen to me. I have been a big blind fool, and have caused all this trouble. Instead of judging for myself, I believed what I was told. I thought Mademoiselle Marie cared for you, and I gave up in despair. We have all been deceived, but I have been a fool as well. The captain stood still in the middle of the road twisting his mustache, and the young pair kept silence, like culprits await- ing their sentence. Loigerot continued to pull at his mustache unmercifully, but it brought him no aid in the shape of counsel. All at once he broke into a laughit was hardly cheerful, it sounded so derisive. You call yourself a fool, do you, mon- sieur? It seems to me you have known how to arrange matters to your own ad- vantage. I was the fool to be persuaded into thinking of a wife so much younger than myself. Mademoiselle Marie, I for- give you. It seems to me you have been as hardly used by your cousin as I have, but I am not going to forgive her in a hurry. She has behaved shamelessly. She is an oldan olddevil, said the captain, in a burst of anger, and I am going back to tell her so. Come with me, mademoi- selle. He looked at Marie as if he were not aware of Engemanns presence, but the young man caught his hand. You are a trump, captain, he said: not one in a hundred would have been so generous. Loigerot drew his hand away roughly. I have nothing to do with you, mon- sieur. I do not consider you in this af- fair. What I shall do is for Mademoiselle Marie, and for her alone, he said, pomp- ously. I feel that, Rudolf said, and I feel, too, that only you, monsieur, have the power to shield her from Madame Bobi- neaus anger. Loigerot shrugged his shoulders. I make no promises, but I think I have pow- er over the old woman. But with you, monsieur, I have nothing to doabsolute- ly nothing. Then he turned his back on Engemann, and offered his arm to Marie. Mademoiselle, he said, I am at your service, if you will do me the honor to ac- cept any help I can give you. Come. Marie had strained her courage to the utmost while she pleaded with the captain. Now she could hardly keep back her tears, and her fingers trembled so much as she placed them on his arm that he was touched with pity. Courage, mademoiselle! all shall go well, he said.~ He pulled out his hand- kerchief and blew his nose violently. Rudolf Engemann thought it was wiser to follow at a little distance, so that the sight of him should not irritate the cap- tain. His old esteem for Loigerot had come back, and he felt implicit trust in him. Mademoiselle, said the captain, as they walked on, I am very angry with 38 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Madame Bobineau, and I promise you I shall not spare her; but she has cause to be angry with you, and be sure she will not spare you. Two wrongs will never make one right, but I may be able to quiet her; she is too wise or crafty to quarrel with me. She knows on which side her bread the honey lies. Oh, thank you, said Marie; you are very good to me, and I will pray that you may be rewarded for your kindness, and that you may soon find a girl more de- serving than I am. He broke into a hearty laugh. Not if I know it, my beauty! In truth, I am too old. This kind of thing is too much trouble for me. I was very well before I saw you, and in future I shall let well alone. Ah, here is the bridge! We shall find Madame Bobineau at the further end of it. Courage, my little girl; remember Achille Loigerot is your friend. CHAPTER XXXIII. RUN TO EARTH.~~ MADAME BOBINEAU had grown very tired of waiting. It is extremely dangerous, she grum- bled to herself, to sit here in the night air; it is enough to give one rheumatism. A plague upon girls, and men too! it is inconceivable what a trouble they are. Good Lord! that at my age I should be or- dered about as if I were a school-girl ! She tried to console herself with a large pinch of snuff; then she sat shivering and grumbling. Her thoughts soon went back to Marie. What could have become of the naughty, headstrong girl? It was in- credible that she could have behaved so badly, though all girls were alike untrust- worthy; still, she had been better than most of them till now. The old woman had restrained her an- ger before the captain; but she felt furi- ous at what she called Maries base ingrat- itude. She did not believe that the girl was still in the gardensbut here Madame Bobineau found herself pulled up short in her meditations. Where could Marie have gone? She had no friends in Berne; she could not stay out all night; she was not bad enough for that. All at once Madame Bobineau remem- bered that when she asked what had be- come of Monsieur Engemann, Madame Riesen had said he was going to walk home. The old woman began to shake as if she had ague; her terror lifted the hair from her forehead, and she wrung her withered hands in despair at the idea that suggested itself. It was too wicked, too infamous, that two meritorious and honorable persons like Madame Carouge and Captain Loigerot should have their feelings outraged for the sake of a chit like Marie. Engemann is only a fool, she said, in her anger. Those big men are always soft fools; they do what a woman tells them to do just like lambs. The forward chit has implored him to take pity on her, andmerciful Heaven! what may not have happened? I must be quick, or Madame Carouge will think I had a hand in it. She must be told directly. She rose up quickly; she forgot her fa- tigue, and her promise to the captain to await his return, and she went hobbling fast down the road till at last she came to the nearest turning to the H6tel Beaure- gard. The long street was as quiet as the grave; but when she reached the clock tower she saw Moritz the waiter standing outside the entrance to the hotel, looking about as if he expected some one. Good - evening, madame. His eye- brows rose with surprise as the old woman turned to come in. Madame is in her parlor, she said, more as a statement than as a question; I can see her. Moritz bowed, and turned to lead the way, while she followed slowly. The impulse which had driven her to seek Ma- dame Carouge was already checked by the fear that now overcame her. She knew how the widow could look and speak when she was angry, and Madame Bobineau s knees grew weak at the remembrance. She felt that she had been fool-hardy to seek an interview, and she had half resolved to tell Moritz she would not intrude on his mistress, when she heard him announce her. It was evident that Madame Carouge was at the window of her room, and re- treat had become impossible. Madame Bobineati ! she heard the widow say in a wondering tone, and she turned the corner and met her at the open door. The lamps were lighted, and the gold- fish, swimming in the basin of the fount- ain, showed brilliantly through the over- hanging ferns and palms. Madame Ca- rouge had laid aside her bonnet; her AT THE RED GLOVE. 39 beautiful head was slightly thrown back as she nodded to the old woman. Ah, how do you do again ? She spoke languidly; then, as soon as Moritz had departed, she closed the door and the window, and turned sharply to Madame Bobineau. What are you sighing and panting about? Has anything happened, madame ? she said. She did not even ask her to sit down. I will rest, if you please, and Bobi- neau dropped into a chair. In spite of her alarm the old woman saw that the beauty was moved out of her ordinary self-possession, and this gave her confi- dence. I can go no furtherpouf !I seem to have been running about for hours trying to find that child. Do you mean Marie ? Madame Ca- rouge had remained standing, but now she put her hand on the back of a chair. She looked pale, Madame Bobi- neau thought. Yes, madame. That wicked old man deceived us. He says he knows nothing of Marie. While he turned his head she ran awayhe sayshe missed her all at once. Now I ask you, my dear friend, is this likely? A timid girl like that would not go away alone among so many people. I want your advice. What am I to do? How am Ito find her? Where is Captain Loigerot ? The widow spoke severely. He is the per- son to advise you. Marie was left with him. I saw her on his arm, smiling and looking as happy as possible under his ad- miring glances. You saw her ? Madame Bobineau pricked up her ears; her way was becom- ing easier. Yes. I was walking with Monsieur Engemaun. We both saw her, and we both offered our congratulations to her and to the captain. Ah 1 and then Madame Bobineau checked herself. She half closed her sly old eyes while she pictured to herself the girls vexation; no doubt she had run away to avoid this happy pair. Madame Carouge no longer held her head erect; doubt had seized her. The old woman, seated at a little dis- tance on the sofa, was roused by her si- lence. She watched her with the intensity of a cat sure of its prey, though in Madame Bobineaus eyes there was a glitter of fear in the tense gaze she kept on the pale, drawn face. Where is Monsieur Loigerot ? sud- denly said Madame Carouge. He went back to the gardens to look for Marie. He said the child might be there still. He told me I could wait at the bridge; but, mon Dieu! I could wait no longer. I was too anxious, and I wanted your advice, dear madame. Madame Carouge walked up and down several times. She dared not speak lest the terrible fear that racked her till it seemed as if she could no longer endure the pain it gave should shape itself in words. By degrees she grew quieter, and when she spoke again to Madame Bobineau, the sharp - eyed old woman was surprised at her calm tone. I am trying to think for you, madame, and it is not easy, she said. First, I must tell you that you have been greatly to blameshamefully careless. I warned you, you must remember, that you were not fit to be the guardian of such a girl, and that the Red Glove was not a fit place for her. Hush! you must not interrupt ! She fixed her eyes imperiously on Madame Bobineau, and the color came back to her own face. Marie will be found, she said, bitterly. I feel sure the captain will discover her and bring her home. No doubt she got tired of him and slipped away. Now listen to me. You must tell the girl that you will not urge on the mar- riage with Captain Loigerot at present, but th& t you can not keep her at the Red Glove after this disgraceful conduct. You know it is possible the captain will be very angry, and no one can wonder if he is. He is very fond of the child, said Madame Bobineau. Be quiet, will you ? and another frown silenced the old woman. I will have your shop minded to-morrow, and you must see that child off to Lucerne. She must not stay another day in Berne. Send her back to her friends at St. Esprit. I will pay all expenses, and I will write to the Superior. You understand? Marie must not remain in Berne after to-morrow. I have your authority, I imagine, madame, for saying that the girl is bold and indis- creet, and requires training till she can conduct herself more modestly. How good you are ! always good, always beautiful. In her relief Madame Bobineau took a huge pinch of snuff, and brought tears into her eyes. Yes, in- deed, she whimpered, what you say is more than true, dear lady. I have seen 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. her look at that noble young man, Mon- sieur Engemann, in a way that, had he not been devoted to you, might have led him to notice her. She was so vain I be- lieve she thought he admired her. Madame Carouge made a quick step forward, and then stopped abruptly. Peace, you vile old woman! How dare you sit there telling what is your own shame? At the first glimpse of such behavior in the girl you should have shut the hussy up in a room and kept her on bread and water till you had sent her back to her convent. Why did you not come to me at once for advice? How do you know what has happened to-night? I am not sure that the wicked girl is fit to be admitted among those saintly sisters again. Madame Bobineau crouched till her chin almost touched her knees. She felt as if those fierce black eyes shot light- ning, and the words pelted like a storm of hail. Yes, yes, madame, I have been to blame, she said, feebly. I will take her away; I will do all you say. What did you say I was to tell Marie ? Not a word about my advice in the matter. Tell her that she has lost her character by this misconduct, and that you can not keep her at the Red Glove. She will be glad enough to go to escape the captains anger. I tell you that a few weeks of dull convent life, noW that she has had a peep at the world, will make her thankful to marry him by-and-by. That is all I have to say. You can go now. She stamped her foot impatiently. At the door Madame Bobineau turned back to seek for her snuff-box. In her terror it had slipped from her hand on to the sofa, and she felt sorely in need of comfort. Madame Carouge turned her back on her, and stood bending over her desk till the old woman had disappeared. Meantime Marie had reached her lodg- ing. There had been a little more talk between her and the captain as they walked up the street; but lately they had been silent, and indeed the girl was ex- hausted with the varied emotions she had gone through. She could not have kept up a conversation. Engemann followed them, but he felt that it was wiser to leave Loigerot in peace. He was surprised and puzzled at all that had happened, but still he felt in- clined to trust the little round man who rolled along with Marie on his arm. When they reached the door of her lodging the captain took the girls hand in his. My child, he said, you have done well to trust me. It wouldawit would have been better for us all if you had trusted me at the beginning. Yes, Ma- demoiselle Marie, it would have been much better. Marie held his hand a moment; then, before he could stop her, she bent down and kissed it. Monsieur she was crying now you are too good, too kind, to me. I am very, very grateful. I shall always love you. Loigerot patted her shoulder. There, there, he said, not too much of that, or I may change my mind yet, little one, and take you at your word. He cleared his throat, and in quite another voice he said to Engemaun Monsieur, you can say good-night to mademoiselle. He stood by while they shook hands. Then, when the door had closed on Marie, he looked at Rudolf from head to foot. You are a pretty fellow, Rudolf Enge- mann, he said, slowly, a very pretty fellow. Ma foil you quiet ones play the deuce with the women; but you ought to look happier than you do to have won the liking of two such womeneh, mon Dieu I I tell you so. Now what the devil do you mean to do with the widow ? he said, sharply. Certainly Rudolf Engemann did not look like a happy lover; he had a limp,de- jected aspect as he returned the captains humorous stare. Monsieur, he said, you are right; I feel like a fool. But first of all I must beg your pardonyes, I was very rude to you, unjust too, while you have been most generous and forbearing. Well, I had grown desperate: if I had not found Marie miserable among the trees at the Schanzli, I believe I should have gone on to the ho- tel, as I promised Madame Carouge, and I should have proposed to her. The captain snapped his fingers tri- umphantly. Then you have not done it? Mon Dieu! that is good news, good indeed ; he slapped his leg emphatically. You are wiser than I thought. I fan- cied she had hooked you long ago, and AT THE RED GLOVE. 41 that you had been playing fast and loose between her and my little girl. Then, as he looked at Engemanns troubled face, Tonnerre! what is the matter now? You do not deserve your good fortune, my lad, if you can not enjoy it, he said. I tell you I was miserable and desper- ate, the young fellow said,moodily, and and although I did not propose in so many words, I have paid Madame Carouge more attention this evening than I ever did before. I even said I would call on her, and I know she is now expecting me. What am Ito do? They had walked on side by side, and now they stood beneath the Red Glove. It seemed to point its fat thumb derisively at Engemaun, and one might have fancied that his words were echoed up there from its dark perch: What am Ito doto do ? Rudolf looked so disconsolate that the captain forgot everything but his amuse- ment; he stuffed his hands into his pockets, and laughed till the tears came to his eyes. What are you to do? That is a pretty question for a smart Don Juan like you to put to a man of my years! What are you to do? Ma foil you can not keep them both. He laughed again, till the Red Glove seemed to sway backward and forward in sympathy with his mirth. Engemann turned impatiently away. I suppose I had better go to Madame Carouge and tell her the truth like a man: it is the fairest way. And he plunged into the darkness under the arcade. Hold! stop! stop! Are you mad? and there was the captain panting and holding on to the skirts of the young fellows coat. ~What a devil of a pace !whew !stop, my fine fellow ! he gasped. It took Loigerot a few minutes to recover himself; then he put his arm into Enge- manns, and led him back to the Red Glove. He opened the private door and pointed to him to go in. Upon my word! he said. I am a bachelor, but I might as well be a father, for the trouble I have had to-night among the set of you. Go upstairs quietly, my boy, and get to bed as fast as you can, and go to sleep too, if you can. You go to the widow and tell her the truth! You might as safely walk up to the mouth of cannon in action as trust yourself with her to- night. But my promise? I said I would see her to-night. The captain looked at the young fellow out of his half-closed eyes. Your prom- ise! Pie-crustyou understand? You are as fit to see her, my young friend, as a bird is to pay a visit to a hungry cat. No, no; you leave the widow to me. She is a fine creature, and full of goodness, no doubtthey all arebut she is a widow in love, and thats the devil. Poor thing! I am sorry for her, though. But she and I are in the same boat, and we must con- sole each other. Yes, yes; I will manage the affair. I will let her sleep over it, and to-morrow I will bring her round fa- mously. It will be difficult, he said, pompously, but dont you be afraid. There! there! be off! in with you! Be quiet, I tell you !as the young fellow be- gan to pour out his gratitude. I dont say I have forgiven you yet for robbing me of that pretty child. Now for the old hag, he said to himself, when Engemann had gone upstairs, for she has made all the mischief. I must find out if she has come in yet. He lit a cigar, and then he called gen- tly for Madame Bobineau. It was possi- ble that she had gone home to bed as soon as he left her. But the gas in the entrance passage was not lighted, and this was an unusual omission. No, she has not come in, he said, when he had stood for some time listening. He shut the door, and then he went out into the arcade to wait for the old woman. He had not long to wait. Before she saw him, as he stood in the shadow of the arcade, he saw her crouching figure hob- bling along. She was still trembling from the effect of her interview with Madame Carouge, and grumbling to herself, when all at once she looked up and perceived the captain standing at the door of her house. What have you done with Marie ? she said, angrily. Mademoiselle Peyrolles is in her lodg- ing; and in future, Madame Bobineau, when you want to dispose of anything, be careful first to make sure that it does not belong to some one else. You have de- ceived me. Madame Bobineau was tired and hun- gry, and angry besides. All the. temper suppressed by the stronger passion of Ma- dame Carouge flew out rebelliously. She longed to fly a~ the captain; she would have pulled his hair and scratched his face if the remembrance that he was her first- floor lodger had not restrained her. 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Monsieur, she said, coldly, it is I who have reason to complain. I trusted you with Marie, and y.ou lost her. How- ever, I suppose you and she have made it up; so I will say no more about it to-night, but to-morrow I must have an explana- tion. Sacr6! you bad old woman. You will say no more! you will have an explana tion! Tonrterre! this is excellent, on my soul. Madame Bobineau, he went on, with dignity, Mademoiselle Marie is my friend; I shall always have a great regard for her; but she will never be anything more than a friend to me. Poor little girl! she was utterly miserable, and she left me. I found her in the dark with her lover, Monsieur Engemaun; so you see, madame, if you wish to save her char- acter, you must let the young people marry. Let them marry ! she shrieked. Nev- er! Let her marry a beggarly clerk! Never! never! Marie is under age, a~d I refuse my consent. I shall take her back to her convent to-morrow. Keep yourself quiet, you old fool, the captain said, in a low voice; the neigh- bors will hear. Do you want Madame Webern to know all that has happened? Come in-doors and light the lamp. She obeyed sullenly. Good-night, monsieur, she said, when the lamp was lighted. You will have changed your mind by to-morrow. Stop a bit, he said, and he placed himself in front of the door of her room, his bulk filling up the narrow passage so that she could with difficulty have squeezed by him. You had better understand me distinctly. I never change a purpose, madame, unless I find that events prevent me from carrying it out. That is not likely to happen in this case. I meant to marry your cousin, but you yourself have made this impossible. I !oh, monsieur, you have been gross- ly imposed on. Oh, that little hussy shall pay for this ! Do not dare to call that poor child names. Now listen to me. I am tired, and I want to go to bed. So these are the last words I have to say. He had taken his cigar out of his mouth, and he used it to emphasize his words as he spoke. If you say so much as one unkind word to Mademoiselle Marie I will leave your lodg- ings, and I will let Lenoir and every one know of your infamous conduct. How dared you tell me that Marie was fond of me and willing to marry me, when at the same time you told her she was fond of young Engemann ?and then you leave her in the gardens alone with me. He shook his cigar menacingly. You have not many friends; you will not have one if I open my mouth, and I will do it if you disobey me. Marie has compromised her- self with that young man very well. They must be betrothed. After that send her back to her convent till he is able to marry her, for marry her he must. Now, madame, you know the position. Do you understand ? Madame Bobineau understood very well. She longed to defy this high-hand- ed captain, but her courage failed her. Monsieur is very hard on me, she whim- pered. On the contrary. And mark you, ma- dame, if when Engemann is ready to mar- ry your cousin, you refuse your consent he frowned till his mustache quivered, and he looked surprisingly fierce bon; I shall then know how to deal with you, and I shall expose the abominable conduct you have used toward me and Mademoi- selle Marie to all the world. He turned his back on her, and walked deliberately upstairs. Madame Bobinean sat down on the low- est step, and wrung her hands in impotent fury. Horrid, wicked old man! I hate him ! she muttered; but he pays me twice as much as any lodger ever paid before, and he is a friend of Madame Carouge. Oh, if he were only some one else ! CHAPTER XXXIV. HOW LOIGEROT MANAGED THE WIDOW. MonITz the waiter loked disturbed as he went about his duties this morning. The hectic flush had spread over his hollow cheeks, and there was an angry bright- ness in his melancholy brown eyes. Ev- idently something had gone wrong with the head waiter of the Beauregard. If you followed the direction of his eyes you would soon have discovered that every time he went in and out of the break- fast-room he glanced across at his mis- tresss parlor. Moreover, he made sever- al needless journeys up and down stairs, so that he might get a good look at her. AT THE RED GLOVE. 43 MADAME, I THANK YOU. ~~[SEE PAGE 46.] Moritz was indeed greatly troubled. Last this morning into a pale, heavy-eyed night Madame Carouge had beea superb; statue, so silent and preoccupied that she she had come in blooming and radiant: seemed unable to attend to business, and what could have happened to changc~ her had sent away her breakfast untouched? VOL. LXXLNo. 4214 C- -~ ~ 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Moritz felt that some one had to bear the blame of this change, and he hesitated between old Bobineau, as he termed her, and Monsieur Engemann. When Madame Carouge came in last night she had told him she would receive Monsieur Engemann when he called, and the waiter had felt full of jealous trouble. He adored his beautiful mistress, and lie felt that virtually he was master at the Beauregard; the idea that this bank clerk, some years younger than himself, was to be set over his head, was exasperating. When Engemann failed to appear, and Madame Bobineau paid that short stormy visit, which he had carefully noted, lie did not know what to think. He had heard all the chatter that Le- noir could furnish him with; and indeed by the help of Madame Riesen and of Le- noir the gossips of Berne had been living on the events of these double courtships dur- ing the past week. Moritz suspected that Engemann was playing a double game flirting with Marie, while he intended to marry the widowand this idea had in- creased his dislike of the fair young giant. Rudolfs coolness and self-possession al- ways irritated the nervous man, whose movements were as rapid as his wits were sharp. That such a slow-wit, as he termed Engemaun, without any savoir- faire, should aspire to beautiful, wealthy Madame Carouge, was most audacious. That she should encourage such a dull, half-hearted lover was astounding; but at this idea Moritz always shrugged his shoul- ders. He knew she had had a bad time with Carouge, poor soul; she was not to be blamed if she thought that his opposite in all respects was likely to make her happy. Women only look outside, Moritz told himself. But what could have happened to change her so? Madanie Bobinean had probably brought her a message from Engemann. The widow had closed both door and window, but Moritz had heard fragments of the wordy battle through the key-hole of the door of communication betxveen his own little office and his mistresss parlor. This morning, when breakfast was over and Engemaun did not appear, the head waiter could do nothimig but rush to the door at intervals, and stare expectantly down the street. The morning went on, and all the early breakfasters departed. There was a lull in the house, but Madame Carouge did not take advantage of this, as she often did, to go upstairs to her room. She sat at her desk trying to add up the same lon~ column of figures which had occupied her all the morning. She had staid up till midnight waiting for Enge- mann, and then she had gone to bed heart- sick and weary; but she had not slept. She had guessed at some of the truth while Madame Bobineau told her story; but for all that she had not given up the hope of marrying Monsieur Engemann. He was not to blame, poor fellow! How could he help it if that girl had thrown herself on his protection, and asked him to deliver her from the captain? He might even have felt obliged to see her home. The old wonian has pressed her too hard, she said; she is a commonplace tyrant with- out any tact, and the girl in despair has flung herself on Monsieur Engemann s protection. The keen torment roused by this idea robbed her of sleep, but she tried to assure herself that Rudolf had gone too far with her to draw back. He is not a man to kiss a womans hand, and to look at her as he looked at me, if he were only trifling. No, he could not trifle with me; he is too true and simple, she repeated over and over again, but without much effect. Matters looked worse this morning. She had risen early, and dressed herself with extra care; she sent word to Le- noir she did not want his services: she was really afraid of his keen eyes. Her hope was that Rudolf would appear ear- lier than usual; but lie had not even come to breakfast, and he was already due at the bank. Last night she had got rid of her anger on Madanie Bobineau; now, as she waited, her color began to return, and her eyes, in spite of their heavy lids, looked dangerous. I will not judge him, she kept on saying vehemently to herself. It is of course very strange, but the dear fellow may have reasons. I will not say any- thing I may be sorry for later on. But her color flickered at the mere sound of a footstep, and at last she gave up the figures she had tried to add up as hopeless, and seated herself on the sofa with a newspaper, but after a few minutes it lay upside down in her lap. Presently Moritz looked in at the win- dow. Madame, will you see Monsieur Loigerot ? KBy all means, she said, joyfully. AT THE RED GLOVE. 45 The thought came that Rudolf was too modest to plead for himselfthe captain was his ambassador. Good-morning she went forward and shook hands cor- dially, when Loigerots bald head bowed down in the doorway. You are early this morning, monsieur. Then, as he still lingered in the door- way, she pointed to a chair near the sofa. The captain came forward slowly, but he stood before her instead of sitting down. Pardon me, madameawJ have a few words to say to you privately; that isaw -if you will condescend to listen. He looked so absurd, so nervous as he half closed his eyes and tugged at his mustache, that the widow could not help smiling. With the greatest pleasure, monsieur,~~ she said, in her most charming way. Will you have the goodness to shut the door ? She is divine to look at, he said to himself; but I believe shes got a devil of a temper. Engemaun is well out of it, and I wish I was well out of it too. The captain felt that he understood the widow, but he also felt that he did not un- derstand how to manage her. I am not sure about the pleasure, ma- dame, he said, nervously, but you are full of charity and sweetnessI am sure you are, andand I want to ask you to do an act of charity. II He felt stuck here, he looked at her helplessly. A charity, monsieur? Is it a case of distress? Yes, indeed, monsieur, you may count on me; I am always ready to help distress. It is so sad to let others go on suffering, she said, pathetically, when we have the means of helping them. She was disappointed; he had not come, then, on the errand she hoped. Loigerot had gone on tugging at and twisting his mustache, and now he felt that the widow was looking keenly at him, searching him through and through. Drops started out on his forehead, and his tongue felt stiff and useless. All at once the thought of Maries white, tear-stained face came to help him. You are very kind and quite right, madame, and I have a case of real distress to lay before you which you have power to help. I want you to befriemid little Marie Peyrollesto take her part against Madame Bobinean. Madame Carouges face grew set, and her eyes looked hard. She shook her head. Madame Bobineau is the childs guard- ian, she said, repressively. I can not interfere. She began to feel that the ground was slipping from under her feet. You are right again, madame, he said, pompously, perfectly right. Ma- dame Bobineau is her guardian; but she iswell, I let her off easy when I say she is a bad, treacherous old woman. Madame Carouge laughed. No, no, monsieur; you are too hard on the poor old woman. It is easy to see that you have been misinformed. I can not, of course, speak unfavorably to you of Ma- demoiselle Marie, but I fear she is preju- diced against her kind old cousin; but why come to me, monsieur? surely you are Maries best protector. I! he put up both hands, then he shrugged his shoulders. Now for it, he thought, and as the swimmer shuts his eyes and plunges into the water, he dashed on. Pardon me, I forgot, madame: there is still something to be explained to you. That old woman has deceived the poor child as much as she has deceived me. Luckily I made a discovery last night. The wid- ow had put her hand before her mouth to hide a yawn, but at his last words she list- ened attentively. Yes, madame, a dis- covery which will perhaps surprise you as much as it surprised me. He raised his hand and pointed a fat forefinger at the widow. It is not me that Mademoiselle Marie wishes to marry; it is Monsieur Ru- dolf Engemann, and I have given her up. Madame Carouge rose, her eyes flashed out brightly on the captain, themi she laughed, but the laugh was not natural. Ndnsense! You have been listening to gossip, monsieur; you have got your story upside down. I think you are very un- grateful to talk of giving up the little girl after all my trouble for you. As to Mon- sieur Engemaun, she said, derisively, I happen to know on good authority that heloves some one else. You have made a very foolish mistake, Captain Loigerot. The captain reddened at the scorn in her voice. I have make no mistake, he said, roughly. I saw and judged for myself. You saw ! she said, vehemently. What are you talking about ? He raised his hand. Calm yourself, madame: you and I are older than these young people are: let us be more reason- able. I have given up my hopes. Will the some one else you speak of be less gener 46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Gus ? She turned angrily away and walk- ed across the room. The captain rubbed his handshe thought this had been a most successful maneuvre; he followed the widow as she walked. I believe, he said, that Monsieur Engemann has not offered himself to the some one else. Ah, madame, think how young they are they are well matchedand how they love one another. He put his hand on her arm. Listen. madame, I will tell you. She turned roundshe was listening eagerly with half-closed eyes. They love each other. Well, monsieur ? Loigerot felt encouraged; he cleared his throat. Yes, yes, madame; you should have seen them together when I found them last nightpoor love-birds! I was very stern at first, mind you; I scolded them well; but I saw I must give in to the force of circumstances. Then he raised himself on tiptoe, and whispered, in what he meant for a coaxing tone, Surely some one else does not want to keep a man who loves another woman. The captain was not very steady on tip- toe, and as he looked up earnestly at the widow, a stinging box on the ear nearly sent him off his legs. Take that for your pains, you chatter- ing busybody ! said Madame Carouge, looking splendid in her fury, as she tow- ered above the astounded man. Tonncrre I he put one hand to his ear, and the~other to where his sword used to hang. Then he drew himself up and smiled. Madame, I thank you for the lesson. He bowed. I am consoled. Marie is only a kitten at present, but you awyou have shown me what she might have grown to. Madame, II have the honor to take my leave. THE END. THE JUNE CRICKET. IN THE MADISON SQUARE PARK. TENTED in the short green grass, I While the moon shone in the sky, A cricket, close to those who pass, Uttered the old familiar cry. Little heeded he the noise Of the crowded city street, But blew his flute with strident voice Unmindful of the tramp of feet. Hundreds briskly hurry by, Listless to the song they pass; No policeman stops his cry, Or orders him, Keep off the grass! I who note the steady tune That he with such relish plays, Wonder how this note of June Came to take to city ways. Far from native haunts withdrawn, He sings the old song at my feet The prelude of a country lawn Salutes tlic curious city street. Rustic scenes are not at hand; No rippling rivulet wanders near: Hard it is to understand This voice in such an atmosphere. Brave little cricket, pipe away; Let your blitheness melt in song! Tis the cheeriest roundelay; I shall thank you for it long. Torn from spring-time, robbed of June, Shut up to the city street, Much I thank you for your tune Uttered from this strange retreat.

Joel Benton Benton, Joel The June Cricket 46-47

46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Gus ? She turned angrily away and walk- ed across the room. The captain rubbed his handshe thought this had been a most successful maneuvre; he followed the widow as she walked. I believe, he said, that Monsieur Engemann has not offered himself to the some one else. Ah, madame, think how young they are they are well matchedand how they love one another. He put his hand on her arm. Listen. madame, I will tell you. She turned roundshe was listening eagerly with half-closed eyes. They love each other. Well, monsieur ? Loigerot felt encouraged; he cleared his throat. Yes, yes, madame; you should have seen them together when I found them last nightpoor love-birds! I was very stern at first, mind you; I scolded them well; but I saw I must give in to the force of circumstances. Then he raised himself on tiptoe, and whispered, in what he meant for a coaxing tone, Surely some one else does not want to keep a man who loves another woman. The captain was not very steady on tip- toe, and as he looked up earnestly at the widow, a stinging box on the ear nearly sent him off his legs. Take that for your pains, you chatter- ing busybody ! said Madame Carouge, looking splendid in her fury, as she tow- ered above the astounded man. Tonncrre I he put one hand to his ear, and the~other to where his sword used to hang. Then he drew himself up and smiled. Madame, I thank you for the lesson. He bowed. I am consoled. Marie is only a kitten at present, but you awyou have shown me what she might have grown to. Madame, II have the honor to take my leave. THE END. THE JUNE CRICKET. IN THE MADISON SQUARE PARK. TENTED in the short green grass, I While the moon shone in the sky, A cricket, close to those who pass, Uttered the old familiar cry. Little heeded he the noise Of the crowded city street, But blew his flute with strident voice Unmindful of the tramp of feet. Hundreds briskly hurry by, Listless to the song they pass; No policeman stops his cry, Or orders him, Keep off the grass! I who note the steady tune That he with such relish plays, Wonder how this note of June Came to take to city ways. Far from native haunts withdrawn, He sings the old song at my feet The prelude of a country lawn Salutes tlic curious city street. Rustic scenes are not at hand; No rippling rivulet wanders near: Hard it is to understand This voice in such an atmosphere. Brave little cricket, pipe away; Let your blitheness melt in song! Tis the cheeriest roundelay; I shall thank you for it long. Torn from spring-time, robbed of June, Shut up to the city street, Much I thank you for your tune Uttered from this strange retreat. IN the year of our Lord 1536, the twenty -first of the reign of Charles V., Emperor of Germany and King of Spain, three distinct expeditions, unknown to each other, approached by different routes the rich domain of the present state of Cundinamarca then inhabited by a formidable tribe of Indians called the Chibchas. The first, sent out by the Governor of Santamarta, and commanded by Gouzalo Jimdnez de Quesada, ascended the IMlagdalena IRiver; the second, under the auspices of the Governor of Venezuela, and led by Nicolaus Fredemaun, a German, who was accom- panied by the venerable Las Casas, marched across the country; while the third, organized by Sebastian de Benalc~zar, a lieutenant of the notorious Pizarro, came from Peru. All were famous conquistadorcs, and after two years, during which period they were often reduced to the most horrible extremities because of thirst, hunger, the natural obstacles of the country, and the fierce opposition of its inhabit-

Lieutenant H. R. Lemly Lemly, H. R., Lieutenant Santa Fe De Bogota 47-59

IN the year of our Lord 1536, the twenty -first of the reign of Charles V., Emperor of Germany and King of Spain, three distinct expeditions, unknown to each other, approached by different routes the rich domain of the present state of Cundinamarca then inhabited by a formidable tribe of Indians called the Chibchas. The first, sent out by the Governor of Santamarta, and commanded by Gouzalo Jimdnez de Quesada, ascended the IMlagdalena IRiver; the second, under the auspices of the Governor of Venezuela, and led by Nicolaus Fredemaun, a German, who was accom- panied by the venerable Las Casas, marched across the country; while the third, organized by Sebastian de Benalc~zar, a lieutenant of the notorious Pizarro, came from Peru. All were famous conquistadorcs, and after two years, during which period they were often reduced to the most horrible extremities because of thirst, hunger, the natural obstacles of the country, and the fierce opposition of its inhabit- 48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ants, they met upon the present plain of Bogota. Benalc6~zar having marched di- rect from Quito, his men were finely ar- mored, and presented an imposing array; those of Fredemann were clothed in the skins of wild beasts; while Quesadas little army had been compelled to adopt the attire of the natives. Report had reached their ears of the wonderful wealth of this land, whose ruler was said to clothe himself in a sim- ple coating of balsamiferous resins, sprin- kled with gold-dust blown through a bam- boo reed twice a daythe celebrated le- gend of El Dorado, in whose vain search were sacrificed countless lives and untold treasure. The territory of the Chibchas is said to have comprised six hundred square leagues, extensively cultivated, and inhabited by a population of two thousand to the square league. They had attained a degree of civilization that as- signed them the third place in America; but without unity of action they were im- potent before the resistless march of this handful of Spaniards. Quesada, who had preceded his rivals, had divided among his followers more than a quarter of a million of dollars and about two thou- sand emeraldsno inconsiderable sum in those days; but when he approached the fabulously rich temple of Suamoz. its priest fired the exterior, and immuring himself within its walls, perished in the flames, destroying, perhaps, the traditions of a people and the history of a nation. On the 6th of August, 1538, upon the site of the ruins of Thibsaquillo, the sum- mer residence of the zipa, or chief, Gonza- lo Jiminez de Quesada founded Santa Fe de Bogota, calling it Santa Fe, from its similarity of situation to the city of that Easi name in the kingdom of Granada (the con- quered territory being called New Grana- da), and Bogota, after a native prince, and building it in twelve distinct parts, repre- sentative of the twelve apostles. Passing over its colonial history, dur- ing which period it was the residence of the Spanish viceroy, we find it figuring prominently in the struggle for independ- ence, captured by Murillo, but delivered by Bolivar, to become the seat of govern- inent of the combined republics of New Granada, Venezuela, and Ecuador, and to-day the capital of the United States of Colombia. It is finely situated at the foot of a spur of the Eastern Cordilleras of the Andes, upon an inclined plane which forms the base of Monserrate and Guada- lupe, two mountains that tower two thou- sand feet above the city, and are crowned with churches respectively distinguished by the foregoing names. To the westward, north and south, extends one of the most beautiful, fertile, and elevated plateaus in the world, about thirty miles wide by six- ty long. This is the celebrated Sabana of Bogota. It is fairly cultivated, and con- tains several large lakes or lagoons, in which the frequent discovery of gold or- naments and images of aboriginal work- manship and exceedingly curious design has revived traditions of their former con- secration as natural temples, and led to numerous but ineffectual projects for their drain age. The Sabana of Bogota was undoubted- ly once an immense lake unbroken by mountains, that by some violent convul- sion of nature was ruptured, and the falls of Tequendama formed, by which the wa- ters of the Funza River find an exit to the plains, and join the Magdalena. Vest SECTION OF MOUNTAIN RANGES FROM EAST TO WEST. A A BOGOTA. 49 SABANA 0 BOGOTA. The situation of Bogota, it is said, led cereals and vegetables are sowed twice a the eminent Humboldt to remark that it year, viz., in February and September, and stood upon its own grave, it being his harvested in July and January. Corn, opinion that in one of the earthquakes to wheat, barley, rice, potatoes, and all the which the whole extent of the Andes is principal vegetables of the temperate zone subject the city would be ingulfed. To are grown, while in the market of Bogota the traveller who with difficulty ascends may be seen, every day in the three hun- from the parched banks of the Magdalena, dred and sixty-five of the calendar, apples, the Sabanawith its encircling chain of peaches, pears, plums, and strawberries, mountains and the extinct volcano of To- side by side with crude sugar, chocolate in lima, snow-capped and cloud-ridden in the bean, unthreshed coffee, plantai s, the distance, its cultivated fields and green pine-apples, oranges, lemons, cocoa-nuts, potreros dotted with haciendas, its silvery fresh figs, the exquisitely aromatic porno- lakes and trees crowned with an eternal rasa, the aguacate, the different varieties verdure, and Santa Fe extending amphi- of cactus fruit, chirirnoyas, curubas, theatre-like at his feetis a scene of mar- granadas and granadillas, maugos, nis- vellous beauty. Its breezes are delicious- peros, marneyes, guayabasin short, the ly cool and invigorating. In latitude choicest products of both zones in prodi- four and a half degrees north, but nine gal profusion. Their growth is merely a thousand feet above the level of the sea, question of altitude, a days ride in almost it forms a temperate zone upon the very any direction sufficing to bear the tray- verge of the equator. So equable is the eller throu~,h all gradations of climate climate that there may be said to be no from tierra fria to tierra caliente, and change of season, or rather that there the reverse. Of the above fruits several reigns a perpetual spring. The mean merit especial mention. The aguacate temperature is about 570 (Fahrenheit). (Laurus persea), known among English- March, April, and INlay, and September, speaking residents as the alligator-pear, October, and November, constitute the wet has been pronounced well adapted to the seasons, and June, July, and August, and taste of demi-gods, while Haenke called December, January, and February, the dry; the chirimoya (Anona hurnboldtiana) nd generally it is warmest in February the masterpiece of nature. Humboldt and coldest in December, although the estimated that an acre of plantains would housesareneverartificially~varmed. Both produce twenty times as much food as an HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 50 The ordinary domestic animals are found, and at a less altitude, in the trop- ical forest, the ferocious tigre, or jaguar, innumerable and deadly serpents, and birds of most brilliant plumage. The lake near the city are peopled at all seasons by thousands of wild teal. Fish are brought from the Bogota and Magdalena rivers. The mineral wealth of the surround- ing hills may be considered inexhausti- ble, but it is undeveloped. The commerce or trade of Bogota proper is estimated at. about forty millions of dollars yearly, and would be much greater but for its in- accessibility. From New York one take the Atlas line of steam-ships to Barran- quilla, the direct passage occupying a doz- en days; thence by steamboat up the Mag- dalena to Honda, a journey of from ten days to a month, depending entirely upon the state of the water; and from Honda to Bogota upon mules across the Cordilleras, a distance of only seventy-five miles, from three to five days are necessary. There is being constructed, however, a railroad to the Magdalena River, and other interio lines are contemplated. Its inland and iso- lated situation has made Bogota as a city one of the least progressive of the capitals of South America, and more than any oth- er, perhaps, it retains its old Spanish as- pects. The majority of its houses are of one story, because of the prevalence of earthquakes, but there are many of two and three stories. Their exterior is not unprepossessing, but with tile roofs litti architectural effect can be attempted. The material is generally adobe, or sun- dried brick, and the walls receive a thick- ness of from two to three feet. Within- ________ doors, at least the better classes live as corn- fortably as in other parts of the world, and many of the private residences are luxuriously appointed. There is invaria- bly an open interior court called patio, in acre of corn. Of the guayaba is made and the centre of which is perhaps a fountain, exported the delicious guava jelly. The surrounded by numerous and beautiful curuba and grartadilla are fruits of the flowers and plants which bloom perpetu- passion-vine. Of the yuca, a huge root, ally. Although they have to be trans- the sections of which serve as seed to prop- ported across the Cordilleras at great cost agate its growth, is made a bread whiter upon the backs of pconcs, pianos, general- and more palatable than French twist or ly of German manufacture, are common. Vienna loaf. Instead of carpets, which harbor fleasthe The principal trees are the eucalyptus greatest pests of the citya peculiar mat- and the willow, while flowers of all kinds ting known as estera is often employed. abound; especially noticeable are the many The walls are usually papered, occasional- varieties of the orchis and the rose, and ly outside as well as within. The roof of the latter, one the petals of which are project over the narrow sidewalk, and fur- green. nish a partial protection from the rain. NATURAL BRIDGE OF rANDI. BOGOTA. The principal streets are paved or macad- amized, and are built at right angles to each other. They are, however, narrow, and in the centre of each is a ca~o, or surface sewer, often indifferently supplied with water, which conveys the refuse of the city to the plain below. In the construc- tion of the houses but little regard is had for hygienic principles, and the sanitary regulations of the city are inadequate, or at least indifferently obeyed. The basements of the principal houses in Calle iReal and Calle Florian the business streets are rented as stores, but in other parts of the city they are occupied by the poorer class- es, who crowd into these dark and elose tenements, together with poultry, cats and dogs, monkeys and parrots, etc.,where they 51 live, cook, eat, and sleep in the same apart- ment. Innumerable chicheriasshops in which is made and sold chicha, a cheap but not unwholesome drink of fermented corn, and similar to the still beer of whiskey manufacturersare found. The city is supplied with water from two mountain streams, the San Francisco and San Angustin, which flow through its limits, by means of public fountains placed in the plazas. Gas has been introduced, and the principal streets are well lighted at night and patrolled by police. According to a recent census, Bogota contaius a population of 84,723, 3000 resi- dences, and 3500 stores and shops. The Capitol occupies an entire block, and fronts the principal plaza, which is named PATIO OR INTERIOR COURT OF BOGOTA HOUSE. 52 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. after, and contains a bronze statue by Tene- rani of, the famous liberator Simon Boli- var. Although begun in 1845, the edifice is but half finished, and long presented rather the appearance of a ruined Greek temple than a modern edifice in process of construction. When completed it will be a commodious and elegant structure, and comprise, besides the halls of Con- gress, the executive mansion, and the prin- cipal public offices. The Presidentoccu- pies an unpretentious two-story building called El Palacio, while the public of- fices are located in various convents con- fiscated by the government, in the most extensive of which, Santo Domingo, are found the Treasury, National Bank, and post-office. The residence of the archbish- op is one of the finest in the city. The plaza of Santander contains a statue of that eminent soldier and statesman of the republic, placed in the centre of a beauti- ful public garden. That of Los Martires is adorned by a monument commemora- tive of the heroes of the war of independ- ence, and more especially of the patriots who were shot upon its site by order of the Spanish general Murillo. There are more than thirty churches in Bogota, one of which is Protestant (Pres- byterian). The principal are the catlie- dral, San Carlos, Santo Domingo, San Francisco, San Augustin, La Capuchina, San Juan de Dios, Santa Clara, Santa Inez, La Candelaria, La Ensefianza, Las Cruces, Santa Barbara, Las Nieves, Belen, San Diego, and Carmen. The cathedral was begun in the year 1563, but not completed until 1823, and though it possesses little external beauty, is commodious, and its interior is finely decorated. The astronomical observatory, an oc- tagonal tower erected in 1802, is nearly the highest and most advantageously sit- uated in the world. It contains but few instruments, but under the present ad- ministration and its own energetic direc- tion is in process of efficient reorganiza- tion. A meteorological department has been established in correspondence with the Signal Bureau in Washington. The national library comprises fifty or sixty thousand volumes. Annexed to it is a museum containing, among other in- teresting historical relics, the standards borne by Pizarro in the conquest of Peru, and one of the Cid Campeador, the coat of mail and spur of Quesada, and the bed of Bolivar. Bogota is the seat of the National Uni- versity; there are, besides, a school of civil and military engineering, three endowed colleges, and one normal, thirty-two pri- mary, twenty-six secondary, and fourteen superior schools. A branch (containing twelve members) of the Spanish Royal Academy has been established, and is, I believe, the only one in Central or South America. Of periodicals there are pub- lislied nine official, two scientific, nine po- litical, eight literary, and two industrial, the product of fourteen printing establish- ments. Schools of agriculture, painting, wood - engraving, and architecture have recently been organized by the govern- ment. Various religious, philanthropic, scientific, and political societies exist; arid upon the whole, while its inaccessibility (as I have already stated) may have re- tarded its growth and detracted from its importance commercially, it has perhaps fostered a love for and study of letters that enable it to not undeservedly claim the proud title of the Athens of Spanish America. It is the centre of five telegraph lines, and contains nine principal hotels, a the- atre or opera-house, eight banks, six fac- tories, and seven public baths. Among its public resorts not yet enumerated may be mentioned the pucblocito of Chapine- ro, distant less than a league, and famous for its cathedral of Nuestra Scifora de Lourdes (the French saint); Fusagasuga DR. RAFAEL NUNEE, PRESIDENT. BOGOTA. and Tocaima, at a less altitude and high- trates the mountains, is abdut sixty yards er temperature, the former noted for its wide, and this dimension is greatly in- fiestas de toros (bull-fights), and the lat- creased during the rainy season. The ter for its tepid mineral waters seven surrounding country is extremely fertile, springs, every one of which is reputed to due, it is thought, to the enormous mass possess distinct curative properties; Ser- of vapor that is daily precipitated upon it. rezuela, Choachi, and Ubaqud; an exten- When the day is clear this surcharged sive promenade called Aguanueva, upon cloud may be seen from Bogota, a distance the cerros of Guadalupe and Monserrate, of five lea~,ues. overlooking the city; and the Arzobispo and Fucha rivers, the latter beautiful- ly wooded, and much fre- quented for its baths. The falls of Tequendama and the natural bridge of Pandi, or Icononzo, both only a few leagues distant from Bogota, are reckoned among the most remarka- ble natural wonders of the Andes, as well as of the American continent. Per- haps few of those who have seen Niagara will reco~ - nize in Tequendama a cat- aract four times as hi~h; and though the spectacle be less grand, it is infinite- ly more beautiful and awe- inspiring. What most attracted me was the native loveliness of the spot. Nature reigns supreme, and there is no- thing artificial but the steep path which leads to the falls, winding its way among gigantic trees and a semi-tropical vegetation that is rendered phenome- nally luxuriant by the ever-present clouds of va- por. Birds of strange form and brilliant plumage flut- ter from branch-to branch, disturbed by the unwonted intrusion; but their cry of alarm is lost aniid the deaf- ening roar of the waters. Tequendama is eminently picturesque, and although not the highest cataract iu the world, there undoubt- edly exists no other that presents so great an alti- tude combined with an equal volume of water. The river, before it pene- PLAZA AND STATUE OF BOLIvAR. 54 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Scarcely less wonderful is the natural Of pure Ethiopians there are comparative- bridge of Pandi, or Icononzo, formed by ly few, the conquistadores having prohib- three enormous bowlders mutually sus- ited their introduction into Santa Fe. taming each other, and spanning the per- Among the resident foreigners the princi- pendicular walls of a profound abyss, pal nationalities are represented. FALL5 OF TEQUENDAMA. through whose depths flows the river Su- The women have ever been justly famed mapaz. This marvellous chasm is fully for their beauty, of which the most pleas- three miles in length, and recent measure- ing characteristics are a fine complexion, ments give the height of the bridge above large dark eyes and hair (the latter often the water at 265 feet. denoting, by its waving appearance, a more The race of the plateau and city of Bo- or less remote African lineage), which are gota has been described as a handsome rendered doubly attractive by the simple mtezcla (mixture); and while the Spanish and graceful mantilla, from the folds of element prevails, there are many Indians, which modestly peers the half-concealed some negroes, and every type of mcstizo. countenance. Like all Spanish or Span- BOGOTA. 55 ish-American women, they have good fig- ures, with a notable disposition, especially in the middle and lower classes, to embon- point. French fashions predominate, and visiting, or upon occasions of ceremony, our fair Bogotana appears in the latest Pa- risian mode from her bonnet to her feet, which are invariably incased in the dainty high-heeled boots (often slippers) of the Boulevard des Italiens; and the old proof of noble blood, an instep so delicately arched that water may flow beneath it, proclaims her a veritable hidalga. Shop- ping, and especially at church, a black dress and lace-bordered mantilla are al- ways worn, and rarely have I witnessed a more devotional scene than the many kneeling forms thus plainly attired mur- muring Ave Marias and an occasional Paternoster in the cathedral of Bogota. The Bogotano is proud, valiant, hospi- table, usually well-educated, and especial- ly apt in the acquirement of the specula- tive arts and sciences. He often speaks with considerable fluency two or more foreign languages, and in his own beauti- ful tongue almost unconsciously writes poetry. Of himself he has said: De mmsico, poeta, y loco Cada cual tiene su poco. 1-lis no less graceful Spanish cloak cor- MONUMENT IN THE PLAZA OF LOS MARTIRES. responds to the mantilla. When riding, his garb is peculiar, but long use has con- vinced him that it is best adapted to his as a natural result, they congregate in the wants. A sombrero de Suaza (incorrect- balconies and windows, before: which the ly called Panama hat iii the United States), unhappy swain is compelled to proumenade a ruarta or poncho of water-proof cloth, and perform his courtship under dillicul- and zamarros (a pair of wide bags of rub- ties. ber cloth or hair-tanned panther or cow Life is everywhere so easy in the trop- skin, open at each end and buckled togeth- ics, and especially in this delicious climate, er at the waist, into each of which he that it is not surprising little cognizance thrusts. a leg) complete this strange but is taken of time; and if. you make an en- serviceable attire. His brass stirrup, al- gagement with Pedrito for five oclock most a metallic shoe with curved toe, is sha p, you may be sure he will come at derived from his Spanish ancestors, and six, or perhaps next day. The opera is by them from the Saracens. He is inva- always advertised to begin promptly at riably a finished rider. The horses of the eight, but in reality the curtain never rises Sabana are an excellent breed, of Andalu- before half past nine. sian extraction; when free, gentle; spirit- I have now described a class of Bogo- ed when bitted; and superb pacers and tanos, and it will be seen that they do rackers. not differ materially from those of the In society a well-nigh French etiquette same sphere elsewhere, and naturally so, prevails with regard to unmarried daugh- since the educated and travelled world is ters, and even the accepted suitor has com- ever the samecosmopolitan. From La paratively rare opportunities of seeing his Mantilla to La Corrosca, however, there betrothed, except in the presence of her are many gradations. The line of demar- mother or some meamber of the family. cation between gentility and the populace Young girls never venture out alone, and, is said to be the alpargata, a shoe or san- 56 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. dal of native hemp; but La Corrosca oft- en disregards even that incumbrance, and with bare feet, bare ankles, bare arms, and bare bust, unabashed by such lavish dis- play of her personal charms, sells chicha or exhibits her wares and fruit in the market-place. She derives her title from the hat she wears, but usually appropri- ates the most musical names in the vocab- ulary, such as Mercddes, Jesusita, or Car- men. She smokes a cigarette, or even an Am- balema (a famous brand of native cigar), and is never averse to indulging in her own chicha. Her companion of the male sex is usually distinguished by alparga- tas and ruana. Sometimes lie works, but often his principal occupation is playing the tiple, a musical instrument of eight strings, smaller than the guitar. The bandola is similar, but more diminutive, and responds to the touch of a bit of tor- toise-shell, held between the thumb and forefinger, in tones almost human. The chucho is a joint of bamboo containing grains of corn, that is shaken in a pe- culiar manner, accentuating the time. The trio combine to produce a style of music as sweet as it is weird and strange, and as distinctively national as the old plantation melodies were once characteristic of the South. There is, indeed, an indescribable charm in their pasillos and barn- bucos, and, like all Indian airs they are plaintive, almost sad. Nevertheless, they are veritable dances, and two or more couples, dancing singly, usually execute a series of not ungraceful move- ments, at intervals singing. Occa- sionally this is changed into the zumanguJ, in which ones partner chants a series of ridiculous orders that the two are required to per- form simultaneously. The tiple is played iii the street by a tribe of itinerant musicians at all hours, but is never a begging device like that most irrepressible of acclima- tizations, the hand-organ. Its pos- sessor, whether wandering good- naturedly from chicheria to chi- cheria, carrying several hundred- weight upon his back, or driving a pack train of mules or oxen con- tentedly twangs the strings in that peculiar manner known as rasgar, and appears entirely absorbed in the contemplation of his own efforts. There is little that is vicious in the man of ruana and alpargatas; thriftless he is, perhaps, but much energy is not to be ex- pected at two reales (twenty~ents) per day. At the same time he can live upon a dime, economically expended, during this peri od. Mazamora, a nutritious soup, is the favorite food of the lower classes. Per- haps in no city of its size in the United States is property or life so safe as in Bogota. Burglaries and murders are comparatively rare, although street fights, often between two or more women, are common. When thoroughly aroused, machete in hand, there is a dangerous significance in the otherwise meaningless Spanish oath that is hissed from his lips. Chicha, the popu- lar drink, stupefies rather than excites, and its unfortunate victim either takes refuge in a doorway, unmolested by the police, or falls prostrate upon the sidewalk. The pure Indian, unless a soldier, is not usually a resident of Bogota, although he makes frequent pilgrimages to the city. How notable the difference between the North and South American Indian! There he remains in his primitive state; hero lie has adopted not only the language A GLASS OF AGUARDIENTE. BOGOTA. 57 and many of the customs, but the religion of his conquerors. Two principal causes have combined to effect this condition of thingsintermarriage, and the fact that the tribes occupying the country at the time of the conquest were not nomadic, as were those of the United States and Can- ada. Occasionally in the Sabana one en- counters Indians of a peculiar German physiognomy, that are supposed to be the descendants of the followers of Fredemaun. The Indians are a hard-worked and indif- ferently paid classveritable beasts of bur- denoften carrying, both men and women, loads of from two hundred and fifty to four hundred pounds, suspended from the forehead and resting upon the back. They are the exclusive marketers of Bogota, and bring their fruit and wares over difficult mountain paths, often travelling a distance of one hundred miles. All the heavier articles of commerce are brought upon their shoulders from the river terminus at Honda. The enlisted men of the army are entire- ly composed of Indians from the states of Boyac~, Cundinamarca, and Santander, and there are no better machine soldiers in the world. Perhaps the most interesting customs of Bogota are connected with the fiestas or feasts of the Church. Upon the latter days and on Sunday morning everybody goes to mass, where, especially in San Car- los, one may hear very good sacred music, varied by a bit of an op~ra bouffe; but the afternoons are universally devoted to re- ceiving and making visits, horseback rides into the country, a bull-fight at Chapine- ro or Las Cruces, or a stroll along the Calle Real to Las Nieves and San Diego. Perhaps one of the military bands gives a public secular concert of a high order of merit, and a favorite amusement of the children is kite-flying; but whatever the diversion of the day, Sunday night is in- variably devoted to the opera or theatre and balls. Upon the vispera (preceding evening) of all their prominent fiestas the city is brilliantly illuminated. The carnival, or Mardi Gras festival, receives comparative- ly little attention, but Christmas and Holy - Week are observed with all the pomp and circumstance of the Roman Church. A peculiar feature of the former is the burlesque by puppets of various local customs and celebrities, and few escape their harmless satire. In such mechanical manipulation they excel. This entertain- inent is called apcsebre (manger), from the fact that the birth of Christ is usually rep- resented among the accessories. In many of the churches the music during this sea- son is of a very worldly character, with an accompaniment by tiple, bandola, chucho, castanet, and tambourine. At midnight of Christmas-eve is held the mass of the cock (misa del gallo), so called from the hour of its celebration, during which, to the strange effect produced by the above in- struments, is added an imitation of the crowing of the cock and the chirping of birds. Masquerade balls are common at this season, and not unfrequently the dan- cers pass from a Strauss waltz to early mass, with merely a hurried change of dress. The 28th of December (dia de los inocentes), commemorative of the killing of the children of Bethlehem, is, strangely enough, characterized by the same prac- tices that distinguish our 1st of April. Upon All-souls Day the population flock to the cemetery, where itinerant friars and other poor priests find occu- pation, and are remunerated for chant- ing a few lines over the graves of the departed. They may also be seen soli- citing alms from door to door, or in the market, in the name of the Virgin, whose image they present to be kissed. Every religious order here, as in other parts of LA MANTILLA. 58 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. South America, invariably appears in its distinctive dress, and the priest who goes to administer the sacrament to a dying person is robed in white and covered by a capacious canopy, preceded by a choris- ter ringing a bell, and accompanied by numerous attendants carrying lighted ta- pers. To this procession all remove the hat, and many kneel. A death in Bogota is announced from the street corners, side by side witb theatrical and other advertise- ments. Among the higher classes the fu- neral rites are celebrated with no little os- tentation and ceremony. The poorer people indulge in a sort of wake, and ex~ose their dead to the public gaze while being conveyed through the streets. Among their many churches there are several exclusively frequented by the pue- blo, and prominent among these is Egip- to, situated at a considerable distance above the city, upon the side of Monserrate. A fiesta in this little edifice attracts all the low gamblers in the city, and before night the church is surrounded by temporary booths, where aguardiente (native bran- dy) and chicha are the staple commodi- ties, and monte, lottery, and many odd games of chance are openly operated with more than ordinary boldness and success. But Egipto is noted for something more than itsgamblingfiesta. The traveller who in London would seek white-bait at Green- wich, in Bogota must go to Egipto for a dish of chieheron tbe fried skin of a fresh- ly killed hog, and when properly cooked, delicately white and as crisp as a wafer. Elsewhere this edible material is tanned for saddle skirts! For the ladies of Bogota there are, out- side of the theatres, no public diversions, but perhaps in no part of the world is the home and home life more agreeable. Ter- tulias, or informal reunions of both sex- es during the evening, especially in De- cember-the Bogota seasonare of night- ly occurrence, and dancing is very gener- al. There is but one regular theatre, and although commodious, it is in very bad repair. Italian and French operas and Spanish plays are the rule. The ballet is not appreciated; and I have witnessed the se~oritas in their boxes almost turn their backs upon the graceful pas of the pre- mi& e danseuse, until, in deference to the wishes of his patrons, the manager has been compelled to publicly announce its discon- tinuance. The comparatively little liber- ty that the Spanish-American woman en- joys is nowhere more obvious than in the theatres. She may attend no public per- formance without a male member of the family, and even thus protected in Bogota, she may not enter an orchestra stall or the parquet. Both are exclusively occu- pied by men. The first or dress circle, as well as the second gallery, is entirely di- vided into boxes, or palcos, which accom- modate from five to ten persons, and these are usually filled by families. The latter is considered the most desirable. There is a third gallery common to both sexes, and popularly called the gallinera (hen- roost), which at each end and immediate- ly above the stage is inclosed by Venetian blinds, that, as well as the spaces they in- close, are called celosias (from zelos, or jealousy), where chiefly congregate a class of women who are debarred from publicly appearing because of mourning, from in- ability to purchase apalco, or by other less reputable reasons. The Sedan-chair, immortalized by Dick- ens, but obsolete almost everywhere else, is a common vehicle in Bogota, especially in going to and returning from the theatre. The secular fiesta of most importance in Colombia, and especially in its capital, whither flock the inhabitants from all parts of the country, is, of course, its an- niversary of independence, on the 20th of July; and it is gratifying to record that our own glorious fourth, as well as the 22d of February, the birthday of the first American liberator, is invariably com- memorated in both Houses of Congress by patriotic and friendly resolutions, by sa- lutes of artillery, and evolutions by the garrison of Bogota in the plaza of Bohivar. For their own national celebration the latter is handsomely decorated, and sur- rounded by temporary tiers of palcos, from which the entire population witness, during seven or eight days, various pub- lic exhibitions, feats of horsemanship, in which they excel, man~uvres by the Co- lombian Guard, and bull-fighting. The national colors, yellow, blue, and red (the blue ocean separating the blood-thirsty Spaniard from the golden shores of Co- lombia), float from every private house as well as public edifice, the hotels and Jockey Club swarm with guests, and at night the various casas de juego, brilliantly illu- minated, allure the lovers of roleta (Span- ish rouge et noir) and tresillo. Gam- bling is a very common vice, and during this season everybody plays patriotically. O ROYAL IROSE! the Roman dressd His feast with thee; thy petals pressd Augustan brows; thine odor fine, Mixd with the three-times-mingled wine, Lent the long Thracian draught its zest. What marvel then, if host and guest, By Love, by Bong, by Thee caressd, Half-trembled. on the half-divine, O royal Rose! And yetand yetI love thee best In our old gardens of the West, Whether about my thatch thou twine, Or Hers, that hr own-eyed maid of mine, Who lulls thee on her lawny breast, O royal Rose! VOL. LXXI.No. 4215

Austin Dobson Dobson, Austin To A June Rose 59-60

O ROYAL IROSE! the Roman dressd His feast with thee; thy petals pressd Augustan brows; thine odor fine, Mixd with the three-times-mingled wine, Lent the long Thracian draught its zest. What marvel then, if host and guest, By Love, by Bong, by Thee caressd, Half-trembled. on the half-divine, O royal Rose! And yetand yetI love thee best In our old gardens of the West, Whether about my thatch thou twine, Or Hers, that hr own-eyed maid of mine, Who lulls thee on her lawny breast, O royal Rose! VOL. LXXI.No. 4215 A NIGHT WITH THE GERMANS. XITE had met the enemy, and they VVwere ours that is to say, the ma- nceuvres of the day were nearly over, the umpires had rendered their decisions, the enemy was in full retreat, and we, in the advance of our corps, were in hot pursuit. We were in a lovely country on the edge of Thuringia, the garden of Germany, and in one of its most ancient provinces, rich and fertile Altenburg. A lovely coun- try indeed, with velvety green valleys, threaded by silvery winding streams, smil- ing and sparkling in the sun, and dotted with groups of red-roofed farm-houses half concealed in fruit - filled orchards. Away over in our front, along the richly wooded rolling hills, ran the white, dusty highway, winding in and out among the trees, and covered with the long columns of the slowly retreating enemy, their light- horse Green Hussars so called from the color of their dolmanshovering in clouds on their flanks and rear, and stub- bornly contesting our advance. Some- times the report of a rifle, and a wreath of white smoke curling up and floating a mo- ment in the clear air, as our skirmishers came in contact with their cavalry, and the occasional surly boom of a field-piece, as our horse-artillery fired a parting shot at the column slowly disappearing in the distance, indicated the direction of our pursuit. Back in the valleys behind us, relieved against the white walls of some houses, forming a diminutive village, the possession of which had been the ob- ject of the days manc~uvres, we could see our main body, the different brigades and regiments massed in solid dark squares on the green fields, where they were tak- ing up their positions preparatory to go- ing into bivouac for the night. It was well into the afternoon when the pursuit eiided. The last straggling hostile hussar had vanished behind the hills, our skirmishers were called in and joined their respective commands, and our battalion left the road on which we had been marching and formed in close col- umn of companies on a level field near by. A squadron of our own cavalry and a battery of horse-artillery were already in position near us. The guns were in park, and formed a sombre, formidable line with their massive but light wheels and carriages covered with dust, and their threatening muzzles blue with the pow- der they had been burning during the day. The men were as busy as bees about their horses, caring for them first, picket- ing them in lines, and shaking down their forage, but keeping the saddles on and ready for service at a moments notice. The cavalry had not all finished their days work yet, for the detail for the pick- ets rode off, as we approached, to form a line of videttes away in our front along the highway over which the enemy had retreated, and that ran at nearly right angles with our present position. Tired, hot, and hungry, hands and faces blackened by powder smoke and grimy with dirt, clothes and accoutrements cov- ered with dust, but with not a button out of place, not one heavy helmet shifted off their streaming foreheads, not a strap of the heavy knapsacks unbuckled or eased up, with eyes straight to the front, heels together, bodies erect, and the align- ment perfect, our sturdy infantrymen stood motionless where they had been halted, as if on parade fresh from their barracks. Although on their feet since early morning, marching and skirmishing all day long, although foot-sore and half faint with hungerfor they had not had a chance to eat since their breakfastthe iron German discipline held its stern sway over officers and men alike, and every movement and every detail of a move- ment, every necessary change in the manual of arms, was executed throughout with the mechanical precision of a tire- less machine. A.s the order to stack arms was given, the pieces came together with- out clashing, their butts falling with a dull thud to the ground, the leathiern, brass-bound, spear - pointed Pickelhau- beii were lifted off, placed under the stacks, each mans helmet by the butt of his rifle, and replaced by the soft, vizor- less, blue forage caps. The hair-covered knapsacks were unslung and placed in correctly aligned rows in rear of the lines of stacks, overcoats were unrolled and put on, the heavy cartridge-boxes, swinging on their pipe-chayed leather belts were buckled around the waists, and the can- teens and haversacks slung over the shoulders, for, when in the advanced guards, soldiers, even when preparing for rest, lie down in harness, and if awakened by the call to arms, are ready at once. Facing to the right, and breaking as one

Rufus Fairchild Zogbaum Zogbaum, Rufus Fairchild A Night With the Germans 60-68

A NIGHT WITH THE GERMANS. XITE had met the enemy, and they VVwere ours that is to say, the ma- nceuvres of the day were nearly over, the umpires had rendered their decisions, the enemy was in full retreat, and we, in the advance of our corps, were in hot pursuit. We were in a lovely country on the edge of Thuringia, the garden of Germany, and in one of its most ancient provinces, rich and fertile Altenburg. A lovely coun- try indeed, with velvety green valleys, threaded by silvery winding streams, smil- ing and sparkling in the sun, and dotted with groups of red-roofed farm-houses half concealed in fruit - filled orchards. Away over in our front, along the richly wooded rolling hills, ran the white, dusty highway, winding in and out among the trees, and covered with the long columns of the slowly retreating enemy, their light- horse Green Hussars so called from the color of their dolmanshovering in clouds on their flanks and rear, and stub- bornly contesting our advance. Some- times the report of a rifle, and a wreath of white smoke curling up and floating a mo- ment in the clear air, as our skirmishers came in contact with their cavalry, and the occasional surly boom of a field-piece, as our horse-artillery fired a parting shot at the column slowly disappearing in the distance, indicated the direction of our pursuit. Back in the valleys behind us, relieved against the white walls of some houses, forming a diminutive village, the possession of which had been the ob- ject of the days manc~uvres, we could see our main body, the different brigades and regiments massed in solid dark squares on the green fields, where they were tak- ing up their positions preparatory to go- ing into bivouac for the night. It was well into the afternoon when the pursuit eiided. The last straggling hostile hussar had vanished behind the hills, our skirmishers were called in and joined their respective commands, and our battalion left the road on which we had been marching and formed in close col- umn of companies on a level field near by. A squadron of our own cavalry and a battery of horse-artillery were already in position near us. The guns were in park, and formed a sombre, formidable line with their massive but light wheels and carriages covered with dust, and their threatening muzzles blue with the pow- der they had been burning during the day. The men were as busy as bees about their horses, caring for them first, picket- ing them in lines, and shaking down their forage, but keeping the saddles on and ready for service at a moments notice. The cavalry had not all finished their days work yet, for the detail for the pick- ets rode off, as we approached, to form a line of videttes away in our front along the highway over which the enemy had retreated, and that ran at nearly right angles with our present position. Tired, hot, and hungry, hands and faces blackened by powder smoke and grimy with dirt, clothes and accoutrements cov- ered with dust, but with not a button out of place, not one heavy helmet shifted off their streaming foreheads, not a strap of the heavy knapsacks unbuckled or eased up, with eyes straight to the front, heels together, bodies erect, and the align- ment perfect, our sturdy infantrymen stood motionless where they had been halted, as if on parade fresh from their barracks. Although on their feet since early morning, marching and skirmishing all day long, although foot-sore and half faint with hungerfor they had not had a chance to eat since their breakfastthe iron German discipline held its stern sway over officers and men alike, and every movement and every detail of a move- ment, every necessary change in the manual of arms, was executed throughout with the mechanical precision of a tire- less machine. A.s the order to stack arms was given, the pieces came together with- out clashing, their butts falling with a dull thud to the ground, the leathiern, brass-bound, spear - pointed Pickelhau- beii were lifted off, placed under the stacks, each mans helmet by the butt of his rifle, and replaced by the soft, vizor- less, blue forage caps. The hair-covered knapsacks were unslung and placed in correctly aligned rows in rear of the lines of stacks, overcoats were unrolled and put on, the heavy cartridge-boxes, swinging on their pipe-chayed leather belts were buckled around the waists, and the can- teens and haversacks slung over the shoulders, for, when in the advanced guards, soldiers, even when preparing for rest, lie down in harness, and if awakened by the call to arms, are ready at once. Facing to the right, and breaking as one A NIGHT WITH THE GERMANS. 61 man into the cadenced step, the battalion marched to a position alongside of their arms, each company in a line with its own rifles; the ranks were broken, and preparations for their meal and for passing the night were immediately begun. Some were detailed to go in search of water, and the various squads, their tin camp kettles, habitually carried strapped to the top of the knapsack, hanging on their arms, were falling in or marching off over the adjacent fields; others were unload- ing a huge wagon pile of straw that had come up, meanwhile, from the rear, the soldiers carrying it away in great arm- fuls to make their beds; some were cut- ting wood or digging the circular trench- es around the places where the bivouac fires were to be made, thus preventing the straw on which the men lie being ignited by the flames; while others again werc busily engaged in plaiting the same material into great screens to protect the sleepers from thgwind. These screens are fastened to stakes driven into the ground, and form a circlean opening being left for the ingress and eoress of the men around the fire, the soldiers sleeping with their heads against the screens and their feet toward the flames. The circle is called a Ecuerring (an glice, fire-ring), and forms as warm and comfortable a sleeping-place as the circumstances will permit. Although now no longer confined to the strict discipline of the ranks, tlie same spirit of order seemed to reign among the men. I could hear them cimatting and laughing over timeir tasks, but in a sub- dued man miner, and witlm a stolid attention SKIRMISHERS IN PURSUIT. 02 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to the work in hand. There was no loud singing and whistling, no dancing the cancan, no shouting and gesticulating, but everything was thoroughly and quick- ly done, and the straw-encircled Feuer- ringe rose as if by magic all about the quiet fields. No more picturesque or ap- propriate spot could have well been chosen for a bivouac than the little dell in which we were encamped. There was not a house or structure of any kind in sight, for we lay in a little green basin among the hills, surrounded by the quiet woods, the rays of the afternoon sun streaming through the leafy openings among the trees, and dancing in sparkling points of light on the burnished metal of the piles of arms. The caterer of the mess had been fortunate enough to procure a good din- ner for us, which had been discussed in the mess tent, pitched under the shade of the trees on the edge of the field, with ap- petites sharpened by the hard march and the long delay, for our meal had been brought up to us from the distant rear; and now we sat or lounged on the soft grass, smoking and sipping our after-din- ner coffee, which, although destitute of sweetening, and drank out of all kinds of drinking vessels, from the tin mug of the private soldier to the regulation cof- fee-cup, was as aro- matic and soothing as if fresh from Mocha itself. As the sun sank in the west, casting gigantic shadows of the moving figures of the men on the lawn - like surface of our resting- place, the life of the bivouac quieted down, and the men, some of them, their duties ended, and overcome by fatigue, were sleeping anywhere on the ground; others were chatting together in little groups, or polishing and cleaning the brasses of their accoutrements and the barrels of their guns; some strolled about aimlessly, their hands clasped behind them or thrust in their belts, or stood idly smoking their great porcelain pipes, and watching a game of cards, or listening to the maxims of some burly, bewhiskered non-commissioned officer. Now and then the notes of some soldier song or sweet German ballad, sung in subdued and low tones, floated in the still, calm air, mingling with the restless pawing of the horses and the evening hymns of the birds in the ad- jacent forest. Once a stag with a doe or two appeared on the edge of the woods, and gazed with wondering, frightened eyes at the unwonted sight, and then bounding back again, vanished into the thickets. The company detailed to occupy the advanced posts and to relieve the cavalry videttes was now formed under arms, and silently took up its march toward the po- sition assigned to it. This detachment was ARTILLERY OUTPOSTA QUIET GAME. 64 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to form a post advanced from our own, least suspicious sound in their front. IRe- and was again to be guarded by a smaller turning to the post first established, I detail from its own ranks, lying between found that, with true soldiers readiness, it and the advanced sentries, and furnish the men had made themselves as comfort- the reliefs for their line, the object being able as possible, had improvised a wind- to form a guard against surprise by any screen and fire-ring from a lot of branch- body of the enemy during the night. Al- es and brush they had gathered, and had ready the quiet of the evening had been constructed a most cozy and warm little broken by an occasional shot in the dis - hutif hut a structure barely four feet high tance, and we knew that the restless light- and wide and about six or seven feet long horsemen of our active opponent had been could be designatedfor the accommoda annoying our videttes. tion of the two officers in charge. Their The twilight was fast closing in as, aft- fire was burning brightly, and they were er promising to return to a Bowle, or all hopeful of spending a quiet night, un- light wine punch, which it was proposed disturbed by those wretched Green Hus- to brew in the mess that eve)ainga prom- sars who had so persistently bothered the ise gladly given, as I had no desire to lie videttes up to sunset. I bade them good- shivering all night on the picket lineI night, and started back over the fields to hurried after the little column winding rejoin my friends at the- bivouaca way over the fields~ in the gloaming. Not a easily found, for, after skirting the little word was spoken by the men as we march- hills that formed the sides of the hollow, ed, and care was taken to keep on the low I could see the glare of the fires that had grounds and under the shelter of the trees meanwhile been lighted. until we reached a little hollow, where a Away off on the horizon a yellow flick- few trees and a high hedge, that ran along ering light betokened the presence of the some abandoned or unused grounds or main body of our corps, whence, as I stood ~ame preserves at its top, would hide what for a moment alone in the darkness en joy- fire might be built from the prying eyes of ing the weird strangeness of the scene, there some prowling hussar or vigilant scouting came, borne on the evening wind over the party of the enemy. Here the post was distant fields, faintly yet distinctly, the established, and the lieutenant who was to plaintive sound of the fifes and muffled have charge of the fore-post started at once rolling of the drmns, rising and falling in with his command to a point about a quar- one strange, sad, sweet note, and then dy- ter of a mile further in advance, where ing away in a last long-drawn wail. It he likewise placed his men in a sheltered was das Locken, or call for assembly, nook, and proceeded to relieve the caval- and was followed, after a moments pause, rymen. We were now on the turnpike by the crash of the re~,imental bands, already mentioned, and soon established mellowed and softened by the distance communication with the rest of the line playing the martial German Zapfen- of advanced pickets on our right and left. streichthe tattooand I knew the hour Nothing of the enemy was visible, and of rest had come. everything about was as silent as if thou- Hurrying forward, I reached our biv- sands of men with hundreds of horses were ouac just as the troop ~as falling in for not lying in all the country round. The the evening prayer, although no tattoo day, save for the last warm flush in the had been beaten there, we being too near heavens in the west, was gone, and the the enemy, and the music might have be- stars shone down on the peaceful land- trayed our whereabouts. Quietly our lit- scape from an unclouded sky. There was the force moved up in front of the fires, a light breeze, and the tall poplars that the guard standing to their arms. Halt! bordered the highway, stretching gray in IRicht, euch ! and they stood there mo- - a long line till lost in the gathering shad- tionless in one solid dark block, relieved - ows, slightly moved their feathery tops, strong against the bright light of the fires the faint voices of the night were heard, and columns of smoke and sparks rising and the air was fragrant with the perfume almost straight upward to the black hea- of early evening, and cool and moist with vens. Out of the darkness came a short the gently falling dew. Silently the sen- word of command, Caps off for prayer tries stood under the poplar - trees, their and in solemn silence, with uncovered watchful eyes and ready ears strained to heads, the rough soldiers rendered thanks catch the slightest movement or hear the to the Almighty for His mercies. A NIGHT WITH THE GERMANS. 65 Lighted candles stuck in bottles or fast- asked about the land beyond the sea, where ned to rough - hewn blocks of wood so many of their countrymen and their were gleaming brightly on the plain pine descendants had their homes; about boards of the improvised table under the France, where I had been living for a long mess tent, when, the men having been dis- time, and about Paris, where I still re- missed, the officers sat down for an hours sided; about the French~ army, their life chat and smoke before turning in, and al- and their habits. Then the yarns about though our seats varied in shape and size the late war between the two countries, from a mess chest to a folding camp-chair, the suffering, the hardships, the fun aud and the table appointments were of the the fighting, the good wines and fair wo- simplest description, it would have been men of sunny Franceyarns that made difficult to have found a merrier or more the youngsters of the mess envious of their comfortable set of men than that of which elders, and anxious to take part some day our little party was composed. A hand- in a like, to them, glorious struggle. some, soldierly lot of gentlemen, these There was no boasting, no exultation of German officers, treating one with the the victor over the vanquished, but the freedom of the camp, but with the well- natural talk of soldiers over the adven- bred courtesy of their class, and full of tures of a campaign the like of which has eager hospitality to the stranger from far- seldom been met with in history. off America. Many were the questions So the evening wore away in pleasant TH FIRE-GUARD. 06 HAIRPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. chat, until the major, our commandant, tenant was standing by the fire in an at- gave the signal for us to disperse; and we titude of eager attention, his great-coat sought our beds. By the kind forethought thrown back and ready to be cast aside, of one of the officersmost amiable and while the murmur of voices that arose from considerate of lieutenantsI found that a about the other fires showed that the men comfortable lair had been prepared for there too were aroused. Suddenly there me by his side in one of the fire-rings, and was another dropping series of reports, snugly wrapped in our overcoats, a rub- followed in rapid succession by two or ber blanket under us, and a bi~ woollen three volleys of musketry, and the cry To one over us, my valise for a pillow, we arms! rang out in the night. In an in- lay down in the straw by the roaring fire. stant everything was in motion, as the Bidding me a kind good-night, my com- men rushed at the top of their speed to panion was soon in the land of dreams, the piles of arms. But there was no con- while I still lay watchin~, the sleeping fusion. Every man knew his place, the men, and the silent figure of the fire-guard, ranks were formed as if by magic, the as he sat on a log of wood poring over a stacks were broken, and the human ma- story-book by the light of the flames, and chine stood there in its completeness ready occasionally rising to replenish the fire to move and to act at the command of its from a pile of wood at his side. My master. The cavalry, as I could see by neighbor on my other side was a great the fitful glare of the fires, were standing stout sergeant, who snored like a trooper, by theirhorses. A squad mounted and rode and who kept edgin~ up to me for warmth off in the darkness, the guns of the horse- and creature comfort. Never awakenin~, battery were limbered up, and the drivers if I made the shi~,htest mQvement to es- and gunners stood at their posts. Again cape from his too close companionship, the spiteful rattle of small-arms was heard, tbe worthy fellow would grunt and edge and flashes of fire sparkled in the distance up again until close to me, when at last I like fire-flies. gave up in despair, and philosophically re- But our rest, although thus rudely bro- signed myself to the inevitable. Grada- ken, was not to be further disturbed that ally my eyes closed~ the man by the fire night, for the fire in our front gradually grew more indistinct. A.re there two men diminished and moved away from us over reading romances, or is it one man with to our right, where for a few moments it two heads? I felt the comfortable, sooth- increased again rapidly, until quite a sharp ing warmth of early sleep, and soon all was engagement seemed to be in progress at oblivion. - the outposts, over a mile or so from us. What was that? Am I a boy again, This too died away in a short time. A and is it the Fourth of July, and have my messenger from our front reported every- playmates begun the celebration of the day thing quiet again in all directions, and with the phiz and bang of the early fire- the sleepy soldiers once more sought their cracker? Something has disturbed my resting-places to snatch a few moments slumber, and still dreaming that it is time more repose before the dawn, for it wa to get up, and that Harry Brown and Tom- now well on into the wee sma hours. my Black are out before me on Independ- For the life of me I could not sleep any ence - day, I half open my eyes. Pop! more, so I rested quietly on my back, watch- pop! prrrutt! pop! Those are no fire-crack- ing the waning fire and the recumbent ers, nor is it Harry Brown who is shak- forms of the soldiers in the ring. Strong, ing me by the arm and speaking to me in heavily framed young peasants, most of guttural German, but my honest friend them, though here and there the more re- the sergeant, who is telling me that the fined features of some Freiwilhige, or outposts have been attacked, and who is volunteer from the better classes of sou- blanking the industrious fellows on the ety, were distinguishable, in spite of the other side who can not let peacefully dis- privates coarse uniform. ~Now and again posed soldiers enjoy their well - earned one of the men stirred or muttered some- nights repose. As I sprang to my feet thing in his sleep, while two or three, who, and looked about me, I saw the men rising like myself, were unable to again close from the straw and gazing half dazed out their eyes, sat or stood before the fire, smok- into the gloom, or rubbing the sleep from ing and talking in under-tones. their eyes, as they awaited the expected With the first rosy blushes of the dawn signal to rush to their posts. The lieu- the men began to rise, and before the sun A NIGHT WITH THE GERMANS. 67 was fairly over the horizon the place was all astir with preparations for the early breakfast of rye bread and coffee. The rough camp toilet was quickly madein my own case by cold water poured over my head and face from a bucket in the ready hands of a good-natured, grinning soldier and having hastily drunk our coffee, we were soon on the march to rejoin the main body. As we moved we saw the columns of our cavalry advancing, while in front of their late bivouacs the infantryandartillery were massing, and by the occasional shout that rose from the different battalions we knew that the ~,eneral commanding, sturdy old Von Blumenthal himself, was making his morning rounds. Our battalion was drawn up in a field as the grim old sol- dier, accompanied by a modest - looking staff and a few orderlies, rode up, and with a touch of the peak of his scarlet-banded fatigue cap, gave us in ~ strong clear voice his Guten Morgen ! As with one voice the ringing answer, Guten Morgen, Ex- cellenz ! bursts from the men, and the white-haired chief rode slowly down the lines, his sharp eyes scanning the motion- less ranks, all glittering in the glory of the morning sun. Then words of command were heard - from the heads of the various regiments, the troops began to move, and the roads on all sides were soon covered with col- urnus upon columns of marching soldiery. Up against the sky on the heights before us we could see artillery going into bat- tery. A moment later a white cloud burst out from the dark group, followed by the distant boom of the gun, and the work of the day had commenced. A VIDETTE. KNOXVILLE IN THE OLDEN TIME. IT was on a summer day in the year 1787 that a couple of horsemen baited on the northern bank of the Hoiston, about four miles below the mouth of the French Broad, to survey the picturesque scene everywhere about them. They were at the summit of a low ridge that sloped abruptly down to the river, here flowing in a turbid stream, a hundred and fifty yards in width, and broken by a small island, clad in green, and covered with giant oaks and poplars towering a hundred feet and more into the air. On the oppo- site bank was a range of lofty hills, rising near by in grassy slopes from the waters edge, and beyond breaking into perpen- dicular cliffs whose summits bore the for- est growth of many centuries. Every- where was this primitive forest, inter- spersed with a dense foliage of laurel and rhododendron that loaded with perfume all the atmosphere. No sound broke the stillness save the music of the birds that were singing their morl4ing hymn among the trees, and the low murmur of a little streamlet, which, fed by numerous springs, poured its clear waters into the turbid nv- er through a deep ravine not a hundred yards away. It was a scene of such quiet and peace and rural beauty as the weary travellers had never beheld. The dense growth of decid- uous trees indicated a deep, rich soil, and the numerous springs that bubbled up along the margin of the narrow stream would furnish an inexhaustible supply of pure water for a settlement. These fea- tures marked the spot as an appropriate site for the home of which these men were in quest, and, moreover, the summit on which they stood was natures own loca- tion for a fortand without a fort no frontier hamlet was in those times safe from the murderous attacks of the Indians. For these were troublous times in this wide territory, west of the Alleghaimics. The settler who built his household fire in this wilderness carried his life in his hand. Scarcely a spring, or a ford, or a hamlet, or a wooded path among the hills in all the broad region now comprising the States of Kentucky and Tennessee but had, at the date of which I am writing, been the scene of some savage atrocity, or some heroic exploit of the white settler battling for his home and the lives of his wife and children. For nearly twenty years the conflict had been wageda hand- ful of white men against twenty thou- sand savage Creeks, Choctaws, Chero- kees, and Chickasaws, the bravest, most warlike, and most blood-thirsty of all the native tribes east of the Mississippi; and nothing had saved the white settlers from total extermination, and Southwestern civ- ilization from utter extinction,except these rude forts, and the sleepless vigilance and remarkable qualities of that greatest of In- dian fighters, John Sevier. When Sevier was within striking distance, the home of the white man was safe, but, though he moved with the celerity of the wind, he was not altogether ubiquitous, and hence the settlers sought additional security in a stout barrack of logs erected in the heart of every settlement. The fort which the two horsemen whom I have mentioned erected on the summit of the rid~e over- looking the Holston was a type of all that were built beyond the Alleghanies, and therefore merits a somewhat particular description. It covered a triangular piece of ground of about half an acre. At each corner was a cabin of hewn logs a foot or more square, the ends morticed, and the logs fit- ted closely one upon the other, so as to form a wall impenetrable to bullets. Two of these cabins were of two stories, the up- per story projecting about two feet beyond the lower, and pierced with port - holes, from which the settler could see and repel aii enemy should he approach near enough to scale the stockade or set fire to the buildings. The stockade filled the inter- vemming spaces between the cabins, and was of timber a foot square and eight feet long, mmnbedded firmly in the ground, the upper ends sharpened, and time whole set so close- ly together as to be impervious to small- arms. A wide gate, hung on stout wooden hinges, and secured by heavy hickory bars, opened toward the little stream, and from it a path led down to one of the many springs along its border. Though of rude construction, and not very imposing in ap})earance, the fort was altogether impregnable to any attack from such desultory warriors as the Indians, unless they should come upon it in over- whelming numbers, or by a regular siege starve out the garrison. In such a rude barrack John Sevier, with only forty men and a meagre supply of ammunition,

Edmund Kirke Kirke, Edmund Knoxville In the Olden Time 68-77

KNOXVILLE IN THE OLDEN TIME. IT was on a summer day in the year 1787 that a couple of horsemen baited on the northern bank of the Hoiston, about four miles below the mouth of the French Broad, to survey the picturesque scene everywhere about them. They were at the summit of a low ridge that sloped abruptly down to the river, here flowing in a turbid stream, a hundred and fifty yards in width, and broken by a small island, clad in green, and covered with giant oaks and poplars towering a hundred feet and more into the air. On the oppo- site bank was a range of lofty hills, rising near by in grassy slopes from the waters edge, and beyond breaking into perpen- dicular cliffs whose summits bore the for- est growth of many centuries. Every- where was this primitive forest, inter- spersed with a dense foliage of laurel and rhododendron that loaded with perfume all the atmosphere. No sound broke the stillness save the music of the birds that were singing their morl4ing hymn among the trees, and the low murmur of a little streamlet, which, fed by numerous springs, poured its clear waters into the turbid nv- er through a deep ravine not a hundred yards away. It was a scene of such quiet and peace and rural beauty as the weary travellers had never beheld. The dense growth of decid- uous trees indicated a deep, rich soil, and the numerous springs that bubbled up along the margin of the narrow stream would furnish an inexhaustible supply of pure water for a settlement. These fea- tures marked the spot as an appropriate site for the home of which these men were in quest, and, moreover, the summit on which they stood was natures own loca- tion for a fortand without a fort no frontier hamlet was in those times safe from the murderous attacks of the Indians. For these were troublous times in this wide territory, west of the Alleghaimics. The settler who built his household fire in this wilderness carried his life in his hand. Scarcely a spring, or a ford, or a hamlet, or a wooded path among the hills in all the broad region now comprising the States of Kentucky and Tennessee but had, at the date of which I am writing, been the scene of some savage atrocity, or some heroic exploit of the white settler battling for his home and the lives of his wife and children. For nearly twenty years the conflict had been wageda hand- ful of white men against twenty thou- sand savage Creeks, Choctaws, Chero- kees, and Chickasaws, the bravest, most warlike, and most blood-thirsty of all the native tribes east of the Mississippi; and nothing had saved the white settlers from total extermination, and Southwestern civ- ilization from utter extinction,except these rude forts, and the sleepless vigilance and remarkable qualities of that greatest of In- dian fighters, John Sevier. When Sevier was within striking distance, the home of the white man was safe, but, though he moved with the celerity of the wind, he was not altogether ubiquitous, and hence the settlers sought additional security in a stout barrack of logs erected in the heart of every settlement. The fort which the two horsemen whom I have mentioned erected on the summit of the rid~e over- looking the Holston was a type of all that were built beyond the Alleghanies, and therefore merits a somewhat particular description. It covered a triangular piece of ground of about half an acre. At each corner was a cabin of hewn logs a foot or more square, the ends morticed, and the logs fit- ted closely one upon the other, so as to form a wall impenetrable to bullets. Two of these cabins were of two stories, the up- per story projecting about two feet beyond the lower, and pierced with port - holes, from which the settler could see and repel aii enemy should he approach near enough to scale the stockade or set fire to the buildings. The stockade filled the inter- vemming spaces between the cabins, and was of timber a foot square and eight feet long, mmnbedded firmly in the ground, the upper ends sharpened, and time whole set so close- ly together as to be impervious to small- arms. A wide gate, hung on stout wooden hinges, and secured by heavy hickory bars, opened toward the little stream, and from it a path led down to one of the many springs along its border. Though of rude construction, and not very imposing in ap})earance, the fort was altogether impregnable to any attack from such desultory warriors as the Indians, unless they should come upon it in over- whelming numbers, or by a regular siege starve out the garrison. In such a rude barrack John Sevier, with only forty men and a meagre supply of ammunition, KNOXVILLE IN THE OLDEN TIME. 69 held at bay for twenty days, and finally repulsed with considerable loss, a force of six hundred savages, led by Oconostota, the great archimagus and most renowned chieftain of the Cherokees! And this he did without the loss of a single man. But attack and not defense was Seviers favorite mode of warfare. An open forest and enough daylight to take good aim were all he asked for his unerring Deck- ard rifles; and woe to the Indian town on which he swooped down, firing its wig- wams, and blasting with his lightning breath the very stalks in the corn fields! It was thus that with ~nly a handful of riflemen he struck terr6r into the hearts of twenty thousand savages, and encircled as with a girdle of fire the infant settle- ments along the iolston and Watauga. And why is it that the daring exploits and great services of this remarkable man have never been written? But I mistake: they have been writtenin the hearts of a million and a half of people. Even now, after the lapse of nearly a century, aged men speak his name with loving rev- erence, and young children listen with wondering delight to the thrilling story of his life, in many a rude hut and many a stately mansion beyond the Alleghanies. I vividly remember how the venerable his- torian of Tennessee,* the late Dr. Ham- sey, bedridden, his faculties fast sinking under the wight of eighty-eight years, heard the mention of his name. I had * Dr. J. G. N. Ramsey, of Knoxville, author of the Annals of Tennessee, to whom the writer is iudel5ted for many of the facts iu this skctch. JOHN SEVIER. 70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. shown him the portrait of Sevier which ac- companies this article, and asked if it was a correct likeness, when his eye brightened, his face lighted up, and half raising his palsied hand, he said, with tremulous ani- mation: Ah, sir, he was a great man, a very great man, one of the purest, most he- roic, and most self-devoted men in Ameri- can history. I knew him well when I was a lad; for many years we attended the same church. This picture of him was tak- en about the time of Kings Mountain, when he turned the tide in favor of Amer- ican freedom. He was the rear-guard of the Revolution, and without him or some other man just like him, the colonies could never have heaten off the savages, or achieved their independence of Great Brit- ain. But I am writing about the fort at Knoxville, and the two Revolutionary vet- eransJames White and James Conner, from Iredell County, North Carolina-who built it, and thus laid the foundation of the future capital of Tennessee. Felling the trees about the barrack, and clearing the ground of stumps to prevent their be- coming hiding-places for savage assailants, they planted the cleared land in corn, and then went away for their families. They returned with them the same year, and, with the family of another Revolutionary soldier, took up their abode in the fort, and thus began the first settlement at this re- mote outpost of civilization. They were in the heart of the primitive forest, and the life they led was of the most primitive description. Pounded corn was their only bread, their only meat the game brought down by their rifles. They planted flax, and this the women made into garments; but the men had scarcely other clothing than the deer-skin leggings and hunting-shirts of the aborigines. But not long did they live here alone. Emi- gration was rolling rapidly westward, and soon other settlers came about them, and among them some whose names have won at least casual mention in history. One of these was John Adair, the patriotic en- try-taker (tax-collector) of the district of Washin oton In 1780 Sevier was recruiting and at his own expense equipping the army with which he conquered Ferguson at Kings Mountain. His exchequer was low, from frequent drafts of a similar nature, and he had tried to borrow from his neighbors, on his personal responsibility, money enough to finish the fitting out of the expedition. But not a man among them had a dollar; they had expended all their ready means in taking up their lands, or in paying taxes to the entry-taker. HeJohn Adairwas the only one who had any money in the territory, and the plans of Sevier were likely to be retarded, if not altogether frus- trated, for the lack of the wherewith to buy horses and equipments for his soldiery. From the distance of a hundred years we can look back, and, seeing all the circum- stances, may realize that this was the turn- ing-point of the Revolution, and that the fate of the nation, humanly speaking, hung on Seviers securing possession of a paltry amount of legal currency. It may be questioned if Sevier saw the magnitude of the issue at stake; but whether he saw it or not, it is certain that he suggested to Adair that he should loan him whatever funds of the State were in his possession. And the following, as recorded by tradition, was Adairs answer: Colonel Sevier, I have no right to make any such disposition of this money. It belongs to the impoverished Treasury of North Carolina. But if the country is overrun by the British, liberty is gone. Let the money go too. Take it. If by its use the enemy is driven from the country, I can trust that country to justify and vin- dicate my conduct. Take it. Sevier took it, and the result was Kings Mountain. Years afterward, in examining some papers of Seviers that had been found in the attic of a deserted house in Knoxville, Dr. Ramsey came upon the following re- ceipt, which shows that Sevier repaid this money to North Carolina, the very State for whose defenseyea, salvationit had been expended: Recd Jany 31st, 1782, of Mr. John Adair, Entry-taker iii the county of Sullivan, twelve thousaii d seven him dined and thirty-five dollars, which is i)Iace~l to his credit on the Treasury books. Per ROBERT LANIER, Tre asr, 12,735 Dollars. Salisbury Dist. Another settler who built his cabin a few miles distant from the fort at Knox- ville was James Cosby, an old Indian fighter. and one of the most trusted of Se- viers lieutenants. He it was who about this time headed the little expedition which invaded North Carolina and res- cued Sevier, when he was under the ban of outlawry and being tried for his life by KNOXVILLE IN THE OLDEN TIME. 71 the very State he had so lately saved from destruction. Such excitement was never known be- yond the Alleghanies as when it was noised abroad in the early morning that Noli- chucky Jack had been kidnapped over- night, placed in irons, and between dark and daylight spirited over the mountains, on a~charge of high treason, by the State authorities of North Carolina. To quote the_ somewhat high-flown language of a document of the period, Had the destroy- ing angel passed through the land, and de- stroyed the first-born in every dwelling, the feelings of the hardy frontiersmen would not have been more aronsed; had the chiefs and warriors of the whole Cher- okee nation fallen upon and butchered the defenseless settlers, the spirit of retaliation and revenge wonid not have been more deeply awakened in their bosoms. Sevier was the idol of the frontier peo- ple. His captivating manners, generous public spirit, great personal bravery, and high soldierly qualities had won him the admiration and love of every man, wo- man, amd child in the territory. For years, without pay or reward, he had stood sen- tinel over their homes, had guarded them through terrible dangers, and led them to wonderful victories; and now, when ahand that should have been friendly had been lifted against his life, every man felt it as a blow aimed at his own person, an out- rage that could be wiped out only in blood. So every one thought and felt as he shoul- dered his trusty rifle and hurried to the rendezvous. The tidings had flown with the wind; men had come together as if by instinct; and before night-fall more than a thousand dauntless backwoodsmen, armed to the teeth, had gathered at Jonesborongh, determined to rescue their beloved com- mander, or leave their bones to bleach on the sand hills of North Cardlina. For a time it seemed as if nothing could hinder RESCUE OF sEVIER. 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a hostile invasion of the mother State, and the bloodshed and lasting animosity that would inevitably have followed. But at last wiser and more moderate counsels pre- vailed, and these counsels came from James Cosby, of Knoxville. With three others Major Evans and James and John Sevier, the two sons of the general, who, when boys of fifteen and seventeen, had fought by his side at Kings MountainCosby proposed to go to the rescueto effect by stratagem what would be impolitic and hazardous to undertake by open force. They went, the four men, mounted on fleet horses, and leading a bay mare of Se- viers, which was noted as the swiftest- footed animal in the territory. The trial was in progress at Morganton, and many thousands had come together to witness what was deemed by far the most impor- tant political event that had occurred since the proclamation of peace with Great Brit- ain. The rude log court-house could not contain the crowd, and the court sat with open doors and windows, much the larger part of the auditory being gathered outside in the court-yard. The rescuers halted on the outskirts of Morganton, and concealing their horses in a clump of underbrush, left them there, all saddled and bridled, in charge of the young Seviers. Then Cosby and Evans, disguised as countrymen, entered the town, the former lounging along on foot, the lat- ter astride of the fleet mare of his old com- mander. When they arrived at the court- house, Evans dismounted, and throwing the bridle loosely over the neck of the ani- mal, stood with her directly before the open door, and in plain view from the interior of the building. Then Cosby entered the court-room, and elbowing his way up the crowded aisle, halted directly in front of the judges bench, and only a few feet from where his beloved leader sat, encompassed by the court officials, but as cool and un- daunted as when charging the hosts of Wyuca on the Lookout Mountain. Soon Cosby caught his eye, and by a significant gesture directed his attention to his favor- ite horse, which stood impatiently pawing the ground at the doorway. With one glance the quick eye of Sevier took in the situation. Seeing that he was understood, Cosby pressed nearer to the bench, and in the quick, energetic tone which was pecul- iar to him, said to the judge, Are you not about done with that man The question, and the tone and manner of the speaker, drew all eyes upon him in amazement. For a few momentsas Cosby had intendedall was confusion. Taking instant advantage of this, Sevier sprang from among the officers, and the crowd parting to tl]e right and left, with two bounds he was upon the back of his horse, and in two hours far away among the mountains. He was followed by the cheers of the crowd, and by a posse of State offi- cials, who rode as if the fate of North Caro- lina hung upon the capture of the fugitive. But they could not outstrip the wind; the mare did that, and she scarcely slackened her pace till she had borne her brave rider in safety to his home on the Nohichucky. As tidings of Seviers escape flew from hamlet to hamlet, the xvhiole territory broke out into a blaze of bonfires and illumina- tions, and soon the people elected him branded rebel and outlaw as he wasto the Senate of North Carolina, and within a twelvemouth Washington gave him the rank of General, and supreme military command of the district now comprised in East Tennessee. This was the verdict which the people and the President rendered to the indidt- ments for high treason brought against John Sevier by the State of North Caro- lina. These brief anecdotes illustrate the kind of men who were among the first settlers upon the Holston. Others were there as good and true, and I might fill this article with their exploits; but if I did I should stray away from my subject, which is Knoxville in the Olden Time, and the men and women who made it the first cap- ital of a great commonwealth. Knoxville had a gradual growth; it did not, like sonic Western towns, blossom out in a single day in all the glory of painted weather-boarding. Its progress was by more regular and moderate stages. First came the rude cabin of hewn logs with punclieon floor and unglazed windows; then, at the end of a half-decade, there went up a frame dwelling. This was the Governors house, and it stood alone in its glory for another half - decade; but soon after 1796, when commenced the long reign of John Sevierwhiieh brought to the entire frontier peace, security, and abounding prosperitythe whole town de- veloped into clap-boards, and before long arrayed itself in dingy bricks arid mortar. Dwellings and public buildings rapidly went up that were remarkable for an in- KNOXVILLE IN THE OLDEN TIME. 73 land town of the period, and the people, a quarter of a mile west of the fort, and waxing proud, began to despise the hum- near the grounds now occupied by the uni- ble log dwellings in which they had been versity. In this humble mansion he cradled. One by one the old cabins were held such state as he could, for he was a torn down to make room for more stately man fond of ceremony; and here, too, structures; and to-day only one of them Mary Grainger dispensed such numberless remains, a sad, dilapidated memorial of graces as charmed alike the rude frontiers- the simple tastes and frugal lives of the man and the still ruder aborigines. She past century. was a gentle, lovable woman, and she so This rude cabin was in its day the home won the hearts of even the Cherokee chief- of one of the most influential citizens of tains that, when carrying fire and toma- Knoxville. He was a God-fearing man hawk to the settlements along the Holston, with a large family, and he planned to they passed by the town where she had build a two-storied dwelling with room her dwelling. She was born for another and verge enough for his numerous pro- sphere, for a more refined and cultured geny. But when the logs were upon the existence; but she cheerfully accepted her ground, and the structure had risen a lot in life, and did worthily and well the short distance above the first story, he duties of her station. In remembrance of said to the friends who were aiding in its this and of her many virtues a grateful erection: Why should I have a house people, have rendered her an honor rarely so much better than my neighbors? And, shown to a woman: they have written besides, shall I not be tempting Providence her name on the map of Tennessee, in a if I build such a tower of Babel as this town, Maryville, and a county, Grainger. will be if we carry it up a full second But a rude log hut was not a suitable story ? So the cabin rose no higher than house for the Governors gentle wife, and it was, and thus it has remained to this lie, being a man of abundant means, day, except that a descendant of the patri- planned and erected for her a more ele- areh, less humble of spirit than his pro- gant and commodious mansion. It was genitor, years ago covered its naked ugh- located on the slope betxveen the fort and ness -with a coat of rough weather-board- the river, and when built was as pretentious ing. a dwelling as could be found anywhere In 1790 North Carolina shook off her west of the sea-board. The frame was of troublesome offspring, and ceded to the oak, covered with planed weather-board- United States her broad domain west of ing, and the house was surrounded by a the Alleghanies. This Congress at once well-kept garden, which was the delight erected into the Territory southwest of of all beholders. It looked down upon a the river Ohio, and Washington appoint- log court-house, a log jail, and a score or ed as its Governor William Bhount, of two of log dwellings, which, with the log North Carolina, and as its military com- barrack previously mentioned, composed mandant John Sevier, the Nohichucky the capital of the vast territory over which Jack of the border. Blount had been one Governor Blount held dominion, and out of the framers of the Constitution, and of which have since been carved a number was a personal friend of Washington. of the largest States of this Union. He was a man of character and position, In this old house the Governor lived one of the old-time Carolina gentry, and freely, and even elegantly, and dispensed with his accomplished ladythe venerated the liberal hospitality so natural in the and beloved ary Graingersoon infused olden time to the well-born and well-bred into the Territorial society a degree of cuh- Carolina gentleman. Levees and recep- ture and refinement that is not often found tions were frequent, and the mansion was among a backwoods people. He at first often crowded with strangers, drawn to made his capital at Watauga Old Fields, the frontier by business, pleasure, or curm- where had been planted, twenty years be- osity froni all parts of the Union. The fore, the germ of Southwestern civihiza- style of hospitality was, of necessity, below tion; but he soon removed to Knoxville, that of Philadelphia and other of the old- to be nearer the restless Cherokees, whose er cities; but in the condition of things it murderous raids were giving constant was not less expensive to the liberal host, trouble to the dwellers upon the border. who was forced to draw all his luxuries Here at first he lived in a plain log and elegancies from long distances on cabin, which stood on a gentle knoll, about pack-horses or clumsy ox-wagons. The KNOXVILLE IN THE OLDEN TIME. 73 land town of the period, and the people, waxing proud, began to despise the hum- ble log dwellings in which they had been cradled. One by one the old cabins were torn down to make room for more stately structures; and to-day only one of them remains, a sad, dilapidated memorial of the simple tastes and frugal lives of the past century. This rude cabin was in its day the home of one of the most influential citizens of Knoxville. He was a God-fearing man with a large family, and he planned to build a two-storied dwelling with room and verge enough for his numerous pro- geny. But when the logs were upon the ground, and the structure had risen a short distance above the first story, he said to the friends who were aiding in its erection: Why should I have a house so mud) better than my neighbors? And, besides, shall I not be tempting Providence if I build such a tower of Babel as this will be if we carry it up a full second story ? So the cabin rose no higher than it was, and thus it has remained to this day, except that a descendant of the patri- arch, less humble of spirit than his pro- genitor, years ago covered its naked ugli- ness with a coat of rough weather-board- ing. In 1790 North Carolina shook off her troublesome offspring, and ceded to the United States her broad domain west of the Alleghanies. This Congress at once erected into the Territory southwest of the river Ohio, and Washington appoint- ed as its Governor William Blount, of North Carolina, and as its military com- mandant John Sevier, the Nolichucky Jack of the border. Blount had been one of the framers of the Constitution, and was a personal friend of Washington. He was a man of character and position, one of the old-time Carolina gentry, and with his accomplished ladythe venerated and beloved Mary Graingersoon infused into the Territorial society a degree of cul- ture and refinenient that is not often found among a backwoods people. He at first made his capital at Watauga Old Fields, where had been planted, twenty years be- fore, the germ of Southwestern civiliza- tion; but he soon removed to Knoxville, to be nearer the restless Cherokees, whose murderous raids xk~ere giving constant trouble to the dwellers upon the border. Here at first he lived in a plain log cabin, which stood on a gentle knoll, about a quarter of a mile ~vest of the fort, and near the grounds now occupied by the uni- versity. In this humble mansion he held such state as he could, for he was a man fond of ceremony; and here, too, Mary Grainger dispensed such numberless graces as charmed alike the rude frontiers- man and the still ruder aborigines. She was a gentle, lovable woman, and she so won the hearts of even the Cherokee chief- tains that, when carrying fire and toma- hawk to the settlements along the Holston, they passed by the town where she had her dwelling. She was born for another sphere, for a more refined and cultured existence; but she cheerfully accepted her lot in life, and did worthily and well the duties of her station. In remembrance of this and of her many virtues a grateful people, have rendered her an honor rarely shown to a woman: they have written her nanie on the map of Tennessee, in a town, Maryville, and a county, Grainger. But a rude log hut was not a suitable house for the Governors gentle wife, and lie, being a man of abundant means, planned and erected for her a more ele- gant and commodious mansion. It was located on the slope between the fort and the river, and when built was as pretentious a dwelling as could be found anywhere west of the sea-board. The frame was of oak, covered with planed weather-board- ing, and the house was surrounded by a well-kept garden, which was the delight of all beholders. It looked down upon a log court-house, a log jail, and a score or two of log dwellings, which, with the log barrack previously mentioned, composed the capital of the vast territory over which Governor Blount held dominion, and out of which have since been carved a number of the largest States of this Union. Iii this old house the Governor lived freely, and even elegantly, and dispensed the liberal hospitality so natural in the olden time to the well-born and well-bred Carolina gentleman. Levees and recep- tions were frequent, and the mansion was often crowded with strangers, drawn to the frontier by business, pleasure, or curi- osity from all parts of the Union. The style of hospitality was, of necessity, below that of Philadelphia and other of the old- er cities; but in the condition of things it. was not less expensive to the liberal host, who was forced to draw all his luxuries and elegancies from long distances on pack-horses or clumsy ox-wagons. The KNOXVILLE IN THE OLDEN TIME. 75 visitor, however, whoever he wa~, rich or poor, white man or red, was sure of a cor- dial welcome, and none ever went away without speaking in honest praise of the hearty good feeling of the gentlemanly Governor, and the genuine grace and goodness of his accomplished lady. And so it was that an influence went out from the old mansion which had a wonderful effect in giving a certain polish and refine- ment to the rustic sons and daughters of the borderan influence which perhaps they would not have felt or profited by had it not been communicated by so much unassuming grace and hearty kindliness. But the old mansion was built in troub- bus times, and the new coat of paint on it was scarcely dry when it narrowly es- caped a fiery baptism. Soon after the solitary cannon of the fort announced the sunrise on the morning of September 25, 1793, a horseman, his horse covered with foam, rode in hot haste into the quiet town crying out: The Cherokees are coming! A thousand strong! Not ten miles away! Every man to the barrack ! They fled to the fort, the men leaving the plough in the furrow, the women the morning hoe-cake unbaked before the fire, and there they made ready, as well as they could, to meet and repel so overwhelming a force of the enemy. Governor Blount and General Sevie~ are both away, the lat- ter in pursuit of this same horde of Creeks and Cherokees, who have stolen into hi~ rear by a flank movement; and James White, the pioneer settler, a man now be- yond his prime, but an able soldier, takes command of the little band of forty settlers. Three hundred United States muskets and a large amount of ammunition are stored in the fort, and this is the prize for which the Indians hazard an attack on the town, with Nolichucky Jack on their flank, and not more than twenty miles away. The fire-arms are unboxed, put in order, and set beside the port-holes, and every souleven the women and older children are put at work moulding bullets and loading muskets. The women and chil- dren are to load, while the men are to fire, and thus the effective force of the garrison will be augmented to a hundred. There is no haste, nor hurry, but all work for dear life, for well each one knows that his life depends upon itfor the savages spare neither sex nor age: if the fort is taken, it will be an indiscriminate massacre. So the hours wear awayone hour, two VOL. LXXI.No. 4216 hours, and the watchman on the look. out sees, as yet, no sign of the savages. Now another horseman rides up also in hot haste, his horse too covered with the foam and dust of hard riding. He reports the Cherokees, fifteen hundred strong, at Corets, scarcely eight miles away. They have halted there, set fire to the stables, and will no doubt massacre the thirteen men, women, and children who are at the station. Is this not a prophecy of the fate that awaits the little garrison? This they all think, but not a soul gives his thought expression. With firm, fixed eyes they look into one anothers faces, and what they say is, If we must die, we will sell our lives as dearly as possible. Then other anxious hours wear away: one hour, two hours, three, four, five, till the sun begins to sink below the hills; but still the watchman on the lookout calls at regular intervals, Nothing yet of the redskins. What does it mean this delay of the savages? The veteran White now calls a council, and asks every man for his opinion. The majority think that the Indians, true to their, usual tac- tics, are waiting for the darkness to cover their movements, and that they will be upon the fort by midnight. White him- self is of this opinion, and he asks, But what can we do forty men against a thousand ? We can die, answers Crozier; but before we die we can send hundreds of those red fiends to rake coals in the devils kitchen. White is as brave a man as Crozier, and like him an old soldier; but he be- lieves that what can not be effected by force can sometimes be accomplished by stratagem. A mile to the west, by the route the savages will come, is a high ridge covered with a dense growth of oak and poplar. He proposes that all the men in the fort shall repair there after night-fall, conceal themselves among the trees, in a line, about twenty yards apart, and thus await the coming of the Indians. When the advance of the savages is with- in short musket range of the most remote of the garrison, he shall fire, and that shall be the signal for each man to take deliberate aim and bring down an enemy. Then, without waiting to even note the effect of his discharge, every man shall make his way as quickly as he can to the fort, which, if the Indians should come on, they shall defend to the last extremity. 76 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. But it is thought that the sudden attack in the woods will throw the enemy into confusion, that he will expect a formi- dable ambuscade, and will seek safety in flight, leaving the fort unmolested. It was a hazardous plan, but these brave men put it into execution. All night long they waited there, resting on their muskets; but no savage yell broke the stillness of their vigil, and in the morn- ing another horseman came, announcing that the Indians, after destroying Corets, had turned suddenly southward. They were then in full retreat to the Tellico, and close at their heels was Nolichucky Jack, the Nemesis of the Cherokees. This the savages knew, and hence their sudden flight to their mountain fastnesses. And now a month goes away, the Gov- ernor has returned, and we may suppose the old house to be lighted up for a social gathering; for a document now before me shows that Sevier was there on the 25th of October, 1793, and doubtless the whole town turned out to greet and welcome him; for the mere terror of his name had but lately saved them from massacre, and now he had returned from a campaign of victory. While, as we imagine, the towns-people are crowding about him, we will glance for a moment at his personal appearance. He is now a man of about forty-nine, somewhat above the medium stature, and with a slight but well-knit and sinewy figure. He wears the ordinary hunting- shirt of the frontiersman, with a pair of heavy epaulets upon his shoulders. His face is closely shaven, but his light hair hangs loosely half-way down his neck, and well sets off his finely cut, handsome fea- tures. But his eye is that about him which first attracts attention. It is mirth- ful, yet commanding, blue and mild, yet stern and piercinga living flame which, stirred, as it doubtless is now, by friendly greetings, actually dances with good-hu- mor and kindliness. It glitters from be- neath an arching eyebrow and a peculiar- ly white and lofty forehead, which, with a prominent nose, give dignity to his face, despite the uncommon ease, geniality, and vivacity of his manner. He would attract attention in any assemblage; but one would be a wonderful reader of human character to detect in this buoyant and free - hearted but cultured and well - bred gentleman the most renowned of Indian fighters; the hero of thirty-five battles, every one of which has been a victory; the dashing leader, whose sword has ever flashed where the fight was hottest, and whose electric words, sounding in thedes- perate charge, have set his men on fire, and transformed the most timid among them into heroes. But this is heNolichucky Jackas lie appeared when he came from the campaign of Etowah, in which he well-nigh exter- minated that raiding horde of a thousand savages, and carried havoc and fire to scores of Cherokee villages. And the woman by his side is his wife, his bon- nie Kate, still tall and queenly and beautiful; but now twenty years older than when, fleeing from an Indian toma- hawk, she with one bound leaped the stockade at Watauga, and fell into the arms of Seviernot then her husband. She enjoys telling of that leap yet, and merrily she says, I would make it again every day in the yearfor such a hus- band. But ere long the sceptre departed from the old mansion, and soon the genial host and gentle hostess who bade welcome home to so many thousands within its walls were borne out of its portal to re- turn to it no more forever. And so it passes away from history, but before we bid it a final farewell let us say over it one word of blessing blessing upon its battered frame, its dingy walls, its ~moke-begrimedrafters,beneath which was nursed and cradled and fostered into lusty life the infant Hercules who was destined to found in those Western wilds a grander empire than the world has seen since the age of Pemiicles! And blessing, too, upon its manly host and its gentle hostess, and upon all the brave men and beautiful women who once made the glad music of life resound through its deserted chambers! Silence now, deaths music, is over and about them; but a beauty and a fragrance went out of their lives that have floated down to us, and will be felt by many coming generations. Men die, but their deeds live after them, and the deeds of these men will live when much of later history is forgotten. So the sceptre departed from the old house, and it ceased to control the desti- nies of the territory. In 1796 Tennessee was admitted a State into the Union, and the people elected John Sevier their Gov- ernor, and henceforth till 1810, during the six terms for which he held that office, FROM AFAR. 77 though Knoxville continued to be the cap- ital and chief city of the State, it held no Gubernatorial Mansion, for the good and sufficient reason that the Governor was al- together too poor a man to support the dig- nity of an official establishment. For more than twenty years his means had been exhaustively drawn upon for the equipment and support of the men who under him had fought for the country against both the British and the Indians, and the consequence was that, though free from debt, he was actually penniless when elected to office in 1796. He had rendered vast services to the country, and at the cost of all he possessed, but he never thought of asking remuneration of a government that was quite as poor as he was. However, feeling the need of a residence somewhat in keeping with the dignity of the new State, and not realizing exactly how poor he was, he, soon after his first election, bought a house lot in Knoxville, and began the erection of a spacious brick mansion. But the building had arrived at only the top of the basement story when he found himself in the position of the man in Scripturehe had begun to build and was not able to finishand, like an honest man, he went no further, but, sell- ing his lot and unfinished house, paid off his debts, and then, like Cincinnatus, re- tired to his farm, transacting his official business henceforth in one corner of the old log court-house. The hostility of the Indians continued after their crushing defeat at Etowah, but they never again, till 1812, mustered in force for a general attack upon the border. For a time they made inroads upon the set- tlements in small gangs, which, stealing at midnight upon some solitary cabin, would be miles away by the morning; but grad- nally even these raids ceased, for the fast increasing population soon gave Sevier so considerable a force that he was able to patrol every hamlet and every by-path in the territory. When he was made Gov- ernor there were in the State 16,179 free white males sixteen years old and up- ward,~ and with such a force as might be drawn from them, led, too, by Nolichucky Jack, the Cherokees were altogether too wise to come into collision. They beat their spears into pruning-hooks, and with their tomahawks set about the felling of the forest. Flogged into peaceful pur- suits, they planted and sowed, and thus began that career of civilization in which they have made such commendable prog- ress in their new home beyond the Missis- sippi. And so peace and Nolichucky Jack reigned upon the border. It was a patriarchal reign, such as never before or since has been known in this country. Seviers will was law; but it was law regulated by love, which every man, woman, and child recognized and ac- cepted. For years there was no State- prison, and the jail at Knoxvillesixteen feet squarenever at one time had more than ten inmates. There were courts and judges and juries; but Sevier was the court of last resort, the supreme judge, the grand jury. Was any one aggrieved, he complained to the Governor; did two men differ, they submitted their controversy to his decision; were some of his old com- rades in poverty or distress, they appealed to their old commander, and he always found some waywith only a meagre pit- tance of a thousand dollars a yearto give them relief and assistance. And so he lived, blessed by a love that was universal. In this age of greed among public men it is well to contemplate such a character. FROM AFAR. HIGH on a bough a mocking-bird outpours Ecstatic melodies in liquid trills, Now soft and low, now with a note that thrills, Rising and falling as a lark that soars, Yet sad as surges beating on far shores. Right saddend by his music, I send forth, O friend, my hearts love for you to the North. Between us distance lies; but faith assures Each thought I give you is returnd by yours, Rich with your love for him who pressd your brow To ease its throbbing. Oh, what matter now Since this remains, and memry still adores Our old life in the pastthe close-barrd gates? Now is not the forever, and the future waits!

Jun Charles W. Coleman Coleman, Charles W., Jun From Afar 77-78

FROM AFAR. 77 though Knoxville continued to be the cap- ital and chief city of the State, it held no Gubernatorial Mansion, for the good and sufficient reason that the Governor was al- together too poor a man to support the dig- nity of an official establishment. For more than twenty years his means had been exhaustively drawn upon for the equipment and support of the men who under him had fought for the country against both the British and the Indians, and the consequence was that, though free from debt, he was actually penniless when elected to office in 1796. He had rendered vast services to the country, and at the cost of all he possessed, but he never thought of asking remuneration of a government that was quite as poor as he was. However, feeling the need of a residence somewhat in keeping with the dignity of the new State, and not realizing exactly how poor he was, he, soon after his first election, bought a house lot in Knoxville, and began the erection of a spacious brick mansion. But the building had arrived at only the top of the basement story when he found himself in the position of the man in Scripturehe had begun to build and was not able to finishand, like an honest man, he went no further, but, sell- ing his lot and unfinished house, paid off his debts, and then, like Cincinnatus, re- tired to his farm, transacting his official business henceforth in one corner of the old log court-house. The hostility of the Indians continued after their crushing defeat at Etowah, but they never again, till 1812, mustered in force for a general attack upon the border. For a time they made inroads upon the set- tlements in small gangs, which, stealing at midnight upon some solitary cabin, would be miles away by the morning; but grad- nally even these raids ceased, for the fast increasing population soon gave Sevier so considerable a force that he was able to patrol every hamlet and every by-path in the territory. When he was made Gov- ernor there were in the State 16,179 free white males sixteen years old and up- ward,~ and with such a force as might be drawn from them, led, too, by Nolichucky Jack, the Cherokees were altogether too wise to come into collision. They beat their spears into pruning-hooks, and with their tomahawks set about the felling of the forest. Flogged into peaceful pur- suits, they planted and sowed, and thus began that career of civilization in which they have made such commendable prog- ress in their new home beyond the Missis- sippi. And so peace and Nolichucky Jack reigned upon the border. It was a patriarchal reign, such as never before or since has been known in this country. Seviers will was law; but it was law regulated by love, which every man, woman, and child recognized and ac- cepted. For years there was no State- prison, and the jail at Knoxvillesixteen feet squarenever at one time had more than ten inmates. There were courts and judges and juries; but Sevier was the court of last resort, the supreme judge, the grand jury. Was any one aggrieved, he complained to the Governor; did two men differ, they submitted their controversy to his decision; were some of his old com- rades in poverty or distress, they appealed to their old commander, and he always found some waywith only a meagre pit- tance of a thousand dollars a yearto give them relief and assistance. And so he lived, blessed by a love that was universal. In this age of greed among public men it is well to contemplate such a character. FROM AFAR. HIGH on a bough a mocking-bird outpours Ecstatic melodies in liquid trills, Now soft and low, now with a note that thrills, Rising and falling as a lark that soars, Yet sad as surges beating on far shores. Right saddend by his music, I send forth, O friend, my hearts love for you to the North. Between us distance lies; but faith assures Each thought I give you is returnd by yours, Rich with your love for him who pressd your brow To ease its throbbing. Oh, what matter now Since this remains, and memry still adores Our old life in the pastthe close-barrd gates? Now is not the forever, and the future waits! A SECRET OF THE SEA. 1.PIRACY ON THE HIGH SEAS. TIME was when the R. M. S. Patagonia was the greyhound of the Atlantic; but that time was long past. Newer and larger boats, burning less coal and making more knots, had been built nearly every year since the Patagonia had beaten the record by crossing the ocean in less than eight days from Browhead Castle to Fire Island Light. Now not only were there other deer-hounds of the deep two days faster than the Patagonia had ever been, but the Patagonia herself, like the man who went around the world, had lost a day. Although the Patagonia had changed owners, and was now no longer a royal mail steam-ship, it had not yet fall- en to the low estate of the sea-tramp, a homeless wanderer over the face of the waters, bearing hides from Buenos Ayres on one trip and on the next carrying coals from Newcastle. She still belonged to a line in good repute, and she still made her regular round trip every five weeks from Liverpool to New York. Thus it was that the New York news- papers had to announce one Sunday morn- ing, after the New England spring had set in with its usual severity, that the Patagonia had sailed from Liverpool the day before, having on board eighty-seven first-cabin passengers and two hundred and eleven in the steerage, and bringing also 100,000 in gold. In due course the Pata- gonia ought to have arrived at Sandy Hook about ten days after she left the Mersey. Except when detained by stress of weather,the Patagonia was wont to ar- rive off Quarantine not later than Tues- day afternoon. But on this occasion Tuesday nighteameand Wednesdaynight, and yet the Patagonia came not. It hap- pened that the R. M. S. Cimbria, which was then devoting its energies to the low- ering of the record, had left Liverpool an hour later than the Patagonia, had wait- ed for the mails at Queenstown, as the Patagonia had not, and yet had landed its passengers on Sunday morning. Nor did the officers of the Cimbria report any storms which would justify the tardiness of the Patagonia. It was known, how- ever, that the missing ship was perfectly sea-worthy, and, indeed, in excellent con- dition, and her captain was a thorough sailor. So many little mishaps may occur to delay an ocean steamerthe bearings may get themselves overheated, or it may be necessary to stop the engines in mid- ocean to repack the steam-chest that no anxiety was felt by the public. Just then, indeed, the public had no at- tention to spare for so slight a matter as a. days delay of an ocean steamer, when the foundering of a government dispatch-boat nearly a fortnight before had been follow- ed by the fraudulent failure of a specula- tive banking house, bringing down in its wake a score of smaller concerns, i nclud- ing an insurance company and a savings- bank. Day after day Wall Street trembled with the recurring shocks of failure. The market, which before the fall of the specu- lative banking house had been firm and active, became feverish and weak; stocks began to fall off three and four points at a~ drop; the boom of Saturday gave place to a blizzard by Thursday.\ While the Street was excited over the sudden collapse of the great corner in Transcontinental Tele- graph, the City had no time or emotion to spare on the overdue Patagonia. When at last the Patagonia did arrive she brought news of a sensation more startling than the foundering of a United States dispatch - boat or the fraudulent failure of a firm of speculative bankers. It was noon when the Patagonia was sighted off Fire Island Light, and it was late in the afternoon before she reached her dock. Yet news flies fast, and the latest editions of the evening papers ap- peared with flaming head-lines over a few brief but double-leaded paragraphs, declar- ing that the most extraordinary rumors were in circulation throughout the lower part of the city to the effect that the Pata- gonia, which had just arrived in dock, had been stopped off the Banks of New- foundland by a pirate. The officers of the Patagonia were reticent. At the office of the owners of the line the clerks did not deny the report, but refused to give any in- formation. All efforts to discover the whereabouts of the captain of the Pata- gonia had been unsuccessful hitherto, and the reporters had been obliged to forego the pleasure of conducting that illegal mingling of the cross-examination and of the examination-in-chief known as an in- te rview. A little before eight that evening the streets were sprinkled with vociferant boys who rushed about violently pro-

Brander Matthews Matthews, Brander A Secret Of the Sea 78-96

A SECRET OF THE SEA. 1.PIRACY ON THE HIGH SEAS. TIME was when the R. M. S. Patagonia was the greyhound of the Atlantic; but that time was long past. Newer and larger boats, burning less coal and making more knots, had been built nearly every year since the Patagonia had beaten the record by crossing the ocean in less than eight days from Browhead Castle to Fire Island Light. Now not only were there other deer-hounds of the deep two days faster than the Patagonia had ever been, but the Patagonia herself, like the man who went around the world, had lost a day. Although the Patagonia had changed owners, and was now no longer a royal mail steam-ship, it had not yet fall- en to the low estate of the sea-tramp, a homeless wanderer over the face of the waters, bearing hides from Buenos Ayres on one trip and on the next carrying coals from Newcastle. She still belonged to a line in good repute, and she still made her regular round trip every five weeks from Liverpool to New York. Thus it was that the New York news- papers had to announce one Sunday morn- ing, after the New England spring had set in with its usual severity, that the Patagonia had sailed from Liverpool the day before, having on board eighty-seven first-cabin passengers and two hundred and eleven in the steerage, and bringing also 100,000 in gold. In due course the Pata- gonia ought to have arrived at Sandy Hook about ten days after she left the Mersey. Except when detained by stress of weather,the Patagonia was wont to ar- rive off Quarantine not later than Tues- day afternoon. But on this occasion Tuesday nighteameand Wednesdaynight, and yet the Patagonia came not. It hap- pened that the R. M. S. Cimbria, which was then devoting its energies to the low- ering of the record, had left Liverpool an hour later than the Patagonia, had wait- ed for the mails at Queenstown, as the Patagonia had not, and yet had landed its passengers on Sunday morning. Nor did the officers of the Cimbria report any storms which would justify the tardiness of the Patagonia. It was known, how- ever, that the missing ship was perfectly sea-worthy, and, indeed, in excellent con- dition, and her captain was a thorough sailor. So many little mishaps may occur to delay an ocean steamerthe bearings may get themselves overheated, or it may be necessary to stop the engines in mid- ocean to repack the steam-chest that no anxiety was felt by the public. Just then, indeed, the public had no at- tention to spare for so slight a matter as a. days delay of an ocean steamer, when the foundering of a government dispatch-boat nearly a fortnight before had been follow- ed by the fraudulent failure of a specula- tive banking house, bringing down in its wake a score of smaller concerns, i nclud- ing an insurance company and a savings- bank. Day after day Wall Street trembled with the recurring shocks of failure. The market, which before the fall of the specu- lative banking house had been firm and active, became feverish and weak; stocks began to fall off three and four points at a~ drop; the boom of Saturday gave place to a blizzard by Thursday.\ While the Street was excited over the sudden collapse of the great corner in Transcontinental Tele- graph, the City had no time or emotion to spare on the overdue Patagonia. When at last the Patagonia did arrive she brought news of a sensation more startling than the foundering of a United States dispatch - boat or the fraudulent failure of a firm of speculative bankers. It was noon when the Patagonia was sighted off Fire Island Light, and it was late in the afternoon before she reached her dock. Yet news flies fast, and the latest editions of the evening papers ap- peared with flaming head-lines over a few brief but double-leaded paragraphs, declar- ing that the most extraordinary rumors were in circulation throughout the lower part of the city to the effect that the Pata- gonia, which had just arrived in dock, had been stopped off the Banks of New- foundland by a pirate. The officers of the Patagonia were reticent. At the office of the owners of the line the clerks did not deny the report, but refused to give any in- formation. All efforts to discover the whereabouts of the captain of the Pata- gonia had been unsuccessful hitherto, and the reporters had been obliged to forego the pleasure of conducting that illegal mingling of the cross-examination and of the examination-in-chief known as an in- te rview. A little before eight that evening the streets were sprinkled with vociferant boys who rushed about violently pro- A SECRET OF THE SEA. 79 claiming an extra with shrill but not altogether articulate annunciation of its contents. Those who were beguiled into the purchasing of this catchpenny read a circumstantial account of the attack on the Patagonia by a Chinese dow. The in- genious writer gave a thrilling account of the sea-fightan account which seemed somehow familiar to those who had once read Hard Cash. He gave precise details as to the crew and armament of the pirate. He set forth succinctly the piteous appeals of the purser as the heathen Chinee re- moved the 100,000 specie from the strong- room of the Patagonia to their own light little skiffs. He was very dramatic in his description of the death of the captain of the Patagonia, who, so he declared, had been forced to walk the planka deadly form of pedestrian exercise much in favor among pirates, as everybody knew. This imaginative effort appeared in the Comet, a new evening journal, conducted by Mr. Martin Terwilliger, who was formerly the editor of the New Centreville (California) Gazette-Standard, and who was now try- ing to introduce into Eastern journalism the push and the go he had found success- ful in the West. The account of the strange adventure which had befallen the Patagonia printed in the New York papers of Friday morn- ing was more sober than the highly spiced story in Mr. Terwilligers extra, and the de- tails given were ampler and more exact. It seems that the Patagonia had had an un- eventful trip, and on Saturday afternoon the passengers were looking forward to their arrival early in the week. Among the passengers were many notabilities Judge Gillespie, Mr. Cable J. Dexter, the great Chicago grain operator, Mr. and Mrs. Eliphalet Duncan, Miss Daisy Fostelle, and her enterprising manager, Mr. Z. Kilburn. On Saturday afternoon, when the Pata- gonia was in latitude 450 32 and longi- tude 500 28 a steamer hove in sight off the port bow. It was a long, low, rakish craft, all black. It had evidently been waiting for the Patagonia, for as soon as it had had time to make sure of the Patagonias identity it ran across her course, fired a shot across her bows, and ran up the signal Q. H., which means Stop; I have something to communi- cate. The firing of this shot by the strange ship caused the most intense ex- citement and alarm on board of the Pat- agonia, which was not allayed when the meaning of the signal was made known. While the officers of the Patagonia were in consultation the stranger tired a second shot across her bows, and ran up a second signal, P. F.I want a boat immediate- ly. The firing of this second shot in- creased the anxiety and doubt on board the Patagonia. The excited passengers besought the officers to explain what this meant. Experienced passengers, accus- tomed to cross the ocean twice a year, de- clared that the firing of a shot was a thing absolutely unheard of except in time of war. There was an immediate discussion as to whether war could have broken out since the Patagonia left Liverpool. An Irish gentleman on board declared that these were the first shots fired by the new dynamite cruiser of the new navy of the new Irish Republic. While the passengers were thus seeking the truth, the captain of the Patagonia had ordered her engines slowed down. By this time the strange ship was barely a mile from them, and it was then easy to see many suspicious cir- cumstances. For one thing, not a single member of the crew was visible. To those with any knowledge it was plain at once that the stranger was lieav~ly armed, and that the single huge gun it carried amid- ships, easily to be seen from the deck of the Patagonia, had range and weight enough to sink the Patagonia by a single shot. The extreme speed of the stranger was also apparent as it had turned, and without difficulty it was keeping ahead of the Patagonia, and at the same distance from her. A deputation of the passengers at once waited on the captain to beg him to send a boat at once, before the stranger fired a third time. The captain had al- ready given orders to stop the engines and to lower a boat. The third officer took his seat in this boat and the men pulled out at once for the stranger. A movement was at once visible on board the armed steamer; the signal flags were taken in, and a boat was launched on the port side, out of sight from the Patagonia. This boat proved to be a gig, for it shot around the bow of the stranger, and met the cutter from the Patagonia about a quarter of a mile away. A communication was passed from one boat to the other, and each pulled for its own ship. On reaching the Pata- gonia, the third officer went at once to the captain~ s room. He bore a sealed envel- ope addressed to the captain. This address, like the letter within, was written, or rath 80 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. er printed, on a type-writer. The letter was as follows: S. S. Dare - Devil, Off the Banks, April 1st, 1882. Captain Riding, S. S. Patagonia, Sir: You have on board in specie 100,000. I will accept this as the ransom of your ship. Send it to me, 20,000 at a time, on five trips of your cutter. If I do not receive the first installment within fifteen minutes after you read this, I shall sink you with a shot from my long gun. Your obedient servant, Lafitte, Commanding Free Cruiser Dare - Devil. As the captain finished reading this per- emptory letter there was a sudden com- motion on deck, and one of the junior officers rushed in to report that the stran- ger had raised the Black Flag. The cap- tain stepped on deck, and with his glass easily made out the white skull and cross- bones which adorned the black flag flying from the peak of the Dare - Devil. A thrill of horror ran through the excited passengers. Mr. Kilburn headed a depu- tation which begged the captain to sur- render anything and everything for the sake of saving the lives and liberties of the passengers. Mr. Cable J. Dexter, who had previously taken the affair as a huge joke, read the letter from the Dare-Devil, and asked the captain if a single shot would really sink the Patagortia. The captain answered that a single shot in the com- partment amidships might sink the ship, and that two or three shots would do it unfailingly. Then, said Mr. Dexter, you had better hand over the gold. I have an engagement in Chicago on Satur- day morning, and I shall be late for it if I have to swim ashore from here. Al- though Mr. Dexter seemed cool enough to jest, most of the passengers were in a state of intense excitement, and this was much increased by the announcement that the long gun on the upper deck of the Dare- Devil had just been loaded, and was now trained on the Patagonia. By this time ten minutes had elapsed since the boat had returned, and suddenly a third shot from the Dare-Devil ploughed the water just ahead of the Patagonia, and a third signal was run up, J. D. You are standing into danger. Then the captain yielded. The purser had al- ready opened the strong-room, and the tightly sealed, iron - strapped, hard - wood boxes of specie were at once carried on deck. Each box held 5000, and weighed about a hundred pounds. Four of them were carefully placed in the bottom of the cutter. Fortunately there was only a light breeze, and there was no sea on at all, only the long swell always to be expected off the Banks. The boat pulled for the Dare- Devil, and, as before, the gig came around the bow. The transfer of the precious boxes was made as quickly and as careful- ly as possible. When the cutter returned for its second load, the officer reported that the three men in the gig were all masked, but that he took them for Orientals of some sort, as their hands and wrists were dark. Five times the cutter carried away four boxes, containing each 5000, and five times the gig came out to receive the ransom. Before the fifth trip was com- pleted, night was falling. When the third officer reached the deck after the delivery of the final installment of the 100,000, he took two sealed communications to the captain. Both were printed on a type- writer. One was a receipt for the gold, signed Lafitte. The other was an order to the captain of the Patagonia to turn on her course and to sail back toward Ire- land until midnight, when she might turn and proceed again to New York. Until night made it impossible to see clearly, the passengers of the Patagonia watched the Dare-Devil steaming in their wake. At midnight precisely, Captain Riding changed his course and headed for New York, arriving without further adventure. This was, in substance, the story which held the place of honor in every New York newspaper the morning after the ar- rival of the Patagonia. And this direct statement was supplemented by number- less interviews. In the hands of men en- tirely great, the interview is mightier than the sword, and no more to be avoided than the pestilence which walketh in darkness. No paper succeeded in getting anything out of any of the officers, although one en- terprising journal laid before its readers the obiter dicta of the chief steward. Sev- eral reporters succeeded in capturing Mr. A SECRET OF THE SEA. 81 Cable J. Dexter just as that great operator was checking his trunks for Chicago. At one period in his eventful career Mr. Dex- ter had himself been a reporter, and he surrendered himself to the inquisitors without false shame. Im in a hurry, boys, he said, and I really havent any pointers to give you. Of course we couldnt expect good luck this trip: we had four clergymen aboard Holy Joes, the sailors call em. Thats enough to make a boat snap her shaft off short. At first I thought maybe the act- ors and actresses on board would be a set- off, but it didnt work. The pirate just broke me. Oh no; he didnt go through me like a road-agent, but it was just as bad. Id been sitting with mean cards all the afternoon, and just as the pirate fired at us I filled a full handand it was a jack- pot toobut when the pirate opened, the game closed. Whats worse, I had big money up on the run, and that damned pirate spoiled that too. I wish hed quit the sea and buck against the market in breadstuffsId make it hot for him While certain of the passengers were wary and fought shy of the reporters, none of the gentlemen of the press found any difficulty in gaining admission to the pre- sence of Miss Daisy Fostelle, who had taken her usual spacious apartments at the Rialto Hotel. When they sent up their cards with a request for an interview, Mr. Kil- burn, Miss Fostelles enterprising mana- ger, descended to the office to meet them, greeted them most affectionately, and in- troduced them at once with effusive cor- diality. Im so very glad to be back again in America,~~ said Miss Daisy Fostelle, though perhaps I ought not to say that, for I had such a success in England. I played nearly six weeks at the Royal Frivolity Theatre. Of course at first they did not quite understand memy style was so original, they saidso American, you knowand they did not quite know what to make of it. But I soon became a great favorite. They liked my p1 aytoo; its the one I am to appear in here next Mon- day. Its called A Pretty Girl. Oh,thank you! Its so nice of you to say so. I had an offer to play in Paris at the Folies Fan- tastiques theatrethats the best comedy theatre in Paris, you knowand they wouldhave translated my play into French, but I was in a hurry to get back to dear old New York. Yes, the Prince of Wales was very kind indeed. He came three times to see me. Oh dear no. Im not goi ug to be marriedwhy, Im not even engaged! I dont see who could start such absurd rumors. You know I am wedded to my art. No, I didnt see the pirate at all, and I assure you I should not care to play the leading part in the The Pirates Bride. I should have hated to have been robbed of my trunks, for I have brought such lovely clothes. There is one dress made for the Empress of Austria: oh, its beautiful! I shall wear it on Monday night. Two or three of the chiefs of the Dy- namite faction of the Social Anarchists threw themselves in the way of the in- quiring reporters, but no definite infor- mation could be extracted from them, al- though .they were full of vague hints and mysterious innuendoes, and let fall dark intimations that they knew all about the matter. None of the New York papers made any comment on their doubtful say- ings, but the interviews with them were telegraphed to England, and called forth indignant leaders from the London jour- nals. The editorials of the morning papers in New York were devoted chiefly to a state- ment of the strangeness of the robbery. Piracy on the high seas in the nineteenth century, and within a few hours sail of the United States, seemed like an anach- ronism. One paper, referring to the sink- ing of the government dispatch-boat, and the fraudulent bankruptcy, preceding a piracy as bold as any in the records of the Spanish Main, called its able editorial A Carnival of Carelessness and Crime. It suggested the immediate formation of an International League for the Patrol of the Ocean. This suggestion was accom- panied by a map, and by a statistical table of the water traffic between Great Britain and the United States. Another paper had a special dispatch from Washington declaring that the Secretary of the Navy would wait for further details before send- ing out the available vessels of the North Atlantic Squadron. A third paper came out with a quadruple sheet devoted to cor- poration advertising, and a series of brief biographies of the eminent pirates of the past, with outline portraits of Captain Kidd, as he sailed, and of Lafitte, the pirate of the Gulf. A Stalwart organ remarked that while pirates were at large, ocean- travelling could no longer be considered 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. safe, and added that no pirate would have dared to show his face if the spirited for- eign policy of Senator Doolittle had been followed up. This allowed an Independ- ent afternoon paper to retort that as Sen- ator Doolittle had sent a substitute to the war, it might be doubted whether even, a one-armed pirate with the gout would be afraid to meet him in single combat. But the afternoon papers contained news of more importance than this hu- morous expression of Independent opin- ion. They contained the astounding dec- laration that the 100,000 in specie which the pirate had taken from the Patagortia had been returned, and was now in the possession of the agents of the line. In company with the captain, the chief officer, and the third officer, the purser of the Patagonia had gone early in the morning to the office of the agents of the line in Bowling Green. Here each of the officers told his story, which was taken down by a stenographer. As the purser was about to return to the dock, one of the clerks said, We have received those cases for you. What cases ? asked the purser. The cases from Halifax, answered the clerk. But I am not expecting any cases from Halifax, was the pursers hasty re- ply. There are two cases here for you, any - how, said the clerk. They are ad- dressed to you, they arrived this morning, and they are very heavyas though they had machinery in them. The thought flashed into several minds at once that these cases might contain in- fernal machines intended to destroy the office of the line, the records of the com- pany, and the chief witnesses against the pirate. The police were notified, and in their presence the cases were opened with the greatest circumspection. The cases were found to be almost empty, except in one corner of each case, where there was a strong compartment. With redoubled care these compartments were forced open. They contained the 100,000 in specie, in the original tightly sealed, iron-strapped, hard-wood boxes, as addressed in England to the American consignees, whose initials and numbers they bore. The police of Halifax were at once tele- graphed to; but the only information they could give was that the express charges had been paid by an unknown woman, who had requested that the cases be sent for. The police of New York now became as mysterious as the delegates of the Dy- namite faction had been the day before. They consulted together, and allowed it to be believed that they had a clew. And there the matter rested. The arrival of the next steamer was now awaited anxiously, to see whether it had been stopped also, or if it had at least seen any sign of the pirate. Within forty-eight hours after the unexpected and inex- plicable recovery of the gold, five ocean steamers came into port. They were boarded in the lower bay by authorized reporters, but neither officers nor passen- gers had any information to give. They had not seen the pirate, nor heard of him. Nor has the Dare-Devil ever been seen again as she appeared to the anxious eyes of the passengers on the Patagonia. Nor have any more orders, written on a type- writer and signed by Lafitte, been served on any steamer laden with specie. The sudden restoration of the gold taken from the Patagonia, while it increased the peculiar mystery of the affair, materi- ally lessened the interest of those whose duty it was to hunt down the pirate. A search for the specie would have been practical, but the discovery of a pirate magnanimous enough to give up 100,000 had only a speculative interest. At best it was little more than the solving of a rid- dleWho was the pirate? It was but the answering of a conundrumWhy had he taken the money if he meant to return it? Men in the thick of business have no time to waste in guessing enigmas. Viewed as a whole, the robbery of the Patagonia, only to return the gold, appeared purpose- less. It assumed almost the form of a practical joke. To some it seemed even like a freak of insanity. Many vain ef- forts were made to penetrate the mystery, to guess at the pirate, and to impute a mo- tive for his rash and reckless act; but in a - few days the interest of the public began to wane, and just then it was suddenly di- verted to another sensation, of more direct and personal importance to every inhabit- ant of the Eastern coast.. A series of sharp shocks was felt by everybody on three dis- tinct occasions. An earthquake was a novel experience to most New-Yorkers, and the reporters turned their attention at once to picturesque descriptions of effects of the visitation, and to interviews with those who had dwelt long in volcanic A SECRET OF THE SEA. 83 lands. So it came to pass that people soon ceased to puzzle themselves further about the secret of the sea. 11.A STERN CHASE. There was one person, however, who did not allow his attentiou to be diverted from the strange adventure of the Pat- agonia by any gossip about an ill-made match. This person was Mr. Robert White. He was a good-looking and keen- witted young American of thirty, with straight features and curly hair. The son of a clergyman established over an Episco- palian church in an inland city, he had been graduated at a fresh-water college; but he had always had a thirst for salt-wa- ter, and when he came to New York to the Law School of Columbia College, he took to the water with joy. He rowed in the Law Schoot boat at the college regatta on the Harlem in the spring. He did his duty all summer on the yacht of a friend who was fond of sailing Corinthian races. He learned navigation, and at the school he even gave special study to maritime law. Just as he was admitted to the bar, his fa- ther died, leaving his little property un- fortunately involved. Robert White saw at once not only that he could no longer hope for the assistance he would need while he was working and waiting at the bar, but also that he must bear part, at least, of the burden of supporting his motherand his sister. He did not hesitate. He had edit- ed one of the two warring college papers; and after he came to New York he had written a few letters for the chief daily of his native town. His pen was broken to service, and he went at once to the editor of the Gotham Gazette,whom he had met on Joshua Hoffmans yacht, and asked for work. The editor told the city editor to do what he could for him. . The city ed- itor sent him to interview one of the most dP4inguished men of New Englanda prize-fighter, then on his first visit to New York. The next day his assignment sent him down to Castle Garden to sift the sen- sational stories of a lot of Russian immi- grants. This was not congenial work; but within a few weeks there was a re- gatta, and it fell to him to write it up. Here was his chance. The next morning the Got ham Gazette contained the best ac- count of a yacht race, the most precise and the most picturesque, which had been printed for many a month. It made a hit, as even the work of the anonymous reporter may do if it is done with heart and head. It assured his position on the Gotham Gazette, which sent him to cruise with the yacht squadron, to report the naval review at Newport before the Presi- dent of the United States, and to give a description of the movements of the Unit- ed States Fish Commission. To these let- ters his initials were attached. One of them, a vigorous account of the showy ex- periments of a torpedo-boat, attracted the notice of a sharp-eyed editor of one of the great magazines, and he wrote, asking if Mr. Robert White would care to contrib- ute three or four articles on the New England coast, to be called, All Along Shore, and to be illustrated in the high- est style of American wood - engraving. To this pleasant task Mr. Robert White devoted the end of summer. When he returned to town the editor of the Got ham Gazette asked him if he would like to write brevier, or, in other words, to join the editorial staff. At the time when the Patagonia met the pirate Mr. Robert White had been writing naval, legal, and social editorials for several years; his mag- azine articles had appeared at last, had been followed by others, and had been gathered into a handsome book, which had been well reviewed in the leading English weeklies. A series of sketches of Aimer- ican out-door sports, signed Poor Bob White, had been very successful. His income was not large, but it was ample for his needs, since his mother had died and his sister had married. His position was assured as one of the cleverest and most competent of the young men who drive the double team, journalism and lit- erature. He had begun both to lay money by and to collect notes for a real book, not a mere collection of magazine papers: this was The Story of a Ship, a history of boats from the dug-out of the lake-dweller to the latest device in submerged torpedo launches. And he had done one thing more of greater importance to himself than any of thesehe had fallen in love.. When the meeting took place between the Patagonia and the Dare-Devil, Mr. Robert White was at his native town set- tling his fathers estate, and he did not re- turn to New York until after the Pata- gonia had sailed again. He had read all the newspaper accounts and interviews with great interest. The first day after his return he went to see Mr. Ehiphalet Duncan, who had been his classmate at voL. LxxI.No. 4217 84 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the law school. The offices of Duncan and Sutton, attorneys and counsellors at law, were in the Bowdoin Building, No. 76 Broadway, next to those of Hitchcock and Van Rensselaer. As White went up- stairs he passed a small door on which was painted Sargent and Co., Stock De- liveries, and his heart gave a sudden throb, for it was Miss Dorothy Sargent, the daughter of the great speculator, that he was in love with. Why, Bob, how are you ? said Mr. Eliphalet Duncan, as his friend took a seat beside him. I havent seen you since the last JudgeandJury dinner. The Judge-and-Jury was a little club to which both had belonged at the law school, and which now survived only in an annual dinner. Im all right, Liph; and you are too, judging by your looks. A hasty run over to Scotland and back seems to suit you. I saw you came back by the Patagonia, and thats why Ive come in to-day. Your intention seems to be compli- mentary, but your logic is incoherent, remarked the lawyer. White laughed, and answered: I will make myself clear to the dullest compre- hension. Of course, interrupted his friend. You know my fondness for solving problems. I always delighted in algebra at school, and I worked out the pons for myself. Now this unnecessary taking and giving back of the gold on the Patagonia strikes me as a puzzle as interesting as a man can find in a week of Sundays. I doubt if you would have found it quite as interesting if you had lost a day by it, said Duncan, dryly. I expect to give more than one day to it, answered White. In fact, I want to stick to the case until I puzzle out the se- cret. The detectives say they have a clew. The reporter is the real detective now- adays, and as he is wont to tell all he knows, and as he has said nothing, there is, I take it, nothing known, and that leaves everything to be found out. And you are going to try to find out everything ? And I am going to try to find out ev- erythingwith your help. For publication in the Gotham Ga- zette ? asked the lawyer. For my own satisfaction first, an- swered the journalist for the sheer en- joyment of getting at a mystery; but, of course, in the end, if I find I have a story to tell, I shall tell it. And it seems to me that it ought not to be very hard to track the pirate to his lair. I doubt if I can give you much help, but of course you are welcome to all I know. The court is with you, said White. I was in the main saloon, playing chess with Judge Gillespie as well as I could, while a young lady was at the piano singing When the Sea gives up its Dead. Just as the judge mated me, we heard a shot. Going on deck, we saw the pirate, barely a mile away. I wondered why the shot had been fired, and it was not until I saw the black flag that I was willing to believe that the strange ship was a corsair. Why, Id just as soon expected to cruise in the Flying Dutchman as to see a pirate except, of course, in Penzance. What was the pirate like ? She was a schooner-rigged steamer of perhaps three hundred tons burden, and she was a little more than a hundred feet long. She had two smoke-stacks, painted black with a red band. She rode very high out of the water, as though her bul- warks had been added to. From the newspaper reports I infer that she was neither American nor Eng- lish in build, said White. There you are wrong, I think, Dun- can declared. In spite of a lateen-sail and other details, I am sure that the pirate was launched in American waters. But what motive could induce an American yachtsman to turn pirate, and then to give up the proceeds of his crime ? asked White. Piracy on the high seas is rather a violent practical joke. As to motives I can say nothing; I give you my opinion as to the facts only. In my belief the pirate was built in Amer- ica. What is more, I doubt if she was as fast as the Patagonia, and I think that we could have run away with little risk. Why ? Because we kept gaining on her as soon as we took to our heels. But a single shot from the long gun amidships would have sunk you. Of course, said Ehiphialet Duncan, of- fering a cigar to his friend. I never heard of a Quaker turning pirate, but I think that was a Quaker gun ! What ? shouted White,in intense sur- prise. A SECRET OF THE SEA. 85 The gun fired across our bows was aimed through a port on the main-deck forward. The long gun was never fired at all, and I dont believe it could be fired. I believe it was a dummy. And thats what Judge Gillespie thinks too, and you know he is a West-Pointer. A Quaker gun on a pirate ! said White, thoughtfully. Who ever heard of such a thing? Who ever heard of a pirates writing his messages on a type - writer ? asked Duncan. The presence of a type-writer on board is evidence in favor of your view that the piratical craft belongs in our own waters. The pirate of the old school might sign his own name with his own blood, but he had no use for a type-writer. The making of a Quaker gun, said Duncan, and the use of a type - writer, both suggest Yankee gumption. If you want to find the pirate, you need not cross the ocean. I do not know where the Dare-Devil went after leaving Halifax, but I feel sure that the Dare-Devil hailed from an American port. But I see one of the accounts men- tions that the crew of the gig which came out to receive the gold were Orientals, objected White. Thats true, answered Duncan; the third officer told me that they were Las- cars, all but the man who sat in the stern- sheets. And what was he ? As well as the third officer could judge, he was a white man, rather portly, with bright eyes, a large nose, and a long black mustache. Apparently this mans skin was stained, for he was as dark as the Lascars, and he wore a false beard. In spite of this disguise, he impressed the third officer as a man of strong will and quick determination. Proper piratical qualities. Of course, assented Duncan. Do you think this man with the stain- ed face, the long mustache, and the false beard was the pirate chief, the new La- fitte ? asked White. That was my impression, answered Duncan. It seems to me very probable that the head which had planned the rob- bery should personally see to the delivery of the treasure. That brings up again the chief puzzle why did he take the gold if he meant to give it up, and why did he give it up after running the risk of disgrace and death to get it? This is the main question. It is more important to get an answer to that than to identify the man or the ship, or rather to find a motive of this apparently motiveless act will be to have gone far toward the discovery of the man himself. As for motives, said Duncan, there are a plenty. Such as? I mean that there are possible expla- nations in plenty of these proceedings. Perhaps the man was mad: there is a simple exi)lanation. A little too simple, I fear: marine kleptomania is not an accepted plea as yet, said White. A madman may have great cunning and persistence, urged Duncan. Or the man may have been sane but fickle, and after the robbery lie quietly changed his n~ind. That is rather a strain on our credu- lity, isnt it ? queried White. It is improbable, but it may be the fact, for all that. Then, again, perhaps the mate of the Dare-Devil experienced a change of heart, aiid repented of his pira- cies, and converted the rest of the crew, and got them to mutiny, whereupon they made Mr. Lafitte walk the plank, after which they returned the gold, and then they scuttled the ship. White smiled, and said, I see Lascars giving up gold and scuttling a ship ~ It would be a pity to think that so pretty a yacht had been sent to the bot- tom. So you think the pirate was a yacht ? Duncan hesitated a moment, and then answered: What else could she be? Plainly enough she was not a govern- ment gun-boat, and as plainly she was not a boat built for freight or passengers; she had no hold for the one, and no accom- modation for the others. What could she be but a pleasure-boat ? But a yacht has not high bulwarks or two smoke-stacks, objected White. Of course there had been an attempt to disguise her. I think the bulwarks were part of the disguise; and perhaps the second smoke-stack was too, although that had not struck me before. Then, said White, in your opinion, the Dare-Devil is an American steam- yacht of perhaps three hundred tons, and about a hundred feet long ? It is unprofessional to give an opinion 86 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. without a retainer, answered the lawyer, smiling, but you have expressed my pri- vate views with precision and point. The witness may stand down, said the journalist, rising. Having inserted the corkscrew of interrogation, and ex- tracted the pure wine of truth, I have no further use for you. Now I must tear myself away. Come in and dine with us quietly one night next week. Mrs. Duncan will be glad to see you.~~ Id like to do it, but I have no time. You see, I have been away for a fortnight, and Im in arrears with my work. Make it Tuesday, and you will meet Miss Sargent, urged Duncan. Tuesday ? said White, as his pulse quickened. I think, perhaps, I could manage it on Tuesday. Then we shall expect you at half past six. Therell only be four of us. You know Miss Sargent, I think. Oh yes, I know her, answered White, as lightly as he could. A charming girlisnt she ? asked Duncan. She is, indeed, said White, with per- haps more warmth than was absolutely necessary. She is a great friend of my wifes, said Duncanand White envied Mrs. Dun- can- and shes always at our house and then White envied Duncan. To hear her name was a delight, and to talk about her was a delicious torture. After a mo- ments silence he said, I see her fathers office is just under you.~~ Oh yes, Sam Sargent has his head- quarters here. I dont know whether you like that man, Bob, or not. I do not know him, answered White, uneasily. Well, I know him, and I detest him. Whenever I see him and think of his daughter, then I know his wife must have been an angel from heaven. You are a little rough on him, Liph, said White, deprecatingly. No, I am not. She has an air of breeding, and she carries herself like a lady, but her father is not a gentleman at leastyou know what I mean. The man is coarse-grained, in spite of all his smartness and brilliancy. You have only to look in his face to see that. He took up the right trade when he turned gam- bler. Gambler ? Of course. Stock speculator, if you like that term better. Speculating in stocks is not business; it is gambling. The money made in speculating is not business earnings, whatever it may pre- tend to be; it is winnings, no more and no less. I dont object to a game of poker now and then myself, but when I win thirty or forty dollars I dont put the sum down in my books as earnings. Now it is men like Sam Sargent who have con- fused and corrupted the public niind in regard to this thing. They are gamblers, but they masquerade in the honorable garb of business men. And he has the impudence to want to go into politics. He is no worse than the rest, ven- tured White, apologetically. Of course, retorted Duncan, prompt- ly; and hes no better. And hell come to grief, like the rest of them. Only a few days ago he had a very tight squeeze, so Mat Hitchcock tells me. How so He was caught in the Transcontinent- al Telegraph corner, and he would have lost all he had left, and more too, if this brief panic had not come to his rescue, and knocked the bottom out of the market. It was this fraudulent bankruptcy and the failures it caused which saved Sam Sar- gent. You do not like him, said White, smiling. But I like his daughter, answered Duncan. So do I, replied White, as cheerfully as he could. Of course, said Duncan; and we shall expect you on Tuesday. You may rely on me; and White shook hands with Ehiphalet Duncan and withdrew. As he reached the foot of the stairs, opposite to the office of Sargent and Co., the door opened, and a customer came out, pausing on the threshold to ask, When do you expect Mr. Sargent back ? White could not help hearing the answer: Hell be here in a week or two. You know he is at Bermuda, on the Rhad- amanthus, with old Joshua Hoffman. White knew that Joshua Hoffman was one of the most distinguished citizens of New Yorka man who had made a for- tune, which he administered for the pub- lic good as though he was not the owner, but only a trustee for the poor and the struggling. A SECRET OF THE SEA. 87 If Sam Sargent is off on a cruise with Joshua Hoffman, thought the young man who was in love with Sam Sargents daughter, why, he cant be quite as black as Liph paints him. It was on Friday that Robert White had called on Eliphalet Duncan, and he gave most of Saturday also to the pursuit of the pirate. He had a long talk with Judge Gillespie, who confirmed all that Duncan had said. The so-called Dare- Devil was probably an American steam- yacht of three hundred tons or thereabouts. Now there were five or six yachts on the American register which answered fairly enough to the description of the Dare- Devil, after making due allowances for the efforts to disguise her. But all of theseexcept twowere easily accounted for, and must be unhesitatingly ruled out, as they were not in commission. Of the two American steam-yachts approximate- ly like the Dare - Devil, one, the Pretty Folly, belonged to a wealthy clergyman, and was then in the Mediterranean, cruis- ing along the Holy Land with a full ships company of missionaries; the other was at Bermuda; it was the Rhadamanthus, and it belonged to the good Joshua Hoff- man. When, by a process of exhaustion, as the logicians call it, Mr. Robert White had arrived at this useless result, it was late on Saturday afternoon, and he looked back along the week, and he felt that it had been well-nigh wasted. He had not made any progress toward the solution of the problem of the piracy against the Patago- nia, and he had not seen Miss Dorothy Sargent. 111.TAKING SOUNDINGS. Robert White had met Miss Dorothy Sargent for the first time late in the pre- ceding fall. Mrs. Eliphalet Duncan, who was always getting up something new, got up a riding party to go together to Yonkers for a light dinner, and to ride back to the city by the light of the autunin moon. As the merry cavalcade set forth, Mrs. Duncan introduced Mr. White to Miss Sargent, by whose air of distinction, as she sat firmly on a high-spirited bay mare, lie had been attracted already. Her manner, like her simple habit, which fitted her slight figure to perfection, was quiet and unobtrusive; and she had in abundance that indefinable but unmistakable qual ity called style. Her light golden hair was tied in a neat knot under her tall hat, and a semicircle of veil half hid her face, although a bright glance from her frank blue eyes passed without difficulty through the filmy barrier as Mrs. Duncan present- ed White to her. This glance, the merry smile which occasioned it, the ray of the afternoon suii as it made molten the twist- ed gold of her hair, the gentle dignity of her attitude these united in a picture which printed itself indelibly in Whites memory. Before they had passed the reservoir in Central Park, White had discovered that Miss Sargent rode well, like one with a strong natural gift of horsemanship, well developed by an intelligent master. As they cantered side by side through the russet bowers and leaf-strewn lanes of the Park lie could not but notice how perfect- ly her exquisite American grace seemed to harmonize with the soft and delicate hues of the fading landscape, as the glory of the American autumn was fast departing. He marked how her color rose with the Amazonian enjoyment, with the honest delight of the genuine horsewoman, and he wondered how she came by her beauty. He was vaguely familiar with the features of her father, one of the best-known men about town, and he knew that Sam Sar- gent was an operator in stocks and a fellow of bluff joviality, hail-fellow-well- met with most men, getting the utmost possible sensual enjoyment out of life, and having no sympathy at all with plain living and high thinking. There was no lack of candidates for the place by Miss Sargents side, as the little party rode forth, or as it rode back again by the full light of a glorious moon; but White set his wits to work, and managed to monopolize her company the whole of the long blissful afternoon and the hap- py eveningall too short. Before they reached the Park on their return he was on the verge of wishing that her lively mare would try to run away or to throw her, or to do anything that would give him a chance to show his devotion. When at last lie had helped her to dismount, and had said good-night, he felt lifted out of himself, and as though intoxicated by some mysterious but delicious elixir. He was in love; and the thought of his own unworthiness brought him back to earth, and kept him awake a good part of the night. 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. As it began, so it went on all winter. White discovered where she went to church, and lie walked home with her on Thanksgiving morning, learning that her father rarely ventured within the sacred edifice except when some famous pulpit orator came to preach a charity sermon. On Christmas-day lie sat in a pew where he might gaze his fill upon her, and his heart overflowed with peace and good- will. Mrs. Duncanjust before she made her hurried trip to Europeasked a little party to see the old year out and the new year in, and as White kept as close as he could to Dorothy the new year began for him with joy and gladness. Mrs. Dun- cans sister - in - law, Mrs. Sutton, kept Twelfth - night with due celebration of the ancient rites of that honorable feast. Chance crowned White king, and of course he chose Dorothy for his queen. He no- ticed that her face flushed with pleasure as he took her by the hand. But before the evening was over he began to wonder how he had displeased her, for of course he could not think her capricious. When next they met she was cold toward him, and he suspected she had avoided him. On St. Valentines Day he mustered up cour- age and sent her a tall screen of growing ivy, in the centre of which clustered a bunch of uncut jacqueminot roses in the shape of a heart. For this she thanked him in a clever little note, as distant as it was kindly. He wondered whether she guessed that he loved her, and sought to discourage him. This was the state of affairs between them when they sat opposite to each othi- er at oiie of those exquisite little dinners for four which Mrs. Duncan was famous for. There was a dim, religious light in the Duncans dining - room befitting the mystic rites of gastronomy. As White looked up and caught Dorothys eye he wondered whether the faint flush which spread over cheek and throat in such be- coming fashion was really a blush, or whether it was due only to the red silk shades on the tall candles at the corners of the table. I see the eye of the law upon me, Mr. White, she said, gayly. What will the verdict be ? You deserve to be drawn and quarter- ed, Dora, interjected Mrs. Duncan, for keeping us waiting seven minutes. For- tunately I knew your ways, and allowed ten. Why is it you are always seven min- utes late ? asked Duncan. You have nothing to do. Nothing to do? Well, I like that ! began Dorothy. Of course, said Duncan, maliciously. I think I should like having nothing to do myselffor a little while. Thats just like a man ! retorted the young lady. Im sure Ive done more than you have. Ive been to cooking school, and I have had an Italian lesson, and Ive practiced two hours, and Ive been shopping, and Ive paid ten visits, besides keeping house, which is work enough for one able-bodied woman. Indeed it is, interrupted Mrs. Dun- can, whose household was organized to run like clock-work, and who never heard from it except when it struck. My father never scolds, continued Miss Sargent, but he depends on me to make him comfortable. I dont know what hed do without me. He has to do without you when you dine out, said Duiican, slyly. 011, then I send him off to the club, and he goes like a lamb. Why, in the three weeks before Lent lie dined at honie only once. Was he invited out ? asked Duncan. No; but I was, she answered, frankly. He used to meet Mr. Thursby at the club, and they dined together. Dick Thiursby ? asked Mrs. Duncan. Yes. My fathers very fond of him he says hes a man of a thousand. Hes a man of a good many thousands, if report can be believed, said White, re- membering, with a sudden sinking of the heart, that rumor reported this Mr. Thurs- by as very devoted to Miss Sargent. His wife left him a lot of money, said Duncan. And her mother has never forgiven him for taking it, added Mrs. Duncan. She abuses him dreadfully. No man is a hero to his mother-in- law, said White, lightly. He was afraid of Thursby, but he was not willing to say anything against him. Thats not because he may not be a hero, suggested Dorothy, but rather be- cause she is a mother-in-law. I hear lie is beginning to take notice again, remarked Mrs. Duncan. Hes been flirting outrageously with that Hitchcock girl all winter, said Dor- othy. A SECRET OF THE SEA. 89 Dear me, said Mrs. Duncan, slyly, I thought he had been very attentive to you. I never noticed that, laughed Dorothy, as White moved uneasily. The only things I did notice about him were that he had a large mouth, and that only very small talk fell from it. Then you are not setting your cap for him ? said Duncan, inquisitively. Do you think lam a young lady with all the modern improvements ready to marry any goose if he has golden eggs ?~ I will not discuss the point with you, said Duncan. I never care to argue at dinner; the one who is not hungry always gets the best of it. White breathed more freely when lie heard her treat his rival thus scornfully. I did not think Mr. Thursby was an unintelligent man, said Mrs. Duncan; lie was in Congress for a year or two.~~ Why didnt lie serve his full term l asked White, unable to resist the chance. Was he pardoned out? Mr.White and Miss Dorothys voice was very mischievous when you speak slightingly of Congress, perhaps you for- get that my father has political aspira- tions. I assure you I did not kiiow it, and poor White blushed scarlet at his blunder. Mr. Joshua Hoffman has been urging my father to go to Congress for a long while. ~Joshua Hoffmans help is worth hav- ing, remarked Duncan as he tasted his champagne, no matter whether what you want is in this world or the next. It is delightful to see how all classes respect and honor Hoffmans goodness, added White. Hes one of the few men who belong to the Church and who do not act as though the Church belonged to them. Hes had a great fancy for my father, said Dorothy, ever since my father gave him Jeannette J. He ought to be grateful for one of the finest and fastest horses on the track, an- swered White, although he never bets on her or lets her trot for honey. Isnt your father off with Joshua Hoffman now l asked Mrs. Duncan. Oh yes; they are at Bermuda. They went on the Rhadamanthus. White suddenly remembered that Josh- ua Hoffmans yacht was the only ship he had been able to find resembling the Dare- Devil. At least my father went on herMr. Hoffman was delayed at the last moment, and had to wait over for the regular steamer. ~ Is he on the Rhadamanthus now queried White. Oh yes, he is there now. But my father had to go down all alone. He didnt mind that, as the sailing-master of the Rhadarnanthus is a great friend of his. Hed do anything for my father; I heard him say so once. Perhaps Mr. Sargent got him his berth, suggested White, strangely inter- ested in the topic, as he was in anything which might bear, however remotely, on the mysterious pirate. Ibehieve he did, replied Dorothy; but Captain Mills owed my father a great deal before that. At least I think so. I sup- pose I might as well tell the whole story. Its not much, either. But one summer, several years ago, I had been asleep in a hammock on the piazza, and I waked up just in time to hear Captain Mills say: I owe you more than I can ever pay, Mr. Sargent. You have done more than save my life. Talk is cheap, but I hope some day I may be able to show you that I do not forget. And what did your father say to that ? asked Mrs. Duncan. Well, you know his jocular way. He s~id, Thats all right, captain; first time I want a man stabbed in the back, Italian fashion, Ill let you know. And Captain Mills took my fathers hand and said, very seriously, You may joke, Mr. Sargent, but I mean what I say, and, short of mur- der, I dont believe theres anything Id stick at to do you a good turn. Its lucky your father isnt a Bold Bad Man, said Duncan, or lie might get Cap- tain Mills to scuttle the ship, or to splice the maui brace, or to do any of the wicked things that sailor-men delight in. Dont you be too sure of my father, Dorothy answered, gayly. He often says that if lie wasnt on the Street hed like to be a pirate 1 Indeed! ejaculated White, earnestly. He has a whole library of books about pirates, hut he says that the best of them all is a brief biography of Blackbeard, which he found his office-boy reading. Of course lie took it away from the office-boy, and scolded him remarked Duncan, and then went into his private office and devoured it himself ? 90 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Thats just what he did, answered Dorothy; and he says it is the most ex- pensive book in his library now, for while he was reading it the market went up or down, or something, and he lost a chance of making several thousand dollars. Piracy is a losing business nowadays, said White. Of course, added Duncan, quickly. A brave man can do better nowadays in Wall Street than on the Spanish Main. I have always heard Captain Mills well spoken of, remarked White. Oh, hes a fine man, said Dorothy, enthusiastically, and I am so glad he is in charge of the Rhadamanthus, now that Mr. Hoffman has a crew of Lascars. Lascars ! said Duncan and White to- gether, looking at each other. Yes; he shipped them a few weeks ago, when he was in the Mediterranean. Joshua Hoffman does have the oddest notions, said Mrs. Duncan. Of course, remarked her husband; he has very queer kinks in him. But he is a good man and an honorable man, and- the whole country is proud of him and of his work. The conversation thus directedto Joshua Hoffmans characteristically American ca- reer was enlivened by many anecdotes of his poverty in youth, of his shrewdness in business, of his simple and straightfor- ward integrity, and of his thoughtful and comprehensive charity. Then the talk turned to other topics as the perfectly served dinner pursued its varied courses. At last came coffee. The two ladies rose and took their tiny cups into the parlor, leaving the two men to smoke their cigars in the dining-room. But Robert White lent little attention to Duncans shrewd and pleasant chat when Dorothy Sargent followed Mrs. Duncan across the parlor to the piano, and began to sing. She had a light, clear soprano voice, sufficiently well trained, and she sang without effort, and as though she enjoyed it. After she had sung two or three songs Mr. Duncan called out from the dining- room, Now, Miss Dorothy, by request Oh, I know what you want, she in- terrupted, gayly. Of course, said Duncan, lighting a second cigar. His Scotch ancestors had died for the Stuarts, and he thrilled with hereditary loyalty as Miss Sargent sang, Heres a health of King Charles, with a dramatic intensity for which the care- less observer would never have given her credit. As Robert White rose to join the ladies, the butler told Mr. Duncan that a gentle- man wished to see him. Close the doors leading into the Japa- nese room, said Duncan, and show the gentleman in here. The room between the parlor and the dining-room Mrs. Duncan bad decorated in the Japanese style. The walls were covered with Japanese paper and hung with plaques of cloisonn~. The furniture was of bamboo with cushions of Japanese embroidery. Japanese lanterns, dexter- ously arranged for gas, shed a gentle light. Although the room was probably hopeless- ly incorrect in the eyes of a Japanesehad Mrs. Duncan had one on her visiting list the effect was novel and exotic and charm- ing. White passed through this room, and joined Miss Dorothy at the piano. He turned the leaves for her as she sang The Shepherds Hour. He thought she had never looked so lovely, and he knew he had never loved her as much. He felt that the time had come when he must put his fortune to the touch, when he must learn whether life was to be hap- piness or misery. When she finished the song she left the piano hastily, and begged Mrs. Duncan to play. White seconded her. Mrs. Duncan was an admirable pianist, but she was a match-maker even more accomplished. Ill play, she said, on one condition only: you two must go into the Japa- nese room and talk. Talk while you are playing I protest- ed Dorothy. Yes, answered Mrs. Duncan, firmly. You need not talk loudly, but you must talk: then I shall not feel as though I were giving a concert. If we must, we must, said Dorothy~ and she took a seat in the Japanese room. White sat himself down on a stool at her ~feet as Mrs. Duncan began one of Men- delssohns Lieder ohne Worte. How lovely those songs without words are ! said Dorothy, after a silence which threatened to become embarrassing. How lovely it would be, answered White, if we could express ourselves without words, if we could only set forth without speech the secret thoughts and feelings of our souls ! Do you really think so ? asked Dor A SECRET OF THE SEA. 91 othy. Sometimes it would be very awkward, I fear. Surely you would not mind letting the whole world read your innocent heart ? Indeed I should, cried Dorothy. Why, there are things I shouldnt like anybody to know. Robert White noticed the sudden blush which accompanied these words. In his eyes her delightful alternations of color were perhaps her greatest beauty. I wish you could know without my telling what my heart is full of just now, he said, controlling his voice as best he could. The color fled from her cheek, and left it as white as marble. With a little effort, she said, How do I know that it would interest me Dont you take any interest in me asked White. Indeed I do, Mr. White, but Then you must have seen that I love you, he interrupted, unable to refrain any longer. Dont tell me that you have not seen it. Dont tell me that my love is hopeless. The color came back slowly to her face and neck, and she said, shyly, I do not tell you that, because it would not be true. Then you do love me ? Just a little bit. He clasped her in his arms, as Mrs. Duncan turned over her music and played a nocturne of Chopins. They talked on in perfect bliss for a few minutes, then she said, suddenly, But you must speak to my father. I will ask him five minutes after he sets foot on shore. He will never consent, continued Dorothy. He has always said he could never let me go, and I have always prom- ised never to leave him. But that was before you gave yourself to me, said her lover. I suppose so, but I dont know what lie will do without me. Just think how I have done without you all these years. Its my turn now. He has been so good to me always. I will be so good to you always. How could I be anything else ? She looked at him, and he leaned for- ward and kissed her softly. But I will never marry you without his consent, she said. Just then Eliphalet Duncan threw open the folding-doors of the dining-room, and announced to Miss Dorothy that her maid and her coup6 had come to take her home. As White rose to see her into the carriage, Duncan asked him to come back a minute after Miss Sargent was off, as he had something to tell. White waited in the hall while the maid bundled Dorothy up in her fleecy wraps. Then he helped her into her carriage. The sharp eyes of the maid were on him, and lie could say no- thing. He gave her hand a precious squeeze as she said Good-night. May I see you to-morrow ? he asked. Yes, to-morrow, she answered; and with this word of promise and hope they parted. White went up to Duncans study. Who do you suppose my visitor was asked Duncan. How should I know ? asked White. Hes as anxious as you to find out who the pirate was that stopped the Pat- agonia. He was one of our passengers. And he came to tell me a curious discov- ery of his. He is interested in a type- writer manufactory, and he noticed cer- tain peculiarities in the notes which the pirate sent. As soon as he arrived here he set to work investigating. He has found out that the type-writer used by the pirate is one of a new style just put out by the company in which he is a shareholder. This new style was for sale only a month ago. Very few of them were sold before the 1st of Aprilthe day when the pirate made fools of us. Has he a list of the purchasers ? asked White, anxiously. His list is incomplete, but among those who bought this new style of type-writer was Joshua Hoffman. The owner of the Rhadamanthus ~ inquired the astonished White. Of course, said Duncan. IV.IN TilE PIRATES LAIR. To any one not accustomed to the sharp contrasts of American life it would have seemed impossible that Miss Dorothy Sar- gent should be the daughter of Mr. Sam- uel Sargent. She was slight and grace- ful, delicate and ethereal, as is the wont of the American girl. He was solid and florid; he was a high liver and of a full habit. His eye was very quick and sharp, as though it was always on the main chance, but there was generally to be seen 92 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a genial smile on his sensual mouth, not altogether hidden by a heavy mustache. He was at once a very smart man and a very good fellow. His friends often re- ferred to the magnetism of his manner. He was kindly, generous, shrewd, and uii- scrupulous. Moralities differ, and Sam Sargent had the morality of Wall Street, and he knew no other: lie would engineer a corner without a thought of mercy; but he never went back on his bank, and he never lay down on his broker; and these are the cardinal virtues in the Street. According to his lights, he was an honest man, but he wore his principles easily, and he had cultivated his senses at the ex- pense of his conscience. His father had skimped and scraped for years that the son might go to college, and was now living in restful happiness on a big farm near his native towna farm bought for him by his successful son. The college allowed its poorer students to pay their way by manual labor, and most of the shelving and other carpenter-work in the college library had been done by Sam Sargent, who had since endowed the library with twenty-five thousand dollars. After he left college he edited a country weekly for two or three months; then lie turned auctioneer; after that he was ad- vance agent for a small circus; then the war broke out, and lie raised a company, and rose to be colonel of volunteers. Wounded and sent home on a furlough, he delayed his return froni Washington to his Western home long enough to mar- ry the most beautiful daughter of one of the proudest of the first families of Vir- ginia. After helping to convert the steamers on the upper Mississippi into home-made iron-dads, he resigned, and became interested in various government contracts. He did his duty by the gov- eminent, and made money for himself. He put his earnings into the little local railroad of his native place. When the war was over, and the railroads of the West began to be consolidated and to push across the plains and the mouiitains, the little road of which Sam Sargent was pre- sident was wanted by two rival systems. Sam Sargent sold to the highest bidder, after judiciously playing one against the other; and he brought his money and his experience to Wall Street. A man can not run with the hare and hold with the hounds; on the Street a new-coiner is either a wolf or a lamb: Sam Sargent was not a lamb. In the uneasy and restless turmoil of the Stock Exchange he was in his ele- ment, and there he thrived. Every sum- mer, when stocks were sluggish or stag- nant, the speculator sought other forms of excitement. One year he lured a fast yacht, and the next lie bought a pair of fast trotters. One summer he let his fondness for poker run away with him, and he was a player in the famous game which lasted two days and three nights; at the end of the second day he had lost $150,000, but during the last night he won it all back and $65,000 besides. No man could deny his quickness, his coolness, or his nerve. Of late he had begun to take an interest in politics, and he was known to be seeking a nomination for Congress froni one of the brown - stone districts: the machine of his party was all ready to work in his behalf. To attain to this hon- or was his one unsatisfied desire, and his heart was set on it. About three weeks after the Patagortia had been robbed off the Banks by the Dare- Dcvii, Mr. Joshua Hoffmans yacht, the Rhadamanthus, returned to New York from Bermuda, bringing back Mr. Sam Sargent and Mr. Joshua Hoffman him- self. Among the letters which Sargent found on the table of his handsome pri- vate office in the Bowdoin Building, No. 76 Broadway, overlooking a part of Trini- ty Church-yard, was one from Robert White, requesting an immediate interview on a matter of the highest importance. Sargent knew Whites name as a rising young literary man, he had heard his daughter speak of meeting White, aiid he was aware of Whites connection with the Got ham Gazette. He wrote Mr. White a polite note, saying that lie should be glad to see him the next day at three. Precisely at three the iiext afternoon, as the bells of Trinity rang the hour over the hurrying heads of the sojourners in Wall Street, Robert White handed his card to the office-boy of Sargent and Com- pany, and was shown at once into the private office of the special partner. Sar- gent rose to receive him, saying: Im glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. White. There is a comfortable chair. What can I do for you to-day ? As he said this he gave White a look which took him in through and through. White felt that Sargent had formed at once an opinion of his character, and that this opinion was probably in the main ac A SECRET OF THE SEA. 93 curate. Are we alone, he asked, and secure from interruption ? Sargent stepped to the door and said to the attending office - boy, If anybody calls, just say I have gone. Then he closed the door atid turned the key in the lock. Taking his seat at his desk, he said, Now, Mr. White, I am at your service. As I wrote you, Mr. Sargent, I desire a few minutes talk with you on a matter of great importance, began White. Excuse me a moment, interrupted Sargent, taking a box of cigars from a drawer in his desk. Do you smoke ? White declined courteously. I trust you will excuse me if I light up ? Certainly, said White. I never smoke during business hours, explained Sargent, but at three I al- ways indulge myself in a little nicotine. White noticed that under cover of the first two or three puffs of smoke the spec- ulator gave him a second penetrating ex- amination. The journalist knew that his task was difficult enough at best, and this little manceuvre seemed to double the dif- ficulty. But his voice did not reveal this feeling as he said: The business I have to speak about, Mr. Sargent, is as private as it is impor- tant. I am aware that for a moment I may seem to you to be prying, not to say im- pertinent. I beg to assure you in advance that such is not my intent. If you will bear with me until I am done, I think you will then pardon my apparent intru- sion Fire away, said Sargent, blowing a series of concentric rings of smoke, and put the ball as close to the bulls-eye as you can. What I desire to talk about is the tak- ing of 100,000 in specie from the Pata- gonia on the afternoon of April 1. Indeed ? queried Sargent, sending forth a final ring of smoke as perfect as any of its predecessors. And pray what have I to do with that little specu- lation in gold ? At the time that money was taken you were short of Transcontinental Tele- graph stock, and you stood to lose nearly half a million dollars. If you had not warned me that you would be intrusive, I think I should have been able to discover it for myself. Hear me out. I do not see any connection between my private affairs and the Patagortia ad- venture. But go on. White continued in the calm voice he had maintained from the beginning of the interview: Before that gold could be landed in Nova Scotia there had been a panic here in Wall Street, the bottom had dropped out of Transcontinental Telegraph, your partners had covered your shorts, and you were in a fair way to make a good profit. Well ? asked Sargent, quietly. Wellthen the gold from the Pata- gonia was restored to its owners. As he said this, White watched Sargent closely. A second series of vortex rings was in process of construction. Suddenly Sar- gent turned slightly, and looked White full in the face. Mr. White, it is evident that you do not know me. I am a bad man to bluff. I do not choose to understand your insin- uendoes, as the darky called them I made no insinuations. You have been dropping mysterious hints, said Sargent, firmly. If you have picked them up, why Just let me tell you, Mr. White, that if you pick me up for a fool, you will lay me down again like a red-hot poker. I see you are driving at something. Now just stop this feeling over the surface and cut to the quick. If you have anything to say, say it out and be done with it. I can put the matter in a nutshell, if you will give me five minutes, said White, quietly. Load your nutshell and touch off the fuse, answered Sargent, settling back com- fortably in his chair. My chain is not quite coniplete, I con- fess, began White; there are several slight links wanting. But it is strong enough. Here is my story: When the Patagonia sailed from Queenstown with 100,000 on board, you were in urgent need of about $500,000. Owing to the un- expected detention of Mr. Joshua Hoffman in this city, you were the sole passenger on the Rhadamanthus when she cleared from New York for Bermuda. The crew of the Rhadamanthus were Lascars. The captain was undergreat obligations to you, and would do anything for you. Here White remarked that Sargent gave him a quick look as who should say, How came you to know that l Instead of going directly to Bermuda, you made for the Banks of Newfoundland. 94 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. On the voyage up you rigged a false fun- nel on the Rhadamanthus, you built false bulwarks, and you mounted a Quak- er gun amidships. Again White caught the same quick look, as though Sargent, in spite of his self-control, was surprised at the accuracy of Whites information. You arrived off the Banks just in time to intercept the Patagouia. You fired across her bows with the little gun of the yacht. You pretended to load the Quaker gun. You sent a message to the captain of the Patagoniaa message written by a type-writer bought by Joshua Hoffman the day before the yacht sailed. You stained your face and put on a false beard, and you yourself sat in the stern-sheets of the gig which was rowed out to receive the gold. When you left the Patagonia, as night fell, you steamed straight for the little place which Captain Mills owns on the coast of Nova Scotia near Halifax. You landed the gold at his private dock by night: fortunately for you, no cus- tom-house official caught sight of you. Whether you had intended to take the gold and fly, or whether you meant to use it to pay your losses in the Transconti- nental Telegraph corner, I do not know. But when you touched land you got the news of the panic here, and of the fall in the price of Transcontinental Telegraph. No longer needing the money, you deter- mined to return it, and to let the affair pass off as a practical joke appropriate to the 1st of April. Mrs. Mills took the cases to Halifax, and saw that they were forwarded to New York. Then you took the yacht to Bermuda as fast as she could steam, getting there long before Mr. Joshua Hoffman arrived on the regular steamer. No one in Bermuda connected the Rhada- mauthus with the Dare-Devil, because no one knew anything about the temporary robbery of the Patagonia until the arrival of the mail. There is no telegraph to Bermuda. The gold having been returned to its owners, you thought there would be no motive for pursuit and for prosecution. You believed that the whole matter would blow over, and that long before you got back to New York people would have something else to talk about than the ad- venture of the Patagonia. For further safety you have persuaded Mr. Joshua Hoffman to send the Rhadamauthus to Rio Janeiro to bring back the boy-natu- ralist who has been making collections along the Amazon. She passed Sandy Hook about six hours ago. As White paused here, Sargent swung around in his chair and took another ci- gar from the box in the drawer of his desk. Have you finished ? he asked. I have finished, answered White. As you requested, I have told my tale as briefly as possible. But I have written it out in full, setting down all the facts in order, and giving dates and figures as ex- actly as I could. Perhaps you would like to glance over it. Sargent took the flat little bundle of pa- pers xvhichi White held out to him, and dropped it into his pocket. He lighted his second cigar from the first. Then he said, pleasantly: This is a very pretty little ghost story of yours, Mr. White, but do you think you can get anybody to take any stock in it ? I believe the public will take an in- terest in itif If? asked Sargent, with his cigar in the air. If I publish it. Ah, if you publish it. And Sargent smiled meaningly, and the whole expres- sion of his face changed at once. Very well. How much ? I beg your pardon I said White, in- terrogatively. How much do you want? Mr. Sargent I and White rose to his feet, indignantly. Sit down again, Mr. White; we are talking business now. How much do you want to suppress this story ? White clinched the back of the chair firmly in his hand, and said, I did not expect to be insulted by the offer of a pal- try bribe. Who said anything about a paltry bribe? I asked you how much ? By this time White had recovered his temper. He sat down again. You do not know me if you think I am to be bought, Mr. Sargent. I am hesitating as to the publication of the facts in this case because I am not yet quite clear in my own mind as to my duty in the matter. Indeed ? There was a covert sneer in Sargents manner as he dropped this one word. Perhaps self-interest might resolve my doubts, continued White. Perhaps I could more readily make up my mind to say nothing about your connection with the affair of the Patagonia if A SECRET OF THE SEA. 95 If ? repeated Sargent. If I felt jealous of your reputation on my own accountin short, if I were a member of your family. You dont want me to adopt you, do you ? asked Sargent, brusquely. No, not exactly, answered White, hesitating, now he had reached the point. But I want to marry your daughter. Sargent looked at him in silent aston- ishment. Then he whistled. You want to marry my daughter ? Yes. Then the main question is not what I think, but what she thinks. Does she want to marry you ? She told me so the last time I saw her, said White, quietly. Sargent stood up in his surprise. But all he said was, What ? I asked her to marry me, and she promised to do soif you would consent. Ah, said Sargent; so you are en- gaged ? Yes, we are engaged, answered White. But I have always told Dorothy that I would never consent to her marrying anybody. I want her myself. I do not wish her to leave me. Thats what she told me. And yet she has engaged herself to you ? We are engagedyes; but we shall not be married until you give your con- sent. And you expect me to yield ? asked Sargent, harshly. Thats why I came to see you to-day, answered White , gently. Well, you are the cheekiest young fellow I ever saw. And Sargent sat down again, and struck a match to relight his cigar. White asked, anxiously, Will you con- sent ? Sargent took two or three puffs at his cigar, and replied: Of course. I have to consent. That girl makes me do what she pleases. I have never refused her any- thing yet. If she wants you for a hus- band, she shall have you. ~Thank you began White. You neednt thank me, interrupted Sargent; you had better go and thank her; and tell her you are going to dine with us to-day. As Sargent and White came down the stairs of the Bowdoin Building a begging peddler jostled against the speculator, who cursed him cheerfully, and then gave him a quarter. At the foot of the stairs White met Eliphalet Duncan, who was just go- ing up to his office. He felt so happy that he stopped Duncan to tell him he was en- gaged to be married, and to ask him if he could guess to whom. Of course answered Duncan to Miss Sargent. Then Sargent and White walked on, and Duncan went upstairs. As he came to the first landing he saw a fiat little bundle of paper. He picked it up, and took it into his office for examination, to see if lie might discover its owner. In September, at Newport, toward the end of the waning season, and just before those who are always in the thick of gay- ety and fashion abandoned Newport for Lenox, there was a wedding. Dorothy Sargent and Robert White were mar- ried. Sam Sargent, left alone, turned to pol- itics with his wonted energy. On the evening after his interview with White in April he had had a bad quarter of an hour, for he could not find the full and detailed statement of the Patagonia af- fair which White had given, and which he could have sworn he put in his pocket. For a while he did not dare give rein to his ambition. If this paper had fallen into the hands of a political enemy, his election to any office became impossible. But as time passed on and he got no news of the missing document, he began to hope that it had been destroyed without exami- nation. A few days after his daughters wedding he received the nomination for Congress for which he had intrigued un- ceasingly, and he had made a pungent lit- tle speech accepting the honor. The next evening time sword of Damo- des fell. He received a short, sharp note bidding him find some excuse at once for declining the nomination, or the exact truth would be published concerning his connection with the robbery of the Pata- gouja on the First of April. As Sam Sar- gent read this he knew of a certainty that he had a guardian enemy, and that his political career was at an end forever. He took up the fatal missive to read it again, and for the first time he noticed that it was written on a type-writer, and that it was signed Lafitte. THE WATTS EXHIBITION. 11[HAT shall our artists paint? The study of any general exhibition of contemporary art will prove that this question is one to which all the innova- tions of modern schools of painting sug- gest no direct answer. But just as some of the most interesting phenomena of as- tronomy have been observed through the corner of the eye while looking fixedly at another part of the heavens, so we may, by examining the tendencies of modern schools of art, find an answer to this ques- tion in an angle remote from the centre of our field of vision. It has been the fortune of one who was almost a stranger to the American public, Mr. G. F. Watts, of London, to be the first to excite here any serious and wide-spread discussion of the value of imagination in painting, and to call public attention to the possibility that our own art may be- fore long shake itself free in some mea- sure from the crushing burden of hyper- realism. The experiment of showing here a collection of pictures which in their pnr- pose are entirely different from anything hitherto seen in New York has demonstra- ted by its unparalleled success that we are entering upon a new and better period of our art historythat we are, in fact, fast learning to rank artistic works according to the result, and not solely by the means and methods of production. If the paint- ings in question were in any sense popu- lar pictures, it might be alleged, perhaps, that the novelty of the exhibition has been in a measure the cause of the lively interest it has excited among us. But, far from having those qualities which have hitherto attracted public applause, they even have certain peculiarities which have never before been recognized here as be- longing to works of art of a high order of merit. The reasons why this kind of modern art is new to ns here are readily found in the history of the growth and develop- ment of public appreciation and know- ledge of art in this country. In the brief period of the awakening of interest in the fine arts we have passed through different stages of growth which repeat the experi- ence of other countries where art is not indigenous. The facilities for European travel and the rapid increase of the wealthy class have brought this country up to the rank of one of the best picture markets, and two or three different schools of art have each in its turn excited us to ad- mire, to cultivate, and even to imitate. The Dfisseldorf, the Munich, and the Par- is schools have each made its impression on us through our artists who have stud- ied there, and throngh the great number of examples of foreign work which have c6n~e to this country. The growing tend- ency of these schools has long been to- ward absolute realism. In the annual Paris Salon, where, more than in any oth- er exhibition, are collected representative pictures from every country, it is plainly written on the walls, with only a rare hi- atus, that the prevalent modern impulse is to imitate materials and effects in the shortest and most direct way possible. The experience of our students abroad has been just what might have been expected. They have readily assimilated the novel and the radical ideas in art. They have found in the academies excellent instruc- tion in the technique of the profession, and have acquired a high degree of skill in execution. They have been for vari- ous reasons preoccupied with this side of their education, and have commonly neg- lected to pay any attention to the acquire- ment of a knowledge of what it is best worth while to paint. They have come home to repeat the cry of the ultra-radi- cals in art that anything is worth paint- ing if it be well painted, and they have helped establish this theory as a govern- ing principle in our art. This is the virus which poisons the art of Europe. This is the fatal principle which has glorified the ugly and the commonplace, has vitiated public taste, and has led to the develop- ment of a school of painters whose only legacy to posterity will be skillful tran- scripts of whatever is least desirable t& perpetuate in our age and in our civiliza- tion. If it be the province of art to elevate, t~ delight, and to entertain, certainly the ugly and the commonplace have no niche in its temple. If the artist be not called upon to exercise his taste in the selection of sub- jects, there will be found in his productions nothing higher than mechanical excel- lence. If it makes no difference whether the impulse to create has its source in the ugly or in the beautiful, then art ceases to be a profession, and becomes a trade. We have only to turn to the greatest works

F. D. Millet Millet, F. D. The Watts Exhibition 96-102

THE WATTS EXHIBITION. 11[HAT shall our artists paint? The study of any general exhibition of contemporary art will prove that this question is one to which all the innova- tions of modern schools of painting sug- gest no direct answer. But just as some of the most interesting phenomena of as- tronomy have been observed through the corner of the eye while looking fixedly at another part of the heavens, so we may, by examining the tendencies of modern schools of art, find an answer to this ques- tion in an angle remote from the centre of our field of vision. It has been the fortune of one who was almost a stranger to the American public, Mr. G. F. Watts, of London, to be the first to excite here any serious and wide-spread discussion of the value of imagination in painting, and to call public attention to the possibility that our own art may be- fore long shake itself free in some mea- sure from the crushing burden of hyper- realism. The experiment of showing here a collection of pictures which in their pnr- pose are entirely different from anything hitherto seen in New York has demonstra- ted by its unparalleled success that we are entering upon a new and better period of our art historythat we are, in fact, fast learning to rank artistic works according to the result, and not solely by the means and methods of production. If the paint- ings in question were in any sense popu- lar pictures, it might be alleged, perhaps, that the novelty of the exhibition has been in a measure the cause of the lively interest it has excited among us. But, far from having those qualities which have hitherto attracted public applause, they even have certain peculiarities which have never before been recognized here as be- longing to works of art of a high order of merit. The reasons why this kind of modern art is new to ns here are readily found in the history of the growth and develop- ment of public appreciation and know- ledge of art in this country. In the brief period of the awakening of interest in the fine arts we have passed through different stages of growth which repeat the experi- ence of other countries where art is not indigenous. The facilities for European travel and the rapid increase of the wealthy class have brought this country up to the rank of one of the best picture markets, and two or three different schools of art have each in its turn excited us to ad- mire, to cultivate, and even to imitate. The Dfisseldorf, the Munich, and the Par- is schools have each made its impression on us through our artists who have stud- ied there, and throngh the great number of examples of foreign work which have c6n~e to this country. The growing tend- ency of these schools has long been to- ward absolute realism. In the annual Paris Salon, where, more than in any oth- er exhibition, are collected representative pictures from every country, it is plainly written on the walls, with only a rare hi- atus, that the prevalent modern impulse is to imitate materials and effects in the shortest and most direct way possible. The experience of our students abroad has been just what might have been expected. They have readily assimilated the novel and the radical ideas in art. They have found in the academies excellent instruc- tion in the technique of the profession, and have acquired a high degree of skill in execution. They have been for vari- ous reasons preoccupied with this side of their education, and have commonly neg- lected to pay any attention to the acquire- ment of a knowledge of what it is best worth while to paint. They have come home to repeat the cry of the ultra-radi- cals in art that anything is worth paint- ing if it be well painted, and they have helped establish this theory as a govern- ing principle in our art. This is the virus which poisons the art of Europe. This is the fatal principle which has glorified the ugly and the commonplace, has vitiated public taste, and has led to the develop- ment of a school of painters whose only legacy to posterity will be skillful tran- scripts of whatever is least desirable t& perpetuate in our age and in our civiliza- tion. If it be the province of art to elevate, t~ delight, and to entertain, certainly the ugly and the commonplace have no niche in its temple. If the artist be not called upon to exercise his taste in the selection of sub- jects, there will be found in his productions nothing higher than mechanical excel- lence. If it makes no difference whether the impulse to create has its source in the ugly or in the beautiful, then art ceases to be a profession, and becomes a trade. We have only to turn to the greatest works THE WATTS EXHIBITION. 97 ever produced to find exemplified the first and only true purpose of art, and to recog- nize there the principles which govern all that is worth perpetuating in art. We have, indeed, simply to analyze our indi- vidual impressions in the presence of an- cient masterpieces to discover what it is that so compels our respect, excites our admiration, and moves our deepest human sympathy. We can not fail to recognize the vital element of all the good art of the past. We can not blind our eyes to the indisputable fact that the endeavor to rep- resent the perfection of beauty in one form or the other distinguished the Greek artist from his predecessors, and that this pur- pose has made the masterpieces of Greek art models for all nations and for all time. Will not our question be fully answered if we insist that the one condition of artist- ic production be parallel to that under which were brought forth those great works proven by experience, by cultiva- tion, and by the test of centuries and of new civilizations to be the noblest crea- tions of man? It is not asking too much of the artists that their purpose be higher than the desire to acquire mechanical skill, and that they shall exercise their intelligence in the selection of what they shall represent, neither is it expecting too much of a public so eager to assimilate new ideas as our own that it encourage the best intentions in art. To be sure, it can not be denied that modern science has sterilized the field which artists for- merly found fertile of inspiration. No public processions honor the productions of the best imaginative artists. The great religious painters worked with a conscious- ness that every stroke of the brush was more eloquent than the senteaces of the most powerful exhorter. No like stimu- lus now encourages any man. Costume and architecture have lost much of their early charm, novelty has usurped the place of individuality, but the influences of modern progress, however discouraging they may seem to art, have not changed the relations between artist and public. Human sentiments and human passions remain the same, and their power is undi- minished. We have no modern Homer aad no modern Shakespeare, but people are still alternately moved to laughter and to tears by those who know how to touch the right chords in literature. Art, too, counting among its followers no rivals to the great masters of the past, has not changed its mission, and still retains much of its original potency. Why is it, then, that we are not produ- cing here works of a high order of merit? The reply to this from the point of view of political economy is that the supply is ac- cording to the demand, both in kind and in quantity. But this principle, although it is an agreeable refuge in the dilemma, does not here apply. If it did, art would be still in its primitive stage, or, indeed, would never have existed at all. The de- mand is created by the artist himself, who by birth and training has keener powers of observation than the ordinary individ- ual, and makes use of this faculty to call attention to commonly unobserved beau- ties of nature, or to excite the imagination by the pictorial expression of some sub- ject. The artist is always in advance of his public for this very reason, and since he leads the public taste, it is to his charge that we must lay the responsibility for our present tendency. Fortunately the situ- ation is far from hopeless, for there is abun- dant proof that it is but a necessary and transitory phase in our art history. There has been every reason why we have felt the power of the radical influence in art, and why we have followed more or less loyally the lead of the innovators in painting. The conditions of our education in art, both in the practice of the profession and in the appreciation of art itself ,have been such that we naturally incline to that kind of art which makes the slightest demands upon our culture and our experience. It is not to be expected that we, as a people, having no national encouragement of art, without a system of general art education, and until recently without any important art museums, could readily understand and appreciate the same things which ap- peal to the people of Europe, who have had generations of culture in this direction. We have, it is true, lately made a rapid and a significant advance in matters of taste, and art has been a popular rage for nearly a decade. But we must not accept the superficial indications of interest in art as sure signs of deep culture, nor mistake our national quality of quick appreciation and adaptability for the more serious stages of progress. What has excited our enthusiasm most is that art which must be described as one of the lowest varieties the purely realisticfor we have accepted the baneful theory that good painting is a sufficient apology for an unworthy mo HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tive, or, indeed, for no motive at all. It is not fair to criticise this phase of our de- velopment in too severe terms, for it is much the same as if we should find fault with school-teachers for paying too much attention to spelling and grammar. With the education of a people it is the same as with the education of an individual. De- votion to material things, and apparent unconsciousness of any higher or ulterior purpose in education, is part of the history of every life. The artist, in order to ac- quire a reasonable degree of skill, must be preoccupied at some time with the use of materials, and until he becomes so famil- iar with the tools of his profession that he is unconscious of them he can not do his best work. Having in view methods and materials, it is natural and even necessary that he should concentrate his attention on the realistic representation of objects with- out suffering the distraction of the higher qualities of art. The trOuble with our artists, then, is that they are not yet far enough advanced to be able to forget the means in the endeavor to secure a result. Mr. Watts is an idealist, pure and sim- ple. He makes no attempt at realism; he ignores the model except as a guide to re- mind him of the truths of Nature; he does not pretend to imitate the natural effect of light or the external surface of things. His sole purpose seems to be to impress the spectator with the idea he has chosen to illustrate, both by the composition and by a treatment harmonious with the char- acter of the subject. To do this, he is ne- cessarily obliged to sacrifice absolute facts of nature for the more general and higher truths, since realism can no more illus- trate the creations of the imagination than a gossips description can give the sugges- tiveness which is the charm of a poets verses. Over fifty works have been loan- ed by Mr. Watts to the Metropolitan Mu- seum. About half of these are portraits, and the collection, as a whole, gives a fair but by no means complete indication of the artists aims and methods. The gen- eral aspect of the paintings seen as a mass is so unusual that it challenges examina- tion and study. The absence of the com- mon indications of endeavor to catch the public eye, the extreme sobriety, not to say sombreness, of the color, and a peculiar method of treatment, which can scarcely be better described than as the reverse of that now in vogue, distinguish the works at once as distinctly inspired by an absorbing study of the old masters. Whether Mr. Watts has done well in sub- mitting himself so thoroughly to the in- fluences of the old masters, or whether, indeed, his theories of painting, as we find them exemplified in the collection, have been the best for his purposes, it is not the place to discuss here. Whatever may be said of his means of expression, there can be but one opinion concerning his motives in painting. The distractions of a color scheme or other difficulties of execution have, indeed, left their mark on some of the finest of his productions, but he has generally accomplished what is best worth the endeavor of a true artist to bring about, the expression of an idea with a sufficient degree of completeness of execution to cause the spectator to forget the means in the absorbing presence of the result. Mr. Watts, in loaning his pictures, made no claim to represent the English school, nor in fact was he solicited to grant the loan because he was a representative painter of any European school. The chief motive which actuated those who took upon them- selves the responsibility of borrowing these pictures was to bring the painter before the public here as an individual who has proven by his works that modern art may he noble, may be dignified, may be classic- al in spirit, without being imitative; that it may, indeed, be of our age and may ap- peal to our modern tastes and sympathies, and still have the essence of the highest art in its motives and in its results. In portraits Mr. Watts has acquired a degree of skill of an unusual order. Those shown in the loan collection, some of them the best he has ever painted, are remarka- ble examples of modern work, often com- bining great vigor of execution with re- finement and delicacy of expression. If they were shown in the presence of the sitter, the casual observer would undoubt- ly find that they are not generally accu- rate realistic likenesses. But it is certain- ly the highest aim in portraiture to give the best impression of a head as it appears to the painter familiar with the character and the personality of the sitter. It is not left to the portrait painter alone to discov- er the fact that no one ever looks twice the same, for any one who contemplates with interest a human head soon discovers that for himself. An accurate imitation of a head as it appears at any one time may have, to be sure, some elements of good portraiture in it, but it is much more THE WATTS EXHIBITION. 99 likely to be of no more value in most ways than an instantaneous photograph. The portraits by Mr. Watts are distinguished by powerful personality and distinct indi- viduality. If he has omitted the minor details of physical resemblance, he has given in their place a large and sympa- thetic realization of the personal traits of the sitter. In the execution he has avoid- ~d above all that stumbling-block of most portrait paintersstudy of the sitter from too close a point of view. Comparison between the different heads will show that they each give the effect of a mass of col- or, the tone of which is as much a pecul- iarity of each sitter as the drawing of the head and the proportion of the features. This will indicate as well as anything else to what extent the artist was impressed by the sitter, for such a result can only be ob- tained through the most complete and ab- sorbing interest in the general aspect of the head without yielding to the distrac- tion of details. It may be well to call at- tention to the most important characteris- tics of Mr. Wattss portraits in order to show the difference between this work and tl)at of the most modern and at present the most popular portrait painters. The chief and decidedly prominent qualities of por- traits of the accepted modern school are solidity, truthful effect of light, and accu- rate imitation of the physical aspect of the sitter. The first impression, and, in fact, the only impression which the best of the realistic portraits gives the spectator is that of unqualified and uncompromising truth, but truth of surface alone. What is com- monly accepted as character is but accu- rate drawing; the so-called personality is oftenest but a mannerism of the artist, and the much-praised solidity and effect of reality are but the simplest tricks of the painters skill. We should include in our reply to the question, What shall our artists paint ? first of all portraits, because portraiture demands the highest quality of mind join- ed with a complete mastery of execution, and because it opens the way to the illus- tration of subjects lii~her in range than those which call for nothing but realistic imitation of actual subjects and the exter- nal surface of things. The same keen sense ~of observation and the same loyalty to mental impressions which are necessary to an artist in portrait painting are of equal value in the execution of any picture which represents any human passion or VOL. LxxT.No. 4218 emotion, or excites any elevated human interest. Let us see how Mr. Watts has carried into his pictures the same princi- ples which have been his support in por- traiture. His most enthusiastic admirers would not claim for these pictures that they have no faults. Unfortunately many of those loaned by Mr. Watts are in an un- completed state, and they must be judged largely by the intention of the painter. Love and Death is one of the best known of all his works, and scarcely needs de- scription here. The commanding figure of the common enemy of mankind, clothed in voluminous drapery, thrusting aside in his resistless advance the form of Love vainly struggling to guard the doorway through which Death is sure to pass, far better represents the modern idea than the ghastly symbolical skeleton which has so long held a place in all similar illustra- tions. By turning the back of the figure of Death toward the spectator the artist has suggested the eternal mystery of that face upon which no man has ever looked; by the simple gesture of the arm and the full forward movement he has represented the irresistible power, the inevitable ad- vance, of the enemy who knows no pause nor hinderance. By the contrast between this sombre figure and the tender form of Love struggling in anguish among the roses clustering around the doorway, there is presented to every mind the ever-recur- ring experience of human life when the full strength of love finds its sole conquer- or in the supreme power of death. Turn- ing from this to the next in the series, we find in Love and Life another phase of human existence illustrated with equal thoughtfulness and parallel poetical feel- ing. Here Love is shown as a youthful figure, strong, vigorous, and self-reliant as he tenderly assists the shrinking yet trusting maiden Life to climb a rough and rocky pathway. The tone of the picture is soft and tender, the color scheme sym- bolizing the youthful idea of the future, bright, fresh, and shadowless. Still again has Mr. Watts been impelled by his med- itation on the conditions of human exist- ence to express the idea of the controlling and uncontrollable influences upon which our lives depend. Time, Death, and Judg- ment is a group of colossal figures advan- cing through space with a solemn stride. Death is here a female figure with garner- ed buds, blossoms, and leaves; Time, a giant youth with changeless stare; and Judgment, 100 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a swooping Nemesis with flaming sword. In its treatment it resembles neither of the two first mentioned, because the artist has endeavored to embody the idea of the sta- bility and the unalterable nature of these agencies by the character of the figures which represent them. The human form, simplified, enlarged, purged of its mortal elements of change and decay, is used by Mr. Watts in this picture to symbolize pow- ers beside which all human forces are weak and ineffectual. In his treatment he has given them an appearance of firmness and immobility which harmonizes with the idea of the subject. The nude figure is to Mr. Watts an al- phabet with which he constructs, as in the Chaos, a descriptive poem, or it is a po- tent medium of expression,through which, as in the Eve Tempted, he excites the imaoination to complete the idealization which art can only suggest, not repro- duce. He paints no figure for the sake of the model alone, considering the repro- duction of the qualities of human flesh only worthy his brush when it may car- ry to the mind of the spectator some ex- alted idea. With this purpose he has painted several nude figures, three Eves among the rest, with no hint of that earth- liness which is characteristic of French art, and for which the marvellous skill of those painters is no apology or excuse. In his use of the figure he is, of course, following the lines of ancient Greek art, for in the simplicity and dignity of his composition and in the grandeur of the movements he creates are found abundant indications of sympathetic study of the noble masterpieces of ancient sculpture. Whoever has deplored the tendencies of modern French art, and has vainly sought among the numberless nudes that are hung each year in the public exhibitions in France for a single example which might increase our admiration for the hu- man form, and call our attention to the chaste beauties of the noblest of creations, will find in the pictures by Mr. Watts an earnest endeavor to eliminate from the figure all grossness, and to clothe it with the perfect garment of purity. If the nude is painted except with this motive, can it be classed as art? The Eve Tempted alluded to above is the only one of the series of three which it was possible to procure for the loan col- lection. The large, almost Michael-Ange- lesque, forms suggest ripe and vigorous womanhood, while a certain dignified grace of action and unconsciousness of pose make one forget the model, and think only of the exalted type of beauty which the painter has endeavored to represent. Unfortunately the picture is in an unfin- ished state, so that its full charm is lost; but the abundance of Paradise is well enough shown in the tangle of leaves half concealing the figure of Eve, and of- fering to her hesitating touch the tempt- ing fruit. In the Fata Morgana is found another type of female beauty in the sprightly figure of a maiden symbol- izing opportunity. She escapes the clutch of her pursuer, who has vainly endeavor- ed to seize the lock of hair by which alone she can be caught, and, with a movement full of suppleness and grace, dances away, laughing at the impotent attempt at her capture. We pause to note the exquisite- ly modelled limbs and the animated swing of the figure, unconscious of its nudity, remembering only how fully it embodies in the spirit of its action the idea of the fleeting character of that will-o-the-wisp, opportunity. The Orpheus and Eurydice is one of the most dramatic of the compositions, and is, perhaps, open to the criticism that it exaggerates somewhat the effect of the situation. He has chosen to illustrate the instant when Orpheus, having looked behind him, contrary to the command, finds Eurydice dragged back by fate intc. the depths of Hades. The contrast be- tween the manly strength of Orpheus and the helplessness of Eurydice is heightened by the great difference in the color of the flesh of the two figures. Not an echo of the hues of life which tiiige the limbs of the hero is found in the pallid skin of the drooping, nerveless victim which fate has claimed. The mystery and gloom of Hades are suggested by a background full of dim forms and sombre colors. Another sub- ject taken from mythology and treated with exquisite taste is the Endymion. The shepherd sleeps in the vale of Mean- der, and Semele hovers over him, charm- ed by his beauty. There is in the whole collection no better example of adequate and agreeable illustration of a poetical idea than this simple composition. The suggestion of the crescent moon is subtly conveyed by the curve of the hovering figure, and by the silver-hued drapery which conceals and yet reveals the fornL The large and simple movements, the THE WATTS EXHIBITION. 101 grace and nobility of the figures, recall the charms of Greek sculpture, while the whole story of Endymion is brought to mind by this thoughtful interpretation of a single incident. To call this intellectu- al art would be to only half define it, and would, indeed, but ill express its charac- ter. The conditions of good art are satis- fied, for the eye is pleased, the imagination excited, and the intellect awakened. As for the treatmenthe who finds the treat- ment inadequate to express the idea must indeed be a devoted and a loyal realist. We have seen in some of these pictures how skillfully Mr. Watts has touched the strings which vibrate in every human heart. He has shown us love as a sus- taining power in human life, and love powerless to resist the advance of death, and in the Paolo and Francesca he com- pletes his illustration of the subject of human love by eloquently repeating the oft-told story of the hopeless but enduring passion of the most unhappy pair of mor- tal lovers. Joined together for all time, they cling to each other with nerveless touch, the eternal pain of disappointed love visible on their faces, forever scored with the lines of acute death agony. Twin spirits, they float through the murky mys- teries of the Inferno, types of wretched- ness and suffering. This has long been a favorite theme for illustration, but Mr. Watts has made it his own by the compre- hensive manner in which he has grasped the idea and imparted the true Dantesque spirit to his composition. This successful treatment of an old subject may serve to show to all to whom the question at the beginning of this article is a vital a.nd an interesting one that it is the individual conception, not the subject itself, that makes the picture, and it may also sug- gest another factor in the complex answer to the apparently simple interrogation. In this brief and necessarily incomplete study of Mr. Wattss paintings it will have been noticed, perhaps, that there has been no hint of school or of nationality either in the character of the subjects or in the methods of dealing with them. The mo- tives of the painter have, on the contrary, been shown to be broadly human and not local. One of the great lessons to be learned from the collection is that purely national schools of art are now no longer possible, because the advance of modern science has harmonized the many differences which formerly were distinctive features of the art of various nations. Good art is cos- mopolitan. Since we entered upon a pe- riod of interest in art here in America the cry, Let us help American art, feebly uttered at first, has made itself heard on all sides. With that cry echoing in our ears it is worth while to pause and ask how American art may best be encour- aged. Is it by indiscriminately buying American pictures because they are native productions? No; because it is only judi- cious encouragement which is good for pa- tron and for producer. Is it by insisting upon the selection of American subjects? No; because we have no right to cramp a natural inclination by seeking to mould it to our own national ways. A born New- Englander may have an Italian tempera- ment. Many of the famous artists of mod- ern European schools have sought their subjects beyond the boundaries of their country, and often outside the circle of national sympathy and appreciation. The artist who recognizes in himself no impulse to paint the scenes or the historical events of his own country may yet find a stimu- lus in some other part of the world. Let us look at the matter in its widest and most noble aspect. The best way to encourage American art is to encourage the devel- opment of true artists among us, whether they paint subjects inspired by civilized American life or by the barbarism of re- mote Asia. The purpose is the all-impor- tant object. Let it be a condition of suc- cess that the artist shall respect his profes- sion; that he use his talents not to glori- fy ugliness, but to perpetuate the sublime beauty of natures highest truths; that he prepare himself by the development of his mind to illustrate his chosen subjects in a manner which shall be intelligible to the layman, and which shall present the ideas in a new aspect, the natural result of in- dividual observation and study. Let him be encouraged in the ambition to be first of all a man, then an artist. Let art for arts sake be the cry, not art for the sake of patriotism. We can not afford to shrink our horizon by fostering a school of art of a limited aim and a narrow scope. Shake- speare was no less an Englishman for writing Hamlet, Othello, or Julius Ccesar. We judge him as we must now judge art- ists, after ignoring his nationality. The exhibition of Mr. Wattss paintings has done a great deal toward awaking pub- lic interest in a better side of art than the purely mechanical one. It is encouraging 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to reflect that there is not one of these works which might not have been pro- duced in this country, because they are individual creations, not reproductions of local types or scenes. If Mr. Watts has not fully shown us by his work what our artists should paint, he has given us a plain hint of it, and has at least pointed out a direction of effort which is at once cosmopolitan and worthy a genuine art- ist. The exhibition has distracted our at- tention from curiosities of execution and triumphs of accurate realism, and has, it is to be hoped, initiated an era of more pro- found study and more thoughtful appreci- ation, which shall surely both encourage our native art and elevate the standard of good taste among us. EAST ANGELS. CHAPTER VIII. L IJOJAN SPENSERS good looks were of the kind that is conspicuously at- tractive while the youth which accompa- nies them lasts; his face and figure were a personification of radiant young manhood at its best. The same features, the same height and bearing, would have had quite a different aspect if robbed of the color, the sunninessif one may so express it which was now the most brilliant attribute of the whole. He was tall and broad- shouldered, but slender still. He had a bearing which was graceful as well as manly. His hair of a bright golden color had a burnished look, which came from its thick mass being kept so short that the light could find only an expanse of crisped ends to shine across. He had a way of throwing back his head a little as he walk- ed or talked, and this too, being plainly quite natural, seemed somehow like an- otherattribute of his sanguine young vigor. His eyes were blue, the deep blue which is distinguishable as blue, and not gray or green, across a room. This clear bright color was their principal beauty, as they were not large. They were charming eyes; which could turn to tenderness in an in- stant. But though they could be tender, their usual expression was that of easy in- differencean expression which, when ac- companied by a becoming modesty and frankness, sits very well upon a strong, handsome young man. He had a well-cut profile, white teeth gleaming under a gold- en mustache, a pleasant voice, and a fre- quent, equally pleasant laugh. No one could resist a certain amount of admira- tion when he appeared; and the feeling was not dimmed by anything in his man- ner, for he was good-humored and witty, and if, as has been said, he was rather in- different, he was also quite without ego- tism, and quite without, too, that tendency to underrate others which many excellent people possessa tendency which comes oftenest from jealousy, but often, too, from a real incapacity to comprehend that peo- ple may be agreeable, and happy, and much admired, and even good, with tastes and opinions, appearance and habits, which dif- fer totally from their own. Lucian Spen- ser underrated nobody; on the contrary, he was apt to see the pleasant side of the people with whom lie was thrown. He took no trouble to penetrate; it was not a deep view; probably it was a superficial one. But it was a questionso some of his friends had thoughtwhether this was not better than the strict watch, the sadly satisfactory search, for faults in the circle of their own families and friends which many conscientious people keep up all their lives. Lucian, as has been said, under- rated nobody. And apparently he was not possessed by the burning desire to an- nounce his principles and tastes to all the world, to convert other people to them. Regarding other people his chief principle at present seemed to be that they should be handsome; if not handsome, then pic- turesque. Garda Thorne was the one; De Torrez was the other. A day or two after his midnight mus- ings on the beach, Evert Winthrop was coming down Pacheco Lane toward the eyrie, when he heard, in a long, sweet, distant note, Good-by. It came from the water. But at first lie could not place it. There were two or three fishermens boats passing; but the fishermen of Gra- cias were not in the habit of calling good- by in clear English accents to each other. Their English was by no means clear; it was mixed with Spanish and West Indian, with words borrowed from the not remote African of the Florida negro, and even with some from the native Indian tongues;

Constance Fenimore Woolson Woolson, Constance Fenimore East Angels 102-121

102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to reflect that there is not one of these works which might not have been pro- duced in this country, because they are individual creations, not reproductions of local types or scenes. If Mr. Watts has not fully shown us by his work what our artists should paint, he has given us a plain hint of it, and has at least pointed out a direction of effort which is at once cosmopolitan and worthy a genuine art- ist. The exhibition has distracted our at- tention from curiosities of execution and triumphs of accurate realism, and has, it is to be hoped, initiated an era of more pro- found study and more thoughtful appreci- ation, which shall surely both encourage our native art and elevate the standard of good taste among us. EAST ANGELS. CHAPTER VIII. L IJOJAN SPENSERS good looks were of the kind that is conspicuously at- tractive while the youth which accompa- nies them lasts; his face and figure were a personification of radiant young manhood at its best. The same features, the same height and bearing, would have had quite a different aspect if robbed of the color, the sunninessif one may so express it which was now the most brilliant attribute of the whole. He was tall and broad- shouldered, but slender still. He had a bearing which was graceful as well as manly. His hair of a bright golden color had a burnished look, which came from its thick mass being kept so short that the light could find only an expanse of crisped ends to shine across. He had a way of throwing back his head a little as he walk- ed or talked, and this too, being plainly quite natural, seemed somehow like an- otherattribute of his sanguine young vigor. His eyes were blue, the deep blue which is distinguishable as blue, and not gray or green, across a room. This clear bright color was their principal beauty, as they were not large. They were charming eyes; which could turn to tenderness in an in- stant. But though they could be tender, their usual expression was that of easy in- differencean expression which, when ac- companied by a becoming modesty and frankness, sits very well upon a strong, handsome young man. He had a well-cut profile, white teeth gleaming under a gold- en mustache, a pleasant voice, and a fre- quent, equally pleasant laugh. No one could resist a certain amount of admira- tion when he appeared; and the feeling was not dimmed by anything in his man- ner, for he was good-humored and witty, and if, as has been said, he was rather in- different, he was also quite without ego- tism, and quite without, too, that tendency to underrate others which many excellent people possessa tendency which comes oftenest from jealousy, but often, too, from a real incapacity to comprehend that peo- ple may be agreeable, and happy, and much admired, and even good, with tastes and opinions, appearance and habits, which dif- fer totally from their own. Lucian Spen- ser underrated nobody; on the contrary, he was apt to see the pleasant side of the people with whom lie was thrown. He took no trouble to penetrate; it was not a deep view; probably it was a superficial one. But it was a questionso some of his friends had thoughtwhether this was not better than the strict watch, the sadly satisfactory search, for faults in the circle of their own families and friends which many conscientious people keep up all their lives. Lucian, as has been said, under- rated nobody. And apparently he was not possessed by the burning desire to an- nounce his principles and tastes to all the world, to convert other people to them. Regarding other people his chief principle at present seemed to be that they should be handsome; if not handsome, then pic- turesque. Garda Thorne was the one; De Torrez was the other. A day or two after his midnight mus- ings on the beach, Evert Winthrop was coming down Pacheco Lane toward the eyrie, when he heard, in a long, sweet, distant note, Good-by. It came from the water. But at first lie could not place it. There were two or three fishermens boats passing; but the fishermen of Gra- cias were not in the habit of calling good- by in clear English accents to each other. Their English was by no means clear; it was mixed with Spanish and West Indian, with words borrowed from the not remote African of the Florida negro, and even with some from the native Indian tongues; EAST ANGELS. 103 it was a very patchwork of languages. Again came the note, and Winthrop, go- ing forward to the edge of the low bank, looked over the water. The course of one of the boats, the smallest, had brought it nearer, and he now recognized Lucian Spenser in the stern, holding the sail-rope and steering, and Garda Thorne, facing him, seated in the bottom of the boat. Garda waved her hand, and called again Good-by. They glided past him, and he raised his hat, but did not attempt con- versation across the water. In a few iiun- utes more Lucian had tacked, and the boat turned eastward down the harbor, the sail, which had swung round, now hiding their figures from his view. Winthrop left the bank, crossed the green - carpeted lane, and went up the outside stairway to the eyries drawing-room. His aunt was not there; there was only Celestine, who, loathing the desultory methods of Cindy, the colored girl, who was supposed to act as the eyries parlor-maid, was in the hab- it of banishing her at intervals from the scene, and engaging personally in an en- counter with the dust according to her own system. The system of Celestine was deep and complicated, beginning with the pinning of a towel tightly over her entire head in a compact cap-like fashion of much austerity, followed as second stage by an elaborate arrangement of tea- leaves upon the carpet, and ending But no one knew where it ended; no one had ever gone far enough. It was at the tea leaf stage that Winthrop found her. Shes gone out walkin with Mrs. Ca- rew, Celestine replied, in answer to his inquiry for Mrs. Rutherford. You see she got her feet all sozzled last night com- ing home across the plazzer from church with that there Dr. Kirby. And so she took cold, of course. And theres nothin so good for a cold as half an hour outside in this bakin sun, and so I told her. You dont speak as though you alto- gether approved of evening service, Mi- nerva ? Winthrop answered, amused by her emphasis. Well, I dont, and thats a fact, Mr. Evert. In the mornin its all very well; but in the evenin, Ive noticed, the mo- tives apt to be mixed. Its pretty gener- ally who you come home with. My mo- ther used to say to Lovina (that was my sister) and me, Girls, in the evenins I dont like to have you go loblolloping down to meetin and straddlin up the aisle. It aint real godliness; its just pur- tense, and everybody with any gumption knows it is. And she was quite right, Mr. Evertquite. And having thus ex- pressed herself at much greater length than was usual with her, Celestine re- sumed her labors, and raised such a dust that the man (whom she still considered quite a young lad) was glad to beat a re- treat. He went to the east piazza, and seated himself with a book in his hand. But his eyes followed the sail which was moving slowly down the harbor toward Patricio. Fifteen minutes later Margaret Harold, coming through the long window, found him there. By this time the sail was gone; only the mast could be seen; Lucian and his companion had lauded on Patrieio. They are going to see Madam Ruiz said Margaret. No, replied Winthrop; if they had been going there, they would have stopped this side, at the landing. It would amuse Garda more to stop on the ocean side. Its the only thing she plans foramusement. I can see no especial entertainment in it; it will simply be that he will have hard work to get the boat off. That is what will amuse herto see him work hard. He wont enjoy it! No; but she will. You knew they were going ? said Win- throp, taking up his book again. I was passing the plaza landing, and happened to see them start. Did they tell you they were going to see Madam Ruiz ? They were too far off to speak; they were just at the piers end. No; but when I saw they had landed (I have been watch- ing them from the window), I supposed of course they were going there. Theres no supposing anything with Lucian Spenser, answered Winthrop. He got up, took the glass which was hang- ing in its case on a nail behind him, and turned it toward the point of Patricio. Theyre not going toward the Ruiz plan- tation at all, he said; theyre walking southward, down the beach. He put the glass back in its case, closed it, replaced it on the nail, and sat down again with his book. But he did not open it. I am surprised that Mrs. Carew should have allowed Garda to go, he went on, after a moment. Shes staying with Mrs. 104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Carew, isnt she? Shes always staying with some one nowadays. She is staying with Mrs. Carew till to- morrow only. Mrs. Carew likes Lucian Spenser immensely; she tells every one how much she likes him. I dont think that has anything to do with itMrs. Carews admirations re- sponded Winthrop. Hes an irresponsi- ble sort of fellow, he added, speaking with moderation. He was not moderate, but he often spoke with moderation. On the present occasion lie felt that he might have said much more. Yes, I think he is rather irresponsible, assented Margaret. I suppose he would say why shouldnt he be, if it pleases him. No reason in the world. I dont im- agine any one cares. But they ought not to permit Edgarda Thorne to go about with him as she does. She has never been in the habit of walking or sailing with Manuel Ruiz, or that young Cuban I mean walking or sailing with them alone. Probably they have never asked her. That is very likely. I suppose they wouldnt dream of it. And that is what I am referring to; she has been brought up here under such a curious mixture of free- dom and strictness that she is not at all fitted to cope with a person like Spenser. Shall I speak to Mrs. Thorne ? said Margaret. She was standing by the piaz- zas parapet, her band resting on its top, her eyes fixed vaguely on Patricio, though the two figures were no longer in sight. Winthrops chair being behind her and on one side, he could see only her profile, out- lined against the light. Mrs. Thorne is already awakened to it. he answered; she has spoken to me on the subject. There was your opportunity. What did you say I told herI told her not to be un- easy, he replied, breaking into a laugh over his own inconsistencies. But it isnt Mrs. Thorne who is to blameI mean Mrs. Thorne alone; it is Mrs. Carew, the Kirbys, the Moores, and all the rest of them. In other words, the whole society of Gracias. Ought we to corrupt them with our worldly cautions ? Were not corrupting; its Spenser whos corrupting. We should never cor- rupt them though we should stay here for- ever. Theyre idyllic, of course; its an idyllic society. But we can be idyllic too. Margaret shook her head. Im afraid we can only be appreciative. Its the same thing. If we can ap- preciate little Gracias, with its remoteness and its simplicity, its stateliness and Ponce de Leon ideas, its pine-barrens and roses, mocking-birds and beaches, I maintain that were very idyllic indeed. What can be more so ? Margaret did not reply. After a while she said, If you will ask Aunt Katrina to drive with you to-morrow afternoon, I will have Telano row me down to East Angels. You think you will speak in any case? I suppose you know with what enthusiast- ic approval Mrs. Thiorne honors all you say and do ? Yes, something of it. But you dont care for her approvals, he said, only half interrogatively. Yes, I care, Margaret answered. In this case I care a great deal, as it may give me some influence over her. What shall you say to her ?not that I have any right to ask. I am very willing to tell. I had thought of asking whether she would let Garda go back with me when we go home back to New York; I had thought of hav- ing her go to school there for six months. I cant imagine her in a school. But its very kind in you to think of it, all the same. She could stay with Madame Martel and take lessons. It wouldnt be quite like a school. That might do. StillI can hardly imagine her away from Gracias, when it comes to the point. Neither can I. But, as you see, irre- sponsible people have made their way in here. They will do so again. We shall not be able to keep the place and Garda idyllic simply to please ourselves. Well, then, I wish we could, respond- ed Winthrop, emphatically. But I dont believe the little mother could stand the separation, he went on. I shouldnt ask her to; at least not for long. I should ask her to come herself, later. New York might amuse her. Never in the world. She wouldnt in the least approve of it, said Winthrop, laughing. It wouldnt be Thorne, or Duero; it wouldnt even be Reesville; shed feel that she ought to reform it, yet wouldnt know how. Shed be dreadfully perplexed. She has a genius for perplex- EAST ANGELS. 105 ity, poor little soul. It comes from her having so much conscience. But I cant express how good I think it is of you to be willing to give them such a delightful change as that, he went on to take a whole family on your shoulders for six long months. A family of two. It would be a plea- sure to do it. I suppose you know that people dont often do such things, except for their rel- atives. Not very often for them. I know it perfectly. And I have al- ways wondered why they did notpro- vided, of course, that they had the ability, answered Margaret. Winthrop in his heart had been much astonished by her plan. It did not accord with his idea of Mrs. Harold. He looked at her as if in search of some expression that should throw a gleam of light upon her motives. But she had not moved, and he could still see only her profile. After a while she lifted her eyes, which had been resting with abstracted gaze upon the water, and, for the first time, turned toward him. A faint smile crossed her face as she met his inquiring look; but her expression under the smile seemed to him sad. She bent her head slightly without speaking, as if to say good-by, and then turning, she went back through the long window into the house. Win- throp, left behind, said to himself that while he had no desire as a general thing for long conversations with Margaret Har- old, he wished this time that she had not gone away so soon. Then it came to him that she almost always went away, that it was almost always she who rose, and on some pretext or other left him to himself. She left him-he did not leave her. On this occasion she had gone without the pretext; she had not taken the trouble to invent one; she had simply walked off. Of course she was quite free to come and go as she pleased. But he should have liked to hear more about her plan for Garda. The next day she did not go down to East Angels. Her proposed visit had had to do with Lucian Spenser, and Lucian Spenser had taken his departure from Gracias that morninga final departure, as it was understood; at least he had no present intention of returning. It was very sudden. He had had time to say good-by only to his cousin, Mr. Moore. To Mr. Moore he had intrusted a little note of farewell for Edgarda Thorne, who had returned to East Angels at an earlier hour, without seeing Lucian or knowing his intention. Mr. Moore said that Lu- cian had not known his intention him- self until that morning. He had received a letter, which was probably the cause of his departure (this probably was very characteristic of the clergyman). He, Lucian, intended to go directly north to Washington, and from there to NewYork, and then possibly abroad. Dear me !and his surveying camp, and the swamp, and those interesting young bears he had there ? said Mrs. Rutherford, who, having once arranged this very handsome young mans back- ground definitely in her mind, was loath to change it, even, as she remarked, with an unusual flight of imagination (called out probably by her appreciation of color) even for the White House. It would hardly be the Executive Mansion in any case, I fancy, explained Mr. Moore, mildly; Lucian has, I think, no acquaintance with the President. But Washington is in reality his home, though it is perhaps apparent that he has not been there very often of late years. These rather vague deductions regard- ing his young cousins movements were satisfactory to Middleton Moore. He had evidently asked no more questions of Lu- cian on the occasion of his unexpected de- parture than he had upon the occasion of his equally unexpected arrival; his inter- est in him (which was great) had no con- nection with the interrogation point. What shall you do now ? said Win- throp to Margaret, after the clergyman had taken leave. They were alone in the little drawing-room, Mrs. Rutherford hav- ing gone to put herself in the hands of Ce- lestine for the somewhat elaborate change of dress required before her daily drive. Margaret had risen; but she stopped long enough to answer: Of course now I need not speak to Mrs. Thorne about Lucian Spenser. No. But about Gardas going North? Do you still think of that ? Yes; that is, I should like very much to take her. But I dont think I shall speak of it immediately; there need be no hurry now. She paused. I should like first to talk it over more definitely with you, she said, as if with an effort. Whenever you please; I am always at your service, replied Winthrop, with a return of his formal manner. 106 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. That afternoon he rode down to East An- gels. Mrs. Thorne received him. There was excitement visible in her face and manner-an excitement which she held in careful control. But it manifested itself, in spite of the control, in the increased brightness of her eyes, which now fairly shone, in the round spot of red on each little cheek-bone, and in the more accent- uated distinctness of her speech, which now came as nearly as possible to a pro- nunciation of every letter. She asked him how he was. She inquired after the health of Mrs. Rutherford, after the health of Mrs. Harold; she even included Celes- tine. She spoke of her own health, and at some length. She then branched off upon the weather. All her Ts were so preternaturally acute that they snapped like a drop of rain falling into a fire. When she said we~~ or ~ she brought out the vowels so distinctly that her thin lips widened themselves flatly over her small teeth, and her mouth be- came the centre of a sharp triangle whose apex was the base of the nose, and the sides two deep lines that extended out- ward diagonally to the edge of the jaws. So far, she was displaying unusual for- mality with the friend she had found so satisfying. The friend betrayed no con- sciousness of any change; he saw that she wished to keep the direction of the con- versation in her own hands, and he did not interfere with her desire. He was sure that she had something to say, and that in her own good time she would bring it forth. And she did. After treating him to twenty minutes of pronunciations she folded her hands closely, and with the same crisp utterance remarked: My daughter is in the rose garden. I should like to have you see her before you go. I shall not accompany you. I shall ask you to do me the favor of seeing her alone. He could not help smiling a little, in spite of the repressed tragedy of the tone behind her brief sentences. Favor I he repeated. Yes, favor, responded Mrs. Thorne, in a slightly higher key, though her voice remained musical, as it always was. Fa- vor, indeed! Wait till you see her. List- en, Mr. Winthrop; I want you to be very gentle with Edgarda now. And, lean- ing forward, she touched his arm impress- ively with her finger. Winthrop always felt an immense pity for this little mother, she was racked by so many anxieties of which the ordinary world knew nothing, the comfortable world of Mrs. Rutherford and Mrs. Carew. That some of these anxieties were over- strained, exaggerated, did not render them any the less painful to the woman who could not perceive that they were. Of course I shall be gentle, he said, taking her hand cordially. As lie held it he could feel the hard places on the deli- cate little palm which much household toil, never neglected, though never men- tioned, had made there. But when you see her, when you hear her talk, it may not be so easy, respond- ed Mrs. Thorne, looking at him with an expression in her eyes which struck him as containing at the same time both en- treaty and defiance. It will always be easy, I think, for me to be gentle with Garda, responded Win- throp; and his own tone was gentle enough as he said it. Tears rose in Mrs. Thornes eyes; but she repressed them; they did not fall. I de- pend greatly upon you, she said, with more directness than she had yet used. She drew her hand from his, took up his hat, which was lying on a chair near her, and gave it to him: she seemed to wish him to go, to say no more. He obeyed her wish, left the room and the house, and went to the rose garden. Here, looking about him, he saw Garda. She was under the great rose-tree, dress- ed in an old white gown of a thick cotton material, which she sometimes wore in the mornings at home, a gown which had ev- idently been let down and many times washed; she was sitting on the ground, with her crossed arms resting on the bench, and her head laid on her arms. Her straw hat was off, the rose-tree shading her from the afternoon sun. Carlos Mateo, mounting guard near, eyed Winthrop as he appeared at the gate; but though Garda could of course hear the approaching steps, she did not move. He came up and stood beside her. Still she did not raise her head. He could see her face in profile as it lay on her arm; it was pale, and the long lashes on her cheeks were wet with recent tears. Garda, he said. Yes; I know who it is,answered the girl, without looking up. It is Mr. Winthrop. Mamma has asked you te come and talk to me, I suppose. But it is- EAST ANGELS. lOT of no use. And he could see the slow tears drop down again, one by one. I should be glad to come on my own account, without being asked, if I could be of any use to you, Garda. You can not, she murmured, hope- lessly. His speech had sounded in his own ears far too formal and cold for this grieving childfor the girl looked not more than fourteen as she sat there with her bowed head on her arms. He resisted, however, the impulse to treat her as though she had been indeed a child, to stoop down and lift her in his arms, and try to comfort her. I am very sorry to find you so unhap- py, he went on, still feelingthat his words were too perfunctory. I dont believe it; I wish I did, an- swered Garda, who was never perfunctory, but always natural. If I did, perhaps I could talk to you about it; and then it wouldnt be quite so hard. And a sob rose again. Talk to me whether you believe it or not, suggested Winthrop. I can not. You never liked him. A frown showed itself on Winthrops face; but Garda could not see it, and he took good care that his voice should not betray any irritation as he answered: But as I like you, wont that do as well? You ought to feel safe enough to say anything. Oh, why wont you be good to me said the girl, in a weeping tone, abandon- ing the argument. I shall die if every- body is so cruel when I am suffering so. I am not cruel, said Winthrop. He had seated himself on the bench near her; he put out his hand and laid it for a mo- ment on her bright brown hair. The touch seemed very grateful to Gar- da; instantly she moved toward him, put her arms on his knee, and laid her head down again, in much the same attitude she often assumed when with Margaret Harold, save that she did not look up; her eyes remained downcast, the lashes heavy with tears. I can not bear ithe has gone away, she said, letting all her sorrow come forth. I liked him so muchso much better than I liked any one else! And now he has gone, and I am left. And there was no preparation it was so sudden! Only yesterday we had that beautiful walk on Patricio beach (dont you remember ?I called to you as we passed), and he said nothing about go- ing. I can never tell you how long and dreadful the time has been since I got his note this morning. Dont try, said Winthrop. Think of other things. Some of us are left; make the best of us. We are all very fond of you, Garda. He felt a great wrath against Lucian Spenser, but he could not show any indication of it now, lest he should lose the confidence she was reposing in him, the confidence which had made her come and lay her crossed arms on his knee to tell him all her grief. This confidence had other restrictive aspects: it showed that she regarded him as a spe- cies (somewhat younger, perhaps) of Mr. Moore or Dr. Kirby. Winthrop was acute-- ly conscious that he could not play that part in the least. It certainly behooved him, therefore, to do the best he could with his own. Yes, you are all kind, I know, Gar- da had answered. But Lucian was dif- ferent. Lucian amused me so. Amused? Was that it ? said Win- throp, surprised by the word she had chosen. Of course, answered Garda, in the same dejected tone. Is there anything better than to be amused? I am sure I dont know anything. I was so dull here. And he made everything delightful. But now Her tears rose again as the con- trast came over her. Perhaps, now that you have called our attention to it, the rest of us might contrive to be more amusing, said Win- throp, with a tinge of sarcasm in his tone. But Garda did not notice the sarcasm. No, she answered, seriously, you could not. You might try. But no, you could not, she repeated, with con- viction. For it wasnt anything he did; it was Lucian himself. Besides, I liked so much to look at himhe was so beautiful. Dont you remember the dim- ple that came when he threw back his head and laughed ? She moved a little so that she could rest her chin on her clasped hands, and look up into Win- throps face; her eyes met his dreamily; she saw him, but she was thinking of Spenser. De Torrez has a dimple too, answer- ed Winthrop, rather desperately. For between the beauty of the girl herself, made more appealing as it was now by her sorrow, her confiding trust that he was prepared to play on demand the part of grandfather or unclebetween this and 108 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. her extraordinary frank dwelling upon the attractive points of Lucian Spenser, together with the wrath he felt against that accomplished young engineer he was not, perhaps, so fully in possession of his accustomed calmness as usual. But she was a child, of course; he always came back to that; she was nothing but a child. It was true that poor De Torrez had a dimple, as Winthrop had said. It was in his lean dark cheek, and everybody was astonished to see it there. Once there, everybody wondered where it found space enough to play. It did not find it in depth, and had to spread itself laterally. It was a very thin dimple on a bone. But Garda paid no attention to this at- tempt at a diversion. Did you ever see such eyes as Lucians, such a deep, deep blue ? she demanded of Winthrops gray ones. Very blue, he answered. He was succeeding in keeping all expression out of his face. (if there had been an~-, it would not have been of the pleasantest). He felt, however, that his tone was rather too dry. But acquiescence was enough for Gar- da; she did not notice his tone. She con- tinued the expression of her recollections. When the light shone across his hair dont you remember the color? It was like real gold. He looked then likelike a sun-god, she concluded, bringing out the word with ardor. What do you know of sun-gods ? said Winthrop, endeavoring to bear him- self agreeably in these intimate confi- dences. How many of the warm-com- plexioned gentlemen have you known ? I mean the Kirbys picture, answer- ed Garda, with much definiteness, reject- ing sun-gods in general as a topic, as she had the dimple of poor De Torrez. You must remember the one I mean. Winthrop did remember; it was a copy of the Phcebus Apollo of Guidos Auro- ra at Rome. Oh continued Garda, without wait- ing for reply, what a comfort it is to talk to you! Mamma has been so strange! She has looked at me as though I were saying something very wrong. I have only told her how much I admired him just as I have been telling you. Is that wrong ? Not the least in the world, answered Winthrop, who had at last decided upon the course he should pursue. But it wont last long, you know; its only a fancy. You have seen so few people, shut up as you have been in this one little place. When you have been about more, your taste will change. Garda did not pay much heed to these generalities arrayed before her, nor did he expect that she would. But this was the tone he intended to take. Later she would recall it, and it would make an im- pression. All she said now was, Oh, please stay ever so long, all the evening; I can not let you go, now that you are so good to me. And taking his hand with a caressing little motion, she laid her soft cheek against it. Suppose we walk awhile, suggested Winthrop, rising. He said to himself that perhaps he should feel less like a grand- father if he were on his feet. Perhaps, too, she would treat him less like one. Garda obeyed him directly. She was as docile as possible. When they were a dozen yards off, Carlos Mateo began to fol- low them slowly, taking very high steps with his thin legs, and pausing carefully before each one, with his upheld claw in the air, as if considering the exact point in the sand where he should place it next. They went to the live-oak avenue. How long do you think it will hurt me so hurt me as it does nowhis going away ? the girl asked, sadly. Not long, replied Winthrop, in a mat- ter-of-course tone. Its always so when we are parted from our friends; perhaps you have never been parted from a friend before ? That is true; I have not, she answer- ed, a little consoled. But no, she went on, in a changed voice; its not like that; its not like other friends. I cared so much for him! You might all go away, every one of you, and I shouldnt care as I do now. And with all her figure drooping, as though it had been struck by a bhighting wind, she put her hand over her eyes again. Take my arm, said Winthrop; we will go down to the landing, where you can rest awhile on the bench; you are tired out, poor child. Again she obeyed him without opposi- tion, and they walked on; but her breath still came in long sobs, and she held her little hand over her eyes, trusting to his arm to guide her. He felt that it was bet- ter that she should talk of Spenser than sob in that way, and bracing himself with patience, he began. EAST ANGELS. 109 How was it that he entertained you ~o? what did he do ? he asked. There was no indefiniteness about that he there was oniy one he for Garda. She took the bait immediately. Oh, I dont know. He always made me laugh. Then her face brightened as recollection woke. He was always saying things that I had never thought ofnot like the things that other people say, she went on. And he said them, too, in a way that al- ways pleased me so much. Generally he surprised me, and I like to be surprised. Yes, I see; it was the novelty. No answered Garda, with a reason- able air, it couldnt have been the novel- ty alone, because, dont you see, there were you. You were novelnothing could have been more so. And yet you never began to give me any such amusement as Lucian did. Evert Winthrop remarked to himself that a girl had to be very pretty, very pret- ty indeed, before a man could enjoy such comparisons as these from her lips. But Garda Thornes beauty was enchanting. Sometimes he had thought it irresistibly so. To be wandering with this exquisite young creature on his arm, in this soft air, under these old oaks, on a far Southern shore yesone could put up with a good deal for that. They reached the landing; she seated herself on the bench that stood at the banks edge, under the last oak, and folded her hands passively. A little dilapidated platform of logs, covered with planks, ran out a few yards into the water; the old boat of the Thornes lay moored at its end. Winthrop took a seat on the bench also. Tell me, Garda, he said, have you ever thought of leaving Gracias, of going North ? I have thought of it to - day. But theres no use; we can not go. Dont you remember that you wanted to see snow and icicles, and empty fields, and the great winter storms ? Did I ? said Garda, vaguely. I should like to go to Washington, she add- ed, with more animation. But what is the use of talking about it? We can not go. And she relapsed again. We can not ever go anywhere, unless we should be able to sell the place. And we shall never be able to sell it, because nobody wants it. Nobody could want it. Its a pleasant old place, remarked Winthrop. A sudden light came into Gardas eyes. Mr. Winthrop, she said, eagerly, I had forgotten your odd tastes; perhaps you do like East Angels? I remember I thought so once, or rather mamma did; mamma thought you might really buy the place. I told her I did not want you to feel that it was urged upon you. But everything is different to me now, and I wish you would buy it. I suppose that you are so rich that it wouldnt matter to you. And it would make us so happy. Us? Oh yes; to sell it has long been mam- mas hope. I wont say her only one, be- cause poor mamma has so many hopes. But this has been the principal one, the one upon which everything else hung. So few people come to Graciaspeople of our position, I mean (for of course we wouldnt sell it to any one else) that it has seemed impossible. There have been only you and Lucian, and Lucian, you know, has no money at all. But you have a great deal, they all say. And I almost think you really do like the place, you look about you so when you come.~~ I like it greatly; better than any oth- er place I have seen here. He likes it greatly; better than any other place he has seen here, repeated Garda, in a delighted tone. She rose and began to walk up and down the low bank, clapping her hands softly, and smiling to herself. Then, laughing, she came back to him, her pretty teeth shining beneath her parted lips. You are the kindest man in the whole world, she announced, standing before him. Winthrop laughed also to see how suddenly happy and light- hearted she had become. Let us go and tell mamma, continued Garda. Poor mammaI havent been nice to her. But now I will be. I shall tell her that you will buy the place. Theres nothing nicer than that. Then we can go to Washing- ton. It will take some time, you know, Winthrop suggested. Her face fell. Much ? she asked. I hardly know. Probably a good deal could be done in the course of the summer. There may be difficulty about getting a clear title; complications about taxes, tax claims, or the old Spanish grants. He thought it was as well she should compre- hend, in the beginning, that there would be no going to Washington for the pre- sent, at least. 110 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. But in our case there can be no com- plications; we are the old Spaniards our- selves, said Garda, confidently. He was silent. It would be very hard to have to wait long, she went on, dejected by his man- ner. Yes. But its something to have it sold, isnt it ? Of course it is; its everything, she responded, taking heart again. And even if it is long, I am young; I can wait; Lu- cian is young too; andI dont think he will forget me, do you ? I want to advise one thingthat you should not talk so constantly about Spen- ser, suggested Winthrop. Not talk about him? Its all I care for. She drew her arm from his, and moved away. Stopping at a little distance, she gazed back at him with a frown. I know it is, answered Winthrop, ad- miring the beauty of her face in anger. My suggestion is that you talk about him only to me. Then I shall have to see you very oft- en, she answered, breaking into smiles, and coming back to take his arm of her own accord. They went on through the avenue toward the house. They found Mrs. Thorne in the draw- ing-room. She was seated in her favorite chair, and appeared to have dressed herself afresh from head to foot. Her little black gown was exquisitely neat; her hair un- der her widows cap was very smooth; she had a volume of Emerson in her hand. She looked guardedly at Winthrop and her daughter as they caine into the rather bare room; her face was steady and com- posed. Garda kissed her, and sat down on the edge of her chair, with one arm round her small waist, giving her a little hug to em- phasize her words. Oh, mamma, think of it! Mr. Win- throp wants to buy the place. Mrs. Thorne turned her eyes toward Winthrop; they still had a guarded ex- pression; her face remained carefully com- posed. I have long admired the place, Mrs. Thorne, he began, in answer to her glance. I have thought for some time that if you should ever feel willing to sell it Willing? Delighted ! interpolated Garda. I should be very glad to become the purchaser, he concluded; while Garda laughed from pure gladness at hearing the statement repeated in clear, business- like phrase. Mrs. Thorne gave her little cough, and sat looking at the floor. It would be a great sacrifice, she answered at last. There would be so many old associa- tions broken, so many precious traditions given up Traditions ? repeated Garda, in her sweet, astonished voice. But, mamma we can not live always upon traditions. We have done so, or very nearly so, for some time, and not without happiness, I think, replied Mrs. Thorne, with dig- nity. Take one thing alone, Edgarda, one thing that we should have to relin- quisli the family burying - ground. It has been maintained here unbroken for over two hundred years. Mamma, Mr. Winthrop would leave us that. Even if he should, theres not room for a house there that I am aware of, re- plied Mrs. Thorne, funereally. Winthrop with difficulty refrained from a laugh. But he did refrain. He saw that the relief of having her daughter return- ed to her freed from the incomprehensible grief that had swept over her so strange- ly, this, conibined with the suddenly ex- panding prospect of a fulfillment of her long-cherished dream of selling the place, had so filled her constantly anxious mind with uprising busy plans, pressing in upon each others heels, that beyond them she had only room for a general feeling that she must not appear too eager, that she must, as a Thorne, say something that should seem like an objection, though in reality it would not be one. But if Winthrop refrained from a laugh, Garda did not. Oh, mamma, how fun- ny you are to-day ! she said, embracing her with a merry peal. I am not aware that I am funny, re- plied Mrs. Thorne, with gravity. Why, yes, you are, mamma. Do we want to live in the burying-ground ? said Garda, with another peal. But Mrs. Thorne preserved her com-- posed air. It almost seemed as if that in- deed might be her wish. Winthrop took leave soon afterward, in spite of Gardas entreaty that he should stay longer. He had administered a good deal of comfort. It may have been, too, that he had come to the end of his capa EAST ANGELS. 111 eity to hear more, that day at least, about Lucian Spenser. He had reached the bot- torn of the old stairway, and gone some distance down the stone-flagged corridor toward the door, when he heard Gardas voice again: Mr. Winthrop ? He looked up. She had come half-way down the stairs, and was standing with one hand on the carved balustrade, her white figure outlined against the high dark panelling of the other side. I shall never be able to keep silence as you wish, unless I see you very soon again, she said. He smiled, without making answer in words, for Raquel had now appeared, com- ing from her own domain to open the low- er door. Raquel always paid this atten- tion, though no one asked her to do it. Mrs. Thorne, indeed, disapproving of it and her, never rang to let her know that her guests were departing. This made no difference to iRaquel, or rather it gave her the greater insistence; when guests were in the house she now made a point of giv- ing up all work while they remained, in order to be in readiness for this parting ceremonial. iRaquel had a high regard for ceremonials: she had been brought up by the Old Madam. Winthrop carried out his project. Ask- ing the good offices of Dr. Kirby as aid and appraiser, he took the first steps to- ward the purchase of East Angels. It soon became apparent that the steps would be many. The Dueros having been, as Garda had said, the old Spaniards them- selves, there was no trouble in this case about the Spanish grants: theirs was a bona fldc one. But there were other in- tricacies, and in studying them Winthrop learned the history of the place almost back to the landing of Ponce de Leon. The lands had been granted in the begin- ning by the crown of Spain (of course over the heads of the unimportant na- tives) to Admiral Juan de Duero in 1585. They had been regranted (over the heads of the Dueros), seventy years later, by the crown of England, to an English noble- man, who, without taking possession, had sold his grant, and comfortably enjoyed the profits. The buyer had crossed the ocean only to lose his life by shipwreck off the Florida coast, and his descendants had, it seemed, sent up an intermittent cry, from the English beach, that they should come over some time and assert their claims. The place had been twice pillaged by buccaneers, roving gentlemen of the sea, fond, during those years, of picnic parties on Florida and West In- dian shores. It had been through several attacks by Indians, in one of which the sugar-mill had been destroyed. At the beginning of the British occupation in 1763, the Dueros themselves had trans- ferred part of the land to other owners the conveyance not being recognized by the English Governor. Upon the return of the Spaniards, twenty-one years later, the Dueros had taken possession of their property again, without going through the form of getting permission of the new owners, who, tired of the gray-white soil, had gone north; and the descendants of these owners had also at intervals sent up a cry, which echoed through the title rather more clearly than the earlier one from England, which had had to cross the ocean to be heard. Since the lQng warm peninsula had come into the pos- session of the United States these same lands had suffered several partitions (on paper) from forced sales (also on paper). owing to unpaid taxes, the confusion hav- ing been much increased by the late war. Tax claims in large numbers lifted their heads, like a crop of quick-growing mal- odorous weeds, at the first intimation that a bona fidc purchaser had appeared, a man from the North who had the eccen- tricity of wishing, in the first place, for such a worn-out piece of property as East Angels, and, in the second, for a clear title to it; this last seemed an eccentricity in- deed, when the Dueros themselves had lived there so long without one. Evert Winthrop persevered. He persevered with patience, for he was amused by the local history his researches unearthed. Dr. Kirby persevered also, but he perse- vered with impatience. He was especial- ly incensed against the attorney who rep- resented a portion of the later tax titles. This attorney, a new-coiner in Gracias, was a tall, narrow-chested young man from Maine, who had hoped to obtain health and a modest livelihood in the little Southern coast town. It was plain that he would obtain neither, if long op- posed to Reginald Kirby. Sir, said the Doctor, who had been es- pecially exasperated by a tax title which stood in the name of a certain Increase Kittredge, described as a resident, there is collusion in this evidently. There is no such person in Gracias - - Dios, and I 112 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. venture to say there is no such person in the State. It is some Northernfreebooter who is acting through you. Kittredge 1 he repeated, putting on his spectacles to read the name again. And Increase ! he added, throwing back his head and looking about the room, as if calling the very furniture to witness. No Southern- er, high or low, sir, had ever such a name as that since the universe was created. Its Yankee, intrinsically Yankee, Yankee to the core, asif you will kindly allow me to mention itis your own also. The youthful attorney, whose name was Jeremiah Boise, sat looking at his pen-holder with a discouraged air. He was very young, and he admired the Doc- tor profoundly, which made it worse. And I am surprised, continued the Doctor, changing his tone to one of sim- ple gravity, that you should be willing to lend yourself to these plots and jobs (the Doctor brought out these two words with rich round utterance), which must, of course, act more or less upon the nerves, you who are so far from robust, who have so evidently a tendencyhere the Doctor paused, surveying Jeremiah from head to foot a tendency to weakness, weakness of the breathing powers.~~ The poor young man, who knew that he had, looked so pallid, nevertheless, un- der this professional statement of his case that the kind-hearted Doctor instantly re- pented. He put out his hand hastily. There, there, he said; dont ] ook so disheartened. Come to my office and let me see you. I venture to say I can set you up in no timein no time at all. I presume you havent the least idea how to take care of yourself. Its extraordinary how people go about the world one mass of imprudence. Have the kindness to stand up for a moment. Now draw a long breath. HumhumI thought so; no absolute harm done as yet. And the Doctor tapped and listened, and tapped and listened again, with as much interest as though the suspected chest had belong- ed to a Southern Kirby instead of to a Jeremiah from Maine. That will do; thank you. You must come and see me this very afternoon; come about five. I shall give you some rules to follow. One of the first will be that you live more gen- erously, enjoy yourself more (you North- erners dont seem to know how). Never fear, man; well build you up in a few months so that you wont know your- self ! And cordially shaking his hand the Doctor took leaveonly to come back and remark, standing upon the threshold, with a full return of his majestic manner, But I should advise you, sirI should most seriously advise you to relinquish immediately all connection with the fraud- ulent claims masquerading under that namethe name of Increase Kittredge I He departed, and returned again brisk- ly to say, in his pleasantest voice: Oh, by-the-way, Im going to send you some. sound wineport; I have a little left. Be good enough to take it according to the directions. And this time he was re- ally gone. In the mean while all Gracias con- gratulated Mrs. Thorne. That lady bore herself with much propriety under the al- tered aspect of her affairs. There were advantages in it, she said with a sigh, which of course she appreciated. Still, it was impossible for her to think with- out sadness of the severing of old asso- ~iations which such a change must bring about. Gracias agreed with her there the severing would be difficult; old asso- ciations, indeed, had always been Gracias a strong point. Still, a good deal of break- age could be borneit was, indeed, a duty to bear itwhen such an equivalent was to be rendered ( equivalent was the term they had decided upon). The equiv- alentthat is, the sum which Winthrop was to pay for the plantationwas not. large. But to little Gracias in its reduced state it seemed quite an ample fortune. Gracias wondered what Mrs. Thorne would do with it. That lady kept her own counsel. But in private she covered sheets of paper with her small careful fig- ures, and pondered over them. To Garda the hoped-for sum represent- ed but one wordWashington. Win- throp had again dwelt upon the maxim that she should not speak that word too audibly. So long as I can whisper it to you, I can be dumb to the others, she said, laughing. But it did not seem to him that she whispered. The conditions of their friendship at present were rather remarkable. Garda~ was restless unless she could see him every day. If he came on horseback, she had espied him from afar, and was at th~ edge of the barren to meet him. If he sailed down the lagoon in the Emperadora, she had recognized the sail, and was in wait- EAST ANGELS. 113 ing on the landing. Once there, she wish- ed to have him all to herself; she grudged every moment he spent with her mother. This did not prevent him from spending a good many with the little mistress of East Angels, who now received him with a subdued resignation which was his de- light. This was the man who was about to dispossess them of their home, the home of her daughters forefathers. He meant no harm, he wished for the place; sad mis- fortune compelled them to part with it; but naturally, naturally, they could not quite welcome himwith undiluted feelings; natu- rally their feelings were, must be, charged withretrospect. All this, especially the retrospect, was so reluctantly yet perfect- ly expressed in her voice and manner that Winthrop was never tired of admiring it. She was practicing the tone she intended to take about him and about East Angels; he could not deny that it was a very per- fect little minor note. Gardas feelings, however, did not seem to be diluted with anything; she received him with unmix- ed joy. As soon as she could get him to herself she carried him off to the live-oak avenue, whose high arches and still gray shade had now become her favorite re- sort; here she strolled up and down with him, and talked of Lucian, being content- ed with his mere presence as reply. Cer- tainly his replies in words were brief enough. Often Carlos Mateo stalked up and down behind them, for he lived in the live - oak avenue now. Garda de- clared that ho danced by himself there on moonlight nights. Sometimes Ernesto de Torrez performed similar sentinel duty; for Garda had become almost tender in her manner to the young Cuban since her own interest in Lucian had developed it- self. He feels as I do, she said to Win- throp, with conviction. Never mind his feeling. What is yours for him ? asked Winthrop, who was perhaps rather tired of sentinels, bird or man. Pity, answered Garda, promptly. A nice, kind pity. He must be a poor stick to keep com- ing here for that. Oh, he doesnt think its pity; he would never comprehend that, though you should tell him a dozen times. Hes satis- fied; Ernesto is always satisfied, I think. Couldnt he enjoy his satisfaction at home, then, since it doesnt seem to de- pend at all upon your talking to him ? I talk to him when you are not here. You can not always be here, you know; but he almost can, he lives so near. Lucian was always going to see him dont you remember? He said he was delightful like a mediawal sign-post; you must remember that. Winthrop felt, with inward weariness that he was sometimes required to remem- ber a good deal. He did not, however, have to remember Manuel, at least at present. Lucian not having discovered mediawal qualities in that handsome youth, Garda was content, to let him remain where he was; and this happened to be the San Juan planta- tion, twenty miles away. He had been there some time. His mother said he wa~ hunting. Yes, there are a number of pretty girls about there, remarked Dr. Kirby. But De Torrez, who was jealous of no one, and whose patience and courteous certainty remained unmoved, continued to accompany Garda and Winthrop in their strolls up and down the live-oak avenue. He generally walked a little be- hind them. That gave him his sentinel air. Several yards behind him came Car- los Mateo. But Carlos affected not to be- long to the party, but to be taking a stroll for his own amusement, like any other gentleman of leisure; he looked about him, and often stopped; he appeared to be admiring the beauties of nature. When Garda went down to the landing~ De Torrez, still behind, would wait until she was seated; then, making her a form- al bow (with the little click of his boot heels to which Winthrop objected), he would pass her and seat himself on the water-steps at her feet. And then Carlos, who was suspected of imitating De Torre; would in a few moments stalk slowly past them in his turn, and perching himself on one leg at the platforms edge, would spend the time in meditative survey of the water beneath, pondering perhaps on the moist enjoyment of his own gay youth, before civilization had caught him, when he was still wild and a wader. And Garda talked on, never rapidly, her topic ever the same. De Torrez, of course, understood nothing of her mono- logues. And Winthrop? Winthrop suf- fered them. Of his reasons for pursuing this course Margaret Harold knew more than any one else. For, as Gardas affection for 114 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Margaret remained unchanged, she talked to her as freely as she talked to Winthrop. She saw Winthrop oftener; but whenever she could pay a visit to Margaret, or whenever Margaret came down to East Angels, Gardas delight was to sit at her feet and talk of Lucian. The girl, in- deed, had made an express stipulation with Winthrop that Margaret should be except- ed from his decree of silence. I must talk to Margaret, she said, because I am so fond of her, and like to be with her so much. The reason I like to talk to you is because you are a man, and therefore you can appreciate Lucian better. I should think it would be just the other way, observed Winthrop. Oh no. Margaret doesnt even sec how beautiful he is, much less talk about it. And I like to talk abouf it so much. You do it to please me, said Garda, gratefully. I appreciate that. She tells me she talks to youI mean, of course, about Lucian Spenserjust as she does to me, he said to Margaret one day. She has chosen to confide her lit- tle secrets to you and me alone. Mar- garet was standing by a table in the ey- nes dining-room, arranging in two brown jugs a mass of yellow jasmine which she had brought in from the barrens. Rath- er a strange choice, he went on, smiling .a little as he thought of himself, and then of Margaret, reserved, taciturn, gentle enough, but (so he had always felt) cold and unsympathetic. Yes, assented Margaret. What do you think the best way to receive it ? she added, in her pleasant voice, going on with her combinations of green and gold. Not to bluff her offto let her talk on. It is only a fancy, of course, a girls fan- ey. But it needs an outlet, and we are a safe one, because we know how to take it, know what it amounts to. What does it amount to ? Nothing. Oh. murmured the woman at the table, rather protestingly. I mean that it will end in nothing. It will soon fade. But it shows that the child has imagination. Garda Thorne will love, some of these days, a real love. Yes; that requires imagination.~~ My sentences were not connected; they did not describe each other. What I meant was that the way the child has gone into this this little beginning shows that she will be capable of deep feelings later on. Margaret did not reply. There are plenty of excellent women who are quite incapable of them, pur- sued Winthrop, conscious that he had, as he expressed it to himself, taken the bit in his teeth again, but led on by the temp- tation which, more and more this win- ter, Margaret Harolds controlled silences (they always seemed controlled) were be- coming to him. And the curious point is that they never suspect their own de- ficiencies. They think that if they bestow a prim, well-regulated little affection upon the man they honor with their choice, that that is all that is necessary. Certainly it is all that the man deserves. I dont know what we deserve; but I do know that we are not apt to be much moved by such affection as that. They are often very good mothers, he added, following here another of his tendencies, the desire to be justa tendency which often brought him out at the end of a remark where people least expected. Dont you think that important ? said Margaret. Very. Only let them not, in addi- tion, pretend to be what they are not. I dont think they do pretend. Youre right; theyre too self - com- placent. Theyre quite satisfied with them- selves as they are. If they can be satisfied, they are very much to be envied, began Margaret. Shes going to defend herself, after all, thought Winthrop. Its a wonder she hasnt done so before. To save my life, I dont seem to be able to resist at- tacking her. But Margaret did not go on. She took up the last sprays and looked at them. Then you think I had better let her talk on, without checking her, she said, re- turning to the original topic between them. You think I had better not try to guide her ? Refused again, thought Winthrop. Guide her to what ? he said, aloud. Not to anything. Away, away from Lucian Spenser. Then you dont like him ? he said, questioningly. He is very handsome, answered Mar- garet, smiling. But you havent given me your advice. Let her talk as she pleases; that is my advice. Let her string out all her ad- EAST ANGELS. 115 jectives (perhaps you dont disagree with them ?). My idea is that, let alone, it will soon exhale. Opposition would force it into an importance which it does not in reality possess. Are you going ? Yes; I have finished. But I shall re- member what you say. And she left the room, carrying the flowers with her. Mrs. Thorne came up to Gracias, and called upon Mrs. Rutherford at the eyrie. Her visits there had always been frequent, but this one had the air of a visit of cere- mony. It seemed intended as a formal expression of her chastened acquiescence in the Northern gentlemans projects con- cerning East Angels. I have reserved the many memories, she said, with much expression. Yes, indeed; fond Memory brings to light, and so it will be with you, Mistress Thorne, said Betty, who was spending the afternoon with Katrina. You can always fall back on that, you know. Have you reserved old Pablo I in- quired Mrs. Rutherford. He is a good deal of a memory, isnt he ? I have reserved Pablo, and also Ra- quel; they will travel with us, replied Mrs. Thorne. Raquel will act as my maid, Pablo as my man-servant. Theyre very Southern, remarked Betty, shaking her head. I doubt wheth- er they would get on well living at the North. Raquel, you know, has no sys- tem; she would as soon leave her work at any time and run and make a hen-coop that is, if you should happen to have hens, and I am sure I hope you would, because at the North, they tell me But here Mrs. Thorne bore down upon her. And did you suppose, Bettywere you capable of supposingthat Edgarda and I were thinking of living at the North ? I dont know what Im capable of, answered Betty, laughing good-humored- ly. Mr. Carew never knew either. But youre really a Northerner, after all, Mrs. Thorne; and so it didnt seem so unlike- ly. Mrs. Thorne had called her Betty, but she did not address Mrs. Thorne as Melis- sa in return. No one had ever called Mrs. Thorne Melissa (Melissa Whiting had been the name of her maiden days) since she had taken her place upon the canvas whose background was exclusively Thorne. Her husband had called her Blue-eves dur- ing the short months that were left to him Voi~. LxxI.No. 4219 (he had admired her very much, princi- pally because she was so slight and small and fair); the Old Madam had unfailingly designated her by the Spanish equivalent for madam my niece-in-law. which was very imposingin the Old Madams tone. To every one else she was Mistress Thorne, and nothing less than Mistress Thorne. The title seemed to belong to every inch of her straight little back, to form the foundation of every one of her clearly spoken sentences. Madam my niece-in-law now address- ed herself to answering Betty. When I married my dear Edgar, Betty, I became a Thorne I think I may say, without af- fectation, a thorough one; if there was anything left over, it became Duero; no other course was possible to me upon en- tering a family of such distinction. Ed- garda is a Thorne; Edgarda is a Duero; she is nothing else. Gracias4~-Dios, there- fore, will continue to be our home; we could not permanently establish ourselves anywhere, I think, save on theon the strand where all Edgardas ancestors have lived and died. Well, I am sure I am very glad to hear it, answered Betty, cordially. We are all so fond of Garda that we should miss her dreadfully if she were to be away long, though of course we cant expect to monopolize her so completely as we have done; shell be going before long, you know, to that bourne from which Oh, Betty, interrupted Mrs. Ruther- ford, throwing up her white hands, what horrors you do say ! I didnt mean it, exclaimed Betty, in great distress, the tears rising in her hon- est eyes; I didnt mean anything of the sort, dear Mistress Thorne; I beg you to believe it. I meant She stood at the al- tar, With flowers on her brow. Indeed I did. And, much overcome by her own inadvertence, Betty produced her hand- kerchief. Never mind, Betty; I always under- stand you, said Mrs. Thorne, graciously. But it soon became evident that though she might understand Betty, she did not understand Melissa, at least not so fully as she supposed she did, for, not long after her visit at the eyrie, she fell ill. On the fifth day it was feared that her illness had taken a dangerous turn. The delicate little cough with which they had been ac- quainted so long, in the various uses she put it to, that they had almost come to con- 116 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sider it a graceful accomplishment, this cough had all the time had its own charac- ter, it seemed, under the assumed ones, and its own character was simply an indi- cation of a bronchial affection, which had now assumed a serious phase, sending in- flammation down to the lungs. Her lungs have never been good, said Dr. Kirby to Winthrop; the Doctor was much affected by the danger of his poor little friend. She has never had any chest to speak of, none at all. And the Doctor tapped his own wrathfully, and brought out a sounding expletive, the only one Winthrop had ever heard him use; he applied it to New-Englanders, New-Eng- landers in general. But shes one of them, suggested Win- throp. No, she isnt, said the Doctor, too un- happy to remember his usual politeness; nothing of the sort. Its only her chest. He went back to East Angels. And in the late afternoon Winthrop himself rode down there. The little mistress of the house was very ill. Besides Garda, the Doctor, his mother, and Mrs. Carew were in attendance. He saw only Mrs. Carew. She told him that Mrs. Thorne was very much disturbed mentally, as well as very ill, that she seemed unable to allow Garda out of her sight; when she did not see her at the bedside, she kept calling for her in her weak voice in a way that was most dis- tressing to hear. Garda therefore now re- mained in the room day and night, save for the few moments, now and then, when her mother fell into a troubled sleep. The Doctor was very anxious. They were all very anxious. Winthrop rode back to Gracias. He went to the eyrie. Mrs. Rutherford was out; she was taking a short stroll with the Reverend Mr. Moore. Margaret was on the east piazza,which overlooked the water, now suffused with tints reflected from the splendid sunset sky behind. She was bend- ing her head over some fine knitting. Ill wait for Aunt Katrina, said Win- throp, taking a chair near her. Knitting for the poor, I suppose. Do you know, I always suspect ladies who knit for the poor; I suspect that they knit for them- selvesthe occupation. So they do, generally. But this isnt for thc poor; dont you see that its silk ? You could sell it. In the Charity Basket. What do you know of Charity Bas kets I said Margaret, laughing. But Im afraid I am not very good at working for the poor; the only thing I ever made made with my own hands, I mean --was a shirt for that eminent Sioux chieftain Spotted Tail; and he said it did not fit. They dont want shirts; they want their land, said Winthrop. We should have made them take care of themselves long ago; but we should not have stolen their land. Im not thinking of Lo, how- ever, at present; I am thinking of that poor little woman down at East Angels. I am afraid she is very ill. Do you know, I can not help suspecting that the sudden change in her prospects has had something to do with her illness; I mean the unex- pected vision of what seems to her prosper- ity. She has kept up unflinchingly through years of hard work and struggle, and I think she could have kept up al- most indefinitely in the same way, for Gardas sake, if she had had the same things to encounter. But this sudden wealth (for, absurd as it is, so it seems to her) has changed everything so, has buried her so almost over her head in plans, that the excitement has broken her down. You probably think me very fanciful, he con- cluded, realizing that he was speaking al- most confidentially. Not fanciful at all; I quite agree with you, answered Margaret, her head still bent over her knitting. She has asked for you a number of times, Mrs. Carew tells me, he said, after a moment or two of silence. Has she I said Margaret, this time raising her eyes. I should have gone down to East Angels before this if I had not feared that I should be only in the way. All their friends have been there, I know; it is a very united little society. Yes, Madam Ruiz and Madam Giron were there yesterday taking care of her; Mrs. Kirby and Mrs. Carew are there to- day. Everything possible is being done, of course. StillI dont know; from some- thing Mrs. Carew said, I fear the poor woman is suffering mentally as well as physically; she is constantly asking for Garda, can not bear her out of her sight. If I thought I could be of any serv- ice, said Margaret, looking at him hesi- tatingly. I am sure you could; the greatest, he responded, promptly, his voice betray- ing relief. Mrs. Thorne is an odd little woman, but she has a very genuine liking EAST ANGELS. 117 for you. I think she feels more at home with you, for some reason or other, than she does with any of these Gracias friends, long as she has known them. And as for Garda, I am sure you could do more for her than any other person here could later, I meanshe is so very fond of you. He paused; what he had said seemed to come back to him. Both of them, mother and daughter, appear to have selected you as their ideal of good- ness, he went on. I hope you appre- ciate the compliment. And this time the slight, very slight indication of sarcasm showed itself again in his tone. Is it possible that you think the poor mother in danger, I mean in danger of death ? said Margaret, paying no heed, apparently, to his last remark. She has evidently grown very weak, and I have never thought she had any strength to spare. But it is only my own idea, I ought to tell you, that she isthat she may not recover. I will go as soon as possible; early to-morrow morning, said Margaret. But if I do She hesitated. I am afraid Aunt Katrina will be loneI mean I fear she might feel timid if left alone here. Alonewith Minerva and Telano and Cindy, and the factotum called Maum Jube ? There would still be no companion, no one for her to talk to. How you underrate the conversation of Celestine! I should, of course, come in very often. I think that if you would stay in the house while I am gone, it would be bet- ter, answered Margaret, in what he call- ed, in his own mind, her gentlest tone. All her tones were gentle; but this was the one unmixed with that well-trained neutrality which formed the base, so he thought, of all the others. To try and make up, in some small degree, for what she loses when she loses you ? he suggested. Whatever you please, so long as you come, she responded, reverting to the neutrality again. The next morning she went down to East Angels. Garda received her joy- ously. Oh, Margaret, mamma is better, really better. It was true. The fever had subsided, the symptoms of pneumonia had passed away; the patient was very weak, but Dr. Kirby was now hopeful. He had taken his mother back to Gracias, but the kind- hearted Betty remained, sending by the Kirbys a hundred messages of regret to her dearest Katrina that their separation must still continue. Later in the day Margaret paid her first visit to the sick-room. Mrs. Thorne was lying with her eyes closed, looking very white and still. But as soon as she per- ceived who it was that had entered, a change came over her; she still looked white, but she seemed more alive; she raised herself slightly on one arm, and beckoned to the visitor feebly with her free hand. Now dont try to talk, thats a dear, said Mrs. Carew, who was sitting on the other side of the bed, fanning the sick wo- man with tireless hand. Mrs. Thorne slowly turned her head to- ward Betty, and surveyed her solemnly with eyes which seemed to have grown dur- ing her illness to twice their former size. Goaway, she said, in her whispering voice, which preserved even in its faintness the remains of her former clear utterance. What I said the astonished Betty, not sure that she had heard aright. I wishyou would goaway, re- peated Mrs. Thorne, slowly. And with her finger she made a little line in the air, which seemed to indicate, like a dotted curve on a map, Bettys course from the bed to the door. Betty gave her fan to Margaret. Inca- pable of resentment, the good soul whis- pered to Garda, as she passed: Theyre very often so, you knowsick people; they get tired of seeing the same persons about them, of course, and I am sure its very natural. Ill come back later, when shes asleep. I was not tired of seeing her; that wasnt it, murmured Mrs. Thorne, who had overheard this aside. But I want- ed to see Margaret Harold alone, and without any fuss made about it; and the first step was to get her out of the room. Now, Edgarda, you go too. Go down to the garden, where Mrs. Carew will not see you. Stay there awhile; the fresh air will do you good. But, mamma, I dont think I ought to leave you.~~ Do as I tell you, my daughter. If I should need anything, Margaret will call you. You need not be afraid, Garda, that I shall not know how to take care of her, 118 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. said Margaret, re-assuringly. I am a good nurse. She re - arranged Mrs. Thornes pillows as she spoke, and gently and skillfully laid her down upon them again. Of course, whispered Mrs. Thorne. Any one could see that. Then, as Garda still lingered, Go, Garda, she said, briefly. And Garda went. As soon as the heavy door closed behind her, Mrs. Thorne began to speak. I have been so anxious to see you, she said; the thought has not been once out of my mind. But I suppose my mind has not been perfectly clear, because, though I have asked for you over and over again, no one has paid any attention, has seemed to understand me. She spoke in her lit- tle thread of a voice, and looked at her visitor with large, clear eyes. Margaret bent over her. Do not ex- ert yourself to talk to me now, she an- swered. You will be stronger to-mor- row; you can talk to me then. Yes, I may be stronger to-morrow. How long can you stay l Several days, if you care to have me. That is kind. I shall have time, then. But I mustnt wait too long. Of one thing I am sure, Margaret: I shall not recover. That is a fancy, said Margaret, strok- ing the thin little hand that lay on the white coverlet. Dr. Kirby says you are much better. She spoke with the op- timism that belongs to the sick-room; but in her heart she had another opinion. A change had come over Mrs. Thornes face, the effect of which was very striking; it was not so much the increase of pallor or a more wasted look as the absence of that indomitable spirit which had hitherto an- imated its every fibre, so that from the smooth scanty light hair under the wid- ows cap down to the edges of the firm thin little jaws there had been so much courage, and, in spite of the constant anx- iety, so much resolution, that one noticed only that. But now, in the complete de- parture of this expression (which gleamed on only in the eyes), one saw at last what an exhausted little face it was, how worn out with the cares of life, finished, ready for the end. Yes, I am better, it is true, for the pre- sent, whispered Mrs. Thorne. But that is all. My mother and my two sisters died of slow consumption. I shall die of the rapid kind. I shall die and leave Garda. Do you comprehend what that is to me to die and leave Garda I Her gaze, as she said this, was so clear, there was such a far-seeing intelligence in it, such a long experience of life, and (it almost seemed) such a prophetic knowledge of death, that the younger woman found herself forced to make answer to the mental strength within rather than to the weakness of the physical frame which contained it. Why am I taken now just when she will need me most l went on the mothers whisper, which contrasted so strangely in its fee- bleness with the power of her gaze. Gar- da had only me. And now I am called. What will become of her ! You have warm friends here, Mrs. Thorne; they are all devoted to Garda. It has seemed to me that to each one of them she was almost as dear as an own child. Yes, she is. They would do any- thing in the world they could for her. But, I ask you, what can they do? The Kirbys, the Moores, Betty Carew, and Mad- am Giron, Madam Ruizwhat can they do? Nothing! And Gardaoh, Garda needs some one who isdifferent. Margaret did not reply to this, and aft- er a moment Mrs. Thorne went on. When Mr. Winthrop buys the place, she said, with the touching Gracias confi- dence that a few thousands would consti- tute wealth, my child need not be a charge pecuniarily. But of course I know that in other ways she might be. And I can not leave her to them, these people here; I can not die and do that. Garda is not a usual girl, Margaretyou must have seen it for yourself. I only want a little oversight of the proper kind for her. That would be all that I should ask. It would not be a ~ireat deal of care. From the very first, Margaret, I have liked you so much! You have no idea how much. Her voice died away. But her eyes were full of eloquence. Slowly a tear rose in each, welled over, and dropped down on the white cheek below, but without dim- ming the gaze, which continued its fixed, urgent prayer. Margaret had remained silent. Now she covered her face with her hand, the elbow supported on the palm of the other. Mrs. Thorne watched her mutely. She seemed to feel that she had made her ap- peal, that Margaret comprehended it, was perhaps considering it; at any rate, that her place now was to wait with humility for her answer. EAST ANGELS. 119 At length Margarets hand dropped. She turned toward the waiting eyes. Be- fore your illness, Mrs. Thorne, she said, in her tranquil voice, I had thought of asking you whether you would be willing to let me take Garda North with me for some months. I have a friend in New York who would receive her, and be very kind to her; she could stay with this lady, and take lessons. I should see her every day. It would not be quite like a school. That is what I long forthat she should be with you, said Mrs. Thorne, not going into the details of the plan, but seizing upon the main fact. That you should have charge of her, Margaretthat is now my passionate wish. She used the strongest word she knew, a word she had always thought wicked in its intensity. But it was applicable to her present over- whelming desire. And I had thought that perhaps you would follow us, a little later, pursued Margaret. I hope you will do so still. Mrs. Thorne made a motion with her hand, as if saying, Why try to deceive ? She lay with her eyes closed, resting after her suspense. You are so good and kind, she murmured. But not kinder, Margaret, than I knew you would be. Her voice died away again, and again she rested. I have asked and accepted so much for of course I accept instantly your offer that I feel that I ought not to ask more she began again, though without opening her eyes. But I have got to die. And I trust you so, Margaret Why do you trust me? interposed Mar- garet, abruptly. You have no grounds for it; you hardly know me. It makes me very uncomfortable, Mrs. Thorne. But Mrs. Thorne only smiled. She lift- ed her hand, and laid it on Margarets arm. My dear, she said, simply (and it was rare for Mrs. Thorne to be simple; even now, though deeply in earnest, she had had the old appearance of selecting with care what she was about to say), I dont know why any more than you do; I only know that it is so; it has been so from the beginning. I think I understand you, she added. Oh no said the younger woman tu rning away. At any rate, I understand your stead- fastness, Margaret. You have steadfast- ness in the supreme degree. Many wo- men havent any. And they are the hap- piest, if they have gentle dispositions, as they often have. They are considered yielding. But you, Margaret, are differ- ent. And it is your steadfastness that at- tracts me sofor my poor childs sake I mean. Yes, for hers I must say a little moreI must. If you could only see your way to letting her remain under your care as long as she is so youngyou see I mean longer than the few months you spoke of it would make my hard dying easier. For its going to be very hard for me to die at best. Perhaps you think Im not going to. But I know that I am. All at once my courage has left me. It never did before. And so I know it is a sign. Margaret sat listening. She looked pale. You want to intrust to me a great re- sponsibility, she began. And it seems to you very selfish. Of course I know that it is selfish. But it is desperation, Margaret; it is my feeling about Garda. Let me tell you one thing: I am relying a little upon your having suffered yourself. If you had not, I should never have asked you, because people who havent suffered, women especially, are hard and cruel. But I saw that you had suffered; I saw it in the expression of your face before I had heard a word of your history. What do you know of my history I asked Margaret, the guarded reserve which was so often there again taking possession of her voice and eyes. In actual fact, very little. Only what Mrs. Rutherford has told Betty Carew. What did she tell her ? That her nephew, your husband, was travelling abroadthat was all. But when I learned that the travelling had lasted six years, and that nothing was said of his return or of your joining him, of course I knew that inclination, his or yours, was at the bottom of it. And I imagined pain somewhere, and probably for you. Be- cause you are good. And it is the good who suffer. In reality you know nothing about it, replied Margaret to these low-breathed sentences. I think I ought to tell you, she went on, in the same reserved tone, that both Mrs. Rutherford and Mr. Win- throp think I have been much to blame. It may make a difference in your estima- tion of me. Not the least. For Mrs. Rutherfords opinions I care nothing. As to Mr. Win- thropMr. Winthrop 120 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Agrees with Mrs. Rutherford. He will live to change his opinion. I think very highly of Mr. Winthrop, but on this subject he is in the wrong. Do you know why I think so highly of him? But Margarets face remained unrespon- sive. I think highly of him because he has such a perfect, such a delicate compre- hension of GardaI mean lately, through all this fancy of herssuch a strange one for that painter. Mrs. Thorne always called Lucian a painter, very much as though he had been a decorator of the ex- terior of houses. His profession of civil engineer she steadily ignored. Perhaps, however, she did not ignore it more than Lucian himself did. Mr. Winthrop likes Garda so much that it is easy for him to be considerate, Margaret answered. On the contrary, murmured Mrs. Thorne; on the contrary. While I am most grateful to him for his considera- tion, I have feared that it was in itself a proof that he did not really care for her. If he had cared, would he have been so patient with herher whim? Would h~ have let her talk on by the hour, as I know she has done, about Lucian Spenser? Men are jealous, extremely so; far more so than women ever are. They dont call it jealousy, of course; they have half a dozen names for itweariness, superiori- ty, disgustwhatever you please. You dont agree with me Its a general view, and Ive given up general views. But of one thing I am certain, Mrs. ThorneEvert admires Gar- da greatly. The mother raised herself so that she could look at Margaret more closely. Do you think so ?do you really think so she said, almost panting. Yes, I think so. Then, Margaret, I will have no con- cealments from you, not one. If Mr. Win- throp should ever care enough for my poor childsome time in the futureto wish to make her his wife, I should be so happy! I am sure I should know it wher- ever I was. I could trust her to him; he is a man to trust. He is much older. But if she should once begin to care for him, that would make no difference to her; no- thing would make any difference. She will never be influenced by anything but her own liking. It has always been ro. And ifshe could oncebegin to care- The short sentences, which had been ea- ger, now grew fainter, stopped; the head sank back upon the pillows again. If she were to be with you, Margaret, she would havemore opportunityto begin. About that I could promise nothing, said Margaret, with decision. I could take no step to influence Garda in that way. I dont ask you to. I myself wouldnt do anything; that would be wrong. On such subjects all must be left to a Higher Power, replied Mrs. Thorne, with convic- tion. For, in spite of her efforts to be Thorne and Duero, she had never depart- ed a hairs-breadth from her American be- lief in complete liberty of personal choice in marriage. Love, real love, was a feel- ing heaven-born, heaven-directed; it be- hooved no one to meddle with it. Not even a mother. I could never scheme in that way, she went on. I only want- ed you to know all my thoughts. The great thing with me, of course, is that she is to be in your charge. Here the door at the other end of the large room opened, and Dr. Kirby came in. He had returned as soon as possible, putting off all his other engagements. You look better, he said to his patient, with his hand on her pulse. ~ Come, this is doing well. I am better, murmured Mrs. Thorne, looking gratefully at Margaret. Mrs. Ca- rew now followed the Doctor. Margaret went down to the garden to find Garda, the girl who was to become so unexpect- edly her charge. For she shared the mo- thers feeling; the illness might advance slowly, but it would conquer in the end. Garda was in the garden, lying at full length under the great rose-tree, on a shawl which she had spread upon the ground; her hands were clasped under her head, and she was gazing up into the sky. Carlos, standing near, with his neck acutely arched, his breast puffed out, and his beak thrust in among the feathers, looked like a gentleman of the old school in a ruffled shirt, with his hand in the breast of his coat. Does mamma want me ? asked Gar- da, as Margaret came up. Dr. Kirby and Mrs. Carew are there. No, I do not think she wants you at pre- sent. Come down on the shawl, then, and look up into the sky, pursued Garda. Ive never tried it before looking THE TRUMPET BLOWS. 121 straight up in this wayand I assure you I can see miles. Im not such a sun-worshipper as you are, answered Margaret, taking a seat on the bench in the shade. The suns almost down. No, it isnt the sun; its because you wouldnt know how to stretch yourself out full length on the ground as I am doing. The ground is warm, and I love to lie on it. So would you if you would once try it. But you never will. You have always sat in chairs, obeyed rules; you have been drilled. Yes, I have been drilled, answered Margaret, sombrely, looking at the grace- ful figure on the shawl. Garda did not notice the sombre tone; her attention was up in the sky. After a while she said, lazily, Mr. Winthrop has not been here to-day; I wonder why I He will not be able to come so often while I am here; he will have to stay with Aunt Katrina, who isnt really as strong as she appears to be. And she doesnt like to be alone. Mist Wintarp desiahs to know whed- der yous tome, Miss Gyarda, said the voice of old Pablo. I tole him I fain cied you was in de gyarden. Old Pablo recognized Garda as part Thorne; his manner toward her was a mixture of be- nignant protection and pity. Winthrop now appeared at the garden gate, and Margaret rose. Perhaps I had better go in too ? said Garda. No; stay as long as you can in the fresh air. I will send word when your mother asks for you. She left the garden by way of the orange grove. When she had gone some distance, and was well within the shade, she looked back. Garda had curled her- self up with one arm around a dwarf tree, which stood at the edge of the shawl; her head rested against a low branch, and in that way she could still see the sky, though she was no longer lying at length. Winthrop was in Margarets place on the bench, and Garda had evidently spoken to him of the sky, for he too was looking up. But he did not look long; while Margaret stood there his eyes dropped to the figure at his feet. Margaret was not surprised by this. No one would have been surprised. THE TRUMPET BLOWS. THE brown clods quicken into creeping green, The hushed air whispers low; Bare boughs burst out in tender, misty sheen, On banks the violets blow; The orchards blossom sudden like a bride, And far hills melt in haze, While golden willows stand on either side Along the brooks glad ways. Glancing with quivring wings from bough to bough The bluebird finds his mate: A trilla dash of piercing melody Nay, coy one, why so late? In every little wood a bliss to sing The trembling, fluttering birds; With rapture satisfied the copses ring, A joy beyond all words. To the light kisses of the odorous air My pulses rise and fall, Enchanted by that timid touch, aware Of one who stirs in all. I, too, am borne by influences deep; I tremble, like the rose. Love bath awakened all the world from sleep For me the trumpet blows!

D. H. R. Goodale Goodale, D. H. R. The Trumpet Blows 121-122

THE TRUMPET BLOWS. 121 straight up in this wayand I assure you I can see miles. Im not such a sun-worshipper as you are, answered Margaret, taking a seat on the bench in the shade. The suns almost down. No, it isnt the sun; its because you wouldnt know how to stretch yourself out full length on the ground as I am doing. The ground is warm, and I love to lie on it. So would you if you would once try it. But you never will. You have always sat in chairs, obeyed rules; you have been drilled. Yes, I have been drilled, answered Margaret, sombrely, looking at the grace- ful figure on the shawl. Garda did not notice the sombre tone; her attention was up in the sky. After a while she said, lazily, Mr. Winthrop has not been here to-day; I wonder why I He will not be able to come so often while I am here; he will have to stay with Aunt Katrina, who isnt really as strong as she appears to be. And she doesnt like to be alone. Mist Wintarp desiahs to know whed- der yous tome, Miss Gyarda, said the voice of old Pablo. I tole him I fain cied you was in de gyarden. Old Pablo recognized Garda as part Thorne; his manner toward her was a mixture of be- nignant protection and pity. Winthrop now appeared at the garden gate, and Margaret rose. Perhaps I had better go in too ? said Garda. No; stay as long as you can in the fresh air. I will send word when your mother asks for you. She left the garden by way of the orange grove. When she had gone some distance, and was well within the shade, she looked back. Garda had curled her- self up with one arm around a dwarf tree, which stood at the edge of the shawl; her head rested against a low branch, and in that way she could still see the sky, though she was no longer lying at length. Winthrop was in Margarets place on the bench, and Garda had evidently spoken to him of the sky, for he too was looking up. But he did not look long; while Margaret stood there his eyes dropped to the figure at his feet. Margaret was not surprised by this. No one would have been surprised. THE TRUMPET BLOWS. THE brown clods quicken into creeping green, The hushed air whispers low; Bare boughs burst out in tender, misty sheen, On banks the violets blow; The orchards blossom sudden like a bride, And far hills melt in haze, While golden willows stand on either side Along the brooks glad ways. Glancing with quivring wings from bough to bough The bluebird finds his mate: A trilla dash of piercing melody Nay, coy one, why so late? In every little wood a bliss to sing The trembling, fluttering birds; With rapture satisfied the copses ring, A joy beyond all words. To the light kisses of the odorous air My pulses rise and fall, Enchanted by that timid touch, aware Of one who stirs in all. I, too, am borne by influences deep; I tremble, like the rose. Love bath awakened all the world from sleep For me the trumpet blows! ENGLISH IN THE SCHOOLS. LONG before a boy or a girl is required to write composition at school, influ- ences have been at work which affect his or her English for better or for worse. The descendant of men and women who have for generations habitually spo- ken and written the mother-tongue with correctness and ease will naturally use better English than the child of illiterate parents; and if he be so fortunate as to have a nurse whose language is not very faulty, a mother who speaks good English herself, and takes pains to give a wise direc- tion to her childrens reading, playmates if such can be imaginedwho are not addicted to slang or ungrammatical ex- pressions, and teachers who are neither prigs nor slovens in their use of language, he will, other things being equal, retain the superiority he had at birth. Not that a well-born and carefully nur- tured boy has it all his own way even in the matter of English. His ancestors may have talked or written themselves out, and have left him, like the barren fig-tree, with plenty of leaves, but no fruit. His facility with words may be a facility fatal not only to thought, but also to strength and directnes,s of expres- sion. A family, on the other handthe Car- lyles or the Hawthornes, for example which has for generations dealt with things rather than with words, may at length produce a great writer, in whom the wisdom long amassed in silence finds literary expression; a writer who, to be sure, has to make exceptionally arduous exertions to acquire complete command of language, but who inherits the energy and the persistency that lead to success in every undertaking. In the matter of education, too, the race may be to those who possess staying qualities rather than to the well-equipped, to the tortoise rather than to the hare. One boy who has all possible advantages in his home and his school may fail to profit by theni; another boy may feel his disadvantages so keenly, and will try so resolutely to overcome them, that he can not but succeedup to a certain point at least. The speech of the over-cultivated may be languidly correct, and nothing more, or it may, in an unguarded mo- ment, fall into errors that have the charm of forbidden fruit; the speech of the un der-cultivated may abound in faults, and yet may have life and movement. Into the hands of the teacher of Eng- lish come pupils who differ thus widely from one another in everything that can be affected by birth or by early training. Since they began to talk they have been talking English (good, bad, or indifferent) as Molieres M. Jourdain talked prose, with- out knowing it; but they have as yet writ- ten nothing except exercises in penman- ship and spelling, and brief letters to mo- ther or father, which were read with the eyes of affection, not disposed to be crit- ical. Now, for the first time, they are ask- ed to write an English composition. The conditions under which they are to write differ in different schools. Some teachers leave their pupils great freedom in the choice of topic, in order that each may be enabled to write about something that he knows and is interested in; others prescribe a subject, in order that the un- practiced hand may be held close to a def- inite line of work; others vary their meth- od, in order to adjust it to the individual needs of each pupil; and this, when prac- ticable, is undoubtedly the best plan. Whatever the method, the result will probably be the samefailure. Even she whose talk is the life of the school at re- cess, writes as if she were on her good be- havior at a funeral. Even he who takes the lead among his fellows in everything that requires quickness of wit, becomes in- sufferably dreary the instant he puts pen to paper. If the lively become dull, and the quick-witted sluggish, when they un- dertake to write compositions, what must be the condition of their less clever com- panions? Unhappy pupils of a more un- happy teacher! That the difficulty of which I have spoken is real and is all but universal will be admitted by every one who has had much to do with the compositions of beginners; but opinions may well differ both as to the source of the trouble and as to the remedy to be applied. What reason is there, in the nature of things, why a boy who talks well should not write well, if he can be made to us~ the pen as naturally as lie uses his tongue, or, in other words, to forget himself in what he is writing, as he forgets himself while talking with his playmates? Why, but because this if is a lion in the way?

Professor A. S. Hill Hill, A. S., Professor English In the Schools 122-134

ENGLISH IN THE SCHOOLS. LONG before a boy or a girl is required to write composition at school, influ- ences have been at work which affect his or her English for better or for worse. The descendant of men and women who have for generations habitually spo- ken and written the mother-tongue with correctness and ease will naturally use better English than the child of illiterate parents; and if he be so fortunate as to have a nurse whose language is not very faulty, a mother who speaks good English herself, and takes pains to give a wise direc- tion to her childrens reading, playmates if such can be imaginedwho are not addicted to slang or ungrammatical ex- pressions, and teachers who are neither prigs nor slovens in their use of language, he will, other things being equal, retain the superiority he had at birth. Not that a well-born and carefully nur- tured boy has it all his own way even in the matter of English. His ancestors may have talked or written themselves out, and have left him, like the barren fig-tree, with plenty of leaves, but no fruit. His facility with words may be a facility fatal not only to thought, but also to strength and directnes,s of expres- sion. A family, on the other handthe Car- lyles or the Hawthornes, for example which has for generations dealt with things rather than with words, may at length produce a great writer, in whom the wisdom long amassed in silence finds literary expression; a writer who, to be sure, has to make exceptionally arduous exertions to acquire complete command of language, but who inherits the energy and the persistency that lead to success in every undertaking. In the matter of education, too, the race may be to those who possess staying qualities rather than to the well-equipped, to the tortoise rather than to the hare. One boy who has all possible advantages in his home and his school may fail to profit by theni; another boy may feel his disadvantages so keenly, and will try so resolutely to overcome them, that he can not but succeedup to a certain point at least. The speech of the over-cultivated may be languidly correct, and nothing more, or it may, in an unguarded mo- ment, fall into errors that have the charm of forbidden fruit; the speech of the un der-cultivated may abound in faults, and yet may have life and movement. Into the hands of the teacher of Eng- lish come pupils who differ thus widely from one another in everything that can be affected by birth or by early training. Since they began to talk they have been talking English (good, bad, or indifferent) as Molieres M. Jourdain talked prose, with- out knowing it; but they have as yet writ- ten nothing except exercises in penman- ship and spelling, and brief letters to mo- ther or father, which were read with the eyes of affection, not disposed to be crit- ical. Now, for the first time, they are ask- ed to write an English composition. The conditions under which they are to write differ in different schools. Some teachers leave their pupils great freedom in the choice of topic, in order that each may be enabled to write about something that he knows and is interested in; others prescribe a subject, in order that the un- practiced hand may be held close to a def- inite line of work; others vary their meth- od, in order to adjust it to the individual needs of each pupil; and this, when prac- ticable, is undoubtedly the best plan. Whatever the method, the result will probably be the samefailure. Even she whose talk is the life of the school at re- cess, writes as if she were on her good be- havior at a funeral. Even he who takes the lead among his fellows in everything that requires quickness of wit, becomes in- sufferably dreary the instant he puts pen to paper. If the lively become dull, and the quick-witted sluggish, when they un- dertake to write compositions, what must be the condition of their less clever com- panions? Unhappy pupils of a more un- happy teacher! That the difficulty of which I have spoken is real and is all but universal will be admitted by every one who has had much to do with the compositions of beginners; but opinions may well differ both as to the source of the trouble and as to the remedy to be applied. What reason is there, in the nature of things, why a boy who talks well should not write well, if he can be made to us~ the pen as naturally as lie uses his tongue, or, in other words, to forget himself in what he is writing, as he forgets himself while talking with his playmates? Why, but because this if is a lion in the way? ENGLISH IN THE SCHOOLS. 123 A boy must have written much before he can form his letters without special pains; and much more before he can set down what he has to say without stumbling over punctuation, spelling, and grammar; and more still before he can write with facility. Now, so long as a boy has to struggle at every step with difficulties connected with the machinery of writing, so long lie will not give his mind to the thing to be written, not only because his mind is oth- erwise employed, but also because the men- tal attitude of a person who is absorbed in the substance of what he is writing is en- tirely different from that of one who is obliged to pay attention to penmanship and other minutia~ connected with the pro- cess of putting words upon paper. If the ill success of beginners in Eng- lish composition be justly attributable to their inability to retain freshness and life while struggling with mechanical dif- ficulties at every step, it is evident that the methods of teaching in our schools are radically defective; for a sound meth- od would prevent both the sacrifice of substance to form, and that of form to substance. A sound method would teach a young writer that he should not, on the oue hand, purchase correctness of expres- sion by dullness, and should not, on the other hand, be interesting at the cost of accuracy in the use of language. Dull- ness is death; ignorance of elementary rules stamps a man as illiterate, and illit- eracy seriously injures the influence even of a powerful writer with educated men, and impairs it with the uneducated. Many teachers, however, act as if they thought it more important that a boy should spell and punctuate correctly than that he should write an essay which it is a pleasure to read. Others, in the fear of killing the life out of a composition, pass lightly over errors in grammar, and leave spelling and punctuation to take care of themselves. Others stilland this I be- lieve to be the most numerous classtry to achieve both objects at once, and fail of achieving either, their pupils being usually characterized by a mediocrity of attainment; they have ceased to he natu- ral and spontaneous, and they are op- pressed by the obligation to form their sentences correctly, but do not know how to fulfill that obligation. Boys who have received no instruction in English com- position before going to college seem to be better off, on the whole, than those who have had such instruction as is sometimes given. A boy fresh from a single reading of a novel, for example, or from a single rep- resentation of a play of Shakespeare, will, if he has been thoroughly interested in the story, tell it in his own words much better than another who has been drilled on every chapter in the novel or every scene in the play. It is possible so to treat the most interesting books as to make theni burdensome rather than interesting or stimulating to the youthful mind. I have heard of a boy who came down from his room groaning at his misfortune in having been kept in-doors by his work. What is the woe this time ? asked his sympathizing aunt. Oh, I had to read ten chapters of the Vicar of Wakefield. In another school a boy was expected to get three hundred pages of Henry Es- mond into his mind within twenty-four hours. In still another school the class went through the same book at a snails pace, the teacher doing his best to trans- form a lively narrative into a series of te- dious exercises. Instead of calling atten- tion to the main points of the story, to the characteristics of the principal person- ages, or to beauties of ~tyle, he spent his strength on unimportant details, demand- ing, for example, all the particulars of the attack by the mob on the carriage of Viscou ntess Castlewood, including an an- swer to the important questions whether the first vegetable to hit Father Holt was a cabbage, a carrot, or a potato. In a school of a very different class the study of English authors is niade so inter- esting that pupils who are preparing for colleges which have no examination in English are in the habit of joining the class in this subject for their oxvn pleasure an anomaly, I believe, in the annals of American institutions of learning. As regards the result of such teaching of English as is given in some of our best schools and academies, I may be pardon- ed for referring to my own observation. Since 1873, when Harvard College for the first time held, an examination in English, I have read from four to five thousand compositions written in the examination- room upon subjects drawn from books which the candidates were required to read before presenting themselves. Of these not more than a hundredto make a gen 124 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. erous estimatewere creditable to either writer or teacher. This year I did not read the books, but one who did makes this report: Few were remarkably good, and few extraordinarily bad; a tedious mediocrity was everywhere. It is this tedious mediocrity which has amazed me year after year. In spelling, punctuation, and grammar some of the books are a little worse than the mass, and some a great deal better; but in other re- spects there is a dead-level, unvaried by a fresh thought or an individual expression. Almost all the writers use the same com- monplace vocabularya very small one in the same confused way. One year, after reading two or three hundred compo- sitions on The Story of The Tempest, I found myself in such profound ignorance of both plot and characters that I had to read the play to set myself right again. The authors of these discouraging man- uscripts were, almost all of them, Just at the age twixt boy and youth, When thought is speech, and speech is truth. They may be justly regarded as the pick- ed youth of the country, many of them coming from the best families in point of culture and breeding, and from the best schools we have. They were all boys with blood in their veiiis, and brains in their heads, and tongues that could talk fast enough and to the purpose when they felt at ease. Many of them had enjoyed The Tempest as who that can under- stand it does not ?but somehow the touch of pen or pencil paralyzed their powers. If the dreary compositions written by the great majority of candidates for ad- mission to college were correct in spell- ing, intelligent in punctuation, and unex- ceptionable in grammar, there would be some conipensation; but this is so far from being the case that the instructors of English in Americaii colleges have to spend much of their time and strength in teaching the A B C of their mother-tongue to young men of twentywork disagree- able in itself, and often barren of result. Every year Harvard graduates a certain number of mensome of them high schol- arswhose manuscript would disgrace a boy of twelve; and yet the college carl not be blamed, for she can hardly be ex- pected to conduct an infant school for adults. Is there any remedy for this state of things? I venture to say that there is; but it is one which demands persistent and long- continued work, and hearty co-operation on the part of all who have to do with the use of English in the schools in any form and for any purpose. It requires intelli- gent supervision at one time, intelligent want of supervision at another time, and watchful attention constantly. It re- quires a quick sense of individual needs, and ready wit to provide for them as they arise. My plan is briefly as follows: 1, I would begin as early as possible to overcome the mechanical difficulties of writing, and would use all practicable means and all possible opportunities to do so; 2, I would not frighten a boy with compositions, so called, till he could form his seiitences with tolerable correct- ness, and use his pen with freedom; but, 3, when he was set to work writing compo- sitions, lie should be kept steadily at it, arid at the same time should be made to take an interest in what he is doing, and should be impressed with the importance of hav- ing something to say, and of saying that soniething in an intelligible and a natural manner. (1.) As to the first point. The work should begin as early as possible. As soon as a child has learned to form his let- ters without trouble, his attention should be called, not only to spelling, punctuation, and grammar, but also to the choice of words and to the construction of simple sentences. He should be shown what in language is conventional, and what is founded in reason. Whatever is done should be done thor- oughily. Children should be obliged to master every point that comes under the head of correctness; and in this matter the instructor should not spare himself. Some teachers prefer to spend time on the curiosities of language or in the pleasant places of literature rather than in the cor- rection of petty errors; but unless petty errors are corrected at the beginning, there is danger that they never will be. Knowledge of conventional rules is, of course, of incomparably less importance than is the possession of those qualities in style which give a man the power to influence other mens thoughts and ac- tions; but the rudiments of English form a part of every well-organized system of instruction. To omit them altogether, or to postpone them too long, is to act like a ENGLISH IN THE SCHOOLS. 125 student in architecture who should pay no attention to questions of construction, or should take them up for the first time after he had acquainted himself with the mys- teries of the so-called Queen Anne style. Such an architect might forget to leave room in his plan for a necessary staircase, and his chimneys would surely smoke. Such a writer would ~~robably be lame in his grammar, and would surely not know how to spell or to punctuate. Not that I would, in pursuance of Mr. Benjamin F. Butlers advice, replace the spelling-book in its former commanding Position in the schools, and compel boys and girls to learn long lists of words which they would have no occasion to use; but every one should be able to spell the words that are often on his lips, or often under his eye in the books he stud- ies or reads. Not that I would perplex a young mind with punctuation as a system, or with nice questions between semicolons and colons; but every one ought at an early age to be taught the difference betxveen the period and the comma, and the principal func- tions of each; every one should be taught, too, the general principle that a point serves as a guide to the construction, and through the construction to the meaning, of a sentence. Above all, the time and the energies of the young should not be wasted upon formal grammar. As lie (man), says Bacon, hath striven against the first general Curse by the Invention of all oth- er Arts, so hath he sought to come forth of the second general Curse, which was the confusion of Tongues, by the Art of Gram- mar, whereof the use in a mother-tongue is small; in a foreign tongue more; but most in such Foreign Tongues as have ceased to be Vulgar Tongues, and are turn- ed only to learned tongues. The misfortune of our schools has been that they have transferred the nomencla- ture and the system of the learned tongues to the mother-tongue,~~ in which, as Bacon truly says, the use of grammar is small. The consequ~nce has too often been that the art which, accord- ing to Bacon, was invented to relieve man from the second general curse, has become a third curse. Within the last few years, as we all like to believe, this curse has in a measure been lightened. Even teachers of Latin and Greek have ceased to load the memories of boys and girls with rules and exceptions, and are giving the necessary information by the way, as it were, and in a manner that enables their pupils to perceive some relation between the facts of grammar and the language and literature studied. The best instructors in English are mov- ing in the same direction; but few of them are moving far enough or fast enough. It is high time that every vestige of the Lindley Murray systemparsing, analysis of sentences, and the like, as well as gram- matical rules and exceptionswas swept out of the schools. Even the names of the parts of speech might be left to take care of themselves, as the names of the letters of the alphabet are left in the case of children who learn to read by words in- stead of by letters. The main point is, not that a child should know that a given word in a sentence is a noun, another a preposition, another an adverb of manner or whatever it may be called in the treatise in vogue at the momentbut that he should understand the meaning of a sentence as a whole. Several hours judiciously used should suffice to teach an intelligent boy the few points of grammar which it is most im- portant to know; for the assertion that English is a grammarhess tongue, though an exaggerationand a harm~u1 one if understood literallyhas a basis in the fact that the changes of form in words are much fewer and the rules of syntax far simpler in our language than in most others. A few nouns form peculiar plu- rals, a few verbs peculiar participles, and a very few verbs are peculiar throughout; but most of these exceptions occur in words which everybody uses so often that it is easy to learn the correct forms. A simi- lar remark may be made concerning who and whom, I and me, and the other pro- nouns. Let a boy be taught to put his pronouns in the proper cases, and to place them where the reference to the antecedents is plain; to couple singulars with singulars and plurals with plurals; to observe the dis- tinction between shall and will; to insert every word that is essential to the sense and to strike out every word that is super- fluous; to put verbs referring to the same time in the same tense; not to destroy a negative by doubling it; not to interpolate adverbs between words that form a single expression, as in to blindly follow (a com- mon error), or in would, therefore, to God (the expression of a well-known 126 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. American writer in a moment of excited logic)let a boy be taught these things, and lie will be far on the road toward cor- rect expression. Grammatical accuracy is, in my judg- ment, better taught by exaniple than by l)recept, indirectly rather than directly. What progress we should see if all the teachers in the schools of every grade were all the time on the watch for errors !if they never allowed one to pass in an oral or a written exercise, in notes of lectures, in examination-books, in copy-books, or even in conversation in the school-room! In the classical schools, teachers of Greek and Latin may do much to help the cause of good English without going out of their way, or of what should be their way. They may insist, for example, that every translated sentence, whether spoken or written, shall be a good English sen- tence at all points. This is done in Eng- land; and hence it is that the Eton and Harrow boys, though they receive little training in their own language by itself, write better English than American boys of the same age and attainments. This is done in France; and hence it is that ev- ery educated Frenchman writes idiomat- ic French. In this country, too, I am happy to say, attention is beginning to be paid to Eng- lish by teachers of other subjects. In sev- eral quarters, students in Latin or Greek, French or Gernian, are encouraged to make translation a means of enriching their English vocabulary, aiid enlarging their knowledge of English idioms. The master of one academy within my knowledge does not allow his pupils to make the ordinary word-for-word transla- tion of the Latin ablative absolute. He insists, for example, that the sentence, Tarquin having been expelled, t~vo con- suls began to be created, instead of one king, or the sentence, No one will be about to be a thief, we being the aid ,is not an English sentence, is not the Eng- lisli equivalent of the Latin. One college has, at the instance of the English department, determined very re- cently to insert the following words in the statement in its catalogue of the re- quirements for admission to the Freshman Class: The passages set for translation must be rendered into simple and idiomat- ic Eno~lish. Teachers are requested to insist on the use of good English as an essential part of the candidates training in trans lation. A requirement of this sort, if strictly enforce~l, can not fail to tell for good upon the candidates command of his mother-tongue. The truth is that the study of other languages than our own, whether ancient or modern, may be so pursued as to harm the cause of good English, or so pursued as to be of great service to it. Not a few high- school graduates resemble the young man in one of Mr. James Payns novels, whose education had been classical, and did not, therefore, include spelling. A teacher wrote to me in grieved surprise at the fail- ure of two of his best pupils to pass with credit in English composition. Re-exam- ining the books, I discovered that each of the two boys had been guilty of a sentence like one of those just quoteda sentence such as no English-speaking person who had not had frequent dialogues with the dead languages would have written. On the other hand, translation may be made, as it has been by many famous speakers and writers, a means of enriching the vocabulary and stimulating the powers of expression. Rufus Choate, for example, the famous New England advocate, whose command of language was unsurpassed, made a point of spending some time every day in rendering into English passages from another tongue, returning some times day after day to the same passage, until he had succeeded in giving to his English all the merits of the original. Transla- tion should, he is reported to have said, be pursued to bring to mind and to em- ploy all the words you already own, and to tax and torment invention and discov- ery amid the very deepest memory for ad- ditional, rich, and admirably expressive words. Examination books may be treated, as they are in some of our schools, not mere- ly as tests of knowledge, but also as ex- ercises in expression. Instead of resem- bling, as they too often do, the produc- tions of an illiterate mind and an unprac- ticed hand, instead of undoing in three hours all the good that has been gained in three weeks of instruction in English, I they may be made of real service to the student by giving him practice in stating what he knows in exact and intelligible words. Two years ago I received a report from a superintendent of schools in a city in Ohio, from which it appeared that in that place ten per cent. of the total marks at ENGLISH IN THE SCHOOLS. 127 examination was given for penmanship, neatness, and accuracy, 9nd that every scholar was obliged to write in inkau excellent safeguard against slovenliness. Correctness and clearness of expression are all that the teachers of other subjects than the English branches can be expected to find time for; but these they should at- tend to, in their own interest and in that of their specialty, as well as in the interest of their pupils, and of the mother-tongue; for a student can not properly be said to know a thing unless he knows it well enough to be able to make a statement about it that shall be intelligible to an intelligent reader. Somewhat more may be done by the teacher who makes it his business to ex- amine a piece of written work as an exer- cise in English. He may welcome every spark of intellectual life, every pictur- esque phrase, every happy turn of sen- tence, every strong word he comes upon, and even expressions that, though open to criticism, are often on the boys lips and naturally flow from his pen. He should leave free play to individuality, remembering that an opinion which is a boys own is worth more than the most orthodox dogmas taken at second hand. To sit as a passive bucket, says Carlyle, and be pumped into, whether you con- sent or not, can, in the long-run, be ex- hilarating to no creature. Not even if the pump draws from the well of truth; and which of us can be sure that his pri- vate pump does that? Among the things which teachers of ev- ery class should struggle to avoid is what I must be pardoned for calling school- masters English. All those whose busi- ness brings them into constant contact with young minds, and who are to a great extent cut off from intercourse with the world of men and women, are apt to at- tribute undue importance to petty mat- ters, to insist upon rules in cases where the best usage leaves freedom of choice, to prefer bookish and dignified ways of put- ting things to easy and natural ones. In many schools, for example, boys and girls are taught to put commas between the several parts of the address on the en- velope of a letter. The rule would be correct if the words forming the address were written continuously, as in the body of a book; but the separation of each part of the address from every other part alters the question. Consequently, some of the most careful writersfollowing the fash ion of modern title-pages and of inscrip- tions on monuments in public squares and cemeterieseither put periods at the end of each line or leave out all stops except those which mark abbreviations. Some teachers insist that the relative that should always be used, instead of who or which, where the relative clause serves to restrict the meaning of the antecedent, and that who or which should be used, instead of that, where the relative clause adds some- thing to the meaning of the antecedent, or explains it; and yet the best authori- ties, from Addison to Anthony Trollope, obey no such rule, but are guided by the ear in their choice between who and that. A distinction is set up in the schools be- tween each other and one another, ac- cording as the reference is to two or to more than two persons; and yet scarce- ly a good author can be found who does not use the two forms interchangeably. Another article of the school-master creed holds that a sentence should never end with a preposition or other particle; as if the most idiomatic writers, the writers easiest and most agreeable to read, did not abound in such sentences. In the cases that have been mentioned the best usage is against the school-mas- ters; but even where there is a question between two forms of expression, usage being almost equally divided, a teacher will do well to postpone all discussion of the disputed point till his pupils have mastered those parts of the language as to which good writers are agreed. Still another danger of teachers springs from their disposition to set an undue value on the slavish reproduction by their pupils of what they have heard from the desk. The writing-master regards that as the best chirography which most nearly resembles his own copperplate, flour- ishes and all; the elocutionist rates most highly the pupil who is successful in imi- tating his masters tones and gestures; and the teacher of English too often has most praise for sentences that resemble his own particularly if they are free from all faults except that of having no merits. No system is more likely than this to arrest the growth of a young mind and to stunt its powers of expression; for frigid cor- rectness, says Cherbuliez, the brilliant Swiss novelist, is the bane of all art. Worst of all forms of school-master English are those that come from unwill- ingness to call a spade a spade. 128 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I have teen trying for years, said a school-girl, the other day, to say I rose at seven, instead of got upgot is such a horrid word! Do you say retire instead of go to bed ~ Oh yes: I have been taught to avoid common expressions. That is to say, this innocent young girl had been taught to despise the words of dai- ly life and to affect the vulgar finery and sham delicacy characteristic of those who talk about the culinary department, the hymeneal altar, caskets for the remains of the departed, author of my being, ma- ternal relative, patrons of husbandry, ebonized coursers, liquid refreshments. lower limbs-the same part of the person which is referred to in the rule of a semi- nary quoted in Longfellows Kavanagh, the rule which forbade the young ladies to cross their benders. It is not well - bred persons who are ashamed to use the brief, simple, definite, ordinary words which naturally come to the lips. It is not the writers of leaders in our best newspapers who indulge in news- paper English, but the penny-a-liners, the reporters of fires and police items; and yet the worst parts of newspaper English spring from the same fondness for vague words and tawdry circumlocutions which gives rise to the elegant diction of teachers like Mrs. General in Little Dorrit. In the course of conversation Miss Fan- ny, Mrs. Generals pupil, happened to say: They wouldnt have been recalled to our remembrance, I suspect, if uncle hadnt tumbled over the subject. My dear, what a curious phrase! said Mrs. General. Would not inadvertently lighted upon, or accidently referred to, be better? Thank youvery much, Mrs. General, return3d the young lady. No; I think not. On the whole, I prefer my own ex- pression. This, continues Dickens, was always Miss Fannys way of receiving a sugges- tion from Mrs. General. But she always stored it up in her mind, and adopted it at another time. A teacher very different from Mrs. Gen- eral was master of the school (Christs Hospital) where Lamb and Coleridge were taught. Of him Coleridge says: In our own English compositions (at least for the last three years of our school edu- cation) he showed no mercy to phrase, metaphor, or image unsupported by a sound sense, or where the same sense might have been conveyed with equal force and dignity in plainer words. Lute, harp, and lyre, Muse, Muses, and inspira- tions, Pegasus, Parnassus, and Hippo- crene, were all an abomination to him. In fancy I can hear him now exclaiming: Harp? harp? lyre? Pen and ink, boy, you mean! Muse, boy, Muse? Your nurses daughter, you mean! Pierian spring? Oh, ay! the cloister pump, I sup- pose. This same teacher, it may be noted in passing, affords a strong proof of the fact that real familiarity with Greek and Latin helps ones English, for it was he who moulded Coleridges taste in both ancient and modern literature, and taught him sound principles of criticism in poetry. (2.) In the second place, I would not require a boy or a girl to write a formal composition until the elementary difficul- ties of work with the pen had been in a great measure overcome. If good Eng- lish has been treated from the very begin- ning of school life not as a thing by it- self, but as part and parcel of every study in which the mother-tongue is used, wheth- er orally or in writing; if the pupil has been taught to regard skill in the use of his own language as an essential of schol- arship, without which a so-called educated man, however extensive his book know- ledge, must be deemed a learned dunce; if he has been accustomed to write, not for the sake of writing, but in order to put what he knows on a given subject into a portable form; if he has written so often and so much as to have overcome the dif- ficulties attendant upon the manual labor of penmanship; if his errors in spelling have never been allowed to pass uncor- rected, and his memory has been forced by constant exercise to master the arbitra- ry forms of words that are in ordinary use; if he has been made to see that the rules of punctuation and grammar, though to a certain extent arbitrary, are for the most part helps to the accurate and prompt communication of thought from one mind to another, and that this principle, as car- ried out in practice by the best authors, underlies all the rules which determine the choice, the number, and the order of words in any piece of writing; if, in short, a pupil has been led gradually and inci- dentally to acquaint himself with the es- sentials of good English-more will have been done toward teaching him the art of ENGLISH IN THE SCHOOLS. 129 composition than could have been accom- plished by the writing of essays on topics outside of his regular studiesessays which he would have regarded as an imposition, since they were clear additions to his usual tasks, and asbugbears, since the work came so rarely that he did not get used to it. This, which may be called the indirect method of teaching the rudiments of Eng- lish, has one decided advantage over the direct method, in addition to those already mentioned. The English of an examina- tion book or of a translation appears to the pupil, as it really is, a means to an end, like the English he talks on the play- ground or at an evening party. The Eng- lish of a boys formal essay, on the con- trary, consists mainly of words that serve no purpose, and seem to him to serve none, except that of filling the prescribed num- ber of pages. At an examination, his knowledge of the facts on which each question is based supplies material for his sentences; and the questions on the paper direct him in the use of that material: in the formal essay he has, or thinks he has, nothing to say on the subject given out, and he is usually supplied with no- thing definite to guide his mind and steady his steps. Scholars in universities, says Bacon, come too soon and too unripe to Logic and Rhetoric, arts fitter for Gradu- ates than Children and Novices; for these two, rightly taken, are the greatest of sci- ences, being the Arts of Arts, the one for Judgment, the other for ornament, and they be the Rules and Directions how to set forth and dispose matters; and therefore, for minds empty and unfraught with mat- ter, and which have not gathered that which Cicero calleth Sylva and Supellex, stuff and variety, to begin with, those Arts (as if one should learn to weigh, or to mea- sure, or to paint the Wind) doth work but this effect, that the wisdom of those Arts, which is great and universal, is almost made contemptible, and is degenerate into childish sophistry and ridiculous affecta- tion. And further, the untimely learn- ing of them hath drawn on, by conse- quence, the superficial and unprofitable teaching and writing of them, as fittest, indeed, to the capacity of children. (3.) In the third place, compositions, when they are required, should be written so oft- ei~ as to form an important part of school work. So far as is possible under the conditions of the school they should be rhade to flower naturally out of that part of each pupils life in which he is most at home, be it work or play. He should be made to understand that the essential part of an essay is thought, well organized and well expressed; that to comprehend clear- ly and to feel strongly what one has to say is the indispensable condition of mak- ing others comprehend and feel it. A boy should never sit down to write until he has substantially settled his course of thought ; but when he does begin, he should give his whole mind to the work of expressing his ideas in language that can be easily understood. A wise teacher will try to make his pu- pils put their real selves behind the pen. Anxious not to do anything that shall cramp the free play of individual talent, he will at first be so careful not to correct overmuch as to let some elementary faults pass unnoticed. Many a clever boy, says Sir Walter Scott, in his Diary, has been flogged into a dunce, and many an original composition corrected into medi- ocritv. The wise teacher of English will give special attention to the acquirement of unity and flow, the qualities which con- stitutea composition, as distinguished from a disorderly and inharmonious collection of words. To the end of unity, the pupil should be taught that each of his sentences must contain one, and but one, proposition that is, must say but one thing, and say it as briefly and simply as is consistent with clearness and fullness of statement; and that each sentence must be so f~anied as to carry on the thought from what pre- cedes to what follows. The pupil should be taught, also, that a paragraph must be made up of sentences which belong to- gether by virtue of their common relation to the single proposition which forms the essence of the paragraph and makes it a paragraph; that a new paragraph must begin when a new part of the subject is entered upon, and that this new para- graph must contain that which comes next in order of thought to the paragraph it follows. If there is method in the ar- rangement of the words in a sentence, of the sentences in a paragraph, and of the paragraphs in an essay, the essay as a whole will mean something, and some- thing definite; but if there is no arrange- ment, it is either because the writer has nothing to say, or because he blunders about a meaning. 130 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. One good way of clearing a boys mind as to the contents of his own essay is to ask him to make an abstract of it in ten lines. He will either fail to do so because there is nothing to make an abstract of, or lie xviii succeed, and in succeeding will discover how to re-arrange his materials so as to call order out of chaos. If a would- be fine writer can open his eyes to the fact that his essay has no body, lie is likely to find something to say next time. If a con- fused writer can be made to bring the meaning of one of his obscure sentences into light, he will express himself more clearly in future; for he will perceive that he has gained by the change in point of space as well as in perspicuity. In writ- ing, as in housekeeping, to have a place for everything is to save time, temper, and work for all concerned. Unity of composition may be furthered by the practice of assigning definite sub- jects for essays, and of insisting that pupils shall confine themselves to the exact sub- ject prescribed. The inevitable result of giving out a vague subject is a vague and confused piece of writing, or a composition like those of two school-girls of whom I heard the other day. Being required to write compositions on Friendship, they put their heads together with a view to the pro- duction of essays that should represent their united efforts, and should at the same time differ essentially from each other. One began thus: There are two kinds of friendship. The other opened in a more stately style: Friendship may be regard- ed as consisting of two kinds or varieties. What can a child find to say on Friend- ship, or on such subjects as are given in an English book on composition published last year: Home Rule; The Channel Tunnel ; What is Poetry? Expound this subject by obverse illustration. Ask a boy to write about poetry, or punctuality, or perseverance, or consisten- cy, and lie will write about and about it about the word, that is to say, not stopping to define it, but repeating it over and over again, and saying things more or less dis- tantly connected with it, in the order in which they occur to his memory; for his mind can hardly be said to take part in the exercise. He xviii do somewhat better if asked to write on subjectshike thefollowing: What poetry do you like? and why ? The punctual man wastes more time than the unpunctual, Genius is an infiuiite capa city for taking pains, Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, since each of these texts contains an assertion which may be sustained or refuted by argument, that is, by well-ordered thought. The difficulty, however, with topics of this class is that they can not be satisfac- torily discussed xvithout more knowledge than children possess. Even if the teach- er supplies the requisite knowledge, boys and girls will not take as much interest in such subjects as they take in facts obtain- ed at first-hand, or in arguments thought out for themselves. They may attain unity; but it will be a unity in form rath- er than in substance, the unity of a man- ufactured article, not that of a natural product. Subjects should be concrete as well as definite, and should be level to the age and experience of those who are to write upon them. A teacher should be so well ac- quainted with the minds of his pupils that he knows what interests or can be made to interest them, and should choose his sub- jects in the light of that knoxvledge, being careful, at the same time, to confine each topic selected within narrow limits. If, for example, a boy has been greatly inter- ested in an industrial exhibition, he may be asked, not to give a general account of the showa demand which would result either in a flight of superlatives or in a re- production of the cataloguebut to give a full and precise account of one thing he has seen, of the latest form of type-writer or of sewing-machine, for example. If he has been reading Irvings Sketch Book with pleasure, lie may be asked to compare Christmas as he knows it in his own home with Christmas as it used to be in England, or to tell the story of Rip Van Winkle as he would tell it if he were trying to amuse a younger brother. What Carlyle wrote to a young man who talked of writing a criticism on Shakespeare will hold good in the case of every boy or girl. The thing, said Carlyle, he will have the chance to write entertainingly upon will be something he specially himself has seen, not probably Shakespeare, I should say, which all the world these two centuries has been doing its best to see. The essential thing in the subject for a boys composition is that it should be one of which his mind will take hold as it takes hold of a game of ball ora story-book. To put him at his ease, he might at first be required to write in his own words the ENGLISH IN THE SCHOOLS. 131 substance of something read or told to him, or he might be allowed to dictate his com- positions; for as a rule he speaks more naturally than he writes, keeps to the point more closely, and gets along more rapidly. Next in importance among the qualities which a teacher should strive to infuse into the writings of his pupils is that known in the text-books under different names (as ease, elegance, beauty, music, harmony, euphony, flow, smoothness), the quality which renders written words agreeable to the ear and the taste, the quality which is possessed in a pre-eminent degree by Addi- son and Goldsmith among the dead, and by Cardinal Newman and Mr. Ruskin among the living. This excellence may be purchasedas it is in some of the his- tories of Irving or of Prescottat the cost of brevity and vigor. Its absence may be made up for (with some readers at least) by picturesqueness and strength, as in Car- lyles Latter Day Pamphlets; but even those papers are hard reading for many on account of their deficiencies in this re- spect. Similar deficiencies, unrelieved by equal merits, greatly diminish ones plea- sure in reading some of the works of Sir Arthur Helps; and they are fatal to the enjoyment of most books of science by any one not obliged by his calling to dig out the information imbedded in them. I will not say that the text-books on rhetoric ought to give more space than they do to this requisite of a good style; for, on the one hand, the ear can not be trained by precepts, and, on the other hand, young writers might, if euphony were too much insisted on, be tempted to sacrifice sense to sound. The teacher of English should, however, recommend nov- ices in composition to read authors dis- tinguished for a flowing style, and should call their attention to chosen examples of the best work of such authors. He should point out to his pupils passages in their own compositions that are obscure or in- effective, because of clumsiness in a form of expression, or want of ease in a transi- tion, or inharmoniousness in a collocation of words. A young writer should be made to understand that to have unity in the fullest sense an essay must have movement as well as method, and that any interruption in the flow of language is a source of difficulty and of irritation to the reader, since it calls his attention from the meaning of a sentence to the words which compose it, or from the line VOL. LXXI.No. 42110 of thought in a paragraph to the particles which fasten the sentences together. Pupils should be taught that, to be sure of having movement in their composi- tions, they must have it in themselves. A writer who stops at the end of every sentence to bite his pen, or to stare at the ceiling, or to talk with a visitor, will nev- er acquire a flowing style. He who is not interested in his own work has small chance of interesting others; he who keeps interrupting himself can hardly expect that his readers will find continuity in what he has written. Before sitting down to write, a boy should have thought out what he has to say, and should have arranged it in an orderly manner, so that there shall be a beginning, a middle, and an end; when he does sit down at his desk he can and he should write at a heat. If he does so write, words will follow words, and sen- tences sentences, and paragraphs para- graphs, naturally and with a certain ease and flow. If between a first draught thus produced after thought and with speedand the finished composition sufficient time shall elapse to enable him to forget a large part of what he has written, so much the better; for he will then approach his work like a stranger, and will see, as a stranger would see, where he has failed to express clearly or vigorously what he has tried to say. Lapse of time and change of mood are excellent critics. Finally, a teacher should take pains to give his pupil enough, but not too much, help in his writing, to be a staff, not a crutch, to him. To correct all his errors for him is almost as bad as to make no corrections at all. The teacher should point out faults, but the scholar should be encouraged to find the remedy for himself. Prevailing demerits should be noted, and prevailing merits also, if there be any. In many cases it will be found that a thorough change for the better can not be made without the rewriting of the whole composition; and this will prove a useful exercise for all, and most useful to the best writers in the class; for to them no part of the work will be a mere copyists drudgery, but it will all serve as training in the effective use of language, as such work has always been to men that have taught themselves to write or have been taught by good teach- ers. 132 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Another plan is that of Coleridges mas- tera plan which that great writer regards as imitable and worthy of imitation. He would, says Coleridge, often permit our exercises, under some pretext of want of time, to accumulate till each lad had four or five to be looked over. Then placing the whole number abreast on his desk, he would ask the writer why this or that sentence might not have found as ap- propriate a place under this or that oth- er thesis; and if no satisfactory answer could be returned, and two faults of the same kind were found in one exercise, the irrevocable verdict followed, the exercise was torn up, and another on the same subject [had] to be produced, in addition to the task of the day. It is evident from what I have said all along that I am no believer in the doc- trine that a good book or a good essay can be written by one who has nothing to say, or that, in English composition, form is one thing and substance another. Even if it were true that words are the clothing of thought, it would follow that words without thought, however skillfully knit together, however richly embroidered with figures of speech, must still bear the same relation to words with thought that an in- geniously constructed scarecrow bears to the farmer who made it. In the best writers, however, words are not the clothing of thought; they are thought incarnate; the language and the idea are united, like soul and body, in a mysterious way which nobody fully un- derstands. More than this. In a great writer the style is the manthe man as made by his ancestors, his education, his career, his circumstances, and his genius. It is idle, then, to attempt to secure a good style by imitating this or that writer; for the best part of a good style is incom- municable. A would-be imitator may, if he applies himself closely to the work, catch mannerisms and reproduce defects, and perhaps superficial merits; but the most valuable qualities, those that have their roots in character, he will miss alto- gether, except in so far as his own person- ality resembles that of his model. It has been found comparatively easy, for in- stance, to copy the big words, the antith- eses, the balanced sentences, of Dr. John- son; but who has his sense and his vigor? Carlyles uncouthness has been caught; but who has his imagination, his humor, his strength? Macaulays clearness, Gold- smiths ease, Websters massiveness, are precisely those things in each which are most difficult to acquire. One may, in- deed, get good from a master of English by unconscious absorption, as one acquires good manners by associating with gentle- men and ladies; but for most young peo- ple this is the only way to the desired re- sult. There are minds, it is true, which are so thoroughly original that they assimilate from another~s writings that, and that only, which is helpful to them. A writer of this class does not copy the style of the au- thor he has been studying, but he repro- duces that style plus something new, or rather combined with something new, so as to form an original product. Thus Keats profited by his study of Spenser and of Milton. Thus Demosthenes, after copy- ing and recopying Thucydides, wrote, not in the style of Thucydides, but in a style of his own into which the strength of Thu- cydides had passed. Thus Franklin edu- cated himself by a study of Addison, re- writing the best papers in the Spectator from memory, and then comparing his transcripts with the originals; but Frank- lins style, though resembling Addisons in some respects, is distinctively his own. A teacher can not be expected to find many excellent writers among the chil- dren that pass through his hands; but he may do much for his pupils by helping them to see in their own and in each oth- ers compositions, not only wherein they have succeeded and wherein they have failed in securing unity in structure and ease in expression, but also how far they have succeeded or failed in putting their individuality into their written words. Not that one young person in ten thou- sand has anything original to say; but ev- ery human being has a mind of his own, as he has features of his owna mind which expresses itself readily enough in his face and in familiar conversation, and which can be helped to express itself with the pen. To the extent that a young writer works with the purpose to say something of his own, what he writes will have freshness, and will inspire interest in his subject and in him. To the extent that he fails to put himself into his work, he becomes what is known as a hack writer, a mere beast of burden, who serves as a common carrier for the thoughts of other men. Thus far I have dwelt upon the study of English as a means of facilitating com ENGLISH IN THE SCHOOLS. 133 munication between mind and mind, and it is under this aspect alone that I feel jus- tified in demanding a pre-eminent place for the study in every school, whatever its other objects, whatever its grade, what- ever its system of education. I should be the last to deny the pleasures or the advantages of the study of English from the philolooical or from the literary point of view. Few pursuits are more attractive to an intelligent youth than that of following a word through all the stages of its growth to the root out of which so much and so many things have been developed. To master the languages out of which our own has been formed is to add to our knowledge of history, and to enable us to appreciate more highly the beauty and power of the stream which we have traced to its source. If pursued in this spirit, the study of English as a lan- guage may be of great value, not only be- cause it supplies valuable information, but also because it broadens the mind and stimulates the imagination; but it would be hard to prove that, on the whole, the study of English in this way has stronger claims upon a students atten- tion than has Greek or Latin, French or German, Sanskrit or Hebrew. A stronger case may be made for the study of English literature as such. It is unseemly that anybody (except, perhaps, a professor of Greek) should know Homer better than Shakespeare,Lucian than Swift, Demosthenes than Burke. Whatever else may be omitted, every scholar who gets beyond the three Rs should know some- thing of the great English classics. English literature thus studied must not be confounded with the subject that fig- ures under the same name in manuals, or in superfluous commentaries, annotations, criticisms, whether they are those of the teacher or those in school editionstalk about a book, which rises like a cloud be- tween it and the student, irritating him as well as obstructing the view. Better leave boys to read good books by themselves than impose on them as a task an author whom they might enjoy if presented in the right way, but whom they are likely to de- test if they see him only when he is pinned to the floor of the school-room, like Gulli- ver in the hands of the Lilliputians. The only points I have space to empha- size are three: 1. Every book selected for reading should be suited to a scholars age, attainments, and tastesshould be, in a word, a book that he is likely to enjoy. 2. He should be encouraged to read every work through, the first time as rapidly as possible, that he may get the knowledge and the pleasure of it as a whole. 3. In order to bring his mind to bear on what he has read, he should write upon at least two subjects drawn from the book; the first calling for a general summary of its con- tents from a single point of view, the sec- ond calling for an intelligent account of one scene or character. Whether, as mere matter of knowledge, the masterpieces of English literature should constitute a part of the education of every man and woman, whatever his or her calling in life, I will not undertake to say; but I do regard an acquaintance with the English classics as an important if not an indispensable means of acquir- ing the art of putting ones thought into good English. This purpose good authors serve, not only directly by providing suit- able topics to be written upon, and by in- creasing ones command of language, but also indirectly by stimulating the mental energies, and by affording the keenest intellectual pleasure. Thus understood, English literature ceases to be a merely literary study, and becomes as useful to the man of science as to the man of let- tersto Professor Huxley and Mr. Her- bert Spencer as to Mr. Matthew Arnold and Mr. James Russell Lowell. Litera- ture is no longer a fund of information which may be weighed against informa- tion on other subjects, but it belongs to that kind of knowledge which is power. The primary object, then, of placing English upon a better basis in the schools, and of giving more time and intelligence to it there, is to enable boys and girls to express themselves in pure and effective language; not merely that they may avoid gross mistakes in grammar, and ambigu- ous or obscure expressions, not merely that they may state facts or opinions in words that can be understood by one who takes pains to understand them, but that they may be able to tell a story or to frame an~ argument so well that he who runs will stop to read it; that they may be able to write, not only so as to instruct men, but also so as to please them in the highest sense, and to move them to noble ends. It may be years before the full effects of the reform will be seen; but then they will be felt in all fields of human activity in which language plays a leading part. JUNE DAYS. ~~HE whilom hills of gray, whose tender shades I Were dashed with meagre tints of early Spring, Lift now their rustling domes and colonnades, And from the airy battlements they fling Their banners to the wind, and in the glades Spread rich pavilions for the Summers king. Now lifts the love-lit soul, and lifes full tide Swells from the ground and beats the trembling air, Mounts up the steeps, and on the landscape wide Spreads like a boundless ocean everywhere, Delights dear dreams the dancing waves divide, And with swift sails outfly pursuing Care. The sometime fields that sad and sodden lay, Soaked in the first cold rains, or flecked with snow, With helpless grasses trodden in the clay By shivering herds that wandered to and fro, Wave now with grain, and happy birds all day Pipe, hidden on the slopes with flowers ablow. The yellow streams that fled from Winters hold When first the young year saw the vernal moon, And lipped the yielding banks whose moistened mould Slipped mingling with the flood, now sleep at noon, Calm as the imaged hills which they enfold, All glimmering in the long, long skies of June. The brindled meadow hides the winding path With interlacing clover, white and red; The blackbirds, startled from their dewy bath, Fly chattering, joyful with imagined dread; The while the whetting scythe foretells the swath, And rings the knell of flowers that are not dead. Now waves of sunlight cross the fields of wheat; The shining crow toward the woodland flies; Far in the fields the larks their notes repeat, And from the fence the whistling partridge cries; Now to the cooling shades the cows retreat, To drowse and dream with mild, half-opening eyes. No other days are like the days in June; They stand upon the summit of the year, Filled up with sweet remembrance of the tune That wooed the fresh spring fields; they have a tear For violets dead; they will engird full soon The sweet full breasts of Summer drawing near. Each matchless morning marches from the east In tints inimitable and divine~ Each perfect noon sustains the endless feast In which the wedded charms of life combine; Sweet Evening waits till golden Day, released, Shall lead her blushing down the worlds decline. And when the day is done, a crimson band Lies glowing on the hushed and darkening west; The groups of trees like whispering spirits stand; The robins song lifts from its trembling breast; The shadows steal out from the twilight land; And all is peace and quietness and rest.

Robert Burns Wilson Wilson, Robert Burns June Days 134-135

JUNE DAYS. ~~HE whilom hills of gray, whose tender shades I Were dashed with meagre tints of early Spring, Lift now their rustling domes and colonnades, And from the airy battlements they fling Their banners to the wind, and in the glades Spread rich pavilions for the Summers king. Now lifts the love-lit soul, and lifes full tide Swells from the ground and beats the trembling air, Mounts up the steeps, and on the landscape wide Spreads like a boundless ocean everywhere, Delights dear dreams the dancing waves divide, And with swift sails outfly pursuing Care. The sometime fields that sad and sodden lay, Soaked in the first cold rains, or flecked with snow, With helpless grasses trodden in the clay By shivering herds that wandered to and fro, Wave now with grain, and happy birds all day Pipe, hidden on the slopes with flowers ablow. The yellow streams that fled from Winters hold When first the young year saw the vernal moon, And lipped the yielding banks whose moistened mould Slipped mingling with the flood, now sleep at noon, Calm as the imaged hills which they enfold, All glimmering in the long, long skies of June. The brindled meadow hides the winding path With interlacing clover, white and red; The blackbirds, startled from their dewy bath, Fly chattering, joyful with imagined dread; The while the whetting scythe foretells the swath, And rings the knell of flowers that are not dead. Now waves of sunlight cross the fields of wheat; The shining crow toward the woodland flies; Far in the fields the larks their notes repeat, And from the fence the whistling partridge cries; Now to the cooling shades the cows retreat, To drowse and dream with mild, half-opening eyes. No other days are like the days in June; They stand upon the summit of the year, Filled up with sweet remembrance of the tune That wooed the fresh spring fields; they have a tear For violets dead; they will engird full soon The sweet full breasts of Summer drawing near. Each matchless morning marches from the east In tints inimitable and divine~ Each perfect noon sustains the endless feast In which the wedded charms of life combine; Sweet Evening waits till golden Day, released, Shall lead her blushing down the worlds decline. And when the day is done, a crimson band Lies glowing on the hushed and darkening west; The groups of trees like whispering spirits stand; The robins song lifts from its trembling breast; The shadows steal out from the twilight land; And all is peace and quietness and rest. A GEORGIAN AT THE OPERA. OF all the sightly places in this subloo- nary spear New York is the sightli- est, and by the help of my friend Bob Tompkins I saw all there was to see. It will always be a livin, growin consolatioii to me that thar wasnt a monkey nor none that acted like em (and a plenty thar was which for antics and foolery you couldnt tell from the fool-blooded animal) that I didnt see by the help of Bob. Whats that? You say you bet I didnt see the Opery? You bet I did! What Opery did I see? I see the Opery of the Bohemian Gal. How did I like it? Well, I liked it pretty tolerble, not out and out; the fact is they spiled it by overdoin the singin part. You know yourself the way to spile a thing is to overdo it, and thats jest what they does in the Opery. They overdoes it. The fiddlin and drum- mm is fine. The actin is beautiful, and the rooms is fixed up splendid; but the sing- in is overdone. But I am makin a trans- gression, as the preachers say. You see, I went to New York on a sight- seem experdition. I had made a fine cot- ton crop, and my wife she said she would go and stay at her mothers with the baby, and I could go and see the world; so I went right to New York, and I saw it. Bob lie stuck to me, and put me right through. Well, I thought I must have seen every- thing that was to be seen, and I was tired, and could go home with a clar conscience, when Bob come to me and sez, La, Jack! I like to let you go home without seem the best thing in New York. Whats that ? sez I, surprised, not to say discouraged. Why, its the Opery of the Bohemian Gal. I tell you shes beautiful, she is ! sez Bob. Now look here, Bob Tompkins, sez I. Im a married man, and Im goin back to my wife able to answer any question she may put without shirkin, and I aint goin to see no gal, hoxvever beautiful, be she Bohemian or be she Dutch. Well, Bob at that commenced rollin round and laughin and screechin like he had a fit of some kind. I see I had made a mistake, and I was slightly afraid I had looked green, which, on account of the State of Georgy, which I was a represent- in, I didnt like to do, so I thought round in a rapid way and recomembered that I had heard of a opery cap, and I sposed my errer was jest thar, so I said in a strategem way, tryin to laugh like Bob did, and so make him think I had intended a joke all the time: Well, Bob, Im glad to see you can take a joke; taint every man can; but, jokin aside, who is this here Bohemian gal, and what colored Opery has she got ? At that Bob lost his breath laughin, and the tears fairly rolled down his cheeks. Then I got mad, which any man would a done under like circumbunces. Sez I: Bob Tompkins, if you dont stop skir- mishin round thar like a monkey, and tell me what under heaven youre a makin a fool of yourself about, Ill up and knock you inter the middle of next week. Well, Bob drawed up when he found my feelins was hurt, and said, while he was a wipin his eyes: Oh, Jack! you blade of grass, you! Barnum ought to have you for a circus youd dror sure. A Opery is a play-actin thing set to music, and the Bohemian Gal is the name of the Opery, jest like Oh, Susanna, and My Mary ~ Well, why couldnt you say so at first, sez I, without makin a fool of yourself ? Bob he apologized, and we shook hands and made up, and I asked him to go to the Opery with me and I would stand treat; but he said he had a engagement, and I must excuse him. Then I asked him whar I was to go. He said to the Academy of Music. Sez I: Ef this here show is a school show, I will not go; I have had enough, in my life, of childern exhibitin, and as I havent got no New York stock in that line, neither duty nor pleasure will draw me. Bob like to a bust out larfin agin, but choked it back with sech power that he risked a apoplexy. Oh, Jack, sez he, it aint no school; they is Itahien men and women, and you wont understand what they se; unless you read a library before you ~ Thar it is agin, sez I: read a libra- ry! Why dont you tell me to build a house in five minutes? How big is your library? I aint so much at readin, any- how. Bob choked agin, but didnt say a word; jest went to a book stall and bought a pamphlet, which it looked like a tract, about as big as Allens Alarm to the Un- converted, and he told me to take it home

Mary Tucker Magill Magill, Mary Tucker A Georgian At the Opera 135-139

A GEORGIAN AT THE OPERA. OF all the sightly places in this subloo- nary spear New York is the sightli- est, and by the help of my friend Bob Tompkins I saw all there was to see. It will always be a livin, growin consolatioii to me that thar wasnt a monkey nor none that acted like em (and a plenty thar was which for antics and foolery you couldnt tell from the fool-blooded animal) that I didnt see by the help of Bob. Whats that? You say you bet I didnt see the Opery? You bet I did! What Opery did I see? I see the Opery of the Bohemian Gal. How did I like it? Well, I liked it pretty tolerble, not out and out; the fact is they spiled it by overdoin the singin part. You know yourself the way to spile a thing is to overdo it, and thats jest what they does in the Opery. They overdoes it. The fiddlin and drum- mm is fine. The actin is beautiful, and the rooms is fixed up splendid; but the sing- in is overdone. But I am makin a trans- gression, as the preachers say. You see, I went to New York on a sight- seem experdition. I had made a fine cot- ton crop, and my wife she said she would go and stay at her mothers with the baby, and I could go and see the world; so I went right to New York, and I saw it. Bob lie stuck to me, and put me right through. Well, I thought I must have seen every- thing that was to be seen, and I was tired, and could go home with a clar conscience, when Bob come to me and sez, La, Jack! I like to let you go home without seem the best thing in New York. Whats that ? sez I, surprised, not to say discouraged. Why, its the Opery of the Bohemian Gal. I tell you shes beautiful, she is ! sez Bob. Now look here, Bob Tompkins, sez I. Im a married man, and Im goin back to my wife able to answer any question she may put without shirkin, and I aint goin to see no gal, hoxvever beautiful, be she Bohemian or be she Dutch. Well, Bob at that commenced rollin round and laughin and screechin like he had a fit of some kind. I see I had made a mistake, and I was slightly afraid I had looked green, which, on account of the State of Georgy, which I was a represent- in, I didnt like to do, so I thought round in a rapid way and recomembered that I had heard of a opery cap, and I sposed my errer was jest thar, so I said in a strategem way, tryin to laugh like Bob did, and so make him think I had intended a joke all the time: Well, Bob, Im glad to see you can take a joke; taint every man can; but, jokin aside, who is this here Bohemian gal, and what colored Opery has she got ? At that Bob lost his breath laughin, and the tears fairly rolled down his cheeks. Then I got mad, which any man would a done under like circumbunces. Sez I: Bob Tompkins, if you dont stop skir- mishin round thar like a monkey, and tell me what under heaven youre a makin a fool of yourself about, Ill up and knock you inter the middle of next week. Well, Bob drawed up when he found my feelins was hurt, and said, while he was a wipin his eyes: Oh, Jack! you blade of grass, you! Barnum ought to have you for a circus youd dror sure. A Opery is a play-actin thing set to music, and the Bohemian Gal is the name of the Opery, jest like Oh, Susanna, and My Mary ~ Well, why couldnt you say so at first, sez I, without makin a fool of yourself ? Bob he apologized, and we shook hands and made up, and I asked him to go to the Opery with me and I would stand treat; but he said he had a engagement, and I must excuse him. Then I asked him whar I was to go. He said to the Academy of Music. Sez I: Ef this here show is a school show, I will not go; I have had enough, in my life, of childern exhibitin, and as I havent got no New York stock in that line, neither duty nor pleasure will draw me. Bob like to a bust out larfin agin, but choked it back with sech power that he risked a apoplexy. Oh, Jack, sez he, it aint no school; they is Itahien men and women, and you wont understand what they se; unless you read a library before you ~ Thar it is agin, sez I: read a libra- ry! Why dont you tell me to build a house in five minutes? How big is your library? I aint so much at readin, any- how. Bob choked agin, but didnt say a word; jest went to a book stall and bought a pamphlet, which it looked like a tract, about as big as Allens Alarm to the Un- converted, and he told me to take it home 136 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and read it, and that was the story they was goin to sing at the Opery. And its well I did read the American side of it, for of all the foolish gibberish that Ital- ien takes the lead. After I had eat my supper I went off to the Academy of Music, and thar was the ticket man settin up in his stove box, and he sez, You want a ticket, sir ? Sez I, Thats about what I come for. I was very dignified, cause I had Georgy on my shoulders, and determined to be a honor to my State, and, above all things, not to look green. I spose the ticket man thought I was pretty stuck up, for he sez, as imperdent as you please, Will you have a cheer or a box ? Ef I could have got at him I would have knocked him down then and thar; but not bein able, I used my sarcastic vain on him and said, Id have you for to know, sir, I am a gentleman from the State of Georgy, and we sets on cheers down thar, and leaves the boxes to the people from New York. To all appearance sarcasm run off of that man like water off of a ducks back. He only grinned, and showed off to ad- vantage a full sett of store teeth, which must have cost a sight of money. He throwed. me a ticket, and told me to go in at a door he pinted out. But law me! them people havent any manners. A man at the door took my ticket away from me without sayin by your leave, and tore it in two and gave me back half, and before I could take it out on him for his rudeness a boy seized that and dragged me off by the arm down a passage be- tween the seats, which was all folded neatly up like they had jest come in from the wash. He unfolded one of these, pushed me in, and throwed my little piece of ticket after me, and was gone be- fore you could say Jack Robinson. It seemed a pretty hard case thatwith people insultin him right and left a Geor- gy man couldnt get a chance to knock one of em down. But so it was, and I tried to kind a devirt my thoughts from my aggrawations by lookin round. It certainly was a sightly place, and what with the big chandeleer up in the ceilin, and the little chandeleers all around, it sorter looked like a sunshiny day; and then the lights glitterin on the diamonds and pearls and chalcedonies and jacinths that was hangin round the women would a put the foundations of the celestial city out o countenance. The men was most- ly bald headed and wared swallow tail coats, and men and women was armed with double barrel spy glasses, which they gave them a comical appearance. Some of these said spy glasses was so large in proportion to the men that they looked like steam engines with a double light. One little bald headed gentleman sitting next to me had the biggest pair in the house. He actually looked as if he was hitched on to them instead of them being hitched on to him; and again, as I turn- ed my eyes on his white bald head with the machinery in front he might have been mistaken for a bomb shell, and the idea come into my head that a slight tap would explode him. I had a mind to try it on him, but being a stranger in a strange land I had better keep quiet or I might get myself arested for a dyna- miter. Up in the top of the room was hanging a tremenjuous curting, with fine pictures on it, and just on the floor close to it was a row of candles, which seemed to be set down in a trough, sorter, with the wicks above the floor. In front of the candles was what looked like a music school, the schoolmaster setting up on a high three legged stool with a big stick in his hand, though it did look to me as if them boys was too old to be whipped. There was every kind of musical instru- ment you ever heard of. There was drums as big as hogsheads, drums as big as flour barrels, and drums as big as pails. Then there was big fiddles, middle sized fiddles, and little fiddles, and long horns twisted up like the brazen serpant, and all sizes from that down to a baby whistle; and there was every size and sort of tam- borines, besides plenty of instruments I never see or hear of before. It altogether reminded me of that consort of Nebuchad- nazzars we read of in the Holy Bible, and I have no doubt they had the sackbut, psaltary, dulcimer, and so forth, among the machinery I didnt know the names of. Well, while I was a workin out these here thoughts the old music teacher give his stick a waft, as much as to say, Now, my fine fellows, do your best, or youll get a taste of this. And I tell you they went at it neck and heel, each one of em tryin to beat the other. I never heard such a din. It was like happenin in at a manegerie at feedin time, and all the li- ons, tigers, hyenas, and Jackasses was bel- lowing at one and the same time; and the A GEORGIAN AT THE OPERA. 137 old music teacher he swung that stick a threatening them old boys, until it seemed like lie got so wore out he could jest man- age to move it soft like; and believe me as soon as them boys see he was sorter dis- abled they took a rest too, and the noise got lesser and lesser, till you could hear only the little baby whistle, and it sound- ed real sweet. Ef it had jest lasted a min- ute longer I think I might have caught that chune, if there was one; but the old man got up his wind too soon, and away they all went again like a pack of hounds in full cry. At last human natur couldnt stand no more, and they blowed and beat therselves clean out, the school - master dropped his stick, and the boys fell back breathless, and before they could get up more steam the curting went up and the Opery began. You want to hear the story, does you? Well, it was pretty, but ef I hadnt read that library I never would have knowed what they was after. You see there was a widower Count with a name sounded like it was Arnold or something, and he had a pretty little gal which her name was Arleenner, and she and her nurse was in the room with him when the curtiag goes up, and the Count begins to sing how sorry he is his wife is dead, and how he loves his ba~by. Jest think of that, singin all that, and liftin up the little gal and kissin her to music! Who ever heard tell of sich non- sense? Do you suppose if my wife was dead I would go and sing to a thousand or so people to tell em how sorry I was, and how I loved my baby? No; its agin nater from beginnin to end. Well, as soon as he got through he went away, and the nurse takes the little gal up in the mountains to pick flowers. They had hardly got out before here came a big fat Polisher named Thaddeus. He was a wail- er too. The Count wailed in a voice most fine enough for a woman, but Thaddens was a base wailer; it sounded like thun- der; and he sung first in the lower part of his chist, and I thought it was morally impossible he could go any lower, when he jumped right down to the lower part of his stomach, and before you had time to wonder how he could do it, there was his voice way down in the soles of his boots. It certainly was a feenominer how he could do it. Well, his wail was all about his country, how he had been ban- ished, and if he went back he would have his head cut off, and all that. It would a been real distressin ef it had only been natural for him to cry and groan and grunt to music. Jest as he finished his story, here came in a party of Gypseys, running in that sudden from all the openins of the stage that it took away my breath. They rushed right up to Thaddeus and was goin to kill him then and thar to the sound of music, when ther captain, which had the name of Devilshoof (a bad name that for a honest man) he see Thad- deus was a soldier and stopped the kilhin. Thaddeus sung em a history of his trou- bles, and then they all broke out like a house afire screechin at him, A Gyp- seys life is the life to lead, and they rung the changes on that noble sentiment till Thaddeus lost his head entirely, and said he would jine to em; and then and thar they ondressed him, and put on his Gypsey clothes. I felt right shamed while this was goin on, and I lQoked at the ladies, but ther faces was all hid by their spy glasses, the which I could swar was pint- ed jest at the place whar Thaddeus was dressin himself. Praps its the music makes the difference, but I am glad my wife was in Georgy, music or no music. In another minute thar was another lung tearin, ear bustin blowouts. Men, women, and children rushed in singin at the top of their voices that the Counts little gal and her nurse had been eat up by a wild animal in the mountain. Then here came the Count singin how sorry he was. I was fairly out of patience with his un- naturalness, instead of runnin out to save his child, to walk up and down before all them people singin. I aint no sort of patience with dead beats. Thaddeus had more sense; he picked up a gun which was lying handy, and away lie went. Them mountains and wild beasts must have been right at the door, for Thaddeus was hard- ly gone before he was back agin with the baby in his arms, he havin been to the mountains,kihled the wild beast, and saved the baby and nurse in not more than three minutes. He was a sight quicker than the patent exterminator. Well, then ther was another ear bustin, lung tearin blow- outs. The Count embraced and kissed the baby to music, and sent her off to the house to have a little scratch on her arm tied up, which was all the hurt she had, which it shows ,you cant believe any- thing you hears. The report was that baby and nurse was eat up; the nurse 138 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. wasnt hurt, and the baby had a flea bite. I doubt myself if there was any wild beast in the matter: all to get up a sensation. But the Count believed it; you could see that by the way he acted. He shook Thaddeus hand and sung he was so much obliged to him. Thaddeus sung it didnt make no difference in the world. The Count sung couldnt he do something for him? Thaddeus sung no he thanked him. The Count sung wouldnt he take a glass of wine? Thaddeus sung he didnt keer if he did. Then, as bad luck would have it, the Count purposed the health of the Emper- or, which was the same which had ban- ished Thaddeus, and Thaddeus dashed his glass down and broke it all to pieces, which made the Count so mad he for- got all about what Thaddeus had done, and had him arrested then and thar, and Devilshoof too; but Devilshoof was too smart for em; he got hold of the baby, and every body took after him; but he ran across a bridge, and took a little knife out of his pocket and jest cut it down after him, and the curting come down, while the people fairly yelled and clapped their hands and tried to outdo the Opery in noise. Then the little man next to me, which was bald headed and had the prize spy glasses, took em down and wiped em, and said, settlin himself, It will be twelve years before the next scene. I was perfectly dumbfoundered at his sayin such a thing, and I sez, sez I: Is that a joke, sir? for I cant stay here no twelve years. I am from Georgy, and my wife and child are there, and Ive got my livin to make. Well, he swelled up like he would bust, and the lady next him laughed right out loud. He was very polite though, and told me they was goin to pertend it was twelve years, and Arleenuer would be growed up; and sure enough when it went up thar she wasleastways they wanted me to believe it was the same which was asleep on a fur skin; and thar was Thad- deus watchin over her, and then she woke up, and they began to sing love at each other. And it was real pretty too; more chune about it than anything I had heard from em, only Thaddeus was too old and fat for her. When she first woke up she sang to him about a dream she had dream- ed, all about how she liVed in a fine house built of marble, and had plenty of niggars to wait on her, and fine clothes and jew- elry and everything she wanted, but how she didnt keer about any of it cause he was there and loved her, and she truly did look pretty and sang beautiful. It made me think of the time my wife and me were courtin, only we didnt sing maybe because we couldnt. And then he kissed and hugged her, which if ther had not been so many people round would have been very natural. Then he sung how when she was a baby he had saved her life, and he showed her the scar on her arm. But they dont rest easy long in Operies. This was too pretty and soft to last. The Gy~sey Queen was in love with Thaddeus, and when she found he was sparkin Ar- leenner, she laid a plan aginst em. She made out how Arleenner had stole a locket belongin to the Count, and she was arrest- ed and taken before him, and it was proved aginst her, and they was just about to put her in jail, when the Count saw the scar on her arm, and knowed it was his lost child; and then come another bustin fuss. The Count sung he was so glad, and Ar- leenner sung so was she. And lie sung he was goin to marry her to the Kings son, and she put her pretty arms around Thaddeus, and sung she wouldnt marry anybody but him, and the Count sung she couldnt marry a Gypsey, and Thaddeus up and drawed out a paper and said that proved he wasnt no Gypsey, but a big man in his own country; and so the Count gave his consent; and you thought all was goin straight at last, when in come that Gypsey Queen with a Gypsey she had hired to kill Arleenner, and, as good luck would have it, he missed his aim and killed the Queen. And I felt like jumping up and cracking my heels together I was so glad, she was such an awful shrieker, and hate- ful besides. And then that was all. I think if I live thirty years I will nev- er get all that music out of my head. Ive got as good an ear for music as anybody, but it would take twenty ears to hold all that. If they would only talk some and sing some. What is more beautiful than music ? some folks asks, and it seems a question which poses the world; but Ill tell you nachure is, and it is agin nachure to sing every thing. Now take sich a every day sentiment as this, Will you come to supper, your Excellency ? How much better to say the thing right off than for half a dozen people to make a jewett HOW EARTHQUAKES ARE CAUSED. 139 of it, and squall the changes on it, and roll and pitch it round like it was a ball they was playin with, and all the apper- tite his Excellency had is sung out of him! I say its riddickerlous nonsense. Its like what they calls the toning in church whar they sings and whines the prayers to God Almighty. Its all agin nachure. Love songs is beautiful, and serernades will tetch the hardest hearts, but I say mix in the singin with a little common- sense talkin and it would be a improve- ment all round. Why, any body happenin into one of them opperys, without bein prepared by readin a library, would think they had got into a lunatic asylumto see four or five men and women screechin at each other, ther hands flyin out from ther chists (which let me say is a invaria- ble movement), stretchin of their necks until it is agonizin to see the bones and siners stand out, and their mouths so wide open that you expect every minute to hear ther jaw bones crack. And then the choris! that is the worst of all; fifty or a hun- dred men and women dressed in the most outlandish way, each tryin to outyell the other; and add to all this the determina tion of the musitioners in the grand finally not to be outdone by the singers. They all get so wound up the fact is they cant stop themselves. The man with the big fiddle fairly turns a sumersault over it a tryin to get first, and the little fiddlers saws away until it is enough to wake up the ghosts of the cats which was made into fiddle strings; and the big drummers and middle sized and little drummers is bent upon nothin else but beatin a hole in their instruments; and the horn blowers big and little looks dangerously appoplek- tic; and the tamboreeners and bell ring- ers comes nobly to the front, till the tem- pest of sound goes roarin and surgin thro the house, gittin louder and loud- er and stronger and stronger and higher and higher, till they can neither get up nor down; and it ends by their slammin and smashin everything to pieces, and all comes down together with a Blim! blam! blum!! b-r-r-r-rum!!! and you look up thinkin of course the roof is gone and the moon and stars shinin overhead. Maybe if I had studied it when I was a new born infant, and kept at it stiddy till now, I might like the Grand Opery. As it is it is too much for me. HOW EARTHQUAKES ARE CAUSED. WHEN a great volcanic outburst takes place, or the earth is shaken by tre- mendous throes, men are apt to suppose that some unusual condition prevails be- neath the earths crust. But in reality, al- though subterranean disturbances may be the true cause of all great earthquakes and eruptions, there can be little doubt that the occasion of those subterranean disturb- ances is often, if not always, to be sought outside the earths crust. It is doubtful whether the process of contraction, which is going on all the time with greater or less activity, although generating enor- mous supplies of subterranean heat, might not, nevertheless, proceed without produ- cing great subterranean disturbances were it not for external changes which intensify its action, sometimes assisting its effects, sometimes resisting them, and so making their disturbing energies much greater than they otherwise would be. Of some of these external causes of subterranean disturbance I propose briefly to treat before considering the earths internal activity. They have received much less attention than they deserve. Let us first consider a cause of disturb- ance which might very well be overlook- edthe changes of atmospheric pressure which are taking place all the time. When we hear that the barometer has risen or sunk half an inch, we do not commonly attach much importance to the change, nor,inmostpartsofthe earth, is such a change likely to produce any remarkable effects. Even in regions where the crust of the earth is notably unstable, a change of half an inch in the height of the mer- curial column is not ordinarily of great importance. Yet it might under certain conditions make such a change in the con- ditions of equilibrium as to bring about an earthquake. Consider what it really means. When the barometer rises half an inch over an area of 10,000 square miles, less than a sixth of the area of Mis- souri, the pressure on that area is increased

Richard A. Proctor Proctor, Richard A. How Earthquakes Are Caused 139-146

HOW EARTHQUAKES ARE CAUSED. 139 of it, and squall the changes on it, and roll and pitch it round like it was a ball they was playin with, and all the apper- tite his Excellency had is sung out of him! I say its riddickerlous nonsense. Its like what they calls the toning in church whar they sings and whines the prayers to God Almighty. Its all agin nachure. Love songs is beautiful, and serernades will tetch the hardest hearts, but I say mix in the singin with a little common- sense talkin and it would be a improve- ment all round. Why, any body happenin into one of them opperys, without bein prepared by readin a library, would think they had got into a lunatic asylumto see four or five men and women screechin at each other, ther hands flyin out from ther chists (which let me say is a invaria- ble movement), stretchin of their necks until it is agonizin to see the bones and siners stand out, and their mouths so wide open that you expect every minute to hear ther jaw bones crack. And then the choris! that is the worst of all; fifty or a hun- dred men and women dressed in the most outlandish way, each tryin to outyell the other; and add to all this the determina tion of the musitioners in the grand finally not to be outdone by the singers. They all get so wound up the fact is they cant stop themselves. The man with the big fiddle fairly turns a sumersault over it a tryin to get first, and the little fiddlers saws away until it is enough to wake up the ghosts of the cats which was made into fiddle strings; and the big drummers and middle sized and little drummers is bent upon nothin else but beatin a hole in their instruments; and the horn blowers big and little looks dangerously appoplek- tic; and the tamboreeners and bell ring- ers comes nobly to the front, till the tem- pest of sound goes roarin and surgin thro the house, gittin louder and loud- er and stronger and stronger and higher and higher, till they can neither get up nor down; and it ends by their slammin and smashin everything to pieces, and all comes down together with a Blim! blam! blum!! b-r-r-r-rum!!! and you look up thinkin of course the roof is gone and the moon and stars shinin overhead. Maybe if I had studied it when I was a new born infant, and kept at it stiddy till now, I might like the Grand Opery. As it is it is too much for me. HOW EARTHQUAKES ARE CAUSED. WHEN a great volcanic outburst takes place, or the earth is shaken by tre- mendous throes, men are apt to suppose that some unusual condition prevails be- neath the earths crust. But in reality, al- though subterranean disturbances may be the true cause of all great earthquakes and eruptions, there can be little doubt that the occasion of those subterranean disturb- ances is often, if not always, to be sought outside the earths crust. It is doubtful whether the process of contraction, which is going on all the time with greater or less activity, although generating enor- mous supplies of subterranean heat, might not, nevertheless, proceed without produ- cing great subterranean disturbances were it not for external changes which intensify its action, sometimes assisting its effects, sometimes resisting them, and so making their disturbing energies much greater than they otherwise would be. Of some of these external causes of subterranean disturbance I propose briefly to treat before considering the earths internal activity. They have received much less attention than they deserve. Let us first consider a cause of disturb- ance which might very well be overlook- edthe changes of atmospheric pressure which are taking place all the time. When we hear that the barometer has risen or sunk half an inch, we do not commonly attach much importance to the change, nor,inmostpartsofthe earth, is such a change likely to produce any remarkable effects. Even in regions where the crust of the earth is notably unstable, a change of half an inch in the height of the mer- curial column is not ordinarily of great importance. Yet it might under certain conditions make such a change in the con- ditions of equilibrium as to bring about an earthquake. Consider what it really means. When the barometer rises half an inch over an area of 10,000 square miles, less than a sixth of the area of Mis- souri, the pressure on that area is increased 140 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. by 4,260,000,000 tons. If a wave of at- mospheric pressure passed over the United States in such sort that over the eastern half of the States the barometer were first half an inch lower than in the western half, and then half an inch higher, the effect would be as though a mass of about seven hundred thousand millions of tons were shifted from the western to the eastern half of the United States. We know that such changesnay, changes considerably greatertake place, and they do no partic- ular harm in most cases. But certainly such changes of pressure are not to be neg- lected in considering the cause of subter- ranean disturbances. They must affect the equilibrium of the crust even of the most stable parts of the earth in marked degree. Rightly considering the matter, the wonder is not that changes of atmos- pheric pressure seemingly so slight that we scarcely notice them at all may bring about subterranean disturbances, but that the disturbances they produce are so sel- dom observed. That changes of atmospheric pressure do affect the earths crust in recognizable degree has been observed even in Eng- land, where earthquakes are infrequent, and where destructive earthquakes scarce- ly ever occur. It may surprise many to learn that while earthquakes occur but sel- dom in England, vibratory undulations, or earth-shakes, as they niay conveniently be called, are occurring all the time. No less than 217 were noted in Great Britain during the fifteen years from 1868 to 1882 inclusive. The eastern side of Britain is the more disturbed, and England and Scot- land are much more disturbed than Ire- land. The connection between these earth- shakes and changes of atmospheric press- ure has been abundantly shown in a re- markable paper read by Mr. W. Walton Brown before the North of England Insti- tute of Mining and Mechanical Engineers. Other causes are recognized too, but this cause is distinguishable from the rest. An increase of one inch in the height of the mercurial barometer corresponds to a weight of 650 pounds to each square foot, or about 852,000 tons on each square mile, of surface. This can not but prove a most effective addition to the pressures constant- ly exerted upon the regions beneath the crust, and when the pressure fluctuates by such an amount, increasing here and di- minishing there, we can not wonder if the effects of such changes show themselves in a marked way in the weaker portions of the earths surface. Now in tunes of great storm the mercury changes rapidly in height, and this corresponds to the rap- id addition or removal of many thousands of millions of tons to and from the areas of rising and falling barometer. In re- gions like the British Isles the effects of such changes, though sensible to scientific observation, are only recognizable other- wise (that is, in a way to attract general observation) by the occurrence of great colliery explosions. This is not due, I think, as my friend Mr. W. Mattien Will- iams supposes, to the formation of fissures in the crust inclosing the fire-damp, and the consequent escape of the gas, but to the diminution of the pressure of the air over colliery regions, and the increase of press- ures elsewhere. If, for instance, over a region a few hundreds of square miles in extent where there are coal mines the atmospheric pressure in a time of great storms is reduced so that the mercury sinks an inch, while all around the press- ure is high, we have for the time a con- dition of affairs which can not but result in the forcing out of enormous quantities of gas. For over a region where outlets already exist, or where the crust has at least been so weakened that it forms but a weak inclosure for the gas usually im- prisoned, a pressure of hundreds of mill- ions of tons has been removed, while all around the pressures are enormously in- creased, so that gas is driven toward the region of outlet from all sides. In considering this particular point, as, indeed, always in dealing with disturb- ances affecting large regions of the earths crust, we must remember how plastic the crust must be, let its thickness and the strength of its materials be what they may. Many imagine that because the earths crust presents enormous areas of solid matter, its capacity of resisting pressure is therefore very great. But it is through its very extent that the earths crust be- comes weak and plastic. Just as the lengthening of any kind of horizontal support, beam, bridge, or the like, makes it weaker to resist vertical pressure, so the broader and wider the areas of the earths surface exposed to any strain, the greater the effect produced. Nay, as we know that a bridge formed on the same plan as one of ample strength, but on a very much larger scale, would not only be weaker to resist external strains, but unable to sup- HOW EARTHQUAKES ARE CAUSED. 141 port even its own weight, so we may be well assured that many extensive portions of the earths crust have no sustaining power whatever, afford no resistance to in- creased pressure, nay, are retained in a po- sition of equilibrium (under normal con- ditions) only by the reaction of the earths interior supplementing such strength as they may themselves possess. If a por- tion of the earths crust thus needs even but a small additional supporting force be- low, it can be well understood how the ad- dition of thousands of millions of tons on an area only a few thousand square miles in extent may utterly destroy equilibrium. We need not be surprised to find, then, that earthquakes have very often been preceded by remarkable atmospheric phe- nomena. Usually great earthquakes have not followed tremendous storms, but a con- dition of portentous calm. The air has been found oppressive for hours, perhaps days, before the earthquake occurred. Re- membering afterward the sense of oppres- sion which had preceded the subterranean disturbance, the ordinary observer has been apt to infer that the dull, heavy calm, the unrestful stillness, was natures pause before the mighty throes in which her imprisoned energies found vent. But in reality the oppressive stillness has been simply the result of increased atmospheric pressure, and this increased pressure brings about the earthquake as its direct conse- quence. Those who have had experience of earthquake shocks are apt, when the air is heavy and a sense of oppression and tension is felt by all men, and even appar- ently-by the animal world, to say, I fear this stillness is ominous, and that we shall have an earthquake, but in reality they should rather say, This stillness means a high barometer and increased atmospheric pressure; I fear the earths crust, weak as it is here, will not be able to bear the ad- ditional strain, and that we shall have an earthquake, or some other form of subter- ranean disturbance. But there is some- thing impressive in the sense of mystery, something strangely suggestive in the thought of nature, like some live.creature, pausing before a mighty effort. The idea of causation, which lies at the root of all sci- entific inquiry, and leads men to look for the proximate and then for the remote causes of observed events, has no attrac- tion for those who have little care for sci- entific research: they are disposed to think that a certain charm disappears from na tures work when its mechanism is too closely examined. But in reality there is something even more striking in the thought of what nature is really doing than in vague fancies about what she seems to be doing. A true poet, though he may find the gloomy pause of nature before her earth - throes suggestive and impressive, finds far more to move him in the thought of the vast waves of weight which the unseen air is constantly car- rying over the earths surface, and in the fluctuations, the pulsations, and the mighty throbs which move the broad bo- som of the earth in response to the pas- sage of those atmospheric waves. It has been asked of late whether the hurricanes which followed the Spanish earthquakes were not produced by those subterranean disturbances, and all - ex- plaining electricity has been called upon to explain how earth-throes might have caused atmospheric disturbances. I know of no way in which such consequences could have followed from a displacement of the earths crust. To me it seems far more natural to conclude that the hurri- canes and earthquakes were alike produced (the hurricanes chiefly, the earthquakes partially) by the atmospheric compression which preceded the subterranean disturb- ances. This compression indicated a heap- ing of air over the disturbed region; the earths crust yielded under this increase of pressure, combined with the action of oth- er forces, and earthquakes followed; the compressed air swept away to regions of less pressure, and the rarefaction follow- ing led in the usual way to the indraught which precedes a cyclonic disturbance in the air. But while the action of atmospheric pressure in helping to excite subterranean activities must not be overlooked, the va- rying pressure exerted by seas and oceans is a more potent disturbing factor. At- mospheric pressure is distributed in such a way that though the weight of air on any given area is continually changing, there are no sharply defined lines, at at any time, which separate regions of less pressure from regions of greater pressure. It is otherwise with the sea along a shore line. Here we have the sea acting with constantly varying intensity, as its level changes, on the seaward side of the shore line, while on the landward side there are no such variations of pressure. Let us con- sider what this means. Take a tolerably 142 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. straight shore line 500 miles in length, and suppose that along this shore line a region of ocean 100 miles broad rises through a height of three feet under the combined action of sun and moon raising a tidal wave, and favoring strong winds urging the water shoreward. Then we have 50,000 square miles of sea-water, three feet deep, added as so much dead - weight to that part of the earths crust which under- lies the seas along that shore. Each square mile contains in round numbers 3,000,000 squareyards, or27,000,000 squarefeet. The additional weight corresponds, then (as the added layer is three feet deep), to 50,000 times 81,000,000 cubic feet of water, each weighing 64~- pounds, or to 116,000,000,000 tons. It is clear that the addition of so enormous a weight as this to the sub- merged part of the earths crust, outside the shore line, may well produce strains too great to be resisted. It must be re- membered that the very existence of a precipitous shore line (as distinguished from one where the land above water and the parts submerged form one great slope) indicates the comparative weakness of the crust along that coast. It has yielded on one side to pressure thrusting it upward above the sea-level, and on the other side to the pressure of the water forcing it down. It is true, the actual line of yielding may not coincide with the existent shore line. For the action of the sea waves may (and generally must) have altered the position of the coast from that which it occupied when first formed. But it may be taken for granted that not far from every pre- cipitous shore line lies a line of weakness, where the crust has given way in the past, and may give way again. In this consid- eration undoubtedly we find a part of the explanation of the observed fact that al- most all the great regions of subterranean activity on the earth lie near the sea-shore. But while the changes of atmospheric and oceanic pressure are potent factors in the production of earthquakes, and are probably in the great number of cases their direct occasion, it is, of course, to the subterranean regions themselves that we must look for the forces at work in up- heaving the crust of the earth. The forces acting from the outside are as the pull on the trigger; the imprisoned gases and va- pors generated by internal heat are as the powder by whose explosion the missile is ejected. Yet even in considering the earths sub- terranean activities we still have to look outside for a part at least of the causes of disturbance. The air perhaps may in this respect be neglected, but the water is all- important. It has been said, indeed, and probably with a nearer approach to truth than usual in the case of generalizations of the sort, Without water there can be no volcano, and a similar rule (not quite so general) applies to earthquakes: few probably occur, possibly none, save through the action of water in some way or other. All active volcanoes except one (in mid- Asia) are by the sea-shore. Nearly all the great earthquakes recorded by history have taken place, and have apparently had their centre of disturbance, near the sea. There can be very little doubt, indeed, that the direct cause of every great sub- terranean disturbance is water in the form of steamsteam superheated, under great pressure, and therefore possessing much greater expansive power than steam at ordinary temperatures. We have, then, two points to consider in dealing with the causes of earthquakesfirst, the conditions under which water finds its way into the interior of the earth, and secondly, the cause of the intense heat by which that water is turned into steam. Of course what I have already said re- specting the fluctuations of pressure at and near the coast line goes far to explain how water can there find its way through the earths crust. Not only does the fluctua- tion of pressure disturb the equilibrium of the crust, it also tends to form cracks and fissures. The alternate inflow and out- flow of water along a shore line subjects the crust to an alternation of pressure akin to the alternate bendings of a wire or plate by which the workman succeeds in break- ing it. There must be a bending to pro- duce openings or cracks running parallel to the coast line. Although the strength of the crust might usually withstand the effects of this constantly varying strain, there must be certain of the many thou- sands of miles of coast line on the earths surface where the changes of strain would at times become too great to be resisted, and submarine fractures would follow. But if water merely finds its way be- neath the crust into cavities communica- ting with the open air, or, indeed, with the ocean waters outside, no very great dis- turbances could be produced by the con- version of this water into steam; for the steam would find ready egress, in one case HOW EARTHQUAKES ARE CAUSED. 143 by passing directly into the air, in the oth- er, by rising through the water in the form of large steam - bubbles. It must be by the closing up of fissures as much as by the formation of fissures that the alterna- tions and irregular variations of pressure do their most destructive work. When water has found its way into some widely extending cavity beneath the crust, so long as it is converted gradually into steam, passing away as fast as it is formed, no se- rious harm can happen. But when,owing to movements of the crust, waters under the earth are imprisoned, and then turned into steam at high pressure, we have the elements of most active disturbance. The imprisoned steam probably forces its way at first into widely ranging cavities be- neath the crust. As more and more is generated, the subterranean regions occu- pied by steam become larger and larger. Internal barriers are broken through, with premonitory noises and rumblings, telling how the imprisoned vapor is gathering its forces. When there is no room for fur- ther extension, the continual generation of steam adds steadily to the pressure. If all this happens in the neighborhood of a volcanic crater, the steam eventually forces its way through, and an eruption of great- er or less energy takes place. But if there is no possibility of escape in that way, the internal disturbances continue, become more and more active, and eventually break their way through stronger subter- ranean barriers than they had before over- come, so passing into larger cavities, and perhaps to regions whence the imprisoned steam can pass away. This process can not but be accompanied by earth-shakings of greater or less energy according to the strength of the internal barriers thus bro- ken through. And probably the passages of escape thus formed only remain open while the pressure from the region of chief disturbance is very great. As the pressure diminishes, the barriers close again till fresh forces are brought to bear on them. And so shock succeeds shock until at length the region of disturbance has been relieved from excessive pressures, after which for a long time there may be rest. We can understand, then, why the sea- shore should be the region of chief disturb- ance, and the fluctuations of oceanic press- ure among the most potent disturbing forces. We can understand also how it has come to pass that nature seems to have provided, as a modern writer puts it, against the inroads of the ocean by set- ting the earths upheaving forces where they were most wanted. As usual in such cases, we find that natures apparent purpose is in reality a result of direct causation. The forces at work in remov- ing the upraised parts of the earths crust along shore lines are the very forces which, working in another direction, cause the earths crust to be raised along the shores, or, at any rate, so changed in position that the amount of land surface remains practically unchanged. In this sense the remark I have just quoted is scarcely more intelligent than that of the old lady who was enthusiastic about na- tures wisdom and beneficence in making rivers run beside towns; but as a recogni- tion of the constant action and reaction at work in this particular field, as in others, of natures workings, the remark is sensi- ble enough. The crust has yielded along particular lines, therefore there the seas are at work upon the upraised shore line, and in turn the regions thus undergoing encroachment are those als~ where the subterranean energies necessary to repel the attacks of the sea are most readily de- veloped. Or, putting the case the other way, because the earth has yielded along these lines, there lie the shores of the great deep, and there the sea-waves beat upon the capes, headlands, and cliffs which mark where the crust of the earth gave way. But though we have drawn a step near- er to the true cause of earthquakes in pass- ing from the changes of water pressure to the introduction of water beneath the sur- face and its conversion into steam, we have yet another step to make. Whence comes the heat by which the water is va- porized and other changes produced which though probably in a less degreehave their part to play in producing earth- quakes? It used to be supposed that this question was sufficiently answered by re- ferring to the earths internal heat. But in reality it is the earths internal heat we have to explain, or rather we have to ex- plain how it is that now after millions of years, during which the earths store of in- ternal heat has been drawn upon, it still re- mains so great even near the outer sur- face. What maintains the earths inter- nal heat? The answer is that this heat is main- tained, especially in the outer layers of the 144 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. earths crust, by the process of contraction which goes on all the time under the ac- tion of terrestrial gravity. There are three stages of this process of contraction, two of which are past, while the third is in progress. First, the crust of the earth, still intensely hot, shrinks more quickly than the central mass, be- cause exposed more freely to the cold of outer space. The crust continually deep- ens, too, besides shrinking as a whole. In this process the reaction of the central mass must cause the crust to give way along vast fissures, which are presently filled up by the inrush of molten matter from within. Next comes the stage when the central mass shrinks from the inclos- ing crust, still plastic enough to follow it bodily, forming, in so doing, series of wrinkles or corrugationsthe mountain ranges of the earth. Lastly comes the stage when the crust yields chiefly in certain places, varying with the progress of time, and when the resulting process of contraction leads to the generation of intense hea1~ under those places, and the consequent occurrence from time to time of eruptions, earthquakes, and other forms of subterranean disturbance. It has been shown by Mallet in England and by Ster- ry Hunt and Dana in this country that the process of contraction amply suffices to account for all the heat indicated dur- ing these convulsive throes within the earths crust. In order rightly to understand how the process of contraction acts, we must con- sider what the earths crust actually is (so far as can be judged), and what the prob- able nature of the region below the crust. If we regarded the crust as a rigid shell, and considered its strength to be such as its vast size and great thickness seem at first sight to suggest, we might well fail to comprehend how the crust can possibly be affected by any process of contraction. I have already pointed out that the extent of the crust, and even its thickness, mean weakness, not strength. But it is not till we recognize how absolute this weakness is that we can understand the real nature of the work going on underneath. If I were to say that the earths crust has no supporting power at all, I might seem to be pronouncing the most utterly paradox- ical opinion that can be imagined. The earthand when we speak of the earth we mean really the earths crustseems the most appropriate emblem of stability. The earths crust supports the most massive buildings man can erect upon it, and (which means much more) the earths crust supports the everlasting hills, the great mountain ranges, whose summits range six miles above the sea-level, which is far from the lowest level of the earths solid surface. Yet the crust has so little real supporting power, so little real rigid- ity, that practically it may be said to sup- port nothing, except in the sense in which, without stability or rigidity, the sea sur- face supports the stately ship. A bridge is said to have supporting power, because a weight placed on the bridge is sustain- ed above the surface which the bridge spans; a cloth on a table is not said to have supporting power, because, though heavy weights may stand upon it, their pressure is transmitted undiminished to the solid surface of the table. In one sense, of course, the table itself has no supporting power, for it transmits press- ures to the floor, and thence to the earth. In like manner the bridge transmits press- ures to its piers, and thence earthward. But the table and the bridge have that kind of supporting power which depends on relative rigidity; they transmit the pressures in altered directions. The cloth is without rigidity, and does not apprecia- bly alter the direction~ of pressure. The earths, crust resembles the cloth in this respect. The pressures resulting from the masses apparently supported by the earths outer crust are transmitted direct- ly to the regions below. To the very cen- tre of the earth, probably, all pressures are transmitted with scarcely any change, in- somucli that the centre of the earth, where gravity vanishes, is the place pressure at- tains its maximum amount. It is this absence of rigidity in the earths frame, regarded as a whole, which causes the process of contraction to be so effective an agent in generating heat. Pressure results in compression, and com- pression forcibly produced generates heat. But here arises a difficulty which many find confusing enough. It is a principle in physics that where work is done, heat is lost, and it seems as though a process of compression, due to the action of gravity, being a process in which work is done, must be one in which heat is lost instead of gained. The work is done, however, upon the matter compressed, not by it, and so the compressed matter gains the heat which corresponds to the work done, e HOW EARTHQUAKES ARE CAUSED. 145 instead of losing it. Work is done when matter expands, but this work is done by the expanding matter, and is accompa- nied, therefore, by loss of temperature. In reality a process of contraction may be said to involve the employment of a cer- tain amount of available work. If one imagines the state of things before con- traction to be the result of a withdrawal of the matter to be acted upon by gravity to a greater distance from the centre of grav- ity, then contraction means the undoing of that work; and as when work is done heat is lost, so when work is undone heat is gained. A thousand examples in nature might be cited to show how constant is the operation of this law. Work is done and heat is employed in raising from the sea the vapor which eventually as rain supplies the great lake region between Canada and the United States. This store of work is drawn upon where Niagara (in rapids and falls alike) restores a portion of the raised water to lower levels, and heat results from this undoing of natures for- mer work. Or, where man chooses, he gets work from Niagara instead of heat, the work done in driving machinery be- ing the equivalent of just such work as heat can be made to do when employed to drive engines of various forms. And so in multitudes of other instances. Now the example just cited affords a suggestive illustration of the tremendous energies residing in the contractive power of the earth. Indeed, I have always found in this suggestion the most impressive ef- fect of the Niagara Falls on my own mind. We see terrestrial gravity at its work at Niagara, because there it has work to do on such a scale as to afford some idea of the real meaning of gravity, yet within such compass that we can grasp the sense of the work that gravity is doing. To think that a portion only of the rain-fall which supplies the lake system of North America, drawn down- ward continuously by the force of gravity, should produce this ceaseless noise and turmoil, suggests how greatly we may be deceived respecting the forces of nature, for gravity is constantly doing work which we scarcely notice, yet which is so vast in amount that all the work done at Niagara is nothing by comparison. To the mere accident (in a sense) that the water raised from the seas has here fall- en on upraised regions instead of on the lower levels, to the mere difference of height between the places on which they fall and the sea - level from which the suns heat raised them, we owe the tre- mendous forces represented by the Niaga- ra Falls and Rapids. But we must go farther before we see the real meaning of such processes, or therefore of the much more energetic processes of which I sim- ply take Niagara as a convenient illustra- tion. The clouds which float in the air over the lake region contain within them potential energies enormously exceeding all the forces at work in Niagara. A small portion only of these energies is concen- trated at Niagara into the tremendous ex- hibition of force which is so impressive nay, so appallingto all who stay long enough near Niagara to apprehend its sig- nificance aright. Now the clouds repre- sent work done by heat. The falls and rapids represent the undoing of the work so done, gravity undoing the work which has been done upon parts of the earths material by forces external to the earth those, namely, which reside in the rays of the mighty sun. Finding in the processes of contraction taking place continually within the earths crust the sources of the heat by which wa- ter reaching the interior is converted into steam and other disturbing changes are produced in subterranean regions, we are brought to recognize in terrestrial gravity the real cause of all forms of subterranean disturbance. We had already recognized the pressure, and especially the changes of pressure, of air and water as effective disturbing causes, and these are directly due to gravity. Now we find, further, that to gravity is due the internal heat by which matter beneath the crust is changed from a state of quiescence to a state of activity. Directly and indirectly all the forms of disturbance by which the earths crust is affected are due to gravity, yet not all, be it observed, to terrestrial gravity. For in some of the changes af- fecting the atmosphere and the ocean we recognize the power of solar heat, the cause of all atmospheric changes, of rain-fall, of the action of frost and thaw in disinte- grating the earths crust, and solar grav- ity is the cause of solar heat. The same force raises two-sevenths of the tidal wave. Lunar gravity again raises the remaining five-sevenths of the tidal wave. All sub- terranean activity is due, then, to grav- ity in one form or another. Thus finally we recognize that the true 146 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. cause of terrestrial disturbances is that most mysterious of all the properties of matter, the force of attraction. We speak glibly of gravity as explaining what had seemed inexplicable before the law of grav- ity was recognized. We tell how when nature and natures laws lay hid in night, God said, Let Newton be, and all was light. But how much more profound the mystery revealed than the mystery re- moved! There is naught in all that sci- ence has disclosed to man more utterly one might say more hopelesslymvsteri- ous than that power by which in an instant, throughout the whole universe, matter acts on matter. We seem here to stand in the very presence of the Godhead, for it seems as though were but this last veil lifted and the mystery of gravity removed, we should see revealed the great first cause of all phenomena. All the energies of the universe, Light, Heat, nay, Life itself, have their origin in this mysterious qual- ity of mattera quality so inconceivable that the very philosopher who discovered it, or first recognized its meaning, asserted that no man with competent power of philosophizing could for a moment believe such a power to exist as gravity seems to be, or that matter can act on matter at a distance without some intermediary. But passing from a mystery which may never be explained, we recognize in gravitys work on the earths crust an agency which, though it appears at a first view to be a destructive one, is in reality a source of life. For were the work of terrestrial gravity in this direction to cease, solar gravity, acting by its heat-generating pow- er on the waters of the earth and the air, would in the course of time, through the action of rain and river, of wave and of wind, level all the upraised parts of the earth beneath the seas. But the earths gravity constantly renovates the earth, making it present, for periods of time which seem endless, those varieties of land and water which are essential to the exist- ence of the forms of life now existing upon the surface of our planet home. MARGARET FULLER. MARGARET FULLERS friends have I stood by her as she would have stood by them. But so many have gone to whom her memory was dear that I think it right to let her speak for herself from a very private letter. Margaret had many friends and many lovers. I knew of her having several offers of marriage; but she was afraid; she had seen great love change to dullness and indifference in do- mestic life, and she did not feel entirely sure of herself. In Rome, in 1847, after we had talked far into the night, she wrote to me a letter of twenty-four pages before we met again in the morning. In this letter (which has never been published) she says: I do not know whether I have ever loved at all in the sense of oneness, but I have loved enough to feel the joys of pre- sence, the pangs of absence, the sweetness of hope, and the chill of disappointment. More than once my heart has bled and my bodily health has suffered from these things, but mentally I have always found myself the gainer, always younger and more noble. . . . I have no wish about my future career but that it should be like the past, only always more full and deep- er. You ask me whether I love Mr. I answer, he affected me like music or the richest landscape; my heart heat with joy that he at once felt beauty in me. . Still, I do not know hut I might love still better to-morrow. I have never yet loved any human being so well as the music of Beethoven, yet at present I am indifferent to it. There has been a time when I thought of nothing but Michael Angelo, yet the oth- er day I felt hardly inclined to look on the forms his living hand had traced on the roof of the Sistine. But when I loved either of these great souls I abandoned myself wholly to it; I did not calculate. I shall do so in life if I love enough. . The inward voice has decided that I should come here, and being here, I wish to see Italy. Perhaps I shall be gradually drawn from Mr. ; perhaps he will find he does not need me. Perhaps he will find some soul more attractive to him; it may be so to me. In any case, God is always in the world, and some time He will satisfy all wants. Our duty is simply to grow.... It is not easy for any one to live with me; it requires faith, but that faith would ennoble the one who could feel it. Chil- dren always love and trust me. If I

Rebecca B. Spring Spring, Rebecca B. Margaret Fuller 146-147

146 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. cause of terrestrial disturbances is that most mysterious of all the properties of matter, the force of attraction. We speak glibly of gravity as explaining what had seemed inexplicable before the law of grav- ity was recognized. We tell how when nature and natures laws lay hid in night, God said, Let Newton be, and all was light. But how much more profound the mystery revealed than the mystery re- moved! There is naught in all that sci- ence has disclosed to man more utterly one might say more hopelesslymvsteri- ous than that power by which in an instant, throughout the whole universe, matter acts on matter. We seem here to stand in the very presence of the Godhead, for it seems as though were but this last veil lifted and the mystery of gravity removed, we should see revealed the great first cause of all phenomena. All the energies of the universe, Light, Heat, nay, Life itself, have their origin in this mysterious qual- ity of mattera quality so inconceivable that the very philosopher who discovered it, or first recognized its meaning, asserted that no man with competent power of philosophizing could for a moment believe such a power to exist as gravity seems to be, or that matter can act on matter at a distance without some intermediary. But passing from a mystery which may never be explained, we recognize in gravitys work on the earths crust an agency which, though it appears at a first view to be a destructive one, is in reality a source of life. For were the work of terrestrial gravity in this direction to cease, solar gravity, acting by its heat-generating pow- er on the waters of the earth and the air, would in the course of time, through the action of rain and river, of wave and of wind, level all the upraised parts of the earth beneath the seas. But the earths gravity constantly renovates the earth, making it present, for periods of time which seem endless, those varieties of land and water which are essential to the exist- ence of the forms of life now existing upon the surface of our planet home. MARGARET FULLER. MARGARET FULLERS friends have I stood by her as she would have stood by them. But so many have gone to whom her memory was dear that I think it right to let her speak for herself from a very private letter. Margaret had many friends and many lovers. I knew of her having several offers of marriage; but she was afraid; she had seen great love change to dullness and indifference in do- mestic life, and she did not feel entirely sure of herself. In Rome, in 1847, after we had talked far into the night, she wrote to me a letter of twenty-four pages before we met again in the morning. In this letter (which has never been published) she says: I do not know whether I have ever loved at all in the sense of oneness, but I have loved enough to feel the joys of pre- sence, the pangs of absence, the sweetness of hope, and the chill of disappointment. More than once my heart has bled and my bodily health has suffered from these things, but mentally I have always found myself the gainer, always younger and more noble. . . . I have no wish about my future career but that it should be like the past, only always more full and deep- er. You ask me whether I love Mr. I answer, he affected me like music or the richest landscape; my heart heat with joy that he at once felt beauty in me. . Still, I do not know hut I might love still better to-morrow. I have never yet loved any human being so well as the music of Beethoven, yet at present I am indifferent to it. There has been a time when I thought of nothing but Michael Angelo, yet the oth- er day I felt hardly inclined to look on the forms his living hand had traced on the roof of the Sistine. But when I loved either of these great souls I abandoned myself wholly to it; I did not calculate. I shall do so in life if I love enough. . The inward voice has decided that I should come here, and being here, I wish to see Italy. Perhaps I shall be gradually drawn from Mr. ; perhaps he will find he does not need me. Perhaps he will find some soul more attractive to him; it may be so to me. In any case, God is always in the world, and some time He will satisfy all wants. Our duty is simply to grow.... It is not easy for any one to live with me; it requires faith, but that faith would ennoble the one who could feel it. Chil- dren always love and trust me. If I EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 147 should explain myself much, I should have no strength for mental resolve, for action. I do not wish to waste it in words, I ~ieed to be serene, and I try, but it is not possible to me always to be sweet. The renuncia- tions of my life have been many, and I sometimes suffer from the opening of an inward wound. I do not wish to excuse myself for not being constantly sweet and noble, but it is not for want of good-will on my part. Domestic life is trying to every one; it requires a great deal of love, faith, and nerve to dignify it. Margarets letter begins: Dear Rebec- ca,I had last night a terrible dream. I thought I was condemned to death, and preparing for execution. She goes on to tell of the calmness with which she was ready to meet death: Dreams often present things under truer relations than the reasonings of our waking hours, and I think my character would show this kind of courage, and rise superior, even into an air of serenity and joy. For the rest, I want no trial; I am already weary; I feel much need of repose. Should it be presented under the auspices my soul approves, it would be welcome; but I see no probability of this. Should there be no fiery crisis in my life, it still must be one of labor and conquest. I know enough of the greatness of Mar- garets soul to know that when the trial came she met it grandly. She comforted and inspired the others on that ill-fated ship; she soothed her baby boy to sleep; she was calm and ready for the end,though life was more to her than ever before. The greatest agony must have been when the kind but resolute sailor took her child from her, for she saw no chance for him in that terrible sea. No friendly hand was there to save her: let her friends stand round her now! From the ship Elizct- ~~HE djsproportion between the actual ~and the apparent public interest in matters which occupy a large and conspicuous place in the newspapers has been often mentioned. The space allotted to a subject and the meth- od of treatment are decided by the editors view of the probable taste of the readers of his particular newspaper, by its general char- acter and traditions, and by certain accepted theories. Among such theories is the view that the public is always deeply interested in VOL. LxxI.No. 421.i 1 beth, off Gibraltar, came a letter, proba- bly the last Margaret ever wrote, telling us of the terrible calamity that had befall- en them in the death of the captain from confluent small-pox. She says: I was with him a great dealindeed, whenever I could relieve his wife from a ministry softened by great love, and the heroism of womanly courage, but in the last days truly terrible with disgusts and fatigues. Then she helped nurse the mate through this dreadful disease; also her own boy, doing everything to save his childish beau- ty for her own mother to see. At the end she writes: Keep a look- out: should we arrive safe, I should long to see a friendly face. Margaret always trusted her friends. Many years before this she went one day in New York to see her dress-maker. The woman exclaimed, Go away, Miss Fuller; we have the small - pox I But Margaret would not leave until she knew they had all they needed; and the woman, with tears, said, You are the only one who has dared to stop to ask. One Thanksgiving - day Margaret visited with William Channing and Marcus Spring the prisoners at Sing Sing, and spoke cheering words to them with her sweet voice. She addressed Mazzinis poor Italian boys at their yearly festival in London, and after- ward she worked with him and Ossoli and a noble-hearted princess in the hos- pitals in Rome. After being with her for years, we could say, There was a beauty inher daily life. To call others up to their highest, to live her own true life, was her best wish. She said to me, If I can not always be sweet, my friends will always find me true. lam happy to be able, and to feel worthy, to call myself Margaret Fullers friend, REBECCA B. SPRING. persons and personalities, and consequently in scandals and crimes. Another of the con- trolling theories is that the public always wishes to he entertained, and consequently great attention is devoted to the record and criticism of entertainments, of theatres, operas, concerts, and athletic games of all kinds, and, for the same reason, to bright and sparkling selections from new books and current maga- zines. Another theory is that in party organs the patrons desire no mercy upon the enemy,

Editor's Easy Chair Editor's Easy Chair 147-152

EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 147 should explain myself much, I should have no strength for mental resolve, for action. I do not wish to waste it in words, I ~ieed to be serene, and I try, but it is not possible to me always to be sweet. The renuncia- tions of my life have been many, and I sometimes suffer from the opening of an inward wound. I do not wish to excuse myself for not being constantly sweet and noble, but it is not for want of good-will on my part. Domestic life is trying to every one; it requires a great deal of love, faith, and nerve to dignify it. Margarets letter begins: Dear Rebec- ca,I had last night a terrible dream. I thought I was condemned to death, and preparing for execution. She goes on to tell of the calmness with which she was ready to meet death: Dreams often present things under truer relations than the reasonings of our waking hours, and I think my character would show this kind of courage, and rise superior, even into an air of serenity and joy. For the rest, I want no trial; I am already weary; I feel much need of repose. Should it be presented under the auspices my soul approves, it would be welcome; but I see no probability of this. Should there be no fiery crisis in my life, it still must be one of labor and conquest. I know enough of the greatness of Mar- garets soul to know that when the trial came she met it grandly. She comforted and inspired the others on that ill-fated ship; she soothed her baby boy to sleep; she was calm and ready for the end,though life was more to her than ever before. The greatest agony must have been when the kind but resolute sailor took her child from her, for she saw no chance for him in that terrible sea. No friendly hand was there to save her: let her friends stand round her now! From the ship Elizct- ~~HE djsproportion between the actual ~and the apparent public interest in matters which occupy a large and conspicuous place in the newspapers has been often mentioned. The space allotted to a subject and the meth- od of treatment are decided by the editors view of the probable taste of the readers of his particular newspaper, by its general char- acter and traditions, and by certain accepted theories. Among such theories is the view that the public is always deeply interested in VOL. LxxI.No. 421.i 1 beth, off Gibraltar, came a letter, proba- bly the last Margaret ever wrote, telling us of the terrible calamity that had befall- en them in the death of the captain from confluent small-pox. She says: I was with him a great dealindeed, whenever I could relieve his wife from a ministry softened by great love, and the heroism of womanly courage, but in the last days truly terrible with disgusts and fatigues. Then she helped nurse the mate through this dreadful disease; also her own boy, doing everything to save his childish beau- ty for her own mother to see. At the end she writes: Keep a look- out: should we arrive safe, I should long to see a friendly face. Margaret always trusted her friends. Many years before this she went one day in New York to see her dress-maker. The woman exclaimed, Go away, Miss Fuller; we have the small - pox I But Margaret would not leave until she knew they had all they needed; and the woman, with tears, said, You are the only one who has dared to stop to ask. One Thanksgiving - day Margaret visited with William Channing and Marcus Spring the prisoners at Sing Sing, and spoke cheering words to them with her sweet voice. She addressed Mazzinis poor Italian boys at their yearly festival in London, and after- ward she worked with him and Ossoli and a noble-hearted princess in the hos- pitals in Rome. After being with her for years, we could say, There was a beauty inher daily life. To call others up to their highest, to live her own true life, was her best wish. She said to me, If I can not always be sweet, my friends will always find me true. lam happy to be able, and to feel worthy, to call myself Margaret Fullers friend, REBECCA B. SPRING. persons and personalities, and consequently in scandals and crimes. Another of the con- trolling theories is that the public always wishes to he entertained, and consequently great attention is devoted to the record and criticism of entertainments, of theatres, operas, concerts, and athletic games of all kinds, and, for the same reason, to bright and sparkling selections from new books and current maga- zines. Another theory is that in party organs the patrons desire no mercy upon the enemy, 148 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and that the other side, being the evil one himselg shall be painted in the blackest pos- sible colors, and caricatured with the utmost power of contempt and ridicule. Theories of this kind are not flattering to the 1)UbIit-, yet it is observable that theories of another and more honorable kind do not generally prevail. That the reader wishes to know the truth, for instance, that he does not wish to read impertinent details of private life, as he would not peep through a key-hole, that- he does not believe everything that he sees in a newspaper, and that he concedes to others the same sincerity in opinion and expression of which he is conscious in himselfthese are not among the working theories of the press. The impression which the newspaper often leaves upon the observer is that it has not a high respect for the public. It often toadies and deprecates and flatters, indeed, but its ex- travagan ce betrays it. There is a certain tone of infallibility also, which is entertaining, and which seems to spring from the same convic- tion which led the older sinner to advise the younger, My boy, you will have to lie a good deal, but remember to lie steadily and consist- ently. These theories in the conduct of a newspa- per naturally prevent it from being what it is often asserted to be, a daily l)ortIait of the world. The number of persons who go to a theatre in the evening, or to a ball or a con- cert, is a very small part of the population of a city. The accidents and crimes of a day are comparatively few. But how large a propor- tion of the attention of the newspaper these command! T he last present human nature in an unattractive aspect, and they tend to foster the cheap cynicism of the club-window phi- losopher. But of the constant, wide-spread- ing, effecti~~e charities, the untiring good works that are everywhere done, even the more hu- mane and generous side of the dancers and the diners and the play-goers, of that activity of the daily world which best justifies its name of Christendom, how scant the record, and how disproportionate! If England had been the England which the memoirs of the last century describe, it would have vanished like Sodom and Gomor- rah. The England of the memoirs and the novels and the plays was but a little England the England of the court, of a certain class in the cities, of certain persons in the country. But the character and the virtues which wrote no memoirs, and did not go to Vauxhall or St. Jamess, and which despised Lovelace, these, indeed, continued the older England; but, like the heroes before Agamemnon, they had no poet, no newspaper. Certainly no indefatigable reporter need de- nounce the Easy Chair for defaming his work. It is not blaming him, nor asserting that the newspaper could thrive by describing the end- less good deeds of a day or recording the ac- tivity of private virtue. Indeed, that the newspaper prefers for its purpose the startling scandal and criminal disturbance to the peace- ful and humane acts that never fail and forever alleviate the sorrow of humanity is the pleas- ing confession that active virtue in every de- velopm~nt and form is not news. Therefore, if any man is disposed to lose heart because in the daily newspaper picture of life business seems to be mere gambling, and society mere ostentatious extravagance, and politics only furious party spirit, let him remneniber that the madness of the Exchange is not the chief business of the Anierican peo- ple, that the I)rofuse recklessness of fashion is not American society, and that the ribaldry of party organs is not American politics. The newspaper picture of life can not preserve the true proportions of the original. It is a PliO- togmapl~ with a disturbed focus. The nose or the ear or the mouth is exaggerated. The moderation, the honesty, the humanity, of the city are not much noted in the newspaper, which must supply the news spicy and pip- ing hot. But there are glimpses enough of it there, and you have only to follow the clew and you will reach the Rosamonds bower of a life as beautiful and devoted as that of any timethe life which is the strength and hope of America. MR. HENRY IRvINGs visit to this country this year and the last was not only profitable to him, but it was very advantageous to us. Whatever rank may be assigned to him as an actor, his service to the stage is incontestable. His personal graces and modesty, the entire freedom of the gentleman in private life from the staginess which is commonly associated with actors iii retirement, his cultivation and simple urbanity, have corrected the impression that an actor can not be a common gentle- man, but must be always striking an attitude and rolling out his deep-mouthed ohs and ahs. This is an excellent service, because it places the actor upon the same plane of self respecting propriety and courtesy with the men of all other professions. The change in the estimation of the theatre and of actors in this country within half a century is very great. Half a century ago the Puritan tradition was still paramount. The theatre was the gate of the pit, and play- actors were a kind of Pariah caste. The free and easy livers in a comiimunity, the men of dissipated lives, upon whom respectability and regularity looked askance, were the men who associated with actors. The theatre and the sta~e players and the habitu6s were envel- ol)edin a general cloud of disreputability, and while the respectable and regular might go to see famous ~)layers, they held themselves far aloof from any personal association with them. There were those, indeed, who cherished a kindlier feeling, and who shared the delight of Hazhitt and Charles Lamb in the theatre. One of the charming papers in tIme first num- ber of Danas Idle Man, published by Wiley EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 149 and Haisted, 3 Wall Street, in 1821, was the criticism of Edmund Kean, which was as glow- ing and perceptive as any of Hazlitts articles. One of the delights of the Century Club thirty years ago was listening to Gulian Verplaucks reminiscences of acting and actors. He too had the true feeling of Lamb for the theatre, and he liked it all the better because of the Puritan anathema. But the general feeling was that the theatre was a place to be avoid- ed rather than frequented. Respectable opin- ion frowned upon it with uplifted finger like grim old John Knox in his solemn sables ic- proving the gay and pretty maidens of Queen Marys court with their lutes and laces. The actors, indeed, did not always propi- tiate that good opinion. Not unnaturally, they often defied it. This was true of the elder Booth, a player of great genius, and Ed- mund Kean~s career in New York was mark- ed by some extraordinary antics. Of course it was easy to conclude that all the vices were the familiars of the stage, and that it was Sa- tans temple. It is certain that the frown on one side and the defiance on the other did not tend to purge the theatre of its real of- fenses. But when the purgation began ,how swiftly it proceeded! When all questionable free lists were suspended, and it appeared that perfect decorum and good taste 1)0th on the stage and in the house were compatible with the utmost satisfaction to the audience and remuneration to the manager, then Dr. Bellows might well go upon the stage of the Academy of Music and make his plea for the theatre as a wholesome force in modern life. Mr. Irving quietly and justly assumes that his profession needs no apology and asks no indulgence. The actor is to be judged, not by the fact that lie is a player, but solelylike the poet, or the lawyer, or the editorby the way in which he does his work. Mr. Irving plainly holds that his work is not limited to the presentation of his own part, but concerns the play as a whole. He sees that no part can be adequately represented without a prop- er setting. Aristotle defined the dramatic unities as those of scene, time, and catastrophe, and the French added a fourth, the unity of conformity, that is to say, that in tragedy the characters should all be tragical in style, and in comedy, comical, and in farce, farcical. But the most important unity of all is that of general effect. rfhis can be produced only by the greatest care, study, and perception, and this is one of the great services which Mr. Irving has rendered to our theatre. As the object of the theatre is to hold the mirror up to nature, it is not enough that one part shall be natural. Perceiving this, Mr. Irving takes care that the scene shall be repre- seated as the imagination beholds it, and ev- ery play that he presents, in the excellence of every character, and in the local and historic- al accuracy of the place, lingers in the memo- ry like a beautiful or touching or tragic pic- ture. Mr. Edwin Booth had the same percep tion, and the plays presented in the early days of his theatre were placed upon the stage with the most intelligent regard for details and for the general impression. But the time was not ripe, and when Mr. Irving came last year, the symmetry of the plays that he presented, both in the scenery and the acting, seemed to the public the revelation of a new epoch. The quiet gentleman who did it, whom nothing seemed to disturb, and who has shown a force of will and an administrative skill which are extraordiiiary, has made his final professional bow to an American audi- ence, and the curtain is rung down. The controversy of the crit.ics will not cease, but neither will the pleasant remembrance of his visit. He has shown us the highest point which the theatre as a whole has reached. There have been actors of greater genius; there have never been plays more adequately presented. _______ IN the earlier parts of this century the worthy Surveyor - General Siineon Dc Witt shook his classical pepper pot over Central New York, and left its innocent little villages smarting with the names of Ovid, Pompey, Marcellus, Ihion, Rome, Carthage, Manhius, Utica, Syracuse, and other famous men and cities. It might have been supposed that the antics of the excellent man would have served at least as a warning, and that unmeaning or ridiculous names would have been spared to the towns which fortunately caine late enough to escape that direful classical dictionary, and the taste which gave Greek and Roman names to new American villages as it gave the fa~ade of the Parthenon to the little wooden house of the settler. But the evil spell has not been baffled. A protest has been made recently against the careless and unmeaning way in which we give names to places. The early settlers from England naturally a~d fondly commemora- ted the old home in the new, by naming their towns from those with which they had the most filial associations. Time Easy Chair re- members with what surprise and dehi~ht Charles Kingsley looked over a map of New England, and recognized the familiar names. I shall be at home everywhere ! lie exclaim- ed, gayhy. All such names have a historic and significant interest, because they show tIme source of the immigration to the particu- lar spot. At tIme celebration of its settlement, some years ago, Lynn in Massachusetts did not omit to exchange friendly courtesies with Kin & s Lynn in English Norfolk, and St. Bo- tolphis Club in Boston recalls the name of tIme old city in John Robinsons Lincolnshire. There are local names which are religiously commemorative of events, like Providence in Rhode Island, which was so called by Roger Williams in gratitude to the benignant care which had led 1dm safely through thic wilder- ness to a Imleasant home. All such historic 150 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and special names have now a certain quaint- ness of association which gives them a singu- lar charm that can not l)e renewed. The mean- ing and the justification of such names as Plymouth and Newport and Portsmouth are not perceptible in the names given to modern streets and hotelsthe Windsor and the Bruns- wick, or Berkeley or Arlington Street. Bea- con Street, in Boston, bears a significant name because it recalls the beacon which used to be lighted upon the hill along which the street runs. But what local interest does Marlbor- ough Street recall? A natural and obvious street nomenclature in a city is that which is derived from the names of eminent citizens. It is not so convenient as the numerical sys- tem, but it is very much more picturesque. In the State of New York, fortunately, the scat of the great Iroquois League, there is a no- ble system of names already provided for us- names musical in themselves and commemo- rative of the Indian occupation. Simeon De Witt has made the State a singular palimpsest, writing over the sonorous and often significant Indian names with his irrelevant Greek and Roman cities and heroes. In a late paper on this subject, in the Utica Herald, Mr. William L. Stone, a devoted student of the earlier his- tory of New York, pleads for the Indian and other commemorative names. Why, he asks, should not the pretty town in Broome County, beautifully situated at the confluence of the Susquehanna and Chenango rivers names which might well have suggested another have been called what the Indians called the site, Otseningothe meeting of two waters rather than Binghamton ?the town of Mr. Bingham, probably. Canajoharie is a name fortunately retained for a charming village upon the banks of the Mohawk. It means, says Mr. Stone, where the pot washes itself, and refers to a deep hole worn in the rock by the river. What baptismal escapes such a town may have had! There may have been a Mr. Beleherwe never heard that there was, or that the name is known there, but why should it not then have been Belehertown, or Beleherton, or Beleherville? Surely a beneficent and enterprising Mr. Beleher might have been honored in that way. Did not the city of New York project a statue to Tweed? Canajoharie is not only fair, but fortunate. And why must Buffalo, that beautiful and prosperous and spacious city, bear the burden of its name? Does not its very air murmur and thrill with the music of Niagara? 0 Buffalo! Buffalo! wherefore art thou Buffalo? Would any body of pilgrims setting forth from that hospitable city to found a new community have the heart to call the innocent and helpless townlet Bison? Gen- eral De Witts pepper pot or classical diction- ary was a true Pandoras box, from which ev- ery kind of fantastic and mischievous sprite of a name proceeded. The commemorative quality of names is il- lustrated at other points along the Mohawk recalled by Mr. Stone. Herkimer is the me~ morial of a Revolutionary hero; Oriskany, of a famous and most important battle; Palatine Bridge, of the early settlers from the Palatinate; Fonda (Fundy, as the brakeman calls it), of the great colonial family of the Mohawk Val- ley; and near Amsterdam (!) there is a mass- ive old stone house which was built by Sir William Johnson, one of the most memorable historic figures of Central New York. The house is naturally identified with the Indian conferences which he held, and has been al- ways known as Fort Johnson, Castle Johnson, and Mount Johnson. The front yard of the old mansion is now changed into a railroad station, which is, of course, called Castle John- son or Fort Johnson. Alas! no. The devas- tating and deranging spirit of Simeon De Witt hovers over the hapless region, and Castle Johnson isAik-ens! Aikens! ejaculates the unhappy Mr. Stone; why not Stubbs? The Easy Chair heartily joins Mr. Stone in hoping that the continuance of this calamity may be averted. And may the dmeadful warn- ing be impressed upon others who are charged with the duty of naming places! Railway sta- tions are rising everywhere. They must be named; and will not the good genius that presides over Arbor Day and Village Improve- ment Societies take care that some one of the significant names, historic or Indian or other, that belong to every place, shall be selected, instead of suffering Dc Witts pepper box in any form to shake out a name upon the de- fenseless station? THE fatal facility of print, and the necessi- ties of an enterprising press, as the Easy Chair pointed out last month, have carried inter- viewing to a devastating point. Whether the victim talks or forbears he is equally ex- posed to a detailed report of his observations in a newspaper, and the only consolation is one which deserves the consideration of edit- ors and proprietors, for it consists in a general distrust of the accuracy of such reports, and an unwillingness to hold anybody responsible for what he is said to have said in an inter- view. This is a damaging blow at the news- paper, because it shows an impression that the news in the paper may prove, after all, not to be news. A distinguished authoress has told recently and privately a striking tale of the vexation and injustice of the unscrupulous abuse to which interviewing may be subjected. A young woman called upon her, introducing herself by a pathetic note expressing admira- tion and an earnest desire for literary advice. The young woman modestly mentioned her own literary ambition, and presented some specimens of her work in print. Her conver- sation and manner and her little articles en- gaged the attention and sympathy of the list- ener, who criticised and suggested and cheered. The pleasant and discursive chat naturally ex- tended to other writers and the books and EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 151 magazines of the day, and opinions were freely expressed and judgments pronounced, the modest inquirer naturally and gently leading the way, until the long call ended, and, with a touching effusion of gratitude and regard, the literary napirant departed. It is popularly supposed that great genius is displayed by sagacious merchants and traders of all kinds in securing free advertisements and undoubtedly advertisements do appear in the most unanticipated forms and under the most delusive disguises. The reader believes himself to be extending his information and improving his mind, when suddenly he re- ceives a shock like that of seeing in the love- liest or sublimest landscape the advertisement of patent bitters or an infallible liniment. If the modest young literary woman had de- nianded the purse of the authoress with whom she was conversing she would have been guilty of scarcely more flagrant an offense than that which she committed; forshe repaired straight- way to her hotel and wrote a letter to a news- paper distorting and caricaturing the conver- sation, falsifying aud vulgarizing and parody- ing all that had been said, reporting opinions of persons that had never been expressed, and perpetrating the outrage with a recklessness and audacity which would have seemed very comical if it had not been necessarily infinite- ly mischievous. The unhappy authoress read with conster- nation, and knew that everybody dse was reading with amazement; that she considered Timotheus, who is one of the most charming of authors and her personal friend, a vastly over- rated and self-conceited scribbler; that Alth~a, her literary comrade of many years, was, if the truth were told, a humbug and a charlatan; and as for Diogenes. he was slovenly, trivial, and intolerable. These opinions were all re- corded as in a conversation which had evident- ly taken place, and in which obviously the authors who were so severely judged had been mentioned. The generous and humane lady whose heart and home and hand are gladly opened to younger.literary aspirants, especial- ly of her own sex, was sorely teml)ted to de- clare that under no pretense would she ever again admit a stranger, or mention an author to any one whom she did not intimately know. But this gross offense of making free with private life to gratify at any cost a morbid public curiosity has been illustrated in the most painful manner during the illness of Gen- eral Grant. Every movement, every word, ev- ery look, every incident in the sacred privacy of the sick chamber has been written up for the public. The details of his malady are made a sensation. The outrage is defend- ed upon the plea that the country is profound- ly interested in the sufferer, and demands to know everything. Of course the country is profoundly interested in the fact that General Grant is mortally stricken, and awaits with sol- emn sorrow the tidings of his condition as they may be stated in the decent bulletins of the physicians. But it is false that any but a pru- rient curiosity desires to hear of his expecto- rations, and what one paper has called his shambling from room to room in his ex- treme agony; and the detailed gossip con- cerning his last hours, whether accurate or false, is a deep discredit to the press. Let no man insult his country by saying that the national sympathy with an illustrious soldier, who has rendered inestimable public service, and whose fame is sure, desires to list- en to a cough of distress or to hear the death rattle of a hero. There are, indeed, thousands of persons who would devour such details, as they would brood over every ghastly incident of an execution. There are scenes every day and every night in the city of New York which, if the law permitted to be photograph- ed in description, would secure an immense sale for any paper. Happily, not only the law, but the decency of the press, forbids such publication. Should not the same decency forbid the sorry spectacle of reporters prowl- ing about the house of a great man in his death agony to overhear his moans and depict the weakness of departing greatness? A few years since the venerable snob Jen- kins was simply absurd as he reverently de- scribed the towels and shoes of rich people. But the advent of the interviewer threatens every form of personal privacy. Under the pretense of public interest, which, when justly interpreted, is a serious and honorable con- cern, he would pander recklessly to an imper- tinent and unhealthy curiosity. Is not this, asks the authoress who has suffered so severe- ly from the betrayal of her confidence, a burn- ing disgrace of jodranlism I THE Easy Chair was doubtless mistaken in saying that Mr. Lincoln was beardless when he was inaugurated. One correspondent writes from Washington that he was beard- less when nominated, but on his journey to Washington lie nppeared with a beard, and, according to the correspondent, avoided graver topics in his little speeches on the way, and referred to his beard so frequently that a copy of humorous verses of the time ended with the couplet, Ill put my trust in Providence, And let my whiskers grow. The Easy Chairs correspondent recalls Mr. Lincoln with a beard at his reception in Phil- adelphia, and as an artist the correspondent is justly desirous that the fact shall be undis- puted in order that there may be no error in the representation of Mr. Lincoln at the inauguration. Another correspondent writes from Queens County, in New York, upon the same subject, and lie tells a pretty tale. Soon after Mr. Lincolns nomination in 1860 a little girl in Westfield, New York, wrote to him that she had his photograph, and liked it very much, 152 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. l)Ut thought that a beard would improve his appearance. Mr. Lincoln at once obeyed the suggestion. Upon his journey to Washing- ton the train was delayed at Westfield, and he was called upon for a speech. In his re- marks he humorously alluded to the letter that he had received from the little Westfield girl, in which she said that she thought lie would be a better-looking man if lie would let his beard grow, and, stroking his beard, he added, dryly, I have followed her advice. He then said that if his little correspondent were present he would like very much to sl)eak with her. She caine for~vard, and was pleasantly greeted by Mr. Lincoln. The story is told upon the authority of an eye-witness who told the Easy Chairs correspondent. It is twenty years since Mr. Lincoln died, and General Grant lies smitten unto death. They were the greatest civil and the greatest military figures of the war. They were both essentially American, both what are called THE powerful agency of a good dictionary as a popular educator can scarcely be over- estimated. Students and meii of letters thor- oughly understand not merely its convenience, but its value, and universally consider it a prime essential in the equipment of their work- ing libraries. It is, indeed, the one hook that is ever kept closest at hand by every intelli- gent and cultivated scholar and tliin~er. Un- fortunately the best and most comprehensive dictionaries have hitherto been made june- cessible to the intelligent masses by their bulk and costliness, and they have been forced to content themselves with compilations which have been extremely defective in their ety- unology, orthoepy, and vocabulary, and, in fact, have been little more than very imperfect de- finers. A new order of things has been insti- tuted for this large and important class by the publication of Stormoaths new Dictionary of the Engli8h Language, a work which is in many respects the best, most conuprehensive, and most serviceable for popular use that has yet been published. This first really popular standard dictionary has been published by the Messrs. Harper as a part of their Franklin Square Library, in cheap serial form. It is printed in bold and clear type, on superfiuie paper, in twenty-three numbers, each of which is sold for twenty-five cents, and maybe had singly or otherwise, as the purse of the pur- chaser ~vill admit. The twenty-three numbers 1 A Dictionary of the English Language, Pronouncing. Ety logical, and Explanato, . Embracing Scientp5c and Other Terms, Numerous Familiar T me, and a (JopioUs Selection of Old English Words. By the Rev. JAMES STORMONTIL The Pronunciation carefully Revised by the Rev. P. H. PHELP, M.A., Cantab. Franklin Square Library. Twenty-three Parts, each about 55 Pages. New York: Harper and Brothers. self-made men, which means only that they made the best use of their opportunities. They had each the same sturdy, honest, simple char- acter, and they both performed the highest pa- triotic services, and held the highest office by the choice and affection of the people without the least selfish or dangerous ambition. This is the unprecedented praise of the three Presi- dents whose names will prol)ably be most conspicuous in our annals. They held the supreme place. Two of them had been vic- torious soldiers. One of them had guided the state through a fierce and long civil war. But each left liberty more secure. General Grants name as President will be associated with Washingtons and Lincolns, not because of his Presidency, but because of his illustrious national service; and it is part of our national felicity that in the first century of the history of the Union there should be three such signal illustrations of the highest patriotism. form a hamidsome imperial octavo of more than 1200 pages, aiid muslin covers for binding the whole together in an elegant and substantial manner will be supplied by the publishers for fifty cents net, makimig the entire cost of tIme complete work a little over six dollars. We have deviated from our usual course in giving these details of price because we are gravely impressed with the importance of advising that great body of people of limited umeans, among whom are to be found our most eager and intelligent readers, of the opportunity that is now offered them of acquiring an indispen- sable book for study and refereimee in conven- ient installments. Still furthmerto impress them with a sense of their opportunity, we shall now speak at seine detail of the contents of this useful and reliable work. Its vocabulary is literally exhaustive, and comprises every word which has any claim to a place in our lan- guage, includimug those which occur in stand- ard English literature, even if now obsolete, together with important or obscure provincial or local words and phrases, and new technical terms used in connection with the arts and sciences. The pronunciation is according to time standard of the best current usage, amud is made clear to the simplest understamuding by the respelhimug of each word imi the simplest form of sound symbols, in which each letter or combination of letters has a fixed and unva- rying sound. The etymologies embody the re- searches of the best and latest authorities, and display the true origins and affinities of mul- titudes of English words that have been in- correctly traced by tbe older philologists and lexicographers. The definitions are remarkable for their brevity, fullness, mm~nd precision; the

Editor's Literary Record Editor's Literary Record 152-158

152 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. l)Ut thought that a beard would improve his appearance. Mr. Lincoln at once obeyed the suggestion. Upon his journey to Washing- ton the train was delayed at Westfield, and he was called upon for a speech. In his re- marks he humorously alluded to the letter that he had received from the little Westfield girl, in which she said that she thought lie would be a better-looking man if lie would let his beard grow, and, stroking his beard, he added, dryly, I have followed her advice. He then said that if his little correspondent were present he would like very much to sl)eak with her. She caine for~vard, and was pleasantly greeted by Mr. Lincoln. The story is told upon the authority of an eye-witness who told the Easy Chairs correspondent. It is twenty years since Mr. Lincoln died, and General Grant lies smitten unto death. They were the greatest civil and the greatest military figures of the war. They were both essentially American, both what are called THE powerful agency of a good dictionary as a popular educator can scarcely be over- estimated. Students and meii of letters thor- oughly understand not merely its convenience, but its value, and universally consider it a prime essential in the equipment of their work- ing libraries. It is, indeed, the one hook that is ever kept closest at hand by every intelli- gent and cultivated scholar and tliin~er. Un- fortunately the best and most comprehensive dictionaries have hitherto been made june- cessible to the intelligent masses by their bulk and costliness, and they have been forced to content themselves with compilations which have been extremely defective in their ety- unology, orthoepy, and vocabulary, and, in fact, have been little more than very imperfect de- finers. A new order of things has been insti- tuted for this large and important class by the publication of Stormoaths new Dictionary of the Engli8h Language, a work which is in many respects the best, most conuprehensive, and most serviceable for popular use that has yet been published. This first really popular standard dictionary has been published by the Messrs. Harper as a part of their Franklin Square Library, in cheap serial form. It is printed in bold and clear type, on superfiuie paper, in twenty-three numbers, each of which is sold for twenty-five cents, and maybe had singly or otherwise, as the purse of the pur- chaser ~vill admit. The twenty-three numbers 1 A Dictionary of the English Language, Pronouncing. Ety logical, and Explanato, . Embracing Scientp5c and Other Terms, Numerous Familiar T me, and a (JopioUs Selection of Old English Words. By the Rev. JAMES STORMONTIL The Pronunciation carefully Revised by the Rev. P. H. PHELP, M.A., Cantab. Franklin Square Library. Twenty-three Parts, each about 55 Pages. New York: Harper and Brothers. self-made men, which means only that they made the best use of their opportunities. They had each the same sturdy, honest, simple char- acter, and they both performed the highest pa- triotic services, and held the highest office by the choice and affection of the people without the least selfish or dangerous ambition. This is the unprecedented praise of the three Presi- dents whose names will prol)ably be most conspicuous in our annals. They held the supreme place. Two of them had been vic- torious soldiers. One of them had guided the state through a fierce and long civil war. But each left liberty more secure. General Grants name as President will be associated with Washingtons and Lincolns, not because of his Presidency, but because of his illustrious national service; and it is part of our national felicity that in the first century of the history of the Union there should be three such signal illustrations of the highest patriotism. form a hamidsome imperial octavo of more than 1200 pages, aiid muslin covers for binding the whole together in an elegant and substantial manner will be supplied by the publishers for fifty cents net, makimig the entire cost of tIme complete work a little over six dollars. We have deviated from our usual course in giving these details of price because we are gravely impressed with the importance of advising that great body of people of limited umeans, among whom are to be found our most eager and intelligent readers, of the opportunity that is now offered them of acquiring an indispen- sable book for study and refereimee in conven- ient installments. Still furthmerto impress them with a sense of their opportunity, we shall now speak at seine detail of the contents of this useful and reliable work. Its vocabulary is literally exhaustive, and comprises every word which has any claim to a place in our lan- guage, includimug those which occur in stand- ard English literature, even if now obsolete, together with important or obscure provincial or local words and phrases, and new technical terms used in connection with the arts and sciences. The pronunciation is according to time standard of the best current usage, amud is made clear to the simplest understamuding by the respelhimug of each word imi the simplest form of sound symbols, in which each letter or combination of letters has a fixed and unva- rying sound. The etymologies embody the re- searches of the best and latest authorities, and display the true origins and affinities of mul- titudes of English words that have been in- correctly traced by tbe older philologists and lexicographers. The definitions are remarkable for their brevity, fullness, mm~nd precision; the EDITORS LITERARY RECORD. 153 meaning of each word is given in the simplest and clearest equivalents, thus affording the greatest amount of information in the smallest possible space. This observation applies not only to the ordinary meanings of words, but to the explanation and illustration of those words which embody a historical or scientific fact. Under the appropriate words full lists are giv- en of words that are precisely equivalent or approximately synonymous. But perhaps the special feature that ~vill most recommend the work for popular use is the convenient group- ing system of words which Mr. Storinonth has introduced in it. By this system he collects in a single article, instead of distributing them under separate and perhaps remote titles, all the words which are obviously derived from the leading or key word of a group of words, and which are more or less intimately connect- ed with it in signification, thus attaining the double practically valuable result of saving space by the avoidance of repetitions and of materially facilitating the student in his search for words of cognate forms and meanings. To illustrate, let us take the key-word red. Here all that relates to the key-word, its part of speech, origin, change of form, pronunciation, and meaning, are first given, and then follow, and may be taken in at a glance, all that relates to its derivatives and to words and terms com- pounded froni it; for example, redly, redness, reddish, reddishness, red ant, red antimony, red-bay, red-book, redbreast, red-berried, red chalk, red-coat, red coral, red cross, red-deer, red-eye, red-fire, red-haired, red hand, red- handed, red-hot, red-iron ore, red-lead, red-let- ter day, red-liquor, red-man or red-skin, red- marl, red-ochre, red orpiment, red-precipitate, red-republican, red-sand, Red Sea, red-short, red-start, red -tape, red-tapist, red-water. This example, taken at random, will evince better thaii the most elaborate argument the conven- ience of this system of grouping, and also the comprehensive and encyclop~edic character of the volume. It is emphatically the dictionary for the people. ______ Two typical episodes of American history are treated with signal ability in the latest two volumes of the American Commonwealths series. In one of these Mr. William Hand Browne, of Johns Hopkins University, gives a succinct and vigorous sketch of the ante-Rev- olutionary history of Maryland2one of the old thirteen, which was directly colonized from the Old World, and in the other, a sim- ilar and altogether admirable sketch is given, by Mr. N. S. Shaler, of the history of Kentucky, one of the later births of States, which, instead of having been peol)led from the Old XVorld, was an immediate outgrowth from one of the older colonies, and derived its blood and insti- tutions from it. Mr. Browne has confined his sketch of Maryland to that interesting and least-known period in its history, antecedent to the Revoluticuary war, which witnessed its settlement and foumdin~ and its colonial ex- istence, at first as a free palatinate under the proprietary government of the first Lord Bal- timore and his successors, and afterward as a crown colony which was tIme reverse of free. With painstaking minuteness Mr. Browne has gleaned from the original manuscript records and archives, now umade generally accessible to historical students by tIme liberal action of the General Assembly of Maryland, a multi- tude of long-buried facts and incidents that illustrate the character of the founder of tIme colony and its first settlers, and that display the wise civil and religious policy, far in ad- vance of the age in the mother country or in the sister colonies, of the first proprietor and his immediate successors; and with like mi- nuteness, and, when the nature of the subject admits, with genuine narrative power, he traces the condition of the aborigines and their rela- tions to the colonists, the moral, social, reli- gious, and rural features of the Maryland of this early period, the history of the conflicts of the province with its sister province Vir- ginia, and of the internal strifes and collisions of interest and jurisdiction that were stirred up withumm the I)rovilmce itself by interested or designing malcontents. Especially valuable is tIme material that Mr. Browne has collected and woven together in a condensed and grace- ful narrative disclosing the events that ush- ered in the war of Independence. The volume is not without attractions for the general read- er, but is elmiefly interesting to those whose in- vestigations have been directed to the begin- nings and unfoldings of our older American commonwealths, and to the study of tlmose dif- ferences iim their early conditions which Imave left a marked impression upon their institu- tions and upon time character of their I)eoplQ. Mr. Shalers sketch of time history of Ken- tucky3 has a nmore lively general interest timan Mr. Brownes sketch of the colonial history of Maryland, inasmunch as it deals with men and thimmgs and events that are comparatively near to us, and with influences thmnt appeal niore strongly to our sympatlmies. The power of heredity in tlme individual could scarcely be umade more umanifest by the physiologist timan its power over a commmnmunity or commonwealth has becim made by Mr. Shaler in Imis able mmmommo- graph. The offspring of Virginia, regarded with affectionate immterest by the paremmt com- monwealth, and looking back to it with equal affectionatemmess, but unavoidably left to con- tend with grave difficulties and dangers alike from thme wilderness and tIme Immdian, and to maintain time struggle for existence by its own unaided efforts, Kentucky was a true child of its authoran exammmple of the indomitable & far?fland: time ilistory of a Palatinate. By Wu~L- 3 Kentucky: a Pioneer (Jomrnonwealtk. By N. S. TAX HAND BROWNE. l6mo, pp. 292. Boston: Rough- SHALER. lOmo, pp. 433. Boston: Houghmton, Muffin, ton, Muffin, and Co. and Co. 154 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. courage of the race from which it sprang, and of its capacity not only to suffer, to endure, and to conquer, but also to carry with it the institutions, the qualifications for wise and in- telligent self-government, and the reverence for law which have distinguished it from all other races, and have made it the most success- ful of all colonizers and the dominant race of the world. The pioneer life of the early set- tlers of Kentucky, carried away from their na- tive commonwealth by the laud-hunger and the spirit of adventure which prevailed among the people of Virginia and the rural class from which they sprang in England, is related by Mr. Shaler with pithy brevity, the gradual growth of the new commonwealth by natural increase and fresh accessions from the parent stem is graphically described, and the charac- teristic traits of its people are analyzed and outlined with remarkable clearness. This early stage of Kentucky history, with all its grim and stirring vicissitudes and complications, is portrayed with great spirit; and its later his- tory, from its admission as a State to the pre- sent day, is told with complacent dignity. The portion devoted to the civil war is sympathetic, but rigidly dispassionate, and presents the at- titude of Kentucky and its people during that to them trebly terrible struggle with exern- plary perspicuity and minuteness of detail. In his sketch Mr. Shaler introduces a large mass of valuable and interesting matter concerning the geology, climate, soil, topography, finvial and mountain systems, industries, and re- sources of the State, and illustrative of its so- cial, educational, and commercial conditions and l)rospects. _______ No one can be at the pains to conipare Mr. Bancrofts last revised edition of his History of the United States,4 especially the two final vol- unmes, covering respectively the history of the Revolutionary war and of the formation and adoption of the Constitution, without being impressed by the important improvements which the venerable author has wrought into the texture of his great work. These are so numerous and considerable, and they so large- ly affect the style, the precision of state- ments of historical facts, and the deductions, reflections, and judgments that flow from facts, or that are introduced to emphasize and illustrate them, that the work almost deserves to be considered a new one, having been prac- tically rewritten in the process of revision. The changes that have been made in its style, in- stead of robbing it of its distinctive and char- acteristic qualities, as is often the case ~vhere they are attempted after a long interval, do not touch essentials, but are confined to the pruning off of redundancies, the softening of phrases and expressions that were too strong- History of the United States of Americafrom the Die- ~x)Very of the Continent. By Gzonez BANCROFT. The Authors Last Revision. Volumes V. and VI., 8vo, pp. 581 and 572. New York: D. Appleton and Co. ly accentuated, and the toning (lown of asperi- ties and extravagances that ~vere not fully in accord with the general elevation and dignity of the composition. The other changes are chiefly in the line of greater compression where it could be effected without loss, of greater clearness where there was obscurity or lack of precision, of a more accurate pre- sentation of facts or of a correction of errors where new light made the one practicable and the other obligatory, and of a remodelling of ~assages and even of opinions that were ori- ginally based upon satisfactory evidence, but which has since been discredited. Nothing, however, seems to have been changed merely for the sake of change, or for the production of improved literary effects, but every change seems to have been inspired by the desirabili- ty of greater conciseness, or greater fullness, or more perfect accuracy. Several instances of such emendations occur in the last volume of the his- tory which involve questions of great present interest; for instance, relative to the count of the electoral vote, the constitution and powers of the heads of departments, the right of the House of Representatives to be consulted in the concluding of treaties, and the Presidents power of removal. Omi the whole, the last vol- lime, giving the history of the events and steps that preceded and attended the formation and adoption of the Constitution, is the ablest and most important one of this invaluable history. It should be read by every American citizen, and, if possible, should be printed separately and placed in the hands of every lad in our high schools and colleges. The topics treated in it are of transcendent interest and impor- tance, and are handled with consunimate skill and dispassionateness. No better or safer guide to a knowledge of the principles which underlie and vivify our Constitution and form of government could be placed in the hands of our countrymen. ______ ALrnouGu the S ~vedish hero-king Gustavus Adolphus exerted a powerful and permanent influence upon tIme history of his own country and of Europe in the seventeenth century, and although his name is as familiar as a household word to thousands of intelligent Americans who have inherited a shadowy knowledge of him as of some paladin of romance, hitherto there has been no work generally accessible to American readers to which they could turn for any tolerably full account of the per- s~n and career of this great soldier and de- fender of the Protestant faith, except the His- tory of the Thirty Years War and the recently published Swedish historical romances of the Swedish novelist Topehius. The little, howev- er, that could be gleaned from these sources was very unsatisfactory, and coimfined for the most part to the closimmg years of the great S~vedes brief but glorious life. This reproach to our literature has at length been removed, we are glad to be able to say, by an American scholar, EDITORS LITERARY RECORD. 155 John L. Stevens, LL.D., recently United States Minister to Sweden, who has employed the op- portunity afforded by his residence at the Swedish capital to prepare a Hi8tory of Gus- tavus Adolphus,5 which is a very full and capa- ble presentation of the genius and work no less than of the personal and intellectuul char- acteristics of Swedens greatest king and best- beloved hero. Dr. Stevenss style is stiff, un- graceful, and a little obscure, but this defect is more than compensated for by his direct- ness and earnestness, by the richness and an- then ticity of the materials that he has collect- ed, by the calmness and dignity of his narra- tive, and by the ability with which he treats the political and dynastic projects of Gustavus and his minister, the famons Oxenstierna, as well as the moral, intellectual, religions, and military character of Gustavus himself. As its title intimates, the work is a combination of history and biography, the history of Sweden and its institutions during the life of Gustavus being so indissolubly linked with the person and acts of the king as to render their separate treatment almost impossible. In order the better to elucidate the life and deeds of the illustrious hero and the influence that he ex- erted upon the material and political condi- tions of Sweden immediately upon his acces- sion to the crown, Dr. Stevens has prefaced his more particular account of the reign of Gus- tavus by brief and luminous sketches of the earlier Swedish history, of the causes and be- ginning of the Thirty Years War, and of some of the chief men with whom his career was identified. The volume is a valuable and sub- stantial contribution to history, and gives the reader a clear view of the great enterprises at home and abroad in which Gustavus engaged, of the essential changes which he and his great minister introduced into the S~vedislu laws and constitution, of the great political and dynas- tic designs that were conceived by them, of the motives that inspire(l them to throw the influ- ence of Sweden into the great Continental stru(Y(rle and of the real relations of Gustavus to the Protestant faith and to the states which were its bulwark against the aggres- sions of the Empire and the Papacy. THE downright old-fashioned novel-reader, who cares naught for, and indeed rather re- sents, the analysis and dissection of character or the display of subtle social phases, and who, intent only upon enjoyment, is never more hap- py thaii when he is so completely absorbed by a narrative, and so entirely beguiled by its play of character upon character and of mci- dent upon incident, as to become oblivious to the mere trick and method of authorship will find Miss Braddons new romance, Wyllards Weird,6 to be a novel after his own heart. As ilietory of G~ustavus Adoiphus. By JOHN L. STEVENS, LL.D. 8vo, pp. 427. New York: G. P. Putusuis Sons. 6 IVyllards Weird. A Novel. By M. E. BRADDON. Franklin Square Library. 4to, pp. 83. New York: harper and Brothers. is conunonly the case in Miss Braddons best stories, in this dramatic and spicily seasoned tale there is mingled with the fine aroma of love and constancy that pervades it a sense of mystery, and a suspicion, gradually ripening into certainty, of inconstancy, infidelity, and murder, which constantly pique the curiosity of the reader and enthrall his attention. We have no time nor inclination to stop to cmjticise or analyze, but, our sympathies thoroughly en- listed, we are hurried along with the swift strong current of the story, eager to reach, but unwilling to hasten, its d6nou cmii. IF The Money-Makers had never been writ- ten, or, having been written, if the public curi- osity had not been whetted by the shrewd trumpetings that heralded its publication, to the effect that it was the handi~vork of a dis- tinguished author whose name would be kept religiously secret; and finally, if its authorship had not been since circumstantially and per- sistently attributed to Mr. Henry F. Keenan, it is morally probable that Trojan,7 a novel by that gentleman, would have been permitted to comitinue its protracted slumbers. XVe do not mean to intimate that, regarded from the liter- ary stand-point and solely as a work of art, there is any intrinsic incompatibility between the two books, or any sufficient reason why both may not have been written by the same author. Still it remnains that The Money-Makers was successful, and that Trojan slept the sleep of the just until the authorship of the success- fiul book was ascribed to the author of the one that ~vas not so successful. Whether the merits of Trojan will now become so transparent as to prevent it from relapsing into a comatose condition remains to be seen. It is not, as might be inferred from its title, a historical romance having the emperor of that name for its central figure. Its scene is laid in Paris, with occasional brief shiftings to the suburbs and more distant poimits. The time of the main action amud principal movement of time story is on the eve of amid during the late Franco-Ger- man war. rho actors are Americans, with somne sprimmklings of French and other folk, and they comprise a talented young artist, a beautiful, unscrupulous, amid en terprisimug adventuress and her equally unscrupulous but less enter- prising brother, a handsome and noble-minded young umilhionaire, his still lovely mother, and his beautiful, highly cultivated, amid pure sister and cousin. The remaining actors do service as supermuimeraries. The artist, having been imiadly in love with the brilliant adventuress before he kne~v her true character, was disillu- sionedby the discovery of her umisermupulousness amid rapacity, and, plunged into despair by the revelation, is on the verge of suicide, from which he is rescued by the delicate tact and dis Trajan: the History of a Sentimental Y ny Man. With Some Episodes of Many Lives Errors. A Novel. By IIENHY F. KEENAN. l2mo, pp. 642. New York: Cassell and Co. 156 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. cernmeiit of the young millionaire, who be- comes his enthusiastic friend, and makes him an honored guest and member of his family anmi household. Eventually the artist falls in love with and is beloved by his friends sister, while tIme friend himself and his charming cousin go through the same experience. But this does not suit the purposes of the daring and dashing adventuress, who lays her plans to win the young and handsoume millionaire for herself, and to secure his rich and beautiful sis- ter for her brother. Consequently she spares no wiles, and is fertile of perfidious and unblush- ing schemes to this end, and more than once is apparemitly on tIme verge of accomplishing her designs. But at the last she is ignominiously defeated, is obliged to take up with a rich but boorish and illiterate American with a pur- chased patent of nobility, and the true and more worthy lovers come together and settle down in humdrum content and happiness. The character of the bold, bad adventuress and her schemes for heaping up wealth by violating the customs laws and other sharp practices are vividly depicted; and the char- acter, tastes, hopes, aspirations, and associa- tions of the young artist are skillfully and vig- orously sketched. The remaining actors are mere incidents of the story, their character and actions being of that negative and neutral- tinted kind which does not minister to any very exalted dramatic effects. The tale has some fine and sonic really brilliant episodes, but, considered as a whole, it is very long, inordi- nately wire-drawn, and sadly wearisome. MR. BROWNINGS latest poetical deliverance, Femislmtahs Fancies,8 has the merit of being easily comprehensible. Its rank as poetry is not a high one as compared with his own best work, but tIme fine moral amid religious teach- ings that gleam through its cloud of fable and parable and paradox are as obvious as they are beautiful and true. Ferishtah is a Persian dervish, poet, amid philosopher. In the course of his pilgrimages he is assailed by doubts from within, and in~portul~e(l with abstruse scruples and questionings from without, as to deity and man, providence and human misery, destiny and duty, fate and opportunity; and lie sets himself, as we might imagine that Soc- rates or Plato would have done if they had been Persians and Mohamumedans of his day, instead of ancient Greeks and heathen, to dis- perse these sneaping doubts, and solve these intentionally puzzling and contradictory ques- tions, by a reference to some simple la~v, or deed, or phenomeimon, or by some humorous and pertinent illustration dra~vn from reason or experience. Many of these doubts aiid questionings resemble those with which our modern skeptics and philosophers pester them- selves and others, and Ferishtahs wise and 8 Ferishtahs Fancies. By ROBERT BROWNING. l8mo, pp. 91. Boston: Houghton, Muffin, and Co. logical responses may be commended to their consideration. It is possible that as they will not hear Moses and the prophets, they may be persuaded by the Persian poet-sage, as interpreted by Mr. Browning. Those readers who have been repelled from Bro~vnings re- cent poems by their obscurity or their ambi- guity will find his occasional lapses in that direction uiiore than compensated for by the many deep, many beautiful,, many pregnamit, amid many humorous thoughts that irradiate Ferishtahs Fancies. ThERE are few amouig our American poets whose verse is as richly freighted with melody and with impassioned poetic feeling as are the maturer poems of Paul Hauiilton Hayne.9 TIme stately and elegamitly illmistrated edition of his complete poetical works, just published, contaimis a number of delicious ballads and lyrics, and not a few dramatic amid legemidary pieces, which, if not geums of time first water, are yet lustrous with beauty. Deeply imbued with a reverential love for the beautiful in nature, of all our homespun poets he is the most successfmml in picturing her changeful and glowing features, and iii drapimig her myriad forms imi a garniture of rich or delicate hues. His poems of the affections, amid his love amid battle ballads and lyrics, are scarcely less successful imm stirrimig the heart than are his narrative amid descriptive poems in giving rein to the famicy. Even his youthful poems aize l)ervaded by ami atmosphere of grace amid refinememit, amid are distinguished no less for their earimestuess, purity, amid delicacy. Sel- dormi has a poet written so long and so much who has ~vritten so little that he could wish to blot because of amiy false rimig in time sentiment, or of any umiworthminess iii time ideals he con- jures mip amid depicts. Mauiy of the poenis in the volmime are imimmatumre, many are defective in somiie detail of forum or spirit, but in all there is visible a seuisitive amid loyal conscientious- ness begotten of their amithiors ever-present idea of the loftiness amid (lignity of the poets calling, with the effect of curbing the vagaries of his rich aiid versatile famicy and chastening his active imagination. TuE myriads of Christian worshippers whose zeal is quickened amid whose devotioum is kin- died by one or other of the mnammy beautiful hynmmis that are in commomi use in the churches will be interested to learui tlmat before his death the late Rev. Dr. Hatfield had left the nmaumu- script of a volume of l3iograpluical Sketches of Hynum- Wi.itemsio uiearly reamly for tIme press, amid that it is now published. Dr. Hatfields study Poems of Paul Hamilton Hceyne. Complete Edition. With Nunierous Illustrations. Sq. 4to, pp. 386. Bos- ton: D. Lothrop amid Co. mo Time Poets of time Church. A Series of Biographical Sketches of Hymn-Writers, with Notes on theirHymus. By EDWIN T. HATFIELD, D.D. Svo, pp. 719. New York: A. D. F. Randolph and Co. EDITORS LITERARY RECORD. 157 of hynmology was the occupation of his leisure from professional duty for more than half a century. Himself one of the most successful of our American hymn-writers, he was also au enthusiastic and tasteful student and collector of the best, most inspiring, and most popular hymns used iu the churches through all the centuries from Ambrose until the close of his own long and useful life. Iu connection with his researches as a student of hymnology and collector of hymns lie projected the prepara- tiou of a series of biographical sketches of the writers of the best and most popular hymns, more than three hundred in number, and the volume under notice is time fruit of his long and intelligent labors. The sketches are ar- ranged alphabetically, after the manner of bio- graphical dictionaries, and while giviug satis- factory outlines of the lives of the authors admitted to the volume, they are especially full in their accounts of the hymns written by each, including the circumstances nuder which they were composed, the motives and feelings that inspired them, and the impression they have made upon the mind and heart of the Christian world, as evinced by the universality of their acceptance and the permanence of their hold upon popularity in the church and the family. The biographical sketches are re- markable for time catholicity of their spirit, and their literary execution is all that the most exacting could desire. MOST opportuue for those who are getting ready for sport with the rod and line during the coming summer and autumn is the publi- cation of Mr. Henry P. Wellss thoroughly prac- tical and very comprehensive treatise on Fly- Rods aad Fly-Tackle. A judicious guide for the angler while making preparations for the fishimig season, as relates to the choice and se- lection of the best and most convenient tools for use when measuring his skill and patience against the strength and cunning of his game, it is also an invaluable comupanion ~vhen mis- haps befall any part of his equipment, show- ing him how to repair or replace or improvise them, and giving such a fillip to his ingenuity generally as to render him comparatively in- dependent of the purveyors of the weapons re- quired in the prosecution of his sport. Mr. Wells enters minutely and instructively into the art and mystery of fish-hook~how they are made, time principles that enter into their efficiency, and the kind that is best suited to each sort of gameand similarly into the craftsmanship of all kinds of hues, leaders, reels, rods, rod material, amid rod-making, and lie ekes out his practical instructions and sug Ii Fly-Rods and Fly-Tackle. Suggestions as to their Manufacture and Use. By HENRY P. WELLS. Illus- trated. Sq. Svo, pp. 864. New York: Harper and Bro- timers. gestions as.to the manufacture and use of these in(lispensable equipments with a sparkling an- ecdotic narrative anent fishing imieidemits, ad- ventures, and triumphs. The volume is at once a vade mecum for the angler, abounding in practical directions and instructions, and a compliment to his imitehhigence, replete as it is with varied information and rare tidbits of philosophy and fancy. TRUSTEES of public schools, boards of educa- tion, teachers, and parents will each find much to repay perusal in a handy little volume which has been published by the Messrs. Harper, comi- taming a collectiomi ofjuridical decisions bear- ing upon the power ammd authority2 of school officers and teachers iii the management and goverummemit of public schools, and over pupils out of school. The volume is time fruit of a careful examnination amid collation of a great mimany reported cases in the several States by a member of the Massachusetts bar, amid the points to which these apply have a direct amid practical imiterest, beimig such as are liable to be forced upomi the attentiomi of school officers aiid teachers at amiy momeiit, amid oftemi involv- imig serious personal difficulties amid unpleasant legal consequences. Time conipiler has very properly confined his collection to cases that have been authoritatively decided in the courts of the several States, omitting those which have been promiourmeed upon by school officials, since these last must evemitually succumb to the law as annoumiced by the courts. The sub- jects ihluistrated, and treated under separate heads, with the decisions arrived at in each case appended, are such iuimportant and often disturbimig ones as time following: tIme general powers of selmool officers; their special powers as to tardiness amid absemice, amid as to studies, suspension, amid expulsion; their rights and powers as relates to corporal punishment, amid over pupils out of school; aimd the authority of teachers generally. The decisions upon cases thmmt have been tried on all tlmese points are stated briefly and clearly, those relating to the same subject-umatter beiuig grouped and report- ed in time order of their date, within cross refer- ences amid amimiotations. At time close of the reported cases time compiler adds in four ap- pendixes abstracts of time laws of the States relating to time subjects above eumumnerated, and to imisults to teachers. Familiarity with this compact amid usefuil little mammual will save trustees, teachers, amid school officers generally, and also paremits amid pupils, from many vexa- tious, many irritating, amid ninny demoralizing misunderstandings and conflicts. i2 The Power and Authority of School Officers and Teachers in the Maaa1~ement and Government of Pmsblic Schools, and over Pupmts out of School, as determined by the Courts of the Several State8. By a Member of the Massachusetts Bar. l8mo, pp. 181. New York: Har- per ammd Brothers. POLITICAL OUR Record is closed on the 20th of April. The following are the most important of the appointments made by President Cleve- laud: MinistersGreat Britain, E. J. Phelps; France, R. M. McLane; Germany, George H. Pendleton; Turkey, S. S. Cox; Mexico, H. II. Jackson; Italy, A. M. Keiley; Netherlands, Isaac Bell, Jun.; Portugal, E. P. Cuistis; Den- mark, R. B. Andcrs(m ;Assistant Secretary of State, J. D. Porter; Assistant Secretary of the Treasury, C. S. Fairchild; Assistant Secretary of the Interior, H. L. Muldrow; First Assistant Postmaster-General, Malcolm Hay; Postmaster at New York, Henry G. Pearson; Pension Com- missioner, General J. C. Black; Commissioner of Patents, M. V. Montgomery; Commissioner of Indian Affairs, J. D. C. Atkins; Corunrission- er of Railroads, General Joseph E. Johnston. The constitutionality of the Edmunds Anti- Polygamy Law was affirmed by the United States Supreme Court March 23. Ex-Governor J. H. Berry has been elected to succeed Attorney-General Garland as United States Senator from Arkansas. George P. Wetmore, the Republican candi- date, was elected Governor of Rhode Island on April 1. The Rhode Island House, March 24, passed a resolution proposing a constitutional amend- ment conferring upon women the right to vote, upon the same conditions as men, by a vote of 45 ayes to 19 nays. The United States Senate adjourned sine die April 2. Henry Lloyd, President of the Senate of Maryland, succeeded Govern or McLane, who left the gubernatorial chair to go as Minister to France. President Barrios, of Guatemala, advanced on San Salvador with a large array March 30. His troops were routed and he was killed. The Panama insurgents burned the town of Aspinwall March 31, to escape capture bygov- erinuent troops. The Riel rebellion in the Northwest created great excitement. The town of Battleford was pillaged and burned by the Indians March 31, and later on there was a massacre at Frog Lake. War is threatened between England and Russia. On March 26 the Queen called out the reserves and militia for permanent service, and war preparations proceeded with the great- est activity at Woolwich, Aldershot, and Ports- mouth. On March 30 General Komaroff attack- ed the Afghans at Penjdeh and defeated them. England asked for an explanation. The situa- tion at time latest is said to be this: England and Russia have agreed upon a basis for a de- limitation of the Afghan frontier, subject to a satisfactory explanation by Russia of the re- cent attack on the Afghans. According to this scheme it is said that Penjdeh will be ceded to Russia, provided the Ameer consents. The French Chamber of Deputies, after the Tonquin debate, March 28, passed a vote of confidence in the government by 273 to 227. On the following day it was officially an- nounced that the Chinese had defeated tIme French troops and recaptured the town of Langson. The news led to riotous demon- strations iii Paris, and the Ferry ministry re- signed. On April 6 a new cabinet was an- nounceri under the leadership of M. Brisson. rIme Arabs surprise(l the British troops near Suakium March 22, burt were repulsed with a loss of 3000 men. Time British lost 600. DISASTERS. March 25.Music Hall, Buffalo, New York, destroyed by fire. March 27.Eleven miners killed by explo- sion of coal dust at McAllister, Indian Tern- tory.Thirty-five men killed by gas explosion in Chilean mines. March 30.British steamer Orestes sunk in collision with a Chinese steamer. Seventy men drowned. April 3.Fire-damp explosion in a mine at Martinello. Eighteen men killed. April 4.Thirty lives lost from the steamer Marinpol in the Sea of Azof. April 13.Collapse of eight unfinished tene- ment-houses in West Sixty-second Street, New York. Several workmen inj ured. OBITUARY. March 18.At Highland Falls, New York, Susan Warner, aged sixty-seven years. March 23.hi XVashington, D. C., EdwardD. Clark, Assistant Secretary of the Interior, aged forty years. March 24.In Memphis, Tennessee, Jacob Thompson, ex-Secretary of the Imiterior, in his seventy-fifth year. March 25.In Utica, New York, General James MeQuade, aged fifty-six years. March 26.In Chicago, General Anson Sta- ger, aged sixty years. March 27.In Fernandina, Florida, Freder- ick S. Winston, aged seventy-nine years. March 28.lu Fontaineblean, France, Prince Orloff, Russian diplomatist, aged fifty-eight years. April l.Imm New York, Rev. Dr. William R. Williams, aged eighty-one years. April 2.At Bournemoutli, Earl Cairns, aged sixty-six yearsFranz Abt, aged sixty-six years. April 71mm Philadelphia, Rear - Admiral John Marstoum, aged eighty-eight years. April 5.In Nc~v York city, Richard Grant White, aged sixty-three years. April 13.In London, Adummiral Sir George Rose Sartorins, aged sixty-five years.

Editor's Historical Record Editor's Historical Record 158-159

POLITICAL OUR Record is closed on the 20th of April. The following are the most important of the appointments made by President Cleve- laud: MinistersGreat Britain, E. J. Phelps; France, R. M. McLane; Germany, George H. Pendleton; Turkey, S. S. Cox; Mexico, H. II. Jackson; Italy, A. M. Keiley; Netherlands, Isaac Bell, Jun.; Portugal, E. P. Cuistis; Den- mark, R. B. Andcrs(m ;Assistant Secretary of State, J. D. Porter; Assistant Secretary of the Treasury, C. S. Fairchild; Assistant Secretary of the Interior, H. L. Muldrow; First Assistant Postmaster-General, Malcolm Hay; Postmaster at New York, Henry G. Pearson; Pension Com- missioner, General J. C. Black; Commissioner of Patents, M. V. Montgomery; Commissioner of Indian Affairs, J. D. C. Atkins; Corunrission- er of Railroads, General Joseph E. Johnston. The constitutionality of the Edmunds Anti- Polygamy Law was affirmed by the United States Supreme Court March 23. Ex-Governor J. H. Berry has been elected to succeed Attorney-General Garland as United States Senator from Arkansas. George P. Wetmore, the Republican candi- date, was elected Governor of Rhode Island on April 1. The Rhode Island House, March 24, passed a resolution proposing a constitutional amend- ment conferring upon women the right to vote, upon the same conditions as men, by a vote of 45 ayes to 19 nays. The United States Senate adjourned sine die April 2. Henry Lloyd, President of the Senate of Maryland, succeeded Govern or McLane, who left the gubernatorial chair to go as Minister to France. President Barrios, of Guatemala, advanced on San Salvador with a large array March 30. His troops were routed and he was killed. The Panama insurgents burned the town of Aspinwall March 31, to escape capture bygov- erinuent troops. The Riel rebellion in the Northwest created great excitement. The town of Battleford was pillaged and burned by the Indians March 31, and later on there was a massacre at Frog Lake. War is threatened between England and Russia. On March 26 the Queen called out the reserves and militia for permanent service, and war preparations proceeded with the great- est activity at Woolwich, Aldershot, and Ports- mouth. On March 30 General Komaroff attack- ed the Afghans at Penjdeh and defeated them. England asked for an explanation. The situa- tion at time latest is said to be this: England and Russia have agreed upon a basis for a de- limitation of the Afghan frontier, subject to a satisfactory explanation by Russia of the re- cent attack on the Afghans. According to this scheme it is said that Penjdeh will be ceded to Russia, provided the Ameer consents. The French Chamber of Deputies, after the Tonquin debate, March 28, passed a vote of confidence in the government by 273 to 227. On the following day it was officially an- nounced that the Chinese had defeated tIme French troops and recaptured the town of Langson. The news led to riotous demon- strations iii Paris, and the Ferry ministry re- signed. On April 6 a new cabinet was an- nounceri under the leadership of M. Brisson. rIme Arabs surprise(l the British troops near Suakium March 22, burt were repulsed with a loss of 3000 men. Time British lost 600. DISASTERS. March 25.Music Hall, Buffalo, New York, destroyed by fire. March 27.Eleven miners killed by explo- sion of coal dust at McAllister, Indian Tern- tory.Thirty-five men killed by gas explosion in Chilean mines. March 30.British steamer Orestes sunk in collision with a Chinese steamer. Seventy men drowned. April 3.Fire-damp explosion in a mine at Martinello. Eighteen men killed. April 4.Thirty lives lost from the steamer Marinpol in the Sea of Azof. April 13.Collapse of eight unfinished tene- ment-houses in West Sixty-second Street, New York. Several workmen inj ured. OBITUARY. March 18.At Highland Falls, New York, Susan Warner, aged sixty-seven years. March 23.hi XVashington, D. C., EdwardD. Clark, Assistant Secretary of the Interior, aged forty years. March 24.In Memphis, Tennessee, Jacob Thompson, ex-Secretary of the Imiterior, in his seventy-fifth year. March 25.In Utica, New York, General James MeQuade, aged fifty-six years. March 26.In Chicago, General Anson Sta- ger, aged sixty years. March 27.In Fernandina, Florida, Freder- ick S. Winston, aged seventy-nine years. March 28.lu Fontaineblean, France, Prince Orloff, Russian diplomatist, aged fifty-eight years. April l.Imm New York, Rev. Dr. William R. Williams, aged eighty-one years. April 2.At Bournemoutli, Earl Cairns, aged sixty-six yearsFranz Abt, aged sixty-six years. April 71mm Philadelphia, Rear - Admiral John Marstoum, aged eighty-eight years. April 5.In Nc~v York city, Richard Grant White, aged sixty-three years. April 13.In London, Adummiral Sir George Rose Sartorins, aged sixty-five years. IT is a fortunate thing for literature that it comes into fashion occasionally. It is a good thing for the publishers and the printers, and it is an encouragement to the authors. Say what we will about the superiority of man, and try to believe it, women make nnd set the fashions. They decide what society shall in- terest itself in, and when society takes up let- ters, then and then only there will be what is vulgarly called a boom in literary affairs. A little reflection ought to teach man humility. When he has been unassisted, has lie been able to make literature in the least degree fashionable? What a poor figure his product cuts all along the Middle Ages, when women paid very little attention to it! and how it ex- panded and bloomed whenever the interesting sex took it up, as did the coterie of the H6tel Rambonillet in the time of Louis XLV.! It is impossible to resist the revival at such times or escape its influence, unless one goes out of society altogether. Even literary men have to become literary for the time being. The Drawer does not recall any period in history when literature was umore in fashion than it is now. And perhaps the public does not comprehend how exceedingly opportune and fortunate this fashion is. Owing to vari- ous discouragements, particularly the want of an international copyright, it may not be gen- erally known that the literary producers in English were on the point of a strike. All that was necessary was for the authors to come to a comumon agreement not to produce another line until their rights were admitted and their demands were satisfied, and the public would have been in the condition of the Egyptians when the Nile subsides. Of course the print- ers and publishers would have suffered first, and a good many industries which depend en- tirely upon the continued movement of the pens of authors would have come to a stand- still. Congress takes notice of these indus- tries, and taxes and protects them; but the industry lying back of them, the motive pow- er of them all, the queer stir in the brains of authors, which is communicated to their fingers and produces copy, Congress is wholly unaffected by. And probably it nev- er will recognize it until the literary pro- ducers strike and go to raising cabbages. The female movement, which has made literature fashionable, has averted this strike for the time being; but it is not out of place to sug- gest that if the women are rcally interested in literatureand interested they certainly are, for they produce about half of all that keeps the type foundries and presses runningthey will procure an international copyright with- out delay. If they like, they can make inter- national copyright as fashionable as a four- oclock tea in New York, or as drawing-room Bible reading was in London a few years ago. But this strike was not the most imminent danger that was averted by the change in fashion that has taken place recently. When women took up the tea-pot, and the medi~val embroidery, and the limp stayless gown (oh, sweet, clinging thing!), literature began to run to bric-~-brac. The poets were all becoming upholsterers and wall-decorators and designers of womens dresses. Literature was getting to be nothing if not ~sthetic and responsive to the divine longing in the soul for broken china, and classic folds of drapery in sick and fainting colors. A volume of verse (studies in mauve and chrome yellow) was hardly to be distinguished from a portfolio of drawings from the nude in night schools, or from a cab- met of bric-?i-brac; and perhaps nothing but the climate or the change of fashion saved London, in its devotion to art for arts sake, from the costumes of the ancient Egyptians, from the unconventional and pure ideal of life in which a sufficient dress would have been a poem, not, of course, one of the severe, color- less poems of the Puritanic age, but a ballad symphony in London fog, with just a roun(Iel in invisible yellow thrown over the shoulders. Thank Heaven it has pleased the arbiters of fashion and the consolers of life to turn their attention partially away from decoration (which was forcing literature as well as art to take its color) to the cultivation of the mind! It is a thought of great encouragement and some solemnity that there is probably not a mind in this country that is not being cdlti- vated; of course we except a few men and boys who are still going on as if ignorance were a distinction, and are not any more counted a part of society. The pursuit of spindle - legged furniture, except as it illus- trates the history of literature, has given way to the improvenient of the mind. This is not a mere whim, the amusement of a coterie here amid there; it is the fashion. It is more preva- lemit thami poke-bonnets just before the out- break of our Revolution. The mind is culti- vated just as much in Oslikosh as it is in Bos- toim. Why, look at Dante. He is as well knowim in Iowa as in New York. He may have supposed that lie had set a riddle that all the ages could not read, but all his mysteries have been penetrated by temis of thousands of eager feminimme inquisi tors. And Shakespeare. There isnt a town in the United States whose mind is not focussed on his plays with a penetration that leaves nothing unrevealed. Of course Queen Anne and that little era of hers was seemi through long ago; it was omily a period, amid the insatiate inimid has gone back to Plato ammd somethimig substamitial. Clubs, circles, readings, lectures, discussions, studying peri- ods amid words amid isolated authors, devoting a winter to Steele, a season to Pindar, a course of eight to Sordehlothese are time occupa

Editor's Drawer Editor's Drawer 159-164

IT is a fortunate thing for literature that it comes into fashion occasionally. It is a good thing for the publishers and the printers, and it is an encouragement to the authors. Say what we will about the superiority of man, and try to believe it, women make nnd set the fashions. They decide what society shall in- terest itself in, and when society takes up let- ters, then and then only there will be what is vulgarly called a boom in literary affairs. A little reflection ought to teach man humility. When he has been unassisted, has lie been able to make literature in the least degree fashionable? What a poor figure his product cuts all along the Middle Ages, when women paid very little attention to it! and how it ex- panded and bloomed whenever the interesting sex took it up, as did the coterie of the H6tel Rambonillet in the time of Louis XLV.! It is impossible to resist the revival at such times or escape its influence, unless one goes out of society altogether. Even literary men have to become literary for the time being. The Drawer does not recall any period in history when literature was umore in fashion than it is now. And perhaps the public does not comprehend how exceedingly opportune and fortunate this fashion is. Owing to vari- ous discouragements, particularly the want of an international copyright, it may not be gen- erally known that the literary producers in English were on the point of a strike. All that was necessary was for the authors to come to a comumon agreement not to produce another line until their rights were admitted and their demands were satisfied, and the public would have been in the condition of the Egyptians when the Nile subsides. Of course the print- ers and publishers would have suffered first, and a good many industries which depend en- tirely upon the continued movement of the pens of authors would have come to a stand- still. Congress takes notice of these indus- tries, and taxes and protects them; but the industry lying back of them, the motive pow- er of them all, the queer stir in the brains of authors, which is communicated to their fingers and produces copy, Congress is wholly unaffected by. And probably it nev- er will recognize it until the literary pro- ducers strike and go to raising cabbages. The female movement, which has made literature fashionable, has averted this strike for the time being; but it is not out of place to sug- gest that if the women are rcally interested in literatureand interested they certainly are, for they produce about half of all that keeps the type foundries and presses runningthey will procure an international copyright with- out delay. If they like, they can make inter- national copyright as fashionable as a four- oclock tea in New York, or as drawing-room Bible reading was in London a few years ago. But this strike was not the most imminent danger that was averted by the change in fashion that has taken place recently. When women took up the tea-pot, and the medi~val embroidery, and the limp stayless gown (oh, sweet, clinging thing!), literature began to run to bric-~-brac. The poets were all becoming upholsterers and wall-decorators and designers of womens dresses. Literature was getting to be nothing if not ~sthetic and responsive to the divine longing in the soul for broken china, and classic folds of drapery in sick and fainting colors. A volume of verse (studies in mauve and chrome yellow) was hardly to be distinguished from a portfolio of drawings from the nude in night schools, or from a cab- met of bric-?i-brac; and perhaps nothing but the climate or the change of fashion saved London, in its devotion to art for arts sake, from the costumes of the ancient Egyptians, from the unconventional and pure ideal of life in which a sufficient dress would have been a poem, not, of course, one of the severe, color- less poems of the Puritanic age, but a ballad symphony in London fog, with just a roun(Iel in invisible yellow thrown over the shoulders. Thank Heaven it has pleased the arbiters of fashion and the consolers of life to turn their attention partially away from decoration (which was forcing literature as well as art to take its color) to the cultivation of the mind! It is a thought of great encouragement and some solemnity that there is probably not a mind in this country that is not being cdlti- vated; of course we except a few men and boys who are still going on as if ignorance were a distinction, and are not any more counted a part of society. The pursuit of spindle - legged furniture, except as it illus- trates the history of literature, has given way to the improvenient of the mind. This is not a mere whim, the amusement of a coterie here amid there; it is the fashion. It is more preva- lemit thami poke-bonnets just before the out- break of our Revolution. The mind is culti- vated just as much in Oslikosh as it is in Bos- toim. Why, look at Dante. He is as well knowim in Iowa as in New York. He may have supposed that lie had set a riddle that all the ages could not read, but all his mysteries have been penetrated by temis of thousands of eager feminimme inquisi tors. And Shakespeare. There isnt a town in the United States whose mind is not focussed on his plays with a penetration that leaves nothing unrevealed. Of course Queen Anne and that little era of hers was seemi through long ago; it was omily a period, amid the insatiate inimid has gone back to Plato ammd somethimig substamitial. Clubs, circles, readings, lectures, discussions, studying peri- ods amid words amid isolated authors, devoting a winter to Steele, a season to Pindar, a course of eight to Sordehlothese are time occupa 160 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tions that have taken the place of ~sthetics and the l)revious frivolities. We are not celebrating this, or rejoicing in it, under any misapprehension. Fashions change, we know. Sometimes it is art, some- times it is dress, sometimes it is philanthropy, sometimes it is religion, sometimes it is litera- tnre, that is in fashion. We like all the fash- ions, in different degrees, and we like the liter- ary fashion very much, for there is no fashion that is not improved in the longru a by an era of the cultivation of the mind. M~ father (writes a correspondent) was a slave-owner in the South before the war, and I was brought up largely by colored nurses, to whom I naturally became very much attached. After the war the blacks were scattered more or less, and but few of my fathers former slaves remained ia our neighborhood. Among those who did remain, however, was one of my old nurses, a woman of about forty-five or fifty years of age, who lived on the farm of a man who had never owned slaves, and who took no further interest in the blacks than to get work out of them. Returning on one occasion to visit my home, I received word that Aunt Ellen wanted me to coume to see her, and of course I was glad to go. I found her living very meanly, faring, apparently, much worse than she ever had done when a slave. Her husband was a drunken, worthless fellow, whom she had to support; she had poor health, and a houseful of poorly clad, poorly fed chil- dren to care for. Brought up in the midst of slavery, and being at the time a very young man, I had never realized the cruelty of that institution, and as I looked about my old nurses cabin I could but contrast her surroundings with what they had been when I was a child and she was a slave. So I said to her: Aunt Ellen, dont you think you fared much better when you were a slave? Then you had a bet- ter house to live in, plenty to eat, plenty to wear, no doctors bills, and never any thought or care about such things. Dats so, Mas John, she replied. I did hab mo to eat, an mo to wali, an none o dis here kin o trouble; but den, de L awd bless ye, honey, afta all, da8 de feelins I THE statement in Mr. Robinsons entertain- ing Saunterings in Utah, in a recent num- ber of the Magazine, that snakes can not juamp, calls to mind the massassauga, a species of rat- tlesnake, hardly as long as ones arm and nearly, as thick, that once infested northern Ohio and other portions of the West of forty years ago. This snake would, according to universal belief, jump to the height of a mans knees, while the bite was generally fatal. The following story illustrates anew the power of the ima- gination. The writers grandfather once em- ployed a hired man who was excessively nervous, and whose existence during harvest- time was imbittered by dread of the massas sauga. He expected an attack at all times; and one day when the field hands had bound their legs to above the knees with bands of straw, as was necessary for l)rotection from the reptiles, and had commenced work, this man suddenly dropped his scythe, threw up his hands with a cry that he had been bitten and was a dead man, and fainted. He could not be restored to consciousness by ordinary metli- ods, so was carried to the house and put to bed. The cro~v(l was alarmed, but on looking him over could find not a bite, neither did any snake appear. The removal of his nether gar- ments disclosed the presence in tIme seat of his unmentionables of a huge bull-frog! He was aroused a little and the snake showum him. It completed the cure most swiftly. A s:ionr time ago a Ne~v Hampshire man wished to ruin a telephone wire from his office to his residence. Its best line lay over a cot- tage wherein resided two venerable maiden ladies, one of whom answered his request for permission to use the route with the state- ment that while she should be glad to ac- comrnodate hium, the noise made by people constantly talking over her head would be too annoying to permit it. Tnu fohlo~ving story has no moral: In a brisk New Hampshire city not far froum Concord there resided long ago a certain doc- tor, who by hard work and strict attention to business amassed a goodly fortune, and by constant practice became a close and some- what crabbed old bachelor. In a nuoment of recklessness, induced by meditating upon his lonely state, he resolved to get married, and being a business uman, ~vent about it in a busi- ness-like manner. He looked over all the eli- gible material in the community, and after careful consideration and inquiry, picked out a lady who had passed the first mile-stone on the old-maid path, though she was none the worse therefor. He called upon her, stated his case, and the value of his possessions, was accel)ted after a little hesitation, and in due time married. He was not accustomed to so- ciety, and lacked polish. In fact, he could see no reason why aim able-bodied female couldnt get along under ordinary circum- stances without assistance in the way of po- lite attentions. His wife tried every artifice to cure him, but as all failed, resolved to make a stand; so after a ride, when the doctor drove up to tIme door, and jumping out, waited for her to alight, she sat still, and told him flatly shed stay there until he helped her out. The doctor made no comment, but quietly unhitch- ed the horse, took the animal to the stable, and returning, grasped the shafts of the old two-wheeled chaise, and, grievous to state, tipped it over backward, causing time lady to land most ungracefully on her head. She arose in wrath, and hied herself ujito her par- ents, where she remained until cooled ofi when EDITORS DRAWER. 161 the doctor came and asked her to come back, saying that he liked her well enough, and only wanted to take the nonsense out of her. Strangely, she went, and remained to the end, while the pair became indeed one in disposi- tioii and all things, living most happily. MOTHERS DOUGHNUTS. EL DORADO, 1851. Ivz jest bin down ter Thompsons, boys, N feelin kind o blue, I thought Id look in at The Ranch, Ter find ont what wuz new; When I seen this sIgn a-hangin On a shanty by the lake: Heres whar yer gets yer doughnuts Like yer mother used ter make. Ive seen a grizzly show his teeth; Ive seen Kentucky Pete Draw out his shooter a advise A tenderfoot ter treat; Bnt nuthin ever tuk me down N made my benders shake Like that sign about the doughnuts That my mother used ter make. A sort o mist shut out the ranch, N standin thar instead, I seen an old white farm-house, With its doors all painted red. A whiff came through the open door-- Wuz I sleepin or awake? The smell wuz that of doughnuts Like my mother used ter make. The bees wuz huinmin round the porch, Whar honeysuckles grew; A yellow dish of apple-sass Wuz settin thar in view. N on the table, by the stove, An old-time johnny-cake, N a platter full of doughnuts Like my mother used ter make. A patient form I seemed ter see, In tidy dress of black; I almost thought I heard the words, When will my boy come back ? N thenthe old sign creaked; But now it was the boss who spake: heres whar yer gets yer doughnuts Like yer mother used ter make. Well, boys, that kind o broke me up, N ez Ive struck pay gravel, I ruther think Ill pack my kit, Vamose the ranch, n travel. Ill make the old folks jubilant, N, if I dont mistake, Ill try some o them doughnuts Like my mother used ter make. CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS. DAVE B ,a Iiandsome,~brave, and popii- lar young soldier in the Confederate army, was fond of good living; and if there was anything in the poultry, pork, or mutton line in the country round about camp, Dave was pretty sure to find it out, and to have some of it. He was a shrewd, hold forager. He hahily ever failed in his mission. One day he tramp- ed many miles from camp over an adjacent mountain into a lovely valley beyond, where it had come to his knowledge a flock of sheep were quietly feeding. Stealthily creeping upon them, he levelled his musket, fired, and saw one of the animals tumble over, while the rest scampered away with aifright. As he strode toward his victim, two figures in Confederate uniform stepped out from their concealment behind some bushes and ordered him to halt. These were guards, stationed to protect the stock and ~)roperty of a rich old Virginia farm- er. Our friend, with a sad heart, walked de- jectedly before his captors toward a large, elegant country mansion near by. The old gray-haired farmer met them at the door, and being fully informed as to how matters stood, showed a savage disposition, and abused our friend unmercifully. Finally he was asked if he had not visited that side of the mountain before. He was l)esitating as to what reply to make, but glan- cing around, and seeing a pretty young lady a silent witness of the scene, he gathered new courage from her presence, feeling assured that so lovely a creature could not but sympathize and intercede for him. So, looking appeal- ingly toward her, he answered that he had only been on that side of the mountain once before. The question then put was, XVhen was it ? and he immediately answered, iiam- ing the day. No sooner had the words es- caped his lips than this lovely girl, in an ex- cited manner, turned to her father and said, Lor, ~a, that was the very day we missed our old black so~~ That settled the matter, and poor Dave was marched away to a place of security to await trial by court-martial. AN employ6 in a factory in a neighboring city is hard of hearing, and when he does not fully catch your words,jnmps at hasty conjec- tures, and will respond, Thats good! thats good ! A worthy woman having lost her hus- band under chx~umstances which excited much sympathy, happened to meet our deaf friend, who had not heard of her bereavement, and in reply to his friendly inquiries after her fanmily, she proceeded to tell him of her affliction in all its trying details, and was doubtless more surprised than consoled when the poor man, who had only caught a word here and there, and had ludicrously misunderstood her, re- sponded, cheerily and heartily, Thats good! thats good !good-by, and went on his way in blissful ignorance of his blunder. A LADY who sympathizes with the climatic woes of which something may have been inad- vertently said in this department, wants the Drawer to move over to Santa Barbara~, Cali- fornia, which is described as a restful paradise for women. It is admitted that women make a paradise, though they have not always been successful in keeping it. At Santa Barbara the con(iitions of life seem easy. Not much need to bother about canned fruit, for fresh fruit lasts almost the entire year. Strawber- ries and cream late in the autumn; melons, 162 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. grapes, figs, pears, plums, abundant; luscious Hamburg grapes one and a half cents a pound; no trouble about servants, for the Chinaman can not only do everything faithfully, but pur- chase more economically thau his mistress; sewing is almost left out of account ~vh~re the seasons are so nearly the same the year round that changes are unnecessary; society is made up of most interesting and cultivated East- ern people, who have Shakespeare clubs, art circles, Chautauqua, musical, and Kensington cliques, an(l everybody is not only candid and courteous, hut capable of letting everybody else alone; and a climate so gently uniform that life is relieved of all housekeeping anxiety, and woman has nothing to do but to bathe, ride, drive, eat fruit, and rest. Such perfec- tion can not be allowed. Therell he an earth- quake some time to s~vallow it all up. WHAT NEXT ? A SAILOR returning from a long cruise brought with him a young parrot, which he besto~ved upon, his half-witted son, and then undertook the task of their joint education. Having his own ideas of teaching and teach- ing made easy, and sea-voyages having been chief factors in broadening his vie~vs of life, he proceeded to institute a course of travel which should conibine pleasure with know- ledge. From place to place they went, see- ing sights and shows, among which none were more in favor than the common play-houses, or places of cheap theatrical entertainment, found everywhere. The old tar, in isuagina- tion, here revisited the haunts of his sailor life, the boy Tommy gazed with open- mouthed wonder, and Poll chuckled with de- light. Lappetit vient en mangeant, but instead of growing also critical and discriminating, Tom- my only became insatiate, and one scene was scarcely off the boards before he cried, Whats next? And Polly came in ~vith an invariable echo of Whats nex ? The old man tried in an ineffectual but prob- ably conscientious way to influence and train their judgment by applause or condemna- tion, or by exclamations such as Good playin that I or Mighty poor! Mixed plotmixed plot ! Wager twont run a week ! etc., etc. But the boy only turned his head to demand, Whats next ? an(l the parrot cried, Whats nex ? In the course of time they reached San Frau- cisco, and found themselves one day in the Chinese quarter, and at the front in one of its celebrated play-houses. Hours of delight- ful instruction and rapid acquisition follo~ved, and the fathers fondest ambitions seemed in a fair ~va.y of being realized, when his school ~vas suddenly broken up by the unforeseen event of a premature explosion of a gigantic fire- work. After -flames and smoke were subdued, and time police in possession, it was discovered that the unfortunate sailor and his son were victims of the disaster, a flying missile having knocked them off their seats, and in some way caused their death. Broke their necks, re- marked a by-stander. As the veteran charger answers to the well-known bugle note, so forth from the d6bris came a feeble but distinctly piped Whats nex? Excavations brought to light the battered, singed, and bruised body of poor Poll. With one weak, ineffectual ef- fort at reconstruction, choking and sputter- ing, she exclaimed: Mighty poor playin that! Mixed plotdretful mixed! Bet twont run a week ! Then, with an ineffable chuckle, as she took her poor limping way along: But it brought dowu the house, Tommy. Whats nex ? PAN. ON its first revolution, astride Of the new-born world, sat Pan; He had jumped on board for the sake of the ride, But he nervously clutched the cliffs of Clyde, And peninsular Yucatan. lIe dared not rise for fear Of dashing against the stars. While the world kept on its mad career, Brushing his head against many a sphere, And bruising his shoulder on Mars. Ten cycles had passed away, And his hair from fright was white; lie had never once dared to work nor play, And he bitterly cursed the king of day, And swore at the queen of night. Then a comet came whizzing by, Like a wasp darting out from space; It poised, like a hawk, In the blue-black sky, And looked at Pan with Its blood-red eye, With a sneer on its blood-red face. And it said: Youre a worthless thing, Too big for the ball you ride! I will pierce your heart with my long sharp sting, And through the opening I will fling My igneous eggs inside. It struck his quivering form. Its eggs were meteorites, And it hurled them deep In his corpse still warm, In a terrible, red-hot, meteor storm, Which lasted a million nights. Thus Pan gave up the ghost, So history (~) doth inform us; But deep in his body was hatched a host Of wonderful beasts, like the comet almost, Red saurians, fierce, enormous! The mountains, his fossil bones, Are all that is left of Pan! Ills skeleton limbs still gird the zones, And his skeleton fingers form the stones In the mountains of Yucatan. MORAL. Dont ride In a boat too small To carry you on your way; But when you are in, whatever befall, Keep a stiff upper lip! Never think youre too tall For the work to be done, nor the play I Dont be In a hurry to ride The first bubble of glittering greeds, Lest the bones of your hope should turn white on the Clyde, Or beside the grim fingers of Pan, which divide The canals of De Lesseps and Eads. W. W. FINK. PANDORA. From the painting by F. S. Church, owned by W. T. Evans, Esq.

Pandora 164

PANDORA. From the painting by F. S. Church, owned by W. T. Evans, Esq.

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Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 71, Issue 422 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York July 1885 0071 422
F. Marion Crawford Crawford, F. Marion The Mohammadans In India 165-181

H VRP ERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. YOL. LXXT. JULY, 1885. No. CCCCXXII. THE MOHAMMADANS IN INDIA. IN an age which professes to know so tion will gain vastly in clearness if he ac- much that even school-boys and un- quires the modern language of the land, der-graduates speak with scorn of the state and makes himself familiar with Italian of science ten years back, it is somewhat thought. But still he will probably con- surprising that the most profound igno- tinue to judge modern Italy, which he rance should prevail concerning the social thus surveys vicariously through the book- state, religion, art, and recent history of a writers, by the standard of ancient Rome; civilized nation of two hundred and fifty and thou~h if he finally goes there, he million souls. What the majority of per- will be driven to part with some of his sons to-day know about India hears about most cherished illusions, he will yet make the same relation to the reality as the tra- what he sees to fit into what he remembers, ditions about the blessed isles, extant and the comparison of these two series of in ancient Greece and Rome, would bear facts will combine to produce a more or to an accurate description of North Amer- less accurate knowledge of the country as ica in our own times, it is. There is doubtless a good excuse for But if we concentrate our attention on the prevailing ignorance about all that is a people of whose history we know no- Indian. We who are Europeans by de- thing, whose institutions, social and reli- scent, association in all that civilizes, and gious, are enveloped in a mist of comnplica- by sympathy of interests, have as a rule tion, and who inhabit a distant country very definite preconceived ideas of the na- we have never visited, the picture we call tions that come more immediately within up is likely to be kaleidoscopic, to say the the range of our observation. It would, least of it. Now India is such a country, indeed, be impossible to devote so much and Indians are just such a people. Un- time as is generally given nowadays to til the tenth century of our era India has the study of history without forming some no history whatever, unless the threads of conception, in the main a correct one, of fact supposed to exist in the two great epic the countries and peoples we read about. poems may be dignified by that name. Can any one say, for instance, that until There are a few ancient inscriptions, all he has himself visited Italy his ideas of of the reign of a great king named Asoka, that country are not greatly influenced by who seems to have ruled nearly the whole the first impressions produced from read- of India, as these records are found at im- ing the history of ancient Rome? Those mense distances from each other, and it is ideas will of course be modified if he goes believed that he reigned somewhat earlier on to study the course of events in It~dy than Philip of Macedon. But we have during the Middle Ages, and his concep- absolutely no other date by which to fix Entered according to Act of congress, in the year 1885, by harper and nrothers, in the Office of the Librarian of congress, at washington. All riqhts reserved. von. LxxT.No. 42212 166 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the actual value of Indian chronology, even the date of the birth of Buddha be- ing roughly conjectured from these in- scriptions, which are Buddhistic. The cause of this singular fact is probably to be found in the character of the Brah- manic belief, speculative in its nature and tyrannical in its application. The priests of India., who alone could have produced a history of the country, doubtless judged such matters beneath their notice, or at least beneath the dignity of being coni- mitted to writing, which was an art early set apart for the preservation of religious books. It may be, too, that the great epic poems, the Mahabbarata and the Rami~- yana, contained, for those who could read the truth out of the allegory, a sufficient account of the principal conquests of the Aryan race in the Indian peninsula. Most religions have an architecture which is peculiarly their own, from the Egyptian to the Christian, so that the mind, dwelling on the beliefs of every par- ticular Church, is tolerably certain to call up sooner or later a picture of some place of that especial worship. Probably very few persons think of Egyptian l)riests without imagining also an Egyptian tem- ple. In general it may he said that no great religion has flourished and grown strong in mens hearts which has not also impelled their hands to work for it, and to work in some especial fashion whereby its votaries have founded a school of archi- tecture. The latest-born religion of any impor- tance is that of Mohammad, and so also the latest school of building which can boast of any permanent fame in the world is that known as the Mohammadan. The fact that it was bred upon the Gothic no more deprives it of its intrinsic individu- ality than the Egyptian ori~in of Greek art makes the latter un-Greek. In one respect Mohammadan architect- ure is peculiar. It spread so rapidly and found such favor in mens eyes that in a comparatively short time it was common to a wider territory than has ever been subject to any school of building of which we know, excepting, perhaps the hideous and degenerate architecture of the pre- sent century. Wheresoever the victori- ous arms of the Prophets followers sub- dued the unbelievers to the worship of Allah, there also mosque and minaret musjid and minar soon raised their graceful arch and tracery and spire; and the region conquered by tIme Islamites has extended at one time and another from Granada to Calcutta. At present I propose to speak only of tIme Muslims in India, and of their archi- tecture, xvhmich flourishes to this day in the face of another great school of buildimig from which it differs in almost every par- ticular, nmaintaining its own individual and characteristic beauty with surprising force. Time vast populations of East India, numbering in all some two hundred and fifty million souls, are at the present day chiefly adherents to one form or another of Brahmani sin, comprehended nuder the general term of Hindus, or they are mussul- mans. Of these latter there are probably about thirty millions in India. It is a mistake to suppose that there are still any Buddhist comniunities in the country, if we except the island of Ceylon and the extreme northern territory of Nepaul. The Buddhist movement arose about five hundred years before Christ, and expired, in all probability, in the fourth century of our era. Nevertheless, as far as we cami judge, the Buddhists were the first builders and hewers of stone of whose work any traces remain, and to them is commonly attributed tIme foundation of tIme Indian school of architecture. With its ultimate origin we have nothing to do, but for those who are unfamiliar with the subject it is sufficient to say that the first specimimens of Indian building bear a strong resemblance to the Egyptian. The arch is unknown, and the massive architrave still holds its place, supported by stout pillars and square door-posts. The mate- rial in use, being more easily worked by the chisel than the granite of the Egyp- tians, has been everywhere adorned with an amazing wealth of carving, chiefly representing, in Hindu places of worship, gods and goddesses, animals of all descrip- tions, real and mythical, and battle scenes, or, in the remains of Buddhist temples, figuring endless processions of Buddhias, pagodas, men, and animals, with elaborate and highly ornamented symbols, such as wheels, trees, dagops or domes, and the like. There are tIme deep porticoes, tIme broad colonnades, and the gloomy inner shrines that continually remind time oh- servef of Egypt. Under the religious domination of the Buddhmistic monastery system, and during tIme subsequent period wlmicim saw tIme revival of Brahmanic pow- THE MOHAMMADANS IN INDIA. 167 er, this style of building grew to its mass- ive perfection, and its main points are found in every sort of edifice, or ruin of an edifice, dating from those times. But India has in all ages been exposed to the rapacious inroads of northern na- tions, more warlike, more masculine, and more fierce than herself. The Turks and the Tartars, the Afghans and the Persians, have all overrun northern India since the tenth century. Mahmoud, Mohammad of Ghor, Tam erlane, and Nadir Shah, the Per- sian conqueror of the Ia t century, have successively conquered the Panj~b, plun- dered it, and gone their ways. The power ~of the mussulman faith in the East has been second only to the power of the mus- ulrnan arms and in the successive expe ditions of the Muslim conquerors, often ending in the foundation of new cities in place of those destroyed, millions of Hin- dus were converted to the belief in one God, from their belief in several hundreds of gods. The dominating faith destroyed the sanctuaries of Brahmanism and the remains of Buddhism, and its theological offspring, Jainism, and built mosques and holy places in their stead. Hence the in- troduction of the Mohammadan architect- ure, which has now spread from one end of the country tothe other, and exists side hy side, and often in combination, with the earlier Hindu style. There is no difficulty whatever in dis- tinguishing the handiwork of Hindus and Mohammadans. The distinction is, broad- TOMB IN OLD DELHI. 168 HAIRPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ly speaking, the same as that between Greek and Gothic building. The one loves the horizontal, the massive, and the heavy; the other tends to the perpendicular, the pointed, the graceful, and the light. Greek and Hindu temples look broad; Gothic and Mohammadan churches look high. Where the Hindu would place a couple of large pilasters, thickly carved with a re- d undant mass of idol-symbols, supporting a square stone cornice, the Muslim builds a springing arch, twice the height of the Hindu erection, and taperil)g away to a point. Where the Indian carves a rich confusion of grotesque figures, the Mo- hammadan gives his chisel full freedom in the creation of every species of tracery and so-called arabesque; for the Islamite is as strictly forbidden to make to himself im- ages of living things as the Hebrew. Of the present collection of photographs, for the use of which I am indebted to the generosity of Mr. Lockwood De Forest, of New York, by far the most interesting are those representing Mohammadan buildings in Delhi, Old Delhi, and Ahmedabad. It would indeed be hard to conceive of any- thing more magnificent, more beautiful, than these splendid monuments of the Muslim empire in northern India ; nor could the imagination of poets or the skill of artists call up images more moving in their sadness or more stately in their de- cay. For ruin is everywhere encroach- ing with the years as they pass, and there is little hope that those mighty architects, whose royal bones lie mouldering in the tombs of their own building,willever again have one worthy successor. The nine- teenth century canker is at work in India as elsewhere, destroying the beautiful and producing the hideous in its place. But it would be very unjust to lay the blame of Delhis ruin wholly upon tIme English, however much they may be re- sponsible for the uncouth masses of ugli- ness iii brick and stone which they delight in rearing as earnests of their power. They destroyed much, it is true, in the disas- tcous wars of the Mutiny, as well as in tIme earlier struggles with the Sikh power iii northern India; but they are not wanton ruiners of the beautiful. To take Delhi as an instancethere is, perhaps, hardly an- other city in the known world which has been so often besieged, captured, plunder- ed, destroyed, and rebuilt. It may not be unprofitable to glance at the history of the Mohammadan conquest of India, inseparably associated as it is with this remarkable place, which has for ages been by far tIme niost important strong- hold and capital of northern India. The traditions of Delhi are said to stretch as far back as the fifteenth century B.C. ; at all events it is certain that the city is the sanme with the Indra-prastha of the Mahabharata, the residence of the fanmous Pandavas, with whose wars that immense epic chiefly deals. In the alniost total absence of anythin~ like a history of those early times we are thrown princi- pally upon tradition and probability as our means for determining the political position of Delhi. Everything points to its supremacy in the northwest. Situated on the banks of tIme great river Yamuna, now called the Jumna, it was in commu- nication by navigable waters with all the country to the eastward as far as the Bay of Bengal; and its wealth, to judge from tIme accounts of the spoils carried away by Muslini invaders, niust have beemi little short of fabulous. Delhi was, of course, a Hindu city, and stronghold of Brahmanism; and as such it was exposed to the attacks of the Bud- dhist movement, which probably reached its height at the beginning of our era. But in tIme umajority of the traditions about Delhi there is no mention whatever of the Buddlmist refornm. The Persian histo- rians, tracing a series of fabulous or senmm- fabulous dymmasties from the time of Krish- na, nmake time city of Oudh the ancient capital of the north, but without any suf- flcieimt authmority; and they attribute tIme founding of Delhi to a primice called Dehu, who reigmied about 500 B.C., and was de- thirommed and slaimm by a nmember of his owmi family, Phoor, governor of Cumaun, who became emperor, and was time father of the Phmoor, or Porus, vanquishmed by Alexander tIme Great. There is no reason to doubt. that Alexander emmtered DehImi. In time ninetieth year of our era died Bicker-Majit, a warlike prince, said to be contemporary with Sapor, time King of Per- sia. There is some confusion here, as Sa- por is well known to have been contem- porary with Constamitine the Great, in the early part of the fourth century. How- ever that may be, it is common for Hin- dus to date their umodern chronology from tIme death of Bicker-Majit, AD. 89. It is at least probable that time Hindu em- pire began to decline under Partab Chand,. THE MOHAMMADANS IN INDIA. 169 about 500 A. D., and soon after his death say about the time of the birth of Moham- mad, which was in 570the entire empire was divided amongst petty princes and chiefs, who ruled as seemed good in their own eyes, until Maldeo, a Hindu of low birth, temporarily resuscitated the title of Emperor by conquering Delhi and seizing everything he could lay hands on. The most remarkable fact in his conquests ap- pears to be that in the city of Kino,j lie found thirty thousand shops where ~rreca nuts were sold, which the Indians of that time used as tobacco; and he further seized in the same place, say the Persians, no less than sixty thousand bands of musicians and singers, who paid a tax to the govern- ment. For these facts I am indebted to Alexander Dows translations of the Per- sian histories, and if they are reliable it would appear that the street band and hand-organ nuisances are not of modern invention. So much for the traditions of Delhi prior to the Mohammadan conquest. Dur- ing all that early period the north of India had been subjected to the constant inva- sions of Persian plundere~s, and border SANDSTONE DOORWAY MULL& N. 170 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. warfare had been carried on with varying success. But the first great conquest was due to Subuctaji, a Tartar, who mounted the throne of Ghizni in the year 977. He overcame in a great battle Jeipal, King of Lahore and Kashmir and the north, to- oether with the kings of Delhi, Ajmir, Callinjer, and Kinoj. This (lecisive ac- tion was fought on the baiiks of the NilTh, the blue water, the river known to the ancients as the Hydaspes, and famous by Horaces ode: qu loca fabu~osus Lambit Hvdaspes. It is no wonder Horace called the river fabulous. It is of this place that Herodo- tus tells the wonderful tale of the ants which were smaller indeed than wolves, but larger than foxes. The ant - hills were gold-dust, and the Indians came on swift camels, filled a sack or two with the precious sand, and fled before the mon- strou~ insects discovered the theft. But to return. Jeipal survived his de- feat, and lived to oppose Mahmoud I., son of Subuctaji, and heino defeated again, he died nobly. For, says the chronicler, it was in those ages a custom of the Hiiidus that whatever rajah was twice worsted by the Muslims should be by that disgrace rendered unfit for further command. Jeipal, in compliance with this custom, having raised his son to the government, ordered a funeral pile to be prepared, upon which he sacrificed him- self to his gods. It is said that when Jeipal was captured he wore about his neck sixteen strings of jewels, of the aggregate value of one mill- ion and a half of dollars. The tales of the plunder collected by Mahmoud in his nu- merous expeditions are adorned with ev- ery species of Oriental hyperbole, but it is certain that he brought home eiiormous wealth. In his sixth expedition lie took Delhi, but relinquished the idea of annex- ing it to his dominions until lie should have assured himself of his empire over the more northerly portions of India. Mahmoud and his successors appear to have reigned at Ghizni, and s~tyled them- selves Emperors of India, for a period of about one hundred and fifty years, during which time they seem to have been gener- ally under the necessity of collecting the tribute due to them (and anything else on which they could lay hands) at the point of the sword. Meanwhile a race of valiant warriors of the same stock was thriving in the mount- ains of Ghior, from which it was destined that a conqueior should arise, of the same blood as the Ghiizni princes, but of sterner mould than any one of them since Mah- moud I. This was no other than Mohammad of Ghior, the conqueror of India and Khoras- san, and the (hoer of many valiant deeds for the true faith. In the year 1171 (567 of the Hegira) Yias-ud-din ascended the throne of Ghior, and appointed his bro- flier Mohiammad to be his general. In the course of years Mohammad conquered a vast region, and Yias proclaimed him- self Emperor of India in defiance of the house of Ghizni, thien represented by Khusero II., a feeble and degenerate de- scendant of the great Mahimoud; Moham- mad vanquished Khiusero at Lahore, and forced hini to give over his capital nd empire, which were thins transferred t& Yias. The power of the latter seems to have been nominal, for his strong brother Mohammad made peace or war as lie pleased, without condescending to con- suIt any one. This transfer took place in 1184, or thereabouts. One of Moliammads earliest exploits i~ indicative of his character. It happened in the year 1176. The general had reduced Multan to submission, and proceeded t& march against Adja, a Hindu stronghold in possession of a rajah whose name is lost. The fort was a strong one, and Mo- hiammad was soon aware that a long siege would be necessai~y. He seems, however, to have been always averse to long sieges, and lie determined to gain possession of the place by stratagem. Accordingly lie dispatched a secret niessenger into the fort. The maii sought an opportunity of speaking with the wife of the rajah, and at a convenient monient he unfolded his masters plan. Mohiammad, the lord of ages, he said, whose hand is iron and his breath a de- stroyiiig flame, bids me greet the most honorable lady of Adja, whose eyes are hike fair jewels and her hair as silk; and he furthermore bids me say that if she will accelerate the work of Allah, and shorten the hand of her husband the ra- jali, so that lie drink of the cup of des- tiny, and being removed from this vale of sorrow, be promoted to everlasting peace if she will do this good deed, she shall then be the bride of the great an~ THE MOHAMMADANS IN INDIA. 171 warlike Mohammad, who is like the tor- rents of the hills of Ghor in his wrath. With that the messenger held his peace. But the rani looked forth from her cas- tle walls and saw the hosts of Mohammad encamped, that they were boundless as the sea and numerous as the locusts. More- over, she looked into her mirror, and she saw that the hand of time was upon her, and that sh~ was old and hideous. Then she said in her heart: If I do this thing, and offer myself to Mohammad for his bride, he will be very wroth because I am not young and fair to look upon. And perchance he will slay me in his an- ger. Nevertheless, this thing must be SECTION OF KUTAB MINAP, DELHI. 172 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. managed. So she turned to the messen- ger. Tell the lord of ages, who is your mas- ter, said she, that the face of his hand- maiden is no longer smooth with youth, neither have I. as much hair as I formerly had. But I have a fair daughter, having long black eyes and a face like the full moon. If your master will marry this pearl of maidens, and leave me also the command of this territory under him, I will speedily cause my husband the rajah to be translated to a better life than lie here enjoys. And so it happened. Mohammad ac- cepted the offer, and we may hope that the rajahs end was a peaceful one. But Mohammad did not keep his promise, for he would not trust the rani with the gov- ernment of the place, but dispatched her to Ghizni, where she lived but a short time to repent of her evil deeds. Mohammad was not always victorious in his engagements, though it is said that after four out of his six expeditions to In- dia he returned laden with immense spoils. His first great defeat befell him about eighty miles from Delhi. Kandi R~ was king of that place, and, in company with his brother and some others, brought a great army to oppose Mohammad. Ow- ing to some misunderstanding, the Mus- lim wings suddenly fell back to right and left, leaving Mohammad exposed in the centre, and the panic quickly spread to his entire army, so that his generals fled in every direction. Infuriated at the pros- pect of defeat, he spurred his horse straight at the enemy, and the first foe lie encount- ered was Kandi R~ himself, mounted on a huge elephant. Rising high in his stir- rups, the mussulnian flung his spear right at the elephants face, and with such tre- mendous force as to knock out three of the beasts molar teeth. But the Hindu from his high position in the hiowdah was able to thrust downward at Mohainmad, piercing his arm, and the conqueror of Ghor would have perished then and tbere had not a handful of his chieftains swift- ly caught him and removed him to a place of safety. They were, however, hotly pur- sued by the enemy, and only escaped un- der the cloak of night. Mohammad had met with a decided check in Guzerat some years before, but it does not appear that he had been ever so signally defeated as in this engagement with the King of Delhi. Mohainmad recovered of his wound and returned to Ghizni, where lie invented for those geiierals who had deserted him one of the most original and facetious punish- nients ever devised by a sovereigns inge- nuity. He caused horses nose-bags filled with grain to be tied about their necks, and lie drove the deserters about the city, forcing them to eat the raw and dusty oats. The alternative, if they refused to eat, was instant decapitation, and the Per- sian chronicle quietly remarks that they chose the oats. It should be said that Mo- hammad afterward gave them an oppor- tunity of retrieving their honor in battle, and they covered themselves with glory. Mohiammad of Ghor had a favorite slave, of Turkish origin, named Kutab- u(l-dmn Abiek, which, by interpretation, signifies the Polar Star of Religion with the Broken Finger. This man appears to have been almost as good a general as his master. When Mohammad finally con- quered and subdued northern India lie left Kutab in charge of Koram, and the slave - general took the first opportunity that offered for seizing Mirat and Delhi. In the latter city he established himself, and became to all intents and purposes King of India, under the supreme empire of Mohammad. But I can not find that he ever showed the least inclination to re- volt into independent sovereignty, and lie was faithful to Mohiammad until the lat- ter was assassinated by the Gikars, after which event lie reigiied independently in Delhi. Kutab killed the Rajah of Benares in battle, and so thick was the fight that the princes body was lost among the heaps of slain, and was oiily recognized, some time after, by the false teeth lie had worn, which were held in place with gold wedges and wires. Kutab was a great builder as well as a devout believer and a brave general. The Kutab Minar still stands in the ruins of Delhi to testify to his skill and love of the beautiful. It is probably the highest iso- lated tower in the world, and certainly far exceeds every rival in symmetry and beauty. There was formerly a great mosque standing at its base, and a few crumbling ruins still mark the founda- tions. The extent of the ruins kbout modern Delhi is immense. Old Delhi, as it is called, covers an area of no less than for- ty-five square miles. At one end of this great space Shah Jehan built modern Del- hi in the middle of the seventeenth cen- tury. The latter, however, did not make his court at Delhi, but preferred Agra, where he built the famous Taj Mahal as a tomb for his favorite sultana, Mumtaza Zemani, and endqwed a monastery of Fakirs whose sole duty it was to tend the shrine. But Mohammad of Ghor and Kutab, his successor in India, lived some. five hundred years before Shah Jehan and Delhi had yet to suffer the barbarities of Tamerlane the destroyer, who is most likely responsible for a great part of the vast ruins that stretch away from the pre- sent city. There is probably no chapter of the worlds history so crammed with fighting PALACE IN AGRA. 174 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. as that which chronicles the doings in India from the tenth century to the fourteenth, and to endeavor to condense any account of the numerous sieges suffered by Delhi and by many another city of northern In- dia during that period would be to pro- duce a picture of unceasing bloodshed and of wearisome sameness. The charac- ter of Timur Beg, or Tamerlane, however, is so very extraordinary as to merit de- scription. From him dates the famous Moghul Empire, finally extinguished in the present century by absorption into the East India Company. His successors, says Gibbon, ex- tended their sway from the mountains of Kashmir to Cape Comorin, and from Kandahar to the Gulf of Bengal. Since the reign of Aurungzebe their empire has been dissolved, their treasures of Del- hi have been rifled by a Persian robber (Nadir Shah), and the richest of their kingdoms is now possessed by a company of Christian merchants of a remote island in the Northern Ocean. It is said that Timnr Beg was a grave man, of quiet manners, halt of one hand and one foot, and (lelighting in the game of chess, which he greatly complicated by doubling the number of pieces from thir- ty-two to sixty-four. He is described as ruling his household with calm equityby no means sparing his sons from the ob- servance of the law; temperate and regu- lar in his life, and aiming ever at the es- tablishment of an ideal kingdom where a child might carry a purse of gold in safe- ty from east to west of the Asian conti- nent. How a man of such character could at the same time be so emphatically the arch - destroyer of mankind is not clear. As for the authority lie exercised over his children, it is at least certain that when lie invaded India, his grandson Pir Mu- hammad had made a little war for himself at Multan, and would have perished mis- erably had his grandfather not conie to his rescue. How young Pir went out to coiiquer India on his own account is not told, but it is certain that Timur was not provoked to any act of sharp justice. Ti- murs sons seem to have only waited for his death to tear each other to pieces at their leisure. Timur, the wild chess-player, signalized his successes in India by a series of bar- barous massacres. At one time on one day alone he murdered one hundred thou- sand prisoners in cold blood, lest they should turn against him. Having con- quered the weak Mabmoud III. before Delhi, he entered the city, and had him- self proclaimed emperor in all the mosques on Friday (the Muslim Sunday), and im- mediately left the city to the mercy of his Mogh ul soldiers, who bummed, pin ndered, and slew till they were weary. He after- ward returned, amid gave evidence of his t ste for the beautiful by ordering the fa- inous mosque of Ferose, which hind escaped the flames, to be copied in Samarkand. These doings of Timu r appear tIme more barbarous when we remember that he was hiniseif a mussulman sacking a mussul- man kings city, and slaying by the hun- dred thousand his inussulman subjects. He had miot the excuse which he subse- quently alleged in support of his expedi- tiomi agaimist China, that he was carrying time faith of the Prophet imito a. heathen country. Time kingdom founded by Mo- hammad of Ghor was essentially Muslim, and its invasion by Tamerlane was as purely arbitrary an act of plunder as was the coimquest of his own successors by Na- dir Shah, time Persiami freebooter of the eighteenth century. Titnur died of drinking too much iced water, on the march to China in 1405. As was to be expected, his kingdom, or em- pire, fell to pieces, amid for a hundred and tweimty years a series of parvenu emperors of all sorts reigned at Delhi, besieging it, taking it, amid holding it as they were able. TIme next great conqueror of India was destined to be a (lescendant of Tamerlane, Zelmir-ud-dhm Mohammad Baber, common- ly known as Baber, tIme founder of the Mo- ghmul Empire. According to Dows version of the Per- siami hiistoriamms, the relation between Ti- mur and Baber was as follows: Sultan Abu Said, the grandfather of Baber, was the somi of Muhammad, time son of Miran Shah, the grandson of Tamerlane. Gibbon, however, though quoting from the sanie source, makes Miran Slmah the third son of Tamer- lane a confusion due to time ambiguity of Dows language. Baber was oime of thmose extraordinary individuals who seem born to be defeated, trampled upon, amid overthrown once in every few years, until some lucky chance gives them a complete and final victory. Twice lie was totally discomfited and left with a mere hmamidful of followers, and no apparent hope of retrieving his fortunes. Once his enemies attenmpted to murder him THE MOHAMMADANS IN INDIA. 17 by stealth, and he escaped alone and very Nevertheless, this wanderer finally sue- scantily clothed, running barefoot across ceeded in winning for himself a throne, country for many miles to a place of safe- which his descendants held until recent ty. On another occasion he was deserted times. He used to say of himself that he in battle, and slew five of the enemys gen- was the foot-ball of fortune, like a piece erals with his own hand. of wood on a chess-board, moved from RANI SEPRE MOSQUE, ARMEDABAD. 176 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. place to place, vagrant as the moon in the ed his command, and it has been interpret- sky, and restless as the stone upon the ed to mean every living thing. Moham beach. madan rulers have never even stamped After four or five fruitless expeditions their coins with portraits of themselves, to Hindustan, he finally overthrew and but only with superscriptions and dates. killed Ibrahim, Emperor of India, in a But the Hindu mind is naturally very great battle, entered Delhi, and establish- imaginative, arid is not easily satisfied ed himself on the throne. From him de- with any simple form of belief. The scended in unbroken succession the Mo- three-hundredfold pantheon offers some ghul emperors, whose power was weak- especial attraction to each individual, and, ened and reduced to a shadoxv b~~Nadir as among the Egyptians of old, every man Shalt of Persia in the eighteenth century, may carry his god in his pocket, without and by the Mahratta Hindus, but was not any particular disbelief in his neighbors totally destroyed until the English got favorite deity, who may he quite as pow- possession of Hindustan at the beginning erful, but is not so sympathetic to his own of the present century. taste. On the whole, a Hindu is more I have thus endeavored to mark out the hikelx- to turn atheist than to become a course of the principal events which led Mohammadan, and the conversion of to the establishment of a Mohammadan Hindus to Christianity has been entire- empire in India. Of the great conquer- ly insignificant. The only conversions of ors who carried thither their arms and any historical importance were those of their faith, Baber was probably the great- St. Francis Xavier, who made Christians est, and events proved how solid a founda- of the inhabitants of Goa, in southern In- tion he laid for the sovereignty of his suc- dia, by a military process of persuasion cessors. now no longer employed in matters of re- As regards the influence of the Muslims ligion. in India, there is much to be said, both The Mobammadans brought with theni good and bad. That the mussulman faith to India their faith, their strong, manly is superior as an ethic institution to the characteristics, and their wonderful archi- Brahmanic belief may well be doubted. tecture, which has entirely pervaded the If the principles which govern the lives of \ land. It is almost always possible to dis- the best Brahmans could be clearly and I tinguish Mohammadans from Hindus at succinctly taught, they would be found to! sight. They generally wear beards, where- coiitain excellent elements of public mo- as the Hindu is shaved, save for his mus- rality. Unfortunately, however, Brah- ~ tache; they are more erect, more muscu- manism is dressed and adorned with a lar, and of bolder aspect; they wear their m ultitude of symbolism and tawdry idol- clothes differently, for all Mohammadans atry which only confuses the simple-mind- button their white linen garments or their ed, and furnishes food for the sarcasms of cloth caftans as we dothat is to say, the the wise. The danger of symbolism is ev- left side is brought over the right-where- ery where the same. The ignorant will al- as all Hindus button the right side of their ways confound the symbol with the attn- coats over the left. butes of that God in whose honor symbols But wherever there are mussulmans, are invented, there you will find their graceful mina- It is for this reason that Brahmanism, rets and mosques, their domed sepulchres or Hinduism, by which I mean to signi- and solitary tombs, their light balconies fy the principal Brabmanic sects of wor- and pointed doorways, contrasting with ship now prevalent in India, has degener- the heavy architecture of the Hindus. ated into the grossest idolatry as far as the There are to be found in private dwell- mass of Hindus are concerned. Moham- ings in Ahmedabad, a mussulman city in madanism, on the other hand, has main- the west of India, such specimens of beau- tamed in a great measure its original faith. tiful design and exquisite workmanship as in an invisible and supreme God. This is are hardly to be met with anywhere else. due to the extreme simplicity of the re- There is, for instance, a round balcony, higion in its beginnings, excluding as it of which there is an illustration on page does every kind of image worship by the 179, from a photograph of the South Ken- prime prohibition, Thou shalt not make sington collection, and which I believe to a graven image of anything having a be wholly unique in conception. The soul. That is the way the Prophet word- material is wood, but the material is al THE MOHAMMADANS IN INDIA. 177 ways a matter of indifference where per- fection of form and of proportion is at- tained. The balcony rests on a. serm- pedestal set into the wall. The parapet is very low, and suppoits five separate fluted colunins, which taper to small square cap- it is, upon which again are raised light arches to carry the circular, umbrella-like canopy. The last projects far out, and is fringed with a number of small wooden balls. The whole construction is richly covered with lotus leaves, and thus affords an illustration of the way the Muslim art- ists took the beantiful when they found it. The proportion of this wonderfully per- fect balcony is worthy of note, as show- ing that the relation of parts which most pleases is seldom arbitrary. Upon accu- rate measurement it will be fonnd that from the foot of the pedestal, unfortunately DETAIL OF RANT SEPRE MOSQUE. 178 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. marred by a later wall, to the edge of the parapet, is precisely the length of one of the columns from its foot to the top edge of the square capital. And from the top of the capital to the top of the umbrella is exactly half that length. Considering the whole as divided into five equal parts, the pedestal and parapet have two of them, the columns two, and the umbrella roof, or baldacchino, as the Italians would call it, has one part. The dilapidated houses seen immediately adjoining this exquisite bit are of course of recent date. Another instance of this fine proportion is a sandstone doorway of a palace in Multan--the city where Pir Mohammad, the grandson of Tanierlane, so nearly came to signal grief. The inside width of this door is just half its height to the top of the fluting of the arch from the lowest step between the stone piers. It is impossible to conceive of anything more artistic than the carving and tracery surrounding and covering the outer arch. The inscription at the top is in Sanskrit character, and as far as I can decipher it sets forth that the house is the abode of the maharajah Sri- rama Candraji, and was built in the year 1522 of the Hindus, or 1609 of our era that is to say, shortly before the invasion of Nadir Shahbut the date is obscure. It is uncommon to find buildings in the Mo- hiammadan style erected by Hindu princes, and it is probable that this mahiarajah was a convert to Islam at the time he erected his palace. Among the most beautiful monuments of Muslim genius must be counted the IRani Sepre Mosque at Abmedabad. The whole city is full of beautiful specimens of Mohammadan as well as of Hindu archi- tecture, and it would seem that the inhab- itants of this distant city, being some- what less frequently massacred and robbed and burned out than their niore eastern brethren, had found more leisure and wealth to devote to lasting proofs of their io wer. The Rani Sepre Musjid consists of two extensive buildings of sandstone, between which is a broad court, smoothly paved with the same material. Two graceful minarets stand at the angles of one of these buildings. The outer walls of the one building consist entirely of beautiful sand- stone screen-work, open to the air, giving the most exquisite play of light and shade through the lace-like patterns. The domes, the minarets, and the screen- work are essentially Mohammadan, but there are details of the building and some main features which would not be found in a mosque out of India. The square peristyle with the massive square columns and straight architrave show a strong leaning toward the Hindu manner. The curved cylinders of stone which support the balcony oii the left are essentially In- diai, and the whole structure has the broad look which I have already spoken of as characteristic of the Hindu temples. There is also something heavy about the ornamentation at the base of the walls that suggests a Southern bent in the archmi- tects geiiius. Many of the details of the fretwork have been accurately copied by Mr. De Forests Indian carvers in dark wood, and are now in New York. I find the same Indian peculiarities in many of the other photographs of mosques in Ah- medabad. One of the most remarkable of these is the great Jumma Musjid. The gateway is of gigantic size, for the pilasters at the sides are over forty feet in height, and the arch is over thirty feet to the point. There is a most imposin~ dignity and grandeur about it, and it might well be copied by our Western architects iii preference to the wretched models they select in their shameful attempts at building. One looks at the works of those simple Southern art- ists, who did not disdain to handle the trowel and the chisel themselves, and one can not help wondering how it is that any creature above tIme level of an idiot in in- telligence can tolerate for a moment the gaudy hideousness of modern buildings. Modern architecture seems as far removed from good taste as the Sunday go-to-meet- ing rig of aii Irish cook is renmoved from the classic drapery of a Greek statue or even from the most expensive productions of Mr. Worth. And yet most ages have agreed in pla- cing architecture at tIme head of all the arts, not excepting sculpture amid paint- iHO. Among tIme purely Muslim specimens of architecture I would place tIme palace at Agra, tIme Kutab Minar, of which I have already spoken, and a tomb in Old Delhi. Of tIme first it is hardly necessary to speak, for it is famous everywhere. The whole is of white marble, richly inlaid, and the carving is simple, but most exquisite. It is worth while to notice the hightimess of tIme polygonal columims, especially about THE MOHAMMADANS IN INDIA. 179 he base, as compared with the heaviness of the same points in the Rani Sepre pen- style. The distinctive char- acter of the Mohanimadan style is its li~,htness and grace; and though the cob nmns here support a fiat cornice and not a series of pointed arches, yet the effect is that of height rather than breadth. Of the Kutab Minar I have iready said that it was erect- d by Kutab, the slave-gen- cral of Mohammad Ghori, to ccompany a great mosque, which latter has been de- stroyed. It is ther~fore a very ancient monument. A section only is here given, from which the whole may be imagined, on the principle of cx pede Herculcmller- cules by his foot alone, and none other. The angle of inclination of the sides to- ward the central perpen- dicular is apparently about ii~ 15, or the eighth part of a right angle. The whole is higher than the tower of Giotto in Florence, and is in its own style, quite as per- fect a masterpiece of genius. The tomb is a fine speci- men of the severe style of ornamentation. The friezes consist in great part of in- criptions in the Persian character, but so intricately twined and ornamented as to be incomprehensible to any one but aa expert in such matters. It is the custom an ornamental writing to dis- pose the letters rather with regard to effect than with a view to their legibility. India abounds with Mo- hammadan tombs, from which the bodies have often been removed, so that the buildings are nsed for other purposes. I remember that while in India I once lived in one of these burial-places. Life is so simple there that the only requi- site is a cool and spacious dwelling. Very little furniture suffices for a man s wants, and a tomb is no bad place in the hot wea- ther, though the native servants sometimes quarrel on account of the ghosts, and the ghests themselves have a sportive fancy for small movable articles of value. BALCONY IN ABMEDABAD. 180 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. It is sad to reflect that what was pos- sible in India a hundred years ago and less should now be so no longer. Eng- lish architects have built court-houses and treasuries of such deformity and ug- liness that the very youngest and most beardless officer holds his sides with laugh- ter when he sees them. It seems as though nothing beautiful could any longer be pro- duced, and the true spirit of the country is crushed and stamped out. In this state of things the example set by Mr. De Forest, of New York, can not be too highly praised. He has made a bold step toward a revival of one branch at least of Indian art in setting up an es- tablishment for wood-carving at Ahmeda- bad, where sixty skilled workmen are con- tinually employed in turning out such magnificent pieces of chiselling as the two copies of the Buddha Mosque windows, otie of which was illustrated iii this Mag- azine for tune, 1883. It should not be long before a demand for carvings of this kind is created, for they surpass, both in freedom of conception and skill of exe- cution, anything now produced by West- ern artisans. The American artists work- shop has sent to New York many beauti- ful specimens, some copied from stone tra- ceries on mosques and temples into wood, some the result of original design, but all very excellent products of true art, the art that orows into shape under the work- mans hand and eye, instead of being de- signed by stencil and executed by the steam-lathe. That a revival of such art in Iiidia is possible is proved beyond a doubt by Mr. De Forests experiment. He seems to have had no great difficulty in procur- ing men more or less fitted to undertake whatever tasks he set them, and. to judge by the results, something of the old cmi- thusiasm must have laid hold on them, and some spark of forgotten pre-eminence must have tingled in their fingers as they carved out tIme wondrous traceries. Where such magnificent models exist in such rich abundance, even accurate re- productions of 01(1 wood-work may easily yield an astonishing variety. Not a city in India but has some treasure of work- manship expended in the adornment of temple and street. Not a street but has some wonderful carved balcony or grace- ful latticed jdl, behind which flits now and then a white drapery, while a pair of sparkling eyes, not always indicative of other beauties in the possessor, peer cu riously out upon the passer-by. And ev- erywhere in these carvings there are wrought symbolical figures and heads of animals and gods, or delicate traceries and arabesques if the work be Mohammadan. The beams that support the balcony are chiselled on the outer end into the sem- blance of some mythic beast, and the bear- ing-stays are model led with marvellous richness. Below is tIme strcet door, gen- erally made of two huge slabs of wood, one for each side, and scooped deep in checkered squares, the long movable bolt- lock sliding through the links of short chains and through hasps set in the threshold or lintel. Mr. De Forest has a pair of these doors in New York. Again, the rude temple, only stucco and wood, has mouldings that at least suggest the forms of beauty; the poor ryot who scatters a few wild flowers, his only pos- sible offering, before the figure of the co~v, and sprinkles a scooped-up handful of wa- ter over the image, tinkles an old bronze bell to call the god, and laughs at the sound, foolishly enough ; but the bell hangs as often as not by a chain so cun- ningly twisted and hammered that it would grace any hall in Europe. Thirty years ago, before the Mutiny, In- dia was Indian enough. Now there is great risk of her being turned into a dust-heal) for Englamids architectural rubbish, into a field where tIme most worthless tares of the worlds crop of civilization will grow most speedily. Thirty years of staguation in art easily grow to fifty, and fifty become a century. and art is lost forever with the death of the last artist, after which Eu- mope will begin to see what has been lost, and her architects and decorators will rush to India, amid returning will flood us with cheap imitations of things once beautiful, turned out by the hundred dozen by Bir- mingham and other artistic centres, eveii as we are now suffering at every turn from this slatternly mnedii~valisni that has neither sense, purpose, imor beauty. All homior and encouragement, themi, to a for- eign artist who has made a bold attempt to set Indians once more to Indian work, to revive tIme drooping life of a graceful art in the only place where the revival of any art is really possiblein time country to which it belongs by birth and inher- itance, where it has grown to maturity under its own sun, and where it may yet bring forth ami abundant harvest of beauty. 1.FLYING MOUNTAIN. T HE crag~y height is won! 0 smiling sea, tranquilly lulling breast The islands dream! We too with Memory Will muse awhile and rest. St. Saviors Valley, bright with morning dew, Low at our feet in waking beauty glows, Its borders tinted with the sea-shell hue Of the wild way-side rose. The tide flows inland; not a sound is heard; No whirl of worldly tumult here is known; Hither across the wave the ocean bird Flies homeward and alone. Twice has the century plant its ripened flower Opened and scattered on this breezy crag, And full again its blossom, since the hour When France her ]ily fiat, Flung oer these unknown waters. Wild with glee, The sailors moored, and vowed to roam no more; But three, in priestly vestments, reverently Knelt as they touched the shore. To them the grandeur of the mountain isle Had but one meaning, woke but one desire To speed the hour when all these heights should smile Upon their altar fire. A cross of rude device was planted here, The first uplifted on New Englands shore, And Gloria in excelsis floated clear The wondering woodlands oer. Brief was the sojourn of these pilgrims brave, Patient in toil, content to pray and wait, ) A P~}7 YoL LXXJ.No. 422.i 3 MIDSUMMER ON MOUNT DESERT.

Frances L. Mace Mace, Frances L. Midsummer On Mount Desert 181-188

1.FLYING MOUNTAIN. T HE crag~y height is won! 0 smiling sea, tranquilly lulling breast The islands dream! We too with Memory Will muse awhile and rest. St. Saviors Valley, bright with morning dew, Low at our feet in waking beauty glows, Its borders tinted with the sea-shell hue Of the wild way-side rose. The tide flows inland; not a sound is heard; No whirl of worldly tumult here is known; Hither across the wave the ocean bird Flies homeward and alone. Twice has the century plant its ripened flower Opened and scattered on this breezy crag, And full again its blossom, since the hour When France her ]ily fiat, Flung oer these unknown waters. Wild with glee, The sailors moored, and vowed to roam no more; But three, in priestly vestments, reverently Knelt as they touched the shore. To them the grandeur of the mountain isle Had but one meaning, woke but one desire To speed the hour when all these heights should smile Upon their altar fire. A cross of rude device was planted here, The first uplifted on New Englands shore, And Gloria in excelsis floated clear The wondering woodlands oer. Brief was the sojourn of these pilgrims brave, Patient in toil, content to pray and wait, ) A P~}7 YoL LXXJ.No. 422.i 3 MIDSUMMER ON MOUNT DESERT. 182 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. For riding fast upon the troubled wave Came Argalls ship of fate! A sudden rain of fire, the swift advance Of gleaming arms upon a helpless band, And cross of Rome and flowery flag of France Fell neath the Britons hand. No sign remains. The dew-bespangled moss Safe in its breast the burial secret keeps, But on this plain, beneath his shattered cross, Du Thet, the gallant, sleeps. Soldier and priest! From Flying Mountains height We render homage to a sacred spot: Thine the first grave in all this valley bright, The last to be forgot. Fall softly, blossoms of the century tree! Long would we keep our isles historic fame; Teach thy blue waves to whisper, faithful sea, St. Saviors ancient name! 11.THE SEA-WALL. Not always Summer rules the isle, Though here her chosen kingdom be: Against this surf-beat wall has warred A wild and angry sea. For when, in days of old, arose Fresh from the deep this wave-washed pi1e~ Down from his throne of mountains looked The Genius of the Isle, And bade his Titans, ocean-born, These strong abutments bring from far, Against the demons of the storm To build a mighty bar. Then wrathfully the Ocean rose; His gathered waves with sullen roar, Unbroken over leagues of space, Came thundering to the shore. Again, again, with clouds of foam, White flying banners in his wake He smote upon the grand sea-wall He stormed but could not break. And still the fisher furls his sail And hides from breaker and from rock,, When in his hours of wrath time Sea Renews the ancient shock. For rocks are scattered in his path Like leaves in the autumnal gale, And pallid faces drift to shore Whose dumb lips tell no tale. But while the tide shall come and go, While tempests rage and sunbeams smile,~ Safe guarded by its giant wall Shall bloom the Mountain Isle. 183 MIDSUMMER ON MOUNT DESERT. 0 RUShING WAVE, FLOW PAST TH~ SEAWARD CLIFF. III.~MERMAIDS CAVE. 0 rushing wave, Flow past the seaward cliff, the broken shore, And in the deep recesses of the cave Call the sea-nymphs once more! Is it so long Since here they sat, with pearl and amber wreathed, And to the sea, that loved them well, a song Of kindred rapture breathed? A thousand years! But what is that to Oceans memory! 184 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Still from the cliff drop slow the misty tears Of the unchanging Sea. Still ebb and flow, Seeking and calling with perpetual moan, Thou~h but the sea-flowers in the twilight glow And give no answering tone! With every breeze Send forth a message, southward, westward blown; Tell them pink-petaled, bright anemones Have in their foot-prints grown. And some soft day Of rich midsummer may the wanderers bring, In this dim grotto evermore to stay, Beloved of Oceans King. JYBAR HARBOR. The island city glitters on the bay, Pride of the sunimer sea And sky and wave exultant homage pay Her blooming royalty. The harbor gleams with myriad snowy sail That wait her queenly will: She wraps the mist about her like a veil, And every oar is still. But as the Sun outpours his ardent ray, Afar her beauties show; Bright awnings, snowy tents, pavilions gay, With life and lustre glow. No hiding- place is this for mournful fate; No sorrow here is guest: These summer palaces are dedicate To pleasure and to rest. Here Fashion plumes her brilliant, airy wing And brightens sea and shore A rainbow-colored, transitory thing, Now here, now seen no more. Pleased with the brief, exotic revelry Of this ephemeral train, In proud delight the city of the sea Assumes imperial reign; While in his solitude, serene and high, The Island Genius sits, Unconscious of the rose-winged butterfly Which oer his footstool flits! VEAGLE LAKE. Far up the slope, by mountain breezes fanned, This shining silver cup, As if to some great spirits beckoning hand, Ihe hills have lifted up. MIDSUMMER ON MOUNT DESERT. 185 7 ~1 Down the bright wave the shadows come and go, The answering ripples stir. Drifting we watch, in gorge and glen below, Dark woods of pine and fir; We lift our eyes, and high above us tower Turrets of barren rock, Gray, massive heights where foliage and flower Shriak from the tempests shock. How long this fair expanse, so beauteous still, Only the eagle knew, When to his eyrie on yon frowning hill With eager cry he flew! How long the Indians stealthy pathway led Up from the island shore, And though the wild-eyed deer before him fled, He paused to gaze once more! ~.. ~(4~~K - THE ISLAND CITY GLITTERS ON TIlE BAY. 186 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Yet as to-day we dip the gleaming oar And gayly float along, While happy voices from the further shore Hail us with shout and song, As fresh, as full with dew of forest rills, This silver, mountain cup, As when to some Great Spirit of the hills It first was lifted up. VTSUNRISE ON GREEN MOUNTAIN. A pale gray light, a single line of rose Reveal where Night and Dawn Are scattering blossoms at the Orient shrine Of the approaching Morn. The mountain-tops below this utmost height Are still in shadow; in the vale tis night. Afar the ocean slumbers, and it seems Upon its tranquil breast To clasp its islands, lulled last night to sleep, In mornings sweeter rest. SUNRISE ON GREEN MOUNTAIN. MIDSUMMER ON MOUNT DESERT. 187 For, leagues away, the sea is silent, save Where island shores feel the caressing wave. But from the forest hills which circle round A long low bugle note From the white-throated sparrow of the woods Begins to swell and float; Bird answers bird; the music soars until The mountains with their matin chorus thrill. Now Nature scarcely breathes. A mellow glow, Broader, intenser, higher, Flushes the eastern world from zone to zone And are the clouds on fire? For suddenly a dazzling splendor lights The outer edges of yon heavenly heights. it is the signal fire! The lower land, Hushed and unconscious still, Delays its worship till the coming sun Salutes the monarch hill. Awake, ye valleys! lift the jubilant lay! For on the mountain-top I speak alone with Day! NIECHO LAKE. In sunset beauty lies the lake, A limpid, lustrous splendor! FLOAT NEARER STILL AND DROP TR OAR. 188 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The mists which wrapped the mountain break, And Storm Cliffs rugged outlines take An aspect warm and tender. Now listen! for a spirit dwells High in these mountain nooks and dells. Echo! Echo! Hail to thee! Hail to thee! Sad Echo, mocked of all her kind, Here haunts the fleeting summer And sends her voice upon the wind, Still hoping long-lost love to find In every transient comer. Not where mid silver beeches shines The lakes pellucid fountain But high oer tangled shrubs and vines She dwells amid the spectral pines, The spectre of the mountain. Float nearer still and drop the oar, Here where the lilies glisten: 0 Echo, we return no more; For us beyond the island shore True love doth long and listen. Thou grievest not, nor dost rejoice, 0 wandering, solitary Voice! Echo! Echo! Farewell! Farewell! A DAYS DRIVE WITH MONTANA COW-BOYS. SOFTLY outlined in dark masses, a wall in the east against the clear sky, over which the first faint flush of early morn- ing is slowly stealing, height upon height, rise the mountains. Gray in the shadow of still lingering night, the wide plain stretches at their feet. In the blue dome above, the stars, going to rest after their nocturnal vigil over the slumbering earth, extinguish their shining lanterns one by one, and the moon, veiling her mild face in the fleecy folds of a soft, low-lying white cloud, is slowly sinking below the horizon, as if fleeing in maiden modesty before the ardent gaze of the coming sun- god. Rosy red, glowing as with a deep warm fire, brighter and brighter grows the sky; darker, yet more clearly in the rich pur- ple of their shadows, loom the mountains, until the sun, shooting long, glittering shafts of yellow light up to the zenith from behind them, sheds the reflection of its approaching glory far over the level surface of the prairie, chasing away the shades of night and rousing sleeping na- ture from her dreams. Down in tIme camp, in the shelter of a~ grove of loxv trees hard by the bank of the little stream which cuts through the plain, winding in graceful curves until lost in the mouth of the cafion over there in the mountains, they are already astir, and the smoke of the watch-fire, replen- ished with an armful of the dry sage- brush and burning brightly, rolls upward in a straight blue column, while the black face of the negro cook, shining like pol- ished ebony in contrast with the huge flapping white felt hat that overshadows

Rufus Fairchild Zogbaum Zogbaum, Rufus Fairchild A Day's "Drive" With Montana Cow-Boys 188-193

188 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The mists which wrapped the mountain break, And Storm Cliffs rugged outlines take An aspect warm and tender. Now listen! for a spirit dwells High in these mountain nooks and dells. Echo! Echo! Hail to thee! Hail to thee! Sad Echo, mocked of all her kind, Here haunts the fleeting summer And sends her voice upon the wind, Still hoping long-lost love to find In every transient comer. Not where mid silver beeches shines The lakes pellucid fountain But high oer tangled shrubs and vines She dwells amid the spectral pines, The spectre of the mountain. Float nearer still and drop the oar, Here where the lilies glisten: 0 Echo, we return no more; For us beyond the island shore True love doth long and listen. Thou grievest not, nor dost rejoice, 0 wandering, solitary Voice! Echo! Echo! Farewell! Farewell! A DAYS DRIVE WITH MONTANA COW-BOYS. SOFTLY outlined in dark masses, a wall in the east against the clear sky, over which the first faint flush of early morn- ing is slowly stealing, height upon height, rise the mountains. Gray in the shadow of still lingering night, the wide plain stretches at their feet. In the blue dome above, the stars, going to rest after their nocturnal vigil over the slumbering earth, extinguish their shining lanterns one by one, and the moon, veiling her mild face in the fleecy folds of a soft, low-lying white cloud, is slowly sinking below the horizon, as if fleeing in maiden modesty before the ardent gaze of the coming sun- god. Rosy red, glowing as with a deep warm fire, brighter and brighter grows the sky; darker, yet more clearly in the rich pur- ple of their shadows, loom the mountains, until the sun, shooting long, glittering shafts of yellow light up to the zenith from behind them, sheds the reflection of its approaching glory far over the level surface of the prairie, chasing away the shades of night and rousing sleeping na- ture from her dreams. Down in tIme camp, in the shelter of a~ grove of loxv trees hard by the bank of the little stream which cuts through the plain, winding in graceful curves until lost in the mouth of the cafion over there in the mountains, they are already astir, and the smoke of the watch-fire, replen- ished with an armful of the dry sage- brush and burning brightly, rolls upward in a straight blue column, while the black face of the negro cook, shining like pol- ished ebony in contrast with the huge flapping white felt hat that overshadows it, is bent over the camp kettle, filled to the brim with steaming coffee for the mens breakfast, some of whom stand, stretching their limbs and yawning, around the fire, while others wander down to the stream to make their hasty toilet, calling to one or two sleepy comrades looking up with slumber - clouded eyes and dishevelled heads from out of the heap of blankets and buffalo-robes spread on the ~,round. The horses are picketed near by, and are cropping the nutrition bunch grass; and scattered on all sides for a mile or more over the plain, some still lying on the soft ground, others standing reposefully in little groups, chewing the cud and sniffing the sweet, cool morning air, are hundreds of sharp-horned, half- A cow-Boy. 190 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. savage cattle, their forms relieving dark against the yellowish-brown expanse of prairie. Up comes the sun over the mountains; brighter and brighter glows the sky. Away off there, loping stealthily along, now stopping for a moment to look back over their shoulders, now trotting on again, a few coyotes are sneaking back, with drooping bushy tails and pointed ears, to the cover of the little coulees and mound-shaped buttes at the base of the hills, like coward prowlers of the night seeking their dens at the coming of the light. The discordant, laughing cry of the magpie, flitting from bush to bush by the banks of the little river, mingles with the whistle of the broad-winged curlew, and far, far up in the heavens two black specks in the blue ether, swinging round and round in great circles, an eagle and his mate are soaring. Rustle now, boys, rustle! for you have a long and hard days work before you. You must get away in the cool of the morning, for these hundreds of cattle must be driven through the narrow caiion in the mountain to-day, and the evening must find them slaking their thirst in the cool streams and feeding on the rich bunch grass on the great plains on the other side of the divide. Rustle there, you lazy fellows! No time for monkey- ing round now. Roll up your bedding, pack your wagon, get your breakfast, and away! A picturesque, hardy lot of fellows, these wild cow-boys, as they sit on the ground by the fire, each man with his can of coffee, his fragrant slice of fried bacon on the point of his knife-blade, or sandwiched in between two great hunks of bread, rapidly disappearing before the onslaughts of appetites made keen by the pure, invigorating breezes of these high plains. See that brawny fellow with the crisp, tight-curling yellow hair growing low down on the nape of his massive neck rising straight and supple from the low collar of his loose flannel shirt, his sun-browned face with the piercing gray eyes looking out from under the broad brim of his hat, his lower limbs clad in the heavy chapsor leather overalls stained a deep reddish -brown by long use and exposure to wind and weather, his revolver in its holster swinging from the cartridge - filled belt, and his great spurs tinkling at every stride, as, having drained the last drop of coffee, he puts down the can, and turns from the fire toward the horses, picking up as he goes the huge heavy leather saddle, with its high pommel and streaming thongs of rawhide, that has served him as a pillow during the night. Quickly his cayuse is saddled, the great broad hair-rope girths tightly sinched,the huge bit slipped into the unwilling mouth, and with a bound the active fellow is in the sad- dle. Paw, pony, paw; turn your eyes till the whites show; lay your pointed ears back; squeal and kick to your hearts content. Oh, buck away! you have found your master; for the struggle does not last long. The practiced hand, the heavy spurs, and stinging whip soon repeat the almost daily lesson, and with one last wicked shake of the head the wiry cay- use breaks into his easy lope, and away go horse and rider to their appointed sta- tion on the flank of the great drove. The others soon follow, camp is brok- en, the wagon securely packed ready for the road, and the work of the day com- mences. The cattle seem to know what is coming. On the edges of their scattered masses the steers lift their heads and gaze, half stupidly, half frightened, at the flying horsemen; as the flanks are turned they begin closing in toward one another, mov- ing up in little groups to a common cen- tre. Now and then a steer or some young bull, more headstrong or more terrified than his comrades, breaks away and can- ters off clumsily over the prairie. In a moment lie is pursued, headed off, turned, and driven in toward the herd again. As they close in massto use an apt mili- tary phrase rounded up on all sides by the swift-riding cow-boys, they are gently urged onward by the drivers in the rear, until the whole herd is slow- ly moving forward, feeding as they go, in a loose wide column, headed toward the break in the mountains that indicates the mouth of the cafion through which it is to pass. Gradually the prairie is crossed; quietly and gently the nervous brutes are crowd- ed more closely together; two or three of the men gallop on ahead to the opening of the pass, guarded by two cone-shaped mounds like redoubts thrown out to pro- tect the entrance to the fastnesses of the mountains, in order to head off stragglers and to turn the leaders of the herd into the narrow trail that runs in between the A DAYS DRIVE WITH MONTANA COW-BOYS. 191 high, tree-covered, rocky walls of the cafion. So! so-o-o! gently calling, quiet- ly and patiently urging, the drivers bunch the horned multitude together into one almost compact mass. So-o-o! So! gen- tly! gently! push, boys, push in from both sides, curb your horses, keep them quiet. So! so! drive slowly from the rear, press on slowly, yet firmly, until the head of the herd enters the pass. Patter! patter! patter! the rushing, con- fused roar of hundreds of hoofs striking the hard road-bed, a queer sound, filling the air with a low yet penetrating noise, like the falling of millions of hailstones on dry leaves, not the heavy and sharp ringing tramp of iron-shod horses, but a shuffling, soft, although distinctly mark- ed muffled rolling, something like that produced by the distant passage of a hea- vily laden freight-train. Slowly, irresist- ibly onward through the wild cafionthe frowning walls of sandstone and gigantic pines towering on one side, on the other and below, rushing and foaming over its rough bed, the riverpushing forward like a stream of liquid lava from some vomiting crater, long drawn out in a crowded, dense column on the narrow, winding trail, moves the mighty herd. A thick, smoke-like cloud of yellow dust through which the sunlight breaking lights up the tangle of horns, swaying and tossing in the distance like foam cresting the angry billows of some dark, storm- lashed torrenthovers above; a heavy, sweetish odor Lills the air; and mingling with the pattering rush of the hoofs and the roar of the stream comes the occa- sional booming bellow of some frightened steer. Very slowly and cautiously the herd moves forward; sometimes there is a halt in front; those in the rear crowd up more closely; very gently, and with soothing cries, the experienced cow-boys urge theni on again. It is ticklish work, for a mo- mentary panic may drive scores of them down the precipitous sides of the mount- ain. Already this morning an unfortu- nate steer, pushed in a sudden, panicky rush of his companions over the edge of the trail, has fallen down into the foaming torrent, and been dashed to death on the jagged rocks a hundred feet below. Rid- ing slowly in the rear, look along the trail and over the backs of the advancing cat- tle up the cafion ahead. Sometimes the road descends until the stream licks the earth at its side, spreading in little shal THROUGH THE CANON. 192 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. low pools across it, sometimes cutting through it, as it curves abruptly around some point of rocks, only to recross it again further on. And now the cafion widens, and, suc- ceeding the high rock walls and great trees, its sides gradually merge into gently rising, grass-covered slopes; the river too is broader, its surface shining like polish- ed silver, and betraying its onward move- ment only by an occasional soft ripple and low lap-lap of the water against its overhanging banks, from which, breathing out the sweet fragrance of thousands of newly opened buds, the wild rose bushes hang down their slender branches. Away up the slopes, dancing and nodding their pretty heads in the soft breeze, the gayly colored wild flowersyellow sunflowers, daisies, blue harebellsmingle their bright hues, melting into one another on the dis- tant round hill-tops, covering them as with a carpet of the softest velvet. Let the herd move more easily now, drifting slowly along, and opening its ranks a little, so as to enable the hungry brutes to crop at the fresh juicy grass as they go; you have leisure to open your saddle-bags and take a little lunch, sur le pouce, and a swig of whiskey and wa- ter, if you have any. Or you can light your pipe as you let your bridle fall on your cayuses neck, and lounge in your saddle, folding your arms, and resting your elbows on the flat, round top of the high pomniel, keeping, however, a watchful eye on your charges lest some adventurous two-year-old wander away from the drove and lose himself in the deep coulees or ravines that, cutting through the rounded spurs of the hills, run down to the edge of the trail. Although the sun is now high in the heavens, and pours down the full power of his rays, the breeze tempers the heat, and there rises no blinding, choking dust from the soft grass, except a little cloud now and then where some tyrannic bull or surly steer widens the space about him by a short, vicious charge at some en- croaching comrades. The afternoon wears A REFRACTORY STEER. THE CITY OF BUFFALO. 193 slowly away, the herd constantly advan- cing, except for a short halt now and again at some inviting spot, where the grass grows luxuriantly or the stream crosses. The hills are smaller, there are wide open- ings between them, and soon a broad plain, rich in the marvellous color of its shifting light and shade, and covered with brown waving grass and great patches of bluish- gray sage-brush, stretches to the far hori- zon, flat and apparently level as a billiard table, full of promise of rest and refresh- ment for the hot and tired beasts. There are plenty of good camping places this evening. Grass there is in abundance; the herd is still following the course of the rivulet, so water in plenty is at hand; and fuel of the best for a camp fire can be had for the trouble of cutting a few armfuls of the sage-brush. The cattle feel that the hour of rest has come, as, unrestrained by the drivers, they wander at freedom out on the prairie, or stand knee-deep in the water, drinking it in in long draughts, and elevating their dripping muzzles to moo forth their contentment. The horses are unsaddled and allowed to browse, and as the sun is sinking in the west and the fires are light- ed, all hands busy themselves in prepara- tion of the evening meal. The long twilight sets in, gradually melting into the shades of night; silence reigns over the prairie, broken only by the far-off yelp of the prowling coyote, or the crackling of a dry twig as some restless steer moves about in the sage-brush. The tired cow-boy, the events of the day briefly discussed with the after-supper pipe by the glowing embers of the fire, spreads his bedding on the ground, rolls his blanket about him, and, his head resting in the seat of his saddle, is soon buried in the dream- less sleep of the hardy frontiersman. THE CITY OF BUFFALO. LOOKING across Niagara River from the crumbling ruins of Fort Erie, whose most frequent visitors to-day are the cows of the neighboring farmers browsing peacefully on the grass-grown ramparts, whence seventy years ago Gen- eral Peter B. Porter made his brilliant sortie, one sees the granite tower of the City Hall of Buffalo rising commanding- ly above the surrounding miles of ware- houses and factory chimneys, hooded in an atmosphere of smoke and steam. Northward, past the high bluff crown- ed by the ruins of Fort Porter and the stone copings of The Front, flows the Niagara with a constantly accelerating velocity. Parallel with it, packed with long lines of freighted boats towed by slow - paced horses, is the Erie Canal, the author and sure conservator of the fortunes of Buffalo. South and westward Lake Erie spreads out in endless billows; and at the east, forming a noble background to the city, rise the Chautauqua hills and the high- lands of Evans and Wales. OLD FORT ERIE.

Jane Meade Welch Welch, Jane Meade The City Of Buffalo 193-217

THE CITY OF BUFFALO. 193 slowly away, the herd constantly advan- cing, except for a short halt now and again at some inviting spot, where the grass grows luxuriantly or the stream crosses. The hills are smaller, there are wide open- ings between them, and soon a broad plain, rich in the marvellous color of its shifting light and shade, and covered with brown waving grass and great patches of bluish- gray sage-brush, stretches to the far hori- zon, flat and apparently level as a billiard table, full of promise of rest and refresh- ment for the hot and tired beasts. There are plenty of good camping places this evening. Grass there is in abundance; the herd is still following the course of the rivulet, so water in plenty is at hand; and fuel of the best for a camp fire can be had for the trouble of cutting a few armfuls of the sage-brush. The cattle feel that the hour of rest has come, as, unrestrained by the drivers, they wander at freedom out on the prairie, or stand knee-deep in the water, drinking it in in long draughts, and elevating their dripping muzzles to moo forth their contentment. The horses are unsaddled and allowed to browse, and as the sun is sinking in the west and the fires are light- ed, all hands busy themselves in prepara- tion of the evening meal. The long twilight sets in, gradually melting into the shades of night; silence reigns over the prairie, broken only by the far-off yelp of the prowling coyote, or the crackling of a dry twig as some restless steer moves about in the sage-brush. The tired cow-boy, the events of the day briefly discussed with the after-supper pipe by the glowing embers of the fire, spreads his bedding on the ground, rolls his blanket about him, and, his head resting in the seat of his saddle, is soon buried in the dream- less sleep of the hardy frontiersman. THE CITY OF BUFFALO. LOOKING across Niagara River from the crumbling ruins of Fort Erie, whose most frequent visitors to-day are the cows of the neighboring farmers browsing peacefully on the grass-grown ramparts, whence seventy years ago Gen- eral Peter B. Porter made his brilliant sortie, one sees the granite tower of the City Hall of Buffalo rising commanding- ly above the surrounding miles of ware- houses and factory chimneys, hooded in an atmosphere of smoke and steam. Northward, past the high bluff crown- ed by the ruins of Fort Porter and the stone copings of The Front, flows the Niagara with a constantly accelerating velocity. Parallel with it, packed with long lines of freighted boats towed by slow - paced horses, is the Erie Canal, the author and sure conservator of the fortunes of Buffalo. South and westward Lake Erie spreads out in endless billows; and at the east, forming a noble background to the city, rise the Chautauqua hills and the high- lands of Evans and Wales. OLD FORT ERIE. 194 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. In the neighborhood of the old Cana- dian fortress all is stagnation. Peaceful country roads lead off through green lanes, and in the half - decayed frame mansions, surrounded by tall Lombardy poplars, and supported from foundation to cornice by Corinthian columns, is a reminder of that departed grandeur which made Fort Erie in by-gone days what her neighbor over the river is to-daya centre of gay life. To understand the past, present, or fu- ture of Buffalo as a port of entry, the results of her characteristic industries, and the pluck of her early settlersand no city in the United States more directly owes her present prosperity to the energy of a few far-seeing pioneers one must approach her from the harbor side. In the foreground stands the most im- posing row of bread-distributers on the lakes, the mammoth grain elevators of Buf- falo Creek, nearly forty of them, making an elephantine procession a mile long, with a combined storage capacity of 9,250,000 bushels, and a transfer capacity of 3,102,000 bushels, or, in other words, the power of receiving from lake vessels and transfer- ring to canal-boats and cars daily 3,000,000 bushels of wheat, a rate unequalled at any other port in this country. It is not un- common to see a large lake vessel unload- ing and two canal-boats and two trains of freight-cars loading at the same time. The site of the Bennett elevator, at the junction of the creek and the Evans ship- canal, is historic as marking the scene of an experiment only less interesting than the first voyage of Robert Fultons steam- boat, for it was here, in 1842, that a Buffa- lonian, Joseph Dart, built the first steam storage tra~nsfer elevator, on the well- known elevator and conveyer principle of Oliver Evans, in the face of the jeers of his townsmen,who predicted that he would find to his cost that Irishmens backs were, after all, the cheapest elevators. The capacity of Joseph Darts elevator was but 55,000 bushels, with a power of raising 1000 bushels an hour. To - day such an elevator as that of the connecting terminal railroad, having a capacity of 1,000,000 bushels, can elevate 19,000 bush- els an hour. Watching the legs of the two towers of this huge elevator drop upon a mass of wheat in the hold of a lake ves- sel moored at its wharf, the machinery start, and the twelve - quart buckets dip down into the grain and rush with light- fling speed up into the roof of the build- ing, where they deposit their load in the bins, it is not difficult to believe that a cargo which by the old method of Irish- mens backs would have required a month to discharge can now be stowed away in five hours. Buffalo Creek is interesting not only for its connection with an invention which, by facilitating the movement of bread- stuffs, has a vital concern for all mankind, but as the stream a ford then only waist deepfrom across whose entrance some sixty years ago a few citizens, determined that Buffalo should be the western termi- nus of the Erie Canal, dug away the sand bar which choked its channel. Buffal& Creek Harbor was begun, carried on, and completed principally by three private in- dividuals, who mortgaged the whole of their estate in its behalf. The river i~ now protected north and south by tw& breakwaters, but the capacious harboi~ thus obtained is insufficient for the grow- ing commerce of the city, and the United States government is making an outside harbor by the construction of a breakwa- ter designed to be four thousand feet long, fronting the entrance of the river about a half-mile from the shore. With the com- pletion of this breakwater facilities will exist for the building of new wharves ag- gregating an additional five miles, making the available water-front about nineteen miles. In other words, the commerce of Buffalo Creek is destined one day to rival the gigantic traffic of the river Mersey, when the harbor of this queen city of the lakes will vie with that of Liverpool in her endless docks and warehouses. Mr. Henry James banishes one of his. characters from the Eternal City to Buf- falo as to the wild West, forgetting or un- aware that the name of this lake city is. not without Old World precedent. Bos- porus means ox - passage, and Oxford a ford for oxen. That the city derives its- name from the river is certain, but whethi- er the river was so called because the buf- falo had at one time grazed in the shade of the basswood-trees along its margins, now lined with elevators, floaters, lumber-yards, coal pockets, chutes, and trestles, or from a mistake in the Indian title, has not been satisfactorily determined. The name of the city first appears in a treaty made at Fort Stanwix-now Romebetween the United States and the Iroquois Confeder- acy. 0 0 P 196 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. All through the summer the harbor is full of lifetugs dart hither and yon, lake vessels, big and little, receive their cargoes, huge steamers and propellers take on pas- sengers or freight for the upper lakes, while numerous pleasure-yachts, named for sea-nymphs and dryads, steam toward the International Bridge, which opens in the centre with massive swing, and per- mits them to pass through on their way down the river. Finally, and most im- portant. stretching in all directions are the iron rails over which the commerce of the Great West reaches the Eastern sea-board. To win the heart of this queen city to- day you must court her in the role of a railway king. You must come as the pro- jector of a new trunk line, prepared to lay your millions at her feet in return for a site from which to throw another iron girdle around the city, and with thousands more to invest for a commanding lot on iDelaware Avenue, The Circle, or front- ing one of the many park approaches, whereupon to erect a palace of Medina sandstone, or a cypress-shingled villa ri- valling those of Newport or the famous Jerusalem Road. Never was the imperial position of Buf- falo appreciated as now, when all signs point to the realization of the prophecy that she is destined to sit like a com- mercial Constantinople stretching along the Bosporus of the broad Niagara, and holding the keys of the Dardanelles that shall open and shut the gates of trade for the regions east and west. A study of the globe will show why, from the found- er of the city ia 1797 down to the latest railway manager of 1885, eager to obtain an approach to the International Bridge, already inadequate to the demands of traffic and mooting the revival of the old scheme of tunnelling under the Niagara, every sagacious person has predicted a great commercial future for the Queen City of the Empire State. With the com- pletion of the Northern Pacific Railroad the whole world will pay her tribute. Not only will the products of the immense wheat fields of the Red River, the coal, oil, and iron of Pennsylvania, the lumber of Michigan and the Southern States, the ores of Lake Superior, and the live stock of the great western prairies pass through her gates, but the commerce of Asia with the Atlantic States, with England, and the Continent. In the year of Buffalos incorporation, 1832, when there were but one hundred miles of rail in the United States was granted the first permit to put a railroad through Erie County. Now, without the repetition of a rod, over nine thousand miles of travel are possible on the lines centring at Buffalo alone, as the starting- point or terminus of twenty different rail- way lines. No city, save one, owes so much to railroads as does Buffalo. Her terminal facilities are unequalled, and her transfer yards at East Buffalo are the largest in the world, with the outlying country encompassed for miles about by a net-work of tracks, approaching closer and closer as they near the city, and extending around the harbor - side to pour their freight of coal, salt, and petroleum into the lake vessels in return for a cargo of grain, flour, lumber, iron, and copper ore. Corn- mercial Buffalo is like a portly and self- satisfied spider, supreme in the centre of her web. The business man has his choice among six different routes to New York city. The New York Central and Hudson River; the New York, Lake Erie, and Western; the New York, West Shove, and Buffalo; the Delaware, Lackawanna, and Western; the Lehigh Valley; and the Buffalo division of the Buffalo, New York, and Philadel- phiaall lead east amid the beautiful scen- ery of the interior of the State. Stretching away in an opposite direction toward the western prairies are the Lake Shore and Michigan Southern, the Michigan Central, the Grand Trunk of Canada, the Great Western division, and the New York, Chi- cago, and St. Louis, or Nickel Plate. The remaining nine roads are local lines. Among the most important of these is the Buffalo Creek Railway, a belt freight line four miles in length, extending down on either side of the ship canal. Every rail- road entering the city has a connection with this, and by the terms of the citys grant its rates are uniform to all, thus placing the railroads on equal terms. Within the cit.y limits railroad cor- porations own 2746 acres, or more than four square miles of territory. There are 436 miles of standard gauge track more miles of rails than are con- tained ia any other city on the globe. Within the corporate boundaries of his own town the Buffalonian could enjoy a railroad journey equal to a trip to New York over the Lackawanna, with twenty- six miles to spare. AMONG THE ELEVATORS. From photograph by Georgo Harbor, Niagara Folio. VOL. LXXJ.No. 422i 4 198 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. THE COAL DOCKS. What gives unusual interest to the and forward at right angles in huge paral- marvellous railroad improvements in Buf- lelograms as to endow the city with eight falo since 1880,, fro which year dates additional miles of docksan amount of the I n~w era of prosperity, is the fact water-frontage equal to all she hadbefore that to this construction all tbe newer and giving the railway corporations a to- scientific principles have been applied. tal of fourteen miles of water-front avail- The railroad kings of America have dis able for the transfer of freight from lake covered that the traffic capacity of railroad to rail. The most discreditable fact about lines is limited mainly by the extent of the railroad growth is that, notwithstand- their terminal facilities, and with this con- ing the exceeding generosity of the city in viction have been developing the terminal the matter of land grants, not one of the facilities of Buffalo most assiduously. The roads centring at Buffalo has paid her the Lehigh Valley Railroad affords a notable compliment of erecting a fine railway illustration of a successful application of station. Those of many New Englan the modern theory, for although it has not country towns are far superior. a line of its own to Buffalo, but sends its In no direction has the sudden broad- coal-laden cars hither from Waverly over ening of Buffalos business interests been the Erie, the company has nevertheless more remarkable than in coal, both for- expended millions in ~iie acquisition of home consumption and distribution. A unsurpassed terminal ~acilities in the few years ago the coal trafficwas confined southern part of the city for the purpose to the car-loads necessary for local use. of transshipping its coal, and sending it up As the city developed into a manufacturing Lake Erie and over other roads. Indeed, centre the cry went up, Give us cheap the opinion has been expressed that the coal. This caused the openin~ of direct. improvements making on the Tifft Farm railroad communication between the Penn- propertya tract of 425 acres, belonging to sylvania mines and the wholesale dealers.. this road, at a cost of $4,000,000, will prove The Buffalo, New York, and Philadelphia,. of greater value to Buffalo than any pub- in addition to its railroad property, con- lic work since the opening of the Erie trols extensive coal mines and lands in Canal. These improvements consist chief- Pennsylvania, from which it feeds Buffalo ly in the turning of the city ship-canal with a constantly increasing coal, oil, lum- into the farm, and so cutting it backward ber, bark, and grain commerce. THE CITY OF BUFFALO. 199 A few years ago vessels started up the lakes carrying coal as ballast, in order to bring return cargoes of grain. To-day, the freights of the two shipments are day ranks as the third coal depot of Amer- ica, also as the most important distriifu- ting point for anthracite coal, nearly all of which goes through the city. The bi / about the same. Coal as an up freightage tuminous coal trade shows a progressive is fully as important as the down cargo growth which, if prognosticated a few of grain. Nearly two million dollars of years ago, would have been deemed in- property is engaged, it is estimated, in car- credible. In the year 1874 the receipts were rying the product of the coal fields from 327,467 tons; in 1884, 1,921,354 tons. Bitu- this port, exclusive of rolling stock. minous coal is largely used by the manu- In the amount of tonnage, Buffalo to- facturers of the city, and is one of the ALONG THE WHARVES. 200 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. standing local grievances, on account of the soot it showers over the town. The enormous growth of the anthracite coal trade is shown by the fact that in 1874 the receipts were 472,262 tons; in 1884, 2,451,410 tons. Thus, were Buffalo not a railway cen- tre, she would be known as a coal depot. Take away both these interests, and she would be reputed one of the leading live- stock markets of the country. Without even this, her grape-sugar factories would endow her still with a world-wide name. Remove the grape - sugar works to the neighborhood of the Western corn fields, and she would yet be famed on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean for the greatest en- gineering feat of modern timesthe can- tilever bridge of the Michigan Central Railroad which spans the gorge of the Ni- agara, built in 1883 at the Central Bridge Works, now the Union Bridge Company, of Buffalo. Aside from these larger and wider - known establishments, there are over two thousand manufactories, num- bering among the more important, car- wheels, stoves, and engines, boots and shoes, oil refineries, malt-houses, brewer- ies and distilleries, fiouring mills, chem LIGHT-HOUSE AT ENTRANCE OF HARBOR. THE CITY OF BUFFALO. 201 ical works, ship-yards, agricultural imple- ments, and minor industries without num- ber. The mail of one large establishment last year was greater in amount than the entire receipts of the post-office in 1872. In Buffalo, which practically controls this industry, originated the manufacture of grape-sugar. One alone of the three glucose factories of Buffalo, the American, consumes 10,000 bushels of corn every twenty-four hours, requiring as feed for a single day the average annual product of 434 acres of corn fields, or more than half the entire annual product of all the New England States, more than one-sixth of the entire product of New York, and more than 0. 0022 of the total crop of the United States. An enormous capital is invested by the Gourier, Express, and Commercial Ad- vertiser in the printing, lithographing, and engraving business. Buffalo claims also that, in proportion to population, her daily newspapers in judicious editorial management are unexcelled. Th~ Buffalo Daily Gourier, which is a descendant of the Star, the first daily paper in Buffalo, has had a long line of able editors, among whom was the late William A. Seaver, aft- erward associated with Harpers Drawer. As she is to-day a highway for the com- merce of the nineteenth century, so was Buffalo and Erie County at an earlier period a well - trodden pathway across which passed a motley train of pilgrims and warriorsFrench hunters and trap- pers striding to the Northwest, Cardinal IRichelieus Jesuit missionaries holding up the cross, and the Indians of the Long House to put out the camp fires of the Kah- quahs and Eries. Since first her soil was seen by white men the habitations of three distinct races have in turn occupied it; and it is less than sixty years since the second of these, the Seneca Indians, the successors of the Kahquahs, were hunting deer on the JOSEPh ELLIcOTT. 202 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. present site of the State Insane Asylum, whose symmetrical red-tiled towers, design- ed by Richardson, loom up imposingly at the head of Richmond Avenue. Following North Street, one of the fash- ionable neighborhoods of Buffalo, which intersects Richmond Avenue at the Circle, down PorterAvenue, nearly at right angles to ita route almost identical with the Guide Board Road of the pe- riod when the Indians and their English allies crossed from Can- ada to Black Rock to burn Buf- falowe come out upon the Front, another now favorite residence neighborhood. Here the Buffalonian gets his one marine view, and here, too, he has a perpetual reminder of the original owners of the soil. More than two centuries have elapsed since the smoke wreaths of the Kahquahs lodges rose on both sides of the gorge which witnesses the nuptials of the fairest of the Great Lakes with the most powerful of rivers. They named the stream that divided their ancient domain the Onniagahra, or Niagara. In the summer of 1687, says the local historian, the Baron Ia Hontan ascended the rapids of the Ni- agara River in his light birchen canoe to Lake Erie. His military eye taking in the commanding situation at once, he recom- mended the site to the French govern- ment for a fort, and marked it Fort Sup- posd on the map that illustrated his travels. The fort was intend- ed as a check against the neigh- boring Iroquois and Seneca In- dians. This, the earliest historical notice of the site of Buffalo, was more than a hundred years prior to the Holland land purchase and the laying out of the city. In her many diagonal streets, all radia.ting from a common cen- tre, Buffalo, as I have heard, bears an intentional resemblance to Washington. But where is the Capitol ? queried one of the newer settlers lately. It is not to the credit of Buffalo that she has as yet perpetuated by neither statue nor memorial, save in the name of a single street, his fame who not only first predicted her commercial destiny, but what is almost unparalleled in the his- tory of cities, selected her exact site and laid out in the then wil- derness at the foot of Lake Erie a city on a scale commensurate with his inspired belief in her destiny. As agent for the Holland Land Coin SOLDIERS AND SAILORS~ MONUMENT. _ ~1L THE CITY OF BUFFALO. 203 pany, Joseph Ellicott, in the year 1804, com- pleted the survey of the broad streets, diag- onal avenues, and pub- lic squares, some of which are to-day in- cluded in her extensive park system, and all of which form adequate approaches to the newer suburbs of the Buffalo of 1885. To her sin- gularly open and at- tractive topography it is to be regretted that she does not add that next-to-godly attri- bute, cleanliness. Joseph Ellicott was the brother of An- drew Ellicott, then Surveyor-General of the United States. Fresh from assisting his kinsman to lay out the city of Wash- ington preparatory to its becoming the seat of government, he followed the same general plan in surveying the streets of New Amsterdam, as he proposed to call it, out of respect to his Dutch employers, the members of the so-called Holland A REMINDER OF HOLLAND. Land Company. The chief business thor- oughfare now bears the commonplace name of Main Streetone which, to all save the ears of towns-people accustomed to it, wonderfully becomes its still semi- countrified air and the non-imposing char- acter of niany of its buildings; for every- where in her business sections old and new Buffalo jostle each other pictur- esquely. Had Joseph Ellicott been al- lowed to complete his design in the no- menclature and laying out oC the main 204 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. thoroughfare of trade, Main Street would have been Willink Avenue below the Churches, and Van Staphorst above, for what was designed to be the site of the Capitol of New Amsterdam forms now the three blocks in Main Street bounded tothe north and south by Eagle and Swan streets. Here Mr. Ellicott proposed to erect his palace, with broad vistas opening to view in all directions. The eye of the prince of New Amsterdam could have gazed at pleasure up Van Staphorst Ave- nue to the rising ground at the north, down Willink Avenue to the harbor, and out Vollenhoven Avenue (Erie Street) to the lake and Canada, along Stadnitski Avenue (Church Street) to the State res- ervation, and up Shimmelpennick Ave- nue (Niagara Street) past the elegant resi- dences circling around Niagara Square, which was to be the centre of his city, straight to the setting sun. The westerly limit of this manor,extending beyond the present west side of Main Street, suggested the title of Ellicotts bow-window to the towns-folk. So practical a man as President Fillmore expressed just regret that the democratic spirit of that time, jealous of so baronial an establishment, cut the beautiful semicircle by running Main Street through instead of around it, dividing the tract of about one hundred acres by North and South Division streets, since Mr. Ellicott would have left a splen- did building for the display of the fine arts and a beautiful park in the midst of the city. It is a curious circumstance that the site was again selected by the visionary and famous Ratlibun for his proposed magnificent Chamber of Com- merce. iRathbuns dream, unlike Elli- cotts, was destined to be fulfilled in part in 1884, xvhen the commerce of the lakes and canal joined hands with the manu- facturing and mercantile interests to erect, further down - town, the Merchants Ex- change. The Buffalo Board of Trade, which sunk its identity in the Merchants Exchange, was a corporation with a noble record. To its unceasing energy and pa- triotism is due the promotion of many enterprises affecting deeply the commer- cial interests of the city and nation. While no one would dare to advance a, claim for Buffalo in the months of March and April, she has a thousand charms as a summer home. With a turn of the fau- cet one may drink of or plunge in the cool waters of the upper lakes. The fruit and vegetables on the breakfast table come fresh and crisp each morning from the market-gardens about the city. The fish NEW LIBRARY BUILDING OF THE YOUNG MEN 5 ASSOCIATION. IN THE CRECHE.[SEE PAGE 214.] 206 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. were caught before daylight from the depths of Niagara, and the beefsteak se- lected from the herds waiting transporta- ti6n at the East Buffalo stock-yards, where larger moneyed transactions on a cash basis take place daily than in any other quarter of the city. The roses and the lilies which brighten the morning meal were plucked in the door-yard. If the resident be a man of some leisure and fond of horseflesh, he takes an early morning turn behind his flyer around the Driving Park, one of the best and fastest tracks in the country, and famous in trot- ting annals as the scene of Dexters and Goldsmith Maids best time. The yearly meet on these grounds the first week in August brings a crowd of horsemen and racers to the city. The Driving Park As- sociation own an elegant club-house, in the old coloni~l style, from the verandas of which there is a fine view over the city to the lake and the river. The old resident who has somewhat thrown off the cares of active business visits his office summer mornings to read his letters and give directions to his clerks, then steps aboard his steam-yacht with a party of friends. After a good haul of black bass on the river, he drops anchor at Falconwood to join his neigh- bors and their wives, or perhaps members of his own family, whom the club boat has brought down earlier in the day, at a six-oclock dinner. The yachts are headed up-stream just at the twilight hour, when the outlines of the Canada shore, across which tall poplar-trees throw their long shadows, are fading into indistinctness, and make their dock at the famous Fort Erie Ferry, where coaches are waiting to take the summer idlers home by way of the park boulevards. This sketch of summer life would be incomplete without the suggestion that Lake Eries zephyrs have so tempered the heated midsummer atmosphere that a blanket tends to promote the luxurious slumbers which follow the evening hours spent in the piazza with ones neighbors. The popularity of this form of pleasuring was voiced by the Buffalonian who said, When I build, I shall build a veranda, with possibly a house attached. Buffalo now ranks among the gayest and most hospitable cities in America. Her commercial growth has been traced. It would be no less interesting to note how this has reacted on private habits. Since her earliest years she has been a community of great friendliness and hos- pitality, of comparative sim- plicity in social forms, and of a singularly democratic I spirit. While she is no ex- ception to the rule that so soon as the business quarter of a town takes on the char- acter of a metropolis, there is a tendency toward in- creasing decorum and stateliness in social life, THE CITY HALL. I L THE CITY OF BUFFALO. 207 agreeableness and intelligence, not size frontier. To. Mr. Marshalls efforts was of purse, are, as before she became a due largely the organization of the Buffalo Mecca for capitalists, the standard of her Historical Society, which has done dili- representative families. Amon~ the innu- gent and honorable service in collecting merable pleasant home centres of Buffalo and preserving the records of early days. LANDING AT FALCONWOOD. is that of the Hon. James 0. Putnam, late- While several private individuals have ly United States Minister to Belgium. In reached what Mr. Howells terms the pic- his high public record, no less than in his ture-buying stage of development, as a liberal culture and exceptional social qual- city Buffalo gives no encouragement to ities, Mr. Putnams fellow-townsmen take the fine arts. Founded in 1862, the Fine great pride. Arts Academy presents a curious example Buffalo has much reason to honor the Qf arrested development, and of the stag- literary attainments of the late Orsamus nation usual to art enterprises in commer- H. Marshall, the historian of the Niagara cial centres. The most beautiful work 208 HAIIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. that adorns its gallery, The Dead Pearl- year or two, and many have been contrib- Diver, by Paul Akers (owned by his uted by representative American artists. heirs), was immortalized by Hawthorne in Mr. L. G. Sellstedt, the a~ble superintend- The Marble Faun. The Academy owns over two hundred paintings, among them Phillipoteauxs brilliant panoramic picture of the French revolution of 48, an immense canvas, des- tined to be historic, containing over a hundred figures, remarkable for fine draw- ing. The iuterest of the Jewett Fund in- sures the purchase of a good picture every ent, for years has given of his time un- stintingly and hopefully for the future growth of art in Buffalo. The Buffalo Club and the City Club are the largest as well as the representative mens clubs. The Buffalo Club, whose. first president was Millard Fillmore, is the older and more exclusive organization, and is to that city what the Somerset Club ON THE CANAL. THE CITY OF BUFFALO. 209 is to Boston. It also upholds the citys reputation for hospitality to distinguished men, dividing the honor in this regard with Falconwood. Ordinarily it is con- sidered the whist centre of the town. The City Club, for some years the only business mens exchange, numbers over three hundred members, and is an out- growth of the newer commercial interests. It is the down - town lunching centre. While womankind is discussing the char- acters of the latest magazine serial, or her newest possessions in pottery and porce- lain, over candle-lighted luncheon tables up-town, coal, lumber, oil, grain, and the latest railroad grant, as well as Blackstone and Chitty, furnish the divers topics of the City Club. Buffalo is remarkable for the number of her fine amateur pianistes, and for the many musical organizations which she sustainsa development due in part to the predominance of the Teutonic element. A year ago the Philharmonic Society, a string orchestra, was started, with a subscription of ~44,OOO. The oldest German musical organization, and one of the oldest in the country, is the Liedertafel. In 1886, the semi-centennial year of the Young Mens Association, its new library building, designed by Cyrus L. W. Eid- litz, and intended as a home not only for the Young Mens Association Library, but for the Grosvenor (a free reference library), the Historical Society, and the Fine Arts Academy, will be finished, at a cost of nearly ~3OO, 000. As the custodian of the chief public library, and promoter of many liberal projects, the Young Mens Associ- ation has for nearly half a century been foremost in furthering the literary culture of Buffalo. In its long line of presidents are numbered the most honored names of the city. The new library building is di- rectly in the rear of Lafayette Square. Already crowned by the Soldiers and Sailors Monument, with the noble facade and towers of the Young Mens Associa- tion in the background, its graceful Nor- man arches adorned with busts of men eminent in bclles-lettrcs, art, science, and music, this square in the heart of the city will do equal honor to Buffalo and to the distinguished name it bears. Considering that Buffalo r~nks as the third city of the State, with over two hun- dred thousand inhabitants, and talks of numbering half a million when she rounds the century, she has little as yet to be proud of in public buildings. In the im DELAWARE AVENUE. 210 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. posing Venetian-looking square occupied by the City and County Hall, and in the fair proportions of a few of the newer structures, there is, however, much hope for the future, architecturally speaking. Old Franklin Square, the first village burying-ground, now occupied by the City and County Hall, is a historic site. In its woods Colonel Cyrenius Chapin re- luctantly surrendered the village to the British and their Indian allies December 30, 1813, on condition that they would re- spect the rights of private propertya con- dition which they failed to fulfill; for tbere is no darker chapter in the war of 1812 on this frontier than the burning of the village of Buffalo. To-day the site is interesting to the nation as the scene where its President began his public ca- reer. The City Hall extends longitudi- nally north and south in the form of a double Roman cross, with its main fa- ~ade in Franklin Street. Opposite its Delaware Avenue front, and connected with it by an under-ground passage, is the jaila massive limestone structure. The City Hall is surrounded by a terraced lawn bordered by granite copings, and broken here and there by brilliant floral parterres. Clarks Island, Maine, furnish- ed the clear gray granite which in a rough form composes the first story, anci in fin- ished blocks completes the two upper sto- ries. From the observatory in the tower, the four corners of which are surmounted by colossal statues of Justice, Mechanic Arts, Agriculture, and Commerce, one of the finest views of the city is obtainable. Inside the building, which cost less than a million and a half, and was built with- out a steal, all the municipal and county business is transacted. To its granite hitching - post the farmer from Willink, Eden, or Wales, dismounting from his rickety straw-stuffed wagon, ties old raw- bones, and helping his wife down off her high perch, joins the crowd of lawyers, judges, jurymen, city and county officials, that pours in and out of the building all day long in an unceasing stream. The Surrogates Court, whither perhaps the old couple wend their way, was the scene of the trial of the famous Fillmore will case, wherein the descendants of the historic American families Jay and Clinton were engaged as opposing counsel. The Mayors office now has a peculiar fascination for ambitious country boys, who approach reverentially the portals of the spacious presence - chamber wherein only three years ago President Cleveland transacted his official duties, furnishing the office with a pattern which tax-payers of whatever political affinities demand shall be copied by his successors. Although in church architecture Buffalo is behind the times, St. Pauls Protestant Episcopal Church, a perfect specimen of Early English Gothic, is the noteworthy exception, being the most beautiful church edifice in Western New York. St. Josephs Roman Catholic Cathedral contains the celebrated Hook organ from the Centen- nial Exposition, as well as the finest set of chimes in the country, from the Paris Exposition of 1867, where they took the first prize. About the site of St. Pauls, the mother parish of Buffalo, and but a stones-throw from the city buildings, there lingers one of the strangest and most picturesque tra- ditions of Western New York. What could be more romantic or more incongruous than to lay in the chancel of a Protestant Episcopal Church the corner-stone of a Hebrew city within whose precincts it was intended to gather together all the lost tribes of Israel? The year 1825 is most memorable in the early history of Buffalo. Then occurred the hanging of the three Thayers for the murder of John Love, much celebrated in song and story; then also the reception of General Lafayette at the Eagle Tavern. That year pedagogue Millard Fillmore, who boarded around among the families of his pupils, began to be considered a ris- ing young man; some of the wiseacres thought lie might come to be a justice of the peace; others, more sanguine, did not. think the Assembly Chamber at Albany beyond the reach of his ambition. On the 26th of October, 1825, was cele- brated the opening of the Erie Canal. About a month before, when the commu- nity, eagerly anticipating a connection with tide-water, was excited with visions of prospective greatness, and ready for any display, there arrived from New York Major Manuel Mordecai Noah, high sher- iff of the county of New York, consul at. Tunis, and self-styled Judge of Israel. He came with glittering robes and insignia of office, to establish the city of Ararat on Grand Island, then covered with a dense forest. Although a loyal and devoted son of Abraham, Major Noah had not succeed- ed in arousing enthusiasm in his scheme THE CITY OF BUFFALO. 211 among those of his own faith. As a shrewd man of the world, an able lawyer, a successful politician, and the editor of the principal organ of the Tammany par- ty in New York, and withal sanguine that the city would prove a mine of wealth to its founders, he had no dif- ficulty ia persuading some of his Gentile friends, among whom was the fa- ther of the late Gerritt Smith, to buy nearly the whole of Grand Island, then just surveyed and of- fered for sale by the United States government. On this lonely but ex- tensive island, between the forks of the Niagara, and lying midwaybetween Lake Erie and the Falls of Niag- ara, he determined to build a city of Oriental splendor. Already, before his arrival on the scene, a flag-staff bearing the grand stand- ard of Israel had been erect- ed on the chosen site, and a stone having an inscription in Hebrew and in English had been prepared to dedicate with im- posing ceremonies. This stone, always known in local history as Mordecais corner-stone, was intended rather as a memento of the founding of the magnificent city of the Jews than as the sup- port of any particular building. In those days the luxurious steam-yachts of wealthy citizens, which now plough the rapid cur- rent of the Niagara, existed not in the imagination of the veriest dreamer; even row - boats were wanting with which to convey the crowd eager to behold the spectacle presented by the birth of an Oriental city in the depths of the forest. The brilliant and auda- cious Noah conceived the idea of having the cere- mony celebrated with due pomp within the walls of St. Pauls Church, twelve miles from the site of his THE STATE INSANE ASYLUM. - ~. 4 ,~. THE MARKET. 212 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. city. To this end were invoked the will- ing services of all the dignitaries of the town, the military and the Masons, Major Noah the central figure appearing as the Judge of Israel in black, wearing judi- cial robes of crimson silk, trimmed with er- mine, and a richly enibossed golden medal suspended from his neck. The bright September day opened with the booming of cannons. The grand pro- cession embraced the best that the town could offer. Halting at the church door, the troops opened each way, and the pa- geant entered; while the band played the grand march from Judas Maccabcus, the corner-stone of Ararat, the city of refuge for the people who rejected Christ, was laid on the communion table of a Protest- ant Episcopal church, and dedicated by Hebrew ritual. The Masonic rites were performed with the typical corn, wine, and oil, the choir sang Old Hundred, and the rector, in full canonicals, pro- nounced a Christian benediction. Mordecai Noah never saw the site qf Ararat, and the Hebrew race disregarded his grandiloquent proclamation and the tax levied for its building; but its corner- stone, after many curious migrations, oc- cupies a conspicuous place in the rooms of the Buffalo Historical Society, where relic-hunters are frequently seen copying its inscription. The old church in which these ceremo- nies took place has yielded to the present beautiful stone edifice of Early English Gothic architecture crowned by a graceful spire. This, with the Old First (Presby- terian), gives the neighborhood the name of The Churches. They stand opposite the square originally intended for Joseph Ellicotts Capitol. Unique as is the story associated with Grand Islands past, in its private clubs of to-day, Falconwood, Oakfield, and Beaver Island, which crown its western bluff with beautiful villas facing the Canada shore, their lawns sloping trim-shaven to the riv- er, Buffalonians and their hosts of mid- summer guests find still greater fascina- tion. Contiguous to Falconwood, cradled by the Niagara, in itself, says N. P. Willis, the best cradle nature could possibly form for the family of a luxurious exclu- sive, the father of the greenback, the Hon. Elbridge Gerry Spaulding, spends his summers. Connected with his country- seat, River Lawn, is a large stock-farm, famous for its thorough-bred cattle. Adjacent to this is the farm of the Hon. Lewis F. Allen, the venerable historian of Grand Island, uncle by marriage of Presi- dent Cleveland, and the pioneer stock-raiser of this region. To a few Buffalo capital- ists Erie County owes largely the rapid advance of its important stock interests. Within the city limits, and adjoining the park, is a stock-farm having a herd of short-horned cattle which in numbers and pedigree are not excelled in this country or in England, where its owner employs special agents. But the already famous stock-farms of Erie County are far too nu- merous for even cursory mention. Covering territory of about thirty-nine miles, an area greater than is occupied by any municipality in the United States ex- cept Philadelphia, the freeholders of Buffa- lo far outnumber those of any other city. So great a proportion of the laboring class of the population owning their homes gives an air of unusual thrift to the for- eign quartera vast, closely built tract ly- ing east of Main Street. When, on the occasion of a brief stay in Buffalo, Herbert Spencer was by his own request driven through the thickly settled wards of Ger- mantown, he remarked particularly upon the hundreds of one and two story cot- tages which line these streets, and are al- most universally in good condition as to paint and window-blinds, and with every inch of the little plot of surrounding land cultivated with vegetables or flowers. To the early influence of one man, the late Stephen Van Rensselaer Watson, a citizen whose far-seeing genius for practi- cal affairs gave Buffalo her present com- prehensive system of street railroads, is due much of the independent comfort iiow enjoyed by the foreign element of her population. Coming to the city in 1844, he invested largely in uncleared land on the east side. This he divided, and sold out in lots on long payments, principally to Germans, whom he aided not only with money, but with sagacious advice. It is a significant fact that the first civ- ilized man to settle on the present site of Buffalo was a German. Of fexv Northern cities can it be affirmed, as of this, that the Teutonic element constitutes nearly one- half the entire population. The Germans of Buffalo have their own press, literary and musical associations, churches, thea- tres, and, it is unnecessary to add, beer gardens, while in public spirit they have in one notable instance shown themselves DINING IN THE CRECHE. \TOL. LXXI.No. 422.i 5 214 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ahead of the Americans. Not only are German names frequent on the business signs of the American quarter, but the Germans have their own long business street running diagonally out through Germantown, and the German popu- lation has been represented frequently in city, county, and State offices. Artists in search of models and authors making character studies will find few fields richer in local color than the Ger- man quarter of Buffalo and her two large markets. These markets are distinctive, and help to make living cheap. Each market occupies a block, and at the stalls everything, from crockery, yarn, buttons, and shining tins, to the finest cuts of beef, poultry, fish, and green truck of all kinds, is exposed for sale. In midsummer they are the market-places of flowers. Pretty young girls in fresh muslins tie their pony-carts outside, and come tripping in among the stalls to cull out bunches of miononette, sweet-peas, and pansies, jos- thug against baby wagons,match venders, long-aproned butchers, white-capped Vi- enna roll men, and Geirnan fraus with a generous bulk of waist and shoulders. Ever since the days when Christys Minstrels, which originated in Buffalo, merrily sang, Oh, Buffalo girls, are you coming out to-night, Are you coining out to-night, To dance by the light of the moon the belles of the city have been renown- ed in two continents. While the ever- increasing social obligations of a gay city life require them to be out at night more than ever, the strict regard for eti- quette which now prevails in the rarefied atmosphere of Buffalo society decrees that they shall be accompanied by their chap- erons. Of a city that is neither East- ern nor Western, it is natural that the best type of Buffalo womanhood should blend in her personality the salient char- acteristics of the women of each section of the country; in other words, she has the individuality which is inevitable from her environment. To the mental alertness of the New-Englander she superadds the fearless originality of the belle of the prai- rie,but without her aggressiveness or tend- ency to crudeness. A vital concern for poor and suffering humanity is not characteristic of Buffalo women only, but there are few cities the philanthropic institutions of which are managed so generally by women, and who in their very positive relations toward the charities of Buffalo are, as has been re- marked, the salt of the city. In 1832 an ambitious young merchant, Benjamin Fitch, settled in Buffalo, where lie made a fortune. His subsequent ben- efactions to the city, amounting in all to about $300,000, entitle him to a name among the great philanthropists of Ameri- ca. Just fifty years after his coming the corner-stone of tIme Fitch Institute was laid, at which ceremony Mayor Cleveland spoke eloquently of Mr. Fitchs generosity. The old maim answered, in simple phrase, I have done but my duty. Under the French and Gothic roof of the Fitch Institute, on tIme corner of Swan and Michigan streets, erected at a cost of over $60,000, there are many and divers philan- thropic interests, and its illuminated clock tower is a beacon-light for the working people who pass up and down the crowded thoroughfare. Both the Fitch Institute and the Cr& che are managed by the Char- ity Organization Society, tIme oldest of the associated charity systems of this country. Buffalo adopted tIme London method of or- ganized charities in 1877. The Charity Organization Society, officered by the younger professional and business men chiefly, has been indirectly the source of inspiration for many of the newer move- ments by which Buffalo has striven to cast off her slough of conservatism. Think of having to take care of twenty thousand babies! This is what the Fitch Cr~chme has done since 1879. This great public cradle is the most interesting char- ity in Buffalo, because the most unique. Founded on the model of the London Day Nursery to care for little children whose mothers earn their support as char-women, it has so far outstripped its progenitor as to be called the model cr~che of the world. Delaware Avenue, which takes its rise in a jail and ends in a tomb, as a wag, sneerimig at its aristocratic pretensions said, is shaded its full length of three miles with double rows of elms and maples, which arch overhead. Its beautiful houses and villas standing alone, amid broad lawns, and embowered in vines, give the long avenue the elegantly rural aspect of a suburban ratlmer than a city street. In summer masses of shade trees, and foliage wreathing itself over side walls and porti- coes serve to soften orconceal the architect- ural incongruities of some of the older THE CITY OF BUFFALO. 215 and too elaborate houses. Its reputation park system, comprising over eight hun- as one of the finest of residence streets is dred acres of pleasure-grounds connected likely to grow, rather than diminish, with by boulevards, which together afford a the city. For when completed on the plan drive of over ten miles. of the original survey, Buffalo Street at Watching the gay and interminable Niagara Falls Village and Delaware Aye- procession of coaches, landaus, dog-carts, nue will be one lon~, highway, and the and English phaetons, with their livened most beautiful avenue in America. Then grooms, passing over the asphalt or macad- the City Hall of Buffalo and the proposed amized park roads in midsummer, one has International Park at Niagara Falls will to rub ones eyes to believe that the first be connected by the same boulevard. The family carriage ever seen in Erie County, aspirin~ Buffalonian goes farther, and pre- owned and driven by Samuel Pratt, rolled dicts that there will be one day a river into Buffalo only eighty years ago. There boulevard from Buffalo to Youngstown, are three large parks, the Park proper, from Lake Erie to Lake Ontario. about three miles north of the City Hall, Perhaps it is to offset a pardonable con- the Parade, which is in the precincts of ceit over this nearness to the greatest of Germantown, and the Front, on the natures wonders that Buffalos immedi- banks of the Niagara. On the broad and ate suburbs are so strictly commonplace. undulatin~, Park meadow the polo club The city sprawls out in a north and east-~ play many of their best games, and horse- erly direction over an area as fiat as the back parties make this their favorite ral- proverbial pancake. He who tries to lying point. Beneath this smooth-clipped drive out into the country is held fast in turf, guarded by two monarchs of the for- a net-work of railway tracks. To beauti- est, lie, unknowing and unknown, three fy the city within its limits by creating a hundred soldier dead, regulars of the Unit- continuous circle of driveways was a ne- ed States army, the victims of typhoid fe- cessity which gave birth, in 1869, to the ver in the winter of 1812. Haunted. jn LAKE IN THE rARE. 216 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. midsummer, not by shades of these de- parted patriots, but by thousands of picnic parties, many of which come from the lower and more crowded parts of the city to get a breath of pure country air, the Park not alone conduces to beautify, but subserves a nobler end as a health-giv- ing outlet and a provider of refreshing recreation at little cost. Adjacent, sloping down to Gala Wa- ter, freighted with gondolas, canoes, and row-boats, is the white encampment of Forest Lawn, wrapped in a silence broken only by the light tread of the squirrel or chipmunk running boldly up the side of one of the ancient oaks that abound in the well-wooded cemetery. Among the distinguished dead who rest in Forest Lawn is the late General Albert J. Myer, whose widow is the daughter of Ebenezer Walden, the first lawyer in Erie County, and its first judge. The family mausoleum, overlooking the Park lake, is close by the Pratt Monument, also com- memorative of a family prominent among the earliest settlers of Buffalo. On that panel of the square of granite over the grave of Samuel Wilkeson which faces the harbor is chiselled: Urbem condidit. He built the city by building its harbor. To tell how Buffalo and Black Rock were arrayed against each other as hostile camps in battle, each striving to be the terminus of the Erie Canal, is but to re- peat an oft - rehearsed story. Buffalo, through the agency of a few resolute men, with Samuel Wilkeson at their headwho waded Buffalo Creek, and labored with the diggers on the sand barhaving succeed- ed in scooping out a harbor, argued with success the case against Black Rock. In her new - found allegiance to the railway king, Buffalo does not forget her foster - mother. As a free highway the Erie Canal holds the balance of pow- er. It regulates the transportation rates by rail, and preserves the supremacy of the great State of New York as the chief thoroughfare of commercea supremacy which the railways could not maintain unaided. The statistics of the past year show that the canal did as well as its rivals by rail or water, and has by no means, as has been intimated, survived its useful- ness. In the name of the rivulet which flows through Forest Lawn, Scajaquada Creek, is a reminder of the aboriginal owners of these lawns and woodlands. Another will soon be there, for under the auspices of the Historical Society is now rising a monu- ment whose apex will be surmounted by a bronze statue of Red Jacket. This monu- ment marks the resting-place of the recent- ly re-interred bones of Sa-go-ye-wa-tha, the Rienzi of the Iroquois, and other dis- tinguished chiefs of the Six Nations. All through the earlier history of Buf- falo the aboriginal lion, Red Jacket, stalks a picturesque figure. Realizing that it was the precursor of the extinction of his na- tion, Red Jacket was jealous of the en- croachments of the white people. Nat- urally, therefore, although always court- eous, he felt unfriendly toward Mr. Elli- cott. One day the two met in the Tona- wanda Swamp, and sat down together on a log. After a few moments of silence, which Mr. Elhicott knew too much of In- dian custom to interrupt, Red Jacket ex- claimed, Move along, Joe. The request was complied with. After a few nioments it was repeated. Red Jacket gave the per- emptory order several times, until by de- grees Mr. Elhicott had moved to the ex- treme verge of the log. Again came the mandate, Joe, move along. But there is no room left, was the answer. That, cried Red Jacket, is the way the white man treats us. He first says move along a little, then a little more. When we have moved as far as we can, he shoves us out of the world. The Tonawanda Swamp, wherein this. dialogue was held some seventy years ago, is now covered with the lumber-yards of Buffalo capitalists, for Tonawanda, the great lumber port of the Western lake ter- ritory, and Buffalo, are one lumber market. to-day, with identical interests. The de- scendants of Red Jacket, former owners of the soil, are relegated to the Cattaraugus. and Alleghany reservations, or have been shoved as far xvest on their way to- ward the end of the log as the distant res- ervations of Kansas. Buffalo has become one of tIme cosmo- politan cities of time country. Germans, French, English, Italians, Swedes, Poles, Japs, Turks, and Arabs jostle each other in the crowded thoroughfares, and buy and sell in the markets. She has had her saengerfests, her great musical festivals, innumerable conventions, political, scien- tific, and literary, and has given the Unit- ed States two Presidents and two cabineL officers. AMPERSAND. THERE are many people in the world ourselves. We feel a certain proprietor- who profess to love Nature. But if ship in them. It pleases our sense of you inquire somewhat closely you shall originality to find that we do not need a find that, for the most part, they love her hand-board or a guide-book to tell us when at a distance, and when they have nothing to admire. And does not every man owe better to engage their affections. I shall something to his sense of originality l never forget the German gentleman whom In brief, then, I prefer the by-way to I met on the top of the Schneekopf, in the highway. On principle, not in a lax, the Thiiringerwald. At first sight of the immoral way, but on the soundest and lovely view he went into a guttural con- most reasonable grounds, I love digres- vulsion of ecstasy, Ach! wie wunder- sionsin books, in sermons, and in jour- schiim !which lasted just fifty-three sec- neys; and to tell the truth, I am digressing onds; and the rest of the time he was ab- now. The gentle reader would recall the sorbed in the contemplation of sandwiches wandering pen, and pray to be told what and beer. It did seem to me that he could Ampersand is. have thus employed himself with less trou- It is a mountain. It is a lake. It is ble at the foot of the mountain, but per- a stream. The mountain stands in the baps also with less appetite. And, after heart of the Adirondack country, just near all, his passion for the beautiful may have enough to the thoroughfare of travel for been sincere; for it is a well-known fact thousands of people to see it every year, that even the truest love is subject to and just far enough away from the beat- pains of hunger. en track to be unvisited except by a very But my own test for the right lover of few of the wise ones wbo love to digress. Nature is a very simple one. He must Behind the mountain is the lake, which be one who in making a journey between no lazy man has ever seen. Out of the two points will choose, not the straight lake flows the stream,winding down a long line (the mathematical I abhor), nor the untrodden forest valley, until at length it smooth line (the sybaritical I contemn), joins the Stony Creek waters and empties but the crooked line, the line which wan- into the Raquette River. Which of the ders up hill and down dale, leading him three Ampersands has the prior claim to who follows it through sweet and secret the name I can not tell. Philosophically places, delaying him with fragrant mea- speaking, the mountain ought to be re- dows, babbling streams, cool shadows of garded as the father of the family, because trees and rocks, and bringing him at last it was undoubtedly there before the others to his journeys end with a kind of sur- existed. And the lake was probably the prise and regret. Those are the brightest next on the ground, because the stream is flowers which bloom where the crowd its child. But man is not strictly just in never think to look for them. Those are his nomenclature; and I conjecture that the fairest views which we discover for the little river, the last-born of the three,

Jun Henry J. Van Dyke Van Dyke, Henry J., Jun Ampersand 217-227

AMPERSAND. THERE are many people in the world ourselves. We feel a certain proprietor- who profess to love Nature. But if ship in them. It pleases our sense of you inquire somewhat closely you shall originality to find that we do not need a find that, for the most part, they love her hand-board or a guide-book to tell us when at a distance, and when they have nothing to admire. And does not every man owe better to engage their affections. I shall something to his sense of originality l never forget the German gentleman whom In brief, then, I prefer the by-way to I met on the top of the Schneekopf, in the highway. On principle, not in a lax, the Thiiringerwald. At first sight of the immoral way, but on the soundest and lovely view he went into a guttural con- most reasonable grounds, I love digres- vulsion of ecstasy, Ach! wie wunder- sionsin books, in sermons, and in jour- schiim !which lasted just fifty-three sec- neys; and to tell the truth, I am digressing onds; and the rest of the time he was ab- now. The gentle reader would recall the sorbed in the contemplation of sandwiches wandering pen, and pray to be told what and beer. It did seem to me that he could Ampersand is. have thus employed himself with less trou- It is a mountain. It is a lake. It is ble at the foot of the mountain, but per- a stream. The mountain stands in the baps also with less appetite. And, after heart of the Adirondack country, just near all, his passion for the beautiful may have enough to the thoroughfare of travel for been sincere; for it is a well-known fact thousands of people to see it every year, that even the truest love is subject to and just far enough away from the beat- pains of hunger. en track to be unvisited except by a very But my own test for the right lover of few of the wise ones wbo love to digress. Nature is a very simple one. He must Behind the mountain is the lake, which be one who in making a journey between no lazy man has ever seen. Out of the two points will choose, not the straight lake flows the stream,winding down a long line (the mathematical I abhor), nor the untrodden forest valley, until at length it smooth line (the sybaritical I contemn), joins the Stony Creek waters and empties but the crooked line, the line which wan- into the Raquette River. Which of the ders up hill and down dale, leading him three Ampersands has the prior claim to who follows it through sweet and secret the name I can not tell. Philosophically places, delaying him with fragrant mea- speaking, the mountain ought to be re- dows, babbling streams, cool shadows of garded as the father of the family, because trees and rocks, and bringing him at last it was undoubtedly there before the others to his journeys end with a kind of sur- existed. And the lake was probably the prise and regret. Those are the brightest next on the ground, because the stream is flowers which bloom where the crowd its child. But man is not strictly just in never think to look for them. Those are his nomenclature; and I conjecture that the fairest views which we discover for the little river, the last-born of the three, 218 HAHPEIRS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. AMPERSAND LAKE. was the first to be called Ampersand, and then gave its name to its parent and grand- parent. It, is such a crooked stream, so bent and curved and twisted upon itself, so fond of turning around nnexpected cor- ners and sweeping away in great circles from its direct course, that its first ex- plorers christened it after the eccentric su- pernumerary of the alphabet which ap- pears in the old spelling-books as But in spite of this apparent subordina- tion to the stream in the matter of a name, the mountain clearly asserts its natural su- periority. It stands up boldly, and domi- nates not only its own lake, but at least three others. The Lower Saranac, Hound Lake, and Lonesome Pond are all stretched at its foot and acknowledge its lordship. When the cloud is on its brow, they are dark. When the sunlight strikes it, they smile. Wherever you may ~o over the waters of these lakes you shall see Amper- sand looking down at you and saying, quietly, This is my domain. Now I never see a mountain which as- serts itself in this fashion without desiring to stand on the top of it. If one can reach the summit, one becomes a sharer in the dominion. The difficulties in the way only add to the zest of the victory. Every mountain is, rightly considered, an invita- tion to climb. And as I was resting for a month last summer at Bartletts, Amper- sand challenged me daily. Do you know Bartletts? It is the home- liest, quaintest, coEiest place in the Adiron- dacks. A score of years or more ago Vir- gil Bartlett came into the woods, and built his house on the bank of the Saranac IRiv- er, between the Upper Saranac and Hound Lake. It was then the only dwelling within a circle of many miles. The deer and bear were in the majority. At night one could sometimes hear the scream of the panther or the howling of wolves. But now the wilderness has begun to wear the traces of a conventional smile. The desert is blossoming a littleif not as the rose, at least as the gilly-fiower. Fields have been cleared, gardens planted; half a doEen log cabins have been scattered along the riv- er; and the old bouse, having grown slow- ly and somewhat irregularly for twenty years, has lately come out in a modest coat of paint and a broad-brimmed piaEza. But Virgil himself, the creator of the oasis well known of hunters and fishermen, dreaded of lazy guides and teamsters Virge, the irascible, kind-hearted, inde- fatigable, is here no longer. He will do his friends no more favors, and put his foes to confusion no more. His short, imperi- ous figure will not meet us a~,ain at the landing. For he has gone out of the AMPERSAND. 219 wilderness, and no man can fill his place. Peace be to thy memory, old friend! There are some who will not forget thy kindness- es in the good days that are past. The charm of Bartletts for the angler lies in the stretch of rapid water which flows just in front of the house. The Sar- anac River, breaking from its first rest- ing-place in the Upper Lake, plunges down through a great bed of rocks, making a succession of short falls and pools and rap- ids, about a quarter of a mile in length. Here, in the spring and early summer, the speckled troutbrightest and gamiest of all fish that swimare found in great num- bers. As the season advances they move away into the deep water of the lakes. But there are always a few stragglers left, and I have taken them in the rapids at the very end of August. What could be more delightful than to spend an hour or two in the early morning, or about sundown, of each day, in wading this rushin~,, stream, and casting the fly on its clear waters? The wind blows softly down the narrow valley, and the trees nod from the rocks above you. The noise of the falls makes constant music in your ears. The river hurries past you, and yet it is never gone. The same foam-flakes seem to be always glidin~ downward, the same spray dash- ing over the stones, the same eddy coiling at the edge of the pool. Send your fly in under those hanging branches, where the water swirls around by that old log. Now draw it up toward the foam. There is a sudden ~leam of dull gold in the white water. You strike too soon. Your line comes back to you. In a current like this a fish will almost always hook himself. Try it again. This time he strikes the fly fairly, and you have him. It is a good fish, and makes the slender rod bend to the strain. He sulks for a moment as if un- certain what to do, and then with a rush darts into the swiftest part of the current. You can never stop him there. Let him go. Keep just enough pressure on him to hold the hook firm, and follow his trout- ship down the stream as if he were a salm on. He slides over a little fall, gleaming through the foam, and swings around in the next pool. Here you can manage him more easily; and after a few minutes brill- iant play, a few mad dashes for the cur- rent, and one splendid leap out of water, he comes to the net, and your skillful guide lands him with a quick, steady sweep of tbe arm. The scales credit him with an even pound of flesh, and a better fish than this you will hardly take here in midsum- mer. BARTLETT~5 VILLAGE. 220 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. On my word, master, says the appre- ciative Venator, in Waltons Angler, this is a gallant trout; what shall we do with him ? And honest Piscator replies: Marry! een eat him to supper; well go to my hostess from whence we came; she told me, as I was going out of door, that my brother Peter (J. R. R.), a good angler and a cheerful companion, had sent word he would lodge there to-night, and bring a friend with him. My hostess has two beds, and I know you and I have the best; well rejoice with my brother Peter and his friend, tell tales, or sing ballads, or make a catch, or find some harmless sport to content us, and pass away a little time without offense to God or man. Ampersand waited patiently while I passed many days in such innocent and healthful pleasures as these, until the right day came for the ascent. Cool, clean, and bright, the crystal morning promised a glorious noon, and the mountain almost seemed to beckon us to come up higher. My photographic camera arid a trustwor- thy lunch were stowed away in the pack- basket. The backboard was adjusted at a comfortable angle in the stern seat of our little boat. The guide held the little craft steady while I stepped into my place; then he pushed out into the stream, and we went swiftly down toward Round Lake. The motion of these Saranac boats is delightful. They are light and somewhat crankyfrail shells, through the sides of which you can easily put your heel by a careless stepbut in the hands of an ex- perienced oarsman they are as safe as a Cunarder, riding the heaviest sea like a duck, and slipping through the water with magical ease. One can travel in them all day long without fatigue, and forty miles is no uncommon journey with a good guide. Everything depends in the Adirondacks upon your guide. If he is lazy, or selfish, or stupid, you will not enjoy yourself; but if he is the right kind of a guide, he will be at the same-time your philoso- pher and friend. He will initiate you into the niysteries of wood-craft. He will tell you the secrets of spring-holes and runways. He will cook for you when you are hungry, and find a cold stream for you when you are thirsty. He will tell you endless stories of hunting and fish- ing when you are in the talking mood, and keep a discreet silence when you are meditative. And when you are sleepy lie will make for you a bed of fragrant bal- sam boughs on which Insomnia can nev- er find you. Such a guide was mine re- joicing in the Scriptural name of Hosea, but commonly called, in brevity and friendliness, Hose. As we entered Round Lake on this fair morning its surface was as smooth and shining as a mirror. It was too early yet for the tide of travel which sends a score of boats up and down this thoroughfare every day; and from shore to shore the water was unruffled, except by a flock of sheldrakes which had been feeding near Plymouth Rock, and now went skittering off into Weller Bay with great splashing and noise, leaving a long wake of foam behind them. At such a time as this you can see the real color of these Adirondack lakes. It is not blue, as romantic writers so often describe it, nor green, like some of those wonderful Swiss lakes, although of course it reflects the color of the trees along the shore; and when the wind stirs it, it gives back the hue of the sky, blue when it is clear, gray when the clouds are gathering, and sometimes as black as ink under the shadow of storm. But when it is still, the water itself is like that river which one of the poets has described as Flowing with a smooth brown curreiit. And in this broad burnished mirror the mountains and islands were reflected per- fectly, and the sun shone back from it not in broken gleams or a wide lane of light, but like a single ball of fire, moving before us as we moved. But stop! What was that dark speck on the water which I saw away down to- ward Turtle Point? It was just the color and size of a deers head. It seemed to move steadily out into the lake. A little ripple, like a wake, appeared behind it. Hose turned to look at it, and then sent the boat darting in that direction with long, swift strokes. It was a moment of pleasant excitement, and we began to con- jecture whether the deer was a buck or a doe, and whose hounds had driven it in. But when Hose turned to look again lie slackened his stroke, and said: I guess we neednt to hurry; lie wont get away. Its astonishin what a lot of fun a man can get in the course of a natural life in chasm chumps of wood. We landed on a sand beach at the mouth of a little stream, where a blazed tree marked the beginning of the Amper AMPERSAND. 221 sand trail. This line, or path, through the forest was first made some fifteen years ago by that ardent sportsman and lover of the Adirondacks Dr. W. W. Ely, of Rochester. Since that time it has been shortened and improved a little by other travellers, and also not a little blocked and confused by the lumbermen and the course of Nature. For when the lumber- men go into the woods they cut roads in every direction, leading nowhither, and the unwary wanderer is thereby led aside from the right way, and entangled in the undergrowth. And as for Nature, she is entirely opposed to the continuance of paths through her forest. She covers them with fallen leaves, and hides them with thick bushes. She drops great trees across them, and blots them out with windfalls. But the blazed line a suc- cession of broad axe-marks on the trunks of the trees, just high enough to catch TROUTING. 222 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. MAKING A POETAG the eye on a levelcan not be so easily em forests you must have often wonder- obliterated, and this, after all, is the safest ed at the absence of life, and felt a sense guide through the woods, of pity for the apparent loneliness of the Our trail led us at first through a nat- solitary squirrel that chatters at you as ural meadow, overgrown with waist-high you pass, or the little bird that hops noise- grass, and very spongy to the tread. Hor- lessly about in the thickets. The middle net-haunted also, was this meadow, and of the day is an especially silent arid de- therefore no place for idle dalliance or serted time. The deer are asl& ep in some unwary digressiou, for the bite of the hor- leafy covert. The partridge has gathered net is one of the saddest and most huinil- her brood in a quiet nook for their noon- iatin~ surprises of this mortal life. Then day nap. The squirrels are perhaps count- through a tangle of old wood roads my ing over their store of nuts in a hollow guide led me safely, and we struck up on tree, and the wood-thrush spares her sweet the long ridges which slope gently from voice until the evening. The woods are the lake to the base of the mountain, closenot cool and fragrant as the fool- Here walking was comparatively easy, ish romances describe them but warm for in the hard-wood timber there is little and still; for the breeze which sweeps underbrush. The long massive trunks across the hill-top and ruffles the surface seemed like pillars set to uphold the level of the lake does not penetrate into these roof of green. Great yellow birches, shag- shady recesses, and therefore all the in- gy with age, stretched their knotted arms habitants take the noon-tide as their hour high above us, sugar- maples stood up of rest. Only the big woodpeckerhe of straight and proud under their leafy the scarlet head and mighty billis mdc- crowns, and innumerable smooth beech- fatigable, and somewhere unseen is tap- esthe most polished and park-like of all ping the hollow beech-tree, while a wake- the forest treesoffered special opportu- ful little bird, invisible though near at nities for the carving of lovers names in hand, pierces the air with his long-drawn a place where. few lovers ever come. Chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee-ee As we walked onward the woods were After about an hour of this easy walk- very quiet. It seemed as if all living ing our trail he~an to ascend more sharp- creatures had deserted them. Indeed, ly. We passed over the shoulder of a ridge if you have spent.much time in our North- and around the edge of a fire-slash, and AMPERSAND. then we had tke mountain fairly before us. Not that we could see anything of it, for the woods still shut us in, but the path became very steep, and we knew that it was a straight climb; not up and down and round about did this most uncompromising trail proceed, but right up, in a direct line for the summit. Now this side of Amper- sand is steeper than any Gothic roof I have ever seen, and withal very much encum- bered with rocks and ledges and fallen trees. There were places where we had to haul ourselves up by roots and branches, and places where we had to go down on our hands and knees to ci~awl under logs. It was breathless work, but not at all dangerous or difficult. Every step forward was also a step upward; and as we stopped to rest for a moment, we could see already glimpses of the lake below us. But at these I did not much care to look, for I think it is a pity to spoil the surprise of a grand view by taking little snatches of it beforehand. It is better to keep ones face set to the mountain, and then coming out from the dark forest upon 223 the very summit, feel the splendor of the outlook flash upon one like a revelation. The character of the woods through which we were now passing was entirely different from that on the lower levels. On these steep places the birch and ma- ple will not grow, or at least they occur but sparsely. The higher slopes and sharp ridges of the mountains are always cover- ed with black timber. Spruce and hem- lock and balsam strike their roots among the rocks, and find a hidden nourishment. They stand close together; thickets of small trees spring up among the large ones; from year to year the great trunks are falling, ON THE TRAIL. 224 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. one across another, and the undergrowth is thickening around them, until a spruce forest seems to be almost impassable. The constant rain of needles and the crum- bling of the fallen trees form a rich, soft forest mould, into which the foot sinks noiselessly. Deep,wonderful beds of moss, many feet in thickness, and softer than feathers, cover the rocks and roots. There are shadows never broken by the sun, and dark, cool springs of icy water hidden away in the crevices. You feel a sense of antiquity here which you can never feel among the maples and beeches. Long- fellow was right when he filled his forest primeval with murmuring pines and hemlocks. The higher one climbs the darker and gloomier and more rugged the vegetation becomes. The pine-trees soon cease to follow you; the hemlocks disappear, and the balsams can go no farther. Only the hardy spruce keeps on bravely, growing more and more rough and stunted, with branches matted together and pressed down flat by the weight of the winters snow, until finally, somewhere about the level of thirty-four hundred feet above the sea, even this bold climber gives out, and the weather-beaten rocks of the summit are clad only with the hardiest mosses and Alpine plants. Thus it is with mountains, as perhaps with men, a mark of superior dignity to be naturally bald. Ampersand, falling short by a thousand feet of the needful height, can not claim this distinction. But what Nature has denied, human labor has supplied. Under the direction of Mr. Verplanck Colvin, of the Adirondack Sur- vey, several acres of trees were cut away from the summit, and when we emerged, after the last sharp scramble, upon the very crest of the mountain, we were not shut in by a dense thicket, but stood upon a bare ridge of granite in the centre of a little clearing. I shut my eyes for a moment, drew a few long breaths of the glorious breeze, and then looked out upon a wonder and delight beyond description. A soft, dazzling splendor filled the air. Snowy banks and drifts of cloud were floating slowly over a wide and wondrous land. Vast sweeps of forest, shining wa- ters, mountains near and far, the deepest green and the faintest, palest blue, chan- ging colors and glancing lights, and all so silent, so strange, so far away, that it seemed like the landscape of a dream. One almost feared to speak lest it should vanish. Right below us the Lower Saranac and Lonesome Pond, Round Lake and the Weller Ponds, were spread out like a map. Every point and island was clear- ly marked. We could follow the course of the Saranac River in all its curves and windings, and see the white tent of the hay-makers on the wild meadows. Far away to the northeast stretched the level fields of Bloomingdale. But westward from that all was unbroken wilderness a great sea of woods as far as the eye could reach. And how far it can reach from a height like this! What a revelation it gives to us of the power of sight! That faint blue outline far in time north was Lyon Mountain, nearly thirty miles away as the crow flies. Those silver gleams a little nearer were the waters of St. Regis. The Upper Saranac was displayed in all its length and breadth, and beyond it the innumerable waters of Fish Creek were glistening among the dark woods. The long ranges of the hills about the Jordan bounded the western horizon, and on the southwest Big Tupper Lake was sleeping at the base of Mount Morris. Looking past the peak of Stony Creek Mountain, which rose sharp and distinct in a line with Ampersand, we could trace the path of the Raquette River from tIme distant waters of Long Lake down through its far-stretched valley, and catch here and there a silvery link of its current. But when we turned to the south and east, how wonderful and how different was the view! Here was no wide-spread and smiling landscape with gleams of sil- ver scattered through it, and soft blue haze restimmg upon its fading verge, but a wild land of mountains, stern, rugged, tu- multuous, rising one beyond another like the waves of a stormy oceanOssa piled above PelionMclntyres slmarp peak and the ragged crest of time Gothics, amid, above all, Marcys dome-like head, raised just far enough above the others to assert his roy- al right as monarch of the Adirondacks. But grandest of all, as seen from this height, was Mount Sewarda solemn gi- ant of a mountain, standing apart from the others, and looking us full in tIme face. He was clothed from base to summit in a dark unbroken robe of forest. Ou-kor- lah, the Indians called himthe Great Eye; and he seemed almost to frown upon AMPERSAND. 225 us in defiance. At his feet, so straight below us that it seemed almost as if we could cast a stone into its clear brown depths, lay the wildest and most beau- tiful of all the Adirondack waters Ampersand Pond. On its shore, some five-and-twenty years ago, the now almost forgotten Adirondack Club had their shanty the successor of the Philosophers Camp cabin, to which they purposed to return on Follenshee Pond. Agassiz, of Cam- from summer to summer. But the civil bridge, the genial and witty Tom Appleton, war broke out, with all its terrible excite- of Boston, Charles E. Norton, Emerson, ment and confusion of hurrying hosts; Lowell, Judge Hoar, Judge Gray, John the club existed but for two years, and Holmes, and W. J. Stillman, of The Na- the little house in the wilderness was tiom, were among the company who made abandoned. Ten years ago, when I spent their resting-place under the shadow of three weeks at Ampersand, the cabin was Mount Seward. They had bought a tract in ruins, tenanted only by an interesting of forest land completely encircling the family of what the guides quaintly call pond, cut a rough road in to it through quill pigs, and surrounded by an al- the woods, and built a comfortable log most impenetrable growth of bushes and HEART OF THE ADIRONDAcKs. 226 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. saplings, among which a brood of par- tridges were in hiding. The roof had fall- en to the ground; raspberry-bushes thrust themselves through the yawning crevices between the logs; and in front of the sunk- en door-sill lay a rusty, broken iron stove, like a dismantled altar on which the fire had gone out forever. Since that time two new trails have been cut to the pond, aud it has become more accessible and more frequented. After we had feasted our eyes upon the view as long as we dared, counted the lakes and streams, andfound that we could see without a glass more than thirty, and recalled the memories of good times which came to us from almost every point of the compass, we unpacked the camera and proceeded to take some pictures. If you are a photographer, and have anything of the amateurs passion for your art, you will appreciate my pleasure and my anxiety. Never before, so far as I knew, had a camera been set up on Am- persand. I had but eight plates with me. The views were all very distant and all at a downward angle. The power of the light at this elevation was to me in my inexperience an unknown quantity. And the wind was sweeping vigorously across the open summit of the mountain. I put in my smallest stop, and prepared for short exposures. My instrument was a Blair tourograph, which is as compact and useful as any- thing that is, made, but differs from most other cameras in having the plate-holder on top of the box. The plates are dropped into a groove below, and then moved back- ward or forward into focus, after which the cap is removed and the exposure made. I set my instrument for Ampersand Pond, sighted the picture through the ground glass, and measured the focus. Then. I waited for a quiet nioment, dropped the plate, moved it carefully forward to the proper mark, and went around to take off the cap. I found that I already had it in my hand, and the plate had been ex- posed for about thirty seconds, with a sliding focus! I expostulated with myself. I said: VIEW EAST FROM AMPERSAND. HIS ROYAL HIGHNESSS LOVE AFFAIR. 227 You are excited; you are stupid; you are unworthy of the name of photographer. Light-writer! You ought to write with a whitewash-brush ! The reproof was ef- fectual, and from that moment all went well. The plates dropped smoothly, the camera was steady, the exposure was cor- rect. Six good pictures were made, to re- call, so far as black and white could do it, the delights of that day. It has been my good fortune to climb many of the famous peaks of the Adiron- dacksDix, the Dial, Hurricane, the Giant of the Valley, Marcy, and Whitefacebut I do not think the outlook from any of them is so wonderful and so lovely as that from little Ampersand; and I reck- on among my most valuable chattels the plates of glass on which the sun has traced for me (who can not draw) the out- lines of that loveliest landscape. The downward journey was swift and pleasant. We halted f~r an h.ur ~r t~Wo beside a trickling spring a few rods below the summit to eat our lunch and rest. Then, jumping, running, and sometimes sliding, we made the proverbially easy de- scent, passed in safety by the dreaded lair of the hornet, and reached Bartletts as the day was declining to its peaceful dose. Tell me, I pray you, my gentle reader, was not this a day to be grateful for? and are not these pleasures, as Izaak Walton saith, without offense to God or man? HIS ROYAL HIGHNESSS LOVE AFFAIR. IITHEN Colonel Chowery, late of the IV Madras Infantry, went to settle at Altenstadt with his wife and seven chil- dren, he was impelled only by motives of economy. If it had been predicted to him that his going to reside at the capital of Gothia would nearly cause a revolution in that country, and would lead to com- plications threatening a European war, the disturbance of the balance of poxver, and the upsetting of an English ministry, he would have thought such contingen- cies highly improbable. Colonel Chow- ery was not an imaginative man; he could not even imagine how it was that, prac- ticing the utmost thrift, he found it so difficult to square his accounts every quarter-day. As for wars and other such exciting things, he fancied he had done with them all when he retired from the Indian service on half - pay, with three medals, and a thankful mind at having not the slightest touch of liver complaint. But as a man can never make quite sure of where he is going~when he drives a gig, so a father can never plainly fore- see what trials are in store for him when he owns a pretty daughter. Mabel Chow- ery, the colonels eldest girl, was one of the sweetest maidens you can picture in your minds eye, and it pleased his Royal Highness the Crown Prince of Gothia to fall in love with her. Here you have at once all the elements for the very pretty kettle of fish above mentioned. The thing came about, quite naturally, in this way: Mabel, who was then seven- teen, used to go every afternoon at four to fetch home her two younger sisters, Alice and Mary, who attended the High School for young ladies. One December day, as the three girls were close to their home in the Blumenstrasse, and were walking very fast and gayly because of the frost, they saw a small Gothian boy, aged four, with his shirt tail sticking out of his trou- sers (as the fashion for boys is in that kingdom), toddle across the road jnst as a phaeton and pair were coming down at a spanking trot. Oh, Mab, hell be run over ! shrieked Alice and Mary together; but before they could add another word, Mabel had rushed to the small Gothians rescue, and had borne him out of harms way so fast that she lost her balance and fell down with him. The small Gothian, feeling deeply aggrieved, roared and kick- ed out. The driver of the phaeton pulled up his team on their haunches, and Ma- bel, as she stood up pink with confusion recognized the Crown Pringe in the tall, dark, and handsome man who had alight- ed, hat in hand, and was asking her, in a voice of sincere concern, whether she was hurt. No, sir, not in the least, faltered Ma- bel, blushing all the more now she saw who the speaker was. Everybody knew the Crown Prince by sight: his photo- graph was in a hundred shop windows. You had a bad fall, he said, kindly, and it was my fault. Will you let me offer you my arm and escort you home ? Thank you, said Mabel. We live

E. C. Grenville-Murray Grenville-Murray, E. C. His Royal Highness's Love Affair 227-240

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESSS LOVE AFFAIR. 227 You are excited; you are stupid; you are unworthy of the name of photographer. Light-writer! You ought to write with a whitewash-brush ! The reproof was ef- fectual, and from that moment all went well. The plates dropped smoothly, the camera was steady, the exposure was cor- rect. Six good pictures were made, to re- call, so far as black and white could do it, the delights of that day. It has been my good fortune to climb many of the famous peaks of the Adiron- dacksDix, the Dial, Hurricane, the Giant of the Valley, Marcy, and Whitefacebut I do not think the outlook from any of them is so wonderful and so lovely as that from little Ampersand; and I reck- on among my most valuable chattels the plates of glass on which the sun has traced for me (who can not draw) the out- lines of that loveliest landscape. The downward journey was swift and pleasant. We halted f~r an h.ur ~r t~Wo beside a trickling spring a few rods below the summit to eat our lunch and rest. Then, jumping, running, and sometimes sliding, we made the proverbially easy de- scent, passed in safety by the dreaded lair of the hornet, and reached Bartletts as the day was declining to its peaceful dose. Tell me, I pray you, my gentle reader, was not this a day to be grateful for? and are not these pleasures, as Izaak Walton saith, without offense to God or man? HIS ROYAL HIGHNESSS LOVE AFFAIR. IITHEN Colonel Chowery, late of the IV Madras Infantry, went to settle at Altenstadt with his wife and seven chil- dren, he was impelled only by motives of economy. If it had been predicted to him that his going to reside at the capital of Gothia would nearly cause a revolution in that country, and would lead to com- plications threatening a European war, the disturbance of the balance of poxver, and the upsetting of an English ministry, he would have thought such contingen- cies highly improbable. Colonel Chow- ery was not an imaginative man; he could not even imagine how it was that, prac- ticing the utmost thrift, he found it so difficult to square his accounts every quarter-day. As for wars and other such exciting things, he fancied he had done with them all when he retired from the Indian service on half - pay, with three medals, and a thankful mind at having not the slightest touch of liver complaint. But as a man can never make quite sure of where he is going~when he drives a gig, so a father can never plainly fore- see what trials are in store for him when he owns a pretty daughter. Mabel Chow- ery, the colonels eldest girl, was one of the sweetest maidens you can picture in your minds eye, and it pleased his Royal Highness the Crown Prince of Gothia to fall in love with her. Here you have at once all the elements for the very pretty kettle of fish above mentioned. The thing came about, quite naturally, in this way: Mabel, who was then seven- teen, used to go every afternoon at four to fetch home her two younger sisters, Alice and Mary, who attended the High School for young ladies. One December day, as the three girls were close to their home in the Blumenstrasse, and were walking very fast and gayly because of the frost, they saw a small Gothian boy, aged four, with his shirt tail sticking out of his trou- sers (as the fashion for boys is in that kingdom), toddle across the road jnst as a phaeton and pair were coming down at a spanking trot. Oh, Mab, hell be run over ! shrieked Alice and Mary together; but before they could add another word, Mabel had rushed to the small Gothians rescue, and had borne him out of harms way so fast that she lost her balance and fell down with him. The small Gothian, feeling deeply aggrieved, roared and kick- ed out. The driver of the phaeton pulled up his team on their haunches, and Ma- bel, as she stood up pink with confusion recognized the Crown Pringe in the tall, dark, and handsome man who had alight- ed, hat in hand, and was asking her, in a voice of sincere concern, whether she was hurt. No, sir, not in the least, faltered Ma- bel, blushing all the more now she saw who the speaker was. Everybody knew the Crown Prince by sight: his photo- graph was in a hundred shop windows. You had a bad fall, he said, kindly, and it was my fault. Will you let me offer you my arm and escort you home ? Thank you, said Mabel. We live C ,,, ~ I, I I) I // I -~ // // / / / ii ( I ill ~I ~1 IF SHE WENT TO THE PIANO HE FOLLOWED HER AND TURNED HER MUSIC. [SEE PAGE 233.~ From a drawing by C. S. Rejahart. HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS$ LOVE AFFAIR. 229 over the way. But the Crown Prince escorted her across the road, praising her courage, and apologizing for his own care- lessness in so nearly causing an accident. When he had seen her safe to her door he made her a low bow and retired. The small Gothian who had been the occasion of this fuss had retreated up a side street, squalling with all his might. You may be sure this little adventure with the Crown Prince became the prin- cipal topic of conversation at Colonel Chowerys tea table that evening. Mabel laughed at the affair, and thought that the Prince had made too much of it; but she owned that he had been very polite, and her sisters declared that he was the most charming man they had ever seen. The Colonel, being unimaginative, listen- ed without saying much. He could not realize the scene as it had happened, and fixed his thoughts only on this palpable fact, that Mabel had slightly grazed her wrist. He suggested an embrocation, and there he supposed the matter would end. But next morning the newspapers of Altenstadt published a paragraph about the bravery of the young English lady, and toward noon Colonel Von Schmeikelmund, the court Chamberlain, called at the Col- onels lodgings, saying he had been sent by their Majesties the King and Queen, as well as by his Royal Highness the Crown Prince, to inquire whether the Friiulein Mabel had suffered no injuries from her accident. The Herr Graf was a very ur- bane old gentleman, with a white head like a ball of cotton-wool. He said many pret- ty things to the Chowerys, and concluded by announcing that he had the royal or- ders to send them an invitation to the next court ball, on New-Years Day. Now Colonel Chowery had not come to Altenstadt with any intention of attend- ing court balls, which are, at the best, ex- pensive affairs, entailing an outlay for white gloves and cab hire, but such a gra- cious invitation as the King of Gothia had sent could not be refused. Mrs. Chowery would not hear of its being refused, and Mabel was as pleased as all girls are at the prospect of going to her first grand ball in a new dress. The Colonel had to send his old uniform to a tailor to be touched up a little and let out in the waist, for German living was making him stout. He then called on Sir Passmore Stoley, the British Minister, and was received by his Excel- lency with a coldness not devoid of irrita- vOL. LXXLNo. 42216 tion. Sir Passmore could not call to mind any precedent for a presentation in this irregular way. His son and secretary, young Gow Stoley, could not remember any precedent either. Both these mag- nates contrived to make the old Indian officer feel that he was transgressing the routine of the legation in a manner not creditable to his sense of propriety. The Colonel returned home much mortified from this interview with his countrys rep- resentative, and vented some of his dis- pleasure on his wife and daughter. He was a short, puzzled-headed man, who had always lived on good terms with consti- tuted authorities, and thought it hard that at his age he should get a wigging because his eldest girl had been so incautious as to draw down public attention on herself. I wish, Mab, he said, that in future when you see dirty little boys in the street you would let them alone. Nevertheless the Colonel, his wife, and Mabel did go to the ball, and amongst all the ladies there, married or single, there was not one who looked so well as Miss Chowery. She wore a white silk dress with bunches of roses, and had roses in her hair. Many of the Gothia nobility stared at her large soft blue eyes, her pretty little mouth, and her bright brown curls. But Lady Stoley, a proud and port- ly dame, covered with jewels, ignored the Chowerys utterly, and she pinched the arm of her son Gow when she saw the latter gaze at Mabel with sheepish wonder. This did not prevent Gow Stoley from gazing again as soon as he could do so undetected. At these German courts peo- ple to be presented are ranged down the two sides of a long room, foreigners stand- ing beside the ministers of their respective countries. The ministers and their at- tach6s are in uniform. At ten oclock a pair of folding-doors are thrown open, and the King, Queen, royal family, ladies and gentlemen in waiting, and maids of honor all stream in, preceded by the Chamberlain, whose gold key of office dangles from his button-hole. The court procession moves slowly down one side of the room and then up the other, stopping every time a presentation is made, and their Majesties generally address a few gracious words to visitors of distinction. Now on this occasion the King and Queen of Gothia spoke to nobody except the Chowerys. His Majesty was a tall, bluff, and dignified potentate, with a 230 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. healthy belief in the divine right of Ger- man monarchs, but with a good deal of hearty kindness toward people who treat- ed him reverently. He not only smiled with a fatherly condescension on Mabel, but he kissed her on both cheeks, the Queen did the same, and they both called her a brave girl. After this the King turned to the Colonel and Mrs. Chowery, and shook hands with them both. Sir Passmore, in his gold-laced swallow-tail, looked blue, and Lady Stoley looked still bluer; but the King paid no attention to them, once ceremonious bows had been exchanged. A colonel was sacred in his Majestys eyes. No matter if he had only been in the Indian service; he had com- manded a regiment, he had been in battle, and was consequently, to the Kings think- ing, a much worthier individual than a civilian like Sir Passmore Stoley. Col- onel Chowery, I like the sight of your English redcoats, said his Majesty; you must tell me all about your campaigns. Soon after this the baud struck up, quadrilles were formed, and Mabel found herself dancing in the royal set with the Crown Prince. His Royal Highness was splendidly attired in a hussar uniform blazing with diamond stars. But, with- out any flattery, it may be said that his eyes sparkled as much as his diamonds. There was not a comelier prince among the heirs- apparent of Europe, nor a faster, for he made the thalers of his royal papa fly like sparks off a grindstone. He spoke to Mabel in English, and after conducting her to her seat at the end of the quadrille, begged the pleasure of dancing the supper valse with her by-and-by. He had no sooner retired than a whole rush of Go- thian princes, counts, and barons, all in uni- form and all decorated, pressed forward to offer themselves as partners. Not a man boasting less than thirty-two quarterings had a chance in this throng. Mabel had been raised per salturn to the post of the belle of the Gothian court, and a romantic interest attached to her because her ad- venture with the dirty little street boy had been much magnified by rumor. So her card was filled up in a trice with so many great names that it read like a leaf torn out of the Almanach de Goiha. But amongst all these Fiirsten, Grafen, and Freiherren there was not one who looked so handsome as the Crown Prince, or danced so well. This, at least, was Miss Chowerys opinion. There were many noble Gothian ladies and girls who had expected to have their turns footing it over the floor with his Royal Highness, but they were disappointed. The Crown Prince danced with nobody except Mabel that evening. After the quadrille he with- drew into a window embrasure, and en- tered into a long conversation with Count von Stolz, the Prime Minister, an old gen- tleman with a face impenetrable as cast iron. Old Stolz was pleased to see the Prince so attentive, for it was not often that the Kings son sought the society of his fathers wise counsellors, and there- fore the veteran statesman proceeded to improve the occasion. But the Prince was not listening at all. His eye kept wandering toward Mabel, and presently a moody look stole over his face, and he stroked his mustache nervously, as if dis- pleased to see her dance with so many men. It is the best of princes that they seldom care to hide their displeasure. Mabel found the Prince sulky when he came to dance with her for the second time. You are very fond of dancing, he said, in a pettish tone. Oh, very, sir, she answered, inno cently; this is my first ball. Your first, is it? I should have thought you did nothing but dance all day and night, it seems so natural to you.~~ Mabel made no reply, for they had be- gun to spin round to the strains of a new waltz composed by Herr Zingel, th~ Hofcapellmeister; but when his Royal Highness had waltzed off some of his ill humor, and had brought Mabel to a sud- den stand-still, flushed and a little breath- less, he whispered: I have never had such a partner as you. I feel as if I should never again care to dance with anybody else. Oh, sir! exclaimed Mabel, blushing and astonished. You must come to all the other court balls this winter, proceeded the Prince. But you will dance with me only, wont you? It makes me jealous to see you dance with other men. Mabel glanced up. Her eyes met the Princes, and she instantly lowered them. But the mischief was done. It requires only a spark to explode a magazine; but the Princes look had wrought a cruel dis- turbance in the little English girls heart. She was too flurried to say anything or to HIS ROYAL HIGHNESSS LOVE AFFAIR. ~31 understand much o~ what he said from that moment. He took her in to supper, contrary to all rules of etiquette, for there was a Serene Highness present who had a claim to his escort, and the court Cham- berlain, Count von Schmeikelmund, ob- served this breach of duty with consterna- tion. The Queen also noticed it, and her Majestys eyes were suddenly opened to the fact that the heir-apparent had been pay- ing rather too much attention all the even- ing to Frijulein Chowery. But the King of Gothia noticed nothing, for he was deep in conversation with the little Colonel as to the comparative advantages of close or open order in skirmishing with rebellious Hindoos. The General Count von Schwert- spiel, commander-in-chief of the Gothian forces, had been called, with some other generals, to adjudicate upon this dispute, and there was quite a big circle of military men all as one with their monarch in demonstrating the superiority of close or- der to Colonel Chowery, while the more frivolous spirits of both sexes were step- ping to Herr Zingels measures. You are not drinking your chain- pao-ne murmured the Crown Prince to Mabel, in the supper-room. You are not angry at the words I spoke to you ? No, sir, answered Mabel, faintly. Smile, then; else I shall think I have offended you. She tried to smile; but it was a weak ef- fort. She wished that she were beside her mother, and that this ball were over; all the joy of it had died out from her heart. Oh, why did he look at her like that, and talk in such a way when he could mean so little by what he said? Was he not a kings son, and how could she forget that? Mabel danced no more that night, and riding home she sat silent and trembling in her corner of the cab, while the Colonel discoursed with great complacency upon what the King had said, and what he had said to the King, and what a fine country Gothia was, and what learned fellows those Gothian generals were. On the morning after the ball the Crown Prince and his august mother had a little conversation. The Prince wanted her Ma- jesty to appoint Fraulein Chowery to be reader and companion to his young sis- ters, the Princesses Wilhelmina, Frederi- ca, and Sophia. He was very affection- ate in urging this request, as it was his cus- tom to be when he wanted anything; and the Queen, who was dotingly fond of him, generally humored his most unreasonable wishes for the sake of being petted by him a little. But this request about Friiulein Chowery was really too stiff. Her Majes- ty had matrimonial views for her son, and reminded him that he was as good as en- gaged to the Princess Carolina, daughter of the King of Swabia. It is time, my dear Fritz, that you went to the Swabian court and commenced your wooing, ob- served her Majesty. Your marriage ought to be settled, in order that our Par- liament and that of Swabia may vote the necessary grants during this session. VWill you give Fraulein Chowery the appointment, I beg ? asked the Crown Prince, deliberately avoiding the main issue. No, Fritz; it would excite remark answered the poor Queen, nervously; for when she resisted any of her Fritzs whims there was almost always a scene that made her weep. Butbutdont be angry. You can get this English maiden placed in the household of your aunt Dorothea. That will be much better, for you will be able to see her there as oTten as you like without anybody talking scandal about it. Dorothea will be happy to serve you in the matter, as she is so good-natured. Will you speak to Aunt Dorothea about it ? asked the Crown Prince, who had already begun to scowl. Yes, Fritz, I will speak to Aunt Doro- thea, if you promise to obey me about the marriage. The Queen would have prom- ised anything to put her son into a good humor. Very well; as soon as Frijulein Chow- ery is settled at the Old Palace I will see about marrying Carolina, answered his Royal Highness, and thereupon gave his mother a kiss which made her glad for the rest of the day. The good Queen of Gothia therefore ar- ranged that little matter for him with the Princess Dorothea without her royal con- science troubling her with the reproach that she was doing any wrong. The Princess Dorothea was a good-humored plump widow of forty, the Kings sister. She kept a small court of her own in the Old Palace of Altenstadt, and was under- stood to be a patron of the arts because she favored good-looking tenors and young poets who wrote sonnets in her honor. She was not particularly fond of her ne- phew the Crown Prince, for he had been heard to say sarcastic things about her; 232 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. but this rendered her the more anxious not to incur his rancor by refusing the small favor he asked on behalf of his pro- t~g~e Friiulein Chowery. In a few words the Queen explained to her how the wind lay, and her Royal Highness by a woman- ly twinkle showed that she understood. Accordingly, a paper was signed appoint- ing Mabel Chowery to be reader in ordi- nary to her Royal Highness at a salary of fifteen hundred thalers, and Baron von Kamm~rkel, the Princesss chamberlain, secretary, and most confidential adviser, a stalwart and chubby nobleman six feet high, was sent to the Colonels lodgings to request that Mabel would attend at the Old Palace. Since the ball Mabel had been per- plexed and sad, though there was no change in her manner that could attract her parents notice. Returning from the ball she had made up her mind that she would next day tell her mother all that had happened; but next day it seemed to her that there was nothing to tell. The Prince had looked strangely at her, he had told her that he should never care to dance with any other girl again, and he had slightly squeezed her hand. But what was there in that? Mabel knew that there was a great deal in it; but she might not be able to convey the same impression to her father and mother. They might say she was prudish and absurd. Colonel Chowery was not in a mood for hearing any evil spoken of the Gothian royal fam- ily, for on the day after the ball the King had graciously sent him a work on mili- tary tactics, and had begged him to draw up a report on his theories about open or- der in skirmishing, which report was to be submitted to the Gothian War-office. So the little Colonel was very busy with pen and paper, and that is why Mabel was afraid to trouble him with her story about how the Crown Prince had behaved. When the Princess Dorotheas message arrived it was received by the Chowery family with gratified surprise as a signal mark of the royal favor. Mabel herself was greatly relieved and pleased. The po- sition offered was such a respectable one, and then there was the salary, which to people circumstanced as the Chowerys were was no small consideration. But what pleased poor Mabel most was to think that since she was going to be admitted into the Princess Dorotheas household there could be no intention on the part of anybody at court to reat her slightingly. Perhaps the Crown Prince was sorry for having made fun of her, and had helped to get her this post as an atonement. Think- ing this might be the case, Mabel felt al- ready disposed to forgive his Royal High- ness. Hasty preparations had to be made that Mabel might go to the Old Palace with a suitable outfit. What a lucky girl you are 1, exclaimed the overjoyed Colonel. You must have two new dresses, dear child, said Mrs. Chowery. Two days were devoted to shopping, and Mrs. Chowery made Mabel a present of all her spare trink- ets, including her watch and chain, that she might appear as smartly as possible in her new situation. Privately both the Colonel and his wife indulged the idea that their daughters fortune was made. She would probably make a fine marriage with a Gothian nobleman of wealth. There could be no question that she was a very lucky girl. Mabel thought this too, during the first week of her sojourn in the palace, for she was treated with great kindness. She had a charming suite of rooms all to herself, and one of the Princesss maids to attend to her. The Princess called her my dear child, and was very generous, for she gave her three new dresses as soon as she had ascertained what the extent of her ward- robe was. Mabel thought at first she would never know what to do with so many fine frocks. As to her duties, they were merely nominal. She breakfasted by herself, and was free to walk about the palace gardens, or do anything else she pleased, until noon, when she joined her mistress at luncheon. After luncheon the Princess used to go out for a drive, and Mabel accompanied her. On their return her Royal Highness took some caf~ an lait and cakes, and talked scandal with Baron von Kammerkel, who retailed to her all the chitchat of court and city. While this was going on Mabel and a buxom maid of honor named Fraulein Louisa von Gluck used to take it in turns to play waltzes and galops on the piano. It was very seldom that the Princess asked Mabel to read to her, for her Royal Highness pre- ferred French novels to all other literature, and she enjoyed these most when she read them herself. At five oclock dinner was served, and at seven, on two nights a week, his Royal Highness took Mabel to the opera. On two other nights there used to 232 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. but this rendered her the more anxious not to incur his rancor by refusing the small favor he asked on behalf of his pro- t~g~e Friiulein Chowery. In a few words the Queen explained to her how the wind lay, and her Royal Highness by a woman- ly twinkle showed that she understood. Accordingly, a paper was signed appoint- ing Mabel Chowery to be reader in ordi- nary to her Royal Highness at a salary of fifteen hundred thalers, and Baron von Kammerkel, the Princesss chamberlain, secretary, and most confidential adviser, a stalwart and chubby nobleman six feet high, was sent to the Colonels lodgings to request that Mabel would attend at the Old Palace. Since the ball Mabel had been per- plexed and sad, though there was no change in her manner that could attract her parents notice. Returning from the ball she had made up her mind that she would next day tell her mother all that had happened; but next day it seemed to her that there was nothing to tell. The Prince had looked strangely at her, he had told her that he should never care to dance with any other girl again, and he had slightly squeezed her hand. But what was there in that? Mabel knew that there was a great deal in it; but she might not be able to convey the same impression to her father and mother. They might say she was prudish and absurd. Colonel Chowery was not in a mood for hearing any evil spoken of the Gothian royal fam- ily, for on the day after the ball the King had graciously sent him a work on mili- tary tactics, and had begged him to draw up a report on his theories about open or- der in skirmishing, which report was to be submitted to the Gothian War-office. So the little Colonel was very busy with pen and paper, and that is why Mabel was afraid to trouble him with her story about how the Crown Prince had behaved. When the Princess Dorotheas message arrived it was received by the Chowery family with gratified surprise as a signal mark of the royal favor. Mabel herself was greatly relieved and pleased. The po- sition offered was such a respectable one, and then there was the salary, which to people circumstanced as the Chowerys were was no small consideration. But what pleased poor Mabel most was to think that since she was going to be admitted into the Princess Dorotheas household there could be no intention on the part of anybody at court to reat her slightingly. Perhaps the Crown Prince was sorry for having made fun of her, and had helped to get her this post as an atonement. Think- ing this might be the case, Mabel felt al- ready disposed to forgive his Royal High- ness. Hasty preparations had to be made that Mabel might go to the Old Palace with a suitable outfit. What a lucky girl you are ! exclaimed the overjoyed Colonel. You must have two new dresses, dear child, said Mrs. Chowery. Two days were devoted to shopping, and Mrs. Chowery made Mabel a present of all her spare trink- ets, including her watch and chain, that she might appear as smartly as possible in her new situation. Privately both the Colonel and his wife indulged the idea that their daughters fortune was made. She would probably make a fine marriage with a Gothian nobleman of wealth. There could be no question that she was a very lucky girl. Mabel thought this too, during the first week of her sojourn in the palace, for she was treated with great kindness. She had a charming suite of rooms all to herself, and one of the Princesss maids to attend to her. The Princess called her my dear child, and was very generous, for she gave her three new dresses as soon as she had ascertained what the extent of her ward- robe was. Mabel thought at first she would never know what to do with so many fine frocks. As to her duties, they were merely nominal. She breakfasted by herself, and was free to walk about the palace gardens, or do anything else she pleased, until noon, when she joined her mistress at luncheon. After luncheon the Princess used to go out for a drive, and Mabel accompanied her. On their return her Royal Highness took some caf~ ctu lait and cakes, and talked scandal with Baron von Kammerkel, who retailed to her all the chitchat of court and city. While this was going on Mabel and a buxom maid of honor named Fraulein Louisa von Gluck used to take it in turns to play waltzes and galops on the piano. It was very seldom that the Princess asked Mabel to read to her, for her Royal Highness pre- ferred French novels to all other literature, and she enjoyed these most when she read them herself. At five oclock dinner was served, and at seven, on two nights a week, his Royal Highness took Mabel to the opera. On two other nights there used to 234 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. assuming Mabels version of facts to be correct, she had been either grossly insult- ed or honored in an extraordinary degree. Colonel Chowery, as her father, was bound to ascertain how the case stood, and he could only hope that the Princess Dorothea might be able to assure him that Mabel had been laboring under some del usion as to the meaning of the Princes words. This was, indeed, what her Royal High- ness did say at once. She expressed well- acted astonishment, but had noticed of late that Mabel had been looking poorly, and was a little fa~nciful in her talk. Per- haps the sudden change in her habits had affected her nerves and she had need of country air. In fact, the good Princess conveyed the idea that poor Mabel had possibly fallen in love with the Crown Prince, but that it was laughable to sup- pose that his Royal Highness, who, as all the world knew, was engaged to the Prin- cess Carolina of Swabia, could have trou- bled his thoughts about Mabel. Colonel Chowery at once saw the justice of this observation, and retired, feeling deeply ashamed of himself and his daughter. Foolish girl, he muttered to himself, as he trudged home; and he was minded to read her a severe lecture on her folly. But Mabel had been put to bed when he reached the house, for the excitement of the evening had given her a nervous headache, so it was to his wife that the little Colonel delivered his opinions as to the mischievous nature of the nonsense that had got into his girls head. No one ever heard such preposterous folly, he said. The silly girl will have thrown away her position by this conduct, and perhaps have got us all into a scrape, too. But I dont think that what Mabel said was mere fancy, remarked Mrs. Chow- ery, who, with a mothers alarm, had a truer insight into the situation. Now, Maria, do be quiet, besought the Colonel. I tell you this may prove a most awkward affair for us. Much more awkward than the Colonel fancied when he spoke these words; for, in the dead of that night, as he lay awake musing on all that happened, lie was star- tled by a loud knock, and presently Mule- hen, the cook, rapped at his door to say that three gentlemen of the police were waiting to see him. Huddling on his dressing - gown and slippers, the Colonel went down, with no little trepidation de- picted on his countenance. His visitors were Herr Starklaune, Chief of the Police in Altenstadt, and two subordinates. Herr Starklaune was a man with a cold, keen eye and a stiff gray mustache. I am very sorry to be the bearer of a disagreea- ble communication to you, Colonel, he said, dryly. The orders of the govern- ment are that you leave the kingdom im- mediately. Who ? stammered the Colonel, dum- founded. Not only you, but all your family, and especially your daughter Frijulein Mabel. Surely this is not owing to the Crown Prince ? remonstrated the Colonel. I assure you, sir, my poor child has been unwell. I trust you will allow me time to explain this to their Majesties. We are really most grieved, Mrs. Chowery and I. I can allow you no time, was Herr Starklaunes answer. You must all dress at once. Yo~mr baggage will be sent after you. I can let you take away no papers. Nothing, in fact, except the clothes you wear. Those are my orders. Be quick, if you please, for two carriages are wait- ing for you. Expostulation was useless. The Colonel had to rouse his wife and children; and as soon as they were dressed they were hurried, wondering and shivering, for it was a bitterly cold night, into the car- riages, which drove them to a railway sta- tion ten miles outside the capital. All the way Mabel cried, and the Colonel kept moaning, Wretched girl, see what you have brought upon us by your folly This summary expulsion of the Chow- erys from Gothia was due to a very sun- ple cause. The Crown Prince, after leav- ing Mabel, had gone to the royal palace and declared to his father and mother that he would not marry the Princess Carolina of Swabia. He was in love with the Friiu- hem Chowery, and nobody else should be his wife. The good Queen of Gothia wept, and the King of Gothia stormed. He had great cause for dissatisfaction in the conduct of his heir, who had lately been very remiss in his military duties, insomuch that the First Regiment of Hussars. of which his Royal Highness was Colonel, were leading quite easy and pleasant livesa thing nev- er before known in the service. Ill put you into another regiment, and send you to command the garrison of a fortress, cried his Majesty, shaking his HIS ROYAL HIGHNESSS LOVE AFFAIR. 23~ fist. Now go to your palace, and consid- er yourself under arrest until my good pleasure is known. Naturally the Crown Prince obeyed; but there was that in his manner of obey- ing which showed that he was not to be shaken from the projects he had conceived toward Frijulein Chowery. He had been accustomed to have his own way in every- thing, generally without difficulty, and Mabel was the only girl who had ever withstood him. This made her the more worth winning. His Royal Highness was persuaded that there could be no more happiness for him in life unless Mabel be- came his left-handed consort, and having betaken himself to his palace, he wrote her a respectful and well - turned letter expressive of his honorable intentions. Meanwhile his royal papa and mamma had in dismay sent for Baron von Stolz, the Prime Minister, whose advice they be- sought in a matter which was of such sov- ereign importance to the dynasty and to the state of Gothia. The Prime Minister was quite as much scandalized as the King and Queen, but being a statesman of prompt action, he at once advised that the Chowerys should be expelled from the country, and that the Crown Prince should be dispatched to the court of Swa- bia without delay. Baron von Stolz did not believe in the eternity of love affairs between princes and pretty damsels of in- ferior station, and, besides, he had his po- litical reasons for wishing to see Prince Fritz marry the daughter of the King of Swabia. Gothia and Swabia had not of late been living on quite such friendly terms as was desirable, and it was to be feared that there was some project afoot for concluding an alliance between Swabia and Westphalia, in which case Gothia would find itself in a minority in the Ger- man Diet. The Diet still flourished in those days, and Gothia, thanks to the able policy of Baron von Stolz in man- ao~ino~ alliances, had a paramount influence there, but this influence could only be maintained if Prince Fritz and the Prin- cess Carolina, who did not care a pin for each other, became man and wife. There- fore the Chowerys were expelled from Gothia, as we have seen, and Baron von Stolz went to bed appeased. The Crown Prince had also retired to rest, well satisfied, after writihg his letter to Mabel, and the first thing he did next morning upon rising was to send that epistle to the Blumenstrasse by one of his equerries. You may imagine his Royal Highnesss feelings when the equerry re- turned in an hour saying that he had found the Chowerys house in the posses- sion of the police, who were overlooking papers and packing trunks. Herr Stark- laune was superintending these operations in person, and he had told the equerry that all the Chowerys, including the Friiu- hem, had been exiled by superior order. Prince Fritz had a royal habit of swearing when little things put him out, but on this occasion his language was really so strong that it was a wonder where he could have learned the startling words he used. He was even more awful to behold, however, when he grew calmer, for his complexion remained livid with rage, and he took a terrible oath not to be dissuaded from his purpose by anything which the wrath of his parents or the craft of statesmen could devise against him. This is a trick of Von Stolzs, exclaimed his Royal High- ness, shaking both his fists. But Ill be even with him. Ill join the Opposition. And this significant threat,reaching Baron von Stolzs ears the same evening, was, of course, destined to have a vital effect on Gothian politics, for till then Prince Fritz had belonged to the party which ~vas in power, whereas if he now lent his counte- nance to Baron von Zweifelwitz,who head- ed the Opposition, Baron von Stolz was likely to have some difficult work cut out for him. But it was not enough to anathematize Von Stolz: the Crown Prince had to evince his spirit by action. He first dashed off a letter to the Swabian ambassador appris- ing his Excellency that it was not his in- tention to sue for the Princess Carolina s hand, as his affections were engaged else- where. No such indiscreet letter was ever penned by a Crown Prince, for, as every one will admit, a communication of such a nature as this ought to have been couch- ed in the proper diplomatic terms of cir- cuitous periphrases, and it ought to have been forwarded through Von Stolz. The Prince must have known that in telling the ambassador that he did not mean to marry the daughter of his Excellencys master he was inflicting a slight upon the whole nation of Swabia, from the King on his throne to the lowest coster-monger on his donkey-cart, and that, under such cir- cumstances, the ambassador would feel bound instantly to demand his passports. 236 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. But the Crown Prince was not in the least concerned about the ambassador~s demand- ing his passports, for the only person on earth of whom he was thinking just then was Mabel. Having sent off his letter, his Royal Highness ordered his confiden- tial valet to pack him a portmanteau, cash him a check, and be ready to start with him on a journey in an hour. At the time appointed the Crown Prince committed the unpardonable offense of breaking his arrest; he and his valet left Altenstadt to- gether privately, and before it was known that they had decamped, the express that carried them was over the frontier. That same night his Royal Highness crossed the Channel by the Ostend packet, and was very sick; so was his valet. Toward six in the morning they reached London, and alighted at Claridges Hotel, where, as his Highness was travelling incognito, he gave his name as Count von Altenstadt. The Prince had not the least idea as to where he could find the Chowerys; but he recollected having heard that the Col- onel was a member of the Army and Navy Club, so when he had dressed and break- fasted he ordered a brougham round and drove to Pall Mall. Fortune was kind to him, for the very first person he saw in descending from his carriage was Colonel Chowery coming down the steps of the club, opening some letters. The little Col- onel, who was looking very miserable, started at the sight of Prince Fritz as if he doubted his own senses. How do you do, Colonel ? said the Crown Prince, politely lifting his hat. I heard yesterday of the indignity that had been put upon you, and I have hast- ened to England to express my utmost concern, and to offer you my sincerest apologies for what has happened. How sweet are the words of princes! Colonel Chowery, who had been cursing Prince Fritz all the way from Gothia, was al- most moved to tears. It is very good of you, sir, he whim- pered. Will you do me the honor of walking in? It was a great trouble to us all to think that their Majesties were of- fended. I hope at least you acquitted me of all share in your expulsion. Of course, sir, I knew that your Royal Highness would not put any unfavorable construction on my poor childs actions. Colonel Chowery, let me speak out the truth frankly: I love your daughter. Oh, sir, you do her a great honor; but There is no but about it. If you will give your consent, I want Miss Mabel to become my wife. Is your Royal Highness speaking se- riously ? Colonel Chowery pronounced the words your Royal Highness rather louder than he need have done, for his friend General Brown, a great respecter of per- sons, was within ear-shot just then. The Prince and the Colonel were passing through the hall of the club. I am so far serious, said his Royal Highness, as they walked into a private room, that I will call on Miss Chowery this very day to make my offer. You are staying in London ? The Colonel was too much flurried to have any clear perception of what was said to him. He was asking himself whether it could be possible that his Ma bel was going to be a queen. So the Prince had to repeat his question. Yes, sir; we arrived in London yes- terday, answered the Colonel. At what hotel are you staying ? At theat the Clarendon. This, of course, was a figment. The Chowerys had put up at a small family hotel in Craven Street, close to Charing Cross, but the Colonel saw that if his Roy- al Highness was going to call with a mat- rimonial object in view he must be re- ceived in state, and so he resolved to re- move to the Clarendon without loss of time. He and the Prince remained talk- ing anxiously together for nearly an hour, and then his Royal Highness left, prom- ising to call and lunch at the Clarendon punctually at one. The little Colonel thereupon hurried back to Craven Street as fast as a hansom could carry him. He was in a more excited state than if he had been on active service again and about to fight a battle. This was all very well; but, as may be imagined, the Crown Princes escapade had produced a sensation something like the explosion of a bomb at the Gothian court, and wild telegrams were being wired about him in all directions. Poor little innocent Mabel was causing ever so many distinguished personages in differ- ent parts of Europe to put their wits and legs in viol~iit motion. First came a telegram from the Go- thian court to the Queen of England, at HIS ROYAL HIGHNESSS LOVE AFFAIR. 237 Windsor, explaining the grievous thing that had happened, and praying her Maj- esty to exert her authority that Prince Fritz might be packed home (the Queen being in Scotland, this message was for- warded to Balmoral); second, came a tele- gram from Baron von Stolz to Count von Schinkenspeise, the Gothian Minister in London, explaining facts, and ordering that his Excellency should exert his influ- ence, etc.; third, a message from Balmo- ral to Altenstadt, conveying sympathy, and promising prompt action; fourth, a message from Balmoral to one of the roy- al princes in London, commanding him to ascertain where Prince Fritz was, to call upon him, exert influence, etc.; fifth, ditto from Balmoral to the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, explaining facts, and commanding him to use influence etc.; sixth, a message from the Secretary of Foreign Affairs to Sir Passmore Sto- ley, the British Minister at Altenstadt, re- questing a full report of all that had oc- curred; seventh, eighth, and ninth, notes from the Gothian Minister, the Secretary of Foreign Office, and the Royal Prince to the Chief Commissioner of Police, demand- ing that the address of Prince Fritz should instantly be found; tenth, a note from Secretary of Foreign Office to the War- office, asking for information about Col- onel Chowery; eleventh, an identical note from the War-office to the India Office propounding the same question; twelfth, a note from the India Office giving a list of Colonel Chowerys services. Then there were runnings to and fro, as follows: Six detectives started from Scotland Yard to scour the principal ho- tels. The Chief Commissioner called at Marlborough House, in Downing Street, and at the Gothian Legation. The Royal Prince and the Gothian Minister called at Scotland Yard. The Secretary of Foreign Office, the Royal Prince, and the Gothian Minister all called at Claridges Hotel, and missed the Crown Prince, who was out. These three exalted persons subsequently called on one another, and missed one an- other. The Chief Commissioner had an interview with the manager of Claridges. The Secretary of Foreign Office had an interview with the Prime Minister. The Crown Princes valet had interviews with everybody. In the upshot it was ascertained that the Crown Prince had gone to the Claren- don, but his Royal Highness had been there some hours before this discovery was made. He had lunched with the Chowerys, he had spent the afternoon with them, and he intended to stay for dinner and spend the evening. Poor Ma- bel had been much agitated by this visit, for, after having been scolded over sever- al hundreds of miles of railway travelling about her foolish conduct toward the Crown Prince, she was disposed to look with terror upon his Royal Highness. Yesterday her parents were abusing the Prince and her together; to-day they were for throwing her into his arms. Her father and mother had told her that the Prince meant to propose marriage, and they had loaded her with caresses on the strength of her brilliant new pros- pects. But Mabel felt giddy at the mere idea of marrying a crown prince. She could not realize it, and trembled all the afternoon in his presence. At last, to- ward dusk, her parents left her alone with the Prince, and she sat by the fire, whose fitful light flickered on her face, too nerv- ous to speak or move. She would have given anything for an excuse to fly, but this time there was no running away. Listen to me, dear Mabel, said the Prince, taking both her hands and gazing ardently into her face. I have come to England to ask you to be my wife. I am not fitted to be a queen, sir, she answered, with a weak attempt at a smile. You would make an adorable queen, cried the Prince, who did not see fit as yet to explain that she was only to be a morganatic spouse. I do not frighten you, do I ? Yes, sir, you do, she replied, with rue- ful frankness. Why, am I so very terrible ? and he smiled. She laughed slightly too, to give her- self a countenance. What I mean is that you are so much above me, sir. But if I raise you to my side, and love you with my whole heart, all my life long ? You could not; your parents would not allow it. Must I ask their permission to love? My dear child, I am my own master, and I prove it by my demand. Will you mar- ry me Oh, sir, will you not give me a little time to consider ? prayed Mabel, in her distress. Of course I will, my darling little one, 238 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. answered the generous Prince. You shall have any amount of time. How much do you want ? Half an hour; an hour ? Oh, sir, I was thinking of months and monthsor at least weeks. Months! weeks ! echoed the Prince. Why, Mabel, feel my heart ; and so saying, he drew her little hand to his waistcoat. See how it thumps. Do you think I could wait for weeks? To do so would kill me. No, my precious one; say Yes to me at once. Breathe it in my ear as I kiss you tenderly. Eh ?eh ? and encircling her waist with his arm, the Prince drew Mabels head on to his shoul- der and kissed her fervently a good many times, leaving her no power of resistance. He had reached this interesting crisis in his love affair when the door opened, and Uolonel Cliowery walked in quickly to say that the Gothian Minister had called and craved an audience of his Royal Highness. The Prince and Mabel had sprung apart, and Mabel was blushing a good deal. II wish Count von Schinkenspeise would have better manners than to dog me to the houses of my private friends, cried the Prince, angrily. Perhaps your Royal Highness had better see his Excellency, suggested the Colonel. He says that he has an impor- tant dispatch from Altenstadt to commu- nicate. Very well, I will see hiiii. Excuse me for a moment, dear Mabel. I will not be away long ; and gracefully lifting the girls hand to his lips, he kissed it whilst her father stood by, and then left the room. But he was scarcely gone when the Colonel, who was in a very fidgety state, and looked quite upset, said: Now, Ma- bel dear, go off quickly to your room. Ill send for you when I want you. Has anything happened, papa ? in- quired Mabel, astonished. Yes-at least no. If anything hap- pens I will tell you. Run off now, theres a good child. But, papa, if the Prince returns? Never mind the Prince ; and the lit- tle Colonel was in such haste to see his daughter go that he almost pushed her out of the room. I wonder whats up now ? mused Ma- bel, as she retreated to her chamber. At one moment I am scolded because the Prince makes love to me, then I am told that he is to be my husband, and now papa says I am not to mind him. And Mabel concluded that this was a funny world. Mabel never knew for certain what pass- ed on that eventful evening; at all events, she did not see the Priiice. Nor did she see him on the next day, or for the six days following. During this time Colonel Chowery was continually on the move. He wore his best clothes; he was myste- rious; broughams called for him at the Clarendon at all sorts of odd hours and fetched him away. When he saw Mabel lie patted her head and kissed her, but vouchsafed no explanation as to what he was doing. Mrs. Chowery of course knew what was going on, but she was as reti- cent as her husband. The truth is that Colonel Chowery, thanks to his pretty daughter, had become an important person. The courts of Eng- land and Gothia and the Foreign Offices of those two states were exerting their in- fluence upon hini. The little man had frequent interviews with Lord Baxtayre, an astute and well-bred nobleman con- nected with the government, whose busi- ness it was in this affair to convey re- monstrances, arguments, threats, compli- ments, and promises unofficially to the Colonel, turn by turn, as they might serve his purpose. Naturally his lordship made use of remonstrances and threats so long as it was hoped the Prince might be in- duced to return quietly to his native land and forget Mabel. Lord Baxtayre spoke haughtily to the Colonel, and reminded him that it was his duty as an officer and a gentlenian not to encourage a suit which could lead to no creditable results, but only to complications, political and social, of a very troublesome character. Unfor- tunately Colonel Chowery stood in such a position that he had no longer anything to fear from soul alive. A week previous- ly had he been threatened with expulsion from Gothia, the dread of such a fate would have rendered him cautious, but now that he had been expelled, what more could be done to him? He had been subjected to great annoyance and pecuniary loss,, and feeling how very strong his position had become on this account, the little man was not disposed to eat humble-pie before Lord Baxtayre. You must not presume to lecture me, my lord, said he, with some dignity. The Gothian governmeiit owes me apol HIS ROYAL HIGHNESSS LOVE AFFAIR. 239 ogy and compensation for the wrong that was done to me. It is not my fault if the Crown Prince chooses to love my daugh- ter. He would degrade your daughter, sir,~~ responded his lordship. I dont see how that can be, since he offers to marry her. Pooh! a morganatic marriage! How- ever, I have warned you for your own good. You must do as you please. This was the substance of what passed between the Colonel and Lord Baxtayre at their first two interviews; but the Crown Prince positively refused to budge from England, and then the business assumed a much more serious complexion. His Royal Highness was virtually kept a pris oner at Claridges. The Royal Prince, the Gothian Minister, the Secretary of Foreign Office, saw him daily, and exhausted their ingenuity in trying to make him hear reason. The Gothian court Chamberlain, Count von Schmeikelmund, and two Go- thian generals had come over to reason with him, and the Prince found it impos- sible to leave his hotel without being fol- lowed. But such a state of things as this could not last forever. The Gothian court, who had but hazy notions of English in- stitutions, were telegraphing frantically to know whether Colonel Chowery and his daughter could not be clapped into the Tower, and the British government were fain to answer that this could not be done. Why had not the Gothian government rather put the whole Chowery family into some Gothian fortress? From the first the astute Lord Baxtayre declared that this was the course that ought to have been taken. That expulsion was a most hopeless blunder, said his lordship. It just set these wretched Chowerys free to bark and howl all over the place. The Colonel is a most intractable subject. What on earth is to be done ? What, indeed? A week after the Crown Princes arrival in England the serious news came that popular demonstrations were being organized in Altenstadt. The Swabian Minister having asked for his passports, a belief had arisen that Baron von Stolzs government were going to de- clare war against Swabia, and Baron von Zweifelwitz, the leader of the Opposition, was stirring up the populace to shout for a summoning of Parliament and the down- fall of the Stolz ministry. The situation was most perilous. The alarmed King of Gothia apprehended a revolution, and wrote saying that the overthrow of Von Stolz was just the step most likely to pre- cipitate the war with Swabia which the Opposition affected to dread, and there was no saying but that awar with Swabia might lead to a general conflagration. Now at this prospect the whole English ministry quaked in their seats. They had no wish for a European war. Foreign policy was not their strong point. What was to be done? It was evident that Colonel Chow- ery held the fate of Europe in his hands. We must get this man and his brood out of the way, said Lord Baxtayre, plainly, to one of the ministers. Couldnt you give him a colonial Governorship? The Backward Isles are vacant. Do you think that would satisfy him ? asked the Minister. You might promise to knight him when he had been out there two years. Then he must have a pecuniary compen- sation, and an apology from the King of Gothia. How much compensation ? The King of Gothia must pay that. I suppose he would give ten thousand pounds to see this matter settled. Ten thousand pounds is a large sum. I shall begin by offering five only, and I shall make everything contingent on Miss Chowery telling the Prince flatly that she rejects his addresses. On those terms I think his Royal Highness would toddle. For Heavens sake do that, then ! cried the Minister, anxiously. Go at once, Baxtayre, and if you succeed well never forget it. Not when you give away the next Garter? asked his lordship, with a smile. The next Garter shall be yours, was the eager response. But please go; dont lose a minute. So Lord Baxtayre went. This time he was as pleasant as possible with Colonel Chowery. He used no threats. He spoke in whispers. He was insinuating, and finally he triumphed; for when he left the Clarendon he had got the Colonel to accept the Governorship of the Backward Isles, an indemnity of 10,000, and an apology from the Gothian government, in return for which he (the Colonel) was to arrange that his daughter should dismiss the Crown Prince of Gothia from her for- ever. 240 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE~ The little Colonel rubbed his hands when Lord Baxtayre was gone, and he sent for Mabel. Come here, my dear, he said, and attend to my instructions. The Crown Prince is coming to see you this evening. You must be very cold to him, and tell him that you refuse to become his wife. But, papa, you told me to say just the contrary a week ago. Never mind what I said then. You assured me yourself that you had no love for the Prince. I hope you were not so deceitful as to tell me an untruth. No, papa; but But if you dont love him you cant wish to marry him. Thats clear. I was going to say, papathatI had not had time to think on the matter. Reason the more why I should think for you. Now are you going to be a good girl, and do as you are told ? Oh yes, papa; but I do hope you wont come to me next week and scold me for having obeyed you. I am sure you are a very foolish child, replied the little Colonel. You may guess the epilogue of this sto- ry. The Crown Prince returned crest- fallen to Altenstadt, and Colonel Chowery went off to the Backward Isles with his family. He is now Sir Victor Chowery, and his daughter Mabel is married to a Captain Bellair, who was for a time in the garrison of the islands. The Crown Prince of Gothia married the Princess Carolina of Swabia, after all; but his Roy- al Highnesss love affair was no such passing fancy as his parents had thought, for when he heard of Mabels marriage he sent her a very beautiful bracelet, with one single word incrusted on it in dia- monds: Vergissmeinnicht. A SILK DRESS. MORE than a million human beings depend upon the industry of the petty silk-worm for their daily bread; all the world, at least of womankind, owes to him much of the splendor of its nightly gayety. With patience and per- severance, says the Spanish proverb, the mulberry leaf will become satin, and in the whole range of human vanities there is no contrast more strange and no les- son more significant than our dependence upon the patience of the despis~d worm and the perseverance of the human toiler, adding thread to thread, for the richest and most splendid fabric known to man. It is fitting that history should endea- vor to trace the silk industry to female genius, in the person of Mistress Si-ling- chi, wife of the Emperor Hoang-ti, who reigned in China, according to celestial authorities, about 2600 B.C., or, following profane critics, about 1700 B. C.,the time of Josephs primacy in Egypt. She is now the goddess of silk-worms, and at her annual festival the reigning empress per- forms a ceremony of feeding the worms. The word silk, used twice in the Old Testament, is considered by many critics a mistranslation, and the first certain men- tion seems to be that by Aristotle, who credits Pamphilia. a lady of Cos, with the first weaving of a transparent silk gauze, so fine that it was called woven wind. She probably received her ma- terial from China or Persia, vi& Phceni- cian express, and it is supposed that she ravelled woven fabrics to get the thread. The Greeks knew the silk peoples as Seres there is much dispute as to the real ori- gin of the nameand called the product serileon, whence, through the Latin sen- cum and an intermediate form, selic, comes our word silk. In Rome, silk, there worth its weight in gold, was a mark of effeminate luxury. Heliogabalus crowned his extravagance with a silken robe, and would have ended it with the silken rope he had prepared for the purpose had not his murderers forestalled him. Aurelian refused his empress a silk dress. The an- cients generally considered silk the fibre of a plant, and it was not until the wars of Justinian with the Persians, in the sixth century, cut off the supply of raw silk that silk-culture was introduced into Europe by the help of two grateful Nestorian monks, who traversed Asia with silk- worm eggs hidden in their hollow pil- grim staffs, and a thorough knowledge of the industry stored in their heads. Jus- tinian made silk-culture an imperial mo- nopoly, under charge of the monks im

R. R. Bowker Bowker, R. R. A Silk Dress 240-261

240 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE~ The little Colonel rubbed his hands when Lord Baxtayre was gone, and he sent for Mabel. Come here, my dear, he said, and attend to my instructions. The Crown Prince is coming to see you this evening. You must be very cold to him, and tell him that you refuse to become his wife. But, papa, you told me to say just the contrary a week ago. Never mind what I said then. You assured me yourself that you had no love for the Prince. I hope you were not so deceitful as to tell me an untruth. No, papa; but But if you dont love him you cant wish to marry him. Thats clear. I was going to say, papathatI had not had time to think on the matter. Reason the more why I should think for you. Now are you going to be a good girl, and do as you are told ? Oh yes, papa; but I do hope you wont come to me next week and scold me for having obeyed you. I am sure you are a very foolish child, replied the little Colonel. You may guess the epilogue of this sto- ry. The Crown Prince returned crest- fallen to Altenstadt, and Colonel Chowery went off to the Backward Isles with his family. He is now Sir Victor Chowery, and his daughter Mabel is married to a Captain Bellair, who was for a time in the garrison of the islands. The Crown Prince of Gothia married the Princess Carolina of Swabia, after all; but his Roy- al Highnesss love affair was no such passing fancy as his parents had thought, for when he heard of Mabels marriage he sent her a very beautiful bracelet, with one single word incrusted on it in dia- monds: Vergissmeinnicht. A SILK DRESS. MORE than a million human beings depend upon the industry of the petty silk-worm for their daily bread; all the world, at least of womankind, owes to him much of the splendor of its nightly gayety. With patience and per- severance, says the Spanish proverb, the mulberry leaf will become satin, and in the whole range of human vanities there is no contrast more strange and no les- son more significant than our dependence upon the patience of the despis~d worm and the perseverance of the human toiler, adding thread to thread, for the richest and most splendid fabric known to man. It is fitting that history should endea- vor to trace the silk industry to female genius, in the person of Mistress Si-ling- chi, wife of the Emperor Hoang-ti, who reigned in China, according to celestial authorities, about 2600 B.C., or, following profane critics, about 1700 B. C.,the time of Josephs primacy in Egypt. She is now the goddess of silk-worms, and at her annual festival the reigning empress per- forms a ceremony of feeding the worms. The word silk, used twice in the Old Testament, is considered by many critics a mistranslation, and the first certain men- tion seems to be that by Aristotle, who credits Pamphilia. a lady of Cos, with the first weaving of a transparent silk gauze, so fine that it was called woven wind. She probably received her ma- terial from China or Persia, vi& Phceni- cian express, and it is supposed that she ravelled woven fabrics to get the thread. The Greeks knew the silk peoples as Seres there is much dispute as to the real ori- gin of the nameand called the product serileon, whence, through the Latin sen- cum and an intermediate form, selic, comes our word silk. In Rome, silk, there worth its weight in gold, was a mark of effeminate luxury. Heliogabalus crowned his extravagance with a silken robe, and would have ended it with the silken rope he had prepared for the purpose had not his murderers forestalled him. Aurelian refused his empress a silk dress. The an- cients generally considered silk the fibre of a plant, and it was not until the wars of Justinian with the Persians, in the sixth century, cut off the supply of raw silk that silk-culture was introduced into Europe by the help of two grateful Nestorian monks, who traversed Asia with silk- worm eggs hidden in their hollow pil- grim staffs, and a thorough knowledge of the industry stored in their heads. Jus- tinian made silk-culture an imperial mo- nopoly, under charge of the monks im A SILK DRESS. 241 ported weavers from Tyre and Berytus, raised the price of silk eight and that of royal purple twenty-four fold, and filled his treasury. It was not till death dis- posed of him and his monopoly, in 565, that the Byzantine and Grecian looms fair- lybegan the industry afterward so famous. Silk-weaving in western Europe dates from the Saracen conquests, but the re- turn of King Robert of Sicily from the Second Crusade, in 1146, with captive silk- weavers from Greece, gave it a new im- petus. In the thirteenth century both Genoa and Venice ennobled their silk merchants. Tours and Lyons had by this date started the industry in France. The famous white mulberry-tree of Montmeli- art, the reputed stock of most of those in the~ kingdom, spoken of in 1810 as still standing, was planted by a knight of the Second Crusade. But it was Henry of Navarre who, about 1603, taking a hint from the book of Olivier de Serres, the father of agriculture, really made France the great silk country it now is. His min- ister, Sully, opposed him, and scoffed at the silk merchants of Paris, who came be- fore the king in quaint garb, ornamented with various silks. Sully argued that lux- ury should be repressed. I would rath- er, replied Henry, fight the King of Spain in three pitched battles than all those gentlemen of the robe, of the ink- stand, and of the city, besides their wives and daughters, whom you will bring down upon me with your fantastic regulations. At first the experiments which the king urged his subjects to make failed, and the people petulantly destroyed trees and worms. But Henry persevered, shamed his subjects by turning a great orange grove on one of his ancestral estates into a pros- perous silk farm, and, at a cost of 1,500,000 livres, succeeded. The revocation, in 1685, of his Edict of Nantes nearly annihilated the industry for a time: Lyons, which had 18,000 looms, could not find weavers for 4000; the 11,000 looms of Tours were re- duced to 1200, and her 800 mills to 70; and the 100,000 Huguenots who fled to England made possible a thriving silk in- dustry there. King James I. had, however, taken a hand at the industry long before this, in the hope that the culture of silk would help him to root out tobacco. He imitated Henry, and stocked the royal gardens at Oatlands with trees and worms; and he drafted with his own hand a letter to the lord-lieutenants of counties directing that they persuade and require that ten thou- sand mulberry plants, at three farthings the plant, should be bought in each coun- ty. But it was manufacture rather than the production of raw silk that was to suc- ceed in England and in America. In the New World silk-culture had been a plan of the Spaniards for Mexico imme- diately after its discovery. Cortez, in his scheme of government for New Spain, 1522, included officers to oversee silk-grow- ing; silk-worm seed (eggs) was sentfrom Spain; some export of raw silk is recorded, and woven silk goods were made in and ex- ported from Mexico; but the industry did not outlive the century. When King Jamess plan for silk-making in England was prominent in his mind, he began also to look to his colonies for a supply of silk, and most of the early schemes for de- veloping Virginia included silk-culture. The English of that day held that the pur- chase of raw materials from other nations was so much loss to them. In 1622 one John Bonoell was sent over to Virginia as instructor in silk-culture, and with him went the most peremptory instructions for the compulsion of any person found, ei- ther through negligence or willfulness, to omit planting of vines and mulberry-trees, in an orderly and husbandly manner, as by the Booke is prescribed. Twenty pounds of tobacco was made by the Legis- lature the penalty of neglect, and a pre- mium of fifty pounds of tobacco was offer- ed for every pound of reeled silk produced. Bottomes, or silk coddes (cocoons), were quoted at two shillings sixpence the pound, and raw silk at thirteen shillings and fourpence to twenty-eight shillings the pound. During Cromwells time many pious tracts were written to promote silk- culture in the colonies, one writer a.rguing that if the Indian were led to see this untaught artist spin out his transparent bowels, it would not be impossible to drive him to an acknowledgment of Re- demption, while another embellished his tract on The Reformed Virginian Silk- Worm, with the following curious bit of doggerel: Where Wormes and Food doe naturally abound, A Gallant Silken Trade must there be found. Virginia excells the World in both: Envie nor malice can game say this troth. ... Her Worms are huge, whose bottoms dare With Lemmons of the largest size compare... Master William Wright of Nansamound Found Bottoms above seven Inches round. 242 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. There is a tradition that King Charles II. xvore a robe and hose of silk from Vir- ginia at his coronation in 1660; it is cer- tain that his Majesty gave pressing in- structions to promote the industry. But even the bounties were not effective; they were repealed, and silk-culture in Virginia died with the century. Some efforts had been made toward manufacture as well as silk-growing, and the Virginia Legis- lature ordered each county to establish a loom and support a weaver; but the mo- ther country did not favor colonial manu- facturing, and one of the colonial Gov- ernors, Nicholson, in 1698, even memo- rialized Parliament to forbid the people of the plantations making their own clothing. While silk-culture was waning in Vir- ginia, new efforts were made further south. Some of the French Huguenots came to the Carolinas, and wove a wool-silk mix- ture, and Sir Samuel Johnson, about 1700, founded the plantation of Silk Hope. The use of the negro slaves for silk-grow- ing was urged, and it was shownon paper that they could thus earn twice as much as from sugar or tobacco. Another pam- phleteer found here a panacea for pauper- ism at home: twenty-five thousand of the most helpless people in Great Britain were to be sent across sea, at a cost of 500,000, to the annual saving of 200,000 in parish charges, besides which many pretended Invalids would be driven to industry by fear of the voyage. Laws prospectus of the South-Sea Bubble, in 1716, included silk-culture in Louisiana, and many mulberries were planted near New Orleans. An act of Parliament in 1749 declared that Georgia and South Carolina should have the honor of being denominated silk colonies, and King George II. ordered for Georgia a seal on which the genius of the colony offered a skein of silk to the king. A public garden at Savannah, call- ed the Trustees Garden, was devoted to vines and mulberry-trees, and a filature for reeling the silk was built. Georgia, in fact, made what seemed a fair start; in 1766, 20,000 pounds of cocoons were produced, and in 1768, 1084 pounds of reeled silk were exported. But the industry was a forced one, the bounties being at one period two or three times the value of the cocoons, and it did not find commercial justifica- tion. Mrs. Pinckney, of Charleston, South Carolina, was indeed proud of the three silk dresses woven in 1755 from her own raising, of which one was presented to the dowager Princess of Wales, and another long remained a precious family posses- sion; and before this, Queen Caroline, in 1735, appeared in a dress woven from Georgia silk. But with the ceasing of bounties production disappeared. Shortly before the Revolution there was a renewal of the silk fever, chiefly in the northern colonies of Pennsylvania and Connecticut. Silk had been grown in both States in the first half of the century. Governor Law, of Connecticut, wore a coat and stockings of New England silk in 1747, and three years later procured a silk dress for his daughter. The London Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures, and Commerce, from 1755 on, paid many premiums to colonists for mulberry-trees and silk. A good many trees were grown on Long Island, and Dr. N. Aspinwall, about 1762, went across to Connecticut and started silk - growing in the village of Mansfield and at New Haven, where he found a fellow-enthusiast in Pre- sident Ezra Stiles, of Yale. They procured from the Legislature a bounty of ten shil- lings for every hundred trees kept thrifty for three years, and threepence per ounce for raw silk from them, and in 1766 a half-ounce of mulberry seed was sent to every parish in the colony. The ei~ger president wore official robes made from silk of his own raising, and he kept for nearly twenty years a careful record of his experiments, which, fastened with a silken cord, is still to be seen in the college libraryone of the twenty quarto volumes of observations which he left to it. In the mean time another philosopher lent a hand. Benjamin Franklin, writing from London in 1770, induced the American Philosophical Society of Philadelphia to take steps to start a public filature, which was opened in June of that year. Two-thirds of the supply of cocoons seem to have come from New Jersey. Mrs. SLi- sanna Wright ]nade a piece of mantua sixty yards long, but most of the weaving was done in England. In 1776 the United Society for Promoting American Manu- factures, of Philadelphia, recommended a bounty of 40 to John Marshall for im- proved machinery for twisting silk. But the war came, the colonists had their hands full with fighting and raising breadstuffs, and the silk industry was suspended. It was not altogether dead. The Revo A SILK DRESS. 243 lution was a step of commercial and in- dustrial as well as political freedom. Silk- making revived literally as a household industry; the women and children of Connecticut families raised from five to as much as 130 pounds of silk, and the pro- duction of Mansfield town, 18201831, reached $50,000 a year. Sewing-silk was the bridge between silk-growing and the present manufacture. The women reeled from the cocoon upon clumsy hand-reels, spun on the spinning-wheels made for wool, dyed the skeins at home, and bar- tered them at the country store. About half the raw silk was waste: this helped to make coarse mixed stuffs for every-day wear. In the lack of mohey for curren- cy, skein-silk took its place, and the Legis- lature provided for a fine of seven dollars against any one convicted of offering for sale any sewing-silk, unless each skein consistsoftwentythreads,each thread of the length of two yards. Twenty-five skeins or sticks made a bunch, and four of these a packageoffering a convenient curren- cy of units, quarters, and cents. Ips- wich, Massachusetts, was at this period making silk laces, and trimmings of va- rious kinds ~yere made at Philadelphia. The year 1826 marked the origin of the Morus multicaulis mania, which raged as a fever from 1830 until it culminated and collapsed in 1839. Congress had referred an inquiry on silk-culture, in 1825, to the Committee on Agriculture, which, in 1826, reported in favor of its promotion, stating in the report that the imports of silk goods in 1825 were nearly double the exports of breadstuffsa fact scarcely credible now. The same year Gideon B. Smith, of Balti- more, planted there what is claimed to have been the first Morus ?nulticaulis tree in America. The Secretary of the Trea- sury, Richard Rush, was directed to pro- vide a manual on silk-culture, and the famous Rush Letter was accordingly issued in 1828, together with several other treatises, and circulated broadcast. In 1830 an article by a Dr. Pascalis, on the Morus inulticaulis, in the American Jour- nal of Science, directly started the mul- berry fever. The Massachusetts Legis- lature, in 1831, provided for a manual of silk-culture, which was made by a manu- facturer of Dedham, Mr. Cobb, and most of the States began to offer bounties and premiums on trees, cocoons, and reeled silk commonly ten cents a pound on cocoons and fifty on silk. A report to Congress in 1830 proposed a grant of $40,000 to one M. DHomergue for the establishment of a normal school of fila- ture at Philadelphia, where sixty young men might have gratuitous instruction for two years, and for travelling about the country to teach silk-growing to farm- ers; and this silk bill, though defeated in 1832, and reported against as unconsti- tutional in 1835, would not down till 1837~ when still another committee reported as a substitute a scheme to lease public lands. without rent for the cultivation of the mulberry-tree or the sugar-beet. The whole country now went wild. The fever seemed only to get fresh fuel of excitement from the panic of 1837. Or- chards of the multicaulis were planted in every State; farmers everywhere set their wives and children to feeding worms; multitudinous books, public documents, periodicals on silk-culture, constituted the bulk of the reading of the day; stock coin- panies for raising and manufacturing silk sprang up like puff-balls; silk conventions were held, and a United States Silk So- ciety was organized. A thrifty nurseryman on Long Island gave help to the excitement by a canny plan. After selling a considerable supply of the trees to New England dealers, he started off one night by the Providence boat, and with great pretense of eagerness made the rounds of all his customers, ex- citedly offering fifty cents apiece for trees. Of course he didnt get them, but he pre- sently was able to sell all he had for a dol- lar instead of fifty cents apiece. In Burlington, New Jersey, over 300, 00& trees were raised and sold; in December, 1838, offerings at $1 per tree or per twig were refused at Boston sales, and $5 was sometimes got for trees one season old. It was satisfactorily proved-again on paper that an acre of trees was good for $1000 worth of silk, but the price of trees had no relation to figures, even the most rose- colored. One farmer sold $6000 worth of trees from three-quarters of an acre. In a single week in Pennsylvania $300,00& worth were sold. In 1839 the bubble burst, and the biters were bitten. Among them was the spec- ulative Long - Islander. He had caught the disease by which he had profited, and had sent an agent to France with $80,000 to buy a million more trees. When they came, they were worth a part of a cent apiece for pea-brush. Some speculators 244 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. endeavored to get even with fate by ship- ping a cargo from the East to Indiana by way of New Orleans in an unseaworthy ship heavily insured, but the goods unfor- tunately reached their destination. Mul- titudes of men were ruined by the crash. But Americans have a faculty of falling on their feet, and some of the unhappy mulberry-growers of the thirties became the successful manufacturers of later days. For there are two distinct departments of industry that go to the making of a silk dress: sericulture, or silk - raising, which consists in the raising of mulberry- trees and the rearing of the silk insect on silk-farmsa division of agriculture whose crop is the cocoon; and silk man- ufacture proper, by which the silk fibre is worked into thread and fabric. These in- dustries are not necessarily associated, and the commercial interests of the grower and of the manufacturer sometimes seem to clash, yet most silk countries pursue both. The insect is in one sense a tiny manu- facturer himself, finding his raw materi- al chiefly in the leaf of the mulberry-tree (morus), which gives name to the common silk-moth (Bombyx mon), the caterpillar of which is the silk-worm. The tree is said by a proverb to be made for the worm and the worm for the tree, and it seems to have a fibre peculiarly suitable for textile use some of the Pacific islanders making clothing by macerating the bark of the pa- per mulberry, without the intervention of the silk-worm. Most of the silk of com- merce is made by this one moth from this one food, yet it can feed, in whole or in part, upon other leaves, as those of the Osage orange in this country, and it has a score of cousins or more distant relations, as the Tussah moth (Anthcnia paphia) of India, which live upon other trees, and produce a similar material. The moth is about an inch long, whit- ish, with brown stripes, and lays at the close of summer numerous eggs about the size of a pin-head, attached singly to the leaf by a kind of gum, which, when dry, has a silky appearance. The moths soon die; the eggs do not hatch until the next summer, and can meanwhile be sent around the world. The sale of grain, or seed, as the eggs are also called, is of itself a business, for it brings as much as four dollars the ounce, tenfold the price years ago, before an epidemic swept through the silk world. Each moth lays from 400 to 700 eggs, but it takes over 600,000 to make a pound. In obtaining eggs for breeding, the grower usually places the moths on cloths in a dark, warm room, where they contentedly lay their eggs and die. In tropical countries, as southern China and India, the eggs hatch by natural heat; in others, artificial warmth is necessary; and in old times hot- beds were used, or the eggs were carried about by women in little bags in their bo- soms. The careful grower makes ready for the hatching by providing latticed trays or bundles of twigs, about which the food, of finely chopped mulberry leaves, is distributed. The tiny worm at first eats two meals a dat; at the end of five days he casts his first skin, on the ninth day his second; again, on the fifteenth, twenty-sec- ond, and thirty-second days he moults, becoming torpid, and exchanging old skins for new. Like his fellow-worm man, he has seven ages; the sixth, when he has attained the mature age of thirty-two days, is the spinning, the last the breeding, pe- riod. At the approach of the spinning age the worms from a single ounce of eggs (nearly 40,000 eggs) will have re- quired over 1200 pounds of leaves and will need about 184 square feet space for their homes. Each days hatching is kept together, lest the older eat up the food of the weaker brethren, and every care must be taken to prevent the growth of the mi- nute fungus which makes silk-worm rot, and to ward off other diseases. In 1857 Europe was swept of much of its silken wealth by one of these parasitic diseases, and one of Pasteurs early tri- umphs was in discovering its nature. The worm is conservative, and never at- tempts to move from his place until it is time to begin spinning; he then becomes distended with the silk juice, and semi- transparent, like a ripe yellow plum, and can presently be observed lifting his head and looking about for a good site for his cocoon-building, which has been furnished by the cocoon-grower in arches of twigs or lattice-work. Some of the worms are lazy, and the twig has to be applied. The spinner with careful forecast adjusts his body in the best position for the cocoon, and commences to throw the floss that forms its outer coating. The material of the silk is a gummy secretion in the serictcria, two large glands along each side of the body, terminating each in a spinucret in the mouth; each fibre of the A SILK DRESS. 245 thread proves on microscopic examination to be double, one strand coming from each spin- neret. What the angler prizes as silk-worm gut is this sc- rictcrium soaked in vinegar, stretched, and dried in the sun. The worm closes himself in tighter and tighter, the interior thread being the finer; he fixes his body in place with his hooked feet, and throws his head here and there as he spins. The thread is sometimes 1800 feet long without break; good cocoons should yield 300 yards it takes at least 2500 worms to raise a pound of silk. With- in five or six days the spinning is completed, and the moth presently makes preparation to emerge, by the help of another secretion, which softens or dissolves the end of the cocoon. Since in piercing the cocoon the worm breaks the continuity of the thread, it is usually killed just before this stage, by exposing the cocoons to the sun where the temperature is above eighty-eight degrees, or by baking, steam- ing, or otherwise heating them carefully so that the fibre is not gummed together by the heat. The good cocoons~~ are fuzzy oval balls about the size of pigeons eggs, white, yel- low-white, or greenish (these last from Japanese eggs), containing a long contin- uous thread of silk fibre and the body of the dried chrysalis. The fuzz or floss is a rough, impure silk, which is taken off as waste. This done, the problem is VOL. LXXI.No. 422.i 7 246 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to reel off the fibre as woven by the worm without breaking it, and by combining it with other fibres into a stronger thread, to make the raw silk, or gr~ge, of com- merce. This makes the reeled silk goods. Before the modern improvements in spin- ning machinery, the floss, pierced cocoons, unfinished cocoons in which the worm had died while at his work, double cocoons in which two worms had joined partnership and mixed their threads, the inside of the cocoons where the thread became too fine to reel, and all the waste made in winding silk, were almost worthless. Now they are spun into yarn, like wool and siniilar fibres, and made into schappc or spun silk fabrics, not so lustrous as reeled silk goods, but stronger and cheaper. The waste in the manufacture of this is in turn left as a rough, burry yarn called noil, which is woven into the fabric sold by up- holsterers for porti~res and furniture cov- erings as raw silk, a term which prop- erly belongs to silk as it is reeled from the cocoon. Each of these three classes of silk goods has its own usefulness, and there is now almost no waste. In reeling, the operative has before her for this is mostly womens worka ves- sel of water, kept so heated as to dissolve the gum with which the silk-worm has stuck the thread together to make the co- coon. A score or so of cocoons are thrown into the kettle, and as the gum softens, a whisk-broom with which the work-woman gently stirs the cocoons presently detaches the end of the silk-worms thread. She at- taches together the tenuous ends from three or more cocoons, according to the size of thread to be made, threads them through eyelets and fastens them to a reel, which, as it is revolved, unwinds the fibre from each of the cocoons. She must be always on the watch to notice any break, or the running out of any end, when a fresh end from another cocoon must be deftly thrown upon it so as to keep the thread always of like thickness. Five ends make the usual thickness of raw silk Reeling, though properly a process of manufacture, is done mostly in connection with silk-growing. Commerce makes a distinction between country silk, which is house-reeled, and filature silk, which is reeled at establishments called filatures (thread factories), for professional work is always better than amateur, and poor reeling is costly in the end. American manufacturers, in particular, must buy silk of the best reeling, since our machines are speeded so high as to require the most even thread, and our labor is of such high cost that a break costs a deal of money. It costs fully five times as much to tie a knot in this country as in France said one manufacturer. The Chinese silk is mostly house-reeled, and then re-reeled in the great centres of trade. American merchants, after one unsuccessful attempt, succeeded in introducing improved Amer- ican reels among the Celestials; but the heathen Cb inee remains untrustworthy, and manages to sell sometimes an eighth of worthless adulteration with his silk, in the way of rice powder, gum, etc. The Japanese do much of their i-eeling in large filatures under government inspec- tion, and the hari-kari is a system of civil service reform which proves very effect- ive. Their reeled silk is consequently very good. The government director of silk-reeling, Mr. Hayami Kenzo, was one of the judges in the textile group at our Centennial Exposition. At Lyons and at other European points the reeled silk is tested in silk-conditioning houses, and a similar business has been established in New York within a few years. The great silk - growing country is, of course, China, which at the last estimate of the worlds silk product (1876) contrib- uted to the grand total of 67,000,000 poun ds, reaching, at an average valuation of $4 a pound, $268,000,000, over 23,000,000 pounds, or $93,000,000fully a third. Ja- pan produced $17,000,000 worth, India, $35,000,000; in Europe, Italy produced nearly $60,000,000, France, $31,000,000; all America is put at under $100,000. The price of raw silk has varied greatly, the crop being almost as precarious as hops. In 18756 it touched the lowest point, when Chinese sold in the London market for fifteen shillings and Japanese for sev- enteen shillings per pound; the next year the prices were twenty-nine shillings and thirty-four shillings, or twice as much. It is said that the price of dress goods did not respond to these changes, and that the speculators and manufacturers bore the brunt of the fluctuations. The silk industry which has become so large an interest in this country is pure- ly a manufacturing one, getting its raw material altogether from abroad, duty free. The manufacturers do not expect much result from silk-raising in America, A SILK DRESS. 247 chiefly because they think silk can not be well reeled in this country at any satisfac- tory price. A demand for protective duties on the raw material would also tend to reduce the margin for manufacturers should silk-growing become an interest of importance. It is stated that girls in the French filatures earn only from one to one and a half francs (twenty to thirty cents) a day, and in those of Italy seventy- five centimes to a franc (fifteen to twenty cents) for fourteen hours work, while equally skilled labor here should return nearly a dollar. Moreover, silk valued at four to five dollars per pound can be brought to New York from Japan at from three to eight cents per pound freight. The promising field for American silk- growing in America seems, therefore, to be restricted chiefly to that of a subsid- iary industry for women and children, who would not otherwise be at work, and then under the disadvantage of house reeling. Whether the production of co- coons, not for reeling, but for direct use by the growing industry of spun-silk man- ufacture, might prove profitable, is very questionable, in view of the low price (about seventy-five cents per pound) paid for cocoons. Nevertheless, a Womens Silk-culture Association, one of the indirect results of the Centennial Exposition, exists in Philadelphia, with the purpose of pro- moting silk - culture as profitable work for women. This was organized, with purely philanthropic purpose, by Phil- adelphia ladies, headed by Mrs. John Lucas, in April, 1880; it has permanent offices at 1328 Chestnut Street, where reel- ing is taught, silk- worm eggs, mul- berry - trees, and hand - reels sold, and books of in- struction, which it publishes, sup- plied. Two silk exhibitions have been held, and the association boasts twelve auxiliaries in as many States, and has had, it states, over thirty thousand corre- spondents. It is hoped ultimately to open a filature. Its prospectus, in presenting the claims of Americas new industry, says: It can be prosecuted by the feebler members of the family, women and children, or aged persons, to whom the severer country life is a burden, and the compensation is sure; for if our country is sending annually to foreign lands $18,000,000 for raw silk, there is no reason why this amount of money can not be divided among our own American culturists. The crop or product is not perishable, like much of the farm product, and the trees, once planted and grown, yield a perpetual sup- ply of food for the silk-worms, care being taken only in the annual picking of the leaves. The production of 60,000 pounds of co- coons was reported by correspondents of the association in 1883, largely from south- ern New Jersey and from the South. The most interesting fields of present experi- ment, apart from the latter section, have been California and Kansas. A botanist from Normandy commenced sericulture in the former State during the gold fever, and in later years he distributed silk-worm eggs gratuitously in various parts of the State. A bounty of $250 was offered by the Le- gislature for every 5000 newly planted mulberry-trees, but speculators soon show- ed the folly of this course by planting merely for the bounty, and the next Le- gislature repealed the law. Mr. Joseph Neumann in 1867 reeled the first skein of raw silk produced in California, and he backed his opinion that California is better adapted to the industry than al- most any country in the world by exhib- iting at the Centennial a fine collection A HAND-REEL. 248 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of cocoons and raw silk. A similar exhib- it from MI. De Boissi~re, of Silkville (now Williamsburg), Kansas, obtained the sur- prised approval of the Japanese judge, but his experiment has since been abandoned. The making of sewing silk, a direct de- velopment from the fireside industry, was the first factory work, and sewing silk and machine twist, of which nearly $10,000,000 worth is yearly required, still lead in the total product. When the sewing-machine was invented, a strong, even thread wound on spools was called for, but with the best that could be made the needle still missed a loop occasionally when silk was used. Mr. Lilly, a Massachusetts manufacturer, set himself to learn why, and presently brought to Mr. Singer a sample, which he asked him to try. Mr. Singer threaded up, and commenced sewing. After exam- ining the result he said, Can you make any more like this ?I shall want all you can makewhich proved literally true. The difference is simple: sewing silk is of two threads, twisted from left to right; machine twist is of three, twisted from right to left. The sewing-machine thus developed a new industry, which in time produced another, the machine manufac- ture of spools, and this is supplemented by an ingenious American machine au- tomatically stamping the labels into the wood in red and blue ink at the rate of a hundred and twenty a minute, until now foreign manufacturers are buyers of our spools. Reeled silk mainly is used for sewings and twist. It is wound, doubled, spun, and twistedpro- cesses which are the work of the silk throwster, and are yet to be described on ingenious machines which stop the instant any thread breaks. The thread runs through a guide - wire very lightly poised and held from dropping only by the slight tension of the thread; the mo- ment the thread gives way the guide-wire drops, and the bobbin is stopped. After be- ing dyed in skeins, the silk is now spool- ed on a machine which automatically measures its length. For skein silk an equivalent machine weighs automatically. One establishment at Florence, Massachu- setts, employs sixty spooling machines, each winding 110 dozen a day. Sew- ings and twists are sold as of pure dye or ~standard. In the former case one ounce of dye is added to twelve ounces of cleansed silk; in the latter, four ounces are added, equalizing, it is claimed, the gum subtracted in cleansing. Beyond this pro- portion if the silk is weighted with dye it is not so strong as its weight would imply; dealers therefore test the strength of silk thread on a little tension-machine, and multiply the length of the skein or spool by the number of pounds pull it will bear, to get its commercial value. Broad goods or fabrics are of two kinds, according as they are made of reeled or spun silk. In working the latter there is no attempt to use the con- tinuous thread as spun by the silk-worm within the cocoon, but the cocoon is treat- ed as a bundle of fibres, and spun like wool or cotton by the usual textile ma- chinery, adapted of course to the charac- teristics of the particular fibre. The co- coons for this purpose are imported in baleslargely from Lyons, the centre of the European silk commerce, and from Asiatic ports. The bales are opened, and the piles of ugly, tough little shells pour out upon the floor. The cocoons are picked over, freed from adhering dirt, and assort- ed, all this preliminary work being done in a room in which dust seems to be the breath of life. The cocoons are now ready for the first manufacturing process in the spun - silk industry, the freeing of the silk fibre from the gum with which the silk-worm has glued it together to make its cocoon, and the loosening of the fibre itself. This is done either by maceration, which is a fer- mentation process, or by boiling in soap- water. The cocoons, in either case are emptied into huge iron vats of circular shape, and stirred about by mechanical means. They are then rinsed in clear wa- tei, dried in a centrifugal drier, like the domestic clothes-drier on a large scale, and exposed for a week to free air in great drying- rooms. They emerge no longer cocoons, but puffy little balls ready to be beaten out and combed out into sheets of fibre something like cotton-wool. To this end they are first laid out on a long table for a good thrashing from rods that lay it on with a 250-school-master- power, although this process is not always considered necessary. The lapper is the machine which really does the impor- tant preparation for the combing - ma- chines, receiving the cocoon balls in a mass at one end, and, by a great cylinder covered with wire teeth, amalgamating them into a continuous sheet or lap, which emerges at the other. A SILK DRESS. 249 These loose sheets of silken batting, dou- est fibres, the first draft, left on the bled over, are the food of the combing or strip, are used for the finest goods; the carding machines, which come next in or- waste left on the cards becomes the food der. There are several patterns or vane- of the next combing-machine. The poorer ties of these machines, all serving the same purpose of combing and cleaning the fibre, much as one combs his hair. A stretch of the sheet of batting is doubled over a strip of wood, and cards, or combs with wire teeth, comb out the dirt (including the remains of the poor worm) and short fibre, leaving on the strip the longer fibres, just as in combing a tangled mass of hair the shorter and looser hairs come out, leaving the cleaned long hair straightened out. In the first combing the longest and strong- fibre goes through four or five machines until the possibilities of the material as fibre are exhausted. The last fibre that can be used is roughly spun into the ir- regular noil yarn, which is the materi- al of the irregular and lustreless raw- silk goods, so called, of the upholsterer. We follow the combed silk, in its loose, fluffy bunches, from these great rooms, with their long rows of carding - ma- chines, to the ingenious machine called the spreader, which perhaps requires ASSORTING cocooNs. 250 HAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. more labor in proportion to its product ginal shape in the cocoon, is now a yarn, than any other machine of the series, corresponding to the reeled silk as it One girl feeds the bunches of combed fibre is ready for the manufacturer, after having into a trough, crosswise of the fibre, and in passed from the filature in skeins through this trough they are beaten out into an the processes of boiling and drying, to rid approximate evenness by a rod that, by it of the gum, as described in the case of an ingenious combination of mechanical the cocoons. Hard silk is the name movements, oscillates from side to side, given to the reeled silk in the gum; after keeping up a rat-tat-tat of superhuman boiling, it is soft silk. Oil-boiled is persistency. This first trough feeds the a catchpenny cry in the retail trade; there bunches into a second, set at right angles is no such process as boiling silk in oil. to the first, so that it receives them length- Either reeled or spun silk has yet to be wise of the fibre. Here a second opera- wound, single-twisted, doubled, and again tor sees that the fibres are properly over- twisted, on as many different machines, lapped, so as to make them continuous, and and at last reeled, all these processes being they pass along to rollers, which amalga- included in the work of the throwster. mate them together, and turn them out The name means simply twister, our again as a lap. The product of this word throw having reference original- machine is a sort of thick, loose tape of ly to a motion in which the object left the fibre, which it delivers upon a large drum, hand with a twist, as a pitcher sends it A third attendant, looking after two ma- at base-ball. The business is in many chines, removes the silk from this drum, cases a distinct calling, the throwster buy- as it is filled, to the drawing-frame. ing the imported raw silk, and selling the The office of the drawing-frame prop- twisted thread to the weaver. er is simply to even these laps and reduce The machines are of the same general them to a sliver, which again it draws typelong frames filling a great room, out into a finer and thinner sliver, until, on each of which scores of spindles buzz after several repetitions of the drawing away distractingly. The silk runs off the process by different maclimes, each of spool or spindle at the top, and is doubled which feeds its product as the supply of by two spools feeding together, or twisted the finer machine next in order, the sliver by a flyer or ring, and is delivered to the has become smaller and smaller and finer spool at the bottom. and finer, and is ready to be made into yarn in the roving-machines. The most cpmmon type of drawing-frame is I ~ I I I a long horizontal table, on which the tapes are fed side by side from a num- ber of long, slender tin cans, and at the end of which, by rollers of different speed, the slivers are thinned out and drawn together until they emerge into another can as slivers of greater fine- ness, one process advanced. The silk usually goes through four or more of these drawing-frames before it is ready to be spun. The speeder, or roving - frame, is really the first machine of the spinning department. Each operator tends a long frame of spindles, each spindle with its ap- purtenances being practically an individ- ual machine joined with others of its kind on the long frame. The speeder takes the sliver from the cans of the last draw- ing-frames and spins it into a coarse yarn GAssINGMAcH1Nz. called roving, which is the food of the spinning-frame proper. A curious process sometimes used with The spun silk, after passing through spun silk after the twisting is the gas- sixteen or eighteen machines from its on- sing, or singeing, in which process the A SILK DRESS. 251 yarn is run continuously through a gas flame at a speed carefully regulated so that the flame shall burn off the loose filaments and clean up the fibre without burning the body of the yarn itself. If the thread slack- ens, a guide-wire, similar to that already described, instantly turns off the flame. The last machine, the reeler, delivers the yarn upon a reel, which permits the making of skeins, in which shape all the dyeing, except for piece-dyed or printed silks, is done. Within a few years a sim- ple attachment, invented by an operative, has been added to the reeler, so important that one Paterson manufacturer declares that the savings by it in his own manu factory have reached eighty thousand dol- lars. The Grant improvement is simply a bar moving slowly a few inches side- ways and back again between the feed- ing spool and thread, directing the yarn from each spool to and fro, so that the skein is wound upon the reel overhand- ed, as a boy winds his kite- string. By passing a thread in and out as the skein is complete, and fastening each end, a skein many-fold the old length can be handled absolutely without waste, where- as of old the smaller skeins were easily tangled to great waste. The skeins of yarn are now carefully inspected, and if they pass muster, are ready for the dye-house. IN THE DYEING-ROOM. 252 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Dyeing is always a hand process, as the color of a dyers hand suggests, and here machinery does not attempt to interfere. Long troughs fill the sloppy and steamy room in which the great skeins of silk yarn are dipped from cross-sticks, by party- colored human beings, who move them occasionally to and fro to make sure all parts have a fair chance. The muddy hues suggest little of the brilliancy of col- or that is to be the glory of the completed fabric, and we will not enter into any trade secrets of their composition. But there is good dyeing and bad dyeing, honest dyeing and false dyeing, and a silk-maker who has intent to deceive can make his yarn take 300 per cent. of extra weight by the use of metallic substances ia the dye-pot. This accounts for some of the cheapness as well as the bad wear of certain foreign fabrics which look as well at first sight as goods at a much higher price. Some of the foreign black silks are so highly loaded with nitrate of iron as to give color to the belief in spontane- ous combustion in silk which caused the North German Steam-ship Company in 1879 to refuse the weightier foreign silks. The carbon of the silk and the nitrate make a compound closely parallel to gun- cotton, which is simply cotton fibre soaked with nitric acid. American man ufactur- ers challenge consumers to test the purity of their fabrics, which may be done by ravelling the silk into threads. If heavi- ly loaded they will break easily, feel rough to the touch because of the particles of dye, taste inky to the tongue, and burn smoulderingly into a yellow, greasy ash instead of crisply into almost nothing. These are tests lady buyers of a silk dress should not forget. The range of tint in colored silks is remarkable, and the vari- ety of shade required from year to year by fashion makes a curious pictorial history of the times. One dealer at the Centen- nial showed a rainbow in silk threads. To return to our yarnafter dyeing, it is washed and dried, and is now ready for the process of weaving. Like all fabrics, woven silk is composed of a series of con- tinuous threads lengthwise of the piece, called the warp, and of cross threads wov- en in and out of the warp according to the pattern of the cloth, called the woof. Warp yarn is first spun, then doubled, then close twisted, and is called organzine; woof yarn is first doubled, then spun, is but slightly twisted, and is called tram. The first process of weaving must be to get the warp, and the manufacturer gives word that he wants a warp 250 yards long, and of 3000 to 6000 ends or threads, which last would make a very wide