Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 75, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 0982 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0075 /moa/harp/harp0075/

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

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 75, Note on Digital Production 0075 000
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 75, Note on Digital Production A-B

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 75, Issue 445 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 0982 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0075 /moa/harp/harp0075/

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

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 75, Issue 445 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York June 1887 0075 445
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 75, Issue 445, miscellaneous front pages i-2

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOLUME LXXV. JUNE TO NOYE1~JBER, 1887. NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 327 to 335 PEARL STREET, PR& NKLIN SQUARE. 1887. - 4R. C ~. 2 - CONTENTS OF VOLUME LXXV. JUNE TO NOVEMBER, 1887w APRIL HOPES Williant Dean Biowells 99, 246, 344, 605, 713,925 ARGENTINE REPUBLIC.See Hemisphere, The other EnJ of the 893 AT THE CHATEAU OF CORINNE. A STORY Constance Jienimore JVoolson 778 AUNT RANDY. A STORY Annie Trumbull Slos8on 303 BAYOU LOMBRE. An Incident of the War Grace King 266 BEAR, HUNTING THE GRIZZLY G. 0. Shields 368 BIRDS, ON KEEPING W. T. Greene AlA FZ8. 79 IT.T.U5rRATIONS. Bulifinches 83 Group of Cage Birds 81 Blackcaps and Robin-redbreast 84 Tit Family 89 Australian Crows and Magpie 85 Java Sparrows BOOK, A PRINTED I? 11. Bowk~ ~ IT.LU5TRAT!0N5. The Compositor at Work 169 Marbling Books mo Taking Proof of engraved Block 171 Finishing a Book 181 In the Press-room 173 Engraver at Work 183 Styles of Printing-presses 175 Methods of printing black Line 18~ The Overlay 177 Plate-engravers Tools 185 Folding Machine 178 Rocking Tool iso Stitching Machine 179 BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN Thoward Pyle 357, 502 aLLUsTRArIoNs. On the Tortngas 326 Avary sells his Jewels Captnre of the Galleon 359 Marooned 504 henry Morgan recruiting for the Attack 363 Blackbeard buries his Treasure 509 The Sacking of Panama 367 Walking the Plank 511 CADET LIFE AT WEST POINT Charles King. U.S.A. 196 aLTXsTRATIoNs. Head-piece 196 The Row at Dress Parade 211 First-class Magnale~ 197 Rally on the Colors 212 Marching to the Mess-hall 201 On Flirtation 213 Walking an Extra 203 The Gradualing Hop 214 Officer of the Day 204 Sunday Morning Inspection 235 Turn out the Guard ! 205 En Reconnaissance . 216 Plebe Drill 207 Candidates turn out promptly 217 The Light Battery 209 Tail-piece 219 CALIFORNIA.See Santa Burbara Holiday, A 813 CENTRAL AMERICA.See Republics, The smallest of American 668 CHANTILLY: THE CHATEAU AND THE COLLECTIONS Theodore Child 836 ITLUSTUATIONs. View of the ChAteau from the Gardens 837 Galerie des Cerfs 846 Le Cliltelet 839 Prudhons Painting of The Awakening of Chapel of Queen Blanche 840 Psyche 847 Entrance to the Coud~ Stables 841 Raphaels La Vierge dOrl& aus 849 Entrance to the Chapel 843 Portrait of Simonetta Vespucci 830 Foot of wrought-iron Railing, grand Staircase. 844 Grand Entrance to the ChAteau 851 Top of the grand Staircase 845 CHILISee South American Yankee, The COATEPEC Charles Dudley Warner 23 CORPORATIONS, GROWTH AND FUTURE OF Richard T. Ely 71, 259 COSTA RICA.See Republics, Tile smallest of American 668 CRIMINAL, THE YOUNG kss. Charles F. Thwing 954 CURATIVE USES OF WATER, THE Titus Munson (Joan, MID. 770 DU MAURIER, GEORGE, DRAWINGS BY: How the Reputations of distinguished Ama- teurs are sometiiaaes made, 324; Consolation 486~ Feminine Perversity, 648; Nemesis, 810; , , Breakfast at Bonnebouche Hall, 972. iv CONTENTS. EDITORS DRAWER. The American as developed in the Great West, 159. A Traveller, 644. Betrayed by her Accent (Illustration l)y Census Incident, 160. Washington Belles and Bores, W. H. Hyde), 645. hard on the Counsel, 645. In a New 160. A close Call, 160. The Restraints ot Pride, 160. York bobtail Car, 64g. Pa and the Children, 646. An A great Difference (Illustration by W. 11. Hyde), 161. American Daicy, 646. A juvenile Poem, 646. house- Shine em up ? 161. An Inducement to early Mar- keeping Intelligence, 646. Charles Lyell on the Sugar- riage, 161. TIme elderly Gentleman lit the Corimer, mettle, 646. Stories front Dowit East, 647. Texas Hap- 161. My Professor (C. W. Thayer), 162. Omme Dose penimigs, 647. Femlimlime Perversity (full-page hllustra- eimough, 162. A suggestive Doctors Bill, 162. Nttmed tioti by George Du Manner), 648. Coimvemsmmtitinn, 807. fttr their Grandparents, 162. TIte Bmmse-hmtll Craze in Miss Lucys Choice. 807. Was lie a Mormon ? 808. Der Buffalo, 162. Can a Husband open his Wifes Letters ? comin~ Man (Charles Folleim Admtms, with hllttstralioims 321. A bitter Compliment, 521. Aim Irish Bull, 522. A by M. J. Sweeney), 808. TIme Pleasures (if time Tele- miervous Deacon, 322. Do I know him ? (C. H. Webb), phummime, 809. A Solution, 809. Sergemmnt Bittuuk, commeerim- 322. A Boys Idea of a Ihuimder-storm, 322. Negro lug time Charge of Balaklavtm, 809. Nemesis (full-ptmgmm Stories from Lonisiamma, 323. Virginia Characters, 323. Illustratiomi by George Dim Manner), 810. Beautiful 01(1 How lime Reputations of distimugumisimed Amateurs are Women, 968. Hotv Grant gaimmed a Victory, 969. Aim sometimes made (fuih-pa~e Illustration by George Dii unlItteuttional Sarcastum, 969. De Glues, 969. Our Maunier), 324. The keepimug of a Diary, 481. Heruuic Palaces miud their Owimers (hllmmslratioim tiny W. 11. Hyde), Treatment: a Poem by G. A. K., whtlt three Illustra- 970. APowerfuiRemnedy, 970. Cotton i all dun hick- tions by A. B. Frost, 482. TIme Whmippiu~-post, 484. ed (OpieP. Read), 971. AmmeeduutesofGemmeral Houstoim, Pure Amutiquarianismn, 484. A mmecdotes mit Sam Housmoim, 911. Flexibility of time Euuglishm Language, 971. Neiv 485. An old Story jim a muew Dress, 483. Aim origimutui Field for Auutogrtmphm Collectors, 971. Brettkfast at Boim- Vershoim, 485. Consolatiomi (full-page Illnstrahion hmy nebomiche Hall (Full-page Illustratioms by George Do George Do Manner), 486. Time modern Studemits Aids Maurier), 972. to Development, 644. Reflectiomus of a pimilosophuical EDITORS EASY CHAIR. Publisher and Author, 151. TIme Taming of time bility for Mumuicipal Corruption, 634. TIme Remmaissance Shmremv at Dalys, 152. Noble public Gifts recently muf the Glorious Fourth, 635. Colle~e Bumuwim amid made to New York, 153. The Ocean Yacht Ruice, 154. College Brain, 636. Dc he Fumbumla narrtmtumr, 796. The An Object Lesson, 309. Scholarsimip in Politics, 310. Fumuctiomus of Goveriumnemut; wise Limitations; time Wis Advice to Newspapers, 311. Statues of emnimmemmt Meim, dom also of occtmsioimal Excess, 797. Selt-mespectimig 312. A Qimestiomm of honoralile Obhigmutioum, 313. rime Coimrtesy, 798. Buiffalum Bill 1mm Eimglmmimd, 799. A 1nio of Scriptures of time Reporter, 470. Shuahl we hiave a Prot- good Wumulen, 800. English Criticism of time Aimlerican eslant Cmmhhedral? 472. Imuternahionmul Copyrighut; time Press, 957. About Scolding, 958. Time Temtierammce Agi- presemit Shination of the Question, 473. Mr. OBniemus latloim and its probable Outcome, 959. Books for Chil- Visit to Nemv York, 474. ~h~ Jubilee uuf Q.ueeim Victorimi, dren, 960, Time Newport Scimool, 961. 475. Commencemimemut SeasoIm, 633. Public Restaimisi- EDITORS STUDY. American Criticism: Influence of time Eimglishm School, Difficuhhies in time Way of smucim a Law, 805. Whmat 155; Attitude of the Cnilic tim time Autlmor, 156; the Smul is remmul him Wardrooms, 805. A Corrcchion, 806. Au urday Review amid time Academy, 157; rime Effect lograpiuic Criticism, 962. Mr. J. Addinglon S3 upomm Authors, 157; Thie aimparemut Futility of Criticismum, momuds s last Voinme on time Catimolic Reactiuuum mmgainst 158. rwo Books mit Advemituure; time Uses mif real Advemi- lime Ileaaissance, 96:1. A Fimmal Cniteniomi in Matters of lure, 315. Coummit Tolstols Gospei, 316. Chuarles Reamle Taste, 963. Miss Wards Life of Dante, 965. Behmimid amid Gemurge Eliuut; the best (if bitt ii imi Timomuas Hardys the Blue Ridge, 966. Society Verse, 966. Woodlmmnders,318. Mr.Hag~ardsNovels, 318. Replies Booms aErm~mtmtmni TO SN rums STuumv: Carlyles Let- to Critics; a Word aboimt dramnatic Criticismim, 319. Ima- tars (Nortoim), 479. Cloister and lime Hearth, rime (Reade), agimmarive Literature supported by People of limited 317. Cinmrrespomudemmee between Gmtlme ammm~l Carlyle (Nor- hmeomes, 476. Time Pumiplis Immterprelatiummm of Tolstol, Wit), 479. Dmusmle, imis Life ammd Works, 965. Demintim (if from a Ummiranimmum Poimit (if View, 477. lolstols Ruissimmim Ivami Illiteim, rime (Iohstoi), 640. From time Forecasile Environment; the Mulliplicity of Sects ; Spiritual Simute to lime Cabium (Samusuels), SIS. Golulemi ,Tmustice, 1hme (Bisim (ml the Community as shiowim iii Mr. A. F. Heards TIme op), 639. Gramudissimmies (Cable), 639. Greemmomugim, Letters Riussiami Cimunrcim anti Russian Dissemit, 478. Wilkesons of, 642. House of a Merchamit Pnimice, 639. Hummulile Ro- Recollechioums of a Privatea Soldiers Book, 478. mumimuce, A (Wilkins), 640. Keats, Jolmmm, Life muf (Cumivimi), Nortoums Correspondence between Gwh lie amid Cmmr- 801. Memmmoirs of Clummnles Reade, 317. Miss Ravenels lyle, 479. Some cotumomi Errors cuumicernimug popular Comiversiomi, (J.XV. De Forresi), 639. My Commfession (Tel- Fictiomi, 638. Time true Demmiocracy of Litermuiuire, 638. stol), 477. MyReli~ion (Toistol), 477. Qume Faire (Toistot), Time rhmmmromughtiess of somume of time best Modermi Ilictiomi 316. Rtmmidumnm Recoliectioums (Stmmiutoim), 642. Recollec makes it appemmr Nmmrrow, 639. Miss Wilkimiss short tiomus of a Private (Wilkeson), 478. Reminiscemsces Stories, 640. No Hope of Iuunprovement from Cnihicismn, (Pommre), 642. Revolmmlioms iii r~n~~or~ Lane, Time, 802. 641. ReeemmtBiographmical Skelcimes amid Remuimuiscences, Romoims (Eliot), 317. Russitmn Cimurcim amid Itnmssian Dis 642. Keats amid his Critics, 801. A new Book by time semul, rime (Heard), 478. Scemmes of lime Siege of Sevmmsto- Amuthior of Mark Rutherford, 802. Thue Imudmuemmee of poi (1olsluii), 478. SIte (Hagg rd), 318. Society Verse Eughisim Fiction upomi A mericaim Sociehy, 803. The (Piersomu), 966. ri mump rrip, A (Meriwethuer), 316. Wood- Wail of ntis Imiternatiommal Copyniglmt Law, 804. The itmuders, Time (Hardy), 317. EGYPT.See Soudan Town, A Cemm tral 220 FISHERMANS MATE, A. A STORY Barnet PIIillhps 373 ii.1.U5TRATSu)Ns. Time two yousag Womeun took ihe Pal 374 Olle played for the Woman lie was to ularry. 390 The Maps were spread 387 FRONTISPIECES. I sat gazing npoma her as she leaned forward, 2; Will bad her to the Wiume, 164; 0mm the Tortugas, 326; Still Glides the Stream, assd shall forever Glide, 488; As we walked Homame togetlmer, 650; A Fairy Tale, 813. GREAT AMERICAN INDUSTRIES.500 A Sheet of Paper, 113; A Primiteff Book, 165 GRIZZLY BEAR, HUNTING THE G. 0. Shields 368 lLt,U5TRArsONs. The Grizzly and his Prey 369 Tail-piece 372 Vigorously belaboring tIme Bear over time Ilead 371 HEMISPHERE, THE OTHER END OF THE William Eleroy Curtis 893 SLT.U5TISATSON5. The Ilarbor, Buenos Ayres 893 Statnme of St. Martin 901 TIme Thmemitre, Buenos Ayres 895 The Cathedral of Buenos Ayres 902 Palace of Domi Mammal Rosas 897 Juarez Cehmuan 903 Map of time Argemithue Repuhile 898 Maximno Samutos 905 Coummtry Scene iuitime Atgenthmue Ralmumblic 899 Monteviuico 907 A private Residemmee in Buenos Ayres 900 Scene iii Momstevideo 909 CONTENTS. v HERE AND THERE IN THE SOUTH Rebecca Harding Davis 235, 431,593, 747, 914 ILLTT5TP.ATIONS. head-piece 235 Under the Magnolias 599 A Glimpse from the Car Window 237 Notes from the Creole Quarter 600 Pine Barrens 239 head-piece 747 A Relic of the departed South 241 Glimpse thron4i a Gateway 748 A Clarin 243 01(1 Rookery, New Orleans 749 The blossoming Ruin 244 A Glimpse of Jackson Square 751 Government Street,.Mobile 431 Swamp Cypresses 753 A Juugle 433 Returnin~ from Market 755 By the Road-side 434 l1oein~ Sn~ar-cane 756 The Shell Road, Mobile 435 Evening at the Quarters 757 A Way-side Gioup 436 On Bayou Teche 758 The old Bone Man 437 Onelonsas Prairie 759 Red-snapper Fishin~ 438 Hedge Roses 914 Head-piece 593 Under the Vine and Fig-tree 916 Summer Breezes in the Suburbs 595 A Palmetto House 917 A typical house 596 An Acadian Hostelry 919 Bay Saint Louis 597 In the Salt-Mine 921 Street in Pass Christian 597 A lilt of Shore, Jeffersons Lake 922 Domestic Defences 598 Jeffersons House . 924 HOME RULE IN THE ISLE OP MAN Richard Wheatley 513 IlLUSTRATIONS. Douglas, Capital of thelsle of Man 513 Victoria Street, Douglas 517 Governor Walpole 514 Peel Castle and harbor 519 The House of Keys in Session 315 Map 520 HORSEMANSHIP.See Riding in New York 489 HUNTING.See Bear, Hnnting the Grizzly 368 HYPNOTIC MORALIZATION William Wilbciforce Newton 453 INDIA.See Publishing House, Nahvc, in India, 352; Portuguese City in India, A Dead 730 INDUSTRIES, GREAT AMERICANSee Paper, Sheet of 113; Book, A Printed, 165. INTERNATIONAL PARK, THE NEIGHBORHOOD OF THE Jane Aleade Welch 327 ILLUSTRATIONs. Old Fort Missisanga 327 Thorn-trees near Niagara 337 The Rapids above the Falls 328 John Graves Slmncue 338 The Whirlpool Rapids 329 Niagara Falls from Goat Island 339 The Whirlpool 331 Interior of St. Marks Church 340 Lewiston 333 St. Marks Church 341 The Brock Monument 334 Miss Ryes Orphanage 342 The Pathway, Queenston to Niagara 335 Fort Niagara 342 Queenston and Niagara River 336 IRISH PARTY, THE Edward Brown, F~L.S. 421 IlLUSTRATIONs. Joseph G. Biggar 422 E. D. Gray 422 T. M. Healy 422 Timothy Harrington 422 Thomas Sexton 422 James OKelly 422 T. P. OConnor 422 Justin McCarthy 422 Timothy D. Sullivan 422 Michael Davilt 422 Isaac Butt 422 William OBrien 422 Charles Stewart Parnell 422 Johimi Dillon 422 ISLE OF MAN.See Home Rule in tile Isle of Man 513 KENTUCKY PIONEERS, THE John Mason Brown 48 ILLUSTRATIONS. Grave of Daniel Boone 49 Simon Kenton Sycamore on Lulbegrud Creek 51 Daniel Boone Geor~e Rogers Clark 53 Robert Patterson 61 Indian Old Fields and View from Pilot Knob 55 John Brown 62 Sunset on Licking River 56 Bryant Station 63 Capture of Elizabeth and Frances Callaway and Ford at Blue Licks ~vhmere Boone crossed 65 Jemimna Boone 57 Defence of the Station 66 MAN AND TWO BROTHERS, A. A STORY Georqc Parsons Lathrop 944 MEXICAN NOTES Charles Dudley Warner 23, 283, 443 MOLL AND VIRGIL. A STORY. With one Ilimistration Richard Malcolm Johnston 583 MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. UNITED STATesInter-State Commerce Commission- 480; W. E. Chamidler, New hlamrmpshire, 480. Pulilic Debt ers appointed, 158. Ummited Slates Ministers appointed: mif mIte United Slales reduced, 158, 320, 480, 643, 967. Oscar S. Straus, Austria, 158; General A. R. Lawton, Mormon Convemithoim, 643. Cemitenmihal of United States Austro-hlungary, 158; C. S. Fairchild appoitited Secre- Comistitutiomi, 967. Transatlantic Yacht Race, Coronet tIiry of Treasury, 158; J. W. hyatt appoimited Treasurer amid Dauntless, 158. Visit of Queen Kapiolani of time (if the United States, 480; First allotmnent of land to Ilawaihan Kimmedome, 320. Comivictiomi slid Sentence of Imidiamls in severally, 158; Prolmilihilon Amemldmemit de- Jaciib Shmarhi, New York City, 643. fealed in Michiigami, 158; Prohibition defeated in Texas, CANADA, Eumloec, ASIA, AFRICA, SOUTmI AMERICA. 806, 967; Croshiy Ilieb License Bill vetoed by Govermmor Great Britaimi: Irish Crimnes Bill, 158, 320, 480, 643; Proc- Hill, of Ne~v Yiirk, 158. State Nomninations: Kemitucky lamatiomi of every County in Ireland, 8116; Irish Land Demmiocratic amid Republicami, 320; Ohio Repuimlican, 806; Bill, 643, 811 ; British Bud~et, 320; TemiamitsRelief, 320; Marylami Democratic, 806; New York Lahior, 967; Iowa Prhmogemuiture lIlli, 643; Queens Jubilee, 643; Juhillee Repimblicami, 967; Marylamid Repmmblican, 967; Iowa Dem- Yacht Race, 643; Emirlish Channel Tunnel, 806; Irish Ceratic, 967; Massachi isetts Prohibition, 967; New York League proclaiumued, 967; Pehition agaimist the Proclamna - Republican, 967. State Ehectiomis: Rhmomle Islamid. 158; tiomi rejected, 967. Canadiami house of Comulomis on time Michmigami, 158; Kemitucky, 806; Texas, 806, 967. Liemm- Coerciomi Bill, 321). Germany: Schmiaebeles Arrest and temmant-Goveruior Watermumimi mamle Gmmvermior of Califor- Relemise, 320; Ecclesiastical Bill, 320; Ring Otto of Ba- ama, 967. Uiiiteml Slates Semmators chosen: Charles J. vmmria declared Imlsane, 643. hlumigmiry: Elections, 643. Faulkmuer, West Virgimmia, 320; Samuel Pasco, Florida, Hollamud: Extemisiomi of time Frammehmise, 450. Belginna: vi CONTENTS. MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS.Coiitinued. Bill to protect Workin~-men, 643. France: Resigna- Dynamite Explosion at Jasz-Ber6ny, flnngary, 806; tion of Goblet Ministry, 480; Itonvier Cabinet appoint- Accident on Erie Railroad, 806; Loss of Ship Firth in ed, 480; Army Bill, 480; Senators Election Bill, 643. Java Waters, 806; Steamer Mahratta fonndered, 806; Bulgaria: Election of Prince Ferdinand, 643; Prince Wreck of Excnrsion Train near Chatsworth, Illinois, Ferdinand installed, 806; Ne~v Cabinet, 961. Russia: 806; Alpine Tourists killed, 967; Regatta Accident on Attempt to kill the Czar, 159; IJkasc against FnreLn- Thames, 967; Ship Falls of Bruar foundered, 967; Burn- ers, 480. Italy: Depretis Cabinet announced, 159; Ccii- log of Theatre Royal, Exeter, England, 967; Collision, sos, 967. Egypt: Convention between England and Midland Railway, England, 968. Ttirkey, 480. Turkey: Cyprus ceded to England, 480. OuITuAav: 159, 320, 480, 643, 806, 968Ex-Governor Hawaii : Dissatisfaction with King Kalakaua, 643. William Aiken, 968; Professor S. F. Baird, 968; Wash Peru: Change of Cabinet, 967. ington Bartlett, 968; Luke P. Blackburn, 968; Dr. Alon- DisAsTEas: 159, 320, 480, 643, 806, 967.Colliery Ex- zo Clark, 968; Alvan Clark, 968; ex-Governor Citaun- plosion at Sydney, New South Wales, 159; Miners burn- cey F. Cleveland, 481; Sylvanus Cobb, Jun., 806; Jen- ed at Bessemer, Michigan, 159; Tramps burned by the ale Collins, 806; Uriel Crocker, 643; Rev. Daniel Curry, Villagers of Ilisia Shib, China, 159; Hotel del Monte 806; Lieutenant John W. Danenho~ver, U.S.N., 320; W. burned at Monterey, California, 159; Mine Explosion at C. De Pauw, 320; Agostino Depretis, 806; Dorothea L. Vealta, Indian Territory, 159; Nitro-glycerine Explo- Dix, 806; General A. W. Doniplian, 806; Jean Victor sion at Frieber~, Saxony, 159; Prairie Fires in Kansas, Duroy, 806; Right Rev. R. W. B. Elliott, 968; Meler 159; Fire in St. Auustlne, Florida, 159; Steamer Vie- Goldschmidt, 806; James Grant, 320; Rev. Bishop Wil- Sorla wrecked, 159; Wreck of Schooner Active off the liana L. Harris, 968; Commodore Henry Hastin~s, 806; Coast of Ore~on, 320 - Tornado in Missouri and Arkan- Rev. R. D. Hitchcock, 481; Ben Holliday, 643; Charles sas, 320; Hurricane on the Australian Coast, 320; Fire M. Hovey, 968; Rev. Mark hopkins, 481; Oliver Hoyt, in Arnautkeire, Asia Minor, 320; Sinking of Steamer 320; H. M. T. Hunter, 643; Michael Nikephorovitch Benton off Formosa, 320; Schooner Flying Scud lost, Katkoff, 806; Alfred Krupp, 643; Bishop Alfred Lee, 320; Hot Sirocco in Hun~ary, 320; Wreck of Glasgov 159; William II. Macy, 480; Chief-Jtistice Ulysses Met- Steamer John Knox, 320; Victoria Coal-mine Explo- cur, 481; Alexander Mitchell, 320; ex-Governor Anson sion, 320; Explosion in the Coosa Tunnel, Georgia, P. Morrill, 643; Rev. Ray Palmer, D.D., 159; Luke P. Po- 320; Drowain~ of Emigrants from Steamship La Chain- land, 643; Major Ben: Perley Poore, 481 Daniel Pratt, pagne, 320; Opuira Comique Fire in Pails, 480; Col- 643; Monsi~nor William Quinn, 159; John T. Raymond, liery Explosion near Glasgow, 480; Loss of Steamer 159; ex-Governor William II. H. Ross, 643; John G. Sir John La~vrence, 480, 806; Collision on the Peunsyl- Saxe, 159; John Pal~rave Simpson, 968; ex-Governor vania Railroad, 480; Panic at a Circus in Germaiiy, 480; William Smith, 480; General James Speed, 643; Colonel Fire-damp Explosion in Westphialia, 480; Earthquakes Charles S. Speiicer, 806; Right Rev. Williana Bacon Ste- in Turkestan, 480; Lake Steamer Champlain burned, veims, 481; John Taylor, 806; Paul Tulane, 159; ex-Jnd~e 480; Pilgrims drowned in the Danube, 643; Fire in a Aaroia J. Vanderpoel, 968; George C. Ward, 320; Gen- Nevada Mine, 643; Dynamite Explosioii at Pestli, 643; eral Von Werder, 968; ex-Vice-President W. A. Wheeler, Land-slide at Zug, S~vitzerland, 643; Burning of Alca- 481; Chief-Justice William B. Woods, 480; Miss Cath- zar Theatre, Hurley, Wisconsin, 643; Capsizitig of Sinop erine L. Wolfe, 159; Sir Charles Young, 968. Mystery, 643; Collision at St. Thomas, Ontario, 643; MORELIA Charles Dudley Warn 283 MOSAICS.See Ravenna arid its Mosaics 415 NARKA. A STORY OF RUSSIAN LIFE Kathleen OMeara 131, 291, 395, 521,760, 877 NIAGARA..-See International Park, The Neighborhood of the 327 NURSE CRUMPET TELLS THE STORY Arnelie Rites 620 PAINTERS.See Sargent J 5 683 PAPER, A SHEET OF I?. ii. Bomcker 113 iLi.U5TiIATtON5. The Egyptian Papyrus, or Paper Rush 113 The Fourdrinier Machine 123 hand-paper making 117 Paper magnified fifty Diameters, stiowiim~ Fibre, Mould and Deckel 117 and a Comma in Harpers Magazine 124 Beating Engine. (Two Vie~vs) 119 Dia~ram of Sand-paper Machine 125 Beahing-room 121 Fools-cap Water-mark 126 Fourdrinier-room 122 Making Paper Car Wheels 128 PATZCUARO Charles Dudley Warner 283 PERSIA.See Susa, Tile Excavations at 3 PIRATES.See Bnccaneers and Marooners of the Spanish Main 357, 502 PORTUGUESE CITY IN INDIA, A DEAD Rev. John P. Hurst, D.D. 730 iLa.USTatATiON5. Citadel Gate 731 Church of the Franciscans 736 Cathedral of St. Joseph 733 Moiiastery Gardeii of the Jesilits 737 PRINTINGSee Book, A Printed 165 PUBLISHING HOUSE, A NATIVE, IN INDIA Ret. J. F. Hurst, D.D. 352 RAILROAD LEGlSLATION, AMERICAN Professor A. T. Hadley 141 RAILROADS.See Wild Irishnian, The Rotate of the 91 RAYENNA AND ITS MbSAICs Sidney Lawrence 415 iLLUSTRATiONS. Portrait in Mosaic of Justinian 415 Interior of San Apolhinare Nuovo 419 Mosaic of time Three Kiiigs 416 Mosaic of Melchdsethechm, in San Vitale 420 lomb of Galla Placidia 411 REPUBLICS, THE SMALLEST OF AMERICAN William Eleroy Curtis 665 iLLUSTRATiONS. Crater of a Volcano 668 Picking Coffee 676 Rubber-trees 669 Coffee-dryiimg 676 Ihe Road from Port Lirnon to San Jose 671 The Mitrimuba 677 Peon 672 Don Bernardo de Soto, Presdent of Costa Rica 681 A Banana Plaimtation 613 R1DING IN NEW YORK By A Rider 489 iLLUSTRATiONS. Der Reitmeister 491 Mounted Policeman 497 A Tailor-made Girl 493 A Family Group 498 Time huntimig Man 496 TIme constitmational Rider 499 Anglomautacs -. . 496 A Music Ride 60) CONTENTS. VII RUSSIA.See Steppe, The Sons of the, 572; Siberia, The Natives of 405 SAILS.See Sea Wings 455 SANTA BARBARA HOLIDAY, A Edwards Roberts 813 ILLUSTRATIONS. The Arlington Veranda 815 Garden of the Mission . 823 Rows of Encalyptos 816 The Corridor of the Mission 825 The Town of Santa Barbara 817 In Gaviota Pass 827 Castle Rock 818 In the Valley of the Ojal 829 Santa Barbara Harbor 819 Adobe Honse 831 The high Wall of the Mission 821 Scene in Hope Ranch 833 The Mission Fountain 822 SARGENT, JOHN S Henry James 683 ILLUSTRATIONS. John S. Sargent 683 Portrait of a Young Lady 687 Portrait of Carolus Duran 685 The Hall of the Four Children 690 SEA WINGS Robert C. Leslie 455 ILLUSTRATIONS. Sea-nrchin5 Ship or Pinnace 455 Dutch Sloop 463 Flying-proR of tile Friendly Islands 455 Channel Island Boat 463 Chinese Junk 455 Coaster, North Adriatic 463 Lateen-sail with Sheet forward 455 Two-masted Lateen Rig 464 Jib-lack as Sheet 456 Cutter of Rochelle, West France 464 Mainsail and some of the Ropes 456 English Cutter of Nelsons Time 464 Scotch Skiff 456 Racing Cutter with Eighty Tons of Lead on Mainsail hauled up to ihe Yard 456 Keel 464 Norwegian Skiff 457 The Henrietta 465 Deal Galley, or Galley-punt 457 American Centre-board Boat 465 French or Flemish Bilaudre, 1780 458 ~orfotk Wherry 466 Yorkshire Billy-boy 458 Portsmouth Wherry 464 Jib as cut for making 458 Turkish Sprit-sail 466 Old Felucca of Barbary Coasls and Spain 459 London Barge, or Dumpy 46~ Transition between Lateen and Square Rig.... 459 Lindon Barge, Mainsail brailed in 467 Old French Man-of-war, Ketch Rig 459 Sailing Ship of the Thirteenth Century 467 Old Freiich Frigate ~vith Lateen-Mizzen 459 Norway Boat . 467 Frigate of early Part of 18th Century 459 Chinese Pirate Junk 467 Crojack and Spanker, 1842 460 Chinese Smuggler 467 Sprit-sail 480 Arab Dhow 467 Reef-points of Sprit-sail. 460 ItaliRli Lake Craft 468 Square Sails, 1780 460 Lake Constance Rudder 468 Stay-sails ilild JitIS, 1780 460 Rhine Barge Rudder 468 French Corvette, 1787 461 Head of Sail, Italian Lake Boat 488 Genoese Carrack, 1500 461 Lake Boat without Sail 469 Polacca-ri~ged Bark 461 The Coot 469 Section of Line-of-battle Shills Mast at Deck.. 461 Movable Toggle-pin Oil Venetian Lateen 469 Norman Chassee-maree 462 Venetian Craft with Rudder below the Keel ... 469 Beer-head Fhshing-lioat, Devon 462 Brighton Hoggy 470 Old Hammer used by a Beer Boat-builder 462 Itchen Ferry Shriinper 470 First Stage of Clinch-built Boat on the Stocks. 463 Old single-masted Lateener 470 Daliabecyab of the Nile 463 Skiff of the Duck Pond 470 SIBERIA, THE NATIVES OF Henry Lansdeli D D MR A S FR G S. 405 IllUSTRATIONS. Tatar Woman 407 Group of Goldi Christians 413 Dr. Lansdelh in Samoyede Costume 408 ViadivostOck 414 Baslinkir Maidens 411 SOCIAL STUDIES.II. The Growth of Corporations. III. The Futnre of Corpora tions Richa,d T. Ely 71, 259 SOUDAN TOWN, A CENTRAL Joseph Thomson 220 ii.I,U5TRATION5. A View in Wiirnii 221 Fillani Nobleman and Wife 229 A Sondanese Merchant 222 Ilaussa Family 231 A Gateivay (if Wurun 223 Brass Vessels and Native Goivos 232 ~Veapons of W r and Cavalry Accoutrements.. 22~ Skill Vessels and Native Cloths 233 Palace Slaves carrying cooked Food 227 Sweetmeat Seller 234 Portrait of our Host 228 SOUTH.See Here and There in the Sooth; Kentacky Pioiieers 48 SOUTH AMERICA.SCe Hemisphere, The other End of the 893 SOUTH AMERICAN YANKEE, THE William Eleroy Curtis 556 ILlUSTRATiONS. Thin Harbor of Valparaiso 557 Patrick Lynch 564 Victoria Street, Valparaiso 559 An Inca Queen and Princess 565 A Belle of Chithi dressed for Morning Mass..... 560 Sehlora ConsiSo 567 Santa Lucia ssi President Balmaceda 568 Exposition Building, Santiago. 562 Peons of Chili 569 Statue of Bernard OHig~iiis, Santiago 563 Mount Aconcagna 571 SPANISH MAIN, BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF THE Howard Pyle 357, 502 STEPHEN WYCHERLIE. A STORY Howard Pyle 29 ILI.U5TRATION5. I sat gazing upon her as she leaned forward. 2 Still she looked upon me, though silently and Thereupon, lifting up his Eyes again, he be- pale as Death 43 gaii once more wrestling with thie Spirit in Then came Mistress Margaret unto me and Prayer 35 put a Letter into my Hands 47 viji CONTENTS. STEPPE, THE SONS OF THE Henry Lansdell, D.D., hILR.A.S.,F.D.G.S. 572 ILLUSTRATIONS. Mounted Khivan and Bokhariot 572 Interior of a Family Tent 579 A Kirgliese of the Adaef Tribe 573 Wells in the Hunbry Steppe 580 A Kirghese Bride 575 Nosque at Khiva 581 Taranchi Market at Kuidja 576 Musical Instruments 582 Glacier of the Kora 577 An Uzbeg Musician 582 STORY OF ARNON, THE Amaje Dives 853 SUMMERS OUTING, OUR Kate Field 651 I LLUSTF.ATION5. Hopewell 653 The Turkey Deal 661 I erow a Beard, I do 655 Country Visitors 663 Not Fish! ! ! 657 The inebriated Gentleman 665 Our Waiter-girl 659 SUSA, THE EXCAVATIONS AT Madame Jane Dieulafoy 3 ILLUSTRATSONS. Seal of Artaxerxes 3 Arabian Dancing Men 11 M. Marcel and Madame Jane Dienlafoy 4 Colossal Lion in enamelled Faience 12 Tomi) of Daniel 5 Enamelled Brick Staircase Lieutenant Babin 6 Intagllo Cylinders 14, 15, 16 Professor Houssay 6 Bronze Statuette 16 Bases of Columns of the Palace of Artaxerxes 7 Frieze of Archers from the Palace of Darius... 17 Persian Workman 8 Transportiii~ Treasures across the Jungle 18 Family of Deputy-Governor of Dizfoul, Persia 9 TCZINTCZUNTCZAN . Charles Dudley Warner 443 TONY, THE MAID Blanche Willis Howard 530, 692 ILLUSTRATIONS. When the gracious Frilulein explains 537 With an engaging Smile, he pulled off his He escorted her to the Entrance 539 Cap 553 Mrs. High-Dnd~eon raised one of her dan- A cold World spurns this Heart of mine.... 699 gling, satin Arms 544 Take me away, she said, feebly 706 URUAPAN Charles Dudley Warner 443 URUGUAY.See Hemisphere, The other End of the 893 WAR, AN INCIDENT 01? THE.See Bayou LOmbre Grace King 266 WATER, THE CURATIVE USES OF Titus Munson Coan, M.D. 770 WEST POINT, CADET LIFE AT.See Cadet Life Charles King, U.S.A. 196 WILD IRISHMAN, THE ROUTE OF THE William H. Dideing 91 ILLUSTRATIONS. Penmaenmawr 91 South Stack Light as seen from Ilolyhead 97 Conway Castle 93 Arrival of Mail Steamer at llolyhead 98 Market-day on the North Welsh Coast 96 WINTER CLIMATIC RESORTS OF THREE CONTINENTS, THE. William Smith Brown 868 POETRY. AARON BURRS WOOING. Illustrated by Howard Pyle Edmund Clarence Stedman 666 A CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM. Illustrated by F. S. Church 813 BALLADE OF THE BOURNE Graham B. Tomson 356 BEFORE THE RAIN Ant6lie Dives 404 CHANT OF A WOODLAND SPIRIT Dobert Burns Wilson 910 JUNE Antaie Dives 151 LAST FAUN, THE . . ~. .Louise Imogen Guiney 913 LIFE AND LOVE Dobert Burns Wilson 430 LOVE SONG, A. Ilinstrated by Edwin A. Abbey George Wither 737 MOOD A AmJlie Dives 777 NOON IN A NEW ENGLAND PASTURE Margaret Deland 454 PETITION, A Thomas Bailey Aldrich 414 PHILLADA. Illustrated by Edwin A. Abbey 188 RIVER DUDDON, THE. Illustrated by Alfred Parsons William Wordsworth 555 ROCK WHERE MY MOTHER PLAYED, THE Wallace Bruce 953 STOLEN SOUL, A George Edgar Montgomery 892 THREE SISTERS, THE Thontas Dunn English 112 THROUGH THE STORM Nora Perry 429 TO A MOST COMELY LADY Louise Isnogen Guiney 682 TOUCH OF NATURE, A Thomas Bailey Aldrich 140 b S I SAT GAZING UPON HER AS SHE LEANED FORWARD. See Stephen Wycherlie From a drawing by Howard Pyle.

Madame Jane Dieulafoy Dieulafoy, Jane, Madame The Excavations at Susa 3-23

HARP ERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. YoL. LXXV. JUNE, 1887. No. CCCCXLV. TUE EXCAVATIONS AT SUSA. IN the beginning of the year 1881 the Dieulafoy household left France. Pre- vious studies and the counsels of a great architect and an eminent savant, Viollet- le-Duc, had induced the head of the house- hold to go to seek in Persia the link which connects Oriental art with that Gothic art which spran~ into existence so suddenly in the Middle Ages. Arabian architect- ure in Spain, in Morocco, in Algeria, and in~ Egypt had brought a contingent of in- formation, but it was necessary to go back further to the prime sources of that ar- chitect ure. When once we had crossed the Cauca- sus there were presented in succession to our charmed eyes the elegant manifesta- tions of Persian art under the monarchs of Giuzne; the monuments of the Seijuks and Moguls; the enamelled edifices built at Ispahan by the great Soft; the ruins of ancient Persepolis due to an art which borrows from Egypt and Jonia its princi- pal elements, but at the same time har- monizes them with incomparable skill ;* the mountains of ruins which were once Babylon; the arch of Ctesiphon, that co * See LArt antique de la Perse, by Marcel Dieu- lafoy, 5 vols. gr. 4to. Paris: Morel. BY MADAME JANE BJEULAFOY. lossal creation of the Sassanides, the pro- totype of the mosque of Hassan at Cairo. So far our fatigues were only relative, and the difficulties surmounted without too great effort. But this was no longer the case when we had to make our way to Susiana, where, as we were told, there were very important Sassanide monuments- useful works, if ever there were any, such as bridges, dams, canals, and aqueducts. However, we arrived at our journeys end: more than a year had elapsed since our departure from France. * Susa, the ancient capital of Elam, is sit- uated in an immense plain which stretch- es from the mountains of Bakhtyaris to the Persian Gulf. Two important rivers the Karoun, into which falls the Ab-Diz- foul, and the Ikerkha, water a soil worthy to rival in fertility the alluvion of Chal- dma, but more desolate and more deserted even than old Babylonia. With the ex- ception of Chouster and Dizfoul, towns of Sassanide origin, situated the one at three stages, the other at a days ride, from an- cient Susa, and built with its ruins, there is not a sin,,le habitation to enliven the * See Persia, Ohaldcea, Susiana, by Madame J. Dienlafoy. Paris: Hachette. Entered according to Act of congress, in the year 1887, by Harper and Brothers, in the Office of the Librarian of congress at washington. Alt ri.qlsts reserved. Yoa. LXxY.No. 445i SEAL OF ARTAXE5IXF5. 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. landscape. Some nomad Persians and Arabs camp in this vast solitude, and live wild and savage on the milk of their herds, or on the fruits of plundering raids made sometimes in Turkey and sometimes in Persia. Susa, without going back so far as the legendary Memnon, was still a powerful town,whose influence for a long time out- NOTEIn the month of October, 1886, the French Minister of Public Instruction, in presence of the principal memhers of the administration of the Louvre Mnsenm and of the Fine Arts Department, conferred upon Madame J ne Dienlafoy the cross of the Order of~the Lesion of Honora distinction which has very rarely been accorded to a woman. In a summary note, the Journal 0 ciel, in register- in,. the nomination, added the following mention: Susiana Mission, 18811886: Discoveries and ar- chMological work. Madame Diculafoy has in- deed lar,.ely contributed to the success of the hn- portant archuological mission which the French government intrusted to M. Marcel Dienlafoy, her husband, and which began in 1881 with a journey through Persia, Chaldma, and Susiana, the narrative of which was published a few months ago in a vol- nine from the pen of this courageous and indefati- gable lady traveller. The mission continued its work in 18845 and 18856 by excavatin,. the tu- muli of Susa, and briinm~ng to light a series of spe- cimens of ancient art, which are now hem, arranged in the Louvre Museum, and which will probably be visible to the public toward the end of the present year. The above article, written by Mine. Diculafoy specially for Harpers Magazine, is the first authen- tic and complete account yet published of these wonderful discoveriesTM. C. weighed that of Babylon. In- deed, it was not until the sec- ond millenary before our era that Susa lost its hegemony over the alluvial plains be- tween the Karoun and the Euphrates. Darius, son of Hystaspes, made it once more the capital of Asia, when, in 521 B. c., he drove from the throne of Persia the auda- cious Magian who had mas- sacred the brother of Cam- byses. The Great King built a palace at Susa, the ancient authors tell us, and hencefor- ward the royal city became the radiant focus around which were gathered artists from lonia and from Greece, and all those whose know- ledge recommended them to the dispenser of the riches of the world. Darius disappears; Artaxerxes succeeds him; and the unworthy heir of their glory, the last of the Ach~menid~, flies before Alexander, who pillages the treasure of the citadel, and leaves in it in exchange a Macedonian garrison. Then come the Sassan ides, who abandon Susa for a town of their own creation, Chons- ter, and with the stones torn from the palace of their predecessors build bridges and dikes, and finally leave the old capi- tal to waste away and die. In the eighth century the city and its palaces began to disappear nuder layers of detritus, which become thicker every year, and at the present day all that remains is an arti- ficial mountain, valleys formed by the falling in of the banks of the canals, and by way of inhabitants wild cats and boara encamped in the deep crevices which rend from top to bottom the sides of the tu- muli. The artificial elevation which supporte in former times the palaces of Susaan elevation which can be seen from a very great distancehas the form of a hill with a horizontal crest, dominated at the ex- treme right by a higher platform. The plan of the ensemble of the tumuli is. shaped like an elongated lozenge and divided into three parts, separated from each other by a deep valley. Let us dim the loftiest tumulus. A goat path leads us to the top, and from the terrace crowning the elevation the view extends first to a M. MARCEL AND MADAME JANE DIEULAFOY. THE EXCAVATIONS AT SUSA. 5 fine chain of snowy mountains bounding a desert plain dotted here and there by two or three lcouars (a sort of shrub) and a few half-ruined Mussulman sanctuaries; to the right is a rectangular plateau, five furlongs in length, the southern extrem- ity of which seems almost as high as our observatory; at our feet is a square tumu- lus of about forty acres covered with brush; to the left a watercourse winding sinu- ously along the extreme spurs of the elevation, and bathing with its greenish waters a celebrated sanctuary; behind us epigraph informs us, came from a palace built by Artaxerxes Mnemon on the site of the royal dwelling of his ancestor Da- rius, a dwelling which was burnt down a few years after its construction. They owe to a singular chance the good fortune of once more seeing the light of day. In 1852 the English government undertook to settle the southern frontier of Turkey and of Persia. For this purpose some geographers and some dipiomatists pene- trated to Susiana, where their official in- violability guaranteed them relative secu stretches a marsh. The watercourse is rity. The people talked to them about called the Chaour; the sanctuary is no Susa, the name of which has remained other than the tomb of Daniel. Accord- popular in Arabistan, and finally Colonel ing to tradition, this monument, of no Williams, and Sir Kennett Loftus, the great pretensions, contains the last re- explorer of the tumuli of Warka, could mains of the Peighambar (i. c., prophet), not resist the temptation to make exca- whose body, 1130 feet long and 30 feet vations around the fragments of fluted broad across the shoulders, is the most columns which were to be found here and precious relic, the palladium, of the coun- there on the surface. They hired three try. Our observatory, like the neighbor- hundred Arabs, had a trench dug at the ing elevations, is destitute of apparent ru- point where the ddbris of stones were most ins. To the northwest, however, we see considerable, and soon brought to light some white stones peeping through the four bases of columns with inscriptions, brush. On approaching we find our- the head which lay near one of the col- selves, not without some surprise, face to urnns, sufficient elements to reconstitute face with the head of a gigantic animal the bicephalous capitals which surmount- lying at the foot of the base of a column. ed the columns, the bases of these sup- A cuneiform inscription in three lan- ports, and some substructions of a room guages is engraved on the flat part of the with a roof resting on pillars, and sur- base. Here and there are scattered a few rounded on three sides by porticoes. Fur- shapeless fragments, and that is all. ther excavations made to the north of These venerable relics, as the trilingual the edifice proved unfruitful: the walls of TOMB OF DANIEL. 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. LIEUTENANT BABIN. the room, its doors, the stairways, and the avenues were not found. The stone bulls which crowned the cap- itals were too heavy to be removed, and some enamelled materials alone were sent to London, together with a few terra-cotta statuettes and some cuneiform inscriptions engraved on clay. Sir Kennett Loftus, pressed by the fanatics of Dizfoul, who saw with horror the impure hands of Christians disturbing the soil consecrated to the Prophet, and for thousands of years past used as burying-ground, was obliged to abandon the country after having lost one of his men, who was killed in a popu- lar uprising. We arrived at Susa for the first time in the midst of one of those deluges of rain which are the peculiar privilege of hot countries. At first sight my husband, forcibly struck by the aspect of the tumu- Ii, remained convinced that the trenches dug by Sir Kennett Loftus were not deep enough, and that it would have been pref- erable to have made the excavations to the south rather than to the north of the hypostyle roompurely platonic remarks, for, sick, worn out by fever, and by the 3700 miles that we had travelled on horse- back before reaching the palace of Artax- erxes, we had also come to the end of our financial resources. We returned to France without having so much as scratch- ed the surface of the soil of the palaces. A year passed. The souvenir of Susa haunted my husband in his sleep. He unbosomed himself to M. de Ronchaud, Director of the National Museums, and found in that high functionary the most enlightened confidant and the surest guide. Unfortunately the funds of the museums were not in harmony with the good-will of their director. Monsieur de flonchaud had at his disposal nothing but a balance remaining over from the Uni- versal Exhibition of 1878, 31,000 francs, a very small sum, considering that the country of our dreams was away at the end of the Persian Gulf, and that access to that distant country was most difficult, and consequently most expensive. How- ever, each of the Ministries came to our assistance: the Ministry of Public Instruc- tion added 10,000 francs to our budget; the War Department lent us arms, sad- dles, and tents; the Navy promised to transport our whole mission gratis as far as Aden; and finally two young collabora- tors, M. Babin, Lieutenant of Engineers, and Professor Houssay, were placed under the orders of my husband. These preliminary questions settled, we asked the Shah to grant us the authoriza- tion to excavate the tumuli of Susa. A few months passed, and thanks to the obliging intervention of Dr. Tholozan, the physician and friend of the King, all dif- ficulties were at length removed. The French government was authorized to send an archmological mission into Ara- bistan under the following reserves: the tomb of Daniel should not be touched; all gold and silver objects found should be- PROFESSOR HOUSSAY. THE EXCAVATIONS AT SUSA. 7 come the exclusive property of his Majes- lighted at the thought of presenting my ty; and all the other objects discovered respects to the famous crocodiles of Kur- should be divided betweet~ our museums rachee, when, on entering the port, we and Persia. were signalled by a ship just leaving for This news reached France at the end of the Persian Gulf. The baggage of the November, 1884. A few days later we mission was immediately transferred on embarked on board the transport-ship Le board the Assyria, and without having Tonkin, which carried our mission to even set foot on Indian soil we continued Aden. We left without very marked re- our course. gret the volcanic deck of this vessel, load- At the end of February the mission had ed with gunpowder, dynamite, and fulmi- reached the mouth of the Karoun, a large coton, destined for the use of the squadron river which flows into the Shat-el-Arab, commanded hy Admiral Courbet. One ascended the first of these watercourses night the passengers were awakened by as far as a weir built under the dynasty of the fire-alarm call, and for a few moments the Sassanides, hired a caravan, and gain- they had time to think of a better world. ed Chouster, the nominal capital of Per- What a fine effect the Susiana mission sian Arabistan, which I shall hencefor- would have produced flying sky-high in ward designate by its old name of Susi- search of undiscovered stars! ana. At Aden we passed eight days waiting Chouster is the official rather than the for the English boat which runs to Kur- real residence of the Hakem or Governor rachee, for we had to go to India in order of the province. An uncle of the King, to get the means of reaching the coasts of whose acquaintance we had made during Persia. our first Journey, had died, and his suc- En route for Kurrachee I ask the cap- cessor was a person of intelligence, but of tam what is the nature of our cargo. The low extraction, whose appointment had ample and deep hold of the steamer is full irritated the religious nobility of the coun- of lucifer-matches! try, who were thus placed at the mercy The voyage lasted a week. I was de- of a nobody. The Hakem was not at BASES OF coLuMNs OF THE rALACE OF ARTAXERXES. 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Chouster, but he was expected to arrive there shortly, we were told. We waited for him in vain five days, and then we started out to go to meet him. As soon as he heard of our arrival he had given orders to raise his camp, pitched not far from the tumuli. The worthy man avoided the neighborhood of the mission as he would have avoided the pest. Nev- ertheless we had to catch him in order to obtain from him the authorization to en- gage workmen, and in order to remit to his couriers our letters and despatches. We met the ordou, that is to say, the civil and military suite which accompa- nies the governor of a province, at a few hours distance from Dizfoul. The enor- mous troop of soldiers and servitors, the tents and the cannons, were defiling slow -~ ~ .~v ~ .1 PERSIAN WORKMAN. ly, and spreading without order over a space of a quarter of a mile wide and nearly four miles long. At last I saw Mozaffer-el-Molk, the sovereign master of the province. He was accompanied by Dr. Moustapha, a pupil of Dr. Tholozan, who in the school of this learned practi- tioner had acquired a very fair knowledge of French, and perhaps too of medicine. We saluted his Excellency, and the mis- sion continued its route toward Dizfoul, while my husband turned back and went to spend the day with Mozaffer-el-Molk in a camp where breakfast was prepared. I saw Dizfoul again with joy: I was so near Susa, and I was in such a hurry to set the picks to work! Toward evening Marcel rejoined us. All the necessary authorizations had been given him; he returned to the mission enchanted and overwhelmed with kind words. The next day the mission handed a letter of recommendation received from high authority to the Sheik Tai~r, an aged and saintly mollah, who was all- powerful in the province, while I paid a visit to the two wives of the general in command of the troops, two beauti- ful Teheran ladies who were bored to death in this town so far from the cap- ital. Two days afterward we started for Susa without troubling our heads about an official spy, placed at my hus- bands disposal by Mozaffer - el - Molk, under pretext of doing us honor, and who in our absence emptied in our name the grocery stores of the bazar, and paid with the money intended for these purchases the debts which, for want of an ordou, he had been drag- ging in his train for years. The weather was dark and rainy; dazzling lightning was rending the starless night when I caught sight of the tumuli in the bluish glimmer of the flashes. It was too late to plant our tents the night of our arrival; we were obliged to beg asylum in the tomb of Daniel; and we considered ourselves very fortunate to be able to encamp nu- der one of the arcades running around the entrance court. At daybreak this honor seemed to us to be dangerous, Christians not being safe in the vicinity of the patron of lion- tamers; and so our first care, as soon as the sun had dried the herbage which covered the turnuli, was to plant our tents not far from the bases of columns THE EXCAVATIONS AT SUSA. 9 discovered formerly by Colonel Williams. - At three oclock in the afternoon we trans- orted our baggage to the new encamp- ment, and to their great joy the four exiles dined for the first time in their own quar- ters, or rather in the quarters of the Koun- dour Nakhounta and of the iDariuses. It was seventy-two days since they had left France. Before setting to work it was found ad- visable to examine with the greatest at- tention the excavations begun a little at hap-hazard by Loftus, and to determine the position of the trenches which we were to dig. My husband, at the time of our first journey, had made an exhaustive study of Persepolitan architecture, and his knowledge was of no small assistance in guiding us on the northern plateau,which I shall call the Acha~menida~an tumulus, because the palace of Artaxerxes was sit- uated at this point. The position of the inscriptions engraved on the bases of the column of the Apadana (throne-room) led him to conclude that we ought to look for the entrance of the royal dwelling not to the north but to the south. A first trench was therefore traced about two hundred feet in front of the southern portico; it was slanted slightly along the fa9ade of the palace; the other trenches were cut on the eastern platform, which I shall indi- cate by the name of Elamite. To mark out the trenches was not a great affair; the difficulty was to find workmen to dig them. During these first few days we ceived two visits. One of them, to which we were far from attaching all the impor- tance it deserved, was that of a venerable priest, who came to the tomb the day after we had settled our camp. Accompanied by an escort of thirty persons, he mounted to FAMILY OF DEPUTY-GOVERNOR OF DIEFOUL, PERSIA. 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. our tents, refused to come in and rest, and asked why the mission had abandoned the Gabee (the Persian word for tomb), and encamped on muddy and damp ground. Our work, replied my husband, re- quires us to live on the spot. The sec- ond visit was that of an Arab chief, Sheik Au, who was camping with his tribe in the environs of Susa. He brought a fine lamb in testimony of his desire to live on good terms with the new-comers. His proceeding was too polite for us to neglect to interest Sheik Au in our affairs. Mar- cel asked him if amongst the nomads of his tribe there were not some who would dig and shovel dirt for a consideration. He rubbed his hands one against the oth- er, and murmured with contempt, Arab, la, la (Arab, no, no). This meant to say, in a brief form, The Arabs do not work; apply to the Persians. The gloaming of the third day saw the arrival of Mirza Abdoul Khahim. This spy related that he had delayed his de- parture from Dizfoul in order to calm the emotion caused in the town by the news of our establishment on the domain of Daniel. Mirza Abdoul Khahim, accord- ing to his own statement, had dissipated all the storms. Meanwhile an old fellow, wearing the blue turban of the Dizfoulis, with a coun- tenance more intelligent than it was frank, a mason by trade, a usurer when he had the chance, appeared in the camp. He had heard in the bazar that the Faran- ghis recently arrived at Susa could dive better than amphibious anfmals, and that the smallest of them could live for three days at the bottom of the Chaour, where he would swim about without ever breath- ing, and feed on live carp. This is tru- ly strange, he had said to a colleague: what say you? Let us go and enjoy this gratuitous spectacle. And there- upon the two, mounted on asses, had taken the direction of Daniels tomb, where they had arrived after a ten hours ride across the desert. And still the excavations were not be- gun, from want of workmen! An old Arab, whose only nourishment consisted of the herbs which he browsed on the tumulus, a poor devil who had been robbed by the nomads, and the son of a widow who was dying of starvation in the Gabee, were at last enrolled at fancy prices. On February 28 Marcel and my- self took command of this glorious bat- talion. Full of emotion, I struck the first blow with the pick on the Aebmumenidmean tumulus, and worked until my strength gave out. My husband then took his turn with the pick, while our acolytes carried away the loose earth. This was how the excavations at Susa were begun. The day was drawing to an end when the mason and his companion, who, after having looked for us in vain in the Cha- our, had assisted without uttering a word at the inauguration of the works, proposed to engage some workmen and bring them to us. Their offer was accepted at once, and a daily premium was promised for each workman, picker or shoveller. For- ty - eight hours afterward sixty Dizfoulis animated with their presence the long- abandoned tumuli. The weather was rainy; our tents let in the moisture; provisions were short; our soup, cooked in the open air, was bet- ter provided with rain-water than with butter; nevertheless, we were joyousjoy- ous because we had reached Susa, joyous because we had taken possession of the site which we had so long aspired to exca- vate, joyous because we had at last some workmen at our disposal. Our happiness was short-lived. On March 2 a courier arrived with a let- ter from the Governor, written in French by Dr. Moustapha. Here it is in its en- tirety: MoNswun,The Mussulmans are igno- rant, uncivilized, and outside rules; they are, in short, a stumbling-block in the way of your labors. In my absence it is very difficult for you, I believe, to direct your mission. The tumult of passions of the religion of Islam will cause, perhaps, a great danger, which it will be impossible for me to ward offi It is good to deposit your things at Diz- foul, in the charge of Mirza Abdoul Khahim, and to come and stay at Chonster with me. After my return to Dizfoul you will be able to attend to your business with the escort, the force, and the advice of the government. Yours truly, MOZAFFER-EL-MOLK. The unexpected arrival of this wonder- ful document threw my husband into a state of cruel perplexity. The bearer on being questioned, furnished some supple- mentary explanations. More than six hundred fanatics had set out for Susa three days previously; they were armed with guns, lances, and slings, and were advancing, intoxicated with the smell of THE EXCAVATIONS AT SUSA. 11 powder, with the intention of attacking the violators of the tomb of Daniel, the infldels who were seekin~ to appropriate the relics of the prophet. The three Sons of the Sheik Tai~r had arrived at full gal- lop, and with great difficulty induced the fanatics to turn back, by promising them that their father himself would lead them to massacre us, if the holy priests sent in hot haste to our camp should discover any foundation for the accusations brought against the Christians. In short, the ex- citement was extreme, and the life of the members of the mission in peril, if they persisted in remaining at Susa. Thus was explained the singular visit we had re- ceived, and the delay of our spy in rejoin- ing us. On the other hand, there was no mis- take to be made: to leave the tumulus the day after this scene was equivalent to abandonin~ forever the hope of excava- tine, Susa. The Governor would certain- ly not come to Dizfoul before the sum- mer; that is to say, before the season when the climate of Susiana becomes so torrid that the natives themselves cannot go out in the daytime, but live in cellars dug thirty feet below the surface in order to protect themselves from the mortal rays of the sun. My husband called us all together, com- municated to us the Governors letter, and also his formal intention of remaining on the tumulus and of continuing the works in spite of everything. We all applaud- ed this manly resolution. The chief of the mission then replied to Mozaffer-el-Molk that, in spite of his de- sire to please him, he could not desert a post which the French government had intrusted to him after a special under- standing with the Shah. If popular fa- naticism endangered the lives of the mern- bers of the mission, it was the duty of the Governor to watch over the security of the emissaries of a friendly power. In order to put an end to the suspicions which the arrival of a courier had begun to awaken amongst the workmen, alway in dread of the official rod, my husband ordered Ousta Hassan, who had been pro- moted to the dignity of head contractor, to double the number of laborers. Hence- forward the excavations proceeded with the greatest activity. The Arabs, so dis ARABIAN DANCING MEN. 12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. dainful in the beginning, came in crowds sembling palm leaves, supported by yel- to offer their services and their spades, low ribbons. Merlons covered with blu- and it was not the least of our trouble~ ish-gray enamel complete the decoration every morning to drive away the intrud- at the top. ers, who came in hundreds, and threat- To the right of the room it was easy to ened to pillage the tents when they were see that there was an interruption in the not admitted to the honor of working deposit of enamelled d6bris, indicating the under our orders. However, the first position of a vast entrance; finally the trenches began to deepen. In spite of position of the bricks, and of the unbaked the interruptions caused by the abundant clay walls against which they were fixed, rain, we had reached a depth of nearly showed that the lions, nine in number, fourteen feet without finding anything had crowned a pylon, and had fallen except some fine funeral urns, covered on to the paved floor of the court, break- each with round stone stoppers, each con- ing the tiles situated below the enamelled taming a skeleton, when the pick of one bricks, and leaving intact those which of the workmen all at once laid bare a had not borne the shock of the wall. bed of queer white-colored materials which Mixed up with the bricks we found a skel- looked like agglomerated concrete. Hea- eton crushed by the fall of the masonry, yen be praised! One of the sides of these a marvellous opal seal which once be- parallelopipeds was coated with colored longed to Xerxes, a cone of carved ivory, enamel. and a thousand interesting utensils. The trench was directed parallel with These discoveries were the most impor- the fa9ade of the palace, and the method- tant of the whole campaign. The east ical excavation continued for about 200 trenches, however, gave us some entirely feet, with a breadth of 26 feet. One month new information about the ancient forti- later we were able to put together on the fications, and furnished a contingent of floor of our tent the enamels composing various objects, such as spear heads, tear magnificent lions in low relief, each mea- bottles, bronze and terra-cotta lamps, en- suring six feet in height and over eleven graved stones, bronze coins, and a series feet from the tip of the nose to the end of of funeral urns arranged in files, and of- the tail. The animal stands out against a ten one row on the top of another. One of turquoise blue background; the body is these urns, isolated contrary to the usage, white, the head surrounded by a sort of especially attracted our attention. It green victorine, the mustache blue and rested on a basis formed of slabs of con- yellow, the flanks white, the belly blue. crete. On demolishing this pedestal we In spite of its extravagant coloration the noticed that each slab was enamelled; on beast has a terribly ferocious aspect. the edge of one was painted and modelled Above and below this bass-relief were a beard; on others the arms of a black- two friezes composed of blue and green skinned person, life size, clothed with dentils, and small white ornaments re- richly colored stuffs. What were these men with superb vestments? Were we in presence of those Ethiopians of the Levant of whom Homer and Herodotus speak? Were the Nak- hounta the de- scendants of a princely family re- lated to the black races who reign- ed in the south of Egypt? We thought also that perhaps, after the example of the Greeks who paint- COLOSSAL LION IN ENAMELLED FAIENCE. THE EXCAVATIONS AT SUSA. 13 ed black the body of the men, and left hands upset this hypothesis, at first sight white the skin of the women, the Susians so tempting. While we were digging might have systematically used conven- trenches in the three tumuli, we took care tional colors. This seemed to us all the not to abandon the fragments of capitals more admissible as the mouth of our en- discovered by Loftus. With time and amelled personage was fine and delicate, infinite patience we had just succeeded in But the discovery of a white mans hand getting some very heavy stones out of the in enamel similar in form to the black trenches, when the first detachments of ENAMELLED BRICK STAIRCASE. 14 HAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the pilgrims who come every year to do homage to the prophet arrived at Daniels tomb. The desire to examine at close quarters the four Faraughis, about whom the most fantastic legends were current, con- tributed to increase very considerably the numbers of the devout. Henceforward our situation became intolerable. Every day hundreds of pilgrims poured in by the road from Dizfoul, accompanied by their asses, their wives, and their chil- dren. No sooner had they arrived than they rushed into the trenches, picked up the bones which we could not conceal in certain places, so great was the quantity, insulted usat a~good distancefired their guns in our ears without a word of warn- ing, became wild with rage at onr calm- ness in presence of these aggressive dem- onstrations, and finally broke at night all the objects which were too heavy to be carried to our tents. Fifty funeral urns, a whole family vault, placed all ready to be photographed, were thus smashed to atoms during a storm. The bulls soon came in for their turn; and in order to avoid irreparable damage we were obliged to give up the complete excavation of the Apa& iua. Marcel would have set guards ovqr the trenches, but the bravest of the workmen shut themselves up in the tomb of Daniel immediately after sunset, and neither silver nor gold would tempt them to face the divas, the fairies, the enchant- ers, and above all the thieves, who peopled the tumuli. I cannot blame them for this cowardice, for the camp itself offered nei- tlier repose nor security. At one moment the nomads would approach stealthily and try to carry off our horses; at the next moment it was the hen-pen that was INTAGLIO CYLINDER, NO. 2. STONE INTAGLIO cYLINDER, NO. 1.[SEE PAGE 21.] THE EXCAVATIONS AT SUSA. 15 rifled by two-legged jackals; then, again, the servants would be heard calling all the members of the mission to defend the pots and kettles against the ravages of marauders. Not a night passed without Marcel leading a sortie em masse against the plunderers. Determined to sell our lives dearly if the nomads made bold enough to attack our tents, we had con- tracted the habit of sleeping in our clothes, and with loaded arms for bedfellows; but these excellent precautions did not make up for sleepless nights, nor did they give us that rest which we needed after the- long hours passed in the trenches. I was inspecting one day the numer- ous crevices which streak the flanks of the Acba~meni& e- an tumulus when I set my foot on a hard body which I had not noticed through the grass. I slipped and fell. It did not come into my mind to punish the stone, first cause of my accident, like Xerxes chastising the Hellespont; nevertheless I pushed aside the vegetation, and discovered beneath a tuft of marsh-mallows a white slab in con- crete similar to the concrete of the lions. To run to the tents, to get a pick, and pull out of the ground six or eight of these bricks enamelled on one edge was the affair of a few minutes. Below this first layer was a second, and below that a third, and a tenth, and a twentieth. The balustrade which is now in the Louvre was discovered thus in a wall of the fortifi- cations which had been re- paired under the Sassanides. It was square-scalloped, and covered with branches of lotus terminated by white palmettes. Sonie black feet shod with yellow or blue shoes, some black hands, enamelled, but painted flat and not in relief, and some fragments of a very elegant polychrom.e decoration closed the series of our last discoveries. The time INTAGLIO CYLINDER, NO. 4. INTAGLIO cYLINDER, NO. 3. INTAGLIO CYLINDER, NO. 5. 16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and th& days passed, and passed misera- bly, in struggles now against the pilgrims and now against the wdrring tribes, who robbed our flour convoys and stole our sheep. As for making complaints, it was not to be thought of. To whom could we complain? You have remained at Susa against my advice, the Governor would have replied; you must get out of the mess yourselves the best way you can. In the midst of all this, Professor Hous- say was sent on an embassy to the Sheik Ta~r, in order to ask his authorization to build on the lands of Daniel a house for the shelter of the members of the mission. The experience of a winter passed in tents had convinced my husband of the neces- sity of having in future a shelter, not only against the heavy rains of the win- BRONZE STATUETTE. ter season, but solid walls behind which we could set the pilgrims and the maraud- ers at defiance. The Sheik Ta~3r received kindly Mon- sieur Houssay, who had rapidly learned the language of the country, and granted the desired authority, on condition that when th~re were no more French at Susa to live in it. the house should be placed at the disposal of the administrators of the domain of Daniel. Finally the vener- able mollah promised to come and visit our works in person. Three days after- ward the road from Dizfoul seemed to us to be black with people. Escorted by five hundred persons, the sheik was on his way to the tomb of Daniel, where he in- tended to await the visit of Marcel, while his sons came to the tents to salute us. The double ceremony passed off with- out any mishap; it even had an unhoped- for result. As soon as the workmen and the pilgrims saw on what terms the mis- sion was with the religious chief of the province, we suddenly found ourselves en- joying relative calm, which was all the more appreciated considering that since the beginning of our enterprise we had not had a single nights undisturbed rest. Unfortunately the heat became daily more intolerable. Some of the men had fallen sun-struck in the trenches; it was impossible to remain in the bottom of these ovens. Finally the grain crops were ripe, and we were inevitably ap- proaching the end of our campaign. We closed it very pleasantly, and a banquet composed of rice and mutton, washed down with Chaour water, sealed our good relations with the workmen. The tomb of Daniel was transformed into a banquet- INTAGLIO cYLINDER, NO. 6. I v( -, I, THE EXCAVATIONS AT SUSA. 17 ing hall and dancing saloon. After the our treasures. Fifty-four boxes, made repast a deputation came up to the tents, Heaven knows howwith Dizfoul wood and proceeded solemnly to kiss the feet and nails, were filled, and the objects of each of our party; then the best talker which could not be put into them were of the group delivered a speech. My hus- buried by night in a spot known to our- band was thanked for having abstained selves alone. from clubbing his workmen, although no After having endured many vicissi- one would have ever contested his right tudes and many privations without our to do so; he was thanked for having set- general harmony and good-humor hay- tlcd with justice the various differences ing been disturbed for a single instant, which had arisen durin~ the past three the mission separated into two parts. months between the men and their mas- Messieurs Babin and Houssay went into ters; Lieutenant Babin was praised to the Persia, properly so called, where they skies for having handed over the pay to were to make a journey for the purpose the workmen in its entirety, without of special studies, while my husband and havin~ kept back a farthing for his own myself proceeded to arrange the trans- profit; Professor Houssay received the port to France of the precious packages blessings of the sick, to whom he had giv- which had been so laboriously got to- en consultations, medicine, and money. gether. I will not say what share came to me in We were anxious to avoid a journey of this general distribution of compliments, nearly two hundred miles across a coun- but I remember that I was not forgotten. try where objects taken from the belong- In short, the speaker expressed the hope ings of the prophet were looked upon as that they would see us a6ain after the hot talismans and treasures. We therefore season, and that then they would be all resolved to get into Turkey as soon as the more devoted in their service, as they possible. were the better acquainted with us. At last we reached Amarah, a small We had to think now of packing up town recently built on the banks of the FRIEZE OF ARCHERS FROM THE PALACE OF DARIUS. 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Tigris, and on the itinerary of the Eng- lish boats. Our boxes were therefore safe so far, and we thought that we were now going to enjoy a well-earned rest. What an illusion! We had scarcely landed from our boats when the custom-house officers of the Sublime Porte took posses- sion of us. From our sorry looks they imagined that travellers worn out by fa- tigue and fever would readily sacrifice a few Turkish pounds to their desire to re- turn home to their country. Without opening our boxes they estimated their value at 100,000 francs, and demanded 1000 francs for transit dues before they would allow us to take them, 5000 francs as caution money, and also a bakshish in proportion to the wildness of their other demands. This was pure extortion. The French consul at Bagdad complained to the Valy Taki-ed-din Pasha, the instigator of the massacres of Aleppo. This gentle- man even outbid the pretensions of his in- feriors. He gave us to understand that our antiquities might very well have been found on Turkish territory, and in that case they ought to be sent to the museum of Constantinople. We obtained, however, the favor of having our boxes taken on to Bassorah, but once there we were kept continually under strict watch, while gun-boats cruised in the river with orders to sink us if the slightest attenipt at escape were made. The only thing to be done was to return to France in order to have the matter treated diplomatically. The boxes were all sealed with the seal of the French con- sulate, and deposited in the custom-house, and broken-hearted we took passage on hoard a coal-boat bound for Aden. We had with us only three trunks, contain- ing the lions head and the small objects. These three cases passed as personal lug- gage. An announcement from the Persian Prime Minister, repealing our firmans, ar- rived at Paris a few days after us. Nego- tiations were undertaken which resulted in obtaining the prolongation of the statu quo at least for one year. His Majesty of Persia and his son the Prince Zell~ Sultan consented not to offi- cially revoke the orders given in the pre- ceding year, orders which, as we have seen, were so badly carried out. In these precarious conditions we took the road to Susa once more in the begin- ning of October. A gun-boat stationed at Aden was to carry us as far as Bassorah, thus render our return more rapid, and, above all, assert the intentions of the French goverhment. The Scorpion reach- ed Bouchyr, where we found Messieurs Babin and Houssay, but not, as we had hoped, the renewal of our firmans. Three weeks passed thus, and when at last Persian territory was open to us anew, the rainy season was beginning. The Amarah road being shorter than the Chouster road, we TRANSPORTING TREASURES ACROSS THE JUNGLE FROM SUSA TO THE PERSIAN GULF.[SEE PAGE 23.] THE EXCAVATIONS AT SUSA. 9 chose it. It would take too long to relate the incidents of this journey, but in brief we did not reach Susa until December 12, sixty-eight days after leaving Marseilles. The hundred voices of fame soon an- iiounced our arrival to the nomads, and the very next day crowds of workmen ar- rived, and the excavations were resumed as smoothly as if they had not been inter- rupted at all. My husband had agreed to stop the ex- cavations before the beginning of the pil- grimages, that is to say, before April 1. lie was obliged, therefore, to modify his original plans, which had been conceived with a view to a durable organization. The Achmemenidmean tumulus was best suited for rapid excavations. The level of the floor of the palace had been discov- ered the preceding year, and the depth of the trenches was not excessive. My hus- band resolved, therefore: 1. To go on with the excavations begun in 1852 by Loftus on the site of the Apa- dana, continued in 1885 by the French mission, and interrupted at the epoch of the pilgrimage in order to save the sculp- tures laid bare from certain destruction. 2. To try to determine the position of the stairway of which I had discovered the balustrade in one of the walls of the fortification. 3. To find the junction of the pylones, and the position of the perimeter of the palace. The results of these different undertak- ings fully came up to our expectations. On the floor of the Apadana we exhumed, besides the fragments seen by Loftus, the entire body of a bicephalous bull in a per- fect state of preservation, another bulls head very beautifully worked, shafts and bases of columns, the double volutes placed below the capital, the surrounding walls of the throne-room, which the English mission had sought for in vain, some frag- ments of stone coming from the outer doors, and, finally, some fragments of the facing of the walls and of the pavement. The excavations alongside the pylones enabled us to find the base of the surround- ing wall and a fortified door. This open- ing was based, contrary to the usage, on terra-cotta foundations. Never, since the beginning of the excavations, had we met with an ancient wall built with similar materials, and Heaven knows how anx- iously we had sought for such a precious guide. Monsieur Dieulafoy thought at VOL. LXXV.No. 445.2 once of the palace of Darius, destroyed, according to the account of Artaxerxes Mnemon, in the reign of his great ances- tora palace of which the pavement had been found at another point. He was not mistaken. All our efforts were then con- centrated on this part of the excavations, and soon our workmen succeeded in taking out, fragment by fragment, the frieze of archers, which in a few months the pub- lic will be able to admire in the Louvre Museum. The bricks composing this frieze, unlike those of the lion, did not affect the form of parallelopipeds. They were fiat and square, and made of a kind of concrete combining the whiteness of plaster with the hardness of stone. The subject paint- ed on the edge and treated with minute care was very difficult to recompose. One day we discovered a hand, the next day a foot shod with a golden boot; finally the enamels became abundant, and we were able, aided by the continuity of the sub- ject and by the way it was ctft out into rectangular sections, to reconstitute a per- sonage forming part of a bass-relief repre- senting a procession of archers. The warriors are figured in profile and marching; on their shoulders rest a bow and an immense quiver; they carry a javelin terminating in a silver pome- granate. The vestments are all cut af- ter the same pattern. They are com- posed of a robe slit in front, of a short shirt with long sleeves, drawn in round the waist by a belt, and a round jacket closed over the breast. A rich band of ornament trims the hem of the garments. The stuffs are different. Some are gold- en yellow embroidered with blue and green daisies; others have a white ground, and bear on a black escutcheon a picture of the citadel of Susa; sometimes the robes are white, and covered with flowers and stars set off by a black background; the shirt is black or yellow; the boots gold or blue. The archers are crowned with a green torsade, and bedecked with gold ear-rings and bracelets. Their skin is black; the eyes are drawn as if they were seen full face; the nose is arched; the lips thin, and narrowly edged with carmine. The curled beard is relatively short; the hair is curly only at the end. The cunei- form inscriptions on the enamel, which concern the archers, still contain, in spite of their mutilation, the name of Darius King in Persian, in Median, and in Assyri HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. an, and the following characteristic phrase: Otana nama parsa (a Persian by the name of Otanes). These fragments are very precious, for, in the absence of more precise archteological information, they suffice to date the monument. My husband was right in considering the Susian people to be an isolated tribe of the most ancient colonists of Asia, those blacks of the Rig-Veda, those Ethiopians of the Levant mentioned by Homer and described by Herodotus. The anthropological studies of Profess- or Houssay on the present inhabitants of Susiana and the examination of the well- preserved skeletons discovered in the fu- neral urns furthermore tend to show that within the past eighteen hundred years the anatomic characteristics of the black races have been continually growing weaker, though they may still be found in all the townsfolk of Arabistan. Besides these enamelled faiences, the ex- cavations of the palace of Darius brought to light fragments of sculpture on terra- cotta of a very peculiar character. They are neither painted nor enamelled; their elementary forms have entirely lost any conventional character; and the ensemble of the bass-relief is modelled with surpris- ing skill and ability, althou~,h the subjects are borrowed from the fantastic fauna of Chaldtea. Here it was a wild beast like those which are reproduced on the bass- reliefs of Persepolis; there it was a bull represented in profile, and nevertheless with two divergent horns. These ani- mals were surrounded by friezes covered with a cuneiform text engraved by hand on the edge of the bricks. Some of the inscriptions are in Persian; others, writ- ten in Assyrian cursive characters, have some connection with Susian texts of the eighth or ninth century B.C. Although the palace of Darius has hith- erto furnished only magnificent fragments of its decoration, the plan of the edifices which in the time of Artaxerxes crown- ed the Achtemenidman tumulus is now known; we can even reconstitute the Apadana in its general aspect and in its details. The buildings rose on an almost rectangular platform sixty feet high, sur- rounded on the east and west by fortifica- tions. The summit of the northern de- fences, terminating just at the level of the platform of the palace, allowed the eye to embrace the whole chain of the Bakhtya- ris Mountains, the plain, and the town of Susa. The southern front formed one of the sides of the interior court comprised between the citadel and the Elamite tu- mulus. The grand entrance to this court. was situated in the axis of the palace, to the south and at the foot of the walls of the citadel. Without concerning myself with the lateral constructions, I pass~ through the gate and proceed toward the palace of Artaxerxes. In front of me is- a gigantic stairway between two towers, which form part of the system of fortifica- tions. I admire the enamelled hand-rail; I mount the steps, so easy that they might be mounted on horseback, and I reach the outer court, bounded on the east and west by the ramparts. Porticos supported by pillars and decorated with fantastic ani- mals occupy the middle of the wings facing the stairway is an opening flanked by two pylones, faced with white and rose mosaic, and surmounted by a magnificent procession of enamelled lions. Before crossing the threshold of the inner court I perceive the throne-room. The Apadana* was isolated from all the surrounding constructions on the south by the inner court, on the north, the east, and the west by a gently sloping road reserved for the royal chariots, which mounted there from the plain to the top of the platform. The three colonnades of the palace and their bicephalous capitals escaped the view of visitors, unless they caught a glimpse of them through the large openings placed at their extremities. For that matter they had full leisure tc~ admire the elegance and the majesty be- fore penetrating into the royal precincts, inasmuch as the throne-room dominated with its whole height the fortifications- on the north. In the time of Darius the walls forming the back of the colonnades must have been adorned with processions- of warriors, and with those endless inscrip- tions destined to proclaim the glory of the Achtemenidte. Such was, in its main outlines, the offi- cial dwelling of a Khchayathia,t further embellished by fountains, ponds, flower- gardens, and works of art, which must have beeii marvellous if we are to believe the Greeks, who were good judges in the niatter. If it be granted that simplicity * Apad~na is the word by which the Persians designated the throne-room. This expression bas passed into Hebrew with the meaning of tabernacle. f Persian name for King, whence comes the title of Shah, borne at the present day by the sovereigns of Persia. THE EXCAVATIONS AT SUSA. 21 of plan, clearness of arrangement, and harmony of ensemble are the supreme ex- pressions of architectural beauty, the Apa- dana of Artaxerxes must have been one of the finest edifices of antiquity. The excavation of the Apadana did not alone absorb the attentioii of the chief of the mission; the examination of the nat- ural crevices which had not yet been in- vaded by the tall herbage gave a most in- teresting result, for it led to the discovery of a narrow trench, carefully filled up with gravel, the presence of which in this particular place was soon to lead my hus- band to reconstitute with certitude the ancient fortifications which surrounded the palace of the great kings. The rode and the position of this lining, which was similar to the works used by our modern engineers for the protection of a retain- ing wall, having been once recognized, it became straightway easy to follow the trench full of pebbles at all points where it had not been buried beneath too thick a mass of rubbish, and thus to isolate the exterior wall from the retaining wall, and to re-establish the situation of the exterior facing parallel with the lining, and dis- tant from the latter some seventy- five feet. We were thus in possession of the perimeter and exact extent of the defen- sive works of Susa, but the principal ele- ments of the transversal sections were wantinga regrettable lacuna, which fresh researches, facilitated by a happy concourse of circumstances, at last filled up. We even discovered the grand gate of the royal precincts, and near it there was still lying a fragment of the panels, covered with triple brass, nailed, and em- bossed. The Susian fortification comprised, first of all, a moat filled with water and com- municating with the Chaour. The ex- terior rampart, built with hollow bricks, was 75 feet broad and 70 feet high. This latter dimension is obtained by adopting as a plane of comparison the average level of the plain, taken 55 feet below the pave- ment of the Apadana of Artaxerxes. Against the inner side of the wall, and separated from it by the lining of gravel, there leaned a mass of beaten earth 85 feet thick and 55 feet high. On this platform of embanked earth rose two groups of buildings parallel to each other, which served as casemated barracks and pas- sages where the defenders of the place could circulate without danger even when the first zone of defences was in the pow- er of the enemy. A second rampart, 57 feet broad, formed by two unbaked brick walls 11 feet and 15 feet thick, with be- tween them earth beaten down while wet, dominated the first line of defences. And behind this second zone there was a ram- part road, the dimensions of which we could not determine. Generally the plan of the fortifications is not bastioned; it af- fects the form of a saw, with the teeth set at right angles. These strong and intelligent defensive works had rendered legendary the cele- brated fortress of Susa; its reputation was not usurped, for this same stronghold, which opened wide its gates to Alexander, enabled a thousand Macedonians to resist for a whole year the efforts of the revolt- ed Persians. Our expedition has enriched the Louvre with 302 engraved stones or rollers. Some of them are very remarkable, either for their masterly execution, or for their an- tiquity, or for the novelty of the subjects which they represent. I will mention some of them: 1. A roller in diorite about an inch and a half high. The subject represented is some very archaic religious scene. The god of the worshipper, and perhaps the wife of the worshipper, figure in the pic- ture, also the victim, the sacrificial in- struments, the lunar arc, the solar aster- isk, and an inscription in archaic charac- ters which occupies two lines and a half. The god wears a complicated tiara and a long fringed scarf, which is wrapped around the body in such a manner as to leave free the shoulder and the right arm. The man and the woman wear a similarly draped costume, through which never a needle passed. The preservation of this specimen is perfect, but its execution is primitive. 2. A roller of light green porphyry about one and a half inches high. The engraver represents for us the combat of Jsdoubar and his servant NoubaYn against the bulls and lions that were devastating the land. This intaglio, as fine in draw- ing and execution as the most celebrated rollers of the De Clercq collection, or of the Metropolitan Museum of New York, testifies to the possession by the eminent artists of old Chalda~a of a knowledge of anatomy and a superior talent such as their Assyrian and Babylonian successors never showed. Even the grouping of the per- 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sonages has been treated with minute care: it is most curious, for instance, to notice how the horns, the shoulders, and the thighs of the two standing bulls form a delicious scroll, in the centre of which was engraved an inscription which has been unfortunately worn down. With- out hesitation I should declare this superb intaglio to be six or seven thousand years old. It must be contemporaneous with those kings of Agad6 whose names and great deeds have been revealed to us by the inscriptions of the last sovereigns of Babylon. 3. A roller of rock-crystal 1.378 inches high. A harpist and a guitar-player are giving a concert to a monkey and a goat placed between the musicians. The pic- ture is most interesting, because it repro- duces with charming grace a domestic scene which I have never before found represented. The costume of the person- ages is Chalda~an. 4. A roller of light green porphyry one inch high. A scene of adoration marvel- lously modelled and executed. In this charming intaglio you discern distinctly the arrangement of the draped costumes to which I have already called attention in describing roller No. 1. I have every reason to believe that this seal belonged to a royal Chalda~an princess, whose title will be found in the inscription. It is for the Assyriologists to decide whether this interpretation is exact. 5. A roller of rock-crystal 0.709 of an inch high. An androcephalous bull, a variation of the geniuses pla& ed at the doors of Assyrian palaces. This intaglio is remarkable on account of the rarity of the subject represented and its superb execu- tion. 6. A roller of white marble 1.181 inches high. The Greek legends tell us of dol- phins which served Anon as coursers, but I never heard of riding on carp to go a-fishing with a trident. Facing the aquatic rider, a gentleman, lightly clad, reclines on a couch. This second person- age is doubtless blas6 as regards all the exploits of his companion, for he seems to be entirely occupied with the flower whose perfume he smells, and with the bird which is flying in the air. 7. Royal Acha~menida~an seal, in flax gray opal, 0.787 of an inch diametera magnificent stone, engraved doubtless for Xerxes or Artaxerxes I. (See illustration at the head of this article.) The medal- lion of the King, surmounted by the great god Avuramazda, is placed between two sphinxes wearing the white crown of Up- per Egypt. This intaglio, of a truly royal art, is particularly remarkable as a speci- men of the Ach~emeni& ean art of Per- sepolis. In connection with these intaglios I may notice a little bronze four inches high, to obtain which nearly cost us our lives. As I cannot prolong indefinitely even the summary description of the 1000 or 1200 monuments discovered in the course of our campaigns of 18845 and 18856, I will content myself with a succinct recapitulation of the objects which we brought back to France. 1. Two fragments of a frieze in enam- elled faience adorned with lions in low re- lief, and coming from the pylones of the palace of Artaxerxes Mnemon. These two fragments together measure 13 feet high by 29 long. 2. A fragment of a frieze in enamelled faience adorned with eleven royal guards of the corps of the Immortals, and coming from the palace of Darius. This fragment 15 15 feet high and 30 feet long. 3. Two fragments of the balustrade of a stairway in enamelled faience. 4. Three fragments of a frieze in terra- cotta representing fantastic animals. These fragments together measure 6 feet high and 20 feet long. 5. A bicephalous capital resting on its volutes, 17 feet high and 13 feet broad, coming from the palace of Artaxerxes. 6. A superb collection of engraved stones, comprising in all 302 seals or roll- ers, dating from the most archaic times down to the Sassanides. 7. A great number of cuneiform inscrip- tions, mostly Susian or Ach~menid~an. These inscriptions are engraved on clay and on stone, or enamelled on bricks. 8. Bronze coins from Susiana and the adjoining countries of the epoch of the Parthians and the Sassanides. 9. Some bronze, terra-cotta, marble, and ivory statuettes. 10. A part of the bronze covering of the outer doors of the palace of Artaxerxes. 11. A series of glass tear bottles. 12. Some 500 objects of secondary im- portance, comprising enamelled Sassanide vases, Parthian funeral urns, a headless sandstone statue, arms of iron and bronze, lamps, toilet utensils, marble vases, al- tars, fragments of enamelled bricks and MEXICAN NOTES. 23 of sculptured stones, funeral inscriptions, etc. 13. Susian inscriptions which have been buried from 1700 to 2000 years. 14. Plaster casts of the large bases of the palace, Qf their inscriptions, and of other objects too heavy to be transported. 15. A series of photographic views of the most important aspects of the tumuli, the works, and the native types of Susiana. 16. A relief plan of the tumulus and of the excavations, made by Lieutenant Babin. Our establishment at Susa and the work of excavation presented great difticulties. Nothing, however, in all the trials which the mission had endured there is worthy to be compared with the anxiety of all kinds and with the material suffering which the transportation of our treasures caused us. We had to pack and drag nearly fifty tons of boxes some of which weighed not less than three tons across a pathless desert continually scoured by nomads living exclusively on plunder, and that too with the aid of men and ani- mals who had not the most elementary ideas either of carts or harness. Thanks to the indefatigable devotion of our young collaborators and to the invincible obsti- nacy of Monsieur Dieulafoy, we neverthe- less got the better of difficulties which seemed at first to be insurmountable. We made carts and harness; the mules learned to draw; and the men, who were even more frightened than the quadru- peds, learned to drive the teams; the riv- ers had to be crossed without the aid of bridges. During a journey of nearly two hundred miles, night and day, we were obliged to drive away the robbers with gunshots; and in spite of the nomads in spite of the difficulties inherent in the soil, and in spite of the temperature, which reached no less than 120~ Fahr. in the shade and 163~ in the sun, we at last reached the Persian Gulf. Happily the cruiser of the squadron, Le Sand, was waiting for the mission at the mouth of the Shat-el-Arab. It took us on board, utterly worn out with our efforts, and at the end of June brought us within sight of Toulon. It was high time to return to our dear France: half the mission could not have endured a longer stay in Susiana. MEXICAN NOTES. 111.COATEPEC. BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER~ ONE inconvenience in travelling in Mexico is the bulky silver money with which the tourist must load himself down. Whenever I moved any distance from the capital I carried a shot-bag full of the cart-wheel dollars, which were worth from nineteen to twenty-four cents less than United States money. The Bank of London and South America, in Mexico, issues notes which are current in the states of Mexico and Michoacan, and perhaps elsewhere, but not good in the state of Vera Cruz, although the bank officials as- sured us they were. Consequently we have this anomaly, whic.h is characteristic of Mexico, that while the railway company of the Mexican IRailwav received these notes for fare at the Mexican end, they would not take them at all at the Vera Cruz terminus. The first-class fare, in an ex- ceedingly roomy and comfortable coach 263 miles in about fourteen hourswas sixteen dollars. In the train was a car- load of soldiers in white cotton uniform a precaution against robbers which the government takes on no other railway in the republic. At every station, also, a guard of half a dozen soldiers appeared on the platform, saluting as the train drew up. On the higher table-land these guards were mounted, and in their fine appearance reminded one of the famous Guardias Giviles of Spain. The morning (February 26) was bright and a little cool; the twin snow peaks sparkled crystal white in the clear air. The road runs in the Mexican basin north of Lake Tezcoco, through a region highly cultivated, bristling with cacti of gro- tesque forms, the fields marked by lines of the maguey plant, frequent adobe vil- lages, with clusters of the stately organ cactus grouped about the huts, the whole plain full of the stir of agricultural life and movement. As we rose among the hills the clean maguey plant was more

Charles Dudley Warner Warner, Charles Dudley Coatepec 23

MEXICAN NOTES. 23 of sculptured stones, funeral inscriptions, etc. 13. Susian inscriptions which have been buried from 1700 to 2000 years. 14. Plaster casts of the large bases of the palace, Qf their inscriptions, and of other objects too heavy to be transported. 15. A series of photographic views of the most important aspects of the tumuli, the works, and the native types of Susiana. 16. A relief plan of the tumulus and of the excavations, made by Lieutenant Babin. Our establishment at Susa and the work of excavation presented great difticulties. Nothing, however, in all the trials which the mission had endured there is worthy to be compared with the anxiety of all kinds and with the material suffering which the transportation of our treasures caused us. We had to pack and drag nearly fifty tons of boxes some of which weighed not less than three tons across a pathless desert continually scoured by nomads living exclusively on plunder, and that too with the aid of men and ani- mals who had not the most elementary ideas either of carts or harness. Thanks to the indefatigable devotion of our young collaborators and to the invincible obsti- nacy of Monsieur Dieulafoy, we neverthe- less got the better of difficulties which seemed at first to be insurmountable. We made carts and harness; the mules learned to draw; and the men, who were even more frightened than the quadru- peds, learned to drive the teams; the riv- ers had to be crossed without the aid of bridges. During a journey of nearly two hundred miles, night and day, we were obliged to drive away the robbers with gunshots; and in spite of the nomads in spite of the difficulties inherent in the soil, and in spite of the temperature, which reached no less than 120~ Fahr. in the shade and 163~ in the sun, we at last reached the Persian Gulf. Happily the cruiser of the squadron, Le Sand, was waiting for the mission at the mouth of the Shat-el-Arab. It took us on board, utterly worn out with our efforts, and at the end of June brought us within sight of Toulon. It was high time to return to our dear France: half the mission could not have endured a longer stay in Susiana. MEXICAN NOTES. 111.COATEPEC. BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER~ ONE inconvenience in travelling in Mexico is the bulky silver money with which the tourist must load himself down. Whenever I moved any distance from the capital I carried a shot-bag full of the cart-wheel dollars, which were worth from nineteen to twenty-four cents less than United States money. The Bank of London and South America, in Mexico, issues notes which are current in the states of Mexico and Michoacan, and perhaps elsewhere, but not good in the state of Vera Cruz, although the bank officials as- sured us they were. Consequently we have this anomaly, whic.h is characteristic of Mexico, that while the railway company of the Mexican IRailwav received these notes for fare at the Mexican end, they would not take them at all at the Vera Cruz terminus. The first-class fare, in an ex- ceedingly roomy and comfortable coach 263 miles in about fourteen hourswas sixteen dollars. In the train was a car- load of soldiers in white cotton uniform a precaution against robbers which the government takes on no other railway in the republic. At every station, also, a guard of half a dozen soldiers appeared on the platform, saluting as the train drew up. On the higher table-land these guards were mounted, and in their fine appearance reminded one of the famous Guardias Giviles of Spain. The morning (February 26) was bright and a little cool; the twin snow peaks sparkled crystal white in the clear air. The road runs in the Mexican basin north of Lake Tezcoco, through a region highly cultivated, bristling with cacti of gro- tesque forms, the fields marked by lines of the maguey plant, frequent adobe vil- lages, with clusters of the stately organ cactus grouped about the huts, the whole plain full of the stir of agricultural life and movement. As we rose among the hills the clean maguey plant was more

Charles Dudley Warner Warner, Charles Dudley Mexican Notes 23-29

MEXICAN NOTES. 23 of sculptured stones, funeral inscriptions, etc. 13. Susian inscriptions which have been buried from 1700 to 2000 years. 14. Plaster casts of the large bases of the palace, Qf their inscriptions, and of other objects too heavy to be transported. 15. A series of photographic views of the most important aspects of the tumuli, the works, and the native types of Susiana. 16. A relief plan of the tumulus and of the excavations, made by Lieutenant Babin. Our establishment at Susa and the work of excavation presented great difticulties. Nothing, however, in all the trials which the mission had endured there is worthy to be compared with the anxiety of all kinds and with the material suffering which the transportation of our treasures caused us. We had to pack and drag nearly fifty tons of boxes some of which weighed not less than three tons across a pathless desert continually scoured by nomads living exclusively on plunder, and that too with the aid of men and ani- mals who had not the most elementary ideas either of carts or harness. Thanks to the indefatigable devotion of our young collaborators and to the invincible obsti- nacy of Monsieur Dieulafoy, we neverthe- less got the better of difficulties which seemed at first to be insurmountable. We made carts and harness; the mules learned to draw; and the men, who were even more frightened than the quadru- peds, learned to drive the teams; the riv- ers had to be crossed without the aid of bridges. During a journey of nearly two hundred miles, night and day, we were obliged to drive away the robbers with gunshots; and in spite of the nomads in spite of the difficulties inherent in the soil, and in spite of the temperature, which reached no less than 120~ Fahr. in the shade and 163~ in the sun, we at last reached the Persian Gulf. Happily the cruiser of the squadron, Le Sand, was waiting for the mission at the mouth of the Shat-el-Arab. It took us on board, utterly worn out with our efforts, and at the end of June brought us within sight of Toulon. It was high time to return to our dear France: half the mission could not have endured a longer stay in Susiana. MEXICAN NOTES. 111.COATEPEC. BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER~ ONE inconvenience in travelling in Mexico is the bulky silver money with which the tourist must load himself down. Whenever I moved any distance from the capital I carried a shot-bag full of the cart-wheel dollars, which were worth from nineteen to twenty-four cents less than United States money. The Bank of London and South America, in Mexico, issues notes which are current in the states of Mexico and Michoacan, and perhaps elsewhere, but not good in the state of Vera Cruz, although the bank officials as- sured us they were. Consequently we have this anomaly, whic.h is characteristic of Mexico, that while the railway company of the Mexican IRailwav received these notes for fare at the Mexican end, they would not take them at all at the Vera Cruz terminus. The first-class fare, in an ex- ceedingly roomy and comfortable coach 263 miles in about fourteen hourswas sixteen dollars. In the train was a car- load of soldiers in white cotton uniform a precaution against robbers which the government takes on no other railway in the republic. At every station, also, a guard of half a dozen soldiers appeared on the platform, saluting as the train drew up. On the higher table-land these guards were mounted, and in their fine appearance reminded one of the famous Guardias Giviles of Spain. The morning (February 26) was bright and a little cool; the twin snow peaks sparkled crystal white in the clear air. The road runs in the Mexican basin north of Lake Tezcoco, through a region highly cultivated, bristling with cacti of gro- tesque forms, the fields marked by lines of the maguey plant, frequent adobe vil- lages, with clusters of the stately organ cactus grouped about the huts, the whole plain full of the stir of agricultural life and movement. As we rose among the hills the clean maguey plant was more 24 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. abundant, and at the first station on the plateau we were at the chief shipping point of the region for puique. Scores of casks of it were waiting shipment. It is from this station that a considerable por- tion of the thousands and thousands of gallons daily needed to supply the wants of the city are sent. At this station descended several passengers English, American, and Mexican gentlemen, who had business at some hacienda, or were out for a days shooting. Among them was a tall, bulky Mexican, with gigantic frame and a baby face, who would have excited admiration anywhere. He wore an enormous hat, hung with at least a hundred dollars worth of silver bullion, was armed with a revolver and a rifle, and had down each seam of his trousers a row of skulls and cross-bones in solid sil- ver, each skull as big as a dollar. Every- body enjoyed the appearance of this splen- did person, and no one more than lie him- self. At an elevation of some eight thousand feet we were running over a nearly level table-land, with high mountains in the distancea plain brown and cheerless. A strong wind was blowing, and the dust was intolerable. Soon the country be- came more broken, but with the same as- pect of winter barrenness, without a tree to relieve the prospect, and the landscape frightfully gashed and gullied by the heavy summer rains. After we passed Apizaco, whence a road branches off to Puebla, the long noble mountain of Ma- lintzi came in view on the south, and be- fore we reached San Andreas the mass of Orizaba loomed up in the east over the dusty plain, two peaks, as seen from this point, the higher a long ragged mass, ever snow-clad, rising in majestic beauty be- tween six and seven thousand feet above the enormous elevation of this vast wind- swept plateau. From the uplands, from the coast, from the tropical valleys, from all points of view, this seems to be the prince of Mexican mountains. At Esperanza we stopped for mid-day breakfast an excellent, civilized, well- served meal. Here the peach-trees were in full bloom. A little further on, at Boca del Monte, the road begins its rapid descent to the coast level. I doubt if any other railway in the world, certainly none in Europe or North America, offers so many surprises to the traveller, or scenery so startling and noble in character. At Boca del Monte he looks down upon a wilder- ness of mountains. He is on a wide ster- ile plain in the temperate zone; in two hours he will be hurled down into the warmth and luxuriance of a tropical vege- tation. Below are mountain~, precipices, deep valleys, clouds, mists, which part oc- casionally and show green fields through the rifts. The descent seenis impossible. But the train moves on in long curves round the edge of the mountain, doubling on itself, piercing a promontory, clinging to the edge of a precipice, leaping by a slender bridge from one hill to another, running, backward and forward, but al- ways down, down, until the mountains, nobly wooded, begin to rise above us: at one point we look sheer down the preci- pice upon the plain and town of Maltrato, 2000 feet below. At Bota, a picturesque station clinging to the precipice, there are crowds of women and maidens offering fruits of all sorts, and pulque, which is not good lower down. Before we know it we have dropped down to Maltrato, a lit- tle interval green with grain and trees, hemmed in completely by steep mountains, a thriving town with ninny spires, 1t691 metres above the sea. From this little mountain plain we drop to a lower level, through a wonderful de- file, narrow, rocky, with a clear impetuous stream at the bottom; and as we go down there is not so much the sensation of sink- ing as that the mountains are rising around us. The level to which we come is the fer- tile plain of Orizaba, 1227 metres above the sea. In the midst of it stands the hand- some and highly civilized city of Orizaba city and valley shut out from the world by immense mountain walls. On this plain we ran into the clouds that we had seen from the heights above, and passing it, we went swiftly down a broad valley, all grain, grass, turf even, pasture-lands, mea- dows, luxuriant cane fields, well watered and vernal, not unlike the valley of the Connecticut, except for the yucca and cac- ti and strange plants and flowers. Prom this valley we dropped again down a nar- row, rocky defile, passed through a tunnel, and came into a lower valley that leads to the city of Cordova. The whole of Mexico has this terrace character. It had rained a little at Cordova, and the vegetation showed a climate different from that on the west of the great mountain chain. All the east side of the mountains is liable in winter to northers, which bring lower MEXICAN NOTES. 25 temperature, clouds, and occasional rain, so that the whole state of Vera Cruz is less brown and sere in the dry season than the western uplands. At Cordova we were in a semi-tropical region, 827 metres (about 2600 English feet) above the sea; we had dropped from winter into summer. On either side spread acres and acres of ba- nanas, wide coffee plantations, agaves and pines, and brilliant flowering shrubs; one, the tulipan, as large as a peach-tree, with splendid scarlet flowers like the tiger-lily. At the station, pineapples and oranges in heaps were for sale. As we went down through the foot-hills, passing a finer gorge than any above, with a lovely water-fall, the foliage became more and more tropi- cal; big-leaved plants grew rank along the way, and enormous convolvuli adorned the trees and hedges. It was eight oclock when we reached the absolute sea-level and Vera Cruz, and were driven in a rickety carriage through a broad business street of two-story houses to the Hotel iDiligencia, on the little plaza. The hotel, over the first story of shops, is entered by broad stone stairs in the inner court, and is itself an open hail about a court, the hall serving as assembly-room and dining-room, the chambers opening out from it. All the floors are brick. The rooms on the plaza front have balconies, and are primitively furnished, though comfortable enough, the beds being well protected by mosquito - netting. Rooms, furniture, attendance, all bespeak the neg- ligence of a warm climate; it is, in short, a thoroughly Spanish-Mexican inn, and the table sustains its reputation. Vera Cruz has a bad repute, and I sup- pose that, travestying the remark about Naples, I am expected to exclaim, Smell Vera Cruz and die. But I found the lit- tle city of ten thousand people rather agree- able. It is, to be sure, when you are in it, an uninteresting city of two-story build- ings of coral limestone, right - angled streets, perfectly flat, built on marshy ground, and the gutters are open and un- sightly. The sidewalk crossings of the principal streets are peculiar ; they are small bridges thrown over the gutters, but instead of being on the line of the sidewalk, they are set back in the side street, so that the heedless pedestrian is likely at any moment to step into the ditch. But the houses are solid; many of them have pretty courts, and arcaded fronts are frequent. Shabby or elegant, it is thoroughly foreign and picturesque. By daylight it is shabby. The most pleasing view of the town is from the sea, with the castle of San Juan de Ulua in the foreground, and the water-line of ar- caded buildings, with the towers and cathe- dral dome, behind. But the view of the blue Gulf, with its islands and sails, from the long pier, is as lovely as that from al- most any Mediterranean port. The air was delicious, mild and yet not enerva- ting. With the sea on one side and the mountains so near on the other, Vera Cruz ought, with a little engineering skill for drainage, to be perfectly healthful. But no summer passes without sporadic cases of yellow fever, and once in three years it is epidemic. To my senses the climate was most agreeable, and it was luxury to breathe the air after the thin atmosphere of the table-land. Indeed, I met many foreigners who are charmed with Vera Cruz. I know Americans who go there without fear in the summer, for the bathing, and find their stay most agreeable. The scene on the plaza, which was brill- iantly illuminated with both gas and the electric lights, was exceedingly gay. The strong light brought into relief the cathe- dral dome and spires, the arcaded shops, and masses of shrubs and flowering plants, and the swaying arms of the whispering palms. It is thronged with promenaders. with loafers, with children, with ladies in fashionable attire, with officers and sol- diers and servantsa thoroughly demo- cratic assembly. The cool evening is the time for enjoyment and recreation, and everybody was out-of-doors; ladies in light muslins, armed only with the fan, went round and round arm in arm, chat- ting and laughing, never the sexes ming- ling in the tread-mill of the promenade, except in case of family groups; children, small girls and boys too young to be out without their nurses, were jumping the rope and playing other noisy games in a part of the plaza till after nine oclock; men of the lower orders lounged about clad only in under-shirts and drawers, or their cotton trousers that had the effect of drawers ; the clerks in the shops, dressed in the same summer style, and invariably with a cigar in the mouth, waited on their customers in languid in- difference. All the wine shops and sa- loons were open and thriving; small ta- bles encumbered the sidewalks, where the 26 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. citizens sat in cool costume sipping mild potations. Everybody had the free and easy air which is always begotten by confidence in steady good weather. The prominent impression, however, was of the mixed, mongrel race, a population lacking stamina, with Central American morals and Cuban inertia. We were called at four oclock of a foggy morning for the five-oclock train to Jalapa. This journey is unique, for the whole distance of seventy miles is by tramway, except the first sixteen, to Paso de San Juan, on the Mexican Railway. At San Juan the tram-cars were wait- ing, two, a first and a second class, each with four mules. Our car was very com- fortable, roomy, with broad leather-cush- ioned seats, open at the sides, with a can- opy to keep off the sun. At the signal the mules were let go, and they started on a run; they had their ten miles to make, and seemed bound to do it at a spurt. This is the old national road, the route of General Scott to the city of Mexico, fol- lowing most of the way the ancient Span- ish highway, often paved, and with sub- stantial bridges. The old Spaniards had energy, and built roads and churches; the Mexicans have let them decay. When the fog cleared, the sky was deep blue, and the air delicious. The peak of Orizaba appeared a white mass in the blue horizon, the base hidden by mountain ranges. The Puente Nacional is a fine, picturesque Spanish bridge with parapets, and here is a collection of mean adobe houses, and near them, in a thicket of cacti, the white palace of Santa Anna~, fall- ing to ruins. Here he had a considerable plantation. We passed in sight also of the battle-field of Cerro Gordoa cheer- less region. The villages on the line are much alikeusually one shabby street with a mongrel population. The most curious shops are the butchers; the meat hangs before the door in long strips, is usually black, and sold by the foot. At Rinconada, where we met the down train, we stopped an hour for breakfast--a very palatable meal, with Mexican dishes, that are not bad, if you can make up your mind to them, especially the garnachas, com- pounded of maize, chopped meat, cheese, chiles, tomatoes, and onions. It is as good as the famous enchilada, which is chopped meat, raisins, almonds, and other condi- ments rolled inside of a tortilla. The pas- sengers whom we met were covered with dust, and we were in the same state. The road had begun to ascend rapidly, and there were long stretches where we dragged slowly up the grades, in sun and dust, with only occasionally the exhilara- tion of a dash down-hill. The views be- came finergreat sweeps of rounded hills, with few trees, and mountains in the dis- tance. Occasionally a hacienda was seen perched on a hill, or the square tower of an old church, but for the most part the country was monotonous in its winter bar- renness. Still it was all novel, and our interest in the drive scarcely flagged when, at six oclock, we galloped through the paved streets of Jalapa, and knew that we were 4000 feet above the sea. Jalapa, the capital of the state of Vera~ Cruz, and the residence of the Governor, is an exceedingly interesting and pretty city, well paved, solidly built, picturesque- ly situated on the foot-hills, and surround- ed by giant mountains. The region is fer- tile, and it is just the right elevation for a delightful summer and winter climate. The views from the neighboring hills of the town, the uneven landscape, the semi- tropical vegetation, the snow mountains, are of almost incomparable beauty. The town itself, though the streets are wind- ing, and many of them steep, and the houses have no great architectural pre- tensions, is clean, thrifty, and has a high- ly civilized aspect. There are many fine, substantial residences, which make no ex- terior show, but have lovely interior courts adorned with flowers, and vocal with foun- tains and the singing of birds. The rich interiors are evidence of wealth and re- finement. The cathedral, a noble, hand- some building, stands on a pretty plaza, but its situation on the side of a slope gives a unique effect to the interior. The floor, which is beautifully paved with tiles, slopes up to the altar at a decided angle, so that the worshipper, in advancing to the apse, has a sense of going up to the house of the Lord. From the end of the street on which it stands, and indeed from other streets, there are charming vistas of the country, a country tropical in its foliage, and always with the back- ground of purple mountains and snow domes. The noble Orizaba is the chief attraction, but the long range of the near- er Cofre de Perote, which bars the way to the west, tawny and full of color, may be fairly termed magnificent. Its sharp ridges, 14,000 feet above the sea, are just 27 MEXICAN NOTES. low enough to escape the crown of per- petual snow. The great market-place on Sunday morning presented a very animated spec- tacle. In the centre of the square, sur- rounded by arcaded buildings, is the mar- ket itself, a structure of pillars and roof; but the traffic was not confined to it. The whole plaza and all the surrounding cor- ridors and the side streets were covered with goods, merchandise of all sorts, fruits, vegetables, pottery, and swarmed with buyers and sellers. This is the day when the Indians from the mountain villages come in with their grain, tor- tillas, preserves, basket-work, pottery, and truck, and we saw here specimens of three or four tribes who adhere to their own dialects, and speak Spanish not at all, or very reluctantly. The Mexican men wore usually white trousers and white shirts, with perhaps a gay serape flung over the shoulders. The women, in plain frocks and the invariable ribosas, add lit- tle in the way of color to the scene, and almost nothing of beauty. They are not pretty; but so productive! Children swarmed. And the sad pity of it, to think that they will all grow up and become Mexicans! There was a circus in town, and the members of it were making an ad- vertising parade, riding about through the dense crowd, bespangled, brazen women and harlequin men, greeted with shouts and laughter. There is certainly nothing gloomy about Sunday in Jalapa. We breakfasted with Colonel Thrailkill, the superintendent of the Jalapa road. The table was set in a veranda opening upon a pretty garden. Our host is a bird- fancier; but most residents in Mexico fall into this fancy, for in no other land are there birds of more delicious song and exquisite plumage. In shops, in house courts, in hotels, in bath-houses, every- where one hears the music of caged birds. Dozens of cages hung about the veranda and in the garden, an unrivalled aviary of color and song. There were many brilliant small birds, but the favorite for its songindeed, the queen of all Mexican singing birdsis the clarin. This is a shapely brown bird, in size and form not unlike the hermit-thrush, but its long, liquid, full-throated note is more sweet and thrilling than any other bird note I have ever heard; it is hardly a song or a tune, but a flood of melody, elevating, in- spiring as the skylark, but with a touch of the tender melancholy of the nightin- gale in the night. There was one of these birds filling the court with melody when I went to take a bath in Jalapa. Mexico has one evidence of civilization that some other civilized countries lack. In every city, in nearly every town, there are attractive bath- houses. However mean the town may be otherwise, the public bath - house is pretty sure to be neat and attractive, and is often highly ornamental and luxurious. There are bathing places of various de- grees of cost, some plunges and pools where the populace can take a dip for a tlaco (about a cent and a half), and others more exclusive, where the common charge for hot and cold water, linen, soap, rub- bing fibre, and oil is twenty-five cents. There is an inner court, luxuriant and beautiful with flowers and tropical foli- age, surrounded by galleries in two stories, in the arches of which stand hundreds of the red flower-pots of the country brilliant with gay flowers. A fountain splashes in the centre, and caged birds, fluttering in the sunlight, sing, and add the element of gayety to the pretty scene. The bathing- rooms, opening on the gallery, are primi- tive, but clean; and if they were ruder than they are, the bather has so many senses gratified that in this respect at least he is willing to confess that the Mexicans excel us in civilization and refinement. At Cua- utla I saw a substitute for the Turkish bath, used sometimes also by our northern Indians. This was a stone structure, some- where in the shade of the house enclosure, in shape like a long, low oven, with an opening in front large enough for a per- son to crawl in. In the interior are placed hot stones, water is poured upon these till the oven is full of steam, and then the pa- tient crawls in, closes the aperture, and takes his steam bath. From Jalapa the tramway extends nine miles south west to Coatepec, which lies 500 feet lower than the capital, and enjoys a somewhat warmer climate. I went down there and spent some days with American and English friends who are engaged in coffee planting and in the preparation of the berry for the market. Coatepec is a typical Mexican town of the better sort, where nobody is very rich and nobody very poor. It is quite withdrawn from the world and its excitementshas no newspapers, io news, no agitations. The houses are mostly of one story, the streets 28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. are broad, well paved, and clean, and the country about is well cultivated. With the exception of the family with whom I staid, and a Belgian who has lived there many years, I believe there are no foreign- ers. Society can hardly be said to exist, but a club had recently been formed; in the bare rooms it occupied there were nei- ther newspapers, books, nor any of the common paraphernalia of club life. So far as I could judge, the Mexicans here, who are of the ordinary yellow variety, have little intellectual life or ambition, or knowledge of the world. The chief occu- pation is coffee raising; all about the town are large and small plantations of it, in- termingled with the banana and the plan- tain. The coffee-trees are seen in all the town gardens; and at this season, in the streets and court-yards, the coffee berry spread on mats was everywhere seen dry- ing in the sun. The house where I staid, perhaps the most commodious in the place, is worth a line of description as typical of the better sort in Mexico. On the street it has a solid two - story front, with windows of glass, and is built around three sides of a very pretty court, which has a fountain, tropical plants and flowers, and singing birds in cages. Most of the houses have no glass, and the window openings, which close with inner shutters, are protected with bars of iron or wood, Spanish fash- ion, and the inmates have the appearance of being imprisoned. A gallery runs round the inner second story of the house I speak of, and is a most agreeable loun- ging - place day and evening. Here are books, music, the latest English and American newspapers. In the sitting- room is a Steinway grand, which in this equable climate always keeps in tune. Every evening when there is music there is an orderly crowd in the street below. From this gallery is one of the most love- ly prospects. One looks over the court and the garden beyond, over the huddled brown roofs of the town, the cathedral towers, the tall trees of the plaza with its arcaded buildings, over the rising nearest foot - hills and their semi - trop- ical vegetation, to the vast ridge of the Cofre de Perote, purple against the sky. Almost every feature of the landscape is Italian, and the view is wonderfully like that from the Villa Nardi in Sorrento of the gardens and amphitheatre of hills. But in one respect it far surpasses the fa mous Italian landscape. For there to the left rises in the blue sky the great dome of Orizaba, pure white, stainless, towering up like a cloud, its purity glowing in the rosy light of morning, or taking on a pur- ple hue at evening. The place has alto- gether an air of repose, of stability, of softness, an indescribable charm. This region is a paradise for the natu- ralist as well as the sight-seer. I could see, but cannot describe, hundreds of nov- el wild flowers and plantsplants aromat- ic, plants and vines with strange and brilliant blooms, tree-ferns, and all sorts of feathery and graceful growths. My friend had a collection of butterflies and moths dazzling to the eyes of a novice, but of still more interest to the student; his explorations of the hills have discov- ered many species hitherto unknown to science. Not only the naturalist, but the ordi- nary traveller, would find much that is in- teresting in exploring these mountains. In their recesses are villages that retain all the simplicity of primitive communi- ties. It is an unexciting life that one would lead at Coatepec amid all this natural beauty. Even the jail, which stands on one side of the plaza, has a friendly aspect. It is a two-story edifice, with pillars sup- porting the upper gallery. In the upper story is a rude hospital. The lower story consists of one long, obscure room, with a floor of earth, in which all the prisoners are huddled together. The guards pace the corridor outside, and watch the inmates through the grated windows. Prison re- form has not yet reached Mexico. There is one person in Coatepec who has ideas and tastes above his fellows. This is an honest carpenter, who is the anti- quarian of the region. In his little stone cottage, overrun and half hidden by vege- tation, he has collected Indian relics, stone idols and images, a few manuscripts and books, and a great variety of natural curi- osities. The house stands on the slope of a pure and pretty stream that runs through the village, and here he has laid out a gar- den that is unique. It is a miniature museum out-of-doors, planted with trop- ical shrubs and flowers, intersected with winding walks, along which stand Indian idols and fragments of antique sculpture, leading to quaint grottoes, paved and set with old tiles, bits of glass, and odd pieces of plate. The whole effect is fantastic STEPHEN WYCHERLIE. 29 and curious. This carpenter is an artist as well as antiquarian. A little while be- fore my visit he had the misfortune to lose his third wife. A few days after he brought to my friend a skull and cross- bones. life size, beautifully carved in woodperfect imitation of these emblems of mortality. The carving of these me- mentos was his grim way of taking con- solation in his bereavement. The country about Coatepec might well detain the traveller for weeks in agree- able excursions. The only drawback to riding is that all the roads are paved with round stonesat least all the roads con- necting the principal villages. This is no doubt necessary in the rainy season, but it makes rough travelling. We rode one day over the rolling land, up hill and down, half a dozen miles to see the barran- ca of Tecalo. This is one of the minor barrancas, but it gives a good idea of these peculiar formations. A barranca is of the nature of a cafion; that is to say, it is a deep gorge, abruptly sinking below the level of the surrounding country, and has a stream at the bottom. We had no sign of the barranca of Tecalo until we stood upon its brink, and looked down the rugged chasm a thousand feet. It is not a straight cut in the land, but winding, as if the stream had made it by slow process and irregular flowing, but its rocky sides are nearly perpendicular. We made our way by a zigzag path down one of the faces to the bottom, where we found a substantial bridge and a clear, rapid stream. Looking up the walls on either side we had a vision of wild and exquisite beauty. The sky was a narrow strip above. The walls of rock that shut us in were completely clad with vegetation, luxuri- ant, and wonderful in color. I know no- thing to compare with it except the Lato- mia of Syracuse, in Sicily. Every foot of the precipices was covered with creepers, hanging vines, ferns exquisite in fineness, a mass of green and gray, in which gleam- ed flowers of scarlet and of a dozen bright hues, and here and there from ledges hung vegetable cables, ropes swinging freely in the air, with flowering plants at the end, like baskets let down. As we ascended from this bewildering vale of beauty, there was great Orizaba hanging like a thunder- head in the sky. Coatepec, Jalapa, all the eastern slope of the great mountains have a delightful winter climate, warmer than the Mexican table-lands by reason of the lower alti- tude, but, as I have said, not so arid, for the northers bring occasionally clouds and a damp atmosphere, which freshens the vegetatioa a little. STEPHEN WYCHERLIE. BY HOWARD PYLE. I. I WAS born nigh to Mackworth, in the county of Worth, where my fathers estates were coadjacent to those of Sir William Whalley, betwixt whom and my father was a friendship of long and ear- nest standing. My father was a sincere professor in the truth of the Lord, a seri- ous and melancholic man, and did take at an early day a high stand amongst those who at that troublous time adhered unto the Parliament. Now Sir W. Whalley also inclined toward the Parliament side, although my Lord Mackworth, his brother-in-law, used all of his power to tend him into the oth- er path. Methinks it was through my fathers inifuence that Sir W. Whalley took the stand which he did against the Kings prerogative, for, though my father was of humbler birth and station, he was the stronger character of the twain, and inclined Sir Williams mind greatly unto his own opinions. I was oftentimes at Whallington House, and though of humbler birth, was strong in my friendship for the little Mistress Margaret, his daughter, and she with me. Neither did Sir William set any check upon our acquaintance, only the old Lady Whalley looked with disfavour upon it, and would sunder us whenever she would see us together. This woman was Sir W. Whalleys mother, and had abided at Whallington House ever since my Lady Whalleys death. She was a hot royal- ist, and as strong for prero,,ative as my father was for privilege. Besides the old Lady Whalley, there was another at Whallington House, who looked with still stronger disfavour upon my acquaintance therein. This was Har

Howard Pyle Pyle, Howard Stephen Wycherlie. A Story 29-48

STEPHEN WYCHERLIE. 29 and curious. This carpenter is an artist as well as antiquarian. A little while be- fore my visit he had the misfortune to lose his third wife. A few days after he brought to my friend a skull and cross- bones. life size, beautifully carved in woodperfect imitation of these emblems of mortality. The carving of these me- mentos was his grim way of taking con- solation in his bereavement. The country about Coatepec might well detain the traveller for weeks in agree- able excursions. The only drawback to riding is that all the roads are paved with round stonesat least all the roads con- necting the principal villages. This is no doubt necessary in the rainy season, but it makes rough travelling. We rode one day over the rolling land, up hill and down, half a dozen miles to see the barran- ca of Tecalo. This is one of the minor barrancas, but it gives a good idea of these peculiar formations. A barranca is of the nature of a cafion; that is to say, it is a deep gorge, abruptly sinking below the level of the surrounding country, and has a stream at the bottom. We had no sign of the barranca of Tecalo until we stood upon its brink, and looked down the rugged chasm a thousand feet. It is not a straight cut in the land, but winding, as if the stream had made it by slow process and irregular flowing, but its rocky sides are nearly perpendicular. We made our way by a zigzag path down one of the faces to the bottom, where we found a substantial bridge and a clear, rapid stream. Looking up the walls on either side we had a vision of wild and exquisite beauty. The sky was a narrow strip above. The walls of rock that shut us in were completely clad with vegetation, luxuri- ant, and wonderful in color. I know no- thing to compare with it except the Lato- mia of Syracuse, in Sicily. Every foot of the precipices was covered with creepers, hanging vines, ferns exquisite in fineness, a mass of green and gray, in which gleam- ed flowers of scarlet and of a dozen bright hues, and here and there from ledges hung vegetable cables, ropes swinging freely in the air, with flowering plants at the end, like baskets let down. As we ascended from this bewildering vale of beauty, there was great Orizaba hanging like a thunder- head in the sky. Coatepec, Jalapa, all the eastern slope of the great mountains have a delightful winter climate, warmer than the Mexican table-lands by reason of the lower alti- tude, but, as I have said, not so arid, for the northers bring occasionally clouds and a damp atmosphere, which freshens the vegetatioa a little. STEPHEN WYCHERLIE. BY HOWARD PYLE. I. I WAS born nigh to Mackworth, in the county of Worth, where my fathers estates were coadjacent to those of Sir William Whalley, betwixt whom and my father was a friendship of long and ear- nest standing. My father was a sincere professor in the truth of the Lord, a seri- ous and melancholic man, and did take at an early day a high stand amongst those who at that troublous time adhered unto the Parliament. Now Sir W. Whalley also inclined toward the Parliament side, although my Lord Mackworth, his brother-in-law, used all of his power to tend him into the oth- er path. Methinks it was through my fathers inifuence that Sir W. Whalley took the stand which he did against the Kings prerogative, for, though my father was of humbler birth and station, he was the stronger character of the twain, and inclined Sir Williams mind greatly unto his own opinions. I was oftentimes at Whallington House, and though of humbler birth, was strong in my friendship for the little Mistress Margaret, his daughter, and she with me. Neither did Sir William set any check upon our acquaintance, only the old Lady Whalley looked with disfavour upon it, and would sunder us whenever she would see us together. This woman was Sir W. Whalleys mother, and had abided at Whallington House ever since my Lady Whalleys death. She was a hot royal- ist, and as strong for prero,,ative as my father was for privilege. Besides the old Lady Whalley, there was another at Whallington House, who looked with still stronger disfavour upon my acquaintance therein. This was Har 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ry Lynne, my Lord Mackworths son, a lad some five years older than myself. He was mightily proud, and though so young, a rank royalist, for lads are ever hot and unreasoning in their beliefs. This lad was always thrusting at me with gibe and jest, and was forever striv- ing to divert the little Mistress Marga- rets friendship from me (though he nev- er could do so), telling her that it was shame for her, the granddaughter of Richard Lynne, to hold me, the son of a crop-eared Puritanic psalm-singer, in such high esteem. So we all waxed in age together until the time came when Harry Lynne gibed at me no longer. At that time I was about fifteen years old, and he was about twenty, and Mistress Margaret about elev- en years old. One fine morning, Mistress Margaret and myself being in the garden appertaining to Whallin gton House, comes my young lord, and fell to gibing at me as he had always been used to do. At last my heart rose in rebellion, and I could abide his mocking no longer. Sir, said I, we be boys no longer; therefore beware how that you scorn me, lest I some time do you a harm. He looked at me scornfully from head to foot. How now ? cried he; wouldst thou talk so to me? Why, thou oaf, thou penny jug, thou Puritan spawn, who art thou to ruffle it so before a gentleman such as I ? More he might have said, but I gave him not the chance. All blinded by my rage, I catched him by the collar, and fell to twisting it as though to choke him. He did not use the sword which hung by his side, but began buffeting me like any young Hodge, and I him as heartily. Then, his foot slipping, we rolled upon the ground together, buffeting and cuff- ing with right good will. All this time Mistress Margaret was screaming, so that in a little while the gardener and his boy came running to us, and drew us apart. Then straightway, when this man had sundered us, befell to cuffing me over the head, asking me who that I was, thus to maltreat my young lord. As for Harry Lynne, never did I see one madder than he. He had drawn his sword, and I do verily believe would have run me through with it, had not Margaret held him by the arm, and the gardener stood betwixt us. Then the gardener and his boy hustled me from the place, and I gat me home, though in sad perturbation of spirit. I told my father all that had happened, and he took me to Whallington House, and before Sir W. Whalley and my young lord. I had to humble myself unto them both, and truly I know not which was the most galling to me, Sir William Whalleys laughter over the business, or my young lords scornful smiling at my father and myself. About a year after that time came the first great trial of my life, for I cannot clearly remember my mothers death, be- ing too young at the time. This was the sudden death of my father, who was taken with a disease mightily like the plague, whereof he died in three days time. Thus I was left without a relative in all of the world, saving only one Edward Wycher- lie, a master glover at the sign of the White Doe in the Fleet. Sir William Whalley took oversight of my fathers estate, but what with fines and other causes there was little for me in all that my father had left. I abided in Sir Williams household for nigh to a year, when, being close upon seventeen years of age, I was sent first to a good school, and then to Cambridge. When I came of age and unto mine estates, there was but a bare pittance re- maining unto me, whereupon Sir William offered me the post of secretary to him- self, which I accepted, and gladly. In all that four years I had not been once to Whallington House, so that ev- erything seemed strangely new to me as I took the foot-path from Mackworth that led past the common moss-side, and so to the gardens of the house. Thus I came to the garden gate, and so within. Now this was in the early summer, and all of the many roses in the garden were in full bloom. As I went forward be- twixt two plats of these roses I was aware of two women standing before me in the pathway. One of them was a serving- woman; the other was a lady, andyoung. She was busy gathering a garland of roses, and when I had come nigh enough to her for her to hear my footsteps, she turned her face to me. Then I saw that it was Margaret Whalley, but so changed that it was only by sundry small things that I might know her. For a space she looked earnestly at me, and with wide- 31 STEPHEN WYCHERLIE. opened eyes, and I, poor fool, stood as dumb, looking upon the ground, for I was utterly abashed before her. And this was whythat she had grown the fairest maid that ever mine eyes had looked upon. It was she who first spake. Are you not Master Stephen Wycherlie l said she. Then I answered, Yes, lady, for I could find no other words to say, though I did hate myself for my dulness before her. But she, with gentle courtesy, came straight to me and took me by the har~d. Then, said she, am I right glad to welcome so old and so dear a friend. I may not rightly know what I answer- ed, but some poor words I said, though so foolishly that I felt that she must scorn me for my staleness of wit. She then said that her father expected my coming; thereupon, she leading the way and I following, we went together to the library-room of the house, and therein found Sir William. He was mightily changed, and I marvelled great- ly to see how white his hair had grown, and how thin his cheeks. Mistress Mar- garet stood behind her father as he talked to me, and truly I looked more at her than I did at him, for it was a fair sight to see her smooth his thin locks with her white hand. I was sorely grieved to perceive that Sir William Whalley had fallen away so mightily in grace and in the light of the Lord as to be dubitating betwixt the Par- liament and the King. Then I saw that he was truly a weak vessel, and that it had only been my fathers will that had held him to his course in all the time past. I soon saw why it was that he so dubitated, for my young lord, Harry Lynne, was ever coming and going betwixt Worthing- ton and Whallington House, as though he was verily one of Sir Williams family. I also grieved to see that Mistress Mar- garet inclined toward the royal side, and in this I beheld the finger of the old Lady Whalley. I strove earnestly with Sir William to draw him back to the fold of truth, and after a time I perceived with gladness that he inclined his ear more unto me than to Harry Lynne, in spite of all his wit. So passed three months, and in that time I was the happiest of any time in all of my life, for Mistress Margaret showed such friendliness toward me as she had been used to do when we were children together. She was wont to call me Ste- phen, and I called her Margaret, and, poor fool that I was, it made my heart tremble when I heard her speak my name, or when I spake hers. Often in our talking she would look earnestly upon me, though I might read nothing in her eyes but great friendliness. At times I was nigh mad that she should thus look upon me and not behold the great love that was wracking my heart. But at last came an end to my life in this fools paradise, the door whereof was clapped in my face with no friendly hand. And thus it was: One day Mistress Margaret and I sat in the garden together upon a stone bench. We were saying nothing at the time, but I, with my cheek resting upon my hand, sat gazing upon her as she leaned forward stroking the head of a great stag-hound that lay at her feet. Into the garden came my young lord, Harry Lynne, though without our knowing anything of it until he had come close to where we sat. I know not how long he stood there gazing at me, but presently looking up, I saw him, and straightway gat upon my feet. He spake no word to me, but turned from me with such scorn in his face that I felt as though he had thrust a knife into my breast. Good-morrow, cousin, said he to Mistress Margaret, who sat looking from one to the other of us as though wondering what was toward. Then,with- out turning to me, he said, Sir, you may go into the house; your master waits for you in the libraryroom.~~ It was mightily upon me to answer him, but my wits were all gone astray in my confusion that he should have read my heart, as I saw that he had; therefore I turned and left them. When I had come to the garden gate I looked back, and saw that they were still talking, but that Mistress Margaret had arisen, and was holding tight to the back of the bench whereon we had been sitting. V~Then next I met her she hurried by me without speaking, and with a bowed head, albeit her forehead and her face were rosy. Thus it was that I was awakened from my dream of a fools paradise, and might never hope to enter into it again,for I saw that in some manner Harry Lynne had closed the gates thereof against me. 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. At times I was sorely beset, for it seem- ed to me that Mistress Margaret was be- ginning to hold me in contempt herself, because of the singular coldness with which she treated me. Indeed, the only joy which I had at this time was through the friendliness of Sir William Whalley, which ever waxed stronger, in spite of all my young lords striving. Yet was this poor comfort, and at times I felt my life a burthen unto me, though I could not tear myself away from that place,because of my foolish love. At last the time came when the comfort of Sir Williams friendship, such as it was, was taken from me, and my life was turned elsewhere than where it was then moving. This happed upon the third or fourth day of February, in the year of our Lord 1649. It was maybe ten of the clock in the morning, and Sir William and I were sitting in the study-room together, when there caine of a sudden a loud scream, and then the sound of a fall, and then the sound of hurrying feet. Sir William turned as white as wax, and then he and I together ran from the room, and into the hall, where we found sundry of the servants gathered around the old Lady Whalley, who lay upon the ground in a swoon. Mistress Margaret sat upon a chair near by, as white as death, and the tears ran down her cheeks in streams unheeded by her. My young lord, Harry Lynne, stood in the middle of the room, looking gloomily upon the floor, neither did he look up when we two came in. Poor Sir William was as one distracted. What is it? what is it ? he cried con- tinually, wringing his hands the while. Then Harry Lynne looked up, and spoke in a loud voice. It is this, he cried: King Charles is dead murthered by traitors ! and truly I did never think to see him so moved as he was at that time. Even now I can see how poor Sir Wil- liam clutched his hand to his bosom. My God! Harry I he cried, sure this cannot be. Thereupon he sank down upon a chair, covering his face with his hands, and presently fell to sobbing. Then of a sudden my young lord turn- ed upon me. Sir,have you nothing to say to this ? he cried. I knew not what to answer to him, but stood for a little time looking down upon the floor. Then he asked me, in a louder voice, and for the second time, Sir, have you nothing to say to this ? Then I did scorn myself that I should be afeard to speak according to my true belief. Thereupon I looked up, and said, boldl.y, No, I have nothing to say. And do you not grieve that your King should have been murthered ? cried he. I grieve for this, said I, that good men should be so driven to adjudge him unworthy to live. My young lord would have spoken further, but Sir William arose of a sud- den, and pointing sternly to the door, bade me to begone. Thereupon I turned upon my heel and left them all, going to my chamber in the western tower. I straightway gathered together those few things which belonged to me, for I knew that I might abide in this place no longer. Amongst my goods was a Testa- ment writ in Greek which had belonged to my poor father. Within was a faded rose pressed betwixt the leaves of the book, it being one that Mistress Margaret had given unto me upon a certain time. I oped the book and looked long upon this poor flower, and as I looked and be- thought me of that happy time before Harry Lynne had taught her to shun me, mine eyes blurred so that I had perforce to shut the book lest I should shame my manhood. Then I went down into the great hallway that led from the house, for I had thought that I would go forth quiet- ly, saying nothing to any one, albeit it was as though tearing my heart out by the roots to do such a thing. But I gat not so away, for in the hall I came of a sudden upon two people; one of them was my young lord, Harry Lynne, and the other was Mistress Margaret Whalley. I was about to pass them without words, but with a beating heart, when Mistress Margaret spake to me, saying, Where are you going, sir ? I know not, lady, said I, but away from this house. At this my young lord laughed harshly, and set his back against the door. Nay, said lie, you get not away so easily as all that. The lads of Mackworth shall give you a taste of the horse-pond by way of a stirrup-cup for a snivelling Puritanic psalm-singer. But Mistress Margaret turned upon him haughtily. Sir, said she, this gentle- man is my fathers guest, nor shall any one stay him in his going, if I can help. STEPHEN WYCHERLIE. 33 The red came up in my young lords cheeks, and he made as though he would say something further, but he seemed to think better of it. Nay, Madge, said he, if you wish the knave to go scot- free, a Heavens name let him go. I paid no heed to him nor to his speech, for in all the world mine eyes saw no one but her, and mine ears heard nothing but her words. Lady, said I, I quit this house, and may never see you again. We were sometime dear friends; will you not grant me your hand at parting ? She reached me her hand silently, and I took it in mine own, and lo! it was as cold as ice. Then, holding it, I looked steadfast- ly into her eyes, and they fell before mine. In parting from you, I said, I leave behind me all that I love in this world. Nor may you hope ever to have greater love than mine, for truly I would lay down my life for you. When I had so spoken she raised her eyes, and looked into mine in a passingly strange manner. I bent and kissed her hand, and she drew it not away from me; thereupon I turned and left her without another word, pass- ing out of the door where my young lord stood without thinking of him or looking at him. Thus it was that I left my love and sorrow and happiness at that place. But I was not to get away without more happening. As I walked along the high-road that led to the village, I was aware of the sound of a horses hoofs fol- lowing, and presently of one calling my name. Upon this I turned, and saw that it was my young lord who called me. When he had come to where I was, he leaped from off his horse and drew his sword. Thou villain ! he cried; didst thou think to come off thus easily? Draw thy sword and defend thyself. Then my heart leaped within me for joy, for I felt that now I might have reckoning of him for everything which he had done unto me. But of a sud- den it came to me how that I had just told Margaret that I would lay down my life for her. Then I said to myself: Lo, if I slay this man, I will bring bit- ter sorrow upon her. I will not do this thing. Thereupon I drew my hand from my sword, and said, I may not fight you, Harry Lynne. Then he cried in a scornful voice, Art thou afeard ? At this a great trembling fell upon me, and I wrestled grievously with myself; still I made shift to say, in a muffled voice, I may not fight you, Harry Lynne. Then he drew the glove from off his hand. Thou coward ! he said, and as he spake he smote me full in the face with it. At this the ground seemed to rock beneath my feet, and I was fain to lean against a stile near by least I should fall. Then I shut mine eyes, and said within mine heart, Lord! Lord ! and the Lord heard me. Then for the third time, and in a loud voice, I cried, I may not fight you, Harry Lynne. Then go thy ways, thou coward, said he, in bitter scorn of me; whereupon he mounted his horse and left me. And behold, I was as one broken-hearted. Thereafter I went to London, and took up with the army of the Parliament, which was an army of saints rather than of men. It was about this time that the light of the Lord was given to me, and I saw how vain had been my life, and how utterly given up to the selfishness of ease and the lusts of the flesh sent by the devil. No one may know what my torments were at this time, for I knew not where to turn for ease or peace. I bring to mind that in the bitterness of my fermenting spirits I could not abide to see men either laugh or smile, for, lo! I beheld Death lurking everywhere, and their mirth seemed to me to be like the grinning of skulls. I wasted away in flesh as though with a grievous sickness, and verily believe I would have died had I not fallen in with a certain saintly professor, one Trust - in - the - Lord Huckkleback. This was the man sent to me by the Lord in mine hour of need, and he ministered unto me, and so brought me into the bliss of true light and into the right path, though mightily wasted and worn. And now the word of the Lord was so breathed into me that it was upon me to preach for the comforting of others. Thus I became a preacher of His truth, and tru- ly it was great joy to see others drinking of that fountain which lie had implanted in my breast. Yet there were times when I was sorely beset with doubts and temptations. In these seasons of weakness my heart would yearn most sorely for the love that had been taken from it, and other seasons when it seemed as though all my minis- trations were only for mine own selfish- ness. 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. II. Now I do pass by that year and more of service, during the which I did labour in the army of the Lord, both in Ireland and at the great fight at Dunbar. Only this will I tell, that at that latter place I was called upon by the Lord to save the Lord Generals life, which I did in the charge when one of the enemy would have run him through with a pike only for me. Because of this matter I was raised to the post of captain, and that in the Lord Generals own regiment, called the Ironsides, because of their steadfast- ness in the hour of battle. Now, upon the ninth day of August, in the year of our Lord 1651, it being nigh to eleven months after the time of the fight at Dunbar, there came one to me aiid bade me to gird up my loins and go up unto the Lord General, for that he would have speech with me. When I had come to him he bade me to make ready straightway for a journey- ing, for that I was to take three women, two ladies and a serving-woman, to the Oouncil of State at Whitehall. He told me that the two ladies were of the family of a certain gentleman who had once been well inclined to the Parliament, but who had dubitated. and had joined with the young Charles Stuart, and was now with him in his intrenchments at Sterling. These two ladies, he told me, had been chief in holding out a certain place called Needham House against two regiments sent against them by the Parliament, but had been overcome, and were now held as prisoners by Colonel Williamson, whose quarters were at the sign of the Black Swan in Edinburgh, where I would find them. He furthermore charged me to be careful of the women in all due measure, and told me that I should choose me a company of eight men as a guard, for that there were rumours of a great move- ment of the enemy at Sterling, and it was said that they were about going south- ward into England. I asked him when I should undertake the journey, and he told me upon the morrow. Therefore I straightway set about choosing the com- pany of eight men as I had been bidden to do, and chief amongst them I chose Trust-in-the-Lord Huckkleback. The oth- er seven likewise were sober and mightily steady, so that I had with me the flower of a lovely and godly company. The next day against high noontide we had come to the sign of the Black Swan at Edinburgh, and I gave the order of transfer to Colonel Williamson, who said that the women should be brought forth without loss of time. So we all stood about the door in the glaring sunlight awaiting the coming of the prisoners, for whose use we had brought with us three pad - horses of smooth gait, such as women might easily ride upon, and with some comfort. At last the door opened, and they came forth from the house. Now I was sitting at a little distance upon my horse, and hearing the sound of their coming, I lifted up mine eyes and saw them. Then of a sudden it was as though my heart stood still within me, and I catched hold of the pommel of my saddle to stay myself from falling. I could scarce forbear to cry out aloud, for ho! who should come but Mistress Margaret Whalley and her waiting-woman, with the old Lady Whalley walking between them! They looked at me, but knew me not, for I had mine iron cap upon my head, and the nose and cheek pieces were down. The soldiers helped them to their horses, but all the time I sat as though of stone. I watched Mistress Margaret as she stooped and smoothed the folds of her habit, and when I beheld how white and thin her face had grown, my heart yearned over her as the heart of the ewe yearneth for its lamb. Then all my company mounted, and we rode away, Master Huckkleback and I riding behind the rest. In this order we rode on until we had come a mile or so from the town, when I bade Master Huckkleback leave me whilst I watered my horse at a certain fountain. When lie had gone, I sat me down and tried to think, though I could not clearly do so in my bewilderment. It came to me that this was set upon me as a trial of my strength, and that I must either go forward and do as the Lord had set upon me, or turn back and approve myself a coward to my trust. As I sat there in great trouble of spirit, I beheld a carrion- crow fly across the hill. Then I said to myself, If there conies another crow, I will go forward; if there comes not an- other, I will turn back again. So I watch- ed for a little time, and lo! another crow came across the hill, whereupon I mounted my horse and rode after the others, and so came up with them in a little time, for they moved but slowly. STEPHEN WYCHERLIE. 35 Upon the tenth day of our journeying we had come near to Leicester town, and in all that time I had kept the women in avoidance, nor had I come nigh to them nor spoken unto them. Now about four of the clock in the afternoon we fell in with a party of foot-soldiers betaking their way to the westward. Master Huckkle- hack and I held converse with them, and they told us that they were upon their way to Worcester, that Charles Stuart was about setting up his standard at that VOL. LXXV.No. 4453 THEREUPON LIFTING UP HIS EYES AGAIN, HE BEGAN ONCE MORE WRESTLING WITh THE SPIRIT IN PRAYER. [SEE PAGE 37.] 36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. place, and that the vanguard of the Scotch army had already taken up their quarters in the town, which had been opened to them. As we stood thus talking, the day being warm, I had taken off my iron pot and was wiping my forehead. Now Master Huckkleback and I had been riding ahead of the others about the distance of a fur- long, and as we stood talking to this com- pany we were not aware that the others were so near to us until they came upon us suddenly around the bend of the road. At most times my company rode some be- fore and some behind the women as a guard; but this day, I know not why, the women rode first of all. I strove to clap my cap upon my head before they should know me, but Mistress Ann, the waiting-woman, catched sight of me and knew me, whereupon she cried out in a loud voice, My lady! my lady! you is Master Stephen Wycherlie for sure ! Then I saw that I might not hide myself from them longer, so I stood be- side my horse, my head bowed doxvn upoii my breast. When they had come to where I was standing, the Lady Whalley drew rein, and the others with her. She looked upon me scornfully for a little time, with- out speaking, and then she said: You may well seek to hide your face, sir. You may well seek to hide your face, Stephen Wycherlieyou who take the mother and the daughter of your fathers dear friend to such a bitter judg- ment as we are like to suffer before your Council of State at Whitehall ! Then, in my agony of shame at being so humiliated before all who were there, I looked up and cried, I may not answer you, Lady Whalley; I may not answer you. Mistress Margaret, with bowed head, was looking away, but Lady Whalley looked straight at me and smiled in such a manner that I would rather she had struck a dag~er into me. Sir, said she, you cannot answer me. Then she rode on, and left me standing where I was, with the poison of her words seething within me. After that time I took no pains to ride apart from my company, so in the after- noon, seeing that Mistress Margaret rode a little way behind her granddame, I could forbear no longer, but came and rode be- side her. She did not look up at my coming, but I saw that the red came into her face and spread until even her neck was coloured therewith. For a long time I could find no words to speak, but rode on in silence. At last I said, but as though my voice was stifled within me, Do you not hate me for this thing, lady ? Nay, Stephen, she said, I hate you not. And do you not think me cruel to you ? I said. Thereunto she answered nothing, and I saw that she did so think of me. Then I clasped my hands together and spoke pas- sionately, though in a low voice, lest the others should hear me. I told her that this was death to me, and that it broke my heart to do it, for that I loved her, and always had loved her, beyond all of the world. She raised her eyes and looked at me when I had spoken, but there was no an- ger in her gaze. Why, then, do you take us to London ? said she. Because, I answered, the Lord bath set upon me this bitter burthen, and I must bear it for His sake. She looked steadfastly upon me for a space; then she said, Is it indeed for the sake of the Lord that you do this thing, or because of the sternness of your pride, and because you would rather sacrifice us than it? When she so spoke I bowed my head, and said, in a low, smothered voice, Wo- man! woman! you know not what you say. It was strongly upon me to tell her how I had borne shame at the hands of her cousin for her sake, yet I forbore to do so. She was still looking at me when I looked up, but her eyes were full of tears. Oh, Stephen! Stephen ! she said, what is this trouble which hath come upon us? Truly I do pity you more than I do mine own self! To this I could say nothing but, Mar- garet! Margaret ! for my heart was ii yen at her words. She reached me her hand, and seeing that the soldiers behind were hidden by the hedge-row at the turning of the road, I pressed it to my lips in a passion of love. Therewith she drew her hand away, and I fell behind and joined my company, albeit I was as one blinded. That night I ate my victuals by myself, and not with my company as I had done heretofore. So I sat all alone until, after a little while comes a knock at my door, STEPHEN WYCHERLIE. and upon my bidding him enter, comes in Master Trust- in - the - Lord Huckkleback. He said nothing to me immediately, but stood with his hands clasped and his eyes raised as though wrestling with the Lord in prayer. Then in a loud voice I bade him tell me what he meant by all this, whereupon he said that he and those with him had seen me kiss the hand of Mis- tress Margaret in the narrow way that af- ternoon. At these words the blood rushed to my cheeks in a torrent, and the grace of the Lord all fell away from me and lift- ing up my voice, I bade him sternly to be silent. He answered me that he shaped his foot- steps according to his light, nor would he turn aside iii the Lord~s work because of any mans auger. Thereupon, lifting up his eyes again, he began once more wres- tling with the spirit in prayer. I could abide this no longer, but went forth bareheaded into the night. There I walked up and down unceasingly, for my soul was tossed as though with a tem- pest, and I wrestled within myself as Jacob wrestled with the angel, so that at times the sweat ran down my face with the greatness of my struggles. Truly it seem- ed as though the Lord had deserted me, and as though I stood alone. I went down on my knees in the kennel and prayed aloud, but I had no answer to my prayers, for this thing dave unto my very bowels. So I struggled unceasingly un- til the dawning of the day; then I arose to my feet, and said, Lo! I, who thought myself so strong, am passingly weak. Now I will struggle no longer, for it can be of no avail, but will do that thing which I have in my heart. Thereupon peace came to me after a certain kind. That day we reached Coventry in our journeyin~, but not nutil nigh dark, and finding the town full of soldiers on their way toward Worcester, we had to ride further to find some place of shelter for the night. When we had gone about two miles from the town we came to a neat- herds hut, built against the side of a hill. Here the women might find lodging, and there we abided for the night. That evening I could eat nothing, but up and down continually, because of the trouble that was upon me. After the darkness had come I went aside into the thicket and kneeled down. But I could not pray, though I strove to do so. Then I cried aloud, Lord! Lord! hast Thou 37 indeed deserted me ? Then I waited awhile, but the Lord answered me not. When I arose and came forth out of the thicket it was midnight, and I found that my cheeks were wet with tears. I found all of my company around the fire, which shone as red as blood on their back and breast pieces and their iron caps. All were sleeping soundly only Master Huck- kleback, who sat as though carven of stone beside the door of the hut wherein the women lay. The light of the fire shone dim upon him where he sat, and beside him lay a brace of pistols. Then I went to him and asked him whether he was aweary, and he answered nay. Then with a beating heart I told him to go and lie down, and that I would watch in his stead, for I, being the youngest, needed the least sleep. He looked at me sternly and said, No; I will abide by my post, and watch the women. Then I said, harshly, Do you doubt mine honour and my truth ? When I so spoke he arose slowly. I will do as Jam bidden, said he. I will leave you to watch the women, and II too will watch. He went to the fire and raked it togeth- er into ablaze; then he drew forth a Bible from out his bosom, and oped it, and be- gan reading it by the light of the flames. Where I sat I could see his lips move as he repeated the words unto himself. So we sat for a great long time, he reading and I watching him. At last I beheld the book wavering in the old mans hands, and then my heart leaped within me, for I knew that sleep was settling upon him. Thrice he aroused himself, but at last the good book sunk upon his knees, and he slept. This was nigh upon two of the clock in the morning. And now I knew that my time had come, and I arose to my feet. The sweat trickled down my face, and my knees smote together beneath me, so that I was fain to lean against a beechen tree that stood nigh. Then I said, Lord! Lord! Lord ! three times, and waited, but the Lord sent no sign unto me, and I saw the word Traitor writ as in words of fire be- fore mine eyeballs. So I stood for a time, my heart beating as though it would smother me. Then I stooped and looked within the door of the little lint wherein the women lay. I could see by the light of the fire that the waiting-woman lay 38 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. nighest to the door, and that Mistress Mar- garet Whalley lay next to her. All were sleeping deeply, so I drew off my shoes, and stepped within, and across the wait- ing-worn an, who stirred not at my pass- ing. I kneeled down beside Mistress Mar- garet, and of a sudden pressed my hand tight upon her mouth, that she might not cry out and alarm the camp. Instantly I touched her she oped her eyes, and I could see that a great terror fell upon her heart. Then I spoke to her in a voice that sound- ed strange even in mine own ears, telling her that I came to save her, and bidding her arouse the others silently, for the sol- diers slept, and that they might now de- part thence. Thereupon I freed her, and stepped quickly out of the hut, and stood listen- ing, albeit my heart was filled with the bitterness of despair, for now had I taken that first step whence there was no re- turning. Presently one spake my name in a whisper, and I went forward, and saw that it was the serving-woman who spake it. Then in a whisper I bade them come forth, and they did so tremblingly. We stepped silently amongst the sleeping sol- diers, who stirred not at our passing, and coming through the long grass, gat upon the highway, which was not more than twenty paces distant. Then we turned our faces to the westward, and walked along rapidly. Once Lady Whalley would have spo- ken, and once Mistress Margaret would have done the same, but in both cases I bade them sternly to hold their peace, whereupon they made no further move to break the silence. After we had gone about six miles upon our way, the day having pretty well bro- ken against that time, and we having come to a thick woodland, I bade them halt, for we should have to lie hidden during tbe day,because of the Parliament soldiers abroad upon the roads. There- fore we left the high-road, and took to the woods for safety. But when Mistress Margaret saw that we were safe, she came to me, and catch- ed me by the hand. She strove to speak, but could not do so, and then she pressed my hand to her lips, she being shaken all the while with mighty fits of sobbing. But when I felt her kiss upon my hand, I snatched it away as though it had been seared, and ingeminating in a loud voice, Lord, what have I done? Lord, what have I done l I turned and fled through the woodland as one possessed of a mad- ness. Neither did I returu to them until nigh noontide, when I brought food to them that I had garnered. Thus we travelled for three nights, abiding in some place of hiding during the day. Now just at the grey of the dawning of the third day, and when we had come about a mile without Abbots- Morton, we heard in the silence of the ear- ly morning the clattering of a party of troopers, and likewise the ringing of their weapons and of their armour. So soon as they had come nigh enough to us I knew by their cursing and swearing that they were Kings men, for our troopers did nev- er swear, either in encampment or upon the march. Then straightway I stood upon a stone wall and called to them, and in a little while they came forward to us through the morning mists, and demanded of me what manner of people we were. I told them in as few words as might be who the ladies were, and what had befallen them, albeit I said nothing as to mine own self. The captain of the band, who was a youth of about mine own age, mounted the three women behind as many of his troopers, and me behind another, and so we rode away, and had come into the Scottish lines before Worcester about six of the clock in the morning. As for me, I had no speech with the ladies after the time that we fell in with these troopers, but rode with my head bowed upon my breast, as one stupefied with his despair. I parted from the com- pany as soon as we had come into the town, and I knew not where the ladies were to take up their abode, though I heard one of the troopers say that Sir William Whalley was within the walls, with the young Charles Stuart and the nialignant army. I took up my lodgings in a penny room, and so lived on in the town in a listless fashion, for I had scarce spirit to leave my abiding-place. My only joy in this dull time of bitter despair was the thought that I had given up everything in the world for my love, and had taken not one jot or one tittle in return from her or any who belonged to her. Thrice a messenger came from her with a packet, beseeching me to take it and read it; yet I would not do so, neither would I send word to her nor write to her. All this had that cer STEPHEN WYCHERLIE. 39 tam pleasure to me that one feels in press- ing an aching wound, that the agony may be the sharper and the more easy to bear. III. So I abided in this place in a listless, hopeless fashion. At times it came strong- ly upon me that the right thing for me to do was to go and give myself up to the army of the Lord (now gathered in great numbers about the town), there to suffer the due and fitting punishment for the betrayal of the trust imposed upon me by the Lord, and by his right hand, the Lord General Cromwell. Yet I was sunk so low that I had not the spirit to do that which my conscience told me was the right thing. Moreover, though I scorned myself therefor, I felt in my heart that it was put beyond me to do this thing, and to humble myself in the sight of all those who had held me to be a great and shining light. So came the morning of the third day of September, which day was the last of life for many souls in that town, for it was plain that a great battle was to be fought before nightfall. All was confusion and hubbub of peo- ple going hither and thither, soldiers and townsfolk; many laughed, many cried, and many made themselves drunk at the tap-houses who were to drink their last cup that day. So came about two oclock in the after- noon. I was standing in the doorway of my lodging-place when there came of a sudden a heavy boom, whereat the win- dows near by rattled as though a heavy weight had fallen. Then I knew that the battle had begun, and that it was the sound of cannon I heard. And lo! at the sound my heart beat quick within me, and the fire of battle rose in my cheeks, whereat I marvelled, seeing that I might not hope to lift a hand that day to be the executioner of the Lord his enemies. Then I said to myself, I will go to the ramparts, that I may at least behold the might of the Lord in the hands of His chosen people ! So I came up to where I might see the fighting around Fort Royal. A great crowd of people were gathered upon the ramparts at this place, and there was much talking, whereat I might smile, they being so simple and unlearned in the movements appertaining to a battle. I told them many things, and they presently crowded around me, both men and wo- men, asking me all manner of questions, the which I strove to answer. As I stood thus talking to those who pressed about me, I heard of a sudden a noise of many men below. Thereat I looked, and lo! the streets behind and within the walls were presently full of soldiers, horse and foot, all moving in one direction, and that for the gates which opened toward the royal forts. So they passed by troops and by companies out of the town and up the hill and over the brow thereof, and presently the noise of battle rolled up louder than ever to the ears of all that stood there listening. At last the hill was bare, only for a few stragglers who followed the rest at a distance. This was the last and greatest sally of that battle. So maybe two hours passed, and the number of those who stood upon the ram- parts waxed ever greater, nor did any know for certain what was happening over the hill. Some of them that were new come said that the Parliament army was broken, and others that the Kings men were being borne back. And truly I did incline unto that latter belief mine own self, for methought that the sound of battle was nearer than it had been at first. Now of a sudden, as we stood so listen- ing, I beheld a single horseman come ri& ing with might and main, bent over his saddle-bow. Then my heart leaped within me, for I knew what was come. I turned away, but even as I turned I catched sight of a great crowd come pouring over the hill in a broken rout, horse and foot com- mingled together in a great and ragged. crowd. So I came down from that place, and all of the others who were there came along with me, and the men shouted and swore at those who stood in the way, and the women screamed so that it was most grievous to hear. When I gat again to the streets, the first of the routed cavalry came riding into the town, crying in loud voices, All is lost! all is lost! And those who were there took up the words, calling, All is lost! all is lost! Many ran hither and thither as distracted, and the women and the children wailed and shrieked, for the terror of the Lord was upon them, many bearing in mind the fate of Weckford, where the wrath of the Lord had consumed all, even the babe and the woman who was quick. 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Now in all of the time that I had been standing upon the ramparts my mind had been so bent upon the battle that was to- ward that I had thought of nothing else. But of a sudden a great terror fell upon me, when I brought to mind that like enough there was now no oiie who might sufficiently aid Margaret Whalley in the hour of need that wa~ close at hand. For I doubted not that Sir William must be with those who led this last attack, for I had heard this much of him, that he held a commission in the Royalist army. Then I saw how the Lord had punished me for the pride I had shown in sending back those letters she would have had me read, for had I so read them I would have known the place where she abided, and might now have gone directly to her. At this I was as one distracted, and began running hither and thither as possessed, calling upon all to tell me where Sir Wil- liam Whalley and those with him abided. But such was the terror upon every one that none would stay to listen to me or give me any answer. And now at sundry places the streets became full of people, who came forth from the several houses, and the fleeing soldiers coming into the town in great numbers. All was a mighty uproar of terrified people, both the young and the old, the meii, the women, and the chil- dren. And truly it was grown a fearful sight, for companies of horse and dra- goons rode down the middle of the street, and upon and over all such as stood in their way, and if any tried to oppose them in their course, them did they sniite with their bloody broadswords, and so made way for themselves. And now was the mercy of the Lord shown to me more than ever in all of my life before, for as I ran into a certain nar- row way I came against an old man going upon another path. He called me by my name, and lo! I saw that it was Master George Markham, Sir William Whahleys body-servant. I caught him by the arm and asked him what he did thus away from his la- dies and in the streets at such a time. He said that hearing certain report that the Kings army was beaten, he had come forth to find whether lie could gather news of his master; that lie had got into a great crowd at one place, so that for a while he could neither go forward nor come thence again. Then I cried out to him that there was no time to find his master now, but that he must aid me to get the women away, and trust in the Lord to bring Sir William Whalley unto them. I bade him to take me to the ladies; so straight- way we left that place, and hastening for- ward, came after a while unto a certain street wherein the old man said they abided. It was a side street, and though many people were hastening along it, yet was it quieter than others that I had been in that day, nor did I see a crowd upon it anywhere that niight block it. At last we came to a considerable inn, known as the Swan of Severn, which was the place wherein they dwelt. There we went through a great stone archway and into a paved court-yard within. All around this court-yard ran a covered gallery of stone, with the doors of the several apart- ments opening upon it, after the fashion of old priest-houses, whereof this had been one. Having come into this court-yard, I bade the old man hasten to the women, and to tell them to make ready straight- way for their going forth, and that I would go to the stable and would see that the horses were prepared for their journey- ing. Thereupon he left me, and I to the stable-yard, where I found two men en- gaged in saddling a pair of nags with all the speed that they might. I knew them, and that they were two grooms appertaining to Sir W. Whalleys household, whereupon I asked them what it was that they were bent upon doing. They told me that they were about to take themselves away, as the Ronudhead army was coming. I ask- ed them whether they were not ashamed to run away and to leave their ladies to their own devices. They answered nay; that it behooved each to shift for himself at such a season; that a mans skin was dear to him, for, were it spoiled, he could not easily get him another. I said that this was so, and to bear it well in mind; thereupon I drew one of my pistols (which were snaphances*), and said to them that the first man who mounted his horse, him would I shoot. They were mightily dis- turbed in their spirits at this, so much so that they waxed pale, and looked hither and thither, as not knowing whither to turn. Then I bade them to bring forth the other horses and to saddle them also, and tIPs they did, and were glad enough to get away from me and into the stable. The early fcrm of flintlock. STEPHEN WYCHERLIE. 41 They brought forth the horses and made them ready, as I had bidden them to do; and then they and I out and into the court- yard again before the women had yet come down. There I spake to the men, and told them to keep together with the others when that they had come forth from that place, for that that was the surest xvay to safety. By this time the noises of firing and of shouting had grown loud in the streets; whereat these lackeys seemed so mightily disturbed that they scarce listened to that which I said unto them. At last I heard the sound of voices, and lifting up mine eyes, I saw where the old serving-man came along the gallery with the two ladies and the maid-servant. The old Lady Whalley leaned on his arm, and Mistress Margaret and the other came behind them. As I looked upon Margaret I saw that she was mightily pale, and my heart all fell away with- in me because of my tenderness for her; likewise it did beat within my bosom so unsteadily that I was fain to lean against the horse nigh unto which I was standing. The Lady Whalley saw me first, and spake to the others, whereupon Mistress Margaret looked up, and her eyes met mine. Then straightway the blood came into her pale cheeks, and even into her forehead and neck, which were coloured therewith. And as I leaned upon the horse beside me I said in my heart, Oh, my love! my love ! For I was again weak in all the joy of finding her, and of being her aid in the time of her peril. Then the old Lady Whalley came forward and said, So, sir, you are again our preserver ? More she would have said, but I stayed her, and bade her to listen to the shouts and the firing, and to how nigh the battle was come, and then she might know what lit- tle time there was to lose in vain talking. Thereupon, and without further speech, I ~bade the old man-servant to aid her lady- ship to her horse, and one of the lackeys the waiting - woman. I myself brought Mistress Margaret to her nag, and aided her to mount; but in all that time we had said nothing unto one another, nor could I have done so had I chosen. Then, after she had mounted, she looked around, and turning to i~ne, she said, Where, then, is your horse ? I told her that I had no horse. She looked into mine eyes at this, and all the blood that was in her cheeks again left them. Then she said, but in a low voice, Do you not, then, go with us I answered no, that I did not go with them. But the Lady Whalley heard that which was said, and she cried out in a loud voice: Surely you will not stay in this place! You will not remain here to meet your certain death! Do we not need a pro- tector? May not our helplessness move you to your own good? Do not foolishly cast away your life when that it lies with- in your own hands to save it ! Then I lifted up my voice and cried aloud: Lo! I am fallen from mine estate of honour and of rectitude, therefore I will remain and submit me to the Lords judg- ment, and if it so be that He taketh my life, then is He welcome unto it, by way of rep- aration for that wherein I have erred. Then, seeing that she was about to urge me further, Urge me not, I said, for I am not to be moved in this thing, and you do but waste your words. Listen; the battle is near unto you, and if you do not take yourselves away you are certain- ly lost. Then I turned to the old man-servant and gave him the two pistols that I had with me, and told him to shoot either of the lackeys if they made a move to leave the women. Then I bade them to ride forth and to get them away, nor lose time in the doing thereof. Now all this time Mistress Margaret had sat upon her horse, pale and silent as though of stone; but of a sudden she spake aloud, and bade them stay whilst that she would hold speech with me. Then she called unto me, and I came and stood be- side the horse whereon she sat. She bent down unto me, and leaning both hands upon my shoulders, looked steadfastly into mine eyes, whereat I fell to trem- bling throughout all my body. Then she said unto me, in a low voice, Will you not go with me, then ? And I answered, No, lady. Then, still leaning with her hands upon my shoulders, she brought her face close to mine and said, in a voice so low that none that were by might hear, Stephen, I love you: will you not go with me Then my heart stood still within me; and in all of the world I saw no one but her. So I stood for a timne looking into her eyes. Then, hearing of a sudden the rattle of musket shots that sounded might- ily nigh unto us, I awoke as though from a dream, and it came to me that they must away if they hoped to escape. 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Then I shut mine eyes that I might not see her, and cried out in a loud voice, Woman! woman! as the Lord livetli and as my soul liveth, I will not go ! Thereupon I oped mine eyes again, hav- ing so spoken. Still she looked upon me, though silently and as pale as death; then, and before all who were looking upon us, she stooped and kissed my forehead and then my lips. Then she turned and rode away, with her head bowed upon her bosom. The others followed, leaving me stand- ing in the middle of the court-yard. How long I stood there I know not, but suddenly it came upon me with a great wave of desolation that she was gone from me, and crying aloud, I ran out into the street; but she was gone, and I saw her no inure. Iv. There being nothing left to keep me in that place, I went away and amongst the people, thinking nothing of them nor of the fight that was going on about me. By this time it was the grey of the even- ing, the sun having set. So I came into one certain street which was straight and wide, and wherein, over beyond me, was loud noise of fighting. Along this street were hurrying soldiers and town s-people, screaming and crying for quarter, though no one was immediately nigh to harm them. Here I found the press so great that I gat from out it, and sat down upon the step of a doorway, leaning my head upon the frame of the door, for I felt strangely weary. Thus I sat until sud- denly the noise of fighting at th~ further extremity of the street waxed louder, with the sharp crack of pistol shots and the sound of the clashing of swords ringing from wall to wall. Where I sat I could see that it was a company of our horse, and that they charged the hapless crowd that was packed within the street, rolling it up upon itself. Thus the poor distracted wretches were pushed past where I sat in one solid mass, those who fell being tram- pled beneath the feet of the others, nor was there mercy of any kind nor pity shown unto them, for the horsemen of the Lords army drave them, sniiting unceas- ingly, yet were they constrained to move slowly, because they could not urge the groaning crowd faster upon its way. So they passed, and did not seem to see me where I sat, they being otherwise en- gaged. After they had gone the street was cleared as though swept by the wrath of the Lord, it being empty for a great dis- tance, only for those who lay upon the stones in the grey of the twilight, some groaning and some lying still. Here and there was one who crawled from the mid- dle of the street, where the horses were like to pass shouldst they return, and so gat to the side thereof, where they were more safe. As I looked I saw one arise of a sudden and come staggering up the street, sway- ing this way and that as though he were drunken, and I knew, because of his armour, that lie was a soldier. When he had come nigh enough unto me to see him, the light of the twilight being still strong, I beheld in amazement that it was Harry Lynne. His morion was clo- ven in, and the blood ran all down one side of his face and over his collar and his armour, so that he was blinded therewith upon that side where it flowed. When he had come over against me in the street he sank upon his knees, for he was weak from the stunning of the blow and the loss of the blood; but presently getting to his feet again, he staggered across the street, and so came to a door that led through a wall, and there sank down upon the step and sat. Now all along that side of the street over a~ainst me ran a wall of brick, and within was a garden, and a single door did pierce this wall, upon the step where- of Harry sat. So I sat gazing upon him, and moved not so much as a finger, for, seeing him there, and to what a pass he had come, two voices began crying out within me. The one said, Stephen, Stephen, go unto thine enemy, for I saw that if I could take him through the gate and into the garden (which he might not do himself,being too weak), lie would be saved. The other voice cried, Lo! yonder is a malignant, even one of the enemies of the Lord, therefore let him suffer the judgment of the ungodly, nor stretch forth thy hand to come betwixt him and the wrath of the Lord. So I sat communing with myself, until of a sudden the Lord saw fit to un- fold His light unto me, and I saw thereby that it was not to the wrath. of the Lord that I would commit hum, but unto mine own hatred. Then I gathered myself to- gether and went unto him, and saw that whilst he was faint from the blow and STEPHEN WYCHERLIE. 43 the loss of blood, the wound was not oth- erwise of great matter. He paid no heed to me as I stooped over him, for his eyes were shut, and he knew naught of what was passing about him at that time. Then I tried the latch of the gate, and found that it was unbolted. Within was a come- ly and considerable garden, with flowers growing in plats, and fruit trees trained against the walls. Thither in the gloam- ing I carried the wounded man, bearing him in mine arms as though he had been a child, and so coming within, shut and bolted the gate behind me. Then I went unto the house appertaining to the gar- den, but found no one therein. I caine across a pail, and going to the well back of the house, filled it with water, and bore it unto the wounded man. I gave him to drink, and then dressed his wound as well as I could, for night had fallen against this time, and there was no light but that of the stars. I bound up the wound with the sleeve of my shirt, which I tore into strips. Now it being dark, and he not knowing me, he presently asked me who that I was. I told him, and thereat he was silent, nor did he speak again till I had washed and bound up his wounds. Then I arose, and said that it was time that I should go. He asked me whither I would go, and I told him I was about to deliver myself up, that I might suffer judgment for my shortcoming when the Lords time should come. Then he cried out upon me that I was a fool not to seek to escape whilst there was yet time, for surely I would not forego the joy of life when I might hold such a sweet mistress in my arms as Margaret Whalley. At these words I fell to trembling all through my body, but presently I lifted up my voice and bade him sternly to tempt me not, and after that I went forth from the garden again, and shut the door behind me. I sat me down upon the step of the gar- den gate, for once more, as at the inn, the devil came and tempted me, and wrestled with me so grievously that I was like to have failed in that which I had set upon myself to do. Then once more I cried out, as at the court-yard of the inn, As the Lord liveth, and as my soul liveth, I will not go ! Neither did I do so. I sat me down on the step of the garden gate, and waited for what should hap to me. By this time the fighting was all over in this quarter of the town, and now and then troops passed by me along the street. So I sat there until about eight of the STILL SHE LOOKED UPON ME, THOUGH SILENTLY AND PALE AS DEATh. 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. clock had come, when I beheld a com- pany of men come into the street below me, some bearing torches and some bear- ing hand-barrows, and I saw that they were gathering up the wounded. Thus they came slowly onward, certain of the company bearing the wounded away so soon as they were gathered up. Then my heart beat thick within me, for I knew that now, at last, my time had come. So after a while they came nigh to me, and then I saw that certain of them were of the regiment of the Ironsides, and that foremost of all in the company was Mas- ter Trust-in-the-Lord Huckkleback. Then I said unto myself, Lo! how wonderful are the ways of the Lord, for who should be fitter for His purposes than that man to bring me unto my judgment and unto my punishment ? Now when they were over against me in the street, the light from the torches falling upon me, one presently cried out that yon- der was a wounded man sitting in the doorway. Whereupon I answered nay, that I was not wounded; that I was one in sore affliction of heart, and sat there awaiting the coming of the judgment of the Lord. Then two of them came to me, and one of them was a young man of mine own company of the Ironsides, and when he saw who I was, he cried out in a loud voice, as of one who marvelled greatly, that it was Captain Wycherlie. Now Master Huckkleback was about midway in the street, stooping over one who lay upon the ground sore wounded. When he heard them speak niy name, he straightened himself up and turned his face unto me, and the light from the torch that he held fell upon his face, and I could see that it was set and hard as iron. He came slowly across the street and stood in front of me, holding the light of his torch close unto my face. Then lie said, but as though unto himself: Is it indeed Stephen Wycherhie? Is it indeed that poor backsliding creature, that defiled vessel, one time of grace? Is it he that did tempt me, an old man, unto the neglect- ing of my post and of my duty, throwing potent spells upon me, so that I slept upon my post and upon my watch ? Then raising his eyes, he lifted np his voice and cried aloud: 0 Lord! how wonderful are Thy providences that Thou shouldst bring me unto this man! Lo! it is upon nie that Thou wouldst have me, even me, to be the executioner of Thy wrath and of Thy judgment! Therefore steel my heart that I may do Thy will concerning this thing ! Thereupon he drew a great pistol froni his belt, and looked carefully to the match and the priming thereof. Then one asked 1dm what it was that he would do, and he answered that he would even do that which the Lord had set upon him to do, that he would be my executioner, for it was manifested unto him that the Lord had brought him thith- er for that purpose, nor might he doubt that this was so. Then many cried out against him that he should not do this, but should leave me unto the judgment of those in authority; these he answered sternly, asking them whenever had they seen him fail in the bidding of the Lord, and was it not strangely apparent that the Lord had set upon him to be mine execu- tioner. And all this while I sat there, nor spoke nor moved. So he came forward, and pressed the nozzle of the pistol against my forehead, and thereat I shut mine eyes, nor could I keep them opened. There was a great hiss- ing and ringing in mine ears, and my soul shrank together within me. I wondered foolishly how the bullet would crash through my brains, and whether I would feel the agony thereof, or would be sud- denly stricken without feeling. All the others stood about without speaking, nei- ther did they interfere, for Master Huck- kheback was great in the grace of the Lord, and a chastened vessel amongst them; therefore they would not stay his hand. So a considerable time passed, until I could bear the agony of waiting no long- er, but cried out in a loud voice, bidding him to kill me, but to keep me not thus waiting. Then I heard him saying, as though to himself, 0 Lord, what weak- ness is this that is upon me? How is mine arm slackened in the doing of Thy will! Give me, 0 Lord, a sign whether I am indeed to be the executioner of this man, and whether it is set upon me to de- stroy one thus dear to my heart ! Then did hap a most wonderous thing, for, as in my very ears, there rang the sharp report of a pistol, as though to deaf- en me. But still I did keep mine eyes shut, and did wonder foolishly, for I was sorely bewildered, whether Master Huck STEPHEN WYCHERLIE. kieback had fired, and whether I was now dead without feeling aught of pain in my dying. But in a moment came a deep groan, and one fell against me and upon me, and then I oped mine eyes a~ am, and saw that it was Master Huckkleback, and that he lay across my knees, and that the dark blood ran slowly from beneath him and across the step whereon I sat. Thereupon I sprang to my feet, and the body rolled from my knees and from the step, and lay all in a heap upon the ground. I beheld a puff of smoke drifting across The dark street, and raising mine eyes, I saw for a moment, and by the light of the torches, the face of Harry Lynne over the top of the wall of the garden. Those who stood around had also heard the shot, and had seen wherefrom it had come, and likewise the face of the young man. Then divers of them ran, shouting, and came against the gate of the place and burst it open, and so within; I heard an- other pistol shot, and then the clashing of steel, and presently all was still. Then those who had gone within came forth again, and one of them wiped a bloody word ere he thrust it back into the scab- bard, and I knew that poor Harry Lynne had given his life for mine, and so was quit of all debt unto me for whatsoever I had done for him. In the mean time came two forward and turned Master Huckkleback over, but found him dead, for the bullet had entered the body just betwixt the neck and the shoulder, and the pistol had been held so close unto him that his buff coat was black- cued by the burning powder therefrom. Then two of them lifted the body and laid it upon one of the hand-barrows, and bore it away, and two of the others took me un- der guard and brought me to the cathe- dral, wherein were quartered many of the prisoners that had been taken in the fight that day. I was not in the place for a great while, for, against an hour had passed, I saw two men come in, bearing the one a musket and the other a pike, and he that bore the musket was the young man of mine own ~company who had first seen me where I sat upon the step. After a while they ~catched sight of me, and came unto me, for it was Ii whom they sought. They took me thence and through the dark streets, and I wondered whether they now took me unto my death. But they did not do this, but brought me unto another place, and there confined me in a room by mine own self; and the place whereto they brou~,,ht me seemed to be a prison of some sort, for the windows thereof were barred across, as I could see, looking out against the starry sky. There was no light in this room, but I felt about and s~ came upon a table and a chair and a bed, where- upon I lay myself down, for I was aweary. Mine eyelids feeling heavy, I closed them, and was presently asleep, for now that the Lord had taken me into His own hands, there was peace within me. Methinks I had but just fallen into this slumber when I was aware of a light in the room, wherefore I unclosed mine eyes and looked up. Then I leaped unto my feet, for, lo! it was the Lord General himself, and he sat upon the chair, looking at me by the light of a caiidle that stood within the window- place. Then I stood before him, albeit I was as drowned in wonder that he should have come unto that place and at such a time of the night. Then he spake unto me in his harsh voice, saying, Truly you sleep soundly for one who is like to die upon the mor- row ! To this I answered nothing, nor could do so for the wonder of the thing, that the Lord General should have come unto me, a poor captain, for no other rea- son than to say such things to me. So I stood silently before him, whilst he looked upon me as though sunk in thought. After a time he said, but as though to himself: Truly I am not given to such weakness, and yet this youth of so much promise did save my life. It would be a grievous shortcoming to do the like by him, and yetand yet Here- upon lie brake from his musing, and spake directly to me again in his harsh voice. He said that whilst it might not be right for him to say it, who had never overlooked such a thing as I had done in all of his life before, yet he was grieved to the heart that I had not escaped whilst that the chance had been open to me. But now, said he, you are in prison, and with no chance of escape, and the judgment for your wrong - doing is surely come upon you; yea, you are all encompassed about with perils. Now had you a cloak to wrap yourself in, and did you find the door of this place open and the sentry asleep, and if coming forth hence you should look around and should 46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. perceive a horse ready saddled standing at the end of the street, and if you mount- ed thereon, then indeed you might escape, provided that you knew the pass-word, which is The Lord of Hosts. This would bring you safe through the lines of the outposts; but all these things would have to happen before you could escape the dan- ger that is upon you. Having so spoken, he arose from his place without another word, and left me standing where I was, and, lo! the cloak that he had worn lay upon the back of the chair whereon he had sat, and the door of the place was ajar. Then, for the last time that day, did temptation catch hold of me and wrestle with me as it had not before done, for I saw the meaning of all that he had said unto me, and that he himself had bidden me to go forth from out of the perils of the Lords judgment. I le~ned against the wall of the place as in an agony, and called unto the Lord, and He heard me. Then I catched up the cloak from the chair and ran forth from the room. The sentry that stood at the door was as asleep, leaning upon his musket and against the door-post. His eyes were shut, neither did he arouse at my going forth. So out and into the night, and found the Lord General just mounted upon his horse, and one other with him. Straightway I ran to him, crying, Sir! sir! here is your cloak, which you have forgot ! and so thrust it into his hands, and he took it without a single word; then, turning, I went back into the place again. The sentry that had been leaning against the door-post was awake, neither, in truth, do I believe that he had slept at all. He looked upon me as all in amaze, neither did he say anything unto me, and so IL went back into the room again and shut the door behind me. The next morning, about nine of the clock, I was taken from my place of cap- tivity, and was brought before a court of martial that sat at the same inn where- from I had aided Mistress Margaret and the others to escape. The Lord General was there, at the head of the table, albeit he took no part in any- thing that passed, but sat as apart-froiri the others; neither when they spake together did he say aught unto them. Then, after divers witnesses had been examined, the president of the court turned unto me, and I arose and stood with clasped hands, for I felt that now surely was the time of my reckoning come. But when he spake I was as one that heard not, forthis was the judgment that lie rendered: that as I had not deserted to the ener~iy to take up arms with him, but had only failed in my undertaking, I should be stripped of mine office, and dis- honourably dismissed from the army in the presence of mine own regiment. I stood as though stricken dumb, for it was another judgment than I had thought would be passed upon me, and for which I had looked, and in this I saw the hand of the Lord General. But when it came fully unto me what this judgment meant, and that I was to be dishonoured and dis- graced before those who had held me in such hi~,h regard, I smote my palms to- getheP, and called upon them to slay me, but not to bring that upon a soldier which was so much more bitter than death. But the Lord General brake in before that I had ended mine outcry, and in a harsh voice commanded them that guarded me to take me thence, and they did so. What happed thereafter and the dis- honour that was brought upon me I speak not of, for there is no need that I should wrack myself and ope my partly healed wounds in the recounting thereof. After that I had been so shamed and brought low I departed thence, though with a broken heart, and so came across the seas and into Holland, for I could bear to live no longer in my native land. There I abided in a humble way, gaining a livelihood by teaching unto others the art of fence and the use of the broad- sword, being greatly skilled therein. So I lived in comfort and peace, after a fash- ion, though with a melancholy soul and a heart sorely beset with sorrow, for all hope and earnestness had been shorn away from me. So cometh nigh the end of my story with this to tell: One day, going out from my place of abiding, I came face to face with Sir William Whalleys body-servantthe same whom I had met in so passing strange a manner at Worcester, now a year and more gone. So soon as he had caught sight of me lie knew me, and called unto me in a loud voice to stay. But I hurried away from him as fast as I could, though he ran after me, still calling my name. But the next day, being in my room, where I sat reading my Bible, there came a knock at my door, and I, going there- STEPHEN WYCHERLIE. 47 unto and opening it, found myself face to face with Mistress Margaret and Sir Wil- liam Whalley. She was mightily pale, and clung unto her fathers arm as though she would fall. Then, I standing bereft of speech, they caine into the room with- out word; nor could I stay them in their coming. Then came Mistress Margaret unto me and put a letter into my hands, and be- sought me that I should read it, albeit her voice was only a breath that I could scarce hear. So, all enwrapped in won- der, I went unto the window and oped the letter and read it; and thus it ran, for I have kept it by me ever since that day: Sin,I do write these unto you which at most times it were unbefitting for a maid to do, yet can I not forbear from so writing because of those sacrifices that you have made unto me for my sake, and of which I have had certain knowledge. Sir, you have told me that you do love me, and you do well know that which I one time said unto you. Therefore this: if that I can render unto you aught by way of return for all those things which you have done for me, then am I ready to do so, and to bring such joy into your af- flictions as may lie within my power. Tl~ese I do indite, because that I may not speak them unto you. MARGARET WHALLEY. When I looked up from the reading thereof, I saw that Margaret sat over against me at the table, with her face bur- ied in her hands, and it was now as rosy as it had been white before. And I knew that it was all for maidenly shame that she should so have seemed to seek me. Then I came to her and kneeled down beside her and took her hand (though for a while she strove to withhold it), and set it to my lips; but all that I could find to say was, Margaret! Margaret ! and Margaret! Margaret ! Yet she seemed to comprehend me, for by-and-by she looked up and smiled upon me through her tears. Come, said Sir William at last, let us be going. And so all three of us presently went forth together, and as I shut the door be- hind me, it seemed to me as though I shut it upon all of my troubles that had gone before. THEN CAME MISTRESS MARGARET UN~TO ME AND PUT A LETTER INTO MY HANDS. THE KENTUCKY PIONEERS. BY JOHN MASON BROWN. THE traveller who stops for a day at the pleasant and picturesque little city of Frankfort, Kentucky, will be rewarded with the view of a landscape of surpass- ing loveliness. From the brow of a lofty hill, reached by a broad smooth turnpike that has replaced the ancient buffalo trace, he will look down upon the thriving town that fills the valley. A railway, crowded with busy trains, skirts the base of the em- inence. To the right and the left extends the limpid blue Kentucky IRiver, losing itself on either hand in graceful curves behind the wooded hills, and in the dis- tance fields and pastures terminate the view. The observer stands at the grave of Daniel Boone. Here was the favorite resort of the famous pioneer of Kentucky, and here was he in 1845 interred. His bones were brought back to the State which he founded, and laid in this last resting-place. The outlook from his grave is toward the west, in keeping with the adventurous story of his life. The mod- est monument that marks the place is carved with scenes of pioneer lifethe hunters camp, the settlers cabin, the Ind- ian combat; and around it the trees grow, secluding the spot from the military cem- etery that lies beyond. The story of Boone and the Kentucky pioneers has passed almost into the do- main of romance. They are thought of and spoken of, when remembered, in a vague way as Indian fighters and hunt- ers. They are scarcely ever credited with an idea or aspiration higher than the lust of the chase, or with a nobler quality than personal courage. It is too often forgot- ten how they framed, unassisted, the Constitution and policy of a State, how they conquered for their parent common- wealth,Virginia, the great Northwest Ter- ritory, and how they endured through unexampled trials the hardships of the frontier. The entrance of the pioneers into Ken- tucky must be by one or the other of two routes. The parallel ranges of the Alle- ghany and Cumberland mountains, and the wild precipitous country between, made a march directly westward and across them impossible. It is still beyond at- tempt. From the frontier settlements of Virginia the pioneer would take his way southwestward, following the trend of the mountains and the valleys, till East Ten- nessee and the valley of the Holston were reached. Then an arduous journey across the Cumberland Gap and the rugged hills beyond it brought him, as he kept toward the northwest, to the waters of the Ken- tucky and of Salt River, and to that plea- sant land of the Kentuckian, the Blue- grass. But the journey was one of quite six hundred miles, and it traversed an inhospitable and dangerous region. No white inhabitant was to be found in all its length. From the Holston River to the Kentucky hostile Indians were nu- merous. There was no road, and the di- rection of the trail was only indicated by occasional choppings made upon the trees. It was in 1775 that this marking the road was done by Boone, to serve for others use. For him neither marks nor compass nor directions were necessary. His instinct served him better than any such aids. It was by this route that Boone and his comrades entered Kentucky, and by it came most of the early pioneers. It was aptly called, by a name that still adheres to the excellent thoroughfares that have supplied its place, the Wilderness Road. The other mode of reaching the Ken- tucky hunting grounds was one less con- venient and even more dangerous. It was to proceed from the interior settle- ments to Fort Pitt, and from that place float down the Ohio in a flat-boat of rude construction. Such journeys were once or twice made, without serious loss, as far as to the falls of the Ohio (Louisville), but they generally ended, if the adventurers succeeded, at Limestone, where Maysville now is built. Thence by overland march through the canebrakes the emigrant would, if not waylaid by Indians, join the little settlements at Boonesborough, or Harrodstown, or St. Asaph. This river route was, however, exceedingly hazard- ous. The Indians who occupied Southeast Ohio watched the banks for plunder and scalps. The flat-boats were necessarily small, and could not be sufficiently manned to repel attack, and were so rude- ly framed that they could not be mano~n- vred to escape the swift canoes paddled by full crews of well-armed warriors.

John Mason Brown Brown, John Mason The Kentucky Pioneers 48-71

THE KENTUCKY PIONEERS. BY JOHN MASON BROWN. THE traveller who stops for a day at the pleasant and picturesque little city of Frankfort, Kentucky, will be rewarded with the view of a landscape of surpass- ing loveliness. From the brow of a lofty hill, reached by a broad smooth turnpike that has replaced the ancient buffalo trace, he will look down upon the thriving town that fills the valley. A railway, crowded with busy trains, skirts the base of the em- inence. To the right and the left extends the limpid blue Kentucky IRiver, losing itself on either hand in graceful curves behind the wooded hills, and in the dis- tance fields and pastures terminate the view. The observer stands at the grave of Daniel Boone. Here was the favorite resort of the famous pioneer of Kentucky, and here was he in 1845 interred. His bones were brought back to the State which he founded, and laid in this last resting-place. The outlook from his grave is toward the west, in keeping with the adventurous story of his life. The mod- est monument that marks the place is carved with scenes of pioneer lifethe hunters camp, the settlers cabin, the Ind- ian combat; and around it the trees grow, secluding the spot from the military cem- etery that lies beyond. The story of Boone and the Kentucky pioneers has passed almost into the do- main of romance. They are thought of and spoken of, when remembered, in a vague way as Indian fighters and hunt- ers. They are scarcely ever credited with an idea or aspiration higher than the lust of the chase, or with a nobler quality than personal courage. It is too often forgot- ten how they framed, unassisted, the Constitution and policy of a State, how they conquered for their parent common- wealth,Virginia, the great Northwest Ter- ritory, and how they endured through unexampled trials the hardships of the frontier. The entrance of the pioneers into Ken- tucky must be by one or the other of two routes. The parallel ranges of the Alle- ghany and Cumberland mountains, and the wild precipitous country between, made a march directly westward and across them impossible. It is still beyond at- tempt. From the frontier settlements of Virginia the pioneer would take his way southwestward, following the trend of the mountains and the valleys, till East Ten- nessee and the valley of the Holston were reached. Then an arduous journey across the Cumberland Gap and the rugged hills beyond it brought him, as he kept toward the northwest, to the waters of the Ken- tucky and of Salt River, and to that plea- sant land of the Kentuckian, the Blue- grass. But the journey was one of quite six hundred miles, and it traversed an inhospitable and dangerous region. No white inhabitant was to be found in all its length. From the Holston River to the Kentucky hostile Indians were nu- merous. There was no road, and the di- rection of the trail was only indicated by occasional choppings made upon the trees. It was in 1775 that this marking the road was done by Boone, to serve for others use. For him neither marks nor compass nor directions were necessary. His instinct served him better than any such aids. It was by this route that Boone and his comrades entered Kentucky, and by it came most of the early pioneers. It was aptly called, by a name that still adheres to the excellent thoroughfares that have supplied its place, the Wilderness Road. The other mode of reaching the Ken- tucky hunting grounds was one less con- venient and even more dangerous. It was to proceed from the interior settle- ments to Fort Pitt, and from that place float down the Ohio in a flat-boat of rude construction. Such journeys were once or twice made, without serious loss, as far as to the falls of the Ohio (Louisville), but they generally ended, if the adventurers succeeded, at Limestone, where Maysville now is built. Thence by overland march through the canebrakes the emigrant would, if not waylaid by Indians, join the little settlements at Boonesborough, or Harrodstown, or St. Asaph. This river route was, however, exceedingly hazard- ous. The Indians who occupied Southeast Ohio watched the banks for plunder and scalps. The flat-boats were necessarily small, and could not be sufficiently manned to repel attack, and were so rude- ly framed that they could not be mano~n- vred to escape the swift canoes paddled by full crews of well-armed warriors. THE KENTUCKY PIONEERS. The great Warriors Path of the Shawnees extended through eastern Ken- tucky, from Chickamauga to the Scioto, and along its length war parties incessant- ly moved. The hunter who had safely passed these dangers, and reached the beginnings of the settlements, found return to Virginia quite as dangerous as it was to remain in his new home. He was thrown upon his own resources for everything, and neces sity developed him into soldier, politician, farmer, and lawyer. The pioneers were in many instances men of much more information and cult- ure than is generally supposed. Boone was much more than a mere deer-slayer and Indian II hter. He was just and kindly, faithful to friend and fair to foe. Althou~h his name is the synonym for adventure, his bravery was never that of violence. The Indians admitted that. GRAVE OP DANIEL BOONE. 50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Boone, their most skilful foe, had no ma- lignant revenge in his nature. They sev- eral times captured him, and always treat- ed him with a certain rough kindness and distinction. He was the greatest of the hunters, yet he never killed game needlessly. His singular nature was a compound of bravery without rashness, ad- venture without personal ambition con- stant conflict without a trace of cruelty. He possessed a placid and gentle mind that often showed the poetic temperament. He spelled badly, and wrote an ill-formed hand; but he enjoyed reading, and ex- pressed himself with grace and facility. It was in 1769 that he first entered Ken- tucky, and these are his own words in speaking of the event: On the 7th June, after travelling through a mountainous wilderness in a western direction, we found ourselves on the Red River, where John Finley had formerly been trading with the Indians, and from the top of an eminence saw with pleasure the beautiful level of Kentucke. It will surprise many readers to learn that Boone and his comrades in their ear- liest explorations carried a book or two to amuse themselves with. The little pack that contained the precious reserve of pow- der and bullets, the scant supply of cloth- ing and the blanket of the pioneer, held also the reading matter that was to en- liven the hours in camp. Commonly it was a Bible or psalm-book, and from these in the solitudes of the wilderness they would read to each other or sing together. At a time when there were not ten white men in Kentucky, Dean Swift was read in the hunters camp on a tributary of the Kentucky River. In a deposition given by Boone in 1796, as evidence in a land suit, he makes this statement: In the year 1770 I encamped on Red River with five other men, and we had for our amusement the history of Samuel Gul- livers Travels, wherein he gave an account of his young master Glumdelick carrying him on a market-day for a show to a town called Lulbegrud. A young man of our Company called Alexander Neely came to camp one night and told us lie had been that day to Lulbegrud and had killed two Brobdignags in their capital. The mistakes of names and orthography may be pardoned the old hunter, deposing from memory twenty-six years after the event. The name thus used by young Neely has clung to the locality. A creek that waters one of the most beautiful parts of Kentucky still bears the name of Lul- begrud, and the lands along its borders are still called the Indian Old Fields. They are the site of what was almost certainly the last fixed town that the Indians occu- pied in Kentucky. Long years after the pioneer days were over, an aged chief, the renowned Catahecassa, or Blackhoof, came to revisit the scenes of his youth. He had been born at the Shawnee town on the Lulbegrud, and had marched when far past middle manhood to take part in the fight where Braddock was defeated and slain. He was threescore when Boone first saw Kentucky, yet he survived the entire generation of the first pioneers, his old foes, and died in 1831, at the great age of one hundred and twenty years. The sons of the pioneers received hini with honor and hospitality, and the old chief was made a welcome guest in the home of his childhood. His people were gone, the vestiges of their former occupancy oblit- erated, and the names of places and braves forgotten. A chance word froni a chance book had given a new and strange name to the place of his birth and the long-ago home of his people. John Floyd, the early companion of Boone, was a typical pioneer. He was educated, brave, and adventurous. Him- self and two brothers fell by the Indians rifle. Two of his brothers-in-law shared the same fate. At twenty-four years of age he was with Boone in Kentucky, and next year took part in the deliberations at Booneshorough. He hastened back to Vir- ginia in the autumn of 1776, and with per- fect confidence in his own resources fitted out a privateer and cruised as its com- mander. His checkered career brought him to Dartmouth as a prisoner of war, thence, by a daring escape, to Paris, where, as he afterward said, he wandered un- known, and wondered if there was in all the woi~ld a man so lonely as he. Franklin met him, and conceived a strong esteem for the bold and handsome and courtly young hunter. He was received with marked interest at Versailles, and was the lion of the hour. Again he found his way back to Virginia, and rejoined Boone and Harrod in Kentucky in 1779, to lose his life soon afterward by a bullet from an ambuscade. Another of the group was that great soldier George Rogers Clark, whose gen- ius foresaw the importance of the North- THE KENTUCKY PIONEERS. 51 west, and whose prowess and skill con- heusive mind of Jefferson. The achieve- quered for the new republic that empire ment is a romance of war yet to be ade- where now are established the great States quately told. His younger brother was of Indiana, Illinois, and Michigan. The of the same mould, and will be remember- magnitude of the conception was appreci- ed for the marvellous expedition which, ated by none but himself and the compre- commanded by himself and his brother VOL. LXXV.No. 4454 SYCAMORE ON LULBEGRUD CREEK. 52 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. officer Lewis, crossed the continent to the mouth of the Columbia River. The most accomplished of the pre-Revo- lutionary pioneers was doubtless Colonel John Todd, who fell afterward at the bat- tle of the Blue Licks. Besides being a thorough woodsman, he was a classical scholar, had been trained to the law, and had seen service as a soldier. Though only thirty-two years of age at the time of his death, in 1782, he had assisted in subdu- ing the Northwest, and filled the position of Military Governor of the Illinois. He had also inaugurated a scheme for the extirpation of slavery, and first con- ceived the great ordinance of 1787, and de- vised, in the midst of frontier alarms, a comprehensive system of public aid to schools by grants of lands. lie and Boone and Floyd, with others, among them Parson Lythe, an adventu- rous preacher, were members of the first legislative body that met west of the Al- leghany Mountains. It gathered at the stockade called Boonesborough, on the banks of the Kentucky, in May, 1775, and seventeen pioneers took part. The delib- erations were opened with divine service, and the sessions were held under a great elm. The curious record has been pre- served, and shows such characteristic en- tries as these: On motion of Mr. Daniel Boone, leave is given to bring in a bill for preserving game On motion of Mr. Lythe, leave is given to bring in a bill to prevent profane swearing and Sabbath- breaking. Mr. Lythe, as has been men- tioned, was the preacher-hunter. The two bills were perfected, and were the first laws of the new community. Along with them were resolutions looking to the es- tablishment of courts of justice, and the oroanizing of a militia. The Kentuckian, as has often been good- humoredly remarked, is nothing if not parliamentary. He loves debate and the forms of debate, and best of all political debate. It was even so with his progen- itors. The orderly and strictly parlia- mentary way in which the little conven- tion at Boonesborough proceeded with its business is quite surprising when the sur- rounding dangers and the remoteness of the spot from all civilized aid are remem- bered. During all the years up to the sep- aration from Virginia there was indispen- sable need of a certain self-constituted au- thority. The parent commonwealth was remote and feeble, its officials too often careless of the struggling and distant com- munity. Yet every forni of law and pro- cedure was scrupulously observed. The heads of settlements would recommend the militia officers to cause delegates to be chosen from their companies, and these would convene in due form, and call on the people to choose representatives in a legislative body, by whom the affairs of the district could be considered, and prop- er action recommended. Thus delegates to the Virginia Assembly were selected, provisions for future conventions made, and the comnion interest cared for. It may safely be asserted that the gravity, moderation, and patience which were ex- hibited are unsurpassed in the earlyhistory of any of the commonwealths. It is strange to picture this curious phase mn the pioneers history. Their daily life was one of danger, and combat with a foe that gave no quarter. They were advent- urers upon the limitless West, and the animating spirit of each was that of per- sonal independence. There was no organ- ized force or sanction of law. Those that first camne had not even a recognition from King Georges Governors, nor a charter of permission. Yet these men, usually es- teemed so rude, and scarce one of whom had ever witnessed a legislative session, instinctively laid the foundation of their occupancy in a y~rell-considem.ed and ad- mirably expressed treaty, by which right of occupancy was formally secured, and upon that basis commenced of their own motion a political organization. When the Revolution dissolved their English al- legiance, and private treaties with Indians were repudiated by Virginia, they careful- ly establislmed by chosen delegates their relations with Virginia, and scrupulously sought lawful commissions to issue to the few officials required for their simple yet urgent needs. As they emerged from the hunter life, and agriculture began to flour- ish and accumulations for commerce to grow, they never lost sight of the lawful forms of procedure; and in a matter of such vital importance as the navigation of the Mississippi they held their hand, in constant deference to the constituted pow- er of the land, though tempted by every consideration that could sway men to take by strong arm the rights so essential to their prosperity and comfort. That they showed capacity for organization is not to be so much wondered at such is the Eng- lish characteristic; but that they should THE KENTUCKY PIONEERS. 53. have restrained their organization so strict- ly by the forms of traditional law, under circumstances of so great and long-con- tinued discouragement, is wonderful. The public opinion of the settlers was stronger than any statute. Their rela- tions were for years those of assent to a common law of the country, which no man presumed to vioJ ate or thought of questioning. So simple and obvious were its necessary points that they were not even codified. Its chief and essential principle was that every man should assist in the common defence, and render prompt aid to his neighbor. Debts there were none, for property had not yet accumulated. There was no use for money, and conse- quently no money-lenders. Land was not as yet the fruitful source of litigation, for it lay free to all who were hardy enough to take and hold it. The authority of the militia officers, and the supremacy of the Connty Lieutenant, as he was called in the Virginia law, were the most important mat- ters of public concern, and to the orders and suggestions of these uniform defer- ence was paid. For the redress of purely personal grievances their public appliances were inadequate, and the habit of self-re- liance seemed to make them unsuitable. Men were left to maintain by their own strong arms many rights which in older GEORGE ROGERS CLARK. Photographed by L. Bergman, Louisville, Kentucky. 54 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and quieter communities were vindicated by money damages at the hands of a jury. Public opinion committed the honor of fe- males to the keeping of their armed kins- men, and would have scouted appeal to a court for redress upon a wrong-doer. Each was competent to protect himself and that which personally concerned him, and was expected to do so; and this received no- tion gained such general and sure footing that an almost ceremonious regard for oth- ers feelings and others persons became universal. The violent were better re- strained by the certainty of condign pun- ishment at the hands of the outraged than they would have been by any mulct or fine. Contrary to what the moralist might perhaps have predicted, the idea worked well. The result was,for the public, prompt and well-concerted response to public duty; for the individual, great self-reliance in all that concerned his family or his honor, and an unwillingness to trouble the neigh- borhood with a trial of any infringement of his personal rights as distinguished from property rights. Some of the in- herited results of this peculiar society are observable to this day. Among those who aspire to be considered the better class, suits for slander are unknown. In the history of the State there has not been a crim. con. trial. The slayer of a seducer has never been punished. And this re- mark applies to the best population of Kentucky, as distinguished from a class that is degraded and inferior, so often con- founded with it, but which is in no sense of pioneer origin. The little fort at Boonesborough was in an almost constant state of attack, and the increasing numbers and strength of the Indian war parties caused Boone and his comrades to enlarge it to such propor- tions as would give a refuge for those who ventured to clear land and plant corn in the vicinity. It may well be considered as the central point of early pioneer life in Kentucky. The walls of the fort were in part composed of the log cabins in which the pioneers lived, and constructed partly of tall palisades. At the four cor- ners the cabins projected like bastions, and enabled the defenders to resist at- tempts to scale or burn the defences. Within the enclosure, as in the other earliest settlements, there was collected the little wealth of the adventurers. The pots and pans brought with such toil from Virginia upon the pack-horse were, next to the gun and axe, their most valued pos- sessions. They came along with the first wives and daughters of the pioneers, of whom there were as many as seven fami- lies within the area of Kentucky in 1775. These brought, too, the spinning-wheel, with which coarse yarns were made from buffalo wool; and it was not long before a few rude looms were improvised, that served for weaving a rough cloth suitable for the mens winter wear. The name of William Poague, who first made noggins and buckets, has been preserved, coupled with that of his ingenious daughter, who discovered that a fibre for-weaving could be beaten from nettles and woven in the loom which her father made. Buckskin was the usual outer garb of the men as well from choice as necessity. Their rough marches through thickets and cane would soon have destroyed a less strong -material. The cotton cloth for under- clothing was painfully brought from Vir- ginia along with the occasional supplies of ammunition. The wives and daugh- ters of the pioneers were more carefully provided for. They were apparelled in woollens and cottons, and wore shoes, brought over the Wilderness Road. With- al there was comfort and plenty. The list of luxuries was a short one; the com- forts were substantial. Greatly prized among them was the cheerful fiddle that enlivened the long winter evenings, and relieved the tedium of their lonely life. For him who could make music with their favorite instrument there was always the heartiest welcome and the choicest seat near the great log fire that supplied alike warmth and light. The accomplishment was a rare one, and the merits of the best fiddlers were well known throughout the different settlements. The use of the fiddle and indulgence in the dance were general with all of the first settlers. For old and young alike it was the approved recreation. The prevailing religious sentiment was Presbyterian or Baptist, for in ost of the pioneers were from Rockbridge, or Augusta, or Botetourt, in Virginia, or the strong Dissenter commu- nities of Pennsylvania. They were rigid in their theology and strict in their ob- servances, but their strictness seems nev- er to have found fault with the innocent gayety of the neighborhood dance or the quilting party. Old Father Rice gave Presbyterian sanction by his presence, if not his participation; and so did the earlier THE KENTUCKY PIONEERS. 55 Baptists, represented by Squire Boone and such preachers. Upon the subject of psalmody there was a serious and much debated difference throughout the settle- ments. Very many of the first pioneers would never sing Wattss version, and made the rugged lines of Rouse a test of orthodoxy. But all allowed the dance and fiddle to the young and the gay, and cbeemd their own troubles with the sight and sound of innocent merriment. It is a curious fact that so sudden and radical a change should have occurred as mark- ed the state of public opinion at the end of Kentuckys first twenty years. The French Revolution had then brought ~migr~s even to Kentucky. The agents of the Directory were fomenting political discontent at Lexington and Danville. By a queer freak, the French divided pub- lic opinion politically and religiously. Those who shared the enthusiasm of the time for republican France became large- ly advocates of the infidelity then pro- fessed by representative Frenchmen, and imitators of their fashions and habits. And the social gayety of French manners became so thoroughly identified in the common mind with disbelief, that the inno- cent fiddle and the harmless dance were de- nounced as incompatible with avowed reli- gious convictions. It was about the year 1794 that the religious organizations made dancing a subject of discipline. The rule was iiiot relaxed in the sterner denomina- tions until a time well within the memory of men not yet old. And as a parallel fact it may be noted that from 1794 up to the wonderful religious excitement of 18034 there was, according to a most re- liable contemporary, such general depart- ure from the early ways that but a single lawyer in the State avowed a religious be- lief. In a MS. autobiography that has fortunately survived, a brave and useful and eminently pious old pioneer recounts the happy escape of a party of settlers, male and female, from an ambuscade of Indians. The Indians made a blind, or hiding-place of bushes, behind which they lay in wait for the whites who were to pass along the path. The young peo- ple went up a different ridge, in quest of wild plums, and so escaped the danger. INDIAN OLD FIELDS AND VIEW FROM PILOT KNOB. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. This event was always thereafter (says the narrator) regarded as an ex- traordinary interposition of Providence in their favour. For which many heart- felt thanks were returned to Almighty God by the Parents of these Young people, who amidst all their dangers did not for- get to Dance and Amuse themselves in the station whenever they could get the op- portunity. But the strict old Presbyterian elder in another place tells, with an almost re- gret for those days of his youth, how the young people in the stations enjoyed themselves wit~Dancin~ several tines t b~emse tves wital) ancing severa~ 1tunes each week. It was not then considered criminal, and it kept up their spirits and cheerfulness, in the wilds of the West, and it must be admitted that it added to the health and happiness of the young Peo- ple, and indeed it was not believed to be inconsistent with their religions duties. But after-times proved the necessity of limiting this amusement. But these after-times, as has been intimated, were not until the time of the French excitement. Their favorite dance was the reelthe Virginia Reel, as it is still called, and as it is yet danced in undiminished popularity throughout rural Kentucky. The facing lines of dancers, the alternate ad- vance and retreat of end couples, keeping strict time, and executing the pigeon wing and other intricacies according to the performers ability, the continual sway and marking the music by all the dancers, the hands all round, the right and left, made an enlivening scene. The quick, marked tune, in two-four time, emphasized by the stamp of the fiddlers foot, and by the nods and gestures of the spectators, was played with an expression that was exhilarating. Of all dances, none has the contagious good- humor and gayety that char- acterize the Virginia Reel, danced at a country house to the music of good country fiddlers. For the music of these has a swing of its own, and differs from the best or- chestra, just as the camp-meeting hymn moves the soul differently from the best performances of a trained and fashiona- ble church quartette. A negro slave owned by Captain Estill was pre-eminently the musician of the country in the earliest years. He was a person of greatest importance from the further fact that lie alone of all in the new country could make gunpowder. The cave where Monk leached the earth for salt- petre, and combined his dangerous mix- ture, is one of the well-known spots of his- toric interest in Madison County. He nos- sessed much intelligence ~nd w~s e~~een- sessect nuich. inte Lugence, and. was eccen- tric and reserved. He was treated with respect and consideration by whites and Indians alike. His freedom was given him in 1782 in recognition of his conspicu- ous bravery in an Indian fight. Thus, in addition to other points of interest, he was the first freed slave in Kentucky. His chemical secrethow to make gunpowder was never divulged by him, and in- sured him a consequence proportioned to 5UN5ET ON LICKING RIVzR. THE KENTUCKY PIONEERS. 57 the value of that indispensable article in a settlement of hunters and Indian fight- ers. But the powder made by Monk was no doubt below the standard of even those rude days. The supply was chiefly from Fort Pitt, and during the earlier years the expeditions to fetch it were care- fully planned, and intrusted only to the most daring and successful woodsmen. In June, 1776, the pioneers held a general meeting on the powder question, and sent two representati x~es all the way to Williamsburg, one of whose duties it was to procure from the Virginia Assembly a supply of ammunition. The five hundred pounds that were granted were carried on horses through the wilderness to Fort Pitt, and thence by night voyages in ca- noes to Limestone (now Maysville), and there secreted to await a favorable time for conveyance to the stations in central Kentucky. It cost the lives of several CAPTURE OF ELIZABETH AND FRANCES cALLAWAY AND JEMIMA BOONE. 58 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. with desperation. Their canoe was drawn ashore, and they were hurried off in rapid retreat toward the Shawnee towns in Ohio. Their screams were heard at the fort, and the cause well guessed. Two of the girls were Betsey and Frances, daughters of Colonel Richard Calla- way, the other was Jemi- ma, daughter of Boone. The fathers were absent, but soon returned to hear the evil news and arrange the pursuit. Callaway as- sembled a mounted party, and was away through the woods to head off the In- dians, if possible, before they might reach and cross the Ohio, or before the fatimue of their rapid march should so overcome the poor girls as to cause From painting SIMON KENTON. their captors to tomahawk owned by Robert Clarke, Cincinnati, Obio. them, and so disencumber their flight. Boone start- ed directly on the trail good men to accomplish the task. It was through the thickets and canebrakes. His in the same year that, in a similar errand rule was never to ride if he could possibly to Fort Pitt, a party of seven were all walk. All his journeys and hunts, es- killed or wounded, among them Colonel capes and pursuits, were on foot. His lit- Robert Patterson, the founder of the three tle party numbered eight, and the anxiety cities Lexington, Cincinnati, and Dayton, of a fathers heart quickened its leader, and who there received the tomahawk wound found a ready response in the breasts of which he bore to his grave, three young men, the lovers of the girls. The dangers which Boone and his com- Betsey Callaway, the oldest of the girls, panions encountered in the fields came to marked the trail, as the Indians hurried the very doors of their cabins, and con- them aloum, by breaking twigs and bend- stantly menaced their families. Indians ing bushes, and when threatened with the lurked singly or in parties to seize a pris- tomahawk if she persisted, tore small bits oner or take a scalp whenever an incau- from her dress, and dropped them to guide tious white should give the opportunity. the pursuers. Where the ground was soft Frequent combats (and each combat end- enough to receive an impression, they ed, as a rule, in the death of one or both would press a footprint. The flight was of those engaged) had habituated the men in the best Indian method: the Indians to danger. It was later that they felt the marched some yards apart through the danger of their wives and children, bushes and cane, compelling their cap- Late on a Sunday afternoon in July, tives to do the same. When a creek was 1776, three young girls ventured from the crossed they waded in its water to a dis- enclosureofBoonesboroughtoamusethem- taut point, where the march would be re- selves with a canoe upon the river that. sumed. By all the caution and skill of flowed by the fort. Insensibly they drift- their training the Indians endeavored to ed with the lazy current, and before they obscure the trail and perplex the pur- were aware of their danger were seized ~uers. by five warriors. Their resistance was It is well known to those who have ob- useless, though they wielded the paddles served Indian modes of life that the pur THE KENTUCKY PIONEERS. suer always marches faster than the pur- sued, if the parties are at all equally match- ed ia woodcraft, To obscure a trail costs time. Unless it were perfectly covered it would never escape the eye of Daniel Boone; and the three young men strained every faculty to observe and keep the sign. The nightfall of the first day stopped the pursuit of Boone before he had gone far; but he had fixed the direction the Ind- ians were taking, and at early dawn was following them. The chase was continued with all the speed that could be made for thirty miles. Again darkness compelled a halt, and again at crack of day on Tues day the pursuit was renewed. It was not long before a light film of smoke that rose in the distan6e showed where the Indians were cooking a breakfast of buffalo meat. The.pursuers cautiously approached, fear- ing lest the Indians might slay their cap- tives and escape. Colonel John Floyd, who was one of the party (himself after- ward killed by Indians), thus described the attack and the rescue, in, a letter written the next Sunday to the Lieutenant of Fin- castle, Colonel William Preston: Our study had been how to get the prisoners without giving the Indians time to murder them after they discovered us: Four of us fired, and all of us rushed DANIEL BOONE. From painting by Chester Harding, owned by W. H. King, Chicago. Photographed by C. L. Moore, Springfield, Mass. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 60 on them; by which they were prevented from carrying anything away except one shot-gun without any ammunition. Col- onel Boone and myself had each a pretty fair shot as they began to move off. I am well convinced I shot one through the body. The one he shot dropped his gun; mine had none. The place was covered with thick cane, and being so much elated on recovering the three poor little heart- broken girls, we were prevented from making any further search. We sent the Indians off almost naked, some without their moccasins, and none of them with so much as a knife or tomahawk. After the girls came to themselves sufficiently to speak, they told us there were five Ind- ians, four Shawanese and one Cherokee; they could speak good English, and said they should go to the Shawanese towns. The war-club we got was like those I have seen of that nation, and several words of their language, which the girls retained, were known to be Shawanese. The return with the rescued girls was the occasion for great rejoicing. To crown their satisfaction, the young lovers had proved their prowess, and under the eye of the greatest of all woodsmen had shown their skill and courage. They had fairly won the girls they loved. Two weeks later a general summons went throughout the little settlements to attend the first wedding ever solemnized on Kentucky soil. Samuel Henderson and Betsey Cal- laway were married in the presence of an approving company that celebrated the event with dancing and feasting. The formal license from the county court was not waited for, as the court-house of Fin- castle, of which county Kentucky was part, was distant more than six hundred miles. The ceremony consisted of the contract with witnesses, and religious vows administered by Boones brother, who was an occasional preacher of the persuasion popularly known as Hard- shell Baptists. Frances Callaway became within a year the wife of the gallant Cap- tain John Holder, afterward greatly dis- tinguished in the pioneer annals; and Boones daughter married the son of his friend Callaway. The first pioneers were so successful in holding their settlements that others hast- ened to join them, attracted by the abun- dance of the game and the fertility of the soil. To some, no doubt, the element of constant adventure was a great i~~ce ment, and fully were they gratified. Some, like Simon Kenton, as a hunter and woods- man second only to Boone, seemed to seek hazard. He it was whose desperate ride, lashed to the back of an untamed horse, was the true original of Byrons Mazeppa. Unlike Boone, Kenton excited in his Indian foes the most exasperated feelings of vengeance. Aside from wounds received in fight, he was several times brought to the very verge of death while a prisoner in the Indians hands. On one occasion he was struck apparently dead with a tomahawk that clove his shoulder through the collar-bone; three several times he was bound to the stake to die by fire, and as often as eight times was he compelled t.o run the gauntlet. None of this generation will ever know in its true significance the horror of that word. There is now probably no man living who has run the gauntlet as an Indian prisoner. The venerable and reverend Thomas P. Dudley, of Lexington, Ken- tucky, now approaching his hundredth year, was sentenced, but reprieved. His comrades suffered the ordeal, while he in mere whim was ransomed for a pony and a keg of whiskey. The Indians ranged themselves in two lines, between which the prisoner was compelled to run for his life, eluding as best he could the blows of tomahawks and war-clubs that were aim- ed at him in his flight. Sometimes good fortune or activity saved the prisoner. Sometimes the Indians would in mere caprice use long sticks instead of deadly weapons, and in a few rare instances pure courage saved the victim. Kenton on one occasion won the applause of the head chiefs of the Wyandots, who inter- fered to save his life from their infuriated warriors. No sooner was he unbound to commence the fatal race than he seized a war-club, and dashed down the line strik- ing in desperation at every warrior armed with hatchet or club. Though covered with wounds, he reached the goal alive, still brandishing the weapon with which he had fought his way. The exploit was without a parallel in Indian experience; it won their admiration, and for that time saved him. The death by fire was seldom inflicted. The gauntlet was rare, but the stake even rarer. It was only under circumstances that to the Indian mind were exceeding- ly aggravating that a prisoner was burn- ed. Boone, like others, was in constant THE KENTUCKY PIONEERS. 61 warfare with them, and was several times their prisoner, yet the Indians used a sort of rude kindness toward him while in their power. The well- understood code of war was that actual combat was to the death, and that sur- prise and ambuscade were to be ex- pected, and the scalp of the slain went to the victor. During the period from 1783 to 1790 no less than fifteen hun- dred authenticated instances of death by the Indian rifle or tomahawk oc- curred; but they were, after a rough fashion, regarded as part of the risk that pioneers took. The Indians must have suffered as much or more, and they too regarded it as the fate of con- tinual war. But Kenton and a few others appear to have been considered as transgressors of the rules of fair fighting, and to them, when caught, extreme penalty was administered. This state of continual war and in- cessant activity made it of last impor- tance that the outfit of the hunter ROBERT rATTERsON. should be exactly suited to his sur- roundings. Like his Indian foe, he cut down his equipment to the minimum the curve of the body, that it might lie of bulk and weight, and experience soon close, and neither impede the use of the established what became the accepted uni- right arm, nor become entangled with the form. bushes or cane. Much care was bestow- A happy and artistic thought has pre- ed upon its adornment, and it was soften- served the authentic pioneer costume, ed by boiling to receive the desired shape sculptured upon the State Military Monu- and preparation. At the left side hung ment at Frankfort, from models prepared the tomahawk, a light hatchet with curved under the eye of pioneers that then sur- blade, useful in many ways about the ived. The coat, or hunting shirt, that camp, and a formidable weapon in close reached to the thigh, was of coarse cloth, combat. The knife lay across the chest or preferably of well - dressed deer - skin within ready grasp. Over his short trou- that turned rain, and was not readily sers and stockings the hunter habitually torn. Around the neck and shoulders wore deer-skin leggings that reached to was a fringe six inches long, not in- the middle thigh. These were prepared tended for ornament alone, but supplying of brain-dressed skins that perfectly turn- the strings so often needed by a hunter. ed the rain and dew. Along their outer The four pockets, two on either breast, edge were often fringes of strings hang- were exactly placed that the use of wea- ing for ready use. The feet were cased pons should not be embarrassed. A belt, in moccasins, to which soles of raw hide carrying tomahawk and knife, passed were sometimes sewed; but as a rule the through loops at the back, and was tight- soft elk-skin was preferred, for the face cued by a buckle or thongs. of the land was as yet unbroken turf or Beneath the right arm swung the bul- forest mould, soft and springy to the let-pouch, and with it the powder-horn, tread. Stone cropped out as cultivation In the former were carried the bullets, disturbed the soil in after-years. A cap, the cotton patching with which the brought from the eastern settlements, or balls were surrounded in loading, and the made of the skin of a coon or panther, precious extra flints, all enclosed and fast- completed the costume of the original cued in interior pockets, lest in rapid hunter of Kentucky. movement they might be lost. The pow- The rifle that the Kentucky pioneer 4cr-horn was selected with reference to ~as a weapon suited in every re 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. spect to the needs of the situation. The details of its length, calibre, weight, angle of stock, and arrangement of sights were greatly discussed, and the arguments were acrimonious over very small differences. A curious memorandum made at an early day perpetuates the views of sqme of the most noted pioneers. Charles Scott (af- terward a major-general and Governor) thought that a calibre of fifty bullets to the pound of lead was best. John Allen was emphatic that the barrel need never be longer than three feet eight inches, and preferred brass mountin~s, as more easily kept bright. Knox, the chief of the Long Hunters, explained that the gun- barrel should be chambered to receive the charge when rammed home, and that the hind sight should be placed one-third of the barrels length from the breech. Upon the theory of sighting, it was well agreed that the top of the breech, the fine slit of the hind sight, and the edge of the fore sight should lie in one line. This in- sured equal accuracy at any distance be- tween ten and one hundred and fifty paces. The material of the rifle barrel was soft iron, to permit easier manipula- tion; and as use dulled the grooves, the saws were run through, as the term was, enlarging the bore and restoring the accuracy of the gun. The Kentucky rifle of former days is now no longer made. Even those that remain have generally been supplied with percussion locks, and these in their turn are antiquated. In very early times an eccen- tric gunsmith named Graham built a soli JOhN BROWN. From the miniature by Colonel Trnmbnll in the Trumbnll Gallery of Yale College. THE KENTUCKY PIONEERS. 63 tary cabin on the waters of the Elkhorn, where he made the best gun in Kentucky. From habit more than public demand he pursued the trade till his death in 1820. He first introduced the trade-mark into the West. His rifles have alternate circles and stars stamped in the soft iron around the octagonal muzzle. The skill acquired by the Kentucky hunters in the use of the long rifle has not been exaggerated. Constant practice, and the fact that life depended upon it, made every man a marksman. The pe- culiarities of guns were as well known and as carefully observed as the idiosyn- crasies of men. Nowadays rifles are manufactured by the thousand, each a duplicate of every other, and each the perfection of mechanical excellence. The closest scrutiny will not detect a variation, and the tall and the short, the long-armed and the short-armed, the long-necked and the short-necked, use each the same wea- pon. But in the pioneer days, as each gun was hand-made in every respect, and each as a rule made to order, the owner caused his gun to be measured and shaped and weighted to suit its intended user. There was in those days a personal equation~~ of rifle as well as of rifleman. Ifnd con- ~stant and careful practice made each man the perfect master of his own weapon. The story is authenticated by the late Chief- Justice Robertson of a wife who recog- nized the peculiar report of her husbands rifle as he returned home after a year s absence in Indian captivity. The life of the hunter was, as has al- ready been said, one of unceasing vigilance and activity. It involved every possible danger and fatigue, and called for the highest qualities of courage and endur- ance. Every out-door occupation carried with it the risk of death or captivity. Boone, with all his craft, became a prison- er, and was carried as far as Detroit. He had the tact to ingratiate himself with his captors, who were especially gratified at a victory by some of their chiefs in trials of skill with the rifle. Boone was prudent enough to suffer himself to be beaten, and by a margin so narrow as to enhance the triumph. The distinction of excelling the great white hunter with the rifle filled the Indian soul with pride. At the Shawnee town of Chillicothe, Boone discovered that an expedition was preparing against his own station. Re- solved to save his family and friends at every hazard, he escaped from the Indian town, and in four days reached Boones- borough, one hundred and sixty miles dis- tant. The toilsome and perilous march was made in safety, across rivers and over prairies and through woods and cane- brakes. The famished traveller tasted but a single meal during his journey, and he appeared like a spectre to his friends, who had reckoned him dead. The alarm of the approaching attack was speedily given. The settlers collected and strengthened the stockade, the cattle and horses were secured, and every preparation perfected for a vigorous defence. But the Indians BRYANT STATION. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 64 delayed; the escape of Boone had discon- certed their plans. Again the indefatiga- ble backwoodsman hurried to the banks of the Scioto, taking with him a small party of riflemen. There he surprised a detachment of the Indian force, and in- stantly fell upon the rear of the body that had already started for Boonesborough. Following the trail with consummate rapidity and skill, he overtook and by a circuitous march passed his enemy, reach- ing the fort first by a days time. The Indians were beaten in their own tactics. They had been overreached in skill and overcome in endurance. Boone had twice passed them, and their medita- ted surprise was a failure. But they num- bered more than five hundred well-armed warriors, and were commanded by Cana- dian officers appointed by Hamilton, the British Governor of the Northwest. The British flag was displayed, and a de- inand for immediate surrender made upon Boone, coupled with a threat of massacre by the tomahawk if it were not complied with. Boone asked time to consult with his comrades, and employed the delay thus secured in preparing for the siege. The pioneers resolved unanimously to fight to the death. Captain Duquesne, the commandant of the Indians, disap- pointed in his hopes of surprise or surren- der, next asked a conference with nine of the pioneers. Strange as it may appear, Boone, for the only time in all his fron- tier experience, was deluded by the shal- low artifice. Accompanied by eight oth- ers, he went out from the stockade to treat with the enemy. A crowd of Indians immediately surrounded the little party, while Duquesne attempted to engage their attention with talk about surrender of the post. At length it was suggested that a solemn custom of the Indians should be observedthat the hands of each white man should be grasped by two warriors in token of permanent friendship. Boone acquiesced, and the warriors approached. Instantly the pioneers broke through the surrounding crowd, and ran for their lives to the fort. But one man was wounded by the volley that followed their flight, and the cover of the stockade was regain- ed. The incident brought upon Boone for a time a suspicion with some that he was not at heart true to his fellow-pio- neers. Even his friend Callaway for a time shared this belief. But the injurious thought was soon dismissed, and Boones frank explanation that he didnt know how it happened, but he had played the great fool, was accepted as true. It was the first time and the last time that the old pioneer lost even for a moment his sagacity and self-possession. He had the singular gift of becoming more discreet and resourceful, and at the same time more daring, as danger became more pressing. His faculties were now all alive. The Indians, under the direction of their Canadian officers, attempted to run a mine beneath the stockade, and so gain an entrance. They worked secretly and diligently, but the earth that they cast into the stream discolored the water and revealed their plan. Boone counter- mined, digging with such tools as his lit- tle stock contained, and taunting his foe with the discovery of their scheme. The contest then became one of sharp-shoot- ers, and the enemy were beaten off with loss. The stockade stations served excellent- ly well their purpose. They were proof against rifle shot, and gave good cover to an inferior force resisting an attack. Sometimes a bold marksman would climb into the top of a neighboring tree, and from his elevated perch would pick off the men within the fort. But his posi- tion was as dangerous as it was advanta- geous, and he soon became the target of unequalled riflemen. The tree still stands at Harrodsburg from the forks of which McGary, by a wonderful shot, brought down an Indian sharp-shooter. But the mere power of numbers was counterbal- anced by the slight defences, and the con- test was mainly of individual skill, endur- ance, and strategy. The English Colonel Byrd had entered Kentucky with a large force of Indians in 1781, bringing with him what had not be- fore been seen in Kentucky, a couple of small field - pieces. With these he sub- dued every station east of Lexington. Why he did not exterminate the settlers, as he might easily have done, has never been explained. One tradition has it (and we may hope it is correct) that Colonel Byrd was an officer schooled in a different style of war,and that the barbarities prac- tised by his Indians upon the inmates of Ruddles and Martins stations caused him to terminate his campaign abruptly and return to Detroit. The warning was enough for John Todd, who at once obtained authority THE KENTUCKY PIONEERS. 65 FORD AT BLUE LICKS WHERE BOONE CROSSED. from Jefferson, Governor of Virgin- ia, to erect at the public expense a fort at Lexington that should be proof against Swivels & small Artillery which so terrify our peo- ple. But the exchequer was low indeed, Emulation among the overseers & Re- and the Governor entreated Todd to re- wards in Liquor to the men proved pow- member the virtue of economy. erful Incentives to Industry. Being a A substantial structure on the creek side charge of an uncommon nature,I thought was soon built. Eight feet in the clear, it proper to present it to your Excellency walls 7 feet thick of Rammed dirt, inclosed & the Council, being better Judges of with good timbers 9 feet high only, from the Necessity & Expediency of the Work 4 feet upwards 5 feet thick. The top of than the Auditors, who are probably un- the wall is neatly picketed 6 feet High, acquainted with the Circumstances of this proof against Small Arms. Ditch 8 feet Country. By either of the Delegates your wide & between 4 & 5 feet deep. And Excellency may have an opportunity of from that time no large Indian force transmitting the money. crossed to the west of the Kentucky River. This apparently extravagant outlay, for The cost of this fort is worth notice. the payment of which Colonel Todd Colonel Todd reported it to the Governor pledged himself to the contractors dwin- almost in terms of apology. He wrote: dles, when examined, to amusingly small The whole expence amounts to 1l,34l~ proportions. The value of the currency lOs., as will appear by the account here- had been fixed by legislation of the pre- with Sent. It is in vain for me to assure vious year at one thousand of paper for your Excellency that Diligence and Econ- one of hard money, and the Virginia omy has been used in this business, as the pound was $3 33. The expenditure of Work so abundantly proves it. I believe public money in bard cash was therefore four times the expence never before made just $37 76! Well might Todd say, four for the Publick a work equal to this. An times the expence never before made for DEFENCE OF THE STATION. THE KENTUCKY PIONEERS. 67 the Publick a work equal to this. And well may the modern engineer consider the economy and efficiency of a defence that made tenable the whole State of Ken- tucky, and wonder if the days of common- sense and frugality in public outlays will ever return. The fort thus opportunely built saved the hamlet of Lexington from attack in the great expedition of the combined tribes against the Kentucky settlements. It was the supreme effort to drive out the white man, and with its failure Indian warfare became again a series of desultory forays and small but sanguinary combats. The ability of the renegade Simon Girty combined the warlike tribes beyond the Ohio in an expedition which he ably com- inanded. No name was more abhorred or dreaded than his. He was the incarna- tion of savage cruelty. He was one of the four sons of a drunken reprobate who wandered into the extreme west of Penn- sylvania, and was there murdered by some companion wretch. The chi?dren were made captives by a marauding band and carried off to the Indian towns. George, one of the boys, became a Delaware Ind- ian, and continued with them through life, abandoning all the habits of the white man, and forgetting the language of his youth. James was adopted by the Shawnees, and became an actiive and cruel foe to the whites. His delight was to in- vent new and lingering tortures and to superintend their application. After he became enfeebled by a disease that de- stroyed his power of walking, he would cause captive women and children. to be pushed within his reach that he might hew them with his tomahawk. Thomas lived and died with the Shawnees, an or- dinary Indian, unnoted for any marked traits of enterprise or ferocity. But Simon Girty became the representa- tive of all the most dreadful forms of Ind- ian cruelty and activity. He was adopt- ed by the Senecas, and except for a brief period, when in the employ of Lord Dun- more on the frontier, lie lived with them and the Shawnees. At one time he and Kenton were brother scouts, and the re- membrance of it induced him, in a caprice of mercy, to save his old comrade from the stake to which he was already bound. But the weakness was never repeated. He advised and witnessed the burning ~of Colonel Crawford, and laughed heart- ily at the wretched sufferers prayer that VOL. LxxV.No. 4455 his torments might be ended by a bullet. He was a slave to drink, and when under its influence it is said he had no compas- sion in his heart. Girty profoundly and sincerely hated the white man, and lost no chance of displaying his animosity. Assembling more than six hundred picked warriors of the Shawnees and neighboring tribes at the old Indian town of Chillicothe, he moved rapidly and se- cretly, crossing the Ohio where Cincin- nati now is built, and pushing toward the settlements in the Blue-grass. The capture of Lexington meant an extermi- nation of the whites north and east of th~ Kentucky River. To his chagrin, his spies brought word that the new fort was just completed and impregnable. The grand plan had to be changed. Northeast of Lexington, and about five miles distant, lay Bryants Station, a place that ranks in Kentucky annals second only to Boonesborough. It had been early occupied by Joseph Bryant, a brother - in - law of Daniel Boone, and around his cabin soon collected others whose numbers gave an effective force of forty-four riflemen. The quadrangular enclosure was like that at Boonesborough in part of cabin walls, and partly of strong pickets. It stood on a gentle ele- vation on the banks of the Elkhorn, look- ing out over the fairest land of the West. The bounty of nature embarrassed the pioneer with the luxuriance of forest growth and thick cane that sprang from the tall and matted grass. The industry of the settlers was but beginning to be ob- servable around the little fort. The great buffalo trace that led from the Blue Licks on the east, through the rich pastures of the Blue-grass, by the Stamping Ground and Drennons Lick, to that graveyard of the mastodons at Big Bone, had been made a pathway between the stations. The forest had been cleared away nearest the station, and small patches of corn waved their tassels close against the cane, whose dense growth proved the fertility of the soil. But between Bryants Station and Lexington the short five miles trav- ersed a yet unbroken wilderness. The rich and undulating acres, where now are found the manors of opulent stock-breed- ers, were as yet unbroken. A picket sta- tion, as it were, that Todd had located two miles southeast of Lexington, and held with a single family, was the only inroad upon the primitive forest in that direc 68 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tion. Next to him lay the favorite feed- ing ground of the bison and the elk, where now are unrolled the pastures of Ashland and Ellerslie. Silently, on an August night, Girty with six hundred Indians surrounded the station. Within it there was activity and preparation, for the men were to start at early dawn to relieve Captain John H& lders little fort, across the Kentucky, which was reported as threatened; but no one dreamed that Girty was near. At dawn the riflemen set out from the east- ern gate, but fortunately a volley check- ed them before it was too late to regain the stockade. Elijah Craig was their commander, and from his experience of Indian tactics he guessed the force and plan of the enemy, and foresaw the siege that he was to repel. Fortunately there were provisions and ammunition, but by some improvidence the enclosure of the station did not take in the spring of water upon which the garrison must rely. Calling all the women together, he ex- plained that the Indians were concealed, as he believed, in force about the spring. But he thought that the ambuscade would not be developed until an attack by a smaller party on the other side of the stockade, intended to divert the pioneers attention, should first be made; and he asked the women to volunteer to fetch from the spring, before the grand attack commenced, the supply of water that was indispensable. It was naturally objected by the women that the men ought to go, but Craig rea- soned that the women usually weut to the spring with their buckets, and rarely the men; that the one would be regarded by the Indians as a proof that their ambus- cade and plan of attack was not suspected, while the other would bring on the attack in open ground. The crisis was urgent, the peril great; but the women speedily reached their conclusion. Thirty or forty women and girls went out through the western gate, each carrying her pail or bucket, and endeavoring by laughter or song to disguise the fear that penetrated every bosom. Across the open space and past the side of the canebrake they passed on to the bubbling spring that burst out from the foot of the knoll. Their faces betrayed no fear, their manner showed no agitation, their walk was not quickened, though they felt sure that the rifles of five hundred savages bore upon them, and that not one would survive a signal of attack. The buckets were dipped one after an- other in the spring, and loaded with their precious burden the brave women return- ed toward the fort. It was not until the thick cane was again passed, and the bush- es and tall weeds left behind, that their composure was disturbed. Then, safe from the tomahawk and the knife of the savages, and well within the protecting range of the rifles of their husbands and fathers, they hastened with trembling limbs toward the open gate, spilling in their safety part of the treasure they had carried so steadily through danger, and bursting into tears of agitation and pride and gratitude. Not a gun was fired at. them, nor did an Indian move, though the little company passed within twenty yards of five hundred. Craig had exactly guessed his enemys plan and forecast his action. It was the boldest of bold risks, bu~ it was confidently proposed and per- fectly carried through. Men often won- dered afterward what would have become of Craig had the Indians fired upon the women, or rushed out and captured them; but Craigs good-natured reply was that his good sense and the womens courage made the exploit a safe venture. As the fight opened, and the little gar- rison of forty men held out stoutly against such odds, two brave fellows, Bell and Tomlinson, mounted their horses to carry the news to other stations and bring up help. The gate was suddenly swung open, and they dashed at topmost speed into the very face of the Indian ranks, and were through and beyond, and into the cover of the waving corn that hid them from the aim of their astonished foe. Soon Todd and the men from Lexington came hurrying up, and the news went on to Boone, and from him to Trigg at Har- rodsburg, and still further on to Logan. Never had there been such a general up- rising. The word flew from settlement to~ settlement that every fighting man was needed. The response was instant and unanimous. The little garrison mean- while was sorely pressed, but activity and courage availed them.. The women moulded bullets and cut patching, and cared for the wounded and dying as they fell. The very children caught the inspi- ration of their parents courage, and ran from place to place with gourds full of water to extinguish the flames that the THE KENTUCKY PIONEERS. 69 fire-arrows lighted. An infant, destined to be the slayer of the renowned Tecum- seh, and to become a Senator and Vice- President of the republic, slept peacefully in his cradle in care of a little sister, whose fidelity to that tender duty still left her time to carry ammunition to the men. It was indeed a gallant fight. The ar- rival of Boone and Todd caused Girty to draw off his force and retreat toward the Ohio; and then followed the pursuit that ended in the battle of the Blue Licks and the death of so many of Kentuckys best men. The pursuers felt sure of a victory over the repulsed Indians, and insisted upon a rapid march and a fight. The prudence of Boone and the cool judgment of Todd were overborne by the rash and insubor- dinate courage of McGary, who rusbed into the ford, carrying with him the ex- cited and shouting hunter-soldiers. How Boone endeavored to retrieve the error, and how Trigg and Todd and scores of others, the best men of the country, fell, has often been told. How Netherland held the ford single-handed, and rallied the routed force, is a landmark of Ken- tucky heroism. How Aaron Reynolds saved his captain, Robert Patterson, dis- mounting and giving his horse that his friend might escape the massacre, while lie bravely took all the chance of death, is told in every story of the infant State. The gratitude of the rough woodsman, whose profanity had been rebuked by Pat- terson in a former campaign, and who had become deeply religious, was there proved. The reason for it was given in simple words in after-years: He saved my soul, and I felt I must save his life. It was the last great Indian battle on Kentucky soil. Girty retired with num- berless scalps to the Scioto towns, and for weeks there was savage revel and joy throughout the tribes. But the life of the Kentucky pioneers, though full of adventure and danger, had other features than -those of Indian war- fare and hunting buffalo and deer. There were from the earliest days a few good books to be found even in the poorest camp, and immigrants as they came west- ward over the Wilderness Road brought with them Bibles and psalm-books, and standard works, even then somewhat out of date, that served to make up little li- braries for the stations. School-books were usually in manuscript, but the read- ing of the older people was generally well selected for the reason of its scarceness. Marshall, the bitter personal enemy of Harry Innis, and who wrote in his anger a history of Kentucky, dwelt with empha- sis upon the fact that a copy of The Senti- mental Journey belonging to Innis had been found in New Orleans, and argued from that circumstance in support of his charge that Innis and others whom Mar- shall disliked were in treasonable corre- spondence with the Spanish authorities. The unfounded charge has long since been abundantly refuted, but it is signifi- cant that the ownership of a book should have cut so great a figure in the most violent politics of the infant community. The character of Inniss book, like Boones possession of Gullivers Travels, hints the kind of reading that the pioneers of Ken- tucky were familiar with. The little stations were at first the camps of hunters who in groups of five or ten ventured into the wilderness. As fami- lies came from the eastward, the little communities insensibly took form. By common consent some competent pioneer was recognized as chiefBoone at Boones- borough, Logan at St. Asaph, Harrod at Harrodstownand to his orders every man held himself bound in cheerful obe- dience. The gathering for safety within the enclosures of the stations created a feeling of almost kinship among the in- mates. Their fears, hopes, dangers, were all in common. The meat brought in by the hunters was free to all; the corn, planted under range of the rifles, was cul- tivated in common, and gathered for the winter use of all. The claims and pre- emptions were marked to await the time when the owner could safely take posses- sion and live upon them. As has already been said, the antece- dents of the pioneers made them nearly all a strongly religious people. In the large majority of instances they adhered to the Baptist or Presbyterian denominations, and from the earliest days of the immi- gration there was in almost every station a preacher, volunteer or ordained, whose flock was the little community. Squire Boone, pious and brave, preached the Hard- shell faith at Boonesborough; Elijah Craig was the spiritual leader as well as the com- mandant at Bryants Station. Neither had warrant from any organization, but they seem to have done much good in spite of that informality. At length Lewis Craig 70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. came with a Baptist commission, and Da- vid Rice with Presbyterian credentials, the first commission-bearing preachers since the day when Parson Lythe read the Epis- copal service beneath the elm at Boones- bGrough. The narrative left by Robert McAfee, and still unpublished, gives a striking picture of the primitive and ro- bust piety of those days. The observance of family worship and public services of religion were almost universal. An increasing sense of security and the gradual growth of population brought new and in~portant measures to their notice. The need of a separate State organization was becoming daily more apparent. The navigation of the Mississippi largely en- gaged attention, for the settlers were be- ginning to produce corn and tobacco that required a market. The relations of the West to the old Confederation and to the proposed Union, and the terms of the Con- stitution, were deeply pondered by a com- munity that as yet had no newspaper, whose nearest station was hundreds of miles from the seat of government of the parent State, and whose daily life was one of hazard and hardship. But, as has al- ready been remarked, the pioneers were, as a rule, superior and well-informed men. A sample of their intellectual life has recently been discovered. It is the jour- nal and memoranda of debates of the Po- litical Club, as it was called. This body held its meetings at Dan ville, and pro- ceeded with an almost amusing formal- ity and punctilio. Among its members were some of the most conspicuous men in Western history. There were Christo- pher Green up, who afterward became a Congressman and Governor; Harry In- nis, United States District Judge; James Speed and his brother Thomas, afterward an influential Congressman; George Mu- ter, Quartermaster of Virginia during the Revolution, and who was Chief-Justice of the district; Thomas Todd, subsequently a Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States; John Brown, who, after serving as Lafayettes aide, became a member of the Continental Congress, and for many years was Senator; James Brown, his brother, afterward Senator from Louisiana, and long - time Minister to France; Samuel McDowell, who became a judge, and was conspicuous in the conventions and de- bates that led up to the formation of the State Constitution; besides others more or less influential in public affairs. The debates were upon such topics as the right to navigate the Mississippi, and the political modes by which it should be obtained; the treaty which Jay proposed to make with Spain; the condition of the Continental currency; the erection of Kentucky into an independent member of the Confederacy; the nature of the Ind- ian title, and the just and expedient treat- ment of the Indian. At a later day the club took up the pro- posed Constitution of the United States, and discussed it, section by section, through a series of meetings. The secretary with scrupulous exactness noted the arguments of the debaters and the resolutions of the club, and reduced to order the alterations which seemed to these men of the remote frontier expedient. Among them were several that would radically affect prac- tical politics. They thought that a Sen- ator of the United States should be ineli- gible for re-election until three years next after the end of his term. They wanted the President debarred from re-election un- til at least four years should have inter- vened between the terms. They were op- posed to the constitutional recognition of the slave-trade embodied in the prohibi- tion of any legislation prior to 1808. A n~ost acute argument is found upon that grant of power which provides for calling forth the militia to execute the laws of the Union. The Kentucky critics thought it would be better that the power should be to call forth the militia to enforce obedience to the laws of the Union, and the distinctions were taken and maintain- ed with exceeding clearness and force. One of the occupations of this body of frontier philosophers was to prepare the plan of a Constitution for the State that they hoped soon to organize, and they ar- gued with earnestness the distribution of governmental powers and the limits upon them. Doubtless there were other clubs or occasional assemblings in which these and other pioneers debated matters of public welfare, but the memory of them has per- ished. There was no newspaper in which Coriolanus or Vindicator could con- tribute an anonymous opinion or admin- ister irresponsible abuse. The opinions of men were thoughtfully formed, and of ne- cessity had to be personally declared. The result was an intellectual self-reliance very like their self-reliance in physical affairs. The training made men of power and pru- dence and resource; and their discussions SOCIAL STUDIES. 71 were conducted by men whose every-day life was one of bodily peril. As they rode to their meetings they were in danger of Indian attack. Not a week passed but some friend fell under the tomahawk. They were all subject to the call of the County Lieutenant or the militia captain at a moments notice. The chief judge and the delegate representing the district in the Continental Congress were privates in the militia of their neighborhood, and continually served with their neighbors on scouts and guards. Not one of them but knew the perilous life of the frontier. Yet, surrounded by danger, beset with anx- ieties, remote from all contact with cur- rent events, they thought upon important topics and wrought out for themselves their own safety and that of their fire- sides, and a stable, well-ordered, and well- considered polity. With easy transition they passed from the frontier station to the halls of the Senate and to diplomatic missions. They had undergone a train- ing as youths and men that gave them power and poise and courage. The pioneers of Kentucky were, in brief, an intelligent, honest, and hardy race, strongly imbued with religious sentiment, 0 and trained in a rugged but manly ex- perience. Their private virtues were hos- pitality, courage, fidelity; their public vir- tues were patriotism, love of order, readi- ness for the most arduous public service. What they did speaks in their praise. What they were so self-contained as not to do speaks an even more emphatic eulogy. The fair fame of the State they founded has sometimes been tarnished by violence and lawlessness, and at times shame has come upon many for the wickedness of the very few. But he who will carefully search out the history of her populations and the antecedents of Kentuckys wrong- doers will discover in them a class differ- ent from the blood of the pioneers. He will find that the too frequent homicides of certain neighborhoods have an origin altogether different, drawn from an origi- nally immoral class, and justifying the law of heredity. But in those areas where the original and true pioneers made their lodgement, and held it, the stamp of their qualities may still be observed, modified by the lapse of years, but the sanie in essentials: the badges of a martial, hospitable, truth- ful, and self-reliant people. SOCIAL STUDIES. ~econb ~ettes. 11.THE GROWTH OF CORPORATIONS. BY RICHARD T. ELY. ONE hundred years ago the opinion was often expressed that corporations could not suc~eed,because the practical dif- ficulties inherent in that form of organiza- tion of business were too great to be coun- terbalanced by any theoretic4 advantages which it might offer. In- the note-books of his grandfather, who graduated at Princeton College about 1785, Major Rich- ard Venable, pf the Law School of the University of Maryland, Jinds it stated as a fact beyond controversy that corpora- tions must fail in competition with ordi- nary private business, concerns, because the stimulus of self-interest does not act with the same force on those who manage corporate enterprises as on those who con- duct their own affairs in their own way for their own profit. This seems to have been a common assertion of lawyers, and was indeed occasionally heard proclaim- ed from the bench as an axiom of politi- cal economy, much as it is ROW a favorite saying of many who love dogma rather than fact tbat public undertakings never succeed so well as private ventures. Adam Smith joins in the condemnation of cor- porations which was so general in his day. A few sentences from his immortal Wcalth~ of Nations, published, it will be remem- bered, in 1776, will help us better than pages of explanation to understand the feeling of the time with respect to the cor- porate principle. The trade of a joint- stock company is always managed by a court of directors. This court, indeed, is frequently subject in many respects to the control of a general court of proprietors. But the greater part of those proprietors seldom pretend to understand anything of the business of the company.... The di- rectors of such companies, however, being

Richard T. Ely Ely, Richard T. Social Studies. - II. The Growth of Corporations 71-79

SOCIAL STUDIES. 71 were conducted by men whose every-day life was one of bodily peril. As they rode to their meetings they were in danger of Indian attack. Not a week passed but some friend fell under the tomahawk. They were all subject to the call of the County Lieutenant or the militia captain at a moments notice. The chief judge and the delegate representing the district in the Continental Congress were privates in the militia of their neighborhood, and continually served with their neighbors on scouts and guards. Not one of them but knew the perilous life of the frontier. Yet, surrounded by danger, beset with anx- ieties, remote from all contact with cur- rent events, they thought upon important topics and wrought out for themselves their own safety and that of their fire- sides, and a stable, well-ordered, and well- considered polity. With easy transition they passed from the frontier station to the halls of the Senate and to diplomatic missions. They had undergone a train- ing as youths and men that gave them power and poise and courage. The pioneers of Kentucky were, in brief, an intelligent, honest, and hardy race, strongly imbued with religious sentiment, 0 and trained in a rugged but manly ex- perience. Their private virtues were hos- pitality, courage, fidelity; their public vir- tues were patriotism, love of order, readi- ness for the most arduous public service. What they did speaks in their praise. What they were so self-contained as not to do speaks an even more emphatic eulogy. The fair fame of the State they founded has sometimes been tarnished by violence and lawlessness, and at times shame has come upon many for the wickedness of the very few. But he who will carefully search out the history of her populations and the antecedents of Kentuckys wrong- doers will discover in them a class differ- ent from the blood of the pioneers. He will find that the too frequent homicides of certain neighborhoods have an origin altogether different, drawn from an origi- nally immoral class, and justifying the law of heredity. But in those areas where the original and true pioneers made their lodgement, and held it, the stamp of their qualities may still be observed, modified by the lapse of years, but the sanie in essentials: the badges of a martial, hospitable, truth- ful, and self-reliant people. SOCIAL STUDIES. ~econb ~ettes. 11.THE GROWTH OF CORPORATIONS. BY RICHARD T. ELY. ONE hundred years ago the opinion was often expressed that corporations could not suc~eed,because the practical dif- ficulties inherent in that form of organiza- tion of business were too great to be coun- terbalanced by any theoretic4 advantages which it might offer. In- the note-books of his grandfather, who graduated at Princeton College about 1785, Major Rich- ard Venable, pf the Law School of the University of Maryland, Jinds it stated as a fact beyond controversy that corpora- tions must fail in competition with ordi- nary private business, concerns, because the stimulus of self-interest does not act with the same force on those who manage corporate enterprises as on those who con- duct their own affairs in their own way for their own profit. This seems to have been a common assertion of lawyers, and was indeed occasionally heard proclaim- ed from the bench as an axiom of politi- cal economy, much as it is ROW a favorite saying of many who love dogma rather than fact tbat public undertakings never succeed so well as private ventures. Adam Smith joins in the condemnation of cor- porations which was so general in his day. A few sentences from his immortal Wcalth~ of Nations, published, it will be remem- bered, in 1776, will help us better than pages of explanation to understand the feeling of the time with respect to the cor- porate principle. The trade of a joint- stock company is always managed by a court of directors. This court, indeed, is frequently subject in many respects to the control of a general court of proprietors. But the greater part of those proprietors seldom pretend to understand anything of the business of the company.... The di- rectors of such companies, however, being 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the managers rather of other peoples mon- tors, and not to ones own virtue. Pri- ey than of their own, it cannot well be mogeniture and the transmission of wealth expected that they should watch over it by entailinents were abolished, and the di~ with the same anxious vigilance with vision of estates encouraged, in order, on which the partne4is in a private copart- the one hand, to prevent the absorption of nery frequently watch over their own. any considerable portion of the national Like the stewards of a rich man, they are resources by a few; on the other, to make apt to consider attention to small matters wealth the reward of ones own frugality, as not for their masters honor.... Negli- diligence, and ability. Yet these men gence and profusion, therefore, must al- who so jealously guarded the rights of the ways prevail, more or less, in the manage- many passed no laws and created no in- ment of the affairs of such a company~.... stitutions designed to defend the American That a joint-stock company should be able ~.people against artificial persons devoid of to carry on successfully any branch of for- soul, gifted with immortality, and devoted eign trade, when private adveiiturers can to the sole purpose of gain. Surprise is come into any sort of open and fair com- expressed at this, and, we find it difficult petition with them, seems contrary tQ all to understand the strange oversight when experience. ... The only trades which it we read of scli~mes for the purchase of seems possible for a joint-stock company the municipal gas-works of Philadelphia to carry on successfully, withont an ~x- by a gigantic corporation, hear rumors of clusive privilege, are those of which all avaricious syndicates whose covetous eyes the operations are capable of being re- are fastened on the water-works of that duced to what is called a routine, or to same city, and are occasionally aroused to such uniformity of method as admits of indignation by evidences that private cor- little or no variation. The trades in- porations are usurping the functions of eluded by Adam Smith within this class government by mai~ntaining armed bands were these: first, the banking trade; sec- of hirelings to shoot down rebellious work- ond, insurance fro~ffi fire, from sea risk, ing-m.n whom their own greed may have and capture in time of war; third, the whipped~nto revolt. When, however,we trade of working and maintaining a ca- learn tjat in the time of theDeclaration of nal; fourth, the trade of bringing water Independence it was supposed thatcorpora- for tbe supply of a great city. But Adam tions could never succeed in competition Smith held that even the possibility of with individual enterprise, it becomes easy success could not justify the creation of a to comprehend the failure of the meti of joint-stock company unless the business 1776 to guard against resent dangers. which it was proposed to prosecute by a These dangers did not exist then. In corporation was of more than ordinary thirty years, in the second half of the utility, and at the same time required a eighteenth century, only one corporation greater capital than a private individual or wa~s foimed in Massachusetts, and that was copartnership could command. He knew of an eleemosynary ch.aracter. When of no trade except the four mentioned AlexanderHamilton vrote.his celebrated which combined all the circumstances req- report on the establishpcient of the First uisite for the justification of a joint-stock United States .Bank in 1790 there existed company; and by way of illustration he only three .banking corporations in the cites several instances of failure. Manu- United States. Some estimate that rail- facturing corporations, he held, scarce way corporations own one-fourth of the ever fail to do more harm than good. wealth of the coufitry, but they did not It is often remarked that the fathers begin to exist until more thjvn half a cen- of the republic endeavored to create such tury had elapse~l after the promulgation institutions as would prevent the accumu- of the Declaration of Independence. Gas lation of wealth and power in the hands companies, which have been so fruitful a of a few individuals or families. The saurce of corruptic~n in States and mum- general aim was to make distinction per- cipalities, did not exist at all in the eigh- sonal. Each one, it was held, should teenth century, and not in large numbers have, so far as practicable, the same op- much before 1830. Manufactures were portunities, andshould make the best use carried on in the last century in insignif- possible of these. Hereditary titles were icant shops by men of little wealth, and abolished because they confer marks of of no great social importance. The word distinction due to the merit of ones ances- manufacturer, in Adam Smiths Wealth of SOCIAL STUDIES. 73 Nations, did not mean a great proprietor, like too large an estimate. Probably one- but a man who worked with his own fifth would be more accurate, while one- handsa humble artisan. The wealth of eighth is a low estimate. But without the civilized world was largely agricultural going into details, hardly called for in a until this century, and great land-owning study like this, it may be safely said that -corporations were then of less significance when we add the capital of manufacturing than nowat any rate, of different signifi- corporations, mines, insurance, telegraph, ~cance. Three-fourths of our population telephone, and gas-light companies, ca- was rural when our first census was tak- nals, street-car corporations, steam-ship -en, and the Physiocrats had in France companies, land-owning corporations and recently advanced the theory that agri- syndicates, and the various other classes culture was the sole source of wealth. of corporations, it will be found that it is The contrast with the present time is so within the bounds of moderation to esti- marked that it is patent to all, and scarce- mate the wealth of corporations as one- ly needs mention. Take the item of fourth of the total value of all property in banks. Instead of three banking corpo- the United States. The most significant rations, we have nearly if not quite a fact, however, is the rapidly increasing thousand times as many organized under proportion of all the resources of the coun- national law, to say nothing about those try which belongs to corporations. Hon. -organized under the laws of the various Abram S. Hewitt stated a few years ago ~States. Instead of one charter in thirty that corporations were modern institu- years in one State, we find that in the sin- tions, that private corporations did not gle commonwealth of Texas eighty char- exist fifty years ago, but that they now ters were granted in ninety days in 1885. owned from one-third to one-half of the It is unfortunately not possible to state capital of the civilized world. This is not exactly how much money is invested in accurate in every respect, but it is impor- corporate enterprises in the United States. tant as registering the results of the oh- In England there is an office called the servation of an active business man. An- Registry of Joint - stock Companies, to other authority has estimated that the which returns are made, and which is able wealth of corporations in the United to furnish accurate statistics about corpo- States is increasing three or four times rations; but this could be done only in as rapidly as that of private concerns. very few, if any, of our States. This in- While opinions like these are more or less formation is of importance, and the im- uncertain, they are of value because in the possibility of a~scertaining exact data is main they harmonize with the results of -one among the evils of the absence of uni- all investigations which have been made. formity of statistical methods, and of the It is interesting to notice the increasing lack of publicity concerning corporate af- importance of corporations in other coun- fairs prevailing in this country. Howev- tries, as it indicates a world-wide move- -er, data can be procured for certain classes ment which is even more marked in -of corporations, and a rough estimate suf- America than elsewhere. According to ficient for present purposes can be made an estimate made by the English Econo- - as to the relation between our total wealth mist of November 6, 1886, the accumula- and that part of it invested in corporate tion of capital in England between 1875 and -enterprises. We have, for example, ex- 1885 amounted to nearly 1,000,000,000, cellent laws for those corporations known of which 186,000,000 was attributed to ~as national banks, and to enforce them is home railways, and 200,000,000 to the special duty of an officer called the other joint-stock companies, or nearly for- Comptroller of the Currency. His last re- ty per centum of the increase belonged to port shows that the capital -stock paid in corporations. If the amount invested in of national banks amounted to nearly foreign corporations by English capitalists $550,000,000. For private purposes statis- should be added, it would doubtless bring tics of railway corporations are laborious- the per centum up to forty-five. A very ly gathered together. It has already been considerable proportion of the increase mentioned tha-t, according to some esti- consisted of money lent to local govern- mates, one-fourth of the property of the ments, to the general government, and to country, or a valuation of ten thousand foreign countries. It is thus manifest that millions of dollars out of forty thousand if the table printed by the Economist is cor- millions, belongs to them. This seems rect, the capital of business organized on 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a corporate basis is in England growing more rapidly than that of business organ- ized on a private basis. Every observer of English economic life remarks on the conversion of private business enterprises into joint-stock companies as one of its most marked features. The Economist of October 30, 1886, says that there had been nearly one hundred such conversions dur- ing that year, and opens its article on Recent New Capital Creations with the remark, Throughout the present year company promoters have been very active, and there are not wanting evidences that before long their activity may be consider- ably increased. The former distinguished chief of the Prussian Statistical Bureau, Dr. Engel, has given us some valuable statistics of 1267 joint-stock companies in Prussia. The ta- ble which he prepared is sufficiently in- teresting to justify its quotation: Number of Joint-stock Capital. Date Companies Thalers. created. Before 1800 5 467,000 18011825 16 11,454,265 18261850 102 112,665,085 1851July, 1870 295 801.585,105 July, 1870December 31, 1870 41 59,024,150 1871 225 375,952.533 1872 500 543,095,542 1873 72 :305,780,500 1874 19 146.073,200 Of the 1267 companies, 410 were formed before July 30, 1870, whereas in the four and a half years following 857 companies were created, or more than twice the num- ber, manifestly a most enormous increase. In the single year 1872 more corporations were formed than in the first seventy years of the century. The private corporation created for busi- ness purposes, although of great impor- tance only in recent years, has existed for four hundred years or more. Some trace it back to Rome, but this is doubtless an error. The companies which bought the revenues of that republic, the farmers of the revenues, called societates vectiga- hum pu~lico~um,to which reference is usually made, differed in essential par- ticulars from a modern joint-stock com- pany. The earliest home of the corpora- tion engaged in the pursuit of gain appears to have been Italy. In the fifteenth cen- tury creditors of the state put together their claimstheir bonds, as we should say and used them as th~ basis of a banking business. The first one of these banking corporations was the Bank of Genoa, founded in 1407. The seventeenth cen- tury is remarkable for the number of celebrated, indeed, one may say epoch- making, joint-stock companies for foreign trade, created in Holland, France, and England. The first of these great corpo- rations for international trade was the~ Dutch East India Company, founded in 1602. Other companies followed in Hol- land,and the English East India Company, destined to play a rUe in the worlds his- tory, was established in 1599, and received a charter modelled on that of the Dutch East India Company in 1613. Other com- panies were soon formed, and some of them assisted in the development of th& American continent. The London Com- pany, the Plymouth Company, and the Hudson Bay Company may be mentioned. France followed in 1628 with the Coin- pagnie des Indes Occidentales, and in 1664~ with the Compagnie des Indes Orientales. Germany did not begin the creation of trading corporations so early, and there~ appears to be no record of any such insti- tution before the foundatiou of the Wiener~ Orientalische Compagnie in 1719. Banking corporations were created in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. in Sweden, England, Germany, Holland, and elsewhere. Some of these banks were~ of vast national and international impor- tance, but there were comparatively few of them. Burke tells us that in 1750 ther& were in England not more than twelv& bankers shops out of London. Stock-jobbing and corporate swindling~ flourished at an early date. Laws wer& passed in Holland in 1621, 1624, and in 1677 to check speculation and to protect. the public. In 1720 we have in Franc& the disastrous failure of John Laws no- torious Compagnie des Indes, better known as the Mississippi Company. A worse case of fraudulent inflation of values and a more terrible collapse has never been revealed by the subsequent history of cor- porations. About this same time joint- stock companies in England reached th~ conclusion of the first period of their his- tory in a panic, in which the South-sea~ Company played the most prominent part. In 1720 its stock was selling at 1000, and it guaranteed an annual dividend of fifty per centum, which was a better promise than Laws company had ventured to make, for that engaged to pay only twelve per cen- tum. A fever, a kind of insane epidemic of speculation, seized the people. This wa~ SOCIAL STUDIES. the time of the creation of bubbles, as the unsound joint-stock companies of the period were called. Among the enterprises proposed were schemes for extracting sil- ver from lead, for melting shavings and casting good boards out of the fluid, for the discovery of a perpetual motor, for making salt-water fresh, and for making oil from sunflowers. One promoter came forward and invited subscriptions for an undertaking which shall in due time be revealed. Even he was able to decamp at night with 2000 as the result of one day*s exertion. The news of Laws fail- ure in Paris increased the suspicion al- ready aroused in London, and alarm soon terminated in a panic which ruined thou- sands of families. It is worthy of notice that when the investigation ordered by Parliament into the affairs of the South- sea Company revealed fraud and corrup- tion, the estates of the directors were confis- cated, and used for the benefit of those who had suffered by the speculation. Would that this just course had always been pur- sued! The reaction against corporations was so extreme in England that joint-stock companies, save such as should be char- tered by royal grant or by Parliament, were forbidden by the Bubble Act of 1720, and it was not until 1855 that associa- tions with limited liability could be call- ed into existence otherwise than by spe- cial act. While there is, then, a history of joint- stock associations of capital with limited liability, which may be traced back for four hundred years, and some features of which are still older, it is true that corpo- rations devoted to gainful pursuits h~ive only in very recent years assumed vast importance in the economic life of the world. The question now arises: What are the causes which have led to such momentous changes in the organization of industry during the past fifty years? The answer is not difficult. Owing to discoveries and inventions, especially the application of steam to industry and transportation, it became necessary to prosecute enterprises of great magnitude such as could not be compassed by the resources of an individ- ual or a combination of individuals in the ordinary copartnership. This applies es- pecially to the means of communication and transportation. To provide these in- struments of economic life has been gen erally regarded as one of the functions of government, municipal, State, and Feder- al. There were two alternatives. This. might be done either directly, or the duty might be transferred to private corpora- tions. There was in either case the same problem to solve, namely, the management of enterprises of unparalleled magnitude by delegated action. In one case managers would be chosen by the citizens to promote the welfare of the community. The elect- ors would have the prosperity of their busi- ness interests more or less at stake, and would in so far have a motive to induce them either themselves~to select good men to manage such important undertakings. or to see that their elected agents appoint- ed such men, as the case might be. The managers themselves would as citizens be interested in the success of the enterprises intrusted to them. On the other hand, there would be the danger of an abuse of public trust. In the case of the adoption of the corporate principle, the stockhold ers, in so far as their interests are not merely speculative, must desire to elect directors who will so manage their prop- erty that it will yield large dividends, while the directors, themselves stockhold- ers, wish a return on their investment. On the other hand, as has already been pointed out, the interest of the directors. is often not identical with that of the property which they manage, and they are, as experience demonstrates, oftener faithless to their trust than public ser- vants,while the opportunities for their ex- posure and punishment are less favorable. They may wish to injure the undertaking in which they exercise control in order to~ buy shares at a lower price than they are really worth, or they may desire to sacri- fice its future to the present for the sake of high dividends, so that the price of stock may rise unduly, thus enabling them tc~ unload with profit on a too credulous public. Again, directors may find it t& their advantage to neglect their interests. as stockholders in a corporation in order to promote their interests as individuals. or members of a firm engaged in some other enterprise. An example is seen in railway directors who give themselves. special freight rates. It is thus seen how similar was the prob- 1cm in both cases. Whichever horn of the dilemma was grasped, it was necessary to learn how to manage great properties. of a new kind by new methods; and as cx- 76 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. perience more and more confirms the gen- eral principle that all governments should perform their functions by agents directly under their control, it cannot be said that it was easier for men united in corpora- tions to learn how to construct and carry on those vast undertakings of a public nature which have been handed over to them. But fifty years ago the Manches- ter theory of political economy was un- fortunately in its ascendency, and its one practical maxim inculcated the reduction of the functions of government to a mini- mum. The Free Trade Advocate and Jour- nal of Political Economy, devoted to the science of Political Economy, edited by Condy Raguet, was started in Philadel- phia in January, 1829, with the motto, Laissez nous faire. The first num- ber of The United States Magazine and Democratic Review, published in 1838, bears the anarchistic motto, The best government is that which governs least. Then followed the triumph of free trade in Great Britain in 1846, and in the rush of material prosperity which ensued, the policy of do-nothingisin for government seemed assured. What high hopes at- tended the introduction of free trade in Great Britain! Englishmen thought that nll the world would follow their example in less than a generation, and Richard Cobden, the great apostle of free trade, be- lieved that the conditions of perpetual peace had been established. The argu- ment was simple. Peace will be in the interest of nations which have large in- ternational dealings with one another, and they will follow the course prescribed by enlightened self-interest. Then our States had tried some experi- ~ments in internal improvements, including railway construction, and had encounter- ed, very naturally, grave difficulties. So in the enthusiasm for laissez faire, which it was held was certain to usher in an era of peace and wealth, we abandoned the attempt to perform many public functions which corporations were only too anxious to assume. We concluded that the way to improve administration was to abolish it. As Professor Henry C. Adams well says in his treatise on the Relation of the State to industrial Actionthe pro- foundest study in the English langua,e on that subject: The advocates of non-inter- ference have treated government as the old physicians were accustomed to treat their patients. Was a man hot, he was bled; was he cold, he was bled; was he faint, he was bled; was he flushed, he was bled; until, fortunately for him, he passed be- yond the reach of leech and lancet. This has been, figuratively speaking, the form of treatment adopted by the people of the United States for their local governments, and it has worked its natural result of fee- bleness and disintegration. Thus did we transfer to corporations our railways, and in general all the chief means of communication and transporta- tion, save the Post-office, upon which the covetous eyes of promoters have been fastened, happily in vain. Even our municipal water-works were occasionally handed over to corporations, gas supply was, as a rule, intrusted to them, and street-car lines without an exception. Well, corporations succeeded no better at the start than our States, and they have in the management of railways, gas- works, and street-car lines never attained the proficiency of many branches of the public service. Yet they were admirably situated for the promotion of their own welfare, even if not to the same extent for the advancement of the public weal, and they had every opportunity for a long career of experimentation. Private ad- venturers, to use Adam Smiths expres- sion, could not come into any sort of com- petition with them; the only kind of com- petition which could affect them, that of other corporations, was generally totally absent, sometimes legally excluded, and seldom worked otherwise than spasmodi- cally at intervals; and they were further intrusted with enormous powers, and gift- ed with extraordinary privileges by gov- ernment. Moreover, as they were not equal to the tasks they had undertaken~ they received enormous gifts from the public, including over two hundred mill- ions of acres of land, and more than one hundred and eighty millions of dollars in municipal bonds, and to these was fre- quently added exemption from the bur- dens of taxation. Adam Smith said of trading corporations that they rarely if ever succeeded without an exclusive privi- lege, and often failed even with one. This was the case with our great corporations. They frequently failed even when favored by a practical monopoly. Still, after great loss and suffering on the part of many, and waste of national resources, men are learning how to work advantageously to- SOCIAL STUDIES. 77 gether through corporations. Progress has been made in the art of the adminis- tration of economic interests by delegated authority. It has been found possible, in many cases, to interest managers in the permanent welfare of corporations, and large resources have purchased the best brains, which have often more than coun- terbalanced a weaker stimulus of self-in- terest. Men have also in time been raised up by corporate enterprises who thorough- ly understand how to manage them, just as the English co-operative stores have trained up a generation of able managers, to which fact their success is largely due. The habit of combination has become stronger, and the spirit of individualism, each man for himself, is being crushed out. Co-operation of one kind or anoth- er is taking its place among the employ- ers and great leaders of commerce and in- dustry as well as among laboring-men. The success of corporations in every field is the result of this evolution. Adam Smith said that manufacturing corpora- tions were almost invariably a failure, as has already been stated, whereas Arnold Toynbee, in his excellent work The In- dustrial Revolution in England, pub- lished in 1884, remarks that in the recent depression of the iron trade the iron-works of Dowlais, managed on the joint-stock system, alone remained successful amid many surrounding failures, and that be- cause they had the ablest man in the dis- trict as manager. A German student, Dr. R. Van der Borght, concluded, in 1883, as a result of statistical investigations, that brewing was not a suitable industry for a joint-stock company, but the success of the brewing corporation Guinness and Company, with a capital of 6,000,000, has recently attracted attention in Eng- land, and given a decided impetus to in- corporation. It is difficult to say in what department of economic life in our own country corporations are not successful. The undoubted truth is this: failures and disasters of one kind and another occa- sionally stein the tide perceptibly, but, on the whole, corporations continue to absorb an increasing proportion of the national resources. One branch of economic life seems com- paratively free as yet from their activity, and that is commerce. The great mer- cantile establishments of the world are still conducted on the individual basis. Yet even here a conclusion must not be too hastily drawn, although the necessity of quick, alert, and uncontrolled action is such that commerce, in the shape of either wholesale or retail trade, seems less adapt- ed to the joint - stock principle than any business not purely speculative. In Eng- land co-operative undertakings have made very serious inroads on the domain of the mercantile community. We have the great English Co-operative Wholesale So- ciety, Limited, in Manchester, with two branches, and sixteen purchasing and for- warding depots in five countries. When it celebrated its coming of age, its twenty-first anniversary, in .1884, it re- ported ownership of several manufactur- ing concerns and of four steam-ships. Its sales, growing rapidly, had amounted to 38, 604,674, and were then at. ~he rate of 5,000,900 per annum. Scotland also has its great co-operative wholesale house, while 962 societies in England~ in 1882 sold goods valued at 22,854,434. The conditions are just beginning to become ripe for co-operation in the United States, and this form of industry and commerce is only in its infancy with us. But re- cent investigations have shown that it is growing, and sales of co-operative stores in New England now amount to over $2,000,000 per annum. Agricultureanother great national in- terestis still pursued on the individual basis almost exclusively. We have some live-stock-raising corporations of impor- tance, and a few prosperous co-operative agricultural communities in the commu- nistic settlements in various parts of our land; there are one or two co-operative agricultural colonies, not communistic, which have recently started, and still share the uncertain fate of all new enter- prises. These are, of course, comparative- ly unimportant, and it is still too early to say whether they point to any future na- tional movement at all ornot. It may be that corporations will yet play a r6le in agriculture, yet it seems altogether prob- able that the individual farmer will for many years keep the field to himself. Again we have to call attention to the significance of this industrial revolution in the midst of which we are living. I have spoken of it as the crushing out of individualism in the sphere of economic life, or, as we sometimes term this life, industrial society. Perhaps it would be more correct to speak of it as the crushing out of isolation. At any rate, this opens 78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. up the whole question of the chance of the individual. How is the individual affected? Our first answer is apt to he: Unfavorably. Individuality is likely to disappear, and civilization to deteriorate. It is one part of the all-pervading level- ling tendencies of our age, which will never cease to attack superiority until all eleva- tions are removed. Society is becoming more and more one dreary plain, from which all peaks and mountains have dis- appeared. Yet I venture to believe that this first answer is erroneous. It is doubtless true that the single individual is of less impor- tance to the world than formerly. It is true that the single individual must put himself in connection with others, and work with them, if he would accomplish anything. This is even so in science. Professor Justin Winsor, to give the world a satisfactory history of America, seeks the co-operation of historians in ev- ery part of the country. To write a trea- tise on political economy, twenty-five of the best scholars in Germany combined the results of their acquisitions. Ameri- can historians have found it desirable to co-operate in the American Historical As- sociation; the political economists thought it advantageous to form the American Economic Association; and the students of modern languages followed with the Modern Language Association. If these societies are not legal corporations now, it is not improbable that they will become incorporated in a near future. The su- premacy of the individual is disappearing. We have now no more Platos and Aris- totles; it is probable that in industry, commerce, and transportation our Van- derbilts and A. T. Stewarts will hereafter disappear. Already the railway system which is in many respects the best admin- istered of all in the United StatesI mean the Pennsylvania systemis not identi- fied with any single person. But this does not mean a levelling down; it means a levelling up. One tree does not pro- ject its head above all the other trees in the forest, because it is a magnificent for- est full of tall trees. The evolution of the race has reached that point where the su- premacy of the irld]vidual is neither need- ed nor desired. What we seek now is not the chief, but the brother. We have a Father in heaven, but grown people who have attained to the stature of our nine- teenth-century civilization do not want paternalism. We crave fraternalism, and without it we would perish. Here again we arrive at our democracy, in which we rejoice. But what is the basis of true individu- alism ? It is not isolation, for that means barbarism. Is it liberty, freedom of movement? Doubtless the largest practi- cable amount of liberty for the free devel- opment of all our faculties is of the ut- most importance. Yet perfect freedom is a complete Utopia. Let the anarchist. dream of it. We shall never see it. Re- straints too are useful within certain lim- its. Obstacles to wrong-doing may be welcomed. Perhaps the highest ideal is perfect freedom to do the right thing in every case. We are told, however, that co-operation either through some public~ body or through some voluntary agency involves curtailment of individual rights. Is this so? The writers of the day seem to forget that freedom is limited by the laws of nature, and that subjection to them in a state of isolation is often worse than hu- man slavery. I must eat to live. This is a terrible and inexorable law. It may chain me in subjection to the most inhuman master. Am I free? No human statute~ compels me, but the laws of my physical being transcend the enactments of legisla-~ tures. I form a co-operative society for~ productive purposes. With my fellows I agree to certain rules and regulations. These did not exist for me before, yet II am a thousand times freer. I have gain- ed a control over nature. Her laws bear- less heavily upon me. Take another case. Here is a little boy hard at work in a factory eleven hours a day. His body will be dwarfed, the growth of his mind will be stunted, it this continues. Certain men meet in le- gislative assembly and decree the release of the child. They say that the child has rights, and they take measures which secure for him opportunity to develop his body in play and his mind in school. Now he will become a sturdy, vigorous man, with trained intellect, able to main- tain himself among men. Has the law of man increased or diminished freedom? So, as I take it, through co-operation by means of governmental agencies and through voluntary working together in corporate and co-operative enterprises, we are gaining a control over the forces of nature for all men such as never exist- ed before. We are thus opening the way~ ON KEEPING BIRDS. 79 for a more remarkable growth of individ- uality than this world has ever seen. Again, this material economic life of ours, this production of goods, this buying, selling, and getting gain, it must ever be remembered, is not an end in itself. It is but a means to an end. It is the basis of our higher life, and is to be valued merely as such. The noblest development of our being, the grandest triumphs of freedom, must be sought in other domains. The entire life of a people has been divided into eight departments or territories, if these expressions may be used. They are the following: first, language; second, art; third, science and education; fourth, the family life; fifth, social life; sixth, the re- ligious life; seventh, political life; eighth, the economic life. Now we observe such a measure of freedom, of opportunity for individuality, in the seven higher spheres of life as never could exist before. The eighth is merely basic, its purpose is to sub- serve most effectively the other spheres of life. That it accomplishes, on the whole, better than formerly. If the amount of freedom appears to diminish with prog- ress, the appearance is deceptive. Some measures which we now advocate, as the abolition of child labor, restriction of the labor of women, inspection of factories, sanitary regulation, and the like, may lessen the amount of theoretical liberty; but they increase control over nature in the individual, and promote the growth of practical liberty. / ON KEEPING BIRDS. BY w. T. GREENE, MA., r.z.s. WHO was the first person that put a bird in a cage? and what was the motive that prompted him or her to do so? In all probability it was a woman, who, moved by a feeling of tender pity for the sufferer, rescued some poor victim wounded in the chase, or maybe by a bird ~of prey; and the first cage was doubtless ~ slight affair, rudely built of rushes, or perhaps of willow rods, by loving hands, to shield the injured prisoner from fur- ther ill; but soon the desire to possess a bird of ones own must have taken pos- session of other people, and led to the na- ;tive songsters being trapped and caged; for Venus, we are told, had her doves, and Lesbia at least one sparrow. Yes, it must have been a man that first .~caged a canary or a nightingale, in order to enjoy the pleasure of listening to its sweet notes in full security at home,with- ~out the necessity of dangerous rambling through dense woodlands infested by beasts of prey; and if so, I am not pre- pared to affirm that he did wrong, but on the contrary am exceedingly obliged to him for setting me an example I do not hesitate to follow, although I might not have had the moral courage to have taken the initiative in the matter, and been the first to cage a bird, which at first sight ap- pears a questionable thing to do; but, af- ter all, is it treating birds unkindly to put them in a cage? On the whole, I think knot. See what they suffer when they have their liberty out-of-doors: the rain drenches them, the wind buffets them, the cold of winter benumbs them, and when the ground is mantled in a garb of spotless snow, many thousands .of them die of hunger, or become so weak from prolonged fasting that they fall an easy prey to rapacious birds and beasts; while in a cage their every want is anticipated and provided for, and in the society of the beloved lady who watches over them with tender care they find more than compen- sation for the doubtful boon of liberty that they have lost. So true is this that I have known of more than one poor bird that actually died of grief when it no longer beheld the dear familiar form of the owner who had caressed and fed it. There is no animal with which I am acquainted, not even that friend of man the dog, that forms so firm, so devoted, so tender an attachment for its master or mistress as the bullfinchthe naturally shy and wood-loving bullfinch, that al- most dies of terror when first caught, but becomes more readily reconciled to cap- tivity than any bird I know. A word, however, to my readers here: do not buy one of these too charming birds unless you have leisure and love enough to make it your companion, to keep it on your study table or in your boudoir, talk to it, whistle to it, feed it with tidbits, and teach it to love you.

W. T. Greene, M.A., F.Z.S. Greene, W. T., M.A., F.Z.S. On Keeping Birds 79-91

ON KEEPING BIRDS. 79 for a more remarkable growth of individ- uality than this world has ever seen. Again, this material economic life of ours, this production of goods, this buying, selling, and getting gain, it must ever be remembered, is not an end in itself. It is but a means to an end. It is the basis of our higher life, and is to be valued merely as such. The noblest development of our being, the grandest triumphs of freedom, must be sought in other domains. The entire life of a people has been divided into eight departments or territories, if these expressions may be used. They are the following: first, language; second, art; third, science and education; fourth, the family life; fifth, social life; sixth, the re- ligious life; seventh, political life; eighth, the economic life. Now we observe such a measure of freedom, of opportunity for individuality, in the seven higher spheres of life as never could exist before. The eighth is merely basic, its purpose is to sub- serve most effectively the other spheres of life. That it accomplishes, on the whole, better than formerly. If the amount of freedom appears to diminish with prog- ress, the appearance is deceptive. Some measures which we now advocate, as the abolition of child labor, restriction of the labor of women, inspection of factories, sanitary regulation, and the like, may lessen the amount of theoretical liberty; but they increase control over nature in the individual, and promote the growth of practical liberty. / ON KEEPING BIRDS. BY w. T. GREENE, MA., r.z.s. WHO was the first person that put a bird in a cage? and what was the motive that prompted him or her to do so? In all probability it was a woman, who, moved by a feeling of tender pity for the sufferer, rescued some poor victim wounded in the chase, or maybe by a bird ~of prey; and the first cage was doubtless ~ slight affair, rudely built of rushes, or perhaps of willow rods, by loving hands, to shield the injured prisoner from fur- ther ill; but soon the desire to possess a bird of ones own must have taken pos- session of other people, and led to the na- ;tive songsters being trapped and caged; for Venus, we are told, had her doves, and Lesbia at least one sparrow. Yes, it must have been a man that first .~caged a canary or a nightingale, in order to enjoy the pleasure of listening to its sweet notes in full security at home,with- ~out the necessity of dangerous rambling through dense woodlands infested by beasts of prey; and if so, I am not pre- pared to affirm that he did wrong, but on the contrary am exceedingly obliged to him for setting me an example I do not hesitate to follow, although I might not have had the moral courage to have taken the initiative in the matter, and been the first to cage a bird, which at first sight ap- pears a questionable thing to do; but, af- ter all, is it treating birds unkindly to put them in a cage? On the whole, I think knot. See what they suffer when they have their liberty out-of-doors: the rain drenches them, the wind buffets them, the cold of winter benumbs them, and when the ground is mantled in a garb of spotless snow, many thousands .of them die of hunger, or become so weak from prolonged fasting that they fall an easy prey to rapacious birds and beasts; while in a cage their every want is anticipated and provided for, and in the society of the beloved lady who watches over them with tender care they find more than compen- sation for the doubtful boon of liberty that they have lost. So true is this that I have known of more than one poor bird that actually died of grief when it no longer beheld the dear familiar form of the owner who had caressed and fed it. There is no animal with which I am acquainted, not even that friend of man the dog, that forms so firm, so devoted, so tender an attachment for its master or mistress as the bullfinchthe naturally shy and wood-loving bullfinch, that al- most dies of terror when first caught, but becomes more readily reconciled to cap- tivity than any bird I know. A word, however, to my readers here: do not buy one of these too charming birds unless you have leisure and love enough to make it your companion, to keep it on your study table or in your boudoir, talk to it, whistle to it, feed it with tidbits, and teach it to love you. 80 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. When you have won its confidence, which, with gentle perseverance on your part, will not take long, your care and at- tention will be more than rewarded by the empressement with which it will greet your return from your business or your pleasure; it will hop down to the door of the cage as soon as it sees you enter the room, and invite you with the most fasci- nating of bows to let it out and perch upon your finger, where it will talk to you in its sweetest tones, and rub its dear black velvet poll against your cheek or on your hand, purring the while with purest and most unalloyed pleasure. It will even try to feed you, and instead of feeling offended and annoyed-one lady who wrote to me used the word disgust- edby this profoundest mark of its af- fection, feel correspondingly grateful, and bless your stars that you have indeed a friend, one who would die for you, and will, too, if you are cruel enough or thoughtless enough to slight it or forget it. I do not say that there are no other birds capable of becoming devotedly at- tached to their owners, but I do affirm that not one of them equals the bullfinch in this respect. True, I have known par- rots that displayed quite a romantic affec- tion for their master or mistress, and yet, when parted from them, sulked perhaps for a few days, but in the end accepted accomplished facts, and, acting upon the advice of the poet, when they could not be near the dear ones they loved, made love to those tbat were near, which, un- der the circumstances, was doubtless the most sensible thing they could do. But Bully is compact of far other clay, and I again entreat my readers not to buy him unless they mean to love him, for to neglect him is to torture him, and most cruelly kill him too, What a pretty bird he is! and yet some writers have described him as clumsily made. Fie upon them! Can anything be more symmetrical than his form, or more quietly beautiful than the varied tints of his many-colored coat, or, I should say, costume? Velvety black and rosy red and delicate lavender gray form a charming combination of colors, not one of which is obtrusive or kills another, as the ladies say, but is rather enhanced by the rest, the three different shades form- ing a tout-ensemble that is simply perfect. A newly captured buH,finch may be purchased for three or four shillings, but one that has been tamed and educated will often be sold for twenty pounds, and I have no hesitation in saying that it is worth the money if it is like one dear bird I once possessed, that was as loving, sensible, and accomplished as a bird could be. I hope that he was happy while he called me master, and I believe he was; at least I know that he preferred my society to that of a lady of his own spe, cies, who was quite a beauty in her way, and a very clever little thing to boot; but he endured her, nothing more, and I nev- er even saw him kiss her once all the time they lived together, though he would have fed and caressed me all day long if I would allow him. The English robin is another charming bird that has until recently been very sel- dom caged; now, however, he has taken his place among our domesticated pets, and a most delightful one he is, if you have only one; for he is not good-temper- ed, I must confess, as a rule, and is, more- over, of a decidedly jealous and intolerant disposition as regards his fellows. He has peculiar tastes, too, in the matter of dietrepulsive, I might say, for a person of his sedate bearing and neat appearance. He is remarkably fond of those nasty wrig- gling creatures that make digging in the garden a horror for me, but afforded the- late Mr. Darwin material for an instruc- tive and interesting book. These eccentricities apart, however, the robin is a very desirable bird. I need not say that he is pretty; his red frontlet and breast and his dark olive-green coat tes- tify to that fact pretty plainly. He is very bold and familiar, and soon becomes quite tame, even to sitting on the hand of the person who feeds him; but it is all cupboard love on his part; he only pre- tends to be fond of his master for the sake of what he can get. The robins song is one of the prettiest to be heard in our English lanes, and ha& the further merit of being poured forth as frequently in winter as in spring or sum- iner. In the house he will sing almost the whole year round, except while actually moulting. His diet in-doors should con- sist of bread and milk, ants eggs, meal- worms, and a little lean meat occasionally, upon which he will grow tamer and pret- tier every day. It is a pity that two of these birds cannot usually be kept togeth- ernever, if they are both males, and not always even if they are a pair. ON KEEPING BIRDS. 81 Our English robin has many near re- lations abroad, among which I may men- tion the well-known American blue-rob- in, and that charming Indian bird com- monly called the Peking nightingale, which, it is scarcely necessary to observe, is a true robin, and not a nightingale at all. I have said so much about this bird, the leiothrix of scientific authors, in an- other place that I have but little to report about it here, except that tame and con- fiding, pretty and interesting, as it is in every way, it is nevertheless a perfect nuisance in a mixed aviary, where it will eat up every egg it finds that it is able to pierce with its orange-tipped dagger of a bill. The male leiothrix sings very pret- tily, but not as well as his English con- gener, the robin-redbreast. There are a great many fine songsters. There are the nightingale, queen (king?) of song, the mocking-bird, the leiothrix, the drongo, an Indian bird, and the pros- temadera, of New Zealand, where it is commonly called the tui, from its cry, or parson-bird, from two white plumes it wears beneath its chin. Well, I need hardly say that while an American would probably award the palm to his native mocking-bird, I as a British- er would vote for the nightingale, though I must confess that I think the blackcap runs Philomela very near, and my friend Sejior Leite would doubtless record his for the sabia of his native Brazil, where it sings all day on the top of the palm-tree, and ravishes all hearts with the charms of its soul-entrancing melody. The drongos minstrelsy I do not care very much about; it is starlingish rather, and somewhat loud; but the small body from which this music proceeds (it is not as large as a thrush) is worth more than its weight in sterling gold, seeing that the importer will not part with one of these birds for a less sum of money than thir- teen or fourteen pounds. Another Indian favorite is the mynah, a handsome fellow, rather larger than a starling, or perhaps I should say about the size of a jackdaw, clad in velvety black, with golden yellow wattles, legs, and bill. He is an accomplished linguist, it is generally allowed, and used at one time to be very dear, but now he can be bought for about twenty-five or thirty shillings, thanks to Mr. A. H. Jamrach, of Poplar, who has done so much to popu- larize exotic birds by bringing down the prohibitive prices formerly asked and ob- tained for them. These mynahs, however, notwithstand- ing their value as speaking birds, are not great favorites of mine, for from the na- ture of their foodboiled rice, fruit, meat, egg, etc.they require a very large cage and continual attention to keep them clean and presentable in refined society nor do I, for the same reason, much ad- mire the gorgeously plumaged cissa, or hunting crow, another magnificent Ind- ian; or the hoopoos, with their crown which they are said to have exchangedi for one of gold, or the jays of many kinds, that are certainly among the most beau- tiful of birds, and have their representa- tives in every land and clime. In their wild state all the members of the jay family rob nests and eat the eggs and young of other birds, our British rep- resentative of the order being very de- structive among youthful pheasants and partridges, for which reason he is perse- cuted by the game-keepers, who shoot him wherever found, while the gardeners bear him scarce less grudge for pilfering their fruit and pease. All the Corvidmie are capable of imitating the human voice, though perhaps the ra- ven is the most fluent speaker among them. I may add that I have never actually kept one of these ill-omened fowl, for that bird or fiend that sat above poor Edgar Poes chamber door, and would persist in croak- ing Nevermore, has prejudiced me against the whole race. I once saw sev- eral full-grown young ones in Leadenhali Market, one of which already barked in imitation of a puppy-dog, and I inquired their price of the attendant, who replied,. Thirty shillings each. How much for this bird ? I continued, pointing to~ the barker. Oh! that ones two pound, said the man. I thanked him and turned away. Ravens will breed, I have been told, in captivity, and if the progeny could be regu- larly disposed of at the price indicated, it would not be an unprofitable speculation to keep a few of them, with their wings cut, in ones back yard, for these birds will eat and thrive upon anything that comes to table, and as they are decidedly long-lived, it is reasonable to suppose that their progeny would be numerous. In England the raven is becoming scarce, but it is yet to be met with in Scotland in con- siderable numbers. $2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The magpie is one of the Corvidie which it would be invidious to pass over in silence after mentioning the raven and the jay. True, it is not as big as the former nor as gorgeously apparelled as the latter, but it is a very nice bird nevertheless. The Australian magpie, or pied crow, is justly famed above all its congeners for its talents as a songster, no less than for the power of mimicry it also possesses. I might fill a good-sized volume with an- ecdotes of these birds, but must content myself at present with relating one or two instances of their sagacity. One that be- longed to a friend of mine in the colony of Victoria was allowed to ramble about the grounds at his sweet will, and would, when attacked by the wild crows, throw Thmself on his back and fight them with beak and claw; but presently finding that half a dozen to one was long odds against him, he would jump up and anathematize them in goodor badcolonial English, when his enemies immediately retreated in terror, and Jack returned jauntily to his masters residence, whistling the tune of Theres uae guid luck about the house, Theres nae guid luck ava. The same bird was a clever hunter after centipedes and scorpions, which he dis- played great ingenuity in extracting from their hiding-places. Another magpie I had the privilege of knowing was almost equally intelligent, and saved his mistress the trouble of call- ing the maid every morning by shouting out, as soon as it was day, Bella, get up, you lazy slut, and get Mickys breakfast ! He too had the run of the place, but dis- appeared at length. Whether stolen by a passing tramp, or a victim to domestic ~vengeance, who shall say? There are no singing-birds in Australia, we have often been told, but the assertion is of far too sweeping a description, for these magpies, or pied crows, really sing a loud, certainly, but a very charming whis- tling song that wonderfully relieves the monotony of the antipodean bush, and forms an ever-welcome contrast to the in- cessant chirp of the cicadas that abound in every tree, and make daylight hideous by their unbearable noise. The Australian bush, however, notwith- standing the cicadas and a few other draw- backs, is a charming placethat is, where its fastnesses have not been profaned by the advent of the almost ubiquitous pros- pector for goldand its feathered inhabi- tants are among the most delightful of pets. I shall not have a great deal to say about them here, however, although I cannot re- frain from briefly mentioning a few of the more desirable species, in addition to my old friend the magpie, or pied crow. Every one knows the budgerigaralso called the undulated grass parrakeetbut every one is not aware that he can by a little patience and perseverance be con- verted into a most charming pet, and taught to perform all sorts of clever and amusing tricks. One of these birds that I once pos- sessed had learned of his own accord to sing like a canary, and I have received accurate and reliable information con- cerning other individuals of the same species that actually learned to repeat quite a number of words, which, how- ever, I do not consider very extraordi- nary, in view of the conformation of this birds beak and throat, seeing that I have also owned a genuine talking canary, and have seen bulltlnches, blackbirds, and star- lings that had the faculty of imitating the human voice. The Paridie, or tits, are charming birds with a strong family likeness running through the entire group; they are very delightful cage birds, and can be readily made quite tame by a judicious course of bribery with kernels of nuts, hemp-seed, and meal-wornis. Care must be taken, however, not to place them in the same enclosure with weaker or more defence- less members of the feathered tribes, for they are all more or less mischievously disposed, and failing their favorite diet, are partial to a dish of brainsan expen- sive luxury at all times, but especially so where the providers are exotic birds, worth, perhaps, their weight in gold. Nevertheless, as I have said, the tits in their proper place, which means a large cage or a sheltered garden aviary, are very delightful little creatures; but the quaint- looking bearded tit is perhaps the very nicest of them all. This bird seldom visits Britain of its own accord, but is fre- quently imported from Holland and Bel- gium, and is in considerable request by amateurs, who should, however, be pos- sessed of some knowledge of this favorites habits, or he will not long survive in their possession. In his wild state the bearded tit lives ex- clusively on insects and young mnollusca, which he collects among the reeds where ON KEEPING BIRDS. 83 .~ ,lfl he chiefly resides, so that it can readily be imagined that he will not thrive on a diet of seeds, or even of hard-boiled eggs. Gen- tles in the larva or pupa stage, however, can be readily procured all the year round, and ants and their eggs are also obtain- ablemay, indeed, be preserved alive and fresh in perforated tin canisters for months, or a colony of them may be es- tablished in ones garden, where it will become no despicable boon for insectivo- rous captive birds, and, unless one has a peach-house, not interfere with the human proprietor of die place. In a glass case in a greenhouse, too, an old Wardian case, for instance, ants will even multiply as freely as fur moths in a barrel of rabbit- skins, providing some of the larvm of the ubiquitous flesh - fly are given to them now and then for food. The remaining English tits are the great tit, or ox-eye, the blue tit, the crested tit, the marsh-tit, and the coal-tit, otherwise coletitall very charming birds, where there are no eggs to be sucked and no oth- er birds to be tormented. The family is VOL. LWNo. 4456 largely represented in America and in Asia, nor in Africa and Australia are re- lations wanting of our English Paricke, and without exception all of them are delightful birds, some even to an extreme degree. The bulbuls I consider to be an allied group, and need only mention their name to set my readers thinking of the Arabian Nights and Lalla Rookh. Some of these birds, as the Syrian bulbul, for in- stance, are easily kept in England, and at least one instance is reported from Ger- many of their having reared a brood in that country. The Columbidm form a large and most natural group of birds, all of which are suited, I might say eminently suited, for domesticity, with the exception of a few species that live principally or entire- ly on fruit, and are distinguished from 84 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. their granivorous congeners by the gen- eric name Carpophagax These latter are rarely imported successfully to Europe, yet the magnificent, nay, gorgeous, Nico- bar pigeon has been lodged at the Zoo, and lived for some time there, while un- der the fostering care of M. Vekemaun he has even multiplied his kind in the zo- ological gardens of Antwerp. The smaller doves, however, are more likely to attract the notice of lovers of cage birds; not that they particularly shine in a cage, for their lively disposition ill adapts them for confinement; but in an aviary of suit- able dimensions, where they have room to fly freely about, and bushes in which to perch, they are seen to great advantage, and are really most delightful pets. One or two drawbacks, however, are insepara- ble from keeping doves; they are very quarrelsome, and most of them are very susceptible to cold. No rule, however, is without its excep- tion, and the zebra-dove, with its quaint undulated markings, the bronze-spotted dove, the tambourine-dove, so called from its peculiar note, which is thought to re semble the sound produced by tapping quickly with the finger on the musical (?) instrument in question, the ~,orgeous green- winged Indian dove and its Australian congener, to which it bears so strong a re- semblance that I fancy one is but a local variety of the other, are quite hardy, and if turned out during the summer into an out-door aviary, become so thoroughly ac- climatized before the winter sets in that they may be safely left out, even during the severest portion of the year, namely, the early spring, when the keenest east winds are usually blowing, often for weeks at a time, so that these small exotic pigeons may be fairly looked upon as exceptional- ly hardy. The tambourine-dove, however, is per- haps more susceptible to cold than the others, and experience has taught me that he does not become altogether acclima- tized the first year he is turned out, but if housed from the middle of November un- til the middle or end of March, he may afterward be safely left to take his chance with the native and Northern birds in the garden aviary, especially if the aspect of BLACKOAPS AND ROBIN-REDBREA5T. ON KEEPING BIRDS. 85 AUSTRALIAN CROWS AND MAGPIE. the latter is, as it should be, south or south- wild. Of course there are instances on westward. record contradicting this assertion, and Fogs and rain try these birds more than proving Columba palumbus to be as tame actual cold, and it is almost needless to and gentle as the bird to which I have point out that a snug air-tight, or I should just alluded really is; but there are ex- say draught-proof, retreat should always ceptions to every rule, we know, and tame be provided for their accommodation dur- wood-pigeons merely confirm the general ing the winter season, in addition to the correctness of the proverb in question. open-air flight in which they love to bask The collared turtle is admittedly gentle during the warm and genial summer and tame; not that these birds do not oc- months. casionally squabble among themselves, for Many of the exotic doves will breed they both can and do wage fierce battle quite freely in a good-sized aviary, Geof- with each other in the spring-time if there freys dove, for instance, the Australian chances to be an odd male or female in crested dove, the rarer striated and spot- the do~ery; so that the expression as ted winged doves from northern Austra- gentle as a dove cannot be accepted ha, and others, all of which, however, without some qualification. With their must be taken in-doors by the middle of owners, however, these pretty and very October at latest, and kept in a warm room inexpensive birds are invariably most or house until the middle of May or the kind and gentle, and I know of no more beginning of June, when they will much delightful pets for a child in whom it is enjoy being turned out again, desired to foster the love of the feathered Apropos of doves, it is a very common, portion of creation. I might almost say universal, error to des- A natural association of ideas now ignate the semi-domesticated collared or brings me to the gems of the bird world, laughing turtle by the name of ring-dove, considered as to their adaptability for which belongs, rightfully or wrongfully household petsthe waxhills. They are I shall not now stay to inquire, to a total- more brilliantly colored than other birds; ly different species, the wood-pigeon, to but for prettiness, neatness of carriage, wit, which does not make an agree able sprightliness, happy, confiding disposi- cage bird, for it is almost irreclaimably tion, frugality, endurance, and general 86 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. adaptability to cage life, I know of nothing to approach these Lilliputians among the birds, many of whom,when in full health and vigor, weigh about one dram each, or the eighth part of an ounce! Millet forms their chief food, whether in their wild state or in captivity; this nutritious seed, however, may be advan- tageously varied now and then by a hand- ful of hay seed scattered on the floor of the aviary or cage, and the waxhills will find a world of enjoyment in turning it over in search of the many tidbits it con- tains. A fresh sod of long grass they also appreciate highly, and it is both amusing and interesting to watch them daintily threading their way through the blades of verdure, which to them is a ver- itable jungle, wagging their tails, and bobbing their heads up and down the while every second, while their joyful and incessant twittering testifies to the pleasure they experience from the change to soft and humid grass from hard and arid sand and perches. The smallest and most charming of these miniature birds are the orange- breasted, the orange-cheeked, the com- mon gray, the lavender, the blue-eared (not unfrequently called the cordon bleu), the African fire-finch, the St. Helena wax- bills, and the common and green avada- vats. Given suitable temperature and appropriate surroundings, most of these pretty little creatures will build nests, lay eggs, and bring up young in England, and nothing can be more interesting than to watch them at play, to observe their antics, and even their little squabbles during what the French call la saison des amours. Many of the waxbills are gifted with the faculty of song, notably the avadavats and the orange-cheekan accomplish- ment, however, that I do not greatly val- ue, although it adds considerably to their attractions in the eyes of numerous ama- teurs. For my part I have a great respect for the manikin family, of which the va- rious members generally sing in dumb- show. The chief species belonging to this group, also frequently called nuns, are the black-headed, the white-headed, the brown, the two and the three colored, the bronze-winged, and the pied or magpie manikins, to which I add the spice-bird, which is usually classed with the gros- beaks, and the Australian manikin, also known by the inappropriate name of chocolate-finch, for it also sings in dumb- show, and has no affinity whatever with the finches properly so called. Both the waxbills and the manikins can usually be purchased very cheaply in London, often for a shilling apiece, but are in view of their many sterling quali- ties, really worth their weight in gold. Their habitat, with the exceptions noted above, is either Africa or Asia. There is an allied group of charming cage birds, rather larger than the waxhills, which is by some writers classed with the grosbeaks, in consequence of the thickness, or comparative stoutness rather, of their bills, but in my opinion these desirable birds are more nearly related to the spar- row. We receive, among others, from Australia the zebra-finch and the parson- finch, both of which are as beautiful as they are interesting and amusing, the double-headed and the cherry-headed or modest grass-finches, which are all hardy, and eminently suited for domestication. At one time these birds were very ex- pensive: thus I paid fifteen shillings for my first pair of zebras, thirty shillings for my parsons; and the diamond-sparrows, a closely allied species, were considered cheap at one pound sterling apiece. Now they can be obtained for five, eight, and twelve shillings a pair respectively. Another prettily marked bird, now be- ginning to be known as the ribbon-finch, but which was formerly called by the less euphonious name of cutthroat, in consequence of a band of bright red ex- tending from ear to ear under the chin of the male, may be classed with the fore- going. In all its habits it is a sparrow, as fussy and quarrelsome as our semi-do- mestic London bird, makes like it a nest in any convenient hole, or, if in a tree, domes it with hay or fibre, feeds chiefly on seed, but brings up its young on in- sects or animal food of some kind. The male has a pleasing little song, but, as I have said, is decidedly quarrelsome, espe- cially during the breeding season. Some of these sparrows will nest any- where and everywhere, and will rear a numerous progeny without any particu- lar attention or interference on the part of the amateur; while others, on the con- trary, are very fastidious in their choice of a dwelling-place, and even when they finally make up their minds to construct a nest and lay eggs, will very often not rear the young, but remorselessly toss them out of their cradle when they are GROUP OF CAGE BIRDS. 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE; about a week or ten days old, and imme- diately start to build a new nest. This cruel conduct of theirs is, I fancy, the re- sult of inexperience, for as they get older I find, in the majority of cases, they get wiser too, and the lamentable slaughter of the innocents is not persisted in. Should the old birds, however, continue to mal- treat their offspring after the first year, it will be better to get rid of them, and give their place to some of their fellows with less unnatural proclivities. Nearly allied to the manikins are the Bengalis, or Bengalees, of which three va- rieties are in the market: one all white, another white and fawn, and a third white and brown. They are very nice little birds, but act capriciously in the matter of nesting and feeding their young, after the manner of the ribbon-finches. The price of these Japanese toys has declined from two or three guineas to about twelve or fifteen shillings a pair. I cannot pass on to another section of my subject without a glance at that old favorite of connoisseurs, the Java spar- row, once an expensive acquisition, but now frequently sold for twelve or four- teen shillings a dozen. Of this well-known species there are now two varieties offered to amateurs by the dealers, namely, the common gray and the white. The latter is of Chinese or Japanese creation, and not long since was very expensive; at present, however, it is comparatively cheap; that is to say, a pair may be pur- chased for about fifteen shillings, possibly in some cases even less. Both the com- mon Java sparrow, otherwise the paddy or rice bird, and the white variety, breed freely in captivity, making a large nest of hay, twigs, and fibre, lined with feathers, in a box or hole of any kind. The eggs are white, and the young are readily reared on bread and milk and ants eggs. What an amount of sentiment has been wasted on a class of small parrots com- monly called love-birds, or inseparables, which are about the size of a bullfinch, but in one or two instances somewhat less! It was once currently believed that they must be procured in pairs, and that if one of them died, the other would not long survive; bnt this is quite a mistake, as I have proved in several instances, which I have related in detail in my work on Par- rots in Captivity. In the matter of plumage the love-birds are not showy, green being the ground color with them all, relieved in some spe- cies by red on the face, by blue on the wings and back in others, and in yet oth- ers by delicate lavender gray on the head and neck; all are short and squat in fig- ure, very dull and listless in a cage, but quick and lively in a large aviary, in which latter situation they ought only to be kept. The love-birds seldom learn to speak, and most of them have a shrill, scream- ing note that is far from agreeable. Some of them will breed in confine- mentthe blue-wings, rosy-faced, and lav- ender-headed species for example; but the red-faced love-birds do not; at least in this country they have not done so, to my knowledge, so far; but I imagine they have scarcely had fair play allowed them in this respect by their owners. With the exception of the Madagascar or laven- der-headed love-bird, which is perfectly hardy, all these little parrots must be taken in - doors in the autumn, and be warmly housed during the inclement months of the year. Formerly very dear, all the love-birds are now cheap, excepting the rosy-faced, for which dealers yet demand from five to seven pounds sterling a pair. An article on cage birds without any reference to the larger parrots seems some- thing like the drama of Hamlet with the r6le of the Prince of Denmark left out; but I can do no more than mention them in this paper. Who that has read books of American travelSouth American travel at least has not been fascinated by the accounts of the marvellous living gems that make the forests of Brazil, Mexico, and the inter- vening isthmus a realization of the dream of the author of Aladdins adventures in the subterranean garden whither he went to seek the wonderful lamp for his pre- tended uncle the magiciana garden where the fruit upon the trees were pre- cious stones of inestimable value? And a visit to the Gould collection of humming- birds at Kensington incontestably proves that the writers in question have scarcely if at all exaggerated in their account of what they saw, for what inconceivable combinations of form and color do we not behold in these miniature birds !colors the most enchanting, and forms as eccen- tric and bizarre. To imagine them they must be seen, and when seen, the heart of the spectator is filled with an intense de ON KEEPING BIRDS. 89 sire to become the possessor of such un- paralleled loveliness. Well, such possession is not as impos- sible as might at first sight appear, for humming-birds have actually not only been brought to Europe alive, but have been preserved in Paris in perfect health aud beauty for some time, and, for any- thing I know to the contrary, some of them may yet constitute a perpetual joy to their owners, for that they are things of beauty I suppose no one will deny. Dr. iRuss, of Berlin, the well-known or- nithologist, thus relates in his hand-Book, page 340, on the authority of Professor Al- phonse Mime-Edwards, the circumstance to which I am alluding: A French wo- man who formerly resided for some years in Mexico has already twice brought over a number of humming-birds (colubris) to Europe, and in the July of 1876 I saw more than fifty of them, belonging to five or six different species, flying about in her cage.~ Amateurs may therefore confidently hope to see the living gems and blossoms of the tropics transferred to their aviaries in the south and west, for there is a certain syrup, says the same authority, in which these most lovely [allerlieb- sten] birds find suitable nourishment. True, he omits to give the formula, but no doubt that is to be obtained, and then a collection of the Trochilidm will be a sight to make men marvel, and ladies pause ere they authorize the wholesale slaughter of these animated jewels for the adorn- ment (?) of their hats and bonnets. The British song-thrush is, to my mind, a disappointing bird, and so is the lark of these humid islands, perhaps because too much is expected by a stranger of the former, and the latter cannot be readily reconciled to a life of captivity in a nar- row cage when the boundless realms of space are his natural habitat. In Brittany, where I lived for many years, we had no song-thrushes that I re- member. Grives there were in plenty, but I fancy they were missel, and not song thrushes; at least they were larger than any I have seen in England; and redwings and fieldfares were abundant in winter. Of course I had read a great deal about the music of the spotted thrush in my natural history books, and was most anxious to compare the accounts I found there with the reality. At length my wish was gratified, and, as I have said, I was greatly disappointed. Yet hear what others have to say. The song-thrush, writes a German author, is the great charm of our woods, TIT FAMILY. 90 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. which it enlivens by the beauty of its song. The rival of the nightingale, it an- nounces in varied accents the return of spring, and continues its delightful notes during all the summer months, particu- larly at morning and evening twilight. It is, continues the same author, to procure this gratification in his dwelling that the bird-fancier rears it, and deprives it of its liberty; and he thus enjoys the pleasure of the woods in the midst of the city. Selfishness, I fear, is at the bottom of the desire to keep birds in a cage, as I have already hinted, and if excusable at all, the motive must be consecrated and rendered legitimate by the most careful attention to the little prisoners, and the most earnest desire to render their lives as happy and as comfortable as possible. There is one bird, however, I must, in conclusion, ask my readers not to cage I mean the skylark. The free denizen of the empyrean is out of place behind the bars of even the best-appointed cage, and in an aviary his unconquerable love of liberty will prompt him to dash himself against the bars in a manner so distressing to be- hold that no person with a heart could keep him captive for a moment. I have known instances of young larks that were stolen from the parental nest when they were no more than a few days old, and were brought up by the hand of a gentle lady, which, nevertheless, on be- ing turned into a large, well-grassed gar- den aviary, as soon as they were able to feed themselves, became quite wild in less than a fortnight, and so injured them- selves in their frantic efforts to escape that one of them died from the effect of its self-inflicted wounds, and the others were allowed to fly away, which they did right joyfully, nor were they ever seen again by their former owner. American birds I may not now dwell upon, but I cannot refrain from just men- tioning that a multitude of delightful cage birds are imported from the dual conti- nent. The cardinals, indigo-birds, non- pareils, the rare and beautiful rupicolas, the orioles, and numerous parrots, each more delightful than the other, are cases in point; but I must refrain, and bring my long-winded, but I hope not altogeth- er uninteresting, article to a close. JAVA SrARRowS. THIS wild Irishman is the fast train which carries the Amer- ican mails from London to Holy- head, en route to Dub- lin and Queenstown. It drives down from Ens- ton to Chester at a speed of forty miles or more an hour, and issuing from that quaint, gabled, and galleried city through a gap in the splendid walls, it continues on its course to ilolyhead along the picturesque shores of North Wales. Many Americans trav- el by it, as in leaving or in joining the Atlantic steamer at Queenstown they can save several hours by taking this route, but it is usually night when they are borne along, and the jour- ney finds no dwelling-place in their memories. They miss the long reaches of solidly built sea- wall which the high tides of the Dee bespatter and gnaw at; and while propping up their weary heads, and striving to shut their senses to the jolt and jar of the train, they are un- consciously flying under the embattlements of historic cas- tIes, along the base of sea-washed mountains, and through the great iron tube which bridges the Menai Strait. Precipitous cliffs frown down upon the meteor-like train: on one side are the stormy waters of the St. Georg& s Channel, and on the other the mountains descend without any intervening foot-hills; but by means of tunnels, embankments, and viaducts every natural obstacle in the route of the Wild Irishman has been overcome. The distance between Chester and Holyhead is accomplished in less than two hours; a tubular bridge spans the Menai Strait, the ferrying of which formerly led to many tragedies; another bridge is hung over the Conway River, and Penmaen THE ROUTE OF THE IRISHMAN. By WILLIAM H. RIDEING.

William H. Rideing Rideing, William H. The Route of the Wild Irishman 91-99

THIS wild Irishman is the fast train which carries the Amer- ican mails from London to Holy- head, en route to Dub- lin and Queenstown. It drives down from Ens- ton to Chester at a speed of forty miles or more an hour, and issuing from that quaint, gabled, and galleried city through a gap in the splendid walls, it continues on its course to ilolyhead along the picturesque shores of North Wales. Many Americans trav- el by it, as in leaving or in joining the Atlantic steamer at Queenstown they can save several hours by taking this route, but it is usually night when they are borne along, and the jour- ney finds no dwelling-place in their memories. They miss the long reaches of solidly built sea- wall which the high tides of the Dee bespatter and gnaw at; and while propping up their weary heads, and striving to shut their senses to the jolt and jar of the train, they are un- consciously flying under the embattlements of historic cas- tIes, along the base of sea-washed mountains, and through the great iron tube which bridges the Menai Strait. Precipitous cliffs frown down upon the meteor-like train: on one side are the stormy waters of the St. Georg& s Channel, and on the other the mountains descend without any intervening foot-hills; but by means of tunnels, embankments, and viaducts every natural obstacle in the route of the Wild Irishman has been overcome. The distance between Chester and Holyhead is accomplished in less than two hours; a tubular bridge spans the Menai Strait, the ferrying of which formerly led to many tragedies; another bridge is hung over the Conway River, and Penmaen THE ROUTE OF THE IRISHMAN. By WILLIAM H. RIDEING. 92 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mawr is pierced by a tunnel, through which the train winds like a ring through the nose of a savage. When the train leaves Chester it almost immediately crosses the boundary line be- tween Cheshire and North Wales, and for the rest of the distance to Holyhead it is in that country. The Dee is visible out of the carriage windows, like a brazen serpent crawling over a desert of mud and sand. At high-water the whole space be- tween the banks is overflowed, but as the ebbing tide withdraws it only leaves a winding rivulet, which is of little use to any except the smallest craft. Once the river was wide and deep, but the channel has been shoaled by the washings of the hills, and the traffic which belonged to the Dee has sought the Mersey. Only a narrow tongue of land which Cheshire thrusts out separates the two rivers, and a little below Chester we can see from the windows of the Wild Irishman the place where they meet and mingle. On the other side of the train lies a country of increasing hillinessa land- scape like that of England, with trim hedge- rows, thatched cottages, and the solid-look- ing sculpturesque foliage which is a sort of atonement for the persistent humidity of the climate. Hawarden, Mr. Glad- stones seat, is about two miles off the line, and about twenty minutes after leav- ing Chester the train runs close against the walls of Flint Castlea gaunt mass of naked rock, upon which decay has set no sign of regret, and age has put no as- suaging mantle. The castle was built by Edward I., and Shakespeare has made its rude ribs and tattered battlements one of the scenes in his play of Richard II. Behind the hills which slope down to Flint is Holywell, a town which derives its name from a miraculously copious spring, of such efficacy in healing that the beautiful gothic shrine built over it, and ascribed to the generosity of the mother of Henry ~II.,is hung with the crutches and trusses of those who have been cured by bathing in it. Beyond Holywell and Mostyn nearly every village along the coast aspires, with some success, to be a watering-place. The climate is salubrious, but how bleak, how Novemberish, to us who have just escaped from the Senegambian fervor of the Amer- ican July! The thermometer is down be- low OO~, but the women are dressed in inns- lins and poplins, and the children, digging and building in the sands, are bare-legged and bare-shouldered. The Wild Irishman scarcely slackens its speed at Rhyl, the flat and rectangular little watering-place whose noisy excur- sionists from Lancashire and Yorkshire bathe in a yellow mixture of mud washed down from the Dee and the Mersey, and we also will pass it by, leaving it, with Abergeley, Llandulas, and Colwyn Bay, to tourists who have time to see the coast in detail. But presently we cross a river which, flowing down from between high hills, empties into the sea within sight of the train, at a point where a massive head- land juts outward, and reaching the far- ther side, we are borne under the shadow of a cliff-like wall. We look out and up, and there are towers, battlements, and parapets. These are so high, and the train is so close to the base, that we have to al- most dislocate our neck in order to see the summit. It is a castle, not a cliff; but it seems to grow out of the rock upon which it stands, and when it was built nature and art joined hands to give it a double strength. When Edward I. had conquered the Welsh he built three great castles to keep the vanquished down, and though dis- mantled and despoiled, they are still very substantial examples of the architecture of his time: one is at Carnarvon, another at Beaumaris, and the third is this at Con- way, the common name of the river which we have just crossed, the castle, and the little town which lies under the castle, shut within a harp-shaped wall which formerly had twenty-four round towers. We are disposed to take Pennants word when that antiquary declares Conway to be the most beautiful of fortresses. The form is oblong, placed in all parts on the verge of precipitous rock. One side is bounded by the river, one by a creek which fills with every tide, and the other two face the town. Within are two courts, around which are the various apartments, or what remains of them. But the banqueting hall has tumbled into the kitchen, and the Queens boudoir is scarcely recognizable from the dungeon cell. No roof or rafters remain, and the grass grows on the floor of the Council Chamber. The cold wind rushes through the empty fireplaces, the windows have nothing in them except the vines, and the winding stairways only go up a few steps, and then leave us standing on the brink CONWAY CASTLE. 94 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of some ragged gap. Ivy, moss, and grass have taken hold even of the highest tow- ers, and the only pomp is the pomp of age. We look at the smooth river issuing be- twe~n the hills to the sea, and the quaint town and its little houses shut within the triangular walls. That headland of which we have spoken once or twice is the Great Ormes-Head, one of the most conspicuous points to all vessels passing up and down the channel, and between it and a simi- lar though smaller elevation we can see some of the roofs of Llandudno, one of the most delightful of watering-places. But all other things are dwarfed in coni- parison with Penmaenmawr, which now looms up, and we can pity the travellers who, before the days of the Wild Irish- man, found this shoulder of rocka very cold shoulder indeed-thrust in their way. Change is visible everywhere about the castle, and some thrifty husbandman is raising cabbages and potatoes in the moat. Other parts of the grounds are also turned to account as vegetable gardens, and the gate has no more formidable guard than a little girl in a blue pinafore. But while we sat eating our luncheon at the inn ad- joining the castle we were reminded that though the relics of mediawal chivalry belong to museums, the love of military glory is still as strong in the female breast as it was before the watch on the ram- parts had become a noiseless spectre. The little waitress was in a flutter of intense excitement. Some Volunteers, with faces as red as their uniforms, who had been encamped outside, were leaving the town, and she was divided between her anxiety to be attentive to us and her desire to look out of the window at them. Will you have some cheese, sir ? Yes, maam; theyre the Volunteers. She tried hard to control herself, but she was carried away in her ecstasy, and we saw her run to the window and bring her bands together as if to applaud. Her pink face beamed, and the ribbons in her lace cap danced. Oh, if you please, maam, doesnt the band play lovely ! she ex- claimed, in a burst of rapture; and then she looked frightened, and hurried back to the table to give us our coffee. A minute or two after the train leaves Conway the mountains begin to crowd down upon the Wild Irishman, and threaten to shove the line into the sea. It is these that the traveller from America sees from the deck of the ocean steamer as she passes up the St. Georges Channel to Liverpool. They are a northern spur of the Snowdon range, and among the hud- dled masses rises one, a very Gibraltar of a peak, higher than all the rest. This, which strangers often mistake for Snow- don itself, is Penmaenmawr, the via mala of the old route to Holyhead, upon which many a traveller has come to grief be- tween the crumbling strata of the moun- tain on one side and the unprotected preci- pice on the other. The road was grooved in the mountain, and, says Nicholson, writing of it as it was before the day of the Wild Irishman: The amazingly abrupt precipice, variegated with frag- ments and ruins, presents a scene of hor- ror. In some places rocks of vast magni- tude, which have probably fallen from the summit, lodge on projecting ledges, and appear in the act of taking another bound. But carried along by this fast train, we have only the momentary darkness of a tunnel to remind us of what Penmaen- mawr was a century ago. The Wild Irish- man stops nowhere, not even at the little cathedral city of Bangor, and it hurries us on to the Menai Strait, which resem- bles the Hudson at Tarrytown. Vilfas and cottages are visible everywhere, and building sites are held at a very high price. Once again we are in darkness, but this time the reverberations are not those of a tunnel. The sounds are hollow and me- tallic; we are crossing the strait by the vast tubular bridge which Stephenson built between 1846 and 1850, and which put an end to the frequent accidents that had previously occurred to passengers crossing by the ferry. The Britannia Bridge, as it is called, consists of eight tubes resting on three towers, and it spans the stream at a height of 104 feet. It is 1841 feet long, and the tubes are said to contain 11,400 tons of iron. Some fellow- passenger is sure to put us in possession of these dimensions, but we who have seen the Brooklyn Bridge can listen un- moved, and give him in return the statis- tics of a much greater achievement. One end of the bridgethat by which we enteris in Carn~rvonshire, and when we reach the other we are in the island of Anglesey, the Mona of early English his- tory, and the last refuge of the Druids. It is not a very large island, only twenty THE ROUTE OF THE WILD IRISHMAN. 95 miles from north to south, and twenty- eight miles from east to west. The sur- face is rolling and (if such a word can be employed to describe anything in nature) commonplace, but, except in the straits, the seaward edge is a long line of cliffs of varying height, at whose feet many a ship has come to grief. There are many Druid- ical remains on the island, cromlechs and other enigmatical masses of stone which the old hierarchy of the woods has left unexplained, and it was in Anglesey that Suetonius burned the last of the Druids in their own altar fires. Tacitus has painted the wild scene which opened upon the Roman forces when they landed: the motley army in close array and well arm- ed, with women running frantically about, their dishevelled hair streaming in the wind, while they brandished torches in their hands, and the priests moving among them, and, with arms reached out to hea- ven, uttering the most awful curses on the invaders. The Roman soldiers were spell- bound, and for some time were, as Tacitus puts it, resigned to every wound; but at length, aroused by their leader, and call- ing on one another not to be intimidated by a womanly and fanatic band, they dis- played their ensigns, and quickly hushed their antagonists. Anglesey has another claim to remem- brance, as the home of the founder of the Tudor dynasty, who danced so well that he won the heart of the fair widow of Henry V. The queen, says an old chron- icler, beyng young and lustye, follow- yng more her own appetyte than frendely consaill, and regardyng more her private affection than her open honour, toke to husband privily a goodly gentylman, and a beautiful person, garnized with manye godly gyftes, both of nature and of grace, called Owen Teuther, a man brought forth and come of the noble linage and aun- cient lyne of Cadwalader, the last Kynge of the Britonnes. Some courtiers who wei~e sent to Wales to ascertain the con- dition of the Tudors found Owens mo- ther seated in a field with her goats around her; but there is no doubt that, though reduced in circumstances, the family was of high descent. A few miles from Holyhead we pass within a short distance of Aberff raw, the seat of the native princes of Wales, and thus the Wild Irishman completes its course, and lands us at the gangway of the channel steamer. The lugubrious passage is not for us this time; and know- ing what it is, we watch the other passen- gers embark with feelings of pity. It is not an affair of eighty or ninety minutes, like that from Dover to Calais, or from Folkestone to Boulogne. It takes fully five hours, and the sea gives the steamer that irregular, eccentric motion which nothing can resist. It is a gusty and rainy expanse, and it is seldom peaceful or sunny. Few who have made it think of it except with abhorrence, and to recall it is to have visions of wet and slippery decks, pelting showers of spray, gray, low-hung clouds, and angry-looking wa- ters. The steamer is sheltered in a large masonry dock, but, looking out to the mouth of the harbor, we can see the waves spattering over the breakwater, and a sallow-hued anticipation of discomforts to come is visible in the faces of those who are stumbling down the narrow gang-plank. There are members of Par- liament, government messengers, sports- men, tourists, and commercial travel- lers. There are few English people, but many Americans, who could be identi- fied by their enormous iron-clad trunks if they were not individualized in other ways. The transfer from the train to the boat is quickly effected. Saratogas, knap- sacks, gun - cases,. fishing - rods, bicycles, and despatch-boxes are rushed on board after the passengers, and then the mail is heaped upon the deck. The bags are let- tered with the names of American cities, and while we are speculating on their contents the little steamer starts, and in a very few minutes passes out beyond the breakwater into the .open sea. It is then that we discover what an empty, noiseless little place Holyhead is. It is the nearest port to Ireland, and that is, and always has been, the reason of its ex- istence. The harbor is the principal part of it now, as it was years ago, when there were no steamers, and the vessels used were small sail-boats, which often took four or five days in making the passage between here and Dublin. Vast sums have been spent on its beacons, and on the long granite breakwater, the granite docks, and the lofty sheds lighted by electricity. There are rumors that some day it will be the terminus of a line of transatlantic steamers, which, by using it, will avoid the fogs and tidal delays of the Liverpool bar; but in the mean time it has the ap- pearance of a premature expansion. Af 96 HAIIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ter the departure of the mail-boat it sud- denly becomes silent and sepulchrally still. The vociferous newsboy, the wharf- ingers, the porters, and the railway and steam-boat officials all disappear. The ticket-office windows are abruptly closed, and the pensive attendant in the refresh- ment-room turns the lock on the mildew- ed veal pies and the sawdust sandwiches, which have reminded us of Mugby Junc- tion. Our footsteps sound boisterously loud, and we have a feeling of detachment and sequestration. Looking down the harbor, we can see no movement. Half a dozen or more spare boats are moored along the splendid piers, but they are out of service and unmanned. Wandering out of the brick and granite enclosures of the modern docks, we enter the straggling, arid little town, which has a curious old parish church dating from the reign of Edward III.; and then leaving the crouching white cot- tages with the fortress-like walls behind, we strike out in the direc- tion of the mountain which slopes upward to the north and west of the town, and is of such a height that a veil of blue or purple always hangs upon it. This is Holyhead itself, the point from which nearly all vessels passing up and down the channel are signalled, and which is familiar to all readers through the maritime columns of the newspapers. The slope up- ward from the harbor and town forms a buttress to the wall which the mountain presents to the sea, and from the summit we can look down as dizzy and terrifying a precipice as there is on the coast of North Wales. The face of the rock is scarred and seamed in an extraordinary manner, and at its base the sea has bored several enormous caverns and alcoves, one of which, called the Par- liament House, is seventy feet high. Our path up the slope is through some rocky, heather-strewn fields, and then over the shoulder of the mountain, and down a MARKET-DAY ON THE NORTH WELSH COAST. THE ROUTE OF THE WILD IRISHMAN. 97 steep stairway in the cliff. The sea high the spray is carried over the suspen- reaches out before us, quivering and sion-bridge which loops the outer cliff with glintin~,, and down below us rises an appalling mass of rock, linked to the mountain by a frail suspension-bridge, and surrounded by a chain of break- ers. On all sides of us there are verti- cal spaces and ja~ged edges, and the escarpment has a strange and crumpled look, as if it had been torn with diffi- culty from some other mass by a sud- den disrupting force. On every ledge there are flocks of birdssea-gulls, ra- zor-bills, cormorants, and guillemots, which whirl and sweep around us, and add to the wildness of the scene by their unearthly shrieks. We mijit suppose that no oth- er living creatures would be found here, but mans in- genuity has utilized that detached mass of rock, which, though below us, is still nearly 150 feet above the level of the sea, and on the snmmit rises the white pillar of a light-house and the neat cottages of the keepers. The sea has cut a tunnel through it, and when the wind is SOUTH STACK LIGHT AS S EN FROM HOLYHEAD. 98 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the inner. But, whirl and thunder as the gale will, the waters~have never yet reach- ed the lantern, and at night it is visible over the whole of Carnarvon Bay, and in conjunction with the light on the Sker ries, this on the South Stack, as the rock on which we are looking is called, guides the boat from Dublin into the harbor, where the Wild Irishman is waiting to retrace its way to the noisy metropolis. ARRIVAL OF MAIL STEAMER AT HOLYHEAD. APRIL HOPES. BY WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS. XXIV. BEFORE the end of the first week after Dan came back to town, that which was likely to happen whenever chance brought him and Alice together had taken place. It was one of the soft days that fall in late October, when the impending win- ter seems stayed, and the warm breath of the land draws seaward and over a thou- sand miles of Indian summer. The bloom came and went in quick pulses over the girls temples as she sat with her head thrown back in the corner of the car, and from moment to moment she stirred slightly as if some stress of rapture made it hard for her to get her breath; a little gleam of light fell from under her fallen eyelids into the eyes of the young man beside her, who leaned forward slightly and slanted his face upward to meet her glances. They said some words, now and then, indistinguishable to the others; in speaking they smiled slightly: Some- times her hand wavered across her lap; in both their faces there was something be- yond happinessa transport, a passion, the brief splendor of a supreme mo- ment. They left the ~ar at the Arlington Street corner of the Public Garden, and followed the winding paths diagonally to the further corner on Charles Street. How stupid we were to get into that ridiculous horse-car I she said. What in the world possessed us to do it ? I cant imagine, he answered. What a waste of time if was! If we had walked, we might have been twice as long coming. And now youre going to send me off so soon I dont send you, she murmured. But you want me to go., Oh no! But youd better. I cant do anything against your wish. I wish itfor your own good. Ah, do let me go home with you, Alice ! Dont ask it, or I must say yes. Part of the way, then ? No; not a step! You must take the first car for Cambridge. What time is it now ? You can see by the clock in the Provi- dence Depot. But I wish you to go by your watch, now. Look ! Alice! he cried, in pure rapture. Look! Its a quarter of one. And weve been three hours together already! Now you must simply fly. If you came home with me I should be sure to let you come in, and if I dont see mam- ma alone first, I shall die. Cant you un- derstand ? No; but I can do the next best thing: I can misunderstand. You want to be rid of me. Shall you be rid of me when weve parted ? she asked, with an inner thrill of earnestness in her gay tone. Alice! You know I didnt mean it, Dan. Say it again. What I Dan. Dan, love! Dan, dearest! Ah! Will that car of yours never come? Ive promised myself not to leave you till it does,and if I stay here any longer I shall go wild. I cant believe its hap- pened. Say it again ! Say what I That That I love you? That were en- gaged ? I dont believe it. I cant. She looked impatiently up the street. Oh, there comes your car! Run! Stop it ! I dont run to stop cars. He made a sign, which the conductor obeyed, and the car halted at the further crossing. She seemed to have forgotten it, and made no movement to dismiss him. Oh, doesnt it seem too good to be standing here talking in this way, and people think its about the weather, or society ? She set her head a little on one side, and twirl- ed the open parasol on her shoulder. Yes, it does. Tell me its true, love ! Its true. How splendid you are She said it with an effect for the world outside of saying it was a lovely day. He retorted, with the same apparent nonchalance, How beautiful you are! How good! How divine! VOL. LXXV.No. 445.7

William Dean Howells Howells, William Dean April Hopes 99-112

APRIL HOPES. BY WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS. XXIV. BEFORE the end of the first week after Dan came back to town, that which was likely to happen whenever chance brought him and Alice together had taken place. It was one of the soft days that fall in late October, when the impending win- ter seems stayed, and the warm breath of the land draws seaward and over a thou- sand miles of Indian summer. The bloom came and went in quick pulses over the girls temples as she sat with her head thrown back in the corner of the car, and from moment to moment she stirred slightly as if some stress of rapture made it hard for her to get her breath; a little gleam of light fell from under her fallen eyelids into the eyes of the young man beside her, who leaned forward slightly and slanted his face upward to meet her glances. They said some words, now and then, indistinguishable to the others; in speaking they smiled slightly: Some- times her hand wavered across her lap; in both their faces there was something be- yond happinessa transport, a passion, the brief splendor of a supreme mo- ment. They left the ~ar at the Arlington Street corner of the Public Garden, and followed the winding paths diagonally to the further corner on Charles Street. How stupid we were to get into that ridiculous horse-car I she said. What in the world possessed us to do it ? I cant imagine, he answered. What a waste of time if was! If we had walked, we might have been twice as long coming. And now youre going to send me off so soon I dont send you, she murmured. But you want me to go., Oh no! But youd better. I cant do anything against your wish. I wish itfor your own good. Ah, do let me go home with you, Alice ! Dont ask it, or I must say yes. Part of the way, then ? No; not a step! You must take the first car for Cambridge. What time is it now ? You can see by the clock in the Provi- dence Depot. But I wish you to go by your watch, now. Look ! Alice! he cried, in pure rapture. Look! Its a quarter of one. And weve been three hours together already! Now you must simply fly. If you came home with me I should be sure to let you come in, and if I dont see mam- ma alone first, I shall die. Cant you un- derstand ? No; but I can do the next best thing: I can misunderstand. You want to be rid of me. Shall you be rid of me when weve parted ? she asked, with an inner thrill of earnestness in her gay tone. Alice! You know I didnt mean it, Dan. Say it again. What I Dan. Dan, love! Dan, dearest! Ah! Will that car of yours never come? Ive promised myself not to leave you till it does,and if I stay here any longer I shall go wild. I cant believe its hap- pened. Say it again ! Say what I That That I love you? That were en- gaged ? I dont believe it. I cant. She looked impatiently up the street. Oh, there comes your car! Run! Stop it ! I dont run to stop cars. He made a sign, which the conductor obeyed, and the car halted at the further crossing. She seemed to have forgotten it, and made no movement to dismiss him. Oh, doesnt it seem too good to be standing here talking in this way, and people think its about the weather, or society ? She set her head a little on one side, and twirl- ed the open parasol on her shoulder. Yes, it does. Tell me its true, love ! Its true. How splendid you are She said it with an effect for the world outside of saying it was a lovely day. He retorted, with the same apparent nonchalance, How beautiful you are! How good! How divine! VOL. LXXV.No. 445.7 100 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The conductor, seeing h imself apparent- ly forgotten, gave his bell a vicious snap, and his car jolted away. She started nervously. There! youve lost your car, Dan. Have I ? a.sked Mavering, without troubling himself to look after it. She laughed now, with a faint sug- gestion of unwillingness in her laugh. What are you going to do ? Walk home with you. No, indeed; you know I cant let you.~~ And are you going to leave me here alone on the street corner, to be run over by the first bicycle that comes along ? You can sit doxvn in the Garden, and wait for the next car. No; I would rather go back to the Art Museum, and make a fresh start. To the Art Museum ? she murmured, tenderly. Yes. Wouldnt you like to see it again ? Again? I should like to pass my whole life in it 1 Well,walk back with me a little way. Theres no hurry about the car. Dan I she said, in a helpless com- pliance, and they paced very, very slowly along the Beacon Street path in the Gar- den. This is ridiculous. Yes, but its delightful. Yes, thats what I meant. Do you suppose any one everever Made love there before ? How can you say such things? Yes. I always supposed it would be-some- where else. It was somewhere elseonce. Oh, I meantthe second time. Then you did think there was going to be a second time ? How do I know? I wished it. Do you like me to say that ? I wish you would never say anything else. Yes; there cant be any harm in it now. I thought that if you had ever liked me, you would still So did I; but I couldnt believe that you Oh, I could. Alice! Dont you like my confessing it? You asked me to. Like it! How silly we are Not half so silly as weve been for the last two months. I think weve just come to our senses. At least I have. Two months, she sighed. Has it really been so long as that ? Two years! Two centuries! It was back in the Dark Ages when you refused me. Dark Ages! I should think so! But dont say refused. It wasnt refusing, exactly. What was it, then ? Oh, I dont know. Dont speak of it now. But, Alice, why did you refuse me Oh, I dont know. You mustnt ask me now. Ill tell you some time. Well, come to think of it, said May- ering, laughing it allliglitly away, theres no hurry. Tell me why you accepted me to-day. II couldnt help it. When I saw you I wanted to fall at your feet. What an idea! I didnt want to fall at yours. I was awfully mad. I shouldnt have spoken to you if you hadnt stopped me and held out your hand. Really? Did you really hate me, Dan ? Well, I havent exactly doted on you since we last met. She did not seem offended at this. Yes, I suppose so. And Ive gone on being fonder and fonder of you every minute since that day. I wanted to call you back when you had got half-way to Eastport. I wouldn~t have come. Ifs bad luck to turn back. She laughed at his drolling. How funny you are! Now Im of rather a gloomy temperament. Did you know it ? You don~t look it. Oh, but I am. Just now Im rather excited andhappy. So glad! Go on! go on! I like you to make fun of me. The benches on either side were filled with nurse-maids in charge of baby-car- riages, and of young children who were digging in the sand with their little beach shovels, and playing their games back and forth across the walk unrebuked by the indulgent policemen. A number of them had enclosed a square in the middle of the path with four of the benches, which they made believe was a fort. The lovers had to walk round it; and the chil APRIL HOPES. 101 dren, chasing one another, dashed into them headlong, or backing off from pur- suit, bumped up against them. They did not seem to know it, but walked slowly on without noticing: they were not aware of an occasional benchful of rather shab- by young fellows who stared hard at the stylish girl and well-dressed young man talking together in such intense low tones, with rapid interchange of radiant glances. Oh, as to making fun of you, I was going to say Mavering began, and after a pause he broke off with a laugh. I forget what I was going to say. Try to remember. I cant. How strange that we should have both happened to go to the Museum this morning! she sighed. Then, Dan, she broke in, do you suppose that heaven is any different from this ? I hope not-if Im to go there. Hush, dear; you mustnt talk so. Why, you provoked me to it. Did I? Did I really? Do you think I tempted you to do it? Then I must be wicked, whether I knew I was doing it or not. Yes. The break in her voice made him look more keenly at her, and he saw the tears glimmer in her eyes. Alice! No; Im not good enough for you. I always said that. Then dont say it any more. Thats th~ only thing I wont let you say. Do you forbid it, really? Wont you let me even think it ? No not even think it. How lovely you are! Oh! I like to be commanded by you. Do you? Youll have lots of fun, then. Im an awfully commanding spir- it. I didnt suppose you were so humor- ousalways. Im afraid you wont like me. Ive no sense of fun. And Im a little too funny sometimes, Im afraid. No, you never are. When ? That night at the Trevors. You didnt like it. I thought Miss Anderson was rather ridiculous, said Alice. I dont like buf- foonery in women. Nor I in men, said Mavering, smil- ing. Ive dropped it. Well,nowwe must part. Imustgo home at onse, said Alice. Its perfectly insane. Oh no, not yet; not till weve said something else; not till weve changed the subject. What subject ? Miss Anderson. Alice laughed and blushed, but she was not vexed. She liked to have him under- stand her. Well, now, she said, as if that were the next thing, Im going to cross here at once and walk up the other pavement, and you must go back through the Garden; or else I shall never get away from you. May I look over at you ? You may glance, but you neednt ex- pect me to return your glance. Oh no. And I want you to take the very first Cambridge car that comes along. I com~- mand you to. I thought you wanted me to do the commanding. So I doin essentials. If you com- mand me not to cry when I get~ home, I wont. She looked at him with an ecstasy of self-sacrifice in her eyes. Ah, I shant do that. I cant tell what would happen. ButAlice ! Well, what ? She drifted closely to him, and looked fondly up into his face. In walking they had insensibly drawn nearer together, and she had been obliged constantly to put space between them. Now~, standing at tIme corner of Arlington Street, and looking tentatively across Bea- con, she abandoned all precautions. What? I forget. Oh yes! I love you ! But you said that before, dearest ! Yes; but just now it struck me as a very novel idea. What if your mother shouldnt like the idea ? Noimsense! you know she perfectly idolizes you. She did from the first. And doesnt she know how Ive been be- having about you ever since Ilost you ? How have you behaved? Do tell me Alice. Some time; not now, she said; and with something that was like a gasp, and threatened to be a sob, she suddenly whipped across the road. He walked back to Charles Street by the Garden path, keep- ing abreast of her, and not losing sight of her for a moment, except when the bulk of a string team watering at the trough beside the pavement intervened. He hur- ned by, and when he had passed it he 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. found himself exactly abreast of her again. Her face was turned toward him; they excharyed a smile, lost in space. At the corner of Charles Street he deliberately crossed over to her. Oh, dearest love! why did you come she implored. Because you signed to me. I hoped you wouldnt see it. If were both to be so weak as this, what are we go- ing to do? But Im glad you came. Yes: I was frightened. They must have over- heard us there when we were talking. Well, I didnt say anything Im ashamed of. Besides, I shouldnt care much for the opinion of those nurses and babies. Of course not. But people must have seen us. Dont stand here talking, Dan! Do come on ! She hurried him across the street, and walked him swiftly up the incline of Beacon Street. There, in her new fall suit, with him, glossy-hatted, faultlessly gloved, at a fit distance from her side, she felt more in keeping with the social frame of things than in the Garden path, which was really only a shade better than the Beacon Street Mall of the Com- mon. Do you suppose anybody saw us that knew us I hope so! Dont you want people to know it ? Yes, of course. They will have to know itin the right way. Can you be- lieve that its only half a year since we met? It wont be a year till Class Day. I dont believe it, Alice. I cant recol- lect anything before I knew you. Well, now, as time is so confu~ed, we must try to live for eternity. We must try to help each other to be good. Oh, when I think what a happy girl I am, I feel that I should be the most ungrateful person under the sun not to be good. Lets try to make our lives perfect-per- fect! They can be. And we mustnt live for each other alone. We must try to do good as well as be good. We must be kind and forbearing with every one. lie answered, with tender seriousness, My life~s in your hands, Alice. It shall be whatever you wish. They were both silent in their deep be- lief of this. When they spoke again, she began, gayly: I shall never get over the wonder of it. How strange that we should meet at the Museum ! They had both said this already, but that did not matter; they had said nearly everything two or three times. How did you hap- pen to be there ? she asked, and the ques- tion was so novel that she added I havent asked you before. He stopped, with a look of dismay that broke up in a hopeless laugh. Why, I went there to meet some people some ladies. And when I saw you I forgot all about them. Alice laughed too; this was a part of their joy, their triumph. Who were they ? she asked, indif- ferently, and only to heighten the absurd- ity by realizing the persons. You dont know them, he said. Mrs. Frobisher and her sister, of Port- land. I promised to meet them there and go out to Cambridge with them. What will they think ? asked Alice. Its too amnsino Theyll think I didnt come, said Mavering, with the easy conscience of youth and love; and again they laughed at the ridiculous position together. I remember now I was to be at the door, and they were to take me up in their carriage. I wonder how long they wait- ed? You put everythin~, else out of my head. Do you think Ill keep it out ? she asked, archly. Oh yes; there Is nothing else but you now. The eyes that she dropped, after a glance at him, glistened with tears. A lump came into his throat. Do you suppose, he asked, huskily, that we can ever misunderstand each other again ? Never. I see everything clearly now. We shall trust each other implicitly, and at the least thing that isnt clear we can speak. Promise me that youll speak. I will, Alice. But after this all will be clear. We shall deal with each other as we do with ourselves. Yes; that will be the way. And we mustnt wait for question from each other. We shall knowwe shall feelwhen theres any misgiving, and. then the one thats caused it will speak. Yes, she sighed, emphatically. How perfectly you say it! But thats because you feel it because you are good. They walked on, treading the air in a transport of fondness for each other. Suddenly he stopped. Miss Pasmer, I feel it my duty to APRIL HOPES. 103 warn you that youre letting me go home with you. Am I? How noble of you to tell me, Dan; for I know you dont want to tell. Well, I might as Well. But I shant let you come in. You wont try, will you? Promise me you wont try. I shall only want to come in the first door. What for? What for? Oh, for half a second. She turned away her face. He went on. This engagement has been such a very public affair, so far, that I think Id like to see my fianc~e alone for a moment. I dont know what in the world you can have to say more. He went into the first door with her, and then he went with her upstairs to the door of Mrs. Pasmers apartment. The passages of the Cavendish were not well lighted; the little lane or alley that led down to this door from the stairs landing was very dim. So dark here ! murmured Alice, in a low voice, somewhat tremulous. But not too dark. xxv. She burst into the room where her mo- ther sat looking over some house-keeping accounts. His kiss and his name were upon her lips; her soul was full of him. Mamma! she panted. Her mother did not look round. She could have had no premonition of the vi- tal news that her daughter was bringing. and she went on comparing the first au- tumn months provision bill with that of the last spring month, and trying to ac- count for the difference. The silence, broken by the rattling of the two bills in her mothers hands as she glanced from one to the other through her glasses, seemed suddenly impenetrable, and the prismatic world of the girls rapt- ure burst like a bubble against it. There is no explanation of the effect outside of temperament and overwrought sensibili- ties. She stared across the room at her mother, who had not heard her, and then she broke into a storm of tears. Alice I cried her mother, with that sanative anger which comes to rescue wo- men from the terror of any sudden shock. What is the matter with you ?what do you mean ? She dropped both of the provision bills to the floor and started toward her daughter. Nothingnotlii~~g! Let me go. I want to go to my room. She tried to reach the door beyond her mother. Indeed you shall not! cried Mrs. Pasmer. I will not have you behaving so! What has happened to you? Tell me. You have frightened me half out of my senses The girl gave up her efforts to escape, and flung herself on the sofa, with her face in the pillow, where she continued to sob. Her mother began to relent at the sight of her passion. As a woman and as a mother she knew her daughter, and she knew that this passion, whatever it was must have vent before there could be any- thing intelligible between them. She did not press her with further question, but set about making her a little more com- fortable on the sofa; she pulled the pillow straight, and dropped a hi~ht shawl over the girls shoulders, so that she should not take cold. Then Mrs. Pasmer had made up her mind that Alice had met Mavering some- where, and that this outburst was the re- tarded effect of seeing him. During the last six weeks she had assisted at many phases of feeling in regard to him, and knew more clearly than Alice herself the meaning of them all. She had been pa- tient and kind, with the resources that every woman finds in herself when it is the question of a daughters ordeal in an affair of the heart which she has favored. The storm passed as quickly as it came, and Alice sat npright, casting off the wraps. But once checked with the fact on her tongue, she found it hard to utter it. What is it, Alice ?what is it ? urged her mother. Nothing. IMr. Maveringwe met I met him at the Museum, andwere engaged! Its really so. It seems like raving, but its true. He came with me to the door; I wouldnt let him come in. Dont you believe it? Oh, we are! indeed we are! Are you glad, mamma? You know I couldnt have lived without him. She trembled on the verge of another outbreak. Mrs. Pasmer sacrificed her astonish- ment in the interest of sanity, and return- ed, quietly: Glad, Alice? You know that I think hes the sweetest and best fellow in the world. Oh, mamma! 104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. But are you sure Yes, yes. Im not crazy; it isnt a dream. He was thereand I met him I couldnt run awayI put out my hand; I couldnt help itI thought I should give way; and he took it; and thenthen we were engaged. I dont know what we said. I went in to look at the Joan of Arc again, and there was no one else there. He seemed to feel just as I did. I dont know whether either of us spoke. But we knew we were engaged, and we began to talk. Mrs. Pasmer began to laugh. To her irreverent soul only the droll side of the statement appeared. Dont, mamma ! pleaded Alice, pit- eously. No, no; I wont. But I hope Dan Mavering will be a little more definite about it when Im allowed to see him. Why couldnt he have come in with you ? It would have killed me. I couldnt let him see me cry, and I knew I should break down. Hell have to see you cry a great many times, Alice, said her mother, with almost unexampled seriousness. Yes, bnt not yetnot so soon. He must think Im very gloomy, and I want to be always bright and cheerful with him. He knows why I wouldnt let him come in; he knew I was going to have a cry.~~ Mrs. Pasmer continued to laugh. Dont, mamma ! pleaded Alice. No, I wo t, replied her mother, as before. I suppose he was mystified. But now, if its really settled between you, hell be coming here soon to see your papa and rue. Yesto-night. Well, its very sudden, said Mrs.Pas- mer. Though I suppose these things always seem so. Is it too sudden ? asked Alice, with misgiving. It seemed so to me when it was going on, but I couldnt stop it. Her mother lau~hed at her simplicity. No, when it be~ins once, nothing can stop it. But youve really known each other a good while, and for the last six weeks at least youve known your own mind about him pretty clearly. Its a pity you couldnt have known it before. Yes, thats what he says. He says it was such a waste of time. Oh, everything he says is perfectly fascinating 1 Her mother laughed and laughed again. What is it,mamma? Are you laugh- ing at me Oh no. What an idea ! He couldnt seem to understand why I didnt say yes the first time if I meant it. She looked down dreamily at her hands in her lap, and then she said with a blush and a start, Theyre very queer, dont you think ? Who? Young men. Oh, rery. Yes, Alice went on, musingly. Their minds are so different. Every- thing they say and do is so unexpected, and yet it seems to be just right. Mrs. Pasmer asked herself if this sin- gle-mindedness was to go on forever, but she had not the heart to treat it with her natural levity. Probably it was what charmed Mavering with the child. Mrs. Pasmer had the firm belief that Mavering was not single-minded, and she respect- ed him for it. She would not spoil her daughters perfect trust and hope by any of the cynical suggestions of her own dark wisdom, but entered into her mood, as such women are able to do, and flattered out of her every detail of the mornings history. This was a feat which Mrs. Pasmer enjoyed for its own sake, and it fully satisfied the curiosity which she naturally felt to know all. She did not comment upon many of the particulars; she opened her eyes a little at the notion of her daughter sitting for two or three hours and talking with a young man in the galleries of the Museum, and she asked if anybody they knew had come in. When she heard that there were only strangers, and very few of them, she said nothing; and she had the same consolation in re- gard to the walking back and forth in the Garden. She was so full of potential es- capades herself, so apt to let herself go at times, that the fact of Alices innocent self-forgetfulness rather satisfied a need of her mothers nature; she exulted in it when she learned that there were only nurses and children in the Garden. And so you think you wont take up art this winter ? she said, when, in the process of her cross-examination, Alice had left the sofa and got as far as the door, with her hat in her hand and her sacque on her arm. No. And the Sisters of St. Jamesyou wont join them, either ? APML HOPES. 105 The girl escaped from the room. Alice I Alice! her mother called af- ter her; and she came back. You havent told me how he happened to be there. Oh, that was the most amusing part of it. He had gone there to keep an ap- pointment with two ladies from Port- land. They were to take him up in their carriage and drive out to Cambridge, and when he saw me he forgot all about them. And what became of them ? We dont know. Isnt it ridiculous ? If it appeared other or more than this to Mrs. Pasmer, she did not say. She mere- ly said, after a moment, Well, it was cer- tainly devoted, Alice, and let her go. XXVI. Mavering came in the evening, rather excessively well dressed, and with a hot face and cold hands. While he waited, nominally alone, in the little drawing- room for Mr. Pasmer, Alice flew in upon him for a swift embrace, which prolonged itself till the fathers step was heard out- side the door, and then she still had time to vanish by another: the affair was so nicely adjusted that if Mavering had been in his usual mind he might have fancied the connivance of Mrs. Pasmer. He did not say what he had meant to say to Alices father, but it seemed to serve the purpose, for he emerged pre- sently from the sound of his own voice, unnaturally clamorous, and found Mr. Pasmer saying some very civil things to him about his character and disposi- tion, so far as they had been able to ob- serve it, and their belief and trust in him. There seemed to he something provisional or probational intended, but Dan could not make out what it was, and finally it proved of no practical effect. He merely inferred that the approval of his family was respectfully expected, and lie hasten- ed to say, Oh, thats all right, sir. Mr. Pasmer went on with more civilities, and lost himself in dumb conjecture as to whether Maverings father had been in the class before him or the class after lii in in Harvard. He used his black eyebrows a good deal during the interview, and Mavering conceived an awe of him great- er than he had felt at Campobello, yet not unmixed with the affection in which the newly accepted lover embraces even the relations of his betrothed. From time to time Mr. Pasmer looked about with the vague glance of a man unused to being so long left to his own guidance; and one of these appeals seemed at last to bring Mrs. Pasmer through the door, to the relief of both the men, for they had improvidently despatched their business, and were getting out of talk. Mr. Pas- mer had, in fact, already asked Dan about the weather outside when his wife ap- peared. Daii did not know whether he ought to kiss her or not, but Mrs. Pasmer did not in the abstract seem like a very kissing kind of person, and lie let himself he guided by this impression, in the absence of any fixed principle applying to the case. She made some neat remark con- cerning the probable settlement of the af- fair with her husband, and began to laugh and joke about it in a manner that was very welcome to Dan; it did not seem to him that it ought to be treated so sol- em nly. But though Mrs. Pasmer laughed and joked, he was aware of her meaning busi- ness, business in the nicest sort of a way, but business after all, and he liked her for it. He was glad to be explicit about his hopes and plans, and told what his circumstances were so fully that Mrs. Pasmer, whom his frankness gratified and amused, felt obliged to say that she had not meant to ask so much about his af- fairs, and lie must excuse her if she had seemed to do so. She had her own belief that Mavering would understand,but she did not niind that. She said that of course, till his own family had been con- sulted, it must not be considered seriously, that Mr. Pasmer insisted upon that point; and when Dan vehemently asserted the acquiescence of his family beforehand, and urged his father~s admiration for Alice in proof, she reminded him that hi~ mother was to be considered, and put Mr. Pasmers scruples forward as her own rea- son for obduracy. In her husbands pre- sence she attributed to him, with his silent assent, all sorts of reluctances and delicate compunctions; she gave him the impor- tance which would have been naturally a husbands due in such an affair, and in- gratiated herself more and more with the young man. She ignored Mr. Pasmers withdrawal when it took place, after a certain lapse of time, and as the moment had come for that, she began to let herself 106 HAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. go. She especially appioved of the idea of going abroad, and confessed her disap- pointment with her present experiment of America, where it appeared there was no leisure class of men sufficiently large to satisfy the social needs of Mr. Pasmers nature, and she told Dan that he might expect them in Europe before long. Per- haps they might all three meet him there. At this he betrayed so clearly that he now intended his going to Eu- rope merely as a sequel to his marrying Alice, while he affected to fall in with all Mrs. Pasmer said, that she grew fonder than ever of him for his ardor and his fu- tile duplicity. If it had been in Dans mind to take part in the rite, Mrs. Pasmer was quite ready at this point to embrace him with motherly tenderness. Her tough little heart was really in her throat with sympathy when she made an errand for the photograph of an English vicarage, which they had hired the summer of the year before, and she sent Alice back with it alone. It seemed so long since they had met that the change in Alice did not strike him as strange or as too rapidly operated. They met with the fervor natural after such a separation, and she did not so much assume as resume possession of him. It was charming to have her do it, to have her act as if they had always been engaged, to have her try to press down the cowlick that started capricious- ly across his crown, and to straighten his neck-tie, and then to drop beside him on the sofa; it thrilled and awed him; and he silently worshipped the superiOr com- posure which her sex has in such matters. Whatever was the provisional interpreta- tion which her father and mother pre- tended to put upon the affair, she appar- ently had no reservations, and they talk- ed of their future as a thing assured. The Dark Ages, as they agreed to call the pe- riod of despair forever closed that morn- ing, had matured their love till now it was a rapture of pure trust. They talked as if nothing could prevent its fulfilment, and they did not even affect to consider the question of his familys liking it or not liking it. She said that she thought his father was delightful, and lie told her that his father had taken the greatest fan- cy to her at the beginning, and knew that Dan was in love with her. She asked him about his mother, and she said just what he could have wished her to say about his mothers sufferings, and the way she bore them. They talked about Alices going to see her. Of course your father will bring your sisters to see me first. Is that the way? he asked. You may depend upon his doing the right thing, whatever it is. Well, thats the right thing, she said. I~ve thought it out; and that reminds me of a duty of ours, Dan 1 A duty 1, lie repeated, with a note of reluctance for its untimeliness. Yes. Cant you think what ? No; I didnt kiiow there was a duty left in the world. Its full of them. 01), dont say that, Alice I He did not like this mood so well as that of the morn- ing, but his dislike was only a vague dis- comfortnothing formulated or distinct. Yes, she persisted; and we must do them. You must go to those ladies you disappointed so this morning, and apolo- gizeexplain. Dan laughed. Why, it wasnt such a very iron-clad engagement as all that, Alice. They said they were goiiig to drive out to Canibridge over the Mill- dam, and I said I was going out there to get some of my traps together, and they could pick me up at the Art Museum if they liked. Besides, how could I ex- plain 1 She laughed consciously with him. Of course. But, she added, ruefully, I wish you hadnt disappointed them. Oh, theyll get over it. If I hadn~t disappointed them, I shouldnt be here, and I shouldnt like that. Should you ? No; but I wish it hadnt happened. Its a blot, and I didnt want a blot on this day. Oh, well, it isn~t very much of a blot, and I can easily wipe it off. Ill tell you what, Alice! I can write to Mrs. Frobishier, when our enga~,enient comes out, aiid tell her how it was. Shell enjoy the joke, and so will Miss Wrayne. Theyre jolly and easy-going; they wont mind. How long have you known them 1 I met them on Class Day, arid then I saw themthe day after I left Campo- hello. Dan laughed a little. Ho~v, saw them ? Well, I went to a yacht race with. them. I happened to meet them in the street, and they wanted me to go; and I was all broken up, andI went. APRIL HOPES. 107 Oh ! said Alice. The day after I you left Campobello ? WTellyes~ And I was thinking of you all that day as And I couldnt bear to look at anybody that day, or speak ! Well, the fact is, II was distracted, and I didnt know what I was doing. I was desperate; I didnt care. How did you find out about the yacht race Boardman told me. Boardman was there. Did he know the ladies? Didhe go too ? No. He was there to report the race for the Events. He went on the press boat. Oh! said Alice. Was there a large party ? No, no. Not very. Just ourselves, in fact. They were awfully kind. And they made me go home to dinner with them. They must have been rather peculiar people, said Alice. And I dont see howso soon She could not realize that Mavering was then a rejected man, on whoni she had voluntarily renounced all claim. A retroactive resentment which she could not control possessed her with the wish to punish those bold women for being agreeable to one who had since be- come everything to her, though then he was ostensibly nothing. In a vague way Dan felt her displeasure with that passage of his history, but no man could have fully imagined it. I couldnt tell half the time what I was saying or eating. I talked at random and ate at random. I guess they thought something was wrong; they asked me who was at Campobello. Indeed! But you maybe sure I didnt give my- self away. I was awfully broken up, he concluded, inconsequently. She liked his being broken up, but she did not like the rest. She would not press the question further now. She only said, rather gravely, If its such a short ac- quaintance, can you write to them in that familiar way ? Oh yes ! Mrs. Frobisher is one of that kind. Alice was silent a moment before she said, I think youd better not write. Let it go, she sighed. Yes, thats what I think, said Dan. Better let it go. I guess it will explain itself in the course of time. But I dont want any blots around. He leaned over and looked her smilingly in the face. Oh no, she murmured; and then suddenly she caught him round the neck, crying and sobbing. Its onlybecause I wanted it to beperfect. Oh, I wonder if Ive done right? Perhaps I oughtnt to have taken you, after all; but I do love youdearly, dearly! And I was so un- happy when Id lost you. And now Im afraid I shall be a trial to you-nothing but a trial. The first tears that a young man sees a woman shed for love of him are inex- pressibly sweeter than her smiles. Dan choked with tender pride and pity. When he found his voice he raved out with in- coherent endearments that she only made him more and more happy by her wish to have the affair perfect, and that he wished her always to be exacting with him, for that would give him a chance to do something for her, and all that he de- sired, as long as he lived, was to do more and more for her, and to do just what she wished. At the end of his vows and entreaties she lifted her face radiantly and bent a smile upon him as sunny as tha.t with which the sky after a summer storm de- nies that there has ever been rain in the world. Ahi! you- He could say no more. He could not be more enraptured than he was. He could only pass from surprise to surprise, from delight lo delight. It was her love of him which wrought these miracles. It was all a miracle, and no part more wonderful than another. That she, who had seemed as distant as a star, and divinely sacred from human touch, should be there in his arms, with her head on his shoulder, where his kiss could reach her lips, not only unforbidden, but eagerly welcome, was impossible, and yet it was true. But it was no more impossible and no truer than that a being so poised, so perfectly self - centred as she, should al- ready be so helplessly dependent upon him for her happiness. In the depths of his soul lie invoked awful penalties upon him- self if ever he should betray her trust, if everlie should grieve that tender heart in the slightest thing, if from that moment he did not make his whole life a sacrifice and an expiation. He uttered some of these exalted 108 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. thoughts, and they did not seem to appear crazy to her. She said yes, they must make their separate lives offerings to each other, and their joint lives an offering to God. The tears came into his eyes at these words of hers: they were so beautiful and holy and wise. He agreed that one ought always to go to church, and that now he should never miss a service. He owned that he had been culpable in the past. He drew her closer to himif that were possible and sealed his words with a kiss. But lie could not realize his happiness then, or afterward, when he walked the streets under the thinly misted moon of that Indian summer night. He went down to the Events office when he left Alice, and found Boardman, and told him that he was engaged, and tried to work Boardman up to some sense of the greatness of the fact. Boardman showed his fine white teeth under his spare mustache, and made acceptable jokes, but he did not ask indiscreet ques- tions, and Dans statement of the fact did not seem to give it any more verity than it had before. He tried to get Boardman to come and walk with him and talk it over; but Boardman said he had just been detailed to go and work up the case of a Chinaman who had suicided a little earlier in the evening. Very well, then; Ill go with you, said Mavering. How can you live in such a den as this ? he asked, looking about the little room before Boardman turned down his incandescent electric. There isnt anything big enough to hold me but all out-doors. In the street he linked his arm through his friends, and said he felt that lie had a right to know all about the happy end- ing of the affair, since he had been told of that miserable phase of it at Portland. But when he came to the facts lie found himself unable to give them with the ful- ness he had promised. He only imparted a succinct statement as to the where and when of the whole matter, leaving the how of it untold. The sketch was apparently enough for Boardman. For all comment, he remind- ed Mavering that he had told him at Port- land it would come out all right. Yes, you did, Boardman; thats a fact, said Dan; and he conceived a higher re- spect for the penetration of Boardman than lie hind before. They stopped at a door in a poor court which they had somehow reached without Maverings privity. Will you come in ? asked Boardman. What for ? Chinaman. Chinaman ? Then Mavering remem- bered. Good heavens! no. What have I got to do with him ? Both mortal, suggested the reporter. The absurdity of this idea, though a lit- tle grisly, struck Dan as a good joke. He hit the companionable Boardman on the shoulder, and then gave him a little hug, and remounted his path of air, and walk- ed off on it. XXVII. Mavering first woke in the morning with the mechanical recurrence of that shame and grief which each day had brought him since Alice refused him. Then with a leap of the heart came the recollection of all that had happened yes- terday. Yet lurking within this rapture was a mystery of regret: a reasonless sense of loss, as if the old feeling had been something he would have kept. Then this faded, and he hind only the longing to see her, to realize in her presence and with her help the fact that she was his. An unspeakable pride filled him, and a joy in her love. He tried to see some outward vision of his bliss in the glass; but, like tbe mirror which had refused to interpret his tragedy in the Portland res- taurant, it gave back no image of his transport; his face looked as it always did, and he and the reflection laughed at each other. He asked himself how soon he could go and see her. It was now seven o clock: eight would be too early, of course; it would be ridiculous; and nine-he won- dered if lie might go to see her at nine. Would they have done breakfast? Had he any right to call before ten? He was miserable at the thought of waiting till ten: it would be three hours. He thought of pretextsof inviting her to go some- where, but that was absurd, for he could see her at home all day if he liked; of carrying her a book, but there could be no such haste about a book; of going to ask if lie had left his cane, but why should he be in such a hurry for his cane? All at once he thought lie could take her some flowersa bouquet to lay beside her plate at breakfast. He dramatized himself charging the servant who should take it APRIL HOPES. 109 from him at the door not to say who left it; but Alice would know, of course, and they would all know; it would be very pretty. He made Mrs. Pasmer say some flattering things of him, and he made Alice blush deliciously to hear them. He could not manage Mr. Pasmer very well, and he left him out of the scene: he ima- gined him shaving in an other room; then he remembered his wearing a full beard. He dressed himself as quickly as he could, and went down into the hotel vesti- bule, where he had noticed people selling flowers the evening before, but there was no one there with them now, and none of the florists shops on the street were open yet. He could not find anything till he went to the Providence Depot, and the man there had to take some of his yester- days flowers out of the refrigerator where he kept them; lie was not sure they would be very fresh; but the heavy rose-buds had fallen open, and they were superb. Dan took all there were, and when they had been sprinkled with water, and wrapped in cotton batting, and tied round with pa- per, it was still only quarter of eight, and lie left them with the man till he could get his breakfast at the depot restaurant. There it had a consoling effect of not being so early; niany people were already break- fasting, and when Dan said, with his or- der, Hurry it up, please, he knew that he was taken for a passenger just arrived or departing. By a fantastic impulse he ordered eggs and bacon again; he felt it a fine derision of the past and a seal of triumph upon the present to have the same breakfast after his acceptance as he had ordered after his rejection; he would tell Alice about it, and it would amuse her. He imagined how lie would say it, and she would laugh; but she would be full of a ravishing compassion for his past suffering. They were long brin~ing the breakfast; when it came he despatched it so quickly that it was only a quarter after eight when he paid his check at the count- er. He tried to be five minutes more getting his flowers, but the man had them all ready for him, and it did not take him ten seconds. He hind said he would carry them at nine; but thinking it over on a bench in the Garden, he decided that he had better go sooner: they might break- fast earlier, and there would be no fun if Alice did not find the roses beside her plate; that was the whole idea. It was not till he stood at the door of the Pas mer apartment that he reflected that lie was not accomplishing his wish to see Alice by leaving her those flowers; lie was a fool, for now he would have to post- pone coming a little, because he had al- ready come. The girl who answered the bell did not understand the charge he gave her ahout the roses, and lie repeated his words. Some one passing through the room be- yond seemed to hesitate and pause at the sound of his voice. Could it be Alice? Then he should see her, after all! The girl looked over her shoulder and said, Mrs. Pasmer. Mrs. Pasmer came forward, and he fell into a complicated explanation and apol- o~y. At the end she said, You had bet- ter give them yourself. They were in the room now, and Mrs. Pasmer let her- self go. Stay and breakfast with us, Mr. Mavering. We shall be so glad to have you. We were just sitting down. Alice came in, and they decorously shook hands. Mrs. Pasmer turned away a smile at their decorum. I will see that theres a place for you, she said, leaving them. They were instantly in each others arms. It seemed to him that all this had happened because he had so strongly wished it. What is it, Dan? What did you come for ? she asked. To see if it was really true, Alice. I couldnt believe it. Welllet me goyou mustntit~s too silly. Of course its true. She pull- ed herself free. Is my hair tumbled? You oughtnt to have come; its ridicu- lous; but Im glad you came. Ive been thinking it all over, and Ive got a great ninny things to say to you. But come to breakfast now. She had a business-like way of treating the situation that was more intoxicating than sentiment would have been, and gave it more actuality. Mrs. Pasmer was alone at the table, and explained that Alices father never break- fasted with them, or very seldom. Where are your flowers ? she asked Alice. Flowers? What flowers ? That Mr. Mavering brought. They all looked at one another. Dan ran out and brought in his roses. They were trying to get away in the excitement, I guess, Mrs. Pnsmer; I found them behind the door. He had flung 110 HARPEIRS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE~ them there, without knoxving it, when Mrs. Pasmer left him with Alice. He expected her to join him and her mother in being amused at this, but lie was as well pleased to have her touched at his having brou~ht them, and to turn their gayety off in praise of the roses. Sbe got a vase for them, and set it on the table. He noticed for the first time the pretty house dress she had on, with its barred corsage and under-skirt, and the heavy silken rope knotted round it at tbe waist, and dropping ia heavy tufts or balls in front. The breakfast was Continental in its sim- plicity, and Mrs. Pasmer said that they had always kept up their Paris habit of a light breakfast, even in London, where it was not so easy to follow foreign customs as it was in America. She was afraid he might find it too light. Then he told all about his mornings adventure, ending with his breakfast at the Providence Depot. Mrs. Pasmer entered into the fun of it, but she said it was for only once in a way, aNd he must not expect to be let in if he came at that hour another morning. He said no; he understood what an extraordinary piece of luck it was for him to be there; and he was there to be bidden to do what- ever they wished. He said so much in recognition of their goodness that he be- came abashed by it. Mrs. Pasmer sat at the head of the table, and Alice across it from him, so far off that she seemed parted from him by an insuperable moral distance. A warm flush seemed to rise from his heart into his throat and stifle him. He wished to shed tears. His eyes were wet with grateful happiness in an- swering~ Mrs. Pasmer that lie would not have any more coffee. Then, she said, we will go into the draxving-roorn ; but she allowed him and Alice to go alone. He was still in that illusion of awe and of distance, and he submitted to the inter- position of another table between their chairs. I wish to talk with you, she said, so seriously that he was frightened, and said to himself: Now she is going to break it off. She has thought it over, and she finds she cant endure me. Well? he said, huskily. You oughtnt to have come here, you know, this morning. I know it, lie vaguely conceded. But I didnt expect to get in. Well, now youre here, we may as well talk. You must tell your family at once. Yes; Im going to write to them as soon as I get back to my room. I couldnt, last night. But you mustnt write; you must go and prepare their minds. Go ? he echoed. Oh, that isnt necessary! My father knows about it from the beginning, and I guess theyve all talked it over. Their minds are pre- pared. The sense of his immeasurable superiority to any ones opposition be- gan to dissipate Dans unnatural awe; at the pleading face which Alice put on, resting one cheek against the back of one of her clasped hands, aiid leaning on the table with her elbows, he began to be teased by that silken rope round her waist. But you dont understand, dear, she said; and she said dear as if they were old married people. You must go to se~ them, and tell them; and then some of them must come to see meyour father and sisters. Why, of course. His eye now be- came fastened to one of the fluffy silken balls. And then mamma and I must go to see your mother, mustnt we ? Itll be very nice of youyes. You know she cant come to you. Yes, thats what I thought, and What are you looking at ? she drew her- self back from the table and followed the direction of his eye with a womans in- stinctive apprehension of disarray. He was ashamed to tell. Oh, no- thing. I was just thinking. What? Well, I dont know. That it seems so strange any one else should have any- thing to do with itmy family and yours. But I suppose they must. Yes, it~s all right. Why, of course. If your family didnt like it It wouldnt make any difference to me, said Dan, resolutely. It would to me, she retorted, with tender reproach. Do you suppose it would be pleasant to go into a family that didnt like you? Suppose papa and mam- ma didnt like you ? But I thought they did, said Mayer- ing, with his mind still partly on the rope and the fluffy ball, but keeping his eyes away. APRIL HOPES. 111 Yes, they do, said Alice. But your family dont know me at all; and your fathers only seen me once. Cant you understand? Im afraid we dont look at it seriously enoughearnestlyand oh, I do wish to have everything done as it should be! Sometimes, when I think of it, it makes me tremble. Ive been think- ing about it all the morning, and-and praying. Dan wanted to fall on his knees to her. The idea of Alice in prayer was fascina- ting. I wish our life to begin with others, and not with ourselves. If were intrust- ed with so much happiness, doesn~t it mean that were to do good with itto give it to others as if it were money l The nobleness of this thought stirred Dan greatly; his eyes wandered back to the silken rope; but now it seemed to him an emblem of voluntary suffering and self-sacrifice, like a devotees hempen gir- dle. He perceived that the love of this angelic girl would elevate him and hal- low his whole life if he would let it. He answered her, fervently, that he would be guided by her in this as in everything; that he knew he was selfish, and he was afraid he was not very good; but it was not because he had not wished to be so; it was because he had not had any incentive. He thou~ht how much nobler and better this was than the talk he had usually had with girls. He said that of course he would go home and tell his people; he saw now that it would make them hap- pier if they could hear it directly from him. He had only thought of writing because he could not bear to think of letting a day pass without seeing her; but if he took the early morning train he could get back the same night, and still have three hours at Ponkwasset Falls, and he would go the next day, if she said so. Go to-day, Dan, she said, and she stretched out her hand impressively across the table toward him. He seized it with a gush of tenderness, and they drew together in their resolution to live for others. He said he would go at once. But the next train did not leave till two oclock, and there was plenty of time. In the mean while it was in the accomplish- ment of their high aims that they sat down on the sofa together and talked of their future; Alice conditioned it wholly upon his peoples approval of her, which seemed wildly unnecessary to Mavering, and amused him immensely. Yes, she said, I know you will think me strange in a great many things; but I shall never keep anything from you, and Im going to tell you that I went to matins this morning. To matins ? echoed Dan. He would not quite have liked her a Catholic; he re- membered with relief that she had said she was not a Roman Catholic; though, when he came to think, he would not have cared a great deal. Nothing could have changed her from being Alice. Yes, I wished to consecrate the first morning of our engagement; and Im al- ways going. Dont you like it? she asked, timidly. Like it! he said. Im going with you. Oh no! she turned upon him. That wouldnt do. She became grave again. Fm glad you approve of it, for I should feel that there was something wanting to our happiness. If marriage is a sacra- ment, why shouldnt an engagement be ? It is, said Dan, and be felt that it was holy; till then he had never realized that marriage was a sacrament, though he had often heard the phrase. At the end of an hour they took a tender leave of each other, hastened by the sound of Mrs. Pasmer~s voice without. Alice escaped from one door before her mother entered by the other. Dan remained, try- in to look unconcerned, but lie was sensible of succeeding so poorly that lie thought lie had better offer his hand to Mis. Pasmer at once. He told her that he was going up to Ponkwasset Falls at two oclock, and asked her to please remem- ber him to Mr. Pasmer. She said she would, and asked him if he were to be gone long. Oh no; just overni~littill I can tell them whats happened. He felt it a comfort to be trivial with Mrs. Pasmer, after bracing up to Alices ideals. I suppose theyll have to know. What an exemplary son 1 said Mrs. Pasmer. Yes, I suppose they will. I supposed it would be enough if I wrote, but Alice thinks Id better report in person. I think you had, indeed! And it will be a good thing for you both to have the time for clarifying your ideas. Did she tell you she had been at matins this morning ? A light of laughter trembled 112 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in Mrs. Pasmers eyes, and Mavering could not keep a responsive gleam out of his own. In an instant the dedication of his engagement by morning prayer ceased to be a high and solemn thought, and be- came deliciously amusing; and this laugh- ing Alice over with her mother did more to realize the fact that she was his than anything else had yet done. In that dark passage outside he felt two arms go tenderly round his neck, and a soft shape strain itself to his heart. I know you have been laughing about me. But you may. Im yours now, even to laugh at, if you want. You are mine to fall down and wor- ship, he vowed, with an instant revul- sion of feeling. Alice didnt say anything; he felt her hand fumbling about his coat lapel. Where is your breast pocket ? she ask- ed; and he took hold of her hand, which left a carte-de-visite-shaped something in his. It isnt very good, she murmured, as well as she could, with her lips against his cheek, but I thought youd like to show them some proof of my existence. I shall have none of yours while youre gone. Oh, Alice! you think of everything! His heart was pierced by the soft re- proach implied in her words; he had not thought to ask her for her photograph, but she had thought to give it; she must have felt it strange that he had not asked for it, and she had meant to slip it in his pocket and let him find it there. But even his pang of self-npbraiding was a part of his transport. He seemed to float doxvn the stairs; his mind was in a delir- ious whirl. I shall go mad, he said to himself in the excess of his joy; I shall die! [TO BE CONTINUED.] THE THREE SISTERS. BY THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH. HERE in the garden Rose rambles with me, Here where the flowers are all blossoming free: Modest white candytufts, flaunting sword-lilies, Low-growing pinks, and sweet-scented stock-gillies; Queen of them all is the roseah! the rose! Fairest and rarest it bourgeons and blows. Bearing before us their bright spikes of fire, Salvias ask us to gaze and admire; Here in our pathway the pansies are spreading Purple and golda gay road to a wedding; Over them all towers the roseah! the rose! Fairest and rarest it hourgeons and blows. Rose listens timidly here as I speak, Eyelids low-drooping, a flush on her cheek; Flashes a moment the shiest of glances Glance that tells much while my soul it entrances; Trembling, a rose-bud she plucksah! the rose! Fairest and rarest it bourgeons and blows. Two of the sisters to meet us have come. Both & f them greet us, but Rose has grown dumb. Lily, as always, is gracious and stately; Pansy is curious, but stands there sedately; Rose deeply blushesah! she is the rose In my hearts garden that bourgeons and blows.

Thomas Dunn English English, Thomas Dunn The Three Sisters 112-113

112 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in Mrs. Pasmers eyes, and Mavering could not keep a responsive gleam out of his own. In an instant the dedication of his engagement by morning prayer ceased to be a high and solemn thought, and be- came deliciously amusing; and this laugh- ing Alice over with her mother did more to realize the fact that she was his than anything else had yet done. In that dark passage outside he felt two arms go tenderly round his neck, and a soft shape strain itself to his heart. I know you have been laughing about me. But you may. Im yours now, even to laugh at, if you want. You are mine to fall down and wor- ship, he vowed, with an instant revul- sion of feeling. Alice didnt say anything; he felt her hand fumbling about his coat lapel. Where is your breast pocket ? she ask- ed; and he took hold of her hand, which left a carte-de-visite-shaped something in his. It isnt very good, she murmured, as well as she could, with her lips against his cheek, but I thought youd like to show them some proof of my existence. I shall have none of yours while youre gone. Oh, Alice! you think of everything! His heart was pierced by the soft re- proach implied in her words; he had not thought to ask her for her photograph, but she had thought to give it; she must have felt it strange that he had not asked for it, and she had meant to slip it in his pocket and let him find it there. But even his pang of self-npbraiding was a part of his transport. He seemed to float doxvn the stairs; his mind was in a delir- ious whirl. I shall go mad, he said to himself in the excess of his joy; I shall die! [TO BE CONTINUED.] THE THREE SISTERS. BY THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH. HERE in the garden Rose rambles with me, Here where the flowers are all blossoming free: Modest white candytufts, flaunting sword-lilies, Low-growing pinks, and sweet-scented stock-gillies; Queen of them all is the roseah! the rose! Fairest and rarest it bourgeons and blows. Bearing before us their bright spikes of fire, Salvias ask us to gaze and admire; Here in our pathway the pansies are spreading Purple and golda gay road to a wedding; Over them all towers the roseah! the rose! Fairest and rarest it hourgeons and blows. Rose listens timidly here as I speak, Eyelids low-drooping, a flush on her cheek; Flashes a moment the shiest of glances Glance that tells much while my soul it entrances; Trembling, a rose-bud she plucksah! the rose! Fairest and rarest it bourgeons and blows. Two of the sisters to meet us have come. Both & f them greet us, but Rose has grown dumb. Lily, as always, is gracious and stately; Pansy is curious, but stands there sedately; Rose deeply blushesah! she is the rose In my hearts garden that bourgeons and blows. GREAT AMERICAN INTMJSTRIES. 1/1.A SHEET OF PAPER. BY R. Th BOWKER. from the pith of plants cut into thin scales and patched together. The Egyptian reed papyrus, or byblos (as the Greeks called it), gave us, indeed, both our word paper and our word Bible and its cognates. The papyrus is a rush growing in still poois of wa- ter to a height of ten or twenty feet, sometimes as thick as a mans arm be- low water. It is now scarcely known in Egypt. The thin pellicles of pith under the outer skin below the water- line were carefully peeled off, with the help of a small pin or pointed mussel shell, and the pieces laid together with overlapping edges, crossed with other layers three or more thicknesses deep, pressed, dried in the sun, and sleeked with a tooth. To this day the so-called rice-paper is made by the Chinese in similar manner by deftly cutting a con- tinuous slice from the pith of the Qire- liapapyrifera. Pliny asserts that the Nile water, having a certain glutinous quality, was necessary to dampen the sheets, but this seems to have been an error. Twenty layers could sometimes be got from one stalk, and the process of peeling or furrowing off gave us, through the Greek charasso, to fur- row, and Greek and Latin charta a sheet of paper, our several words chart, card, carte blanche, and the like. Twenty sheets were glued to- gether into a scapus by the glutinatoris, WITHOUT paper the modern world the ancient bookbinder, and then again would be literally impossible. The into a volumen, or roll, whence our word letter, the newspaper, the bank-note volume. In Paris there is one papyrus these three applications of paper alone manuscript thirty feet long. The Ho- make a great part of the social and com- mans improved upon the Egyptians by mercial machinery without which we sizing their charta with wheaten flour would not and could not be what we are. boiled into paste, with a few drops of yin- Of course the Chinese had invented or egar added, and by hammering it smooth. discovered paper some time before the This old-fashioned process of making Christian era, and to this day our finest could not supply a hundredth or a thou- paper comes from the far East. So much sandth part of the modern demand. The store do they set by it that a quantity of substitute was simple enough. Instead paper is often part of a brides dowry. of laying together the slices of pith, the They made and used pulp for the purpose, fibres which exist more or less in most as we do now, and from them, through plants were obtained, and these matted or the Arabians, the modern processes of pa- felted together into sheets. Nature her- per-making came into Europe about the self gives a hint of this process at brook- eighth century. But the earliest paper, sides where the confcrva grows. The with them as with the Egyptians, came fibres of this water-plant disintegrated (I ~/ From a print in Koopon book, 1801. I.

R. R. Bowker Bowker, R. R. A Sheet of Paper 113-131

GREAT AMERICAN INTMJSTRIES. 1/1.A SHEET OF PAPER. BY R. Th BOWKER. from the pith of plants cut into thin scales and patched together. The Egyptian reed papyrus, or byblos (as the Greeks called it), gave us, indeed, both our word paper and our word Bible and its cognates. The papyrus is a rush growing in still poois of wa- ter to a height of ten or twenty feet, sometimes as thick as a mans arm be- low water. It is now scarcely known in Egypt. The thin pellicles of pith under the outer skin below the water- line were carefully peeled off, with the help of a small pin or pointed mussel shell, and the pieces laid together with overlapping edges, crossed with other layers three or more thicknesses deep, pressed, dried in the sun, and sleeked with a tooth. To this day the so-called rice-paper is made by the Chinese in similar manner by deftly cutting a con- tinuous slice from the pith of the Qire- liapapyrifera. Pliny asserts that the Nile water, having a certain glutinous quality, was necessary to dampen the sheets, but this seems to have been an error. Twenty layers could sometimes be got from one stalk, and the process of peeling or furrowing off gave us, through the Greek charasso, to fur- row, and Greek and Latin charta a sheet of paper, our several words chart, card, carte blanche, and the like. Twenty sheets were glued to- gether into a scapus by the glutinatoris, WITHOUT paper the modern world the ancient bookbinder, and then again would be literally impossible. The into a volumen, or roll, whence our word letter, the newspaper, the bank-note volume. In Paris there is one papyrus these three applications of paper alone manuscript thirty feet long. The Ho- make a great part of the social and com- mans improved upon the Egyptians by mercial machinery without which we sizing their charta with wheaten flour would not and could not be what we are. boiled into paste, with a few drops of yin- Of course the Chinese had invented or egar added, and by hammering it smooth. discovered paper some time before the This old-fashioned process of making Christian era, and to this day our finest could not supply a hundredth or a thou- paper comes from the far East. So much sandth part of the modern demand. The store do they set by it that a quantity of substitute was simple enough. Instead paper is often part of a brides dowry. of laying together the slices of pith, the They made and used pulp for the purpose, fibres which exist more or less in most as we do now, and from them, through plants were obtained, and these matted or the Arabians, the modern processes of pa- felted together into sheets. Nature her- per-making came into Europe about the self gives a hint of this process at brook- eighth century. But the earliest paper, sides where the confcrva grows. The with them as with the Egyptians, came fibres of this water-plant disintegrated (I ~/ From a print in Koopon book, 1801. I. 114 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. by the action of water, are said to rise to the surface as a scum, which, matted to- gether by wind and current, and dried and bleached by the sun is sometimes left on shore, after an overflow, as a veritable sheet of paper. The variety of fibre which can be used for this purpose is shown by the list of English patents on paper-mak- ing materials, which, includes aside from rags and old paper, cotton, flax, hemp, and the other textile plants, esparto or alfa, and other grasses, jute, aloe fibre, banana fibre, bean stalks, cocoa-nut fibre and the kernels of the nut, clover, hay, heath, hops, husks of grain, leaves, maize, and sugar-cane, moss, nettles, pea stalks, various roots, straw, sea-weed and fresh- water weeds, thistles and thistle-down, and tobacco stalks, wood, barks, saw -dust, and tan, wool, silk, fur, hair, leather, peat, dung, gutta-perclia, and asbestos. This is by no means a comprehensive sur- vey; but perhaps the most curious mate- rial ever tried was the bag of frog-spit- tle, the curious spume which surrounds the larv~ of the fro~,-hopper or froth- worm, brought to the Catskill paper-mill about 1800 by one De Labigarre, which was actually made into a rather poor piece of paper, to the great delight of many fool- isli people, who saw here the germ of a new industry. In the Smithsonian Insti- tution there is a German book of about 1772, in which Schaffers, preacher at IRat- isbon, binds together sheets of paper from more than sixty different materials, the result of his own experiments alone, and several American libraries have copies of the very curious Historical a~count of the substances which have been used to describe events and to convey ideas from the earliest date to the invention of pa- per, printed 18001801 by Matthias Koops, Esq., on paper manufactured solely from strawan illustration from which is re- produced in this articlewith an appen- dix printed on wood paper. Koops was the first to make over old paper into new. A French manufacturer had, however, obtained a silver medal from the Society for the Encouragement of Arts, in 1788, for several quires of paper made from the bark of the sallow-tree, and the idea of making paper from wood seems to have been suggested by R~aumur, in 1719, as a result of his observations on the fab- ric of wasps nests. Schafferss book in- cluded a paper made from hornets nests. Among several other similar volumes was an early work (1727) by a German natu- ralist, Dr. Bruechinan, on stones, in which lie speaks of asbestos, and of which he printed four copies on paper made of that mineral. The vegetable fibres depend for their value as paper-making materials on the fibrous cellulose, which is the basis of nearly all vegetation, cotton being almost pure cellulose. Cotton paper is traced back in Europe to the beginning of the eighth century; it was called charta born- bycine, cotton being regarded as a vege- table silk. Some of the early paper was made from wool, or mixed wool and cot- ton. Somewhere about 1100, probably, although the date is altogether uncertain, linen began to take its place as the su preme paper-making material, chiefly in the shape of rags. Rags are yet King, writes an enthusiastic devotee of his Majesty. II. The old-fashioned ragman is iiideed the main-stay of the paper-maker, and he exists, in more or less picturesque person- ality, all over the world, as is suggested by the names of the qualities recogiiized in the trade. One authority schedules as main divisions Japanese rags, Liban Memel, Smyrna, Alexandria, Constanti- nople, Trieste, Leghorn, Russian, K6nigs- berg, Hamburg, Dutch, Belgian, British, and domestic rags, all subdivided into mysteriously named, lettered, or number- ed sub-classes, ad infinitum. CSPFFF No. 1, cottons, is, for instance, a Ham- burg variety; the domestic genus includes as species city whites, Nos. 1 and 2, colors, country mixed, country seconds, country whites, in ill assort- ed, whites, new seconds, dark, and a few dozen others, while simpler Japan furnishes chiefly blues, ordinary, and blues, selected. It was only after much coaxing that the world could be got into the habit of saving its rags. A curious petition to the Pope (1471) asked his admiration for the enterprise which had collected rags enough to print 12,475 volumes. An old English writer is pleased that the act of Parliament providing that the dead were to be buried in no other dress than wool intended to encourage the wool trade saved about 250,000 pounds of linen an- nually for paper - making. The early American newspapers are full of quaint appeals, in prose and verse, to save rags. A SHEET OF PAPER. 115 The Boston News Letter, 1769, announced that the bell cart will go through Bos- ton about the end of next month to collect rags, and added: Rags are as beauties which conceal~d lie, But when in paper, how it charms the eye! Pray save your rags, new beauties to discover, IFor of paper, truly, every ones a lover By the pen and press such knowledge is displayed As wouldnt exist if paper was not made. Wisdom of things, mysterious, divine, Illustriously doth on paper shine. The Massachusetts General Court, in 1776, required the Committee of Safety in each town to appoint a suitable person to re- ceive rags, and appealed to the inhabit- ants to save even the smallest quantity. The Norwich Gourier hoped every man would say to his wife, Molly, make a rag-bag, and hang it under the shelf where the big Bible lies; and the Boston Gazette, 1798, urged that every child should be taught its rag lesson. Patri- otism and frugality were alike invoked. The postmaster at Troy, New York, in 1801, urged the ladies of New York State to imitate the exemplary saving of those in Massachusetts and Connecticut towns, who display an elegant work-bag as part of the furniture of their parlors, in which every rag is carefully preserved, in which case this State would not be drained of its circulating cash for paper and other manufactures which American artists can furnish. About the same time the ma- gistrates of an English town had a similar appeal painted in large letters on hoards, which were put up in public resorts. The climax was reached by the appeal from the new mill at Moreau, New York, in 1808, to the ladies, young, old, and mid- die-aged. If the necessary stock is de- nied paper-mills, young ladies must lan- guish in vain for tender epistles from their respective swains; bachelors may be reduced to the necessity of a personal at- tendance upon the fair, when a written communication would be an excellent substitute. For clean cotton and linen rags of every color and description, ma- trons can be furnished with Bibles, specta- cles, and snuff; mothers with grammars, spelling-books, and primers for their chil- dren; and young misses may be supplied with bonnets, ribbons, and ear-rings for the decoration of their persons (by means of which they may obtain husbands), or by sending them to the said mill they may receive cash. YoL. LxxV.No. 445.S Our forefathers got as much as 3d per pound for clear white rags (2d and less for mixed), for which price we can now buy a good deal more than a pound of fairly good paper or a yard of cloth. Our mothers got 3 cents a pound for white and 2 cents for colored rags, until the war came, when 6 cents a pound and more was paid. Now the frugal-minded house- wife gets only a single cent. America is not a very ragged country, but it furnish- es about half its supply of rags, import- ing the other half: in 18856, 107,976,167 pounds, valued at $2,291,989, or ~ cents per pound, besides $2,807,987 worth of other paper stock. Rags and most other paper stock are imported duty free. The increasing consumption of paper started anew the search for fibrous mate- rials other than rags, and about the mid- dle of the century Mr. Lloyd, of Lloyds Weekly, London, introduced the esparto, a Spanish grass grown in North Africa and Spain, which has of late years sup- plied nearly half the material for English paper-makers. The proprietors of one of the London dailies have an esparto farm in North Africa for tbe supply of their paper-mill, which in turn supplies their presses. This grass is nearly half clear cellulose, and as a mixture with rags it makes perhaps a better paper than any American fibres, but it requires a large proportion of caustic soda and other chemicals to boil it free from resin and gritty silica, and the high cost of these and the distance of production have given it little vogue in America. The demand has now outrun the supply of this fibre, and Mr. Routledge recommends a new source in the young green shoots of the bamboo. In America and in the northern Euro- pean countries the plentiful supply of wood has offered another solution to the problem, while straw is very widely used for the cheaper papers. Various woods vary curiously in their proportion of cellulose, from less than forty per cent. in oak to fifty-seven per cent. in fir; it is from the poplar and like woods that the pulp is commonly made. There are two kinds, commonly known to paper-makers as mechanical and chemical wood- pulp, the one obtained by mere grinding or shredding, the other through disinte- gration by chemicals. The first machine for grinding wood- pulp was patented in Germany in 1844 by 116 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. one Keller, who sold his right to the Voel- ter firm, by whom an improved machine was patented in the United States in 1858. This invention, which is the basis of the mechanical wood-pulp industry, is sim- ply an ingenious device to hold split logs against a revolving grindstone parallel to their fibre, with a constant supply of water and an automatically elastic pressure, so that the wood is shredded into fibre in- stead of ground to powder. In a succes- sion of tanks this fibre is sorted out ac- cording to its length, an& it is then matted together (usually on the cylinder paper- making machine to be hereafter described) into sheets of dry half-stuff, or dried loose and sold in bulk (?). The Voelter patent recently expired, but within its pe- riod 187 or more patents for wood-grind- ers were taken out in this country. One process looks to the softening of the wood and toughening of the fibre by previous boiling in dilute alkali. The mechanical wood-pulp is nsed chiefly for cheap news paper, and is very apt to prove rather a filling than a fibre. Chemical wood-pulp is made by separa- ting the foreign matter from the fibrous cellulose by the use of chemicals, much like the treatment of rags, yet to be de- scribed. The original process was the boiling of the wood chips with about twenty per cent. of caustic soda, under a pressure of from ten to fourteen atmos- pheres, but the high temperature thus de- veloped weakened and browned the fibres. The later acid processes use a bisulphite of lime or magnesia, requiring a boiler lined with lead, to oxidize the extraneous substances; the cellulose remaining is apt to be hard and transparent, but these dif- ficulties are said to be removed by subse- quent treatment with an alkaline solution. Chemical wood-pulp is in this country the chief mixture for good papers. Great quantities of brown or Manila paper some of it excellent writing or printing papersare now made from Ma- nila hemp, a fabric from a plant allied to the banana; from the sisal-grass, also called agave and American aloe, grown in Central America; and from jute, the fibre of a reed grown in India, in flooded dis- tricts like our own rice fields, which pro- duces also the gunny-bags, largely used to bale cotton, and is used also for other tex- tile fabrics, or in mixture with wool, flax, or silk, or even as imitation human hair in cheap chignons, the best fibre having a fine golden color and silky gloss. Jute butts are the cuttings of the plant below water or at the bottom of the stalk, and these are also a material for cheap paper. Manila and hemp are subject to $25 per ton, sisal-grass to $15, and jute butts to $5, duty, and jute itself to twenty per cent.; nevertheless, we import over 150,000 tons of these, partly for paper-making, valued at over $10,000,000. Some attempts have also been made to use the fibre of cane. disintegrating it by firing it from a gun. Once made, paper nowadays undergoes a continuous transmigration, such as the Orientals attribute to human souls. Since Matthias Koops succeeded, at the begin- ning of the century, in utilizing waste or broken paper as a paper-making mate- rial, the processes for that purpose have been so developed that old paper is now one of the chief kinds of paper stock, es- pecially for use in paper-hangings. The old ink and sizing are easily dissolved out by a solution of caustic soda or other al- kali at high temperature, and the paper is theii beaten back to fibre as any other material would be. III. The modern paper-maker has a thou- sand things to think of, yet the apparent- ly complicated work of the marvellous pa- per-making machine is a simple enough development from that of the hand-work- er centuries ago, which is also that of hand-made paper-making to-day. What- ever fibrous material he used, he had first to rid it of all but the clear, clean fibre, and then reduce that to an even pulp. To this end the rags or bark or what not were cut in bits, dusted, boiled to softness, bleached, and further disinte- grated, and finally beaten to a smooth pulp by mallets, or pestle and mortar, or stampers moxTed by water or wind. At first, indeed, before the use of chemical agents was discovered, and the color of the material determined that of the paper, the process was even more primitive; the cut rags were piled up moist in cellars or vats, and left to rot for from six to twenty days, by which time the vegetable gluten, having fermented or putrefled, could be dissolved out. Water, heat, chemicals, and power were the simple agents in this cookery, which produced what the house- wife might call a puree, or smooth soup, of fibre. This was now before the paper- maker in a vat. He held in his hand an A SHEET OF PAPER. 117 oblong sieve, so to speak, called the mould, made either of fine wire or, among the Japanese and Chinese, of split bam- boo, on the edge of which he placed a frame, called the deekel, like the frame of a childs slate, exactly the size of the frame of the sieve or mould itself. When he dipped the mould, thus rimmed, into the vat in front of him, he brought up, of course, as much of the pulp as the height of the deckel permitted; the water at once drained off through the sieve, leaving a thick or thin layer of moist pulp, according as a high or low deckel had been used. As the water drained, the paper- maker shook the mould gently to and fro, to felt or mat together the fibres. In some moulds the wire was closely woven to- gether, in and out like cloth, and paper from such was called wove paper; in oth- ers the sieve was a series of straight wires crossed an inch or so apart by stouter ones, and paper from such was called laid pa- per. A device showing the name of the maker or some distinctive mark was com- monly worked in wire upon the other wires, and here, as the water drained off, the paper was left thinner than in other places, so that when held to the light the water-marie, as it got to be called, ap- peared. A good many forgeries have been proven by showing that a document was written on paper having a water- mark never used so early as the writing purported to be written. Of course these markings appear only on one sidethat is, in hand-made paper, the under side. When the pulp is well drained, the coucher, as the next man is called, takes the mould, removes the deckel, and turns off the moist sheet upon a couch, or sheet of felt stretched over a board. A pile is presently made, first a sheet of pulp, then a sheet of felt, and this post, as it is called when it is several quires thick, is put in a press, and the remaining moisture is squeezed out. The felts are then removed, the sheets are again pressed, hung over hair ropes in the drying-loft to dry further, then dipped in size to fill up the pores, which other- wise would absorb ink as blotting-paper does, then pressed and dried again, and perhaps hot-pressed, to give a smooth- er surface, by passing between heated metal rollers. To this day hand-made paper, un- trimmed, is used exclusively for print- ing Bank of England notes, which are printed only two to the sheet, so that on every genuine note three of the four edges are rough. India, Japan, and Holland pa- pers, used for etchings and other fine il- lustrated work, are hand - made papers produced in those countries, although so- called India paper is often of Holland manufacture. The United States boasts but one hand- made paper factory, at North Adams, Mas- sachusetts, producing but a few hundred pounds per day, but Great Britain, from several mills, produces about sixty tons per week. The industry there is controlled by the Original Society of Paper-makers, which is one of the oldest and perhaps the most restrictive of trades-unions. An employer may take only one apprentice MOULD AND DECKEL. HAND-rArER MAKING. 118 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in five years for each seven men in his employ; the son of a paper-maker must always be preferred, but he cannot be ap- prenticed after he has reached fifteen, and a lad not born into the craft cannot be ap- prenticed after he is fourteen years old. The apprentice must serve and pay to the society for seven years; he then pays his freedom fee, and gets his card. With- out this certificate of membership in the society he cannot get work in a hand- made paper mill, nor in a machine mill within the county of Kent, whose pure water makes it the chief seat of paper- making in England. In the other shires society men work with non-society men, but in machine mills only, and providing the wages are at society rates. The so- ciety makes a fixed rate for wages, not a minimum, but one which requires all workmen to be paid the same. It is based on the days work of so many reams of a given size and weight. Thus, Imperial size of 72 pounds to the ream is made at the rate of three reams per day; if the same size is to be of only 40 pounds weight, still only three reams would be made, but if, contrariwise, it is to be of 90 pounds weight, the production would be corre- spondingly reduced, that is, to about two and a half reams per day. For special sizes not scheduled the employer must make a specific arrangement with the so- ciety or its members in his mill, before he can safely take a contract; otherwise his contract may be practically vetoed. The purpose and result of the organization is to enforce equality; it puts all the em- ployers on even terms as to cost of labor, and all the employ6s on even terms as to amount and pay of work. This, of course, checks progress, and keeps the quicker and better workman from rising above the dead level; the apprenticeship rules steadily reduce the membership of the so- ciety, and if unmodified would ultimately destroy the trade; and the employers la- ment that Holland is more and more ob- taining the natural business of England. The plan is the complete practical appli- cation of the wage-fund theory held by English economists in old times, that there was a certain amount of capital to be divided among laborers as wages, so that the more men there were and the more work they did, the less they got for it. If the society had been strong enough outside as well as inside England, at the time of the invention of the paper- making machine, to prevent the supply of men to work it, the modern newspaper, the cheap book, the penny post, would not have been possible, and the tens of thou- sands of men now engaged in making paper and the hundreds of thousands now engaged in using it would have been hard put to it for work and wages. This attempt was in fact mad~, as it has been made in almost every trade into which labor-saving machinery has enter- ed. It was in the early part of this cen- tury a days work for three men to make 4000 small sheets of hand-made paper, and it took about three months to complete the process. Many paper-mills were of two vats only, requiring about $10,000 capital, employing twelve or more men, boys, and girls, and making two to three thousand reams a year. The English proprietors of the new machine stated, in 18067, that while seven vats cost to run 2604 128. per year, one of their machines, at the price of from 715 to 1040, would do the work of seven vats for 734 12s.a saving of 1870 per year. It cost to make paper by hand 16s. per hundred-weight; by ma- chine, 3s. 6d. Presently the number of men necessary to work a Fourdrinier was reduced from five to three, and after some improvements it was possible to deliver paper the next day after pulp went into the machine. At first sight all this look- ed like starvation to the paper-maker; dis- turbances ensued; machines were attacked and broken to pieces. It was the same spirit which in 1390 caused the Italian workmen in Ulman Stromers paper-mill at Nuremberg, the first in Germany, to revolt, because he wanted to add a third roller to the two sets, working eighteen stampers, which he already useda revolt only quelled by the interference of the magistrates. It is a spirit which exists more or less now, but happily, as the facts of progress increasingly show, it is a mis- taken spirit which must disappear, as with broader education working-men become better able to apply the experience of the past to the conduct of the present. V. Let us now enter a modern mill and follow a sheet of paper from its begin- ning to its end. If it is to be of the best quality, such as is used for printing this Magazine, it begins where other things end, in rags. These are waiting, in huge bales, for the knife of the opener, who feeds A SHEET OF PAPER. them into the thrasher, where, inside an enormous wooden box, revolving arms thrash the dust out of them as they are tumbled round. They go now to the sort- ing-room, where buttons and other in- truders are disposed of, and where large pieces are shredded into smaller ones against upright stationary knives, like scythe blades, mostly by women, who toss the different qualities into different box- es in the tables before which they stand. Thence the rags go to the cutter, where revolving knives chop them into still small- er bits, and some mills here use various ingenious devices for removing foreign substances, magnetic brushes being em- ployed in one machine to attract any bits or dust of metal. They must now be fur- ther dusted if very dirty, first by the devil,~~ a hollow cone with spikes pro- jecting within, against which work the spikes of a drum, dashing the rags about at great speed; and afterward by the duster proper, a conical revolving sieve, through which the rags emerge upon an endless belt, which carries them under one or two pair of sharp eyes, on a final lookout for overlooked but- tons or unchopped pieces, along to the boilers. ~NAfe follow, and find ourselves in a steamy room, where piles of rags are being mysteriously disposed of through holes in the floor. These prove to be the openings of huge rotary boilers, fed by steam, which we see hung from the ceil- ing on the floor below, some of them eighteen feet long by six feet in diameter, holding over two tons of rags, wh,ich, as the boiler revolves, are tumbled about in lime-water ( milk of lime), or a solution of mixed lime and soda-ash, until their dis- position is softened by trouble and their countenance blanched by fear. From thence the mushy material which results goes to the important machines called the washers and beaters, or, in general, the engines, which make the stuff that is the food of the Fourdrinier. The rag engine, invented in Holland about 1750, is often called the Hollander. The material for fine paper is run through both washer and beater; for coarse, only through one. The Holiander is an oval iron tub, ten to twenty feet long, four to six broad, and about three high, divided for two- thirds of its length by a mid-feather or upright partition, which makes a sort of race-course for the rags to chase each other round the edge of the vat. On one side of the mid-feather the floor of the tub is raised in a quarter circle, close to which a roll covered with knives or bars revolves, so arranged that it can be lowered closer to the bedplate, furnished with corresponding bars, as it becomes necessary to make the pulp finer and finer. The tub is partly filled with pure water, the disintegrated and decolor- ized rags from the boilers are dumped in, the roll, set just close enough to the bed- plate to open up the rags and free the remaining dirt, sweeps the rags up the in- cline an~ over the back-fall, and a drum of wire-cloth partly immersed in the cur- rent sucks up, and discharges by means of buckets inside it connected with an es- cape spout, the now dirtied water, fed in a clear, continuous stream at the other end, while the actual dirt falls into a sand- trap in the bottom of the tub. When the discharge water begins to run clear, the roll is lowered closer to the bedplate, to tear the fibre to pieces, a sol ution of bleaching powder is run in, and after from two to six hours the dingy rags from the boilers have become a whitish fine mince of fibre. This mass is now removed to a bleaching cistern for a longer soak, or the bleaching solution is run off, and the fibre, if for the best paper, taken from the washer to another engine, called the beater. The beater is a closely similar machine, bide View ~0 O~ I o~ ~ c, Top View. BEATING ENGINE. 120 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. except that the knives on its roll are grouped three instead of two together, and the roll is set closer to the bedplate, so as to beat the fibre still finer. But here some of the most important processes of paper-mak- ing are carried onthe selection of stock, loading, engine-sizing, and body-coloring. To make a certain grade of paper, to keep within a given price, to avoid lumping or discoloration when the chemicals are in- troduced, the superintendent at the beat- ers, like the cook with her flour and eggs and salt at hand, must choose and com- bine rightly the different kinds and quan- tity of stock, looking forward as well as backward, knowing and thinking of a thousand thingsthe cost of his rags, his chemicals, his labor, the wear and tear and difficulties of the Fourdrinier ahead. If paper is to be loaded, that is, adulter- ated with clay or cheap fibres, these are added in the beater as the fibre swirls round and round. Clay, though a weak- cuing adulteration when in quantity, is sometimes desirable in very cheap papers to give body or opacity to the paper. Then comes the engine-sizing, distinguished from tub-sizing, because in the one case the size is mixed with the fibre through and through in the beater or engine, while in the other it is soaked in from the surface of the paper as the web runs through a tub of size in its course through the Fourdrin- ier. Blotting-paper is made without size, so that it may freely suck the ink into its unchoked pores, and the hard paper, made wholly or chiefly of linen, and pressed by supercalender rollers into great compactness, used for the fine il- lustrated work of this Magazine, re- quires little or no sizing. But with most fibres, unsized, the ink would be absorb- ed into the pores, and would partly dis- appear from the surface, leaving a din- gy instead of a sharp, clean print. For engine-sizing, vegetable size is chiefly used: a soap made of resin is introduced into the beater, and when this is well mingled a solution of alum is added. A chemical combination, sometimes called the resinate of alumina, results, which fills the pores and interstices of the fibre, and makes the paper more or less water- proof when, later on, it is heated and press- ed under the pressure of the drying cylin- ders of the Fourdrinier. If a paper is to be body - colored or tinted, the coloring matter is next introduced into the mass in the beater: for reds, cochineal, Brazil woods, or aniline reds; for yellows, va- rious barks or plants, as barberry root and golden-rod, or chrome-yellow; for blues, Prussian blue or aniline blues; for black, lampblack or a combination of aniline dyes. White paper so called is really dyed with a little bluing and a trace of red. And thereby hangs a tale. About 1746 Mrs. Buttenshaw, wife of an English paper-maker, was one day washing some fine linen, when un(?)fortunately she dropped her bag of bluing into a vat of paper pulp. She thought it safe to keep quiet on the subject; but when Mr. B. ad- mired the unusually white color of the paper from this vat, and in fact sold it in London for some shillings advance, she owned up; and this was the origin of bluing paper. The next time her hus- band went to London he brought back a costly scarlet cloak. What is often call- ed toned paper is nearer the natural colora yellowish shadeof the pulp. At last the fibre is in its final shape, well mixed, sized, colored, and closely beaten, and is now ready for the paper-making machine proper, or Fourdrinier. V. The paper-making machine, usually call- ed a Fourdrinier, performs the remarkable work of receiving a fluid stream of pulp from its stuff chest at one end and turn- ing out a dry, smooth, sized, and finished paper at the other, either in a continuous roll or cut into sheets of any size. The machine is an evolution from the inven- tion of a French workman named Louis Robert, in Didots hand-paper mill at Es- sonnes, who obtained a patent (No. 329) in 1799, and was also granted by the French government a bounty of 8000 francs for the development of his invention. M. Didot purchased Roberts rights, and to escape the turmoils of his own country crossed with John Gamble, an Englishman, to England, where, with the help of Bryan Donkin, a skilled mechanician, Roberts model was developed into very nearly the present machine. An English patent was secured in 1801, and the first machine mill was successfully started at Frogmore, Herts, in 1803. The brothers Henry and Scaly Fourdrinier purchased the rights in the original patents, made many im- provenments, in the course of which they spent 60,000, and secured an extension, and thus the machine which should have borne the name of Robert became asso A SHEET OF PAPER. 121 ciated for all time with their namean- other chapter in the long history of wronged inventors. The machine-room of a modern paper- mill is a long room, well lighted and kept very free from dust, in which the visitor sees one or more machines, about six feet l]igh and 120 or more feet long, mostly composed of sets of rollers, between which a web of paper is continuously passing and frequently disappearing from sight. The pulp, made fluid with abundance of pure water, is supplied to the stuff chest, within which an agitator keeps it in sus- pense. It is thence pumped through a ball-valve into a regulating box, whence there is an overflow at the top, so that from the always full box the pressure of the pulp is always the same as it flows into the machine through a discharge cock, by which the supply, and the consequent thickness of the paper, is regulated. The pulp passes first over the sand tables, which are really shallow troughs, the bed of which is partly crossed by thin strips of wood, aslant of the current, arid car- peted by long-haired felt, both of which operate to catch any remaining sand or dirt. Thence the pulp reaches the screen, a horizontal plate of metal, with several hundred A-shaped slots, sometimes only one - thousandth of an inch wide (the narrow part at the top), about a quarter of an inch apart, through which the fibres must make their way, leaving behind all knots or matted fibres. A shaking motion is given to this plate to help the progress of the pulp through the slots, or in the revolving strain- ers and other modified forms a slight vacuum is produced to suck the pulp through. It should now be clean, fine, and even, ready to make the sheet, this part of the machine having simply com- pleted the work of the beater. The next and essential part of the Four- drinier does the work of the old moulder, as with his mould and deckel he dips out the desired thickness of pulp, strains off the water, and gives the shake which felts or mats the fibres together. The wire mould becomes an endless band of woven wire-clothalways called simply the wirethe full width of the machine, and some machines are 110 inches wide. It is thirty-five to forty feet long, and trav- els on the breast roll at the near and the couch roll at the far end, with the help of small supporting rollers along its length. The fluid pulp is spread over this wire~~ from the breast board of the strainers by an apron or fan-shaped rubber or oil- skin cloth, turned up at the edges, which delivers it under a gate or slicer intend- BEATING-ROOM. _ ----~ 122 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ed to assure the evenness of the spread, and finally regulate the thickness of the embryo sheet. Two square bands of In- dia-rubber, called the deckel straps, move with and on the wire at either side, and can be adjusted nearer together when it is desired to make a narrower sheet of paper. These and the slicer are attached to the deckel frame, and to- gether correspond to the deckel of the hand-paper maker. As the wire moves on with its layer of pulp, the water, charged with fine fibres, size, coloring mat- ter, etc., drains through into the trough underneath, called the save-all, whence it is carried back to the stuff chest, to give the pulp the extra supply of fluid it there needs. A shaking motion commu- nicated to the wire from the frame on which the rollers bear assists this drain- age and felts the fibres together. Toward the farther end of the wire the place of the save - all is taken by suction boxes, connected with an air - pump, by means of which the surplus water is sucked through. Between the suction boxes, above the wire, a dandy roll covered with wire impresses any desired pattern or water-mark on the surface; if the paper is to be wove, the dandy roll is of the same wire-cloth as the wire~~ itself, so that the upper side and the under side of the finished paper will look exactly alike. The water-mark, however, remains (if there is one), and, as it is on the dandy roll, shows in machine-made paper on the top of the sheet, furnishing an easy means of distinguishing machine from hand made paper. We have now the continu- ous web of damp felted fibre, in the same condition in which the hand moulder de- livers the sheet to the coucher. The couchers work is now taken up by this marvellous piece of automatism call- ed the Fourdrinier. As the endless belt of wire disappears underneath the ma- chine, to reappear again at the apron for a fresh supply of pulp, it passes with the damp web of paper between the upper and under couch rollscylinders of metal jacketed with felt, corresponding to the two felt sheets of the coucherand deliv- ers the web upon another endless belt call- ed the wet felt, since the paper is still too tender to travel without support. This felt carries the web between iron rolls, called the first press rolls, which squeeze out more water and smooth the upper sur- face of the paper, and a second felt carries it under and to the back of the second press rolls, so that by reversing the direction the under surface of the web comes to the top and has its turn at smoothing. A doe- tora long scraper the length of the top press rollscrapes the roll free from ad- hering fibres, and keeps it smooth and clean. The paper can now travel alone, but it has still to be dried and further pressed, and perhaps tub-sized. This part of the A SHEET OF PAPER. 123 Fourdrinier takes the place of the press in which the coucher puts his post of sheets. The web passes above the second press rolls, resuming its original direction, to the drying cylindershollow rolls heated by steamunder and over and over and under which, to the number of six or eight or ten, sometimes with the guidance of felts, some- times without them, the paper passes till it is thor- oughly dry. Since the paper shrinks in this pro- cess, the successive rolls decrease slightly in diame- ter. In the midst of the driers there is sometimes a pair of highly polished smaller rolls called smoothers, also heated by steam. From the driers the paper passes to the calenders, an up- right stack of rolls similar to the smoothers, which are under enormous pressure, regulated by screws on either side, and give the paper an additional hardness and polish. If the paper is for the mod- ern newspaper presses, it is reeled off in a continu- ous roll; if not, it is cut into strips by a knife-wheel like a circular saw fitting upon another knife-wheel to make a continuous scissoring, and these strips into sheets by a straight knife revolving at the proper interval on a horizontal drum, whence a travelling felt delivers them upon the pile. The speed of a Fourdrinier is from 60 to 240 feet per minute, the latter for cheap news paper demanding little care. Of good paper, the production averages about 80 feet per minute. The curious illustration on the next page shows the matting or felting of the fibres in a piece of smooth white paper as seen under a microscope magnifying fifty diameters. The curiously ragged black figure is a comma, such as is used in this article, which to the unassisted eye seems so clearly and sharply defined. Soon after the development of the Fourdrinier machine, Mr. John Dickinson, whose name is still borne by one of the most distinguished firms among English paper-makers, produced a quite different invention for making paper by machinery, which is generally known as the cylinder machine. This is used chiefly for making the cheaper and thicker grades of paper, such as straw boards. Instead of the supply chest, wire, etc., of the Fourdrinier, a cylinder covered with wire-cloth revolves with its lower portion dipping into a vat filled with pulp; a system of suction keeps a partial vacuum within this cylinder, which causes the pulp to adhere to the wire until it is detached above upon another cylin- der covered with felting. Beyond this the system is materially the same as by the other method. It was patented in 1809. In 1826 a French inventor, M. Canson, applied the suction principle to the Fourdrinier, as has been described, and thus bereft the cylinder machine of its leading advantage not, however, until he had kept his improvement a secret for six years. All other paper-making machines are a modi 0 124 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. fication or combination of these two va- rieties. Our illustration of the Fourdri- nier-room shows a Fourdrinier machine on the left, while on the right is the modi- fication of it known as the Harper ma- chine, in which the sheet of paper is sup- ported by a felt from the upper couch roll to the second press rolls, which reverses the direction of the sheet and carries it high above the Fourdrinier part proper (the wire, etc.), with the purpose of forming a stronger and drier web before it is left to travel alone. Tissue-papers, the thinnest known, are made from very strong fibres, such as that of hemp bagging and cotton canvas, on a machine so planned that the tenuous sheet of pulp passes throu~,h almost in a straight line, without reversing its direction at the second press rolls, at a speed as high as 160 feet a minute. At the starting up of the machine a sheet of dry paper is carried part of the way with the pulp, as it is too thin to be touched by hand. The bank-note paper used for the United States greenbacks was made under the Willcox patent at the mills of that old Pennsylvania firm, whose mills, curiously enough, had also made the paper for the Continental currency of Revolutionary days. It was rendered distinctive by the use of silk fibres of red and blue, the red being mixed with the pulp in the engine, so that it was scattered throughout the substance of the paper, while the blue were ingeniously showered upon the web while on the wire, so that it appeared only in streaks. This combination was so diffi- cult to copy, and required such expensive machinery, as to call for a skill, patience, and capital not at the disposal of counter- feiters. ~.TI. If paper is to be tub-sized as well as engine-sized, an animal size, made by soaking out the gelatine from clippings of horns, hides, etc., is mixed with dissolved alum and placed in a tub or vat, through which the web of paper is run after leav- ing the first set of driers. It is then passed through squeezing rollers, which press the size into the pores and get rid of the excess, and then along to the other driers. For finer papers tub - sizing is sometimes done after their completion in the Fourdrinier; the paper stands to al- low the size to be absorbed, and the sec- ond drying is by means of a great num- ber sometimes 300 of reels made of wooden slats, within which a fan revolv- ing in an opposite direction makes a strong current of air. Or the paper is run through the tub between two continuous felts, which, with the paper, a~e pressed be- tween rollers, and the paper is then loft- dried by hanging over sticks, as with hand-made paper. Writing-paper is of- ten double-sized; that is, both engine- sized and tub-sized. The finishing of paper presents many interesting varieties. Plate-paper was made by putting each sheet between brightly polished sheets of copper or zinc, and passing a stack of these to and fro through a rolling-press under heavy press- ure until a gloss was imparted to both surfaces. This process has now given way to supercalendering, in which a stack of rolls similar to that of the Four- drinier, alternately of bright metal and highly compressed paper, between which the web of paper passes and repasses, pro- duces the same effect. These rolls are virtually a great electric machine, so that it is sometimes necessary to attach ground- wires to the stack to carry off the elec- tricity, which otherwise causes the paper to attract all sorts of dust in the print- PAPER MAGNIFIED FIFTY DIAMETERS, 5HOWING FIBRE, AND A COMMA AS PRINTED IN HARPER~ 5 MAGAZINE A SHEET OF PAPER. 125 ing-room. A jet of steam sometimes moistens the paper as it is run into the stack. Friction-glazing is done by pass- ing the web between a large paper roll and a smaller iron one, the latter re- volving at a higher speed. Sometimes beeswax is applied to the iron roll. A high polish is also given to fine printing paper by running the web through, or spraying upon it, a solution of carbonate~ of lime or magnesia with starch or glue, leaving a permanent coating of lime or magnesia on the surface. Repped and like papers are produced by pass- ing the web between rollers on which the rib or other device has been cut. Morocco, flowered, and like papers of uneven surface or raised devices are em- bossed in the same way. Fancy papers are variously finished af- ter leaving the machine, either in the web or in sheets. Colored papers which have the color on the surface only are not treat- ed in the engine or tub, as body-color papers are, but are printed or varnished afterward, and then burnished or glossed. An iridescent or rainbow surface is given by a wash containing sulphates of iron and of indigo exposed quickly, as it is applied with a brush, to ammoniacal vapors; and a mother-of-pearl effect is produced by floating glazed paper upon a bath of solution of silver, lead, or other metal, exposing it when dried to vapors of sulpliide of hydrogen, and afterward pour- ing collodion upon it, when most beauti- ful colors appear. Marbled paper is made in a way even more curious. The marbler has be- fore him a shallow bath of gum-traga- canth, on which from a flat brush he sprinkles films of the colors he needs for his pattern. Presently the whole sur- face of the bath is covered with bands or splashes of color; the workman then takes what is practically a huge comb, and with a wavy motion draws it the length of the bath. Long practice has enabled a good marbler to select and lay the colors and manipulate the comb for he has no guide but his eyeto copy almost any pattern you can show him; so that, although no two sheets of mar- bled paper are exactly alike, only a prac- tised eye would note the difference. The sheet of smooth white paper is then deft- ly laid upon the bath for a moment: as it is raised, the entire film of color comes with it, and the bath must be resprinkled for the next sheet. Books with marbled edges are dipped in the same way. Sand and emery papers are made by coating a stout paper with glue, and then sprinkling the dust upon it. A water- proof variety is made by using water-proof cement instead of glue. An ingenious machine has been devised which coats the paper with glue from a brush revolving in a steam glue-pot underneath, softens the glue with a spray of steam, sifts the sand upon the surface, drops the surplus into a box below as the sanded paper turns over a roller, shakes off other loose par- ticles by the help of a fan motion, and fixes the rest more firmly by aid of a sec- ond jet of steam. Cork-paper, for pack- ing glass, etc., is made by sifting powdered cork on a soft, flexible paper, and a tobac- co-paper for cigarette wrappers is similar- ly made from tobacco dust sifted on the surface of ordinary cigarette paper, and made to permeate it by heavy pressure. A paper for cigar wrappings is also made by using tobacco stems as a fibre, with enough Manila to give strength. Photograph, telegraph, and lithograph- ic transfer papers are made by surfacing with various chemicals sensitive to light, to electricity, or to other chemicals. A solution of Canada balsam in turpentine renders paper transparent for tracing purposes, or a paper may be made trans- parent by treating it with a solution of castor-oil in absolute alcohol, and permit- ting the alcohol to evaporate from it, and the paper may again be made opaque, with the tracing still upon it, by remov- ing the oil in a fresh bath of alcohol. By treating unsized rag paper with dilute sul- phuric acid, and then washing it, a parch- ment - paper, or vegetable parchment, is made, almost like the animal article. A paper whose surface can be washed off like a slate is made by treatment with ben- zine, and then with a preparation made of lead and zinc oxide, turpentine and lin DIAGRAM OF SAND-PAPER MACMINE. 126 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. seed-oil, copal and sandarach. There are various processes for water-proofing pa- per, as soaking in dissolved shellac and borax, but most of these are done in a heated tub in the process of making. Resin and paraffine are among the usual ingredients of the preparation, and for meat and fish wrapping a paper is made in which the natural bitumen or wax called ozocerite is the saturating sub- stance. When it is added that a special paper is also made to wrap silver-ware, in which the sulphurous vapors from ordi- nary gas are guarded against by the use of zinc oxide and caustic soda, some im- perfect idea may be gained by the reader of the multitudinous applications and adaptations of a sheet of paper. (the half of the old standard sheet), me- dium, royal, superroyal, and im- perial are larger and larger sizes; and finally we reach elephant, cdloinbier, atlas, and antiquarian, the last sheet, 31 by 53 inches, being the largest sheet made by hand. The book-size terms, post, crown, demy or medium octavo, duodeci- mo, etc., refer to the use of these respective sizes folded in eights, twelves~ etc. v-lIT. What are called boards, as Bristol- board, card-board, binders board, press- board, and the like, are simply as many sheets of paper as are needed to make the desired thickness, consolidated by press- ure. The cheaper kinds, such as straw board, are usuaLly made by running to- VII. gether the wet sheets from a number of The names of sizes of paper are most cylinders, by an ingenious arrangement of curious. Note and letter tell their felts, between a set of rolls which press all own story; post was the old size made for letters, and it bore the water-mark of a post-horn; pot had a tankard. Fools-cap or cap was a larger size (which, folded at the top for law use, is called legal cap) used in England for official-purposes, and bore the kings arms until the Parliament, to do despite to Charles I., ordered the fools cap and bells to replace them on paper for its journals. This was a copy of a rude satire of Henry VIII.,who, in contempt for the Pope, used a paper water-marked with a mitred hog. The figure of Britannia afterward took the place of the fools-cap mark. Crown bore the water-mark of a crown; demy into one sheet simultaneously with the pro- cess of drying. Another method is still more ingenious: paper is rolled over and over the lower of a pair of press rolls, of which the upper one is so adjusted as to be raised by the thickening jacket of the lower. When the desired thickness is reached, the upper roll touches a little bell; the machine-tender, a boy, then draws a knife across a guide lengthwise of the roll, and the sheet of board drops off below. One of the most remarkable uses of pa- per is the building of paper boats, under the patent, recently expired, of E. Waters, of Lansingburg, near Troy, New York. These boats are made of an ordinary Ma- nila paper of good quality, usually in five thicknesses, in all only one-sixteenth of an inch thick, except in parts where there is the re-enforcement of one or two extra strips. The process of making them is simple. A model of soft pine is made the full size of the boat, the bow end being of two pieces which can be detached. The paper is delivered in lon~, rolls; time model is turned upside down on a long frame; one narrow strip of paper and then a sec- ond are first laid on where the keel would be, and then one, two, three, four, five sheets are successively laid along and moulded close to the model, each as it is put on being coated with shellac and with glue to attach the next sheet closely to it. Thus done up in paper, the models are tak- en to a drying-room, where a heat of about l5O~ F., continued for five days, consoli- dates the glued paper into a solid mass. FOOL s-cAr WATER-MARK. A SHEET OF PAPER. 127 The movable pieces of wood at the bow are unscrewed and taken out, and with this place for a start, it is easy to peel the boat off the model, as a peach-skin comes off a fresh peach. A keel is now fastened in- side the boat, several extra layers of shel- lac are put on outside and inside, a strip of wood is fastened in for a gunwale, and the shell is presently ready for its fittings, seats, and outriggers. They are mostly racing shells,from single-scull up to eight- oar, but one boat has been built as large as 42 feet long by 4 feet 4 inches beam, to hold forty-two persons, this, of course, be- ing stayed by wooden ribs; and a steam- launch 19 feet long, worked by a one-horse- power oil engine, boat and engine togeth- er weighing but 430 pounds, was last fall successfully run at a speed of about ten miles per hour on the upper Hudson. The cost is something above that of wood. The single-scull, 21~ feet long by 10~ inches beam, costs from $65 to $100; the eight- oared shell, about 60 feet long by 24 inch- es wide, costs $400. It is an interesting fact that the racing shells of Harvard, Yale, and Columbia in 1886 were all from the same model from this shop, so that the contest was entirely one of skill, on even terms. A Long Lake (Adiron- dack) boat for ordinary use costs some- thing under $100, and is much lighter than wood to carry. The paper boats can he patched so that the mending~can scarce- ly be detected. Not only is travelling by water indebted to paper, but travelling by land. A paper car wheel seems even more a contradiction of terms than a paper boat, yet it is now generally acknowledged to be better, safer, and longer-lived than one altogether of metal. It was the invention of Richard N. Allen, a locomotive engineer, afterward master-mechanic of the Cleveland and To- ledo Railroad, who took for his aim in life the production of a better car wheel than those in use. His first set of paper wheels was made at Brandon, Vermont, in 1869, and after much scoffing he was gracious- ly permitted the use of a wood-car on the Central Vermont road, under which they were tested for six months. The Pullman Palace Car Company in 1871 gave the first order for a hundred wheels; ten years af- ter, the Allen Paper Car-wheel Company, with great shops at Hudson, New York, and Pullman, Illinois, produced and sold thirteen thousand in a single year. One of the set first experimented with under a sleeper is shown at Hudson, with a record of 300,000 miles travel. It is the body of the wheel only which is of paper. The material is a calendered rye-straw board or thick paper made at the Allen Companys mills at Morris, Illinois. This is sent to the works in cir- cular sheets of twenty-two to forty inches diameter. Two men, standing by a pile of these, rapidly brush over each sheet an even coating of flour paste until a dozen are pasted into a layer. A third man transfers these layers to a hydraulic press, where a pressure of five hundred tons or more is applied to a pile of them, the lay- ers being kept distinct by the absence of paste between the outer sheets. After so- lidifying under this pressure for two hours, the twelve-sheet layers are kept for a week in a drying-room heated to 1200 F.; sev- eral of these layers are in turn pasted to- gether,pressed,and dried fora second week, and still again these disks are pasted, press- ed, and given a third drying of a whole month. The result is a circular block, containing from 120 to 160 sheets of the original paper, compressed to 5~ or inches thickness, and of a solidity, den- sity, and weight suggesting metal rather than fibre. The paper wheel is made up of this disk of com pressed paper, surrounded by a steel tire, and fitted with a cast-iron hub, which is bored for the axle; wrought-iron plates protect the paper disk on either side, and all are bolted together by two circles of bolts, one set passing through a flange of the tire, the other through a flange of the hub, and both through the paper cen- tre and its protecting plates. The steel tires have been very accurate- ly made, and are on the inner circle slight- ly bevelled. The rough paper blocks which we have seen made are now turned accu- rately in a lathe, whence shavings like leather and a cloud of yellow dust fly off, to a diameter slightly greater than the in- ner circle of the tire. The hole in the centre is also made on the lathe, and after the paper has received two coats of paint to prevent moisture working its way with- in, the cast-iron hub is pressed through, by the aid of the hydraulic press, and the wrought-iron back-plate is clamped on. The suasion of enormous hydraulic power now drives the paper centre into the tire, by help of the bevel. Once there, it is firmly caught. The other wrought-iron disk is now attached, bolt holes are drilled 128 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. by machinery through the mass, and the bolts, milled to the exact diameter, are driven through with the rat - tat - tat of sledge-hammers worked by brawny arms. The nuts are put on and screwed close by an ingenious machine, which automatic- ally applies just the needed power, and which is also used to unscrew the nuts when a wheel is to be taken to pieces. Another machine drills away all super- fluous metal at the end of the bolts; the bolt ends are riveted by another rattat-tat of hammers; a powerful drill re-bores the axle hole absolutely true to the centre; the wheel is painted, and is ready to travel. The real service of the paper is in inter- posing a non-vibrating substance between the axle and the tire, so that the vibrations, which in some unknown way re-arrange the atoms of metal so that it brittles and breaks after long wear, are prevented. Na- ture always provides some way of wearing things out, whether it be man, lest he lag superfluous on the stage, or the everlast- ing hills themselves, but in the case of compressed paper, art seems to have got ahead of nature, for it seems not to wear out at all. The steel tires of these wheels do wear down, and are then re-turned in a lathe to smaller dianieter; but when they are gone and are taken off, the paper block appears again as good as new, and ready for a new tire. The paper wheel has the one disadvantage of greater cost, but its longer life and greater safety are in its favor. Straw lumber, so called, is a similar application of paper for building purposes; it is used, not for posts or beams, but in place of lath and plaster, for sheathing, etc. An ordinary straw-board paper is made on the cylinder machinethe ref use bedding of stables being very largely utilized as the materialand is run through a vat of resin and other water-proofing material heated to 350~ F. A number of sheets are then placed to- gether between metal plates, and subject- ed like the car wheels to enormous press- ure in a hydraulic press. The result is a. very hard and solid blackish board, about. three-sixteenths of an inch thick, which can be cut with a saw or chisel, and is. marketed in slabs 12 feet by 32 inches, at a price of about $40 per thousand feet. This is now in use also for the interior- of railway cars and for perforated chair seats. Building paper of the ordinary sort is a coarse paper of straw or waste~ used for sheathing or lining wooden houses. It was put to good use imme- diately after the Chicago fire, when a Western paper company lined the 10,000 houses, 16 by 20, which were run up to ac- cominodate the homeless, with this ma- terial, at a cost of $5 for each house. The non-conducting quality of paper has caused a curious development in America of the paper - box industry, so that the lover of oysters may take home a fry in a box to keep it hot, or a brick MAKING PAPER CAR WHEELS. A SHEET OF PAPER. 129 of ice-cream to keep it cool. The Chi- nese and Japanese are said to make paper clothes, and their handkerchiefs and nap- The growth of the industry in recent years is suggested by the following cen- sus returns: PAPER MANUFACTURE: STATISTICS FROM UNiTED STATES CENSUS. 1550. 1860. 1570.* 1880. Whole number of estab1isl~ments 443 555 669 692 Persons employed 6,285 10,911 17,910 24,422 Capital $7,260,864 $14,052,643 $34365,014 $46,241,202 Wages $1,497,722 $2,767,212 $7,148,513 $8,525,355 Value of materials used $5,553,929 $11,602,266 $30,029,063 $33,951,297 Value of product $10,187,177 $21,216,802 $48,676,935 $55,109,914 Wages per employ6 $239 $253 ~ $349 * Currency. t Currency~$32O gold. kins are well known to us, but Ameri- can achievements in this direction have been confined chiefly to paper collars, cuffs, and bosoms, sometimes with a backing of cloth, which may be pasted on after making, but which is conjoined with the paper at some mills by reeling the cloth off parallel with the web of pa- per, and pressing the two permanently together between rollers. The use of pa- per bags and paper boxes by shopkeepers has reached enormous proportions, and the latest product of American ingenuity is a self-opening bag, completed auto- matically from the web of Manila paper by a machine on which its owners had been at work for eight years. This is folded fiat as it comes from the machine, but a single dexterous flap with the hand opens it into an absolutely square-corner- ed bag which will stand upright on the grocers counter to be filled. Paper buck- ets, barrels, and other household utensils are either made by joining the edges of a fiat sheet into a cylinder, or by stamping out the form from paper pulp, which last was the basis of the papier-mach~ of old days, which was moulded soft into the de- sired shape, coated with successive layers of asphalt varnish, and polished down. Paper pulp is also used in one process of stereotyping to make a matrix for the type-metal. Ix. The paper industry in the United States, according to the latest statistics in Lock- woods Paper Trade Directory for 1886, numbers over 800 establishments, with over .a thousand mills. In the census year 692 establishments were reported, New York State leading with 168, and Massachusetts following with 96, Penn- sylvania with 78, Connecticut with 65, Ohio with 60. The paper city par ex- cellenee is Holyoke, Massachusetts. Of the material used in 1880, 187,917 tons were rags, 87,840 old paper, and 12,083 cotton waste, 84,786 tons Manila stock, and 245,838 tons straw, while pulp to the value of $1,681,762 was purchased, and $3,628,798 worth of chemicals was used. Of the product, 149,177 tons were printing, 134,294 wrapping, and 32,937 writing paper, besides 20,014 for binders boards, and 14,734 for hangings. Over 7000 tons of colored papers, 4000 of tis- sue about 150 of bank-note paper, and 89,000 tons unspecified, make up the enor- mous total of over 450,000 tonsa con- sumption of paper reaching nearly 13 pounds per head of the entire population. Our imports in 18856 of paper and its manufactured products were but $1,802,482 worth, there being a duty averaging 22 per cent., while our exports amount to about half our imports. Labor in a papermill is continuous, Sunday or a part of it excepted, for the stopping of a Fourdrinier and the neces- sary washing up means great waste. The machine-tenders, of whom there are two to each Fourdrinier, work in tours or shifts twelve hours each. In the engine or beating rooms, and in the sorting rooms, where most of the hands are women, the work-day is the or- dinary one of ten or twelve hours. The need of pure water for treating the pulp located paper-mills mostly on the banks of streams, and caused them to depend on water-power, so that of old there was apt to be no work for the hands in dry months; but the building of reservoirs or the use of steam-power has now made work steady through the year. There have been al most no strikes or lock-outs in this indus- try; paper-makers have n~ distinctive la- bor organization in this country, nor is there any combination of employers re- garding labor. 130 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. There is considerable difference of pay in different mills. The census figures, aver- aging all paper hands, show a rise of yearly earnings from $239 in 1850 to $253 in 1860, to $399 currency ($320 gold) in 1870, to $349 in 1880for the latter is probably a real gain in purchasing power. Wages really reached their highest point in this country about 1873 (though paper was highest in 1865, and then steadily fell with the cost of material), and since that time they have fallen here, though they have risen in England, where in this trade they average little above half our day wages. Colonel Wright found the Massachusetts average for all paper hands to be $8 63 weekly in 1860, $9 77 in 1872 (when it was $3 60 in Great Britain), $8 17 in 1880 (when it was $4 57 in Great Britain). But the actual labor cost per pound of paper has either remained stationary or fallen with the rise in wages. One large mill reports that on machine-finished book paper which had fallen from 19 cents a pound in 1865 to 9 cents in 1880, and on super-calendered paper which had fallen from 20 cents to 10 cents, the labor cost per pound is precise- ly the same in 1880 as in 1865, being 1~ cents for the first-named and 1~ cents f Or the other. Other mills report a definite decrease, especially as between 1850 and 1880, reaching from a fifth to nearly a half in that period, though in some of these same mills day wages have doubled in the thirty years. Owing to the improvement of labor-saving machinery since its intro- duction about 1832, says one mill-owner, an amount of manual labor which prior to 1830 would have produced one ton of paper will now produce tea tons, yet there has been a steady increase in the number of hands. The percentage of wages to total cost varies from ten to twenty-five per cent. on various papers, the average being about $1 labor to $4 materials. There is no more remarkable example of the great fact that the growth of civil- ization means a fall in prices than in the history of paper. Of old times it was a luxury; now it is one of the most univer- sal, commonplace, and cheap necessaries of life. It is almost impossible to give close data for comparison, and the ups and downs because of the temporary scarcity caused by wars, or by increase of demand the world over before improve- ments in machinery could meet it with a supply, have been very considerable, but the fall in prices has been as sure as the rise in wages, and paper was never so cheap as to-day. The first bill ex- tant is probably one of 1352, for one quartern [quire] of royal paper, to make painters patterns, lOd., when the penny was worth a good many times what it is now. In 1854 the average price of all pa- per produced in America was about 10 cents per pound; by the census of 1860 it was 8~ cents; by the census of 1880 it was close to 6 cents per pound. Of course during the war paper was enormously high: writing papers cost from 40 to 60 cents a pound; book papers, 25 to 40 cents; news, 20 to 25 cents. The paper-makers made the most of the situation, and to overcome the monopoly Congress was memorialized to take off the duty, which, starting at seven and a half per cent. in 1789, had ruled since 1816 for the most part, with occasional reductions, at thirty per cent. It was reduced in 1863, on printing papers, to three per cent., and in 1865 the duty was removed, but the high rate of exchange minimized the relief. In 1870 writing papers sold at 22 to 32 cents per pound, book papers at 16 to 24 cents, and straw news at about 12 cents; to-day, writing papers bring 12 to 20 cents per pound, book papers from 8 to 12 cents per pound, and the daily papers of New York pay between 4 and 5 cents for news paper. It may be safe to say that what was a dol- lars worth of paper in 1850 could have been bought in 1860 for about 70 cents, would have cost at least $1 50 at the height of war prices, and can now be had for with- in half a dollar. There are now over a million tons of paper produced annually in the world, of which the United States makes over one- third, or probably more than any other two nations combined. If the consump- tion of paper is the measure of a peoples culture, as one writer says, we have rea- son to be proud of our record. NoTz.The best single work on paper-making is llofmanns Practical Treatise on the Manufacture of Paper, Philadelphia, 18b73; the later work of Davis, Manufacture of Paper, Philadelphia, 1886, is valu- able only for some descriptions of later machinery. Koopss Historical Account of substances used for writing, London, 18001, and Munsells Ohronology of Paper and Paper-Making, 5th ed., Albany, 1876, are useful historically. The reports on paper at the Centennial Exposition (Vol. V., Group XIII.) are of interest. Lockwoods Paper Trade Directory and Geycrs similar annual give lists of American mills, and the Paper Trade Journal and Paper Trade Re- porter are the American trade newspapers. NAIRKA. A STORY OF RUSSIAN LIFE. BY KATHLEEN OMEARA. CHAPTER XX. N ARKA was just starting for La Vii- lette, when a vehicle stopped at the door. She looked out, and saw Sibyls brougham. Before there was time to con- sider how she should endure this new or- deal, it was made evident that Sibyl was not in the brougham, for the footman jumped down with a note in his hand, and disappeared under the porte coch~re. Presently there was a ring at the door. Eudoxie had gone out. I will not open, Narka thought. It is no doubt asking me to go to her, and I cant go; I wont go. The servant rang three times, and then gave it up. Narka saw the brougham drive away, and after waiting a few min- utes to make sure of its being at a safe distance, she went down-stairs. Passing the lodge, the concierge came out and handed her a note. The vakt de pied rang at mademoiselles door, but no one answered him, said the woman. The note was from Sibyl. Come to me at once, darling. I am in a sea of anguish. Baby has the small- pox! I am half mad. Your own SIBYL. Poor little angel ! said Narka, with a pang. But his illness at this crisis was a boon to her, inasmuch as it would keep Sibyl away, and absorb her, and draw her mind from the woman she wished to scourge. It was a miserable morning. The rain had been falling heavily all night. Every rut and channel was turned into a pool, and a cold drizzly rain was still falling. Narka had used cabs, and freely enough, since she had been in Paris, but the stern reign of economy which had suddenly set in reniinded her that omnibuses were a cheaper mode of conveyance; so she asked her way to the nearest station, and went there. It was so crowded that she had to push on to the counter for a num- ber, and then push her way out again. An omnibus was coming up; as it slack- ened pace a crowd trooped after it with their umbrellas spread, looking very like a whale or some huge bird in the wake of VoL. LXXV.No. 4459 a ship. They looked intensely ridiculous making tail. Narka did not care to ndd her umbrella to the show; besides, she might be kept waiting an hour for a seat. Was it not better to take a cab at once? As she was balancing the question in her mind, a gentleman close to her called out: Will this take me to La Villette ? No, monsieur, said the conductor. The blue omnibus there, with a corre- sportdance. The gentleman hurried away, and Narka, with an inarticulate exclamation of thankfulness for her es- cape, crossed the street after him to where the blue omnibus was standing, empty; they got in almost together, and took seats opposite one another: The stranger was a tall, lean man, with a sallow complex- ion and marked features, carefully dressed, with a certain air of distinction. Narka more than once caught his eyes fastened upon her. It so happened that they stopped at the same place; the stranger got out first, assisted her to alight, touched his hat, and went on his way. Narka stood in the middle of the street, waiting for a break in the stream of carts and cabs to cross over. As she glanced eagerly right and left she descried, a little higher up, a small figure in the costume of a Sister of Charity, waiting like her- self to cross the busy thoroughfare. There are certain situations in which even Mel- pomene could not look dignified; for in- stance, hopping over the puddles with pet- ticoats slightly kilted on a wet day; and yet as N~rka watched Marguerite going through this trying performance it did not seem any more lacking in dignity than the steps and hops of a little child. Narka ! exclaimed Marguerite, in glad surprise, when they met on the foot-path. How did you get here? Did you walk? No; I came in the omnibus. Where are you coming from ? I have been to the Rue du Bac. I got an omnibus to the Madeleine, with a cor- respondance, but when I got out there was such a crowd I saw I should have to wait an hour for a place. So I started off on foot. Life is too short to be spent waiting for the omnibus. Oh, that horrid man ! she exclaimed, casting a glance full of something a near hatred as her sweet

Kathleen O'Meara O'Meara, Kathleen Narka. A Story of Russian Life 131-140

NAIRKA. A STORY OF RUSSIAN LIFE. BY KATHLEEN OMEARA. CHAPTER XX. N ARKA was just starting for La Vii- lette, when a vehicle stopped at the door. She looked out, and saw Sibyls brougham. Before there was time to con- sider how she should endure this new or- deal, it was made evident that Sibyl was not in the brougham, for the footman jumped down with a note in his hand, and disappeared under the porte coch~re. Presently there was a ring at the door. Eudoxie had gone out. I will not open, Narka thought. It is no doubt asking me to go to her, and I cant go; I wont go. The servant rang three times, and then gave it up. Narka saw the brougham drive away, and after waiting a few min- utes to make sure of its being at a safe distance, she went down-stairs. Passing the lodge, the concierge came out and handed her a note. The vakt de pied rang at mademoiselles door, but no one answered him, said the woman. The note was from Sibyl. Come to me at once, darling. I am in a sea of anguish. Baby has the small- pox! I am half mad. Your own SIBYL. Poor little angel ! said Narka, with a pang. But his illness at this crisis was a boon to her, inasmuch as it would keep Sibyl away, and absorb her, and draw her mind from the woman she wished to scourge. It was a miserable morning. The rain had been falling heavily all night. Every rut and channel was turned into a pool, and a cold drizzly rain was still falling. Narka had used cabs, and freely enough, since she had been in Paris, but the stern reign of economy which had suddenly set in reniinded her that omnibuses were a cheaper mode of conveyance; so she asked her way to the nearest station, and went there. It was so crowded that she had to push on to the counter for a num- ber, and then push her way out again. An omnibus was coming up; as it slack- ened pace a crowd trooped after it with their umbrellas spread, looking very like a whale or some huge bird in the wake of VoL. LXXV.No. 4459 a ship. They looked intensely ridiculous making tail. Narka did not care to ndd her umbrella to the show; besides, she might be kept waiting an hour for a seat. Was it not better to take a cab at once? As she was balancing the question in her mind, a gentleman close to her called out: Will this take me to La Villette ? No, monsieur, said the conductor. The blue omnibus there, with a corre- sportdance. The gentleman hurried away, and Narka, with an inarticulate exclamation of thankfulness for her es- cape, crossed the street after him to where the blue omnibus was standing, empty; they got in almost together, and took seats opposite one another: The stranger was a tall, lean man, with a sallow complex- ion and marked features, carefully dressed, with a certain air of distinction. Narka more than once caught his eyes fastened upon her. It so happened that they stopped at the same place; the stranger got out first, assisted her to alight, touched his hat, and went on his way. Narka stood in the middle of the street, waiting for a break in the stream of carts and cabs to cross over. As she glanced eagerly right and left she descried, a little higher up, a small figure in the costume of a Sister of Charity, waiting like her- self to cross the busy thoroughfare. There are certain situations in which even Mel- pomene could not look dignified; for in- stance, hopping over the puddles with pet- ticoats slightly kilted on a wet day; and yet as N~rka watched Marguerite going through this trying performance it did not seem any more lacking in dignity than the steps and hops of a little child. Narka ! exclaimed Marguerite, in glad surprise, when they met on the foot-path. How did you get here? Did you walk? No; I came in the omnibus. Where are you coming from ? I have been to the Rue du Bac. I got an omnibus to the Madeleine, with a cor- respondance, but when I got out there was such a crowd I saw I should have to wait an hour for a place. So I started off on foot. Life is too short to be spent waiting for the omnibus. Oh, that horrid man ! she exclaimed, casting a glance full of something a near hatred as her sweet 132 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. face could express at some one coming out of a shop. I should like to see that man flayed alive.~~ Narka followed the direction of the glance, and to her surprise saw that the object of this murderous desire was the gentleman who had been her vis-4-vis in the omnibus. Who is that man ? she asked, as the stranger passed them. He is a Prussian; his name is Schenk. He stole away our dear old dog Temp~te, and put him to death. Nobody saw him doing it, so we could not attack him, but there is no doubt he did it. His business is to bribe little boysour boysto catch dogs that he tries experiments on. He ties them down, and cuts them up, and tortures them alive. He is a fiend. He is a surgeon, I suppose, said Nar- ka. He does it in the interest of science. Nonsense! How can you talk like that, Narka? It is pure wickedness, and he is a bad, cruel man. I dont want to defend vivisection; I loathe it, said Narka; but it is neces- sary for science. Then science is wicked; it is of the devil, and ought to be done away with. It is getting to be the curse of the world. What a little medheval bigot you are ! laughed Narka. Am I? Well, Idont care. It makes my heart burn when I think of our poor gentle old Temp& e, and I hate your cruel science that tortures poor dumb fellow- servants. I think a person who invents a good poultice to relieve a poor aching body of man or beast is a greater benefac- tor than the man who invents a way of blowing up ships, or finds out secrets by torturing live dogs. Then you. care more about dogs than about human beings l I care more for any dog than for that man Schenk. They were close by the house now. A carter came round the corner, showering blows on a powerful horse that was strain- ing and panting under a load of stones. Oh, why do you beat him like that l Marguerite cried, piteously. Poor beast, he is doing his best. If you drive him so hard he will drop. Hes got to drop some day, like the rest of us, retorted the man, not ill-hu- moredly. Anyhow, ma sceur, he hasnt got a soul to save. How do you know whether he has or not l Marguerite said, and she laid her rough little gloveless hand on the quiver- ing flank of the animal. The meek strong creature turned his head toward her, and a glance from his drooping eyes seemed to thank her. She watched the man out of sight to make sure he did not begin the blows again. I sometimes think those dray-horses may be angels in disguise, she said; they have such a patient look in their faces. As they entered the house the children were being let loose from class into the play-ground. The rain had ceased, and the paved court was dry. I am just in time ! said Marguerite. I am on guard during the play hour. You wont mind staying out-of-doors? We can sit down. I will, just fetch my knitting. She ran into the house, and returned in a moment. Her appearance was the sional for a general assault from the children. There must have been near- ly three hundred of them,Narka reckoned at a glance, and they all shouted and gath- ered round Marguerite, full of discourse of the greatest importance. They caught her by the sleeve, they clutched at her gown, they elbowed and fought to get close enou~,h to attract her attention. Marguerite bore the onset quite unflutter- ed, and in some mysterious way satisfied the whole flock in a minute and a half, and sent them off to their play. The two friends sat down in a sheltered spot, but they were hardly seated when a scream from the other end of the court sent Marguerite flying off again. A small child had been knocked down by a com- pan ion twice its size, and was proclaiming in lusty yells that it was badly hurt. Mar- guerite picked up the toddler, and kissed it and made it well, and then with a sharp rebuke sent the delinquent to shame with her face to the wall. Now let us have a quiet talk, she said, coming back to Narka. There is not much chance of quiet with all these orphans to keep in order, said Narka, disappointed, and a little chilled. They are not all orphans, corrected Marguerite, as if the point must be of in- terest to Narka. There are not more than thirty of them orphans, unfortunate ly. I mean the parents are so trouble- some it is a pity they are not. They drink, and they neglect the poor little things, and NARKA. 133 maltreat them, and sometimes half kill them. I often think what a mercy it would be if the children of the poor could be born orphans.~~ What a pity the parents dont kill them right off! then the poor little wretch- es would go straight to heaven, instead of living to grow up and die and go to hell like their parents, said Narka, in a bitter tone. Oh, what a dreadful thing to say! Their parents generally die much better than they live. They have suffered so much, pdor things, that God waits for them at the end. Oh, does He? I have often noticed how peacefully the peasants die with us. The poor die peacefully everywhere. They have found it so hard to live, you see, that it conies easy to them to die, even when they die as criminals. Death is al- ways a release to them. I am very aux- ions just now about a poor man.Ma- thilde, didnt you promise Srur Lucie you wouldnt scratch your eye if she took the bandage off? If I see you scratching it again, Ill have it put on this minute. His name is Antoine Drex. Such a so- ber, hard-working fellow, and so good to his mother! But he married a dreadful woman who drank, and then lie took to drink. One night he came home and found her dead-drunk on the floor. He went to bed, and in the morning there she lay in the same place dead, with a great cut in her temple. He was taken up for murder. They said lie gave her the blow in her head. They have kept him in prison ten months without trying him. Im afraid they will neither acquit him nor condemn him to death, but let him off with hard labor. Do you ever get to care for any of those dirty brats ? asked Narka. For any of them ? Marguerite re- peated, in innocent surprise. I care for theni all. I love every one of them. What a capacious heart you must have ! Oh, not half capacious enough ! Marguerite sighed, quite unconscious of the covert sneer. I wish it were ten times bigger. If only I could empty it of self, then God would come and fill it, and make room for everybody ! Oh, Marguerite ! Narka burst out, with sudden vehemence, why cant you find a corner in it for me? I do so want a crumb of sympathy ! Marguerite looked up quickly, and in a moment her whole heart ~vas in her eyes. She dropped her knitting, and put her hand on Narkas arm. You are in trouble? Oh, dear Narka, why did you not tell me that at once? What is the matter? What has hap- pened ? I am in terrible trouble, Marguerite, Narka said, and pride and self - control broke do~n, and her voice shook, and her eyes filled, and the tears overflowed. Marguerite hesitated for a moment; then quitting her needles, she looked up at a window on the first story, and called out, S~ur Claire! There was no an- swei~. She is not there. Never mind. Come in-doors. But the children ? said Narka, fear- ful of getting her into trouble. Let their angels look after them. What else have they got to do ? said Mar- guerite, gallantly reckless; but I can keep an eye on them from the parlor. They went into the parlor, whose win- dow commanded a view of the play- ground. It was a square room with white walls, and a polished oak floor, straw chairs, and a round table; a white Christ on a black cross hung over the fireplace. Marguerite stirred up the shabby make- shift of a fire, and drew two chairs close to it, her own facing the window. Sit down and warm yourself, dear, and tell me what is the matter, she said, as if Narkas trouble were suddenly her one interest in life. And Narka poured out her story, Marguerite listening as if she hind no longer any care on earth but to share her sorrow and comfort it. Never before had Narka realized what a healing balm there is in human sympathy, and Marguerites sympathy was strong as fire and sweet as a childs kiss. With extraordinary quickness she grasped the whole case, her shrewd prac- tical sense noted every detail, measured difficulties and chances. The situation was bad enough, but by no means hope- less. She said so, supporting her opinion by sensible arguments that carried judg- ment with them, if not conviction. Pre- sently, by the strength of her buoyant nature, she had lifted Narka from the depths of despair and compelled her to take a more hopeful view of everything. Basils love had already proved itself equal to the pressure of antagonistic circum- stances; it had stood the test of absence; 134 HALIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. it was not likely to break down before the opposition of his father; he was full of resources and of energy; and they were both so young: in fact, there were many anchors of hope to cling to. But Sibyl! Narka exclaimed; oh, Sibyl !the thought of her breaks my heart. Dear Narka, you are suffering as much from the destruction of an idol (which is always a good thing for us, dar- ling, however painful) as from the blow that she has dealt you. Half of our misery in life comes from the setting up of idols; for the idol is certain to fall down some day with a crash, and we get crushed un- der it. But I thought I knew Sibyl as I know my own heart. I never could have be- lieved it. There is nearly always something in our fellow-creatures heartsand even in our ownthat we never know, or could believe, until some test unexpectedly re- veals it to us. I suppose so, and that is the cruelest part of adversity; it is always applying that test to our fellow-creatures, and com- pelling us to try them. If only one might go on to the end trusting and believing in those we love without ever having to test them ! It is sometimes good for us to be test- ed, said Marguerite. Narka did not answer. Presently she said, Do you think that if Sibyl knew the truth she would hate me and curse me as bitterly as she does now withqut know- in~ it ? It is very hard to say what Sibyl would do, she is so many characters all in one; yet when I remember the agonies of grief she certainly did suffer when you were imprisoned, and how tenderly fond she was of you at Yrakow I can see her noxv when we were coming away, clinging to you as if she could never unclasp her arms and let you go. Ah, yes; that was just what deceived me. She took me to her arms, but she never took me to her heart; I can see that now. She has been feeding me on false sacraments of love all my life. And to think that I must be dependent on her for the means of earning my bread! Oh, if it were not for Basil, I would rather starve a hundred times You need not torment yourself about that just yet, said Marguerite; I may he able to help you; I know a great num- ber of people. I will speak at once to several friends of mine, and we will find you some lessons. Try and dont fret over that trouble, and you must stay at home and take care of yourself for a few days, or else you will certainly fall ill. I will come and see you with Sibyl in a day or two and Sibyl 1 Narka broke in. She cant come to me. The baby is ill with small- pox. Nonsense! It is nothing but chick- en-pox. I saw the child this morning. I forgot to tell you. I went there before I went to the Rue du Bac. Sibyl sent for me yesterday, imploring me to come at once; she was in an agony of grief, and wanted my sympathy. But I have some- thing else to do besides flying across the town with my sympathy, and as nobody was dead, I suspected it was some imagi- nary grief, as in fact it was. But this morning came a message saying the baby was dying, so I went. It was nothing at all. The doctor had just been, and laugh- ed at it. Sibyl was lying down, and could not be disturbed, and Gaston had gone out riding. Gaston is very good to me, Narka said. He has a great regard and admira- tion for you, and he would do anything in his power to serve you.~~ I believe that, said Narka, tighten- ing her grasp of his sister~s hand. Marguerite noticed that the hand which had been shivering with cold a little while ago was now burning hot. I wonder would you do something to please me ? she said, in a caressing tone. Of course I would. What is it? Narka answered. Well, go home and get into bed, and I will give you something to take that will prevent your having a bad cold. She ran off to the dispensary, and was back in a trice with a small bottle and a mustard plaster. If your chest feels sore to-night, you must promise me to put this on, she said; and I am going to send you home in a cab. Nonsense! I have plenty of money, and I cant afford to lose my sister Narka, or to let her lose her voice. Just think what that would be! Narka dropped her head on Margue- rites shoulder and burst into tears; but it was not a bitter flood, and it loosened NARKA. 135 the pressure on her brain. Truly God had entered into Marguerites heart, and made it a Bethlehem, a house of bread, where the hungry might come and. feed upon that bread of love for want of which so many human lives are perishing. CHAPTER XXI. THE first thing Narka did on returning home was to give notice to the concierge that she meant to leave that day week. Then, obedient to Marguerites wishes, she went to bed. The warmth and rest, or, as Narka preferred to believe, the virtue of Marguerites cherishing sympathy, which had passed into her remedies, had the ef- fect of staving off the illness which had seemed to threaten her. She rose feeling little the worse physically for the violent emotions, the sleepless nights she had gone through, and the chill of yesterday. In the afternoon the concierge brought up a letter from the landlord in answer to the conga. It was a polite but dis- tinct refusal to accept it. He regretted to remind his amiable tenant that she had signed an engagement to occupy, or pay for, the apartment up to the 15th of April. Narka uttered an exclamation of dismay; but referring to the paper in question, she found that it was true; she was bound to her present expensive quarters for nearly three months longer. There was nothing to be done but trust to Providence to bring her safe out of this new difficulty, as out of so many others. In its outward tenor her life remained, therefore, undisturbed, notwithstanding the violent change that had shaken it in- wardly. Marguerites plans, practical like herself, had succeeded. Through a kind and wealthy South American lady, who was a benefactress to her poor, Marguerite procured at once several rich pupils for Narka, all foreigners, who came to her house twice a week for lessons and a gen- eral singing class. To Narka, Sibyl was affectionate as ever. She would come to the singing class and sit and listen to the lesson, arid bring out the superiority of the teachers method by her clever criticisms, thus rais- ing Narka~s value in the eyes of the pu- pils and of their mothers, to whom the charming and ~l~gante Comtesse de Beau- crillon was an oracle on art as well as fashion. The singing lessons came in this way to be a pleasant social opportu- nity. Narka might have led a gay life enough if she had been so inclined, for invitations poured in on her, but she de- clined them all. I know my value, she said to Marguerite; these fine ladies would be glad enou~,h to have me to help out their entertainments, but if their sons or their brothers were the least bit civil to me, they would put me to the door. I shant expose myself to that. Let them stay in their place, and I will stay in mine. She had not had a sign from Basil since that terrible letter from the Prince, and there was no one to whom she could even mention his name except Marguerite. Sibyl, as if the subject were too intolera- ble, avoided it. When she did speak of it,it was to pity her father and herself, and to contemn Basil, and wish the woman dead who had entrapped him. The only person who might have given her any news of Basil was Ivan Gorif; but he had left Paris as soon as he had conducted her there, and had never writ- ten since, and she did not know his ad- dress. There was of late something very mysterious nbout Ivan. Narka knew that lie associated with the most advanced rev- olutionists, yet he came and went perfect- ly free, while Basil, for merely conniving at the movement which Ivan was active- ly precipitating, had been seriously com- promised, only escaping imprisonment through a lucky chance. Then Ivan was leading a strange life for a man of thirty with a fortune, which, since So- phies death, must be reckoned by mill- ions. His personal appearance now sug- gested biting economy, offensive slovenli- ness, or sordid avarice, whereas in former days lie had been somewhat dandified in his dress, and generous as a king. On the journey from Koenigsberg he had put up at a miserable inn at Berlin, apolo~iz- ing to Narka for taking her there, but pleading as a reason that the people were honest, and that he was in the habit of staying there. What motive could in- duce a man of his wealth todeprive him- self not alone of luxuries, but of the com- forts and decencies that lie had all his life been accustomed to? One afternoon, on coining home from a lesson, Narka, who had been thinking a great deal about Ivan, and wishing to hear from him, found that in her absence 136 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. he had called and left word that he would call again next morning. She was bit- terly disappointed to have missed him; he was sure to have news of Basil; he had probably seen him. She was impatient for the morning. But it came, and Ivan did not appear. He had left no address, so she could not write to him. She had her singing class at one oclock, and her terror was that he would call while it was going on and she should miss him again. But the singing class came to an end, and there was still no sign of him. Immedi- ately after the lesson Sibyl came to take her for a drive. There was no ostensible reason for refusing, so Narka had to go. It was the longest drive she ever took, and Sibyl noticed that she was strangely preoccupied. On returning home she found a note from Ivan sayin~ he had been hindered from coming by an acci- dent, but he hoped to see her in a few days. Narka was too impatient to wait for his visit. The note contained his ad- dress, so early the next morning she set out to see him. The Rue B , where lie was staying, was a narrow sort of lane- way behind the Pantheon; the house a shabby-looking maison rneubl~e. Yes, monsieur is at home, the con- cierge said, giving her the number of the room on the fifth story. Narka did not stop to think of the pro- prieties. She mounted the dark stairs, steep and narrow as a ladder, and knock- ed at Number 96. Come in. said a voice. She opened the door. It was a small attic room, full of tobacco smOke, with the roof slanting on one side, no fire, no carpet. Ivan was sitting in a high-back- ed arm-chair, buttoned to his chin in a huge furred coat, a pipe in his mouth, his head swathed to an enormous size in a woollen scarf. He looked like some gro- tesque caricature of a man. Narka Lank ! lie said, removing his pipe, and his blue eyes widened and spar- kled with that inarticulate laughter which gave to his countenance its peculiar ex- pression of childlike candor and merri- ment. I thought something must have hap- pened, as you did not keep your appoint- ment, Narka replied. You have met with an accident ? No; only a savage fit of pain that seized me like a tiger. It knocked me over in half an hour. I was half mad. But it is gone now. Schenk pricked me with morphine, and killed the pain. Schenk ? said Narka, interrogatively. He is a doctor, a very clever fellow, and a friend of mine. Sit down, wont you ? He pushed toward her the arm- chair he had been occupying, the only one in the room. What could have reduced Ivan Gorif to these extremities? When did you arrive in Paris ? Nar- ka asked. The day before yesterday. I have come straight from St. Petersburg with- out drawing bridle; I took cold on the journey. It was like travelling through Siberia. Narka bethought herself that if he had travelled first-class he would not have had to complain of the cold. You saw Basil ? she said. Yes. He is well, but as savage as a hear. He and the Prince quarrel all day. Basil has got himself into a fine dilemma. He ought to have kept his affairs to him- self, at least for a while longer. It was not he who told the Prince of our engagement. Some one whom he had trusted with the secret hetrayed him. He ought not to have trusted any- body with it. He ought never to have put a line on paper about it. I warned him many a time to be cautious, that the police had their eyes and ears everywhere; hut it was no use. What did you do with those papers of his ? See, I have them safe with me. That is foolish. You ought to burn them. They may get you into trouble again. How so? What do the police know about me here ? Ivans round eyes widened and twin- kled until it seemed as if they were going to explode with laughter. You fancy the police dont know just as much about you here as if you were in St. Petersburg? You are very naive, Narka Lank. Am I? Well, you have something more interesting to say than that, have you not? Tell me about the Prince and Basil. The Prince wrote to Sibyl that if Basil did not surrender within three months he would have him sent to Kron- stadt, and consigned to the tower until he came to his senses. Do you think he is capable of carrying out that threat ? He will try all soft means before he NARKA. 137 has recourse to the hard. He is trying to bribe Basil now with the promise of get- ting Father Christopher liberated and brought back to bless his marriage with Princess Krinsky. Basil is not such a fool as to fall into that trap, Narka laughed. Humpli ! Ivan moved his huge bun- dle of a head slowly up and down. The Prince is convinced that if lie went to the Emperor and told him the whole story, he would grant Father Christophers release at once. Marie Krinsky is in love with Basil, and Prince Krinsky is in high fa- vor now. The Empress, too, is greatly annoyed at Basils refusing to marry her pet maid of honor. Basil knows all this, and thea the thought of Father Christo- phers captivity haunts him perpetually. Narka grew pale. The Emperor does not know about Basils supposed share in Larchoffs death ? she asked. No; but Basil thinks lie does. He never heard, of course, of that tampering with his letters. Does the Prince know who it is that Basil wants to marry ? He did not tell me if he did. Basil would have told you ? Very likely, if lie had had a chance; but we were hardly five minutes alone. He wanted me to come next day and have a quiet talk; but I was bound for time. I had to leave the next morning. What could this business be that drove Ivan from city to city, compelling him to renounce the pleasure of a meeting with his best friend? Narka felt that she must know at all costs. Why cannot you trust me as Basil does ? she said, looking him straight in the eyes. Ivan met her challenging glance with a beam of satisfaction. To trust our friends is sometimes the unkindest thing we can do to them. Basil proved that to you. But now that you are comparative- ly out of harms way, I will tell you any- thing you care to know. I have thrown in my lot with those who want to do away with tyrants and set the nations free. This involves ways and means which those who dont want to risk their heads had better know nothing about. I dont care about risking mine, If it had gone while that tigerish pain was clawing it yesterday I should have been glad enough. But,on the other hand, it would upset a lot of things if I were to drop off now. I am the tele graph between all the centres. There is not a plot hatched anywhere but I am the first to hear of it. I carry messages that cant be written; I organize meetings; I get the pamphlets published; I work the occult machinery of the Socialist press, and direct its underground operations. All this gives me plenty to do. It is not the work that brings pay and glory, like the work of the hero in livery who serves a tyrant, and calls it serving his country; but it is a heros work all the same. The man who undertakes it must renounce everything and risk everything, and live every day with death dogging him like his shadow. Narka looked at Ivan with a new inter- est, and recognized in him a genuine hero, though no man ever presented a more Un- heroic appearance than he did with his ungainly figure and his huge beturbaned head. And is Basil involved in this work ? she inquired. Yes; he has now thrown himself into it body and soul. They were silent for a moment. Then Ivan said: Why should not you join us, Narka Lank? You might help great- ly, and without the same risk, here in France. Show me how. Show me anything this head or these hands can do, and I will do it, she answered, impulsively. Ivan held out his hand to her, and she laid hers in the hroad palm that closed on it with a strong clasp. As they sat thus, hand in hand, the door opened, and a man came quickly in. Narka recognized Schenk, and colored violently. Oh, I am so glad you have come ! Ivan said, slowly releasing her hand. This is my good friend Dr. Schenk, Ma~l- emoiselle Narka Lank, one of ours. Narka bowed and stood up. Pray dont let me send you away, mad- emoiselle. I woiit detain Gorif a min- ute, said Schenk. I was just going, Narka replied, her embarrassment relieved by his perfect ease and respectful manner. I hope there is nothing serious the matter with MI. Gorfi ? It is seriousa case of suicidal ma- nia, observed the medical man, If he exercised common humanity to himself he would be as strong as a horse, but he mal- treats himself as if he were a dog. 138 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I should not have thought you capa- ble of maltreating a dog, Narka said, re- membering Marguerites abuse of the viv- isector. She gave her hand again to Ivan, and bowing to Schenk, went out. CHAPTER XXII. ON her return home Narka found a note from Sibyl, which a servant had just left. She opened the violet-scented missive, and read: My DAnLING,I bring you a wonder- ful piece of good news ! (Narka stopped to take breath. Had Basil surrendered?) It has come so suddenly I can almost fancy it a fairy trick. Fortune is going to be kind to you, my Narka, and reward you after all you have suffered. Listeu: I have just had a visit from Signor Zampa, who was director of the Italian opera here last year, and is now managing La Scala, at Naples. He gave me lessons xvhen I came to Paris. Well, dearest, he is in search of a soprano voice to take the place of prima donna at La Scala. An artist who heard you here that memorable night carried the fame of your voice and your genius to Naples, and Signor Zampa has come on here to see if you would suit him and ac- cept his overtures. I gave him your ad- diess, and with difficulty dissuaded him from rushing straight off to you, there and then. I said he would not find you till two oclock, and I promised to send word to you to expect his visit at two. I am beside myself with delight. Come to break- fast to-morrow morning, and meantime attune your voice to its heavenhiest key, and sing the soul out of Zampas breast, and millions out of his pocket. Your own SIBYL.~~ Narka dropped the letter with an excla- mation. She was bewildered. It might, no doubt, be a most brilliant career that opened out unexpectedly to her, but at this first moment she could not realize any- thing but the shock it gave her. To turn public singer, to go on the stageshe who was engaged to Prince Zorokoff? Was it possible to contemplate such a thing? and yet how was she to refuse it without in- currin g Sibyls deep displeasure, rousing her suspicions, and in that case alienating her, perhaps irrevocably? And there was not time to think it over. It was just one oclock, and Zampa was likely to be punc- tual. She threw aside her bonnet, and went over to the piano, and excitedly turn- ed over the leaves of a music-book. She could not well refuse to sing for the im- presario, if he asked her, and in the midst of her perplexity the desire of the artist to win the approval of so great a critic as- serted itself. As the clock struck two, Signor Zampa rang at the door. Narka, flushed with excitement, looked her best when lie came in. You have heard from the Comtesse de Beaucrillon the object of my visit, mad- emoiselle? lie said, conquered at once by her beauty. Yes. It has taken me by surprise. I never dreamed of going on the stage. I have not had the necessary training for it. I dont think I am at all fitted to be an opera singer. Perhaps I am a better judge of that than you. Will you let me hear you sing ? She rose without any pretence of shy- ness, and went to the piano. Zampa pulled off his gloves. You will accompany me ? she said. Certainly. What will you sing? Choose anything you like, motioning indifferently to the books and songs that were scattered about. Lets try this, he said, opening the opera of Norma at the Casta Diva. Narka sang it with a perfection of art that would in itself have delighted the maestro, even if her voice had not en- chanted him by its rare qualities. When she ended, lie burst out with a rapturous Brava ! and seizing her hand, kissed it with the demonstrative enthusiasm of his race. He entreated her to sing several other pieces, each chosen with a view to bring out the various qualities of her voice. Narka, stimulated by his genuine admiration and discerning criticism, sang at her best, feeling that ecstasy in the ex- pansion of her splendid powers which is in turns the triumph and tIme despair of every true artist. Every fibre in her wn~s thrilling to the music of her voice. Some- thing of the grand, untamed creature that was visible in her majestic lines and strong supple limbs began to throb in her pulses and course in her blood; and when the Italian started up and described the brilliant future that was before her, she NARKA. 139 was more ready to respond to his offers than she could have believed possible an hour ago. As he stood there, with his fiery eloquence and mercurial gesticula- tion, she could almost fancy a wizard had sprung up on her path, xvaving his wand, and bidding the mountains roll down and the desert blossom at her feet. You will be a star that will outshine every star in the musical firmament of our age, he declared, executing a sort of war-dance on the hearth-rug in his excite- ment. All Europe will ring with your fame; crowned heads will bow down be- fore the royalty of your genius! Narka listened, and felt something like what the bird must feel when a kind hand is about to open its cage and set it free to take flight into its native element. She had been beating the bars of her cage all her life, even before she knew it. Zampa saw that she was won, and he kept throwing in the incense, till the fumes enveloped her and went to her brain. It was a delicious intoxication. But suddenly the sweet smoke began to choke her. She had forgotten Basil. What would he say? How would this contemplated step affect their common destiny? Would the prima donna mill- ionaire be a more suitable wife for Prince Zorokoff than Narka Lank? I am so taken by surprise, she said, not pretend- ing to disguise her emotion, that I can- not answer you to-day. I must have time to think over your proposal and to consult my friends before I decide. I will write to you in a dayortwo. But the impresario went away donfi- dent and exultino He had no doubt of having secured a grand prize. When he was gone, Narka asked her- self whether she was waking or dream- ing. Had she done wisely in leaving him to believe she was ready to entertain his offer? As to consulting her friends, whom had she to consult? Sibyl would think her insane if she hesitated for a mo- ment, and would never forgive her for re- jecting an oiler that she, Sibyl, so whol- ly approved of. There was Marguerite. But Marguerite was sure to cry out in horror at the mere notion of the stage; she would consider it walking into the lions den. Still, Narka must speak to some one, and there was only Marguerite, and Marguerites sympathy was sure to be comforting, and it might possibly be illuminating. Early next morning she set out to La Villette. To her great surprise, Margue- rite, far from being horrified, met the idea complacently. I expected you would have shrieked at the bare notion of my risking my soul in such a wicked place as the theatre, said Narka. Is it such a wicked place ? said Mar- guerite, crestfallen at once. I didnt know. A school friend of mine, a very pious girl, lost her fortune, and went on the stage, and sang for a year at the Opdra Comique, and she remained as pious as ever, and died like a little saint. But that was in Paris; perhaps at Naples it is worse. I suspect it is the same everywhere, pretty much, Narka replied. But I have no fear on that score, she added, bridling inwardly. Self-respect would protect me as well on the stage as walking about Paris alone. I was not thinking of any danger of that sort; it would not ex- ist for me. I was thinking how the thing will appear to Sibyl. Sibyl? Why, Sibyl has invented it. I mean about Basil. Would it not be a greater degradation for him to marry me if I were a public singer ? Ah ! Marguerite slipped her hands into her wide sleeves, and put her head a little to one side, and gave her whole mind to the solution of this problem. Sibyl could tell us, she said, after a moment; but we cant ask Sibyl. No, we cant ask Sibyl. They sat silent for a minute. Then Marguerite, like a person who, having passed every argument in review, arrives at a conclusion, said: It always seems to me that the safest plan is to take what Providence sends to us, and trust the con- sequences to Him. If you are running n~ risk to your soul, I dont see why you should not accept this offer. Instead of being an obstacle between you and Basil, it may be the means of drawing you to- gether. Perhaps Sibyl did not tell you, but her terror is that Basil, in spite of the Prince and the police, will contrive to make his escape from Russia. And if he does, how is he to live? The Prince wont supply him with money, certainly; and he would not like to be dependent on Sibylthat is to say, on Sibyls husband. He would not mind, perhaps, being de- pendent on his wife for a time.~~ Narka threw out her arms and caught 140 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the small figure to her heart. Oh, Mar- guerite, what a blessed little Solomon you are ! she exclaimed, in delight. That would indeed be a joyful culmination- to rescue Basil from poverty and depend- ence, and to be revenged on those who have been so cruel to us both. Oh, never mind the revenge, Narka 1 Marguerite entreated. This was-not the feeling she had meant to excite; but dis- cussing with Narka was like stirring the embers of a smouldering fire; the flame leaped up and the sparks flew out when you least expected it. The bell rang, and Marguerite had to say good-by and hurry off to her duties. Narka went straight to the Rue St. Dominique. She found Sibyl in high excitement. Zampa has been here, and he is beside himself with satisfaction. He draws such a horoscope for you as must make all the Malibrans pine with envy in their graves. Narka, you have a splendid career be- fore you. I am so happy! It takes such a load off my heart 1 She kissed Narka, and they turned to look at the practical side of the affair. The impresario was liberal as a prince. Narka was to pro- ceed without delay to Florence, and put herself in training under the great master there. The whole tenor of her life was changed in an hour; she was lifted from poverty, obscurity, and carking care to ease, brilliancy, and the prospect of imme- diate fame. Sibyl entered into it all with that quick sympathy and subtle under- standing that was part of her power. But you take it all too coldly, Narka, she said, suddenly, her keen perception detecting the lack of response in Narka. Are you not glad, dear? I thought you would be excited. I suppose I ought to be. Then, after a moment, Does M. de Beaucrillon say anything about it ? Narka asked, irrele- vantly. Gaston? He is delighted. Did you think he would not care Oh no; he is too kind not to care. Narka repressed a sigh. She seemed tired. But there was something in her mind that she would not say, Sibyl suspected. I am just wondering whether it will make any difference when I am before the foot- lights, she said, with a constrained laugh whether you will feel quite the same to m~e when I am.a public singer. As if that could make the smallest dif- ference ! Sibyl exclaim~d, looking at her in blank amazement. Narka again laughed in that constrain- ed way. No doubt, she said to her- self, I should be just as far beneath the Comtesse de Beaucrillon, n~e Princess Zorokoff, whether I turn public singer, or remain in my native obscurity as Narka Lank. So it was settled that she was to close at once with the impresarios offer. She sat down at Sibyls table, and wrote a note saying she would prepare at once to start for Florence, and enter on her preparation for the opera. Then, to Sibyls disap- pointment, she insisted on going home. pretending that she was tired and wanted rest. Sibyl saw that she was both excited and depressed. You are quite feverish, she said, hold- ing Narkas hand, and then touching her hot forehead; you ought to stay here, and let me put you lying down, and bathe you r temples with ean-de-cohogne. But Narka would not be persuaded, al- though she would gladly have lain down, and the touch of Sibyls cool soft hand on her aching head would have been sooth- in g. [TO BE CONTINUED.] A TOUCH OF NATURE. BY T. B. ALI3RIUII. lIT HEN first the delicate crocus thrusts its nose ~VUp through the driftings of belated snow, When folded green things in dim woods unclose Their crinkled spears, a sudden tremor goes Into my veins and makes me kith and kin To every wild-born thing that thrills and blows. Seated beside. this blazing sea-coal fire, Here in the citys ceaseless roar and din, Far from the brambly paths I used to know, Far from the gurgling brooks that slip and shine, I share the tremulous sense of bud and brier And inarticulate ardors of the vine.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich Aldrich, Thomas Bailey A Touch of Nature 140-141

140 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the small figure to her heart. Oh, Mar- guerite, what a blessed little Solomon you are ! she exclaimed, in delight. That would indeed be a joyful culmination- to rescue Basil from poverty and depend- ence, and to be revenged on those who have been so cruel to us both. Oh, never mind the revenge, Narka 1 Marguerite entreated. This was-not the feeling she had meant to excite; but dis- cussing with Narka was like stirring the embers of a smouldering fire; the flame leaped up and the sparks flew out when you least expected it. The bell rang, and Marguerite had to say good-by and hurry off to her duties. Narka went straight to the Rue St. Dominique. She found Sibyl in high excitement. Zampa has been here, and he is beside himself with satisfaction. He draws such a horoscope for you as must make all the Malibrans pine with envy in their graves. Narka, you have a splendid career be- fore you. I am so happy! It takes such a load off my heart 1 She kissed Narka, and they turned to look at the practical side of the affair. The impresario was liberal as a prince. Narka was to pro- ceed without delay to Florence, and put herself in training under the great master there. The whole tenor of her life was changed in an hour; she was lifted from poverty, obscurity, and carking care to ease, brilliancy, and the prospect of imme- diate fame. Sibyl entered into it all with that quick sympathy and subtle under- standing that was part of her power. But you take it all too coldly, Narka, she said, suddenly, her keen perception detecting the lack of response in Narka. Are you not glad, dear? I thought you would be excited. I suppose I ought to be. Then, after a moment, Does M. de Beaucrillon say anything about it ? Narka asked, irrele- vantly. Gaston? He is delighted. Did you think he would not care Oh no; he is too kind not to care. Narka repressed a sigh. She seemed tired. But there was something in her mind that she would not say, Sibyl suspected. I am just wondering whether it will make any difference when I am before the foot- lights, she said, with a constrained laugh whether you will feel quite the same to m~e when I am.a public singer. As if that could make the smallest dif- ference ! Sibyl exclaim~d, looking at her in blank amazement. Narka again laughed in that constrain- ed way. No doubt, she said to her- self, I should be just as far beneath the Comtesse de Beaucrillon, n~e Princess Zorokoff, whether I turn public singer, or remain in my native obscurity as Narka Lank. So it was settled that she was to close at once with the impresarios offer. She sat down at Sibyls table, and wrote a note saying she would prepare at once to start for Florence, and enter on her preparation for the opera. Then, to Sibyls disap- pointment, she insisted on going home. pretending that she was tired and wanted rest. Sibyl saw that she was both excited and depressed. You are quite feverish, she said, hold- ing Narkas hand, and then touching her hot forehead; you ought to stay here, and let me put you lying down, and bathe you r temples with ean-de-cohogne. But Narka would not be persuaded, al- though she would gladly have lain down, and the touch of Sibyls cool soft hand on her aching head would have been sooth- in g. [TO BE CONTINUED.] A TOUCH OF NATURE. BY T. B. ALI3RIUII. lIT HEN first the delicate crocus thrusts its nose ~VUp through the driftings of belated snow, When folded green things in dim woods unclose Their crinkled spears, a sudden tremor goes Into my veins and makes me kith and kin To every wild-born thing that thrills and blows. Seated beside. this blazing sea-coal fire, Here in the citys ceaseless roar and din, Far from the brambly paths I used to know, Far from the gurgling brooks that slip and shine, I share the tremulous sense of bud and brier And inarticulate ardors of the vine. AMERICAN RAILROAD LEGISLATION. BY PROFESSOR A. T. HABLEY. AS late as 1850 the Erie Canal furnished the only means of cheap transporta- tion between tbe West and the seaboard. There was through communication by rail on the line of the New York Cen- tral; but it was under the management of so many different companies, and its traffic was subjected to such burdensome taxes, that through freight ~could not be handled with economy. The other trunk lines were as yet incomplete. The Penn- sylvania system of public works was use- ful in its way, but was too complicated to furnish a cheap or satisfactory means of freight transportation. The Erie Railroad was completed in 1851. In the same year the State of New York ceased to tax the freight traffic of the New York Central. The development of trunk-line freight business dates from this point. Once be~un, it grew with sur- prising rapidity. In 1852 the Central and Erie together carried less than 80,000 tons of freight ; in 1854, 600,000 tons. The canal receipts were affected by the change. A reduction was made in tolls, but rail- road traffic continued to grow in spite of it. The Governor in his message for 1855 spoke of the injury to the State due to the attempt of the railroads to handle freight. In the reports of the State authorities for subsequent years stress was laid on the fact that the freight traffic belonged to the canal by natural rightthat the rail- roads were lessening the revenues of New York State for the benefit of the residents of the West. Bitter complaints were heard on all sides. The Clinton League was organized to protect the canals. It was proposed to reimpose a tax upon rail- roads which should prevent them from attempting to carry freight. The New York newspapers insisted that the rail- road mana~ers did not know their own business; that it could not possibly pay to carry freight at three cents a ton a mile ; that the property of stockholders was being thrown away by the directors in an insane effort to crush the canals. This agitation continued till 1861, when public attention was diverted from it by the war; and in the next four years rail- road freight traffic became so firmly estab- lished that the attempt to stop it could never be repeated. Each year was show- ing the ability of the railroads to carry freight at lower rates than those which the New York agitators had pronounced to be ruinous; each year made it clearer that the development of the West could not be stopped in order thht the Erie Canal might make money. The efforts of the Clinton League to give the Erie Canal a monopoly of the through traffic had become a thing of the past; and to- day few persons remember this attempt at railroad control, and none are found to defend it. And yet in one sense it had its justifica- tion. The authorities felt that a new pow- er had arisen. For the first time the trans- portation system between the Lakes and New York city was passing out of the con- trol of the State. The attempt to stop the railroads from carrying freight was crude and illegal; to have retained control in that way would have been worse than to lose control altogether. No subsequent attempt at legislation has involved quite so bad a mistake. But the difference has been in degree rather than in kind. Peo- ple have tried legislative restriction be- cause they were frightened at the growth of railroad power; they have not stopped to see the difficulties of the subject. If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, has been the rule, and the public has st~iffered from the consequences. But each mistake has taught us something, and each new legislative experiment is less reckless than its predecessor. The Grangers were not so radical as the Clinton League; the ex- tremists of to-day are less radical than the Grangers. We are gradually finding out what we can do, and thus narrowing down our efforts to the point where they will become really effective. The attitude of our public authorities toward the railroads has been very nrnch like that of an injudicious parent toward a wayward childalternately giving him liberty which he was certain to abuse, and making rules which were so strict that they could not be permanently enforced. During the early years of railroad devel- opment no favor was too great to be grant- ed. The United States welcomed railroads more warmly than any other nation. They came at a time when they met a national

Professor A. T. Hadley Hadley, A. T., Professor American Railroad Legislation 141-151

AMERICAN RAILROAD LEGISLATION. BY PROFESSOR A. T. HABLEY. AS late as 1850 the Erie Canal furnished the only means of cheap transporta- tion between tbe West and the seaboard. There was through communication by rail on the line of the New York Cen- tral; but it was under the management of so many different companies, and its traffic was subjected to such burdensome taxes, that through freight ~could not be handled with economy. The other trunk lines were as yet incomplete. The Penn- sylvania system of public works was use- ful in its way, but was too complicated to furnish a cheap or satisfactory means of freight transportation. The Erie Railroad was completed in 1851. In the same year the State of New York ceased to tax the freight traffic of the New York Central. The development of trunk-line freight business dates from this point. Once be~un, it grew with sur- prising rapidity. In 1852 the Central and Erie together carried less than 80,000 tons of freight ; in 1854, 600,000 tons. The canal receipts were affected by the change. A reduction was made in tolls, but rail- road traffic continued to grow in spite of it. The Governor in his message for 1855 spoke of the injury to the State due to the attempt of the railroads to handle freight. In the reports of the State authorities for subsequent years stress was laid on the fact that the freight traffic belonged to the canal by natural rightthat the rail- roads were lessening the revenues of New York State for the benefit of the residents of the West. Bitter complaints were heard on all sides. The Clinton League was organized to protect the canals. It was proposed to reimpose a tax upon rail- roads which should prevent them from attempting to carry freight. The New York newspapers insisted that the rail- road mana~ers did not know their own business; that it could not possibly pay to carry freight at three cents a ton a mile ; that the property of stockholders was being thrown away by the directors in an insane effort to crush the canals. This agitation continued till 1861, when public attention was diverted from it by the war; and in the next four years rail- road freight traffic became so firmly estab- lished that the attempt to stop it could never be repeated. Each year was show- ing the ability of the railroads to carry freight at lower rates than those which the New York agitators had pronounced to be ruinous; each year made it clearer that the development of the West could not be stopped in order thht the Erie Canal might make money. The efforts of the Clinton League to give the Erie Canal a monopoly of the through traffic had become a thing of the past; and to- day few persons remember this attempt at railroad control, and none are found to defend it. And yet in one sense it had its justifica- tion. The authorities felt that a new pow- er had arisen. For the first time the trans- portation system between the Lakes and New York city was passing out of the con- trol of the State. The attempt to stop the railroads from carrying freight was crude and illegal; to have retained control in that way would have been worse than to lose control altogether. No subsequent attempt at legislation has involved quite so bad a mistake. But the difference has been in degree rather than in kind. Peo- ple have tried legislative restriction be- cause they were frightened at the growth of railroad power; they have not stopped to see the difficulties of the subject. If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, has been the rule, and the public has st~iffered from the consequences. But each mistake has taught us something, and each new legislative experiment is less reckless than its predecessor. The Grangers were not so radical as the Clinton League; the ex- tremists of to-day are less radical than the Grangers. We are gradually finding out what we can do, and thus narrowing down our efforts to the point where they will become really effective. The attitude of our public authorities toward the railroads has been very nrnch like that of an injudicious parent toward a wayward childalternately giving him liberty which he was certain to abuse, and making rules which were so strict that they could not be permanently enforced. During the early years of railroad devel- opment no favor was too great to be grant- ed. The United States welcomed railroads more warmly than any other nation. They came at a time when they met a national 142 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. want. As our population was moved across the Alleghanies, some such communication was needed to bind the parts together, or they would have fallen asunder by their own weight. Our public men were ready to see this. The Baltimore and Ohio Rail- road was planned for a national highway before steam communication had been really proved practicable. Many of the States gave active encouragement by ex- emption from taxation, or even by direct subsidies. Pennsylvania, South Carolina, and Georgia at first built and operated no inconsiderable part of their lines. The crisis of 1837 did not put a stop to rail- road development. The failure of canal schemes made the necessity of railroads all the more obvious. Many of the States devoted to the aid of railroads a large part of their share of the surplus revenue which was distributed in 1537. When this was exhausted, grants of public land were pro- posed, and after some opposition finally carried out on a large scale. The first railroad land grants were those of the Illinois Central and Mobile and Ohio, in 1850. The systeni developed rap- idly. Each State was anxious to secure its share of the benefit. The sectional in- terests of North and South were balanced against one another. Eight million acres of public land were given away under Fill- more, nineteen million under Pierce. The crisis of 1857 disclosed the true character of many of these enterprises. But the check to the practice was only temporary; in the time of the war it was renewed on a larger scale than ever. The Union Pa- cific Railway was felt to be a n~iatter of vital necessity to the nation, in order to bind the different parts together. Credit and land alike were freely offered for its assistance. The Northern Pacific road a a year or two later was less successful in en- gaging the credit of the government in its behalf, but in return it received a double allowance of land. These vast grants, ag- gregating nearly 80,000,000 acres, paved the way for a number of others. The war had opened mens eyes to the possibilities of national development. For the first time the East was beginning to appreciate the West, and to pat ample faith in its re- sources. From 1866 to 1872 Wall Street and Congress vied with one another in encouraging the speculative fever. The lapsed grants in the Southern States were renewed, new ones were freely bestowed * First adopted in New York and Illinois in the in the West and Northwest, until finally years 18481850. the amount of public domain given away included, at least nominally, an area as large as the whole of the thirteen original States of the Union. Nor were the States and municipalities idle. They had no land to give away, but they could borrow money and devote it to railroad construction. They did not attempt to run the roads themselves: the early experiments in that direction had not proved very successful. But they did what was in some respects much worse: they subscribed to the stock or to the bonds of new railroads, and often were almost the only bona fidc subscribers. They thus placed their money in the con- trol of a board of directors who had only a speculative interest in the business, and who were much more solicitous to make money out of fraudulent contracts or speculation in the securities than to build or run the road properly. The result of the policy was disastrous. In so conser- vative a State as Massachusetts only a small part of the municipal subscriptions were rewarded with any interest; a much larger number assisted in building roads from which they never received any profit; while a larger number still were devoted to the construction of roads which remained unbuilt for many years, and some of which are never likely to be built at all. This state of things lasted till 1870. During most of this period there was no systematic effort at railroad contrQl; the few attempts, like the one in New York, already alluded to, were so ill-judged as to defeat their own ends. People re- lied on competition to regulate railroad charges. To secure this they were ready to grant all sorts of facilities. At first any man who wished to build railroad had to secure a special charter. This re- quirement was gradually done away with in different States by the enactment of general railroad laws, i under which any company complying with certain condi- tions was empowered to construct a rail- road without special legislation in its be- half. The efforts to enforce liability of railroad managers were few and far be- tween. Railroad tax laws were even more chaotic than other tax laws. There was an occasional provision limiting dividends which corporations could pay, and still more rarely some sort of effort to fix max- AMERICAN RAILROAD LEGISLATION. 143 imum rates, but nothing which touched the great evils and abuses of railroad management as they had developed in actual practice. The central evil, greater than all others put to~,ether, was the inequality of rail- road charges. The general scale of rates was lowlower than they had been by any other means of transportation, and on the whole lower than they were any- where else in the world. But this did not make the differences in charge any less severely felt. It was a great deal better for A to pay a dollar, and at the same time be sure that his competitors B and C were paying the same price for the same service, than for A to pay only ninety cents, while his rivals were charged but eighty cents. Business could adjust itself to almost any schedule of rates; but where one person was favored at the expense of another, no such adjustment was possible. Now the railroads had it in their power to grant such favors, and they abused the power unmercifully. The system of freight rates was so far secret that it was impossible for any man to tell what terms his rival was getting. The charges were not merely unequal, but uncertain; the mana~ ement often arbitrary, and almost always irresponsible. Competition furnished no remedy. The great majority of places could have but one railroad; they must ship by that rail- road or none at all, whether they liked its rates or not. Towns which had bonded themselves heavily in order to secure the building of a railroad through their lim- its were compelled not merely to pity tax- es on their bonded indebtedness, but to pay much higher rates than the terminal points which had benefit of competition. The railroad seemed to have no sympathy with local interests. It was largely own- ed by capitalists in other States or other countries. The managers acknowledged no responsibility to their patrons; they seemed to be working in behalf of a for- eign interest, whose object it was to drain the shippers as dry as possible. Too often the manner in which the complaints of local shippers were treated was more of- fensive than the grievances themsel yes. A reaction was inevitable. The local shippers could not control the railroad managers directly; but they could control the State Legislatures, and make laws which the railroads must obey. A move- ment in this direction began about 1870, making itself first felt in Ohio. But it was not until 1872 that its true strength was revealed. As long as business was expanding, and almost everybody seemed to be growing rich, great inequalities were borne without complaint. But when the reaction set inwhen the demand for American wheat, artificially stimulated by the European wars of 1870, gradually began to fall off, and the margin of profit for the farmers of the upper Mississippi Valley was rapidly converted into a loss it was inevitable that they should try to shift the burden upon the railroads. This was the origin of what is popular- ly called the Granger legislation. In one sense the term is not strictly correct. The Grangers, as an organization, were not responsible for its existence; it began before the granges had anything to do with the matter. Many of their leaders deprecated the attempt to drag the organi- zation into politics. But it was to a large extent a farmers movement; and the Grange, as a farmers organization, fur- nished a rallying-point for the agitation, and seemed to the outside public the mov- ing force in the whole matter. It was on Illinois that the attention most strongly centred, and the Illinois legislation was typical of the whole move- ment. The Constitutional Convention of 1870 made certain provisions for State con- trol of rates, which led to the passage of a law in 1871 directly fixing the rates which railroads should be permitted to charge. This law was pronounced unconstitution- al by the State courts; but the term of office of the judge who had given the opinion soon expired, and lie was defeated in his attempt to secure re-election. It is not clear that the Patrons of Husbandry, as such, worked against him, but there seems to be no question that many of the local organizations were made to subserve the purposes of politicians who thought that they saw in them a new means of ob- taining offices and securing political pow- er. The same influences controlled the election of candidates for the Legislature of 1873; and in that year a law was pass- ed providing for a commission with pow- er to fix rates. The statute was so framed as not to conie into direct conflict with the previous decision of the courts; but it was at the same time made pretty clearly evi- dent that no legal obstacles would be al- lowed to stand in the way of its enforce- ment, if the people of Illinois could help it. 144 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Other States of the upper Mississippi Valley followed the example of Ohio and Illinois, and made their regulations even more stringent. The policy of the rail- roads in some of these cases was almost suicidal. Had they been willing to unite their influence with that of the more mod- erate of the leaders of the Grangers, the worst evils mie.ht have been prevented. Instead of this they allowed the measures to take an extreme shape, thinking that if the statute were made thorou~hly bad, they could perhaps defeat it in the Legis- lature, and certainly resist its enforcement in the courts. In both these respects they were disappointed. The moderate mem- bers of the Legislature preferred a bad measure to no measure at all. The courts, after some delay, pronounced such mea- sures constitutional. In the Granger cases, decided in 1877, the Supreme Court of the United States declared unequivo- cally the right of the Stats Legislatures to regulate charges on railroads and other industries involving a virtual monopoly. The decisions were all the more signifi- cant because there can be little doubt that the majority of the Court regarded the laws as practically unwise, and admitted their constitutionality in spite of it. It had not been at first expected that the Supreme Court would uphold this legisla- tion. Had the decision come two years earlier, it is hard to say what would have been its consequences in frightening rail- road investors. But the worst dangers were over before the decision came. The very men who had passed the obnoxious laws were now quite ready to let them re- main unenforced. In some cases they actually repealed them. They had learn- ed by experience that the farmers them- selves were the worst sufferers from de- structive railroad legislation. It was in Wisconsin that the matter was clearest. The law of that State had taken the lowest rates charged by any railroad as an mdi- cati~a of the price at which that railroad could afford to do its work, and had estab- lished schedules of mileage rates on that general basis. It went into effect in 1874. What was the result? Two years later the Governors message called attention to the fact that railroad enterprise in Wis- consin was practically destroyed; no rail- road was paying dividends; only four were paying interest; the capital neces- sary for the development of the country was seeking investment in other States; the railroads were afraid to do what was absolutely indispensable for the growth of the State, and could not be compelled to do it as long as the law deprived them of all their profits and threatened to throw them into bankruptcy. The very men who passed the law in 1874 repealed it in 1876. They lost fa.r more than they gain- ed by it. Let us stop to consider for a moment why the system of equal mileage rates proved so disastrous in its consequences. When railroads were first built it was commonly supposed that their charges would be graded on this principle. The tolls for turnpikes and canals, or the car- riers charges for wagons, have been gen- erally graded in this way, and it was as- sumed that railroads would naturally do the same thing. But it soon becameevi- dent that a railroad did not need to charge twice as much for hauling goods one hun- dred miles as for hauling them fifty miles. The mere matter of train service was only a small item in the expense. The cost of loading and unloading remained the same whether the distance travelled were great or small. If the cost of loading and un- loading the consignment of freight was a dollar, and the cost of hauling it was half a cent a mile the expense of carrying it fifty miles would be $1 25; the expense of carrying it one hundred miles only $1 50. To insist that the charge for the latter service should be double the former would be obviously unfair to somebody. If the schedule were right for the short- distance shipper, the long-distance ship- per would be robbed for the benefit of the railroad. If, on the other hand, it were made right for the long distance, the short- distance shipment would not pay expenses, and the railroad would lose money on its local traffic. This was obvious enough when it was brought to the test of practice. But there was another point of the same kind less obvious, and even more important. If a railroad was already carrying a certain amount of traffic, it could handle addi- tional traffic at very much lower rates. If it can double its volume of business, only a small part of its expenses are dou- bled. Interest charges remain practical- ly the same. Administrative expenses increase but slightly. In the great ma- jority of instances the same thing is true of expenditures for maintenance. The ordinary repairs of a railroad are not due 145 AMERICAN RAILROAD LEGISLATION. so much to wear as to weather. Track watchmen must be kept busy, anti bridges inspected, whether the volume of traffic be great or small. In order that the rail- road may be profitable, some traffic must pay for all these things. But when they are once paid for, additional business can be profitably handled at very much lower rates. It was thus for the interest of the rail- roads to reduce their charges wherever large additional traffic could be developed. It was this which led them to give low rates for necessaries of life, like coal or wheat, which would furnish a large busi- ness at low rates, but little or none at hicrher rates. Thus far it was an unmix- edpublic benefit. Had the railroads been obliged to make the same charges for coal as for higher-priced goods, it would prac- tically have stopped the coal traffic of tbe country, without benefiting any one. Tb is is perhaps the main reason why a return to the old system of tolls is impracticable. If the railroad company char~,ed tolls for the use of the road-bed, by which each car-load had to pay its share of the fixed charges, it would simply stop the move- ment of a great many of the necessaries of life, which to-day are charged perhaps half a cent a ton a milelittle more than the expense of loading and hauling, and by no means enough to cover anything like a fair toll for the use of the track. If everything were levelled down to this ba- sis, the company could make no money; if everything were levelled up, the corn- pany would lose much of its business, and no one be the gainer. But there were many other ways in which railroads were tempted to extend their traffic, which were not always for the public interest. The long-distance busi- ness offered a field which could be almost indefinitely developed by lower rates. The railroads did not see that by so doing they sometimes killed off their short-distance business by putting it at a relative disad- vantage. A lower rate on wheat from Chicago mi~ht seriously interfere with the development of farmiag at intermediate points. But the loss of local business was indirect and often unseen, the gain of Chi- cago business direct and obvious. Under the stress of competition, the railroads of- ten looked at the latter to the exclusion of the former. In so doing they were led into many devices which were not merely questionable, but absolutely bad. To seeme business which they could not otherwise obtain they gave special rates to favored shippers. These favors were often quite unreasonable in amount. They were commonly kept secret. The ma- chinery was such that they were given in a thoroughly irresponsible fashion. They were largely under the control of local freight agents, and often quite removed from the knowledge or influence of really responsible officers of the roads most in- terested. As a result they were apt to be given to the men who least needed and least deserved it, and culminated in abuses like the special contracts of the Standard Oil Company, which was granted a de- cisive advantage over its competitors un- der all conceivable circumstances. This explanation of railroad practice shows some of the difficulties under which legislators worked. To return to the system of tolls or of equal mileage rates was as much out of the question as it would have been to prohibit the railroads from carrying freight altogether, after the fashion of the Clinton League. On the other hand, to allow the existing sys- teni to go on, with all its abuses, was to put every independent trader at the mer- cy of the railroads. The fault was not in the underlying principle of railroad management, but in its application. The system of making rates to develop busi- ness, or, in other words, of charging what the traffic will bear, if properly applied, was good for the public as well as for the railroads. But the trouble was that its application was in the hands of the rail- road managersoftentimes in the hands of their more irresponsible agents; that if they acted wrongly, whether through mistake or through corruption, the indi- vidual shipper had no remedy. The rail- road agents were the sole judges of the application of the principle, and were of- ten under a positive temptation to apply it in the most short-sighted fashion. The system of secret rates and personal dis- criminations had sometimes made such misapplication the rule rather than the exception. The first important step toward a solu- tion of this difficulty was taken in Massa- chusetts. While the Northwestern States were endeavoring to establish a system of regulation too strict to be maintained, Massachusetts had appointed a commis- sion with powers apparently too slight to be of any use. It is not likely that the 146 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. men who provided for the appointment of the commission expected that any- thing would come of it. Fortunately, however, it had something better than legislative powers: it had a man of excep- tional ability at its head, in the person of Charles Francis Adams, Jun. His ideas were not always practicable, but among his many qualifications for the office not the least important was a readiness to ac- knowled~e when he was wrong. The re- suit was that he pursued those lines of policy which were practicable, and aban- doned those which were not. One funda- mental idea ran through all the work of the Massachusetts commission : it was seen that the real interests of the railroads in the long - run nearly coincided with those of the public; that the more serious abuses harmed both parties; and that by bringing matters squarely before the pub- lic the legitimate interests of all concern- ed were generally arrayed on the same side. The moral influence of the Massa- chusetts commission reports was over- whelming; no railroad manager dared to set himself directly in opposition to them. In less than ten years it had secured a great deal of publicity of railroad ac- counts, and had greatly lessened the abuses with regard to railroad rates. The success of the Massachusetts sys- tem was so marked that it soon found im- itators. The other New England States already had so-called railroad commis- sions some of them datin~ back to the very infancy of the railroad; but their powers and their influence had been mere- ly nominal. On the other hand, the Granger States in several instances had commissions charged with the execu- tion of the laws regulating railroad rates, and their powers were too great rather than too small. The results in Massachu- setts caused the powers of the Eastern commissions to be increased, and those of the Western commissions to be di- minished, generally with good effects. Nowhere were these effects more striking than in Iowa. After the failure of the granger law in that State, a commission was formed on the Massachusetts plan pure and simple; and no commission in the United States has done better work than that of Iowa. The same general plan has been followed in New York within more recent years, and the re- sults have furnished a strong justification for it. Within the past eight years there has been an effort at stricter railroad control in some parts of the South: South Caro- lina, Georgia, Kentucky, Alabama, Ten- nessee, and Mississippi have successively passed railroad laws of a severe character. Yet in all these States, with but one ex- ception, the influence of the Massachu- setts system has made itself felt. The execution of the laws has been left large- ly in the hands of commissions with large discretionary powers; and these commis- sions have relied for their support, not merely on the pains and penalties of the law, but on the influence of public opin- ion. The most extreme among them have proceeded with more caution, and there- fore with more chance of enduring suc- cess, than the legislators of the Northwest in 1874. By the year 1880 it had become a well- established principle that it was impracti- cable to fix intes dii e~tly by law; that the important thing was to secure publicity and equality, and above all to have the means of holding the railroads respon- sible for what they did. On the other hand, the railroads had come to recognize what ten years before they would have denied, that their business was not a pure- ly private one; that they had public rights and responsibilities, and could not claim immunity from legislative control. But though the State authority and the railroads were in less direct conflict than before, the most difficult questions yet re- mained unsettled. The wiser legislators were ready to allow railroads great free- dom of action; but where should that free- dorn stop? The wiser railroad managers welcomed legal provisions for the enforce- ment of equality and responsibility; but how far should this equality or this re- sponsibility he carried? These questions were still unsolved, nor was it in the pow- er of the individual States to solve them. The through business of the railroads had come to be of co-ordinate importance with their local business. Half the ship- ments of the companies. roughly speak- ing, are not confined by State limits, and this half includes nearly all the strictly competitive business, where the worst abuses prevail. The investigation of the Hepburn committee in New York in 1879 made a series of revelations with regard to the handling of inter-State traffic, which showed the community for the first time to what extent the discretion of tIme rail- AMERICAN RAILROAD LEGISLATION. 147 road managers had been abused. Of what use was enforced equality within the State if all sorts of discrimination could be prac- tised in favor of those shippers who lay beyond its limits? The railroad managers themselves had not been insensible to these evils. They had taken measures to avoid the recur- rence of a state of things like that in 1873, when cattle were carried from Chicago to New York at a dollar a car-load, or in 1875, when the Eveners and the Standard Oil Company obtained their greatest ad- vantages. The system of railroad pools xvas intended to prevent precisely these abuses. As long as one point had the benefit of competition while another had not, the competition point would get low- er rates, and individual shippers at that point would obtain secret rebates which would give them an advantage over their competitors. These abuses and inequal- ities were always worst in a time of active railroad war. The local shipper was of- ten at the worst disadvantage when his absolute rates were lowest. Pools were devised as a means of preventing this. By dividing the traffic at competing points they put a stop to this system of secret u.nderbidding. A mere agreement to maintain rates did little good, because it was so easily violated as to cause a suspi- cion of bad faith when there was no real ground for it. A division of traffic, or pool, was so much easier to watch that each party could rely on its being strict- ly obeyed by the others as long as they pretended to obey it at all. It is impossible to trace the origin of the practice of pooling. It began in Eu- rope earlier than in America, and has been more consistently carried out there. Important American pools were formed as early as 1870, but the first large and successful system was established in the South in 1873 or 1874. Since that time the practice has spread all over the coun- try, though nowhere with the same com- pleteness of organization as in the South. There can be no question that pools have lessened the inequalities of rates; but their workings have not been altogether satisfactory. There is a strong tempta- tion for a pool to level up instead of level- ling down, and to prevent the rapid re- duction in rates and increase in economy of management which take place under the stress of active competition. More- over, they are looked upon with a jealous VOL. LXXV.No. 415.i 0 eye, because they increase the railroad power, even when they distinctly lessen the abuses of that power. There is no room for doubt that they have done good; but they do not by any means furnish a sat- isfactory solution of the problem, or lessen the demand for a national system of regu- lation. When the framers of the Constitution gave Congress the right to regulate com- merce between the States, they builded better than they knew. They thought only of the possibility of legislative re- strictions by the States themselves; but they actually provided a constitutional means for dealing with the railroad ques- tion in its larger aspects. The right has been unquestioned, but until the present year little use has been made of it in connection with railroads. The exceptions are too trifling to note in detail. A serious proposal to make it the basis for effective legislation was first made in 1873, wider the influence of the Granger agitation. Since then the mat- ter has been quite constantly under dis- cussion. The Reagan bill was first intro- duced into Congress in 1878. As first presented it was an exceedingly crude mea- sure, taking no account of the intricacy of railroad business, and the necessity that national regulation should be elastic in order to be really effective. Year after year it was urged upon the attention of Congress, and with almost every session slight changes were made in the plan of the bill to render it more practical. The different characteristics of east-bound and west-bound freight were recognized; the clauses with regard to the relative rates for different distances were made less stringent. As long as the bill was in its crudest shape, conservative influences were strong enough todefeat it; if not in the House,. at any rate in the Senate. But as time went on it became evident that some mea- sure of national control was bound to pass. The growth of business and the decisions of the courts were showing more and more clearly the limitation of p6w- er of the individual States. It became clear that the Reaoan bill could be pre- vented from becoming a law only by the passage of a more moderate bill with the same general objects in view. Such a bill was introduced in the House in the session of 18845, and was preferred by the committee to the Reagan bill. But 148 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the House itself reversed this action, and insisted on passing the more radical mea- sure. When the matter came before the Sen- ate they did not concur in the action of the House, but substituted a more con- servative bill, introduced by Senator Cul- loin. The House was unwilling to agree to this, and the two bills were so radical- ly different in character that any compro- mise was impossible. For the time being all legislation was defeated by this dis- agreement. This discussion had one important prac- tical result. A special committee of the United States Senate was appointed, with Mr.~ Cullom as chairman, to investigate and report upon the subject of the regu- lation of inter-State commerce. The com- mittee worked industriously all through the summer, and at the close of the year 1885 presented a remarkably able report, accompanied by a mass of important tes- timony. For the first time we have be- fore us a basis for intelligent discussion of the whole subject. They also reported a bill strictly prohibiting all purely per- sonal discriminations and all secret re- bates or drawbacks; attempting to regu- late local discriminations, but not in a very rigid way; providing for a commission to secure the enforcement of the law, and at the same time to make those excep- tions which should be found necessary in its practical operation. Toward pools the attitude of the bill was neutral; it neither prohibited them nor legalized them. It directed that the commission should report what action was needed on the subject. The bill passed the Senate in the spring of 1886, but it became evident that it was too moderate to suit the temper of the House. The chief points of difference .were three in number. In the first place, the House desired a strict prohibition of local discriminations instead of an elas- tic one; in the second place, they were unwilling to trust the execution of the law to the discretionary powers of a com- mission; in the third place, they demanded that pools should be directly prohibited. There seemed to be great danger that this difference of opinion would defeat all action in 1887, as it had in 1885. The po- litical leaders felt that such a result must not be allowed. The country was loudly demanding some action. A great many men had reached the position where they thought that almost any legislation was better than none at all. Senator Cullom himself was so far affected by this feeling that lie was willing to make great sacri- fices rather than to see all action defeat- ed. A conference committee of the two Houses was appointed, which finally suc- ceeded in agreeing upon a compromise measure. The Senate was to yield its point with regard to pools, the House its objec- tions to the establishment of a commission with discretionary ~ The differ- ence with regard to local discrimination was settled by the adoption of a compro- mise clause so .vague that each man was able to interpret it to suit himself. The conference report was signed by all the con ferrees, except Senator Platt, who made a vigorous fight against the prohi- bition of pools. But his efforts were un- availing; the demand for legislation of some sort was too strong to be resisted, and the measure, as reported from the committee, passed both the Senate and the House, and finally received the signature of the President. Such, in brief, was the history of the Inter-State Commerce Law. Let us now examine its provisions, and their probable working. It provides, in the first place, that it shall be unlawful for any common car- rier to charge one persoii less than it charges another for the same service un- der similar circumstances; nor shall it in any other respect give undue preference to one person over another in the same circumstances. And in subsequent sec- tions of the act it provides for a system of publicity of rates, and prohibits such secret rebates, drawbacks, or agreements as might defeat this object. All this part of the measure is thoroughly good. The object has been recognized as a desirable one, not merely by the public authorities, but by the better class of railroad men. Such publicity and equality of treatment would sweep away the worst abuses con- nected with our railroad system; and though the prohibition of special con- tracts will undoubtedly work great hard- ship in some instances, there is no ques- tion that the good to be obtained far out- weighs the evil. The provisions with regard to local dis- crimination are more doubtful; it is hard to say exactly what they mean, or how far they are wise. The section bearing on this point reads as follows: AMERICAN RAILROAD LEGISLATION. 149 SEc. 4. That it shall be unlawful for any common carrier subject to the provisions of this act to charge or receive any greater com- pensation in the aggregate for the transporta- tion of passengers or of like kind of prop- erty, nuder substantially similar circumstances mid conditions, for a shorter than for a longer distance over the same line, in the same di- rection, the shorter being included within the, longer distance; but this shall not be con- strued as authorizing any common carrier within the terms of this act to charge and receive as great compensation for a shorter as for a longer distance: Provided, however, That, upon application to the commission ap- I)oillted under the provisions of thiA act such common carrier may, in special cases, after in- vestigation by the commission, he authorized to charge less for longer than the shorter dis- tances for the transportation of passengers or property; and the commission may from time to time prescrihe the extent to which such desi~mmated common carrier may be relieved from the operation of this section of this act. This does not mean that the Boston and Albany shall charge no higher rate per mile from Chatham to Boston than is charged for shipments over its line from Chicago to Boston. This interpretation, which would be ruinous to all concerned, is shut out by the words in the aggre- gate. But there is a real uncertainty xvhether the law limits the amount which the Boston and Albany may charge from Chatham to Boston by the whole Chicago- Boston rate, or by the Boston and Alba- nys share of that through rate. For in- stance, supposing that a shipment is made at forty-five cents, and the Boston and Albany receives fifteen cents. Is the per- missible charge from Chatham to Bbston linmited by the forty-five-cent rate or by the fifteen-cent fraction of it? The for- mer interpretation would involve com- paratively little change in the railroad tariffs of the country; the latter would upset them completely. There can be lit- tle practical doubt that the courts will adopt the milder interpretation; but as long as any uncertainty exists it may af- fect trade very seriously, because the rail- roa(ls will not feel free to do a great many things which may subsequently be pro- nounced lawful by the courts. There is another way in which this pro- vision may make trouble. The Canadian roads are, of course, practically exempt from its operations. If the Grand Trunk desires to make special rates for wheat, it can do so. If the American roads at- tempt to follow its example, they are, in the first place, hampered by the necessity of a notice which must be given before changing their rates; and in the second place they must lower all their inter- mediate rates to correspond. Now the through traffic in wheat from Chicago to Liverpool is a large and easily handled line of business; but it is subject to severe competition, and in this competition the Grand Trunk Railroad will be given a great advantage, which will inure to the benefit of its English stockholders. Un- questionably the commission will provide for such cases. Perhaps the courts may decide that the export traffic is not under similar conditions with the domestic, and therefore exempt from the operations of the act. But in any event there will be much delay and uncertainty before these matters can be adjusted. The difficulty of carrying the act into effect is greatly increased by the prohi- bition of pools. Unsatisfactory as pools have been in some respects, they have this great advantage, that they take away much of the inducement to secret rebates and discriminations. They prevent responsi- ble roads from being placed at the mercy of their more reckless and irresponsible competitors. When pools are prohibited, if one company makes special contracts in violation of the provisions of the act, the other companies are almost forced to it in self-defenceand there are means of doing it which are exceedingly hard to detect. So serious has been this difficulty that other countries have recognized the im- possibility of stopping pooling and dis- crimination at the same time. Believing that discrimination is the greater evil, they direct their efforts against this; as a means of stopping discrimination, they legalize pools. That is the only way in which the states of central Europe have been able to enforce the short-haul clause on their own lines. When there was anything like active competition, the government could not make its law binding on its own agents. If private companies xvere violating the short-haul law in Belgium or Prussia, the government roads had to do the same thing in sheer self-defence, or else see their lines losing money while their competi- tors were making moneya thing which the tax-payers would not stand. Thus it is that in Belgium, in Germany, and in Austria tIme state railroads enter into con- tracts for division of traffic with rival lines, and even with competing water routes. 150 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And it is here that the evils of discrimina- tion have been, on the whole, most effec- tively met. In other parts of continental Europe, where pools are not so strong, discrimination is more prevalent. In England, where they are barely tolerated, there is still more discrimination; in Amer- ica, where we have tried to prohibit them altogether, discrimination is at its worst. And in America itself we find that the abuses of the system of special rates have been most severe at those times and those places where railroad wars have caused pooling agreements to be thrown to the winds. The prohibition of pools is to be re- gretted, because it will make it more dif- ficult to enforce the other sections of the law. If the means provided are strong enough to enforce it without the aid of pools, it will do no special harm to see them abolished. But there is reason to fear that we shall have a hard task in so doing. Both the commission and the United States Circuit courts are likely to be crowded with business, at least during the first year or two of the operation of the act. Not that the railroads are likely to try active measures of resistance. The most they will do is to interpret its more doubt- ful portions in their own favor, and it is by no means certain that they will under- take to do that. Some of the ablest rail- road men say, with much justice, that even the appearance of resisting the en- forcement of the act would cause them to incur much odium; that it is better in the long-run for them to interpret it accord- ing to its obvious meaning. Such a course would often hurt the railroads, but it would generally hurt the shippers a great deal more. The result would be that the blame would be cast, not upon the rail- roads, but upon the act itself; and its ob- noxious provisions would be modified much more speedily than could otherwise be the case. In other words, the experi- ence of Wisconsin in 1875 would, be re- peated in a milder form, but on a larger scale, and it would be seen that anything which really harmed the railroads harm- ed the public a great deal more. Such a course will probably be the wisest in the end, but it will involve great hardship for the time being. We see its results already. The business of the country has developed under a system of special rates for different localities. All this is to be suddenly changed; just how great the change will be, no one knows. The names of the men on the railroad commission, and particularly that of Judge Cooley, its chairman, are a guaran- tee that the discretion of this commission will be wisely used. But the commission cannot provide at once for every case which shall arise. We have passed a law without knowing exactly what it is going to do, and the country is bound to suffer the consequences of its recklessness. Al- though the law is so framed that we may expect good to come of it in the long-run, it will be impossible to avoid great hard- ship in adjusting ourselves to it. It is not likely that the adjustment will be a final one. The Inter-State Commerce Law is not in any sense a solution of the railroad problem: it is simply one of a se- ries of experiments which narrow down the range of possible action. If honestly enforced, its successes and its failures will help to teach us what we can and what we cannot do, and another ten years will see us prepared to avoid some of our mis- takes of judgment to-day. That an ideal- ly perfect law will ever be obtained is not likely. A political problem cannot be solved like a mathematical one. The ad- vocates of free competition and the advo- cates of State railroad ownership each have a solution to offer; but neither of these solutions does as well in practice as in theory. Free railroad competition turns out not to be free. State railroad ownership too often means not the own- ership of the State as a whole, but of a small body of men who happen to hold political power at the time; it is neither more nor less than the substitution of a ring of political managers for a ring of railroad managers. Its practical success varies according to the condition of the civil service. But the government is, as a rule, less responsible than a private corporation, instead of more so. If there is any lesson whij~h is clearly taught by the history of railroad management from the beginning until now, it is that pub- licity and responsibility are more impor- tant than any set of laws or regulations. It was because competition failed to secure such responsibility that we have ceased to rely upon it. It is because the Inter-State Commerce Law furnishes a new means of enforcing such responsibility that it marks a decided advance in American railroad legislation. JUNE. THE cuckoo-cups are full of rain, And little elves do bathe therein, The straddling spires o beard-grass high Swing back and forth till they be dry, For moonworts bloom, and June is here, The sweetest month of all the year. r HE old question of the relations between I authors and publishers has been opened recently in London with a great deal of vigor in a society of British authors. It was very plainly intimated that the conduct of publish- ers justifies the familiar view which regards them as ogres fattening complacently upon the brains of wretched authors. The traditions of Grub Street, of genius enslaved by greed, have been practically revived. But instead of grudgingly rewarding enormous labor with a l)altIy pittance, the publisher is now accused of concealing and cooking his accounts, and so swindling the confiding and helpless poet, novelist, historian, or philosopher. This is a remarkable indictment, and it is one that could not have l)eea brought in this country. A society of authors here would be composed of those who best know the generosity and uprightness of publishers, and at the very mo- ment when the controversy in London was proceeding, the Easy Chair became aware of instances of the remarkable, although un- doubtedly also the shrewd and well-consider- ed, liberality of American publishers. The kind of complaint which was made in London comes generally from those ~vho mea- sure the returns of their work by their own estimate, not of its excellence only, but of its marketable value. The sale of a book, how- ever, bears little relation to its intrinsic worth, and a work may be much noticed and praised and yet not be largely sold. The reviewers of books are not generally buyers of books, and there is, in fact, no means of ascertaining the real extent of the sale, and consequently of the returns, but inspection of the accounts. It follows, therefore, that an author may easily l)ersuacle himself that his book has been in great demand, and that j~ profits are very large, when actually the sale and the profits have been small. But the publishers accounts cannot be falsified nor the author swindled without the connivance of clerks; and even if publisherswhio ia this country certainly are among the most reputable merchantsshould wish to defraud the author, they must first corrupt their clerks to make them accomplices. But how many publishers would choose to put themselves as criminals in the power of their clerks? The aspersion upon the London pub- BY AMitLIE RIVES. The fallow-finches haunt the corn With songs of summers dead and gone, And every lass thats fair to view Doth walk with fernseed in her shoe, For Natures darling, June, is here, The wooing month of all the year. lishers, therefore, was more serious than the authors who virtually made it could have been aware. The allegation substantially is that authors and l)nl)lisheIs, under the usual contract of publication, are virtually l)artners in a busi- ness transaction, of which the entire manage- ment and all the accounts are intrusted to one of the partners, and consequently that both should have free access to all the records. To this allegation a leading American publisher answers promptly and unequivocally, There is not an author who cannot come here and have access to the books just as freely as the publisher himself. But to go further, an dto say that the books are falsified, is merely to return to the charge that every great publish ing. business is a huge conspiracy. Such a business employs scores of clerks who are ne- cessarily familiar with its details, and who, as iii every business, leave for many reasons, and not always with friendly feelings. But does any testimony of theirs dlrawa from their ex- perience tend to establish the extraordinary theory that the publishing business is a crim- inal conspiracy? The allegation omits one vital fact which an- other leading American publisher points out. In this business contract between the author and the publisher one of the parties assumes all the cost and risk, and bears all the possible loss of the adventure. Now it appears that when the author is unknown a large proportion of the books fails to pay expenses. In that case, however, the author-partner does not share the loss, and the publisher-partner alone is the loser. If the transaction should be regarded wholly from the ordinary business point of view, and the contract should require the pos- sible loss arising from the enterprise to be shared by the partners, the number of books pubhishedi would be greatly dliminished, be- cause the author would not care to risk a loss. it is found by experience, however, that with an adequate plant, and with sagacity, en- ergy, and devotion, the publisher, like other merchants, can afford to assume the risk. This s a valid argument for his receiving also a larger share of the profit. And still another leading American publisher points out that not only does the publisher-partner assume all

Editor's Easy Chair Editor's Easy Chair 151

JUNE. THE cuckoo-cups are full of rain, And little elves do bathe therein, The straddling spires o beard-grass high Swing back and forth till they be dry, For moonworts bloom, and June is here, The sweetest month of all the year. r HE old question of the relations between I authors and publishers has been opened recently in London with a great deal of vigor in a society of British authors. It was very plainly intimated that the conduct of publish- ers justifies the familiar view which regards them as ogres fattening complacently upon the brains of wretched authors. The traditions of Grub Street, of genius enslaved by greed, have been practically revived. But instead of grudgingly rewarding enormous labor with a l)altIy pittance, the publisher is now accused of concealing and cooking his accounts, and so swindling the confiding and helpless poet, novelist, historian, or philosopher. This is a remarkable indictment, and it is one that could not have l)eea brought in this country. A society of authors here would be composed of those who best know the generosity and uprightness of publishers, and at the very mo- ment when the controversy in London was proceeding, the Easy Chair became aware of instances of the remarkable, although un- doubtedly also the shrewd and well-consider- ed, liberality of American publishers. The kind of complaint which was made in London comes generally from those ~vho mea- sure the returns of their work by their own estimate, not of its excellence only, but of its marketable value. The sale of a book, how- ever, bears little relation to its intrinsic worth, and a work may be much noticed and praised and yet not be largely sold. The reviewers of books are not generally buyers of books, and there is, in fact, no means of ascertaining the real extent of the sale, and consequently of the returns, but inspection of the accounts. It follows, therefore, that an author may easily l)ersuacle himself that his book has been in great demand, and that j~ profits are very large, when actually the sale and the profits have been small. But the publishers accounts cannot be falsified nor the author swindled without the connivance of clerks; and even if publisherswhio ia this country certainly are among the most reputable merchantsshould wish to defraud the author, they must first corrupt their clerks to make them accomplices. But how many publishers would choose to put themselves as criminals in the power of their clerks? The aspersion upon the London pub- BY AMitLIE RIVES. The fallow-finches haunt the corn With songs of summers dead and gone, And every lass thats fair to view Doth walk with fernseed in her shoe, For Natures darling, June, is here, The wooing month of all the year. lishers, therefore, was more serious than the authors who virtually made it could have been aware. The allegation substantially is that authors and l)nl)lisheIs, under the usual contract of publication, are virtually l)artners in a busi- ness transaction, of which the entire manage- ment and all the accounts are intrusted to one of the partners, and consequently that both should have free access to all the records. To this allegation a leading American publisher answers promptly and unequivocally, There is not an author who cannot come here and have access to the books just as freely as the publisher himself. But to go further, an dto say that the books are falsified, is merely to return to the charge that every great publish ing. business is a huge conspiracy. Such a business employs scores of clerks who are ne- cessarily familiar with its details, and who, as iii every business, leave for many reasons, and not always with friendly feelings. But does any testimony of theirs dlrawa from their ex- perience tend to establish the extraordinary theory that the publishing business is a crim- inal conspiracy? The allegation omits one vital fact which an- other leading American publisher points out. In this business contract between the author and the publisher one of the parties assumes all the cost and risk, and bears all the possible loss of the adventure. Now it appears that when the author is unknown a large proportion of the books fails to pay expenses. In that case, however, the author-partner does not share the loss, and the publisher-partner alone is the loser. If the transaction should be regarded wholly from the ordinary business point of view, and the contract should require the pos- sible loss arising from the enterprise to be shared by the partners, the number of books pubhishedi would be greatly dliminished, be- cause the author would not care to risk a loss. it is found by experience, however, that with an adequate plant, and with sagacity, en- ergy, and devotion, the publisher, like other merchants, can afford to assume the risk. This s a valid argument for his receiving also a larger share of the profit. And still another leading American publisher points out that not only does the publisher-partner assume all

Amelie Rives Rives, Amelie June 151-155

JUNE. THE cuckoo-cups are full of rain, And little elves do bathe therein, The straddling spires o beard-grass high Swing back and forth till they be dry, For moonworts bloom, and June is here, The sweetest month of all the year. r HE old question of the relations between I authors and publishers has been opened recently in London with a great deal of vigor in a society of British authors. It was very plainly intimated that the conduct of publish- ers justifies the familiar view which regards them as ogres fattening complacently upon the brains of wretched authors. The traditions of Grub Street, of genius enslaved by greed, have been practically revived. But instead of grudgingly rewarding enormous labor with a l)altIy pittance, the publisher is now accused of concealing and cooking his accounts, and so swindling the confiding and helpless poet, novelist, historian, or philosopher. This is a remarkable indictment, and it is one that could not have l)eea brought in this country. A society of authors here would be composed of those who best know the generosity and uprightness of publishers, and at the very mo- ment when the controversy in London was proceeding, the Easy Chair became aware of instances of the remarkable, although un- doubtedly also the shrewd and well-consider- ed, liberality of American publishers. The kind of complaint which was made in London comes generally from those ~vho mea- sure the returns of their work by their own estimate, not of its excellence only, but of its marketable value. The sale of a book, how- ever, bears little relation to its intrinsic worth, and a work may be much noticed and praised and yet not be largely sold. The reviewers of books are not generally buyers of books, and there is, in fact, no means of ascertaining the real extent of the sale, and consequently of the returns, but inspection of the accounts. It follows, therefore, that an author may easily l)ersuacle himself that his book has been in great demand, and that j~ profits are very large, when actually the sale and the profits have been small. But the publishers accounts cannot be falsified nor the author swindled without the connivance of clerks; and even if publisherswhio ia this country certainly are among the most reputable merchantsshould wish to defraud the author, they must first corrupt their clerks to make them accomplices. But how many publishers would choose to put themselves as criminals in the power of their clerks? The aspersion upon the London pub- BY AMitLIE RIVES. The fallow-finches haunt the corn With songs of summers dead and gone, And every lass thats fair to view Doth walk with fernseed in her shoe, For Natures darling, June, is here, The wooing month of all the year. lishers, therefore, was more serious than the authors who virtually made it could have been aware. The allegation substantially is that authors and l)nl)lisheIs, under the usual contract of publication, are virtually l)artners in a busi- ness transaction, of which the entire manage- ment and all the accounts are intrusted to one of the partners, and consequently that both should have free access to all the records. To this allegation a leading American publisher answers promptly and unequivocally, There is not an author who cannot come here and have access to the books just as freely as the publisher himself. But to go further, an dto say that the books are falsified, is merely to return to the charge that every great publish ing. business is a huge conspiracy. Such a business employs scores of clerks who are ne- cessarily familiar with its details, and who, as iii every business, leave for many reasons, and not always with friendly feelings. But does any testimony of theirs dlrawa from their ex- perience tend to establish the extraordinary theory that the publishing business is a crim- inal conspiracy? The allegation omits one vital fact which an- other leading American publisher points out. In this business contract between the author and the publisher one of the parties assumes all the cost and risk, and bears all the possible loss of the adventure. Now it appears that when the author is unknown a large proportion of the books fails to pay expenses. In that case, however, the author-partner does not share the loss, and the publisher-partner alone is the loser. If the transaction should be regarded wholly from the ordinary business point of view, and the contract should require the pos- sible loss arising from the enterprise to be shared by the partners, the number of books pubhishedi would be greatly dliminished, be- cause the author would not care to risk a loss. it is found by experience, however, that with an adequate plant, and with sagacity, en- ergy, and devotion, the publisher, like other merchants, can afford to assume the risk. This s a valid argument for his receiving also a larger share of the profit. And still another leading American publisher points out that not only does the publisher-partner assume all HATIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 152 the risk of a venture of which the success in nineteen cnses out of twenty he thinks to be problematical, but he contributes to the chance of the venture what the unknown author does not contributethe value of his name. The imprint of certain publishers is a signal advan- tage to a book, and it is a contribution to the common transaction which is justly consider- ed and remunerated. The business of publishing is undoubtedly of the highest advantage to society. It en- ables the elevating and civilizing force of knowledge and the power of genius and the imagination to be made practicable and ad- vantageous to human progress. it enables science to extend its researches, and in turn to make those researches useful to the world. It is the means by which the light of histor- ical experience is thrown from the library of the scholar upon the advancing steps of man- kind. It is,in this sense,a noble business. But, like all other business, it is pursued not prima- rily for the general benefit of the world, but for the particular advantage of the individual. Even Shakespeare wrote his plays not to charm mankind, but to sustain a private business, and to support himself. It is as unfair to forget this fact in the one case as in the other. The publisher, like the manager of a theatre, like a hanker, or a grocer, or a shoemaker, puisues his business for his own advantage. The au- thor who offers his productions for sale does the same. Neither of them can seek honor- ably to overreach the other, nor can either fairly impute to the other a knavery which he cannot sul)stantiate. If English authors are of the opinion that they are habitually defrauded by English pub- lishers, they can refuse to deal with sharpers, and they can expose their swindling. But they should be very sure of their facts before they smirch the names of their business part- ners, or try to bring into discredit one of the most honorable of business activities. ONE of the chief pleasures of the winter has been the revival at Dalys Theatre of the Tam- ing ~f the Shrew; and no less a pleasure has been its success, because that promises to se- cure to us similar pleasures hereafter. The success of the revival has l)een signal. The performances proceeded every successive even- ing to the one-hundredth repetition, and the play held the stage to the end of the sea- son. Every performance has been witness- ed by a crowded house, and every seat has been engaged long in advance. The secret of such success is worth ascertaining, for this one event has disposed of a familiar impres- sion, that Shakespeares dramas can no longer compete with the modern plays except in the very unusual event of the appearance of are- markable genius. The revival of the Taming of the Shrew has demonstrated that Shakespeare has not lost his hold of the modern theatre, if the dif- fcrent conditions of the theatre in his time and ours are duly perceived and regarded. The first consideration is completeness of set- ting in scene and costume; the second is fit- ting adaptation of the play to the character and talent of the company; the third is a general superiority in the company, which se- cures a uniform excellence in the representa- tion ; and the fourth is that precision and perfection in the detail of action which gives the impression of entire ease and spontaneity. All these conditions were attained at Dalys in this revival. When the play was first act- ed by her Majestys servants at the Blacke Friers and the Globe, in 1596if that was the year, upon which point the editors differ it is easy to fancy the bareness of the setting and the dependence upon the boisterous fun of the story. But the play as seen at Dalys would have been a delight to Shakespeare himselg like the beautiful modern editions of his dramas. It is, by the general igreement of the com- mentators, a composite work. Grant White says that at least three hands are evident in it, and Mr. Winter, in his introduction to the play as revived this winter, says that Shake- speare never claimed it as one of his works, and it was first published in the folio of 1623 after his death. It was an older play, perhaps by Robert Greene, re~vritten. But the orig- inal story is like Emersons road that dwin- (11C5 from a highway to a squirrel-track, and finally runs up a tree. It is supposed to be drawn from a translation from Ariosto. The Induction is supposed also to be traced to an actual incident at the marriage of Duke Philip the Good of Burgundy, in 1440; and again it is referred to a ballad of unknown old date ; and finally Kni~ht thinks it is of Eastern origin, being found in the Arabian Nights; audi 50 doubtless it vanishes in a sun- myth. The Induction and the taming are full of that boisterous liveliness which belongs to Boccac- cio and the 01(1 Italian stories, but which alone would not hold a modern audience for a hun- died nights. The success depends, as we said, upon a thorough appreciation of the play and complete adaptation to its representation of adequate talent, and then the admirable set- ting and perfect movement of the whole. All this we had at Dalys. There is little wit in the drama. It is largely horse-play in the taming scenes. The motive is the subjuga- tion of an imperious temper by a well-feigned superior obstinacy carried out inflexibly, but in entire good - humor. To this result the company at Dalys co-operated with a remark- able evenness of intelligence and skill. It is especially a spirited, breezy, open-air play, and it was rendleled with time utmost spirit. The pemformance had a freshness which was truly extraordinary when time damnable iteration of a hundred and more consecutive nights is considered. The modern taste which this revival grati- fied demands fidelity to the scenethe repro- EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 153 duction of the air and temper and spectacle belonging to the story quite as much as the adequate representation of the characters and the repetition of the words. The perception of this taste and demand, and their gratifica- tion, explain the great success of Henry Ir- ving. As the modern opera of Wagner and his compeers subordinates the virtuoso and the trained individual vocal skill to the general effect of a drama told in music and action for its own sake, and not for the distinction of the performers, so the modern presentation of the drama must give the very aspect and pressure of die time. We must walk in Padua and be entertained in Petruchios country house, and all that we see and hear-all the bright cir- cumstance must lap us in Italian airs, and in a world of facry beyond our own. This was the exquisite charm of Irvings pro- duction of the Jferchant of Venice. We were transported to the Adriatic shore. There were the palaces, the bridges, the canals. The air was full of song and the murmur of revelry. Here l)assed the hurrying maskers with echo- ing gibe and laughter. r1~l.Iere under the arch- ing bridge glided the lighted gondola, the floating bower of love. It was all mystery and melody and romantic form the throbbing hum of music for dancing; the clark dominos of revellers; the sudden gleam of a stiletto; the folded embrace of lovers; the moonlit gardens of Belmont: In such a ni~ht Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew, And with an unthrift love did ran from Venice. All this was in the beautiful suggestion of Irvings setting of the ilferchctnt of Venice. It was imaginative, l)oetic, and lingered in the memory like sweet music or a lovely picture. The Taming of Me Shrew is not poetic; but it is Italian, and it belongs to the Boccaccian world. To recall that world, therefore, to show us its figures and fill us ~vith its spirit, so that we enjoy without submitting enjoy- ment to criticism, is what Dalys revival does, and so it achieves its triuml)h. It has pro- duceci universal and innocent l)leastlie; and its happy endino with the picture of Paul Veronese turned into life and gayety and mu- sic, is one of the mimetic scenes that will not be Iorootten. _________ THE young traveller and student in Europe who is impressed with the great galleries and libraries and palaces and noble public works which adorn the old and famous cities has been sometimes known to regret the poverty of his own land in such monuments, and to wonder if the ten(lency of a popular govern- meat is fatal to public spirit. It is not un- til lie is older, and reflects a little more closely upon human nature and the facts of history, that lie discovers that it is pa- ternalisni in government, not popular insti- tutions, which weakens and destroys public spirit. When great fortunes were unknown in this country, such public works as galleries of art and libraries and all great ~sthetic forms of expenditure were unusual. But one of the most distinctive and interesting as- pects of democratic development, using the word in the large popular and not partisan sense, is the steady growth of the conviction that great riches are a great trust for the common welfare, and the consequent (lemand that they shall be dievotedh in part to public uses. This has become so strong and general a feeling that the failure of a very rich man to provide by his will for some public advan- tage is an evident public surprise and disap- pointment. The remarkable series of bequests and bene- factions for the common weltlire within the last half century in this country may be cx- plained in many ways, and there are obvious reasons, such as the theility of making money in a ne~v country inhabited by a singularly in- ventive people, which will not be forgotten. But the final cause is. of another kind. It lies in the public spirit ~vhiichi is naturally dc- veloped in a country without classes and with equal opportunities. There is infinitely great- er catliohicity of feeling in such a country. Every man is conscious of belonging to the people, and not to a paint or clique of the peo- ple. His grandfather was a laborer, a sailor, a inechaijic. He was himself bred in poverty, or his father was. There is a sentiment of which lie is conscious which reveals to him the actual interdependence of the words of the republican shibboleth, liberty, equality, fraternity. They may be invoked, indeed, as the l)lea and apology of hidleous crime. But nevertheless fraternity is the natural product of liberty and equality, as the butterfly springs from the chrysalis. The price of the great and noble works which the young student admires in Europe is largely the oppression of the people. The cost is drawn ultimately from the great mul- titu(le, but ~vitliout their knowledge or con- sent. Kings are not l)rodlucers, and the rich- es of a king are derived from others. In older Asia and Africa lofty temples andi mag- nificent structures of every kind are often monuments of frightful tyranny and human degradation. In Anierica, how many of the noblest andl most beneficent works are the memorials of the highest pri~ate wisdom, in- d~vidlual generosity, and public spirit, without a stain of unjust suffering upon a single stone, monuments not only of individual liberality, but of a deep sense of fraternity andl of dluty Time good 01(1 phimase of worthies, by which eminent benefitetors were described, as Dry- dens nine worthies, Three Je~vs, three Pa- gans, andl three Christian Knin-hits andl the nine worthies of London, is the true uame to apply to many Americans whose names ~vill occur at once to every one of their country- men, beginning with John Harvard in early days, and more recently Cooper, Vassar, Cor- nell, Astor, Lenox, Ottendorfer, and at this very HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 154 time, Tilden. Seligman, Vanderbilt, and Wolfe. These are but a few of the local names in this vicinity. But Philadelphia. Boston, Baltimore, Buffalo, Cincinnati, other cities and other States, count proudly their worthies also, all worthy in the same mode of intelligent beneficence, and all worthy of most honorable remembrance. The latest illustrations of this worthiness are the gifts of the elder Mr. Vanderbilt to the College of Physicians and Surgeons, and of huis sons in continuance of that gift, and to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and to the free library system. Latest of all as we write is that of Miss Catherine L. Wolfe, who has left to the Metropolitan Museum her incoin- parable collection of modera pictures. The long and wise generosity of this lady, her sagacious and unselfish administration of very great riches, are striking and beautiful illustrations of that noble l)ul)lic spirit which regards such riches as a trust for the benefit of others. The sense of responsibility which in such a mind attends the possessioa of great wealth is necessarily acute, and it imposes pe- culiar cares, which prevent life from becom- ing a self-indulgent sybaritic leisure. Miss Wolfe was wisely advised, but it is her praise that she sought and approved such advice. She has done for many years what many a per- son thinks that he ~vould like to do. But not many persons would do it, or could do it, as she did it, and in any Walhalla of benefactors of the chief city of the country, a memorial of her should stand among the first. The Wolfe gallery comprises some of the most noted of modern works, and is held to be among the few chief, if it be not the best, of such collections that exist. The pictures were selected mainly by her cousin Mr. John Wolfe, who is an expert of the highest char- acter; and that the gift might be complete, Miss Wolfe gave a fund of two hundred thou- sand dollars for the proper care of the collec- tion and for its judicious increase. This gift, immediately following that of Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt of Rosa Bonheurs Horse Fair, and of valuable works l)resentecl by Mr. Seney, secures to New York one of the finest of con- temporary collections, so that a journey to New York will now assure to the young stu- dent of ~rt an advantage for which formerly he must have crossed the sea. Such acts mul- tiply themselves by stimulating a similar dis- position of other collections. The practical advantage of the accumulation of treasures of art in the country is largely lost if the col- lections are to be dispersed after a few years, and not concentrated in a way to make. them available to the public. There is great court- esy in generous permission of access to pri- vate galleries. But the necessary restrictions deprive of thcir enjoyment many of those to whom the galleries would he of the utmost service. But a large and well-known public institution like the Metropolitan Museum of Art offers the most desirable depository of such riches. Among these noble public gifts the Tilden free library is also pre-emninent. Politically andl as a partisan Mr. Tilden was a Democrat who al~vays professed the views of Jefferson. The corner-stone of Jeffersons declarations ~vas faith in the people, and no disciple could show more sincerely his devotion to his mas- ter than by providing for the enlightenment of the people, nor could any Democrat prove his democracy to be of a kind entirely supe- rior to a party name more completely than Mr.Tilden proved it by dedicating his great fortune to the promotion of that sl)irit of fra- ternity among his fellow-citizens which is the sure result of greater public intelligence. STAnDING on tIme bluff at Fort Wadlsworthm on the Narrows in tIme north~vest gale on a cold blue day in March, andi watching the Coronet audi the Dauntless stretching swiftly under every inch of canvas toward Sandy Hook and the ocean, and reflecting upon time sea-change that is al~vays probable in the winds of March, it was natural to think of the heroism which is bredl by a sea faring life, the nerve which the constant fronting of am- gent danger demands, and the steady self- command which is developed by its constant anticil)ation. It was a beautiful spectacle; but tlme interest was touched with apprehension, for tIme craft were small. Youtlm was on time prow and Pleasure at time helm, but time mom didi not laugh, nor the zephyr blow softly, andi the flashing of the sea far away seemed to be an ominous welcome of the md)nster who, not at all Imushed in grim repose, awaitcdh his even- ing prey. How nearly his appetite was satis- fied, but Imow deftly it was baffled, time log of the yacluts relates. It was certainly an excit- ing story, and even that tough old sea-dog, Captain Samuels, of tlme Dauntless, owns tlmat crossing in March has elements tlmat are ex- ulting and elements that are dangerous, but that tor solidi comfort he prefers at that sea- son home, sweet homne. The heroismn that time sea breeds is not merely the coumage to look death in time face, but it is a certain simuple manliness which is familiar to tlmose xvho knoxv seamneim, and ~vhiclm is their distimiguishing quality in stories of the sea. Smolletts seamemi are very rough and profane, but they are honest pieces of human- ity, and in Marryat audi Cooper the romnance of the sea makes the mnariner romantic, and a natural imero of romance for tlme reader. It seems secretly to every mnaa a prodigious feat of daring to sail out upomi thue l)athmless ocean, mmdl to arrive not only any~vlmere, but at the very somewhere at which you aimnedi; and not only to do this, but to dio it amnid tremendous perils, which notlming but time steadiest and well-instructed head and hand can surmount. The sea is the nursery of romance, as it is the home of mystery audi terror, and the tradition- al qualities of the sailor are gallantry, simpli- city, and good-humor.. This was well illustrated in the story of EDITORS STUDY. 155 Captain Samuels when he returned. It had been telegraphed that he had quarrelled with the owner of the Dauntless, and that lie was angry and sullen and disagreeable, and alto- gether the report indicated a very unheroic hero; for in the competition of yachts nothing has been more conspicuous and l)leasant than the graceful good-nature of the vanquished and the modest courtesy of the victor. But to growl and snarl, and flown and scold, and lay the responsibility upon this side and that, is not the natural conduct ofa hero of the sea. The return of Captain Samuels, therefore, was awaited with interest and some concern. But when lie arrived and was spoken by the eagei reporter, the tone of his reply was so entirely that of the Avast there, my hearty ! that it was evident the monsters of the deep had dis- turbed the cable, and repeated a tale that was never told. The ~vhole story of disagreement and scold- ing and swearing and sulking and discord was a romance of the sea founded on no fact what- ever. Captain Sainuels smiled it all away in a moment. We were beaten because the Coronet sailed faster than we did, and in a few vivid and picturesque sentences the cap- tain described the voyage, except that lie could not command words suitably to express his feelings when he heard upon nearing the finish that the Goronet was already in. That point in the story caused the captain to turn aside for a moment and to meditate silently. I was certainly sorry to get in second; but there was no fault to be found. The Daunt- less did all that could be and was expected of her, and did magnificently. We were com- pelled to admit that the Uoronet was a faster boat. That is the true tone of a true son of the seahonest, manly, direct, and perfectly good-humored. It has a timely moral in it, and politicians especially may ~vell heed it. How they skulk and evade and sophisticate I. SOME months ago the Study made occa- sion to say certain things in praise of American criticism, which, so far as we could observe, displeased? most of the American crit- ics. This effect might well have discouraged a less ardlent optimist, but, with a courage which we will own we admire, we have clung to our convictions, and should be willing to repeat d)fl~ unwelcome compliments. They were diunli- fled compliments, if we remember rightly; we should? not even now like to commit ourselves to indiscriminate flattery of our fellow-critics; and if we were again td) enter upon such dan- gerous ground, we should l)1cfer to recognize a general amelioration of our dreadful trade on this continent rather than specify improve- ments. If we were to be quite honest (which and lie to explain, not to own, a defeat! How they spin nonsense into elaborate webs of time- ory to eatch the insects which hate to give up flying against a window! The explanation is perfectly obvious all the while. The Goronet was the faster boat. They were beaten be- cause the other side had more votes. The manly way is that of the sailor ~vho says that we sailed the race to ~vin, and the coronet sailed faster than we did. There is another moral. The newspapers announced in detail the quarrel of Captain Samuels and Mr. Colt. But in fact there was no quarrel. Everything was perfectly har- monious. What, then, is the unpleasant con- clusion ? Is it not that everything in the newspapers cannot be believed? That, in- deed, few important newspaper statements can be trusted until they are corroborated? This view is confirmed by the uudoul.ted fact that esteemed contemporaries are perpetu- ally branding each other in unqualified and exl)licit terms as liars, and dra~in~ each other, as it were, to execution dock without benehit of clergy. If a reader should proceed publicly to denounce some extraordinary con- duct on the part of a public officer, as described and detailed in his daily Morning Guide, Phi- losopher, and Friend, his wrathful hand or burning lips would have 1 iardly discharged their corrective office before the evening pa- per would authoritatively contradict the tale, and leave him, as was amusingly Saidl in Par- liament of certain discomfited gentlemen, stewing in his o~vn juice. The next time that we read in detail that a gallant sailor tried to avoid an acknowledg- ment that lie had been beaten, or that an lion- est and upright officer has done a mean thing, that Garrison has been stealthily selling slaves, or Father Mathe~v getting drunk privately let us all disbelieve, and await with perfect confidence the conming of the evening paper. is really not the best policy in some things), we should? say to these brothers of ours that they were still rather apt to behave brutal- ly in behalf of good taste audi the best art; and that they were perilously beset by tempta- tions to be personal, to be vulgar, to be arro- gant, which they dhidl not always overcome. Perhaps we might go so far as to say that their tone was sometimes ruffianly; though perhaps this would be going too far; perhaps one ought to add? that it might not be con- sciously so. In this home of the amenities, this polite haunt of literary discernment, ar- tistic sensibility, and? moral purpose, the critic sometimes appears in the panoply of the savages whom we have supplanted; and it is hard to believe that his use of the tomahawk and the scalping-knife is a form of conserva

Editor's Study Editor's Study 155-158

EDITORS STUDY. 155 Captain Samuels when he returned. It had been telegraphed that he had quarrelled with the owner of the Dauntless, and that lie was angry and sullen and disagreeable, and alto- gether the report indicated a very unheroic hero; for in the competition of yachts nothing has been more conspicuous and l)leasant than the graceful good-nature of the vanquished and the modest courtesy of the victor. But to growl and snarl, and flown and scold, and lay the responsibility upon this side and that, is not the natural conduct ofa hero of the sea. The return of Captain Samuels, therefore, was awaited with interest and some concern. But when lie arrived and was spoken by the eagei reporter, the tone of his reply was so entirely that of the Avast there, my hearty ! that it was evident the monsters of the deep had dis- turbed the cable, and repeated a tale that was never told. The ~vhole story of disagreement and scold- ing and swearing and sulking and discord was a romance of the sea founded on no fact what- ever. Captain Sainuels smiled it all away in a moment. We were beaten because the Coronet sailed faster than we did, and in a few vivid and picturesque sentences the cap- tain described the voyage, except that lie could not command words suitably to express his feelings when he heard upon nearing the finish that the Goronet was already in. That point in the story caused the captain to turn aside for a moment and to meditate silently. I was certainly sorry to get in second; but there was no fault to be found. The Daunt- less did all that could be and was expected of her, and did magnificently. We were com- pelled to admit that the Uoronet was a faster boat. That is the true tone of a true son of the seahonest, manly, direct, and perfectly good-humored. It has a timely moral in it, and politicians especially may ~vell heed it. How they skulk and evade and sophisticate I. SOME months ago the Study made occa- sion to say certain things in praise of American criticism, which, so far as we could observe, displeased? most of the American crit- ics. This effect might well have discouraged a less ardlent optimist, but, with a courage which we will own we admire, we have clung to our convictions, and should be willing to repeat d)fl~ unwelcome compliments. They were diunli- fled compliments, if we remember rightly; we should? not even now like to commit ourselves to indiscriminate flattery of our fellow-critics; and if we were again td) enter upon such dan- gerous ground, we should l)1cfer to recognize a general amelioration of our dreadful trade on this continent rather than specify improve- ments. If we were to be quite honest (which and lie to explain, not to own, a defeat! How they spin nonsense into elaborate webs of time- ory to eatch the insects which hate to give up flying against a window! The explanation is perfectly obvious all the while. The Goronet was the faster boat. They were beaten be- cause the other side had more votes. The manly way is that of the sailor ~vho says that we sailed the race to ~vin, and the coronet sailed faster than we did. There is another moral. The newspapers announced in detail the quarrel of Captain Samuels and Mr. Colt. But in fact there was no quarrel. Everything was perfectly har- monious. What, then, is the unpleasant con- clusion ? Is it not that everything in the newspapers cannot be believed? That, in- deed, few important newspaper statements can be trusted until they are corroborated? This view is confirmed by the uudoul.ted fact that esteemed contemporaries are perpetu- ally branding each other in unqualified and exl)licit terms as liars, and dra~in~ each other, as it were, to execution dock without benehit of clergy. If a reader should proceed publicly to denounce some extraordinary con- duct on the part of a public officer, as described and detailed in his daily Morning Guide, Phi- losopher, and Friend, his wrathful hand or burning lips would have 1 iardly discharged their corrective office before the evening pa- per would authoritatively contradict the tale, and leave him, as was amusingly Saidl in Par- liament of certain discomfited gentlemen, stewing in his o~vn juice. The next time that we read in detail that a gallant sailor tried to avoid an acknowledg- ment that lie had been beaten, or that an lion- est and upright officer has done a mean thing, that Garrison has been stealthily selling slaves, or Father Mathe~v getting drunk privately let us all disbelieve, and await with perfect confidence the conming of the evening paper. is really not the best policy in some things), we should? say to these brothers of ours that they were still rather apt to behave brutal- ly in behalf of good taste audi the best art; and that they were perilously beset by tempta- tions to be personal, to be vulgar, to be arro- gant, which they dhidl not always overcome. Perhaps we might go so far as to say that their tone was sometimes ruffianly; though perhaps this would be going too far; perhaps one ought to add? that it might not be con- sciously so. In this home of the amenities, this polite haunt of literary discernment, ar- tistic sensibility, and? moral purpose, the critic sometimes appears in the panoply of the savages whom we have supplanted; and it is hard to believe that his use of the tomahawk and the scalping-knife is a form of conserva 156 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tive surgery. It is still hIs conception of his office that he should assail with bitterness and ol)loquy those who differ with him in matteis of taste or opinion; that he must be rude with those he does not like, and that he ought to do them violence as a proof of his superiority. It is too largely his superstition that because he likes a thing it is good, and because he dis- likes a thing it is bad ; the reverse is quite possibly the case, but he is yet indefinitely far from knowing that in affairs of taste his per- sonal h)1efelence enters very little. Corn monly lie has no principles, but only an assort- ment of prepossessions for and against; and we grieve to say that this otherwise very her- feet character is sometimes uncandid to the verge of dishonesty. He seems not to mind misstating the position of any one he sup- poses himself to disagree with, and then at- tacking him for what he never said, or even implied ; the critic thinks this is droll, and appears not to suspect that it is immoral. He is not tolerant; lie thinks it a virtue to be in- tolerant; it is hard for him to understand that the same thing may be admirable at one time and deplorable at another; and that it is real- ly his business to classify nnd analyze the fruits of the human mind as the naturalist classifies the objects of his study, rather than to ~ or blame them; that there is a measure of the same absurdity in his trampling on a 1)0cm, a novel, or an essay that does not please him as in the botanists grinding a plant under- foot because lie does not find it pretty. He doe5 not conceive that it is his business rather to identify the species and then explain how and where the specimen is imperfect and irregular. If lie could once acquire this simple ideal of his duty lie would be much more agreeable com- pi~y than he now is, and a more useful member of society; though we trust we are not yet say- ing that lie is not extremely delightful as lie is, and wholly indispensable. He is certainly more ignorant than malevolent; and considering the hard conditions nuder which lie works, his ne- cessity of writing hurriedly fiom an imperfect examination of far more books, on a greater variety of subjects, than he can even hope to read, the aveiage American criticthe ordi- nary critic of commerce, so to speakis~ very well indeed. Collectively lie is more than this; for, as we said once before, we believe that the joint effect of our criticism is the pret- ty thorough appreciation of any book submit- ted to it. TI. The misfortune rather than the fault of our several or individual critic is that lie is the heir of the false theory and bad manners of the En~hish school. The theory of that school has apparently been that almost any person of glib and lively expression is competent to write of almost any branch of polite literature; its manners are what we know. The Ameri- can, whom it has largely formed, is by nature very glib and lively, and commonly his criti- cism, viewed as imaginative work, is more agreeable than that of the En~hishman; but it is, like the art of both countries, apt to be aniateurishi. In some degree our authors have freed themselves from English models; they have gained some notion of the more serious work of the Continent ; but it is still the am bition of the American critic to write like the English critic, to shio~v his wit if not his learn- ing, to strive to eclipse the author under ic- view rather than ihlustrate hum. He has not yet caught on to the fact that it is really no part of his business to exhihoit hiimsehg but that it is altogethi ci his duty to hihace a book in such a light thiat the reader shliill know its class, its function, its character. The vast good-nature of our people preserves us from the worst effects of this criticism without principles. Our critic, at his lowest, is rarely mahignaiit ; and when lie is rude or untruthi ful, it is mostly without truculence ; we suspect that lie is often ofiensive without knowing that lie is so. If lie loves a shining mark because a fair shot with mud shmo~vs best On that kind of target, it is for the most part from a boyish mischievousness quite innocent of malice. Now audI then lie acts simnphy un- der instruction from higher authority, and die- nounces because it is the tradition of his pub- lication to do so. Iii other cases the critic is obhigedh to support his journals repute for se- verity, or for wit, or for morality, though lie may himself be entirely amiable, dull, and wicked; this necessity more or less warps his verdicts. The worst is that lie is persoiial, perhaps be- cause it is so easy and so natural to be personal, andi so instantly attractive. In this respect our criticism has iid)t improvedl from thie accession of large numbers of ladhies to its ranks, though we still hope so much from women in our poli- tics when they shah come to vote. They have come to write, and within the effect to increase thie amount of hittle-diggimig, which rather su- hieraboundedi in our litemamy criticism before. They know what they like that per- nicious maxim of those who do not know what they ought to likeand they pass readi- ly from censuring an authors hierformalice to censuring him. They bring a lively stock of mflisah)prehensiouis amid prejudices to their work; they would rather tmve heard about than known about a book; and they take kimidily to time public wish to be amtisedl rath em~ than edified. But neither have they so much harm in them; they too are more ig- norant thman malevolent. IL. Our criticismn is disabhedh by the unwilling- ness of the critic to learn from an author, and his readiness to mistrust him. A writer pass- es his whole life in fittimig hmimsehf for a cer- tain kindh of performamice; the critic does not ask why, or whether tIme performance is good or bad, but if lie dOe5 not like the kind, he in- structs tIme writer to go off and do some oth- er sort of thingusually the sort that has been EDITORS STUDY. 157 done already, and done sufficiently. Jfhe could once understand that a man who hns written the book he dislikes, proliably knows infinitely more about its kind and his own fitness for do- lug it than any one else, the critic might learn something, and might help the reader to learn; l)ut by putting himself in a false position, a l)osition of superiority, he is of no use. He ought, in the first place, to cast ~)rayertnlly about for humility, and especially to beseech the powers to preserve him from the sterility of arrogance and the deadness of contempt, for out of these nothing can proceed. lie is not to suppose tlmat an author has committed an offence against him by writing the kind of book he does not like; he ~vilI be far more proiltalily employed on belmalf of the reader in finding out whether they had better not both like it. Let him conceive of an author as not in any wise on trial before him, but as a reflec- tion of this or that aspect of life, and he will not he tempted to browbeat him or bully him. So far as we know, this is not now the car- riage of criticism toward authorship in any country but England and her literary colonies. Self-restraint, decency, even l)oliteness, seem to characterize the behavior of critics else- where. They may not like an authors work, l)ut they (10 not for that reason use him ~vith ignominy or insult. Some extreme friends of civilization have insisted that a critic should not write of a book what he would not say to the author personally about it; lint this is not l)ossible; it is at least premature, if not a little unreasonable. All that we now suggest is that the critic need not be impolite, even to the youngest and weakest author. A little courtesy, or a good deal, a constant percep- tion of the fact that a book is not a misde- meanor, a decent self-respect that must forbid the civilized man the savage pleasure of wound- imig, are what we ask for our criticism, as some- thing wlmich will add sensibly to ita present lus- tre; or, if notloing can do that, will at least ap- proach it to the Continental attitude, and re- move it from the English. Iv. We do not really suppose that the inhabi- tants of the British Islands are all satisfied with their literary criticism; we suspect that many of themn must have timeir misgivings when the Saturday Review, for example, calls names and makes faces because some one has, for instance, deplored time survival of the English aristocracy in our time. They must some of themn feel that it is not a wholly tern- lie spectacle; timat however right tIme Review may be, its behavior is a little ridiculous. But those islanders are very curious, and in some things quite remote; they may still think the tomtom a l)owerful argumnent, and the gourd- rattle the best means of carrying conviction to time minds of men. They may even admire the solemn port of the Academy when it knits its classic front and tells an American novelist that he is, to say tIme least, presumptuous in questioning the impeccability of English fic- tion. What lie would be, if the Academy were to say the most, one shrinks from guessing; but apparently the Boitishi aristoemacy, w hich reads the Britisim novel so little, and the British novel, which derides time British aristocracy so much, are t~vin monuments whose perfection no foreigner may doubt, under pain of British criticisms high displeasure. It is no doubt ~)artially in revolt from this severity timat we call in question British criti- cism itselg and beg American criticism, which is still in the sap, to incline to other ways, to study different methods and different measures. At this stage of the ~)roeeedings, with time light of civilization flowing in upon us froon time whole European continemit, it would be a pity to continue in that old personal, arrogant, egotistical tramlition; it would be something mimore than a pity, it would be a sin; and we tenderly entreat our bretioren, from the high- est to the lowest, to take thought of the mat- tel, to reason ~vitim timemselves, and to be ~varn- ed by time examples which they Imave hitherto sought to imitate. V. Consider, dear friends, what you are really in time world for. It is not, apparently, for a gie at deal, because ~our only excuse for l)eing s timat somebody else has been. The critic exists because tIme author first existe(l. If books failed to al)l)ear, the critic must disap- l)ear, like tIme poor aphis or tlme lowly cater- i)iliar in the absence of vegetation. These insects may botim 5UPPO5C that they have some- timing to do with tile creation of vegetation; and the critic may 5UI)P0S~ that line has some- thing to dlo with the creation of literature; but a very little reasoning ought to convince alike aphis, caterpillar, and critic timat they are mistaken. The criticto dirop the others must perceive, if he ~vill question himself more carefully, that his office is mainly to as- certain facts and traits of literature, not to in- vent or denounce them; to discover principles, not to estaillishi them ; to report, not to create. Time Imistory of all literature simows that even ~vith the youngest mind weakest author criti- cism is quite powerless against lois will to do his own work in his own way; and if this is tlme case in the green wood, how much mnore in the dry! It has been thought by the sea- timnentahists that criticism if it cannot cure, can at least kill, and Keats was long alleged in proof of its efficacy in this sort. But crmtm- cismn neitimer curedi nor killedi Keats, as we all now very well komow. It wounded, it cruelly Imurt imim, no doubt ; and it is always in the power of time critic to give pain to time author the meanest critic to tile greatest author for no one can Imeip feeling a rudeness. But every literary movement imas l)een violently op- posed at time start, and yet never stayed in tIme least, or arrested, by criticismn; every author has been condemned for his virtues, but in no wise clmanged by it. In the beginning he 158 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. reads the critics; but presently perceiving that he alone makes or mars himselg and that they have no instruction for him, he mostly leaves off reading them, though he is always glad of their kindness or grieved by their harshness when he chances upon it. This, we believe, is the general experience, modified, of course, liy exceptions. VI. Then, are we critics of no use in the world? We should not like to think that, though we are not quite ready to define our use. If we were to confess that we had none, we must not say, Let us not be like these English critics; but, Let us not be at all. More than one sober thinker is inclin- ing at present to suspect that ~sthetically or specifically we are of no use, and that we are only useful historically; that we may register laws, but not enact them. We are not quite prepared to admit that ~sthetic criticism is useless, though in view of its futility in any given instance it is hard to deny that it is 50. It certainly seems as useless against a book that strikes the popular fancy, and prospers on in spite of condemnation by the best crit- ics, as it is against a hook which does not generally please, and which no critical fiivor can make acceptable. This is so Common a phenomenon that we wonder it has never hitherto suggested to criticism that its point of view was altogether mistaken, and that it was really necessary to ju(lge books not as dead things, but as living thingsthings which have an influence and a power imre- spective of beauty and wisdom, and merely as expressions of actuality in thou~ht and feel- ing. Perhaps criticism has a cumulative and final effect; perhaps it does some good we do not know of. It apparently does not affect the author directly, but it may reach him through the reader. It may in some cases enlarge or diminish his audience for a while, until lie has thoroughly measumed and tested his own pow- ers. We doubt if it can do more than that; but if it can do that, we ~vil1 admit that it may be the toad of adversity, ugly and yen- omous, from whose unpleasant brow he is to snatch the precious jewel of lasting thme. We employ this figure in all humility, and we conjure our fraternity to ask themselves, without rancor or offence, whether we are right or not. In this quest let us get together all the mo.lesty and candor and impartiality we can; fom: if we should happen to discover a good reason for continuing to exist, these qualities will be of more use to us than any others in examining the work of people who really produce something. Wuutjiltj Iai~rut~ uf fnricnt & ucnt~. POLITICAL. OUR Record is closed on the 19th of April. The Inter-State Commerce Commissioners appointed by President Cleveland, March 22, are as follows: Thomas M. Cooley, of Michigan, for six years; William R. Morrison, of Illinois, five years; Augustus Schoonmaker, of New York, four years; Aldace F. Walker; of Ver- mont, three years; Walter L. Bragg, of Ala- bamna, two years. President Cleveland appointed new Minis- ters as follows: March 24, Oscar S. Strans, of New York, to Austria; April 16, General Alex- ander R. Lawton, of Georgia, to Austro-Hun- gary. Mr. Charles S. Fairchild wns nppointed Sec- retary of the Treasury March 31. The act of the last Congress granting land in severalty to Indians was first put into effect on March 31, when President Cleveland order- ed the allotment of land under this la~v to the Indians on the Warm Springs Reservation in Oregon. A proposed amendment to the Constitution of Michigan prohibiting the sale of liquor in that State was defeated iii a popular election, April 4, hy a majority of about 5000. The Rhode Island State election, April 6, was carried by the Democrats. John W. Davis was chosen Governor by nearly 1000 majority. The Crosby High License Bill, fixing the fee for the sale of spirituous liquors to he drunk on the premises in ~4e~v York and Brooklyn at $1000, and malt liquors $100, was vetoed by Governor Hill April 12. The public debt of the United States was re- duced during the month of March $12,808,467 71. The transatlantic yacht race between the Coronet and the Dauatless, for $10,000 a side, was won by the former. The start was made from New York March 12. The Coroaet reached Roches Point, Quecustown, March 27, amid the Dauntless March 28. The wiummiug boats time was 14 days, 19 hours, 3 minutes, 14 seconds, and the losers 16 days, 1 hour, 43 mnimiutes, 13 seconds. The Irish Crimes Bill was promulgated by Mr. Balfour in the British House of Comunions March 28. It abolishes trial by jury iii Ire- land, giving to muagistrates POwer to imiflict a maximum penalty of six niouths imprisonment for offences such as boycotting, comuspiracy, rioting, and the like, or inciting to the same. In grave cases, of murder or arson, it provides for a change of venue to England. Time law will have no time himnit, and will be applicable only in districts proclaimned by the Viceroy. On April 1 closure was applied by a vote of 361 to 253, and the bill passed its first read- ing. On April 15 it passed a second reading~

Monthly Record of Current Events Monthly Record of Current Events 158-159

158 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. reads the critics; but presently perceiving that he alone makes or mars himselg and that they have no instruction for him, he mostly leaves off reading them, though he is always glad of their kindness or grieved by their harshness when he chances upon it. This, we believe, is the general experience, modified, of course, liy exceptions. VI. Then, are we critics of no use in the world? We should not like to think that, though we are not quite ready to define our use. If we were to confess that we had none, we must not say, Let us not be like these English critics; but, Let us not be at all. More than one sober thinker is inclin- ing at present to suspect that ~sthetically or specifically we are of no use, and that we are only useful historically; that we may register laws, but not enact them. We are not quite prepared to admit that ~sthetic criticism is useless, though in view of its futility in any given instance it is hard to deny that it is 50. It certainly seems as useless against a book that strikes the popular fancy, and prospers on in spite of condemnation by the best crit- ics, as it is against a hook which does not generally please, and which no critical fiivor can make acceptable. This is so Common a phenomenon that we wonder it has never hitherto suggested to criticism that its point of view was altogether mistaken, and that it was really necessary to ju(lge books not as dead things, but as living thingsthings which have an influence and a power imre- spective of beauty and wisdom, and merely as expressions of actuality in thou~ht and feel- ing. Perhaps criticism has a cumulative and final effect; perhaps it does some good we do not know of. It apparently does not affect the author directly, but it may reach him through the reader. It may in some cases enlarge or diminish his audience for a while, until lie has thoroughly measumed and tested his own pow- ers. We doubt if it can do more than that; but if it can do that, we ~vil1 admit that it may be the toad of adversity, ugly and yen- omous, from whose unpleasant brow he is to snatch the precious jewel of lasting thme. We employ this figure in all humility, and we conjure our fraternity to ask themselves, without rancor or offence, whether we are right or not. In this quest let us get together all the mo.lesty and candor and impartiality we can; fom: if we should happen to discover a good reason for continuing to exist, these qualities will be of more use to us than any others in examining the work of people who really produce something. Wuutjiltj Iai~rut~ uf fnricnt & ucnt~. POLITICAL. OUR Record is closed on the 19th of April. The Inter-State Commerce Commissioners appointed by President Cleveland, March 22, are as follows: Thomas M. Cooley, of Michigan, for six years; William R. Morrison, of Illinois, five years; Augustus Schoonmaker, of New York, four years; Aldace F. Walker; of Ver- mont, three years; Walter L. Bragg, of Ala- bamna, two years. President Cleveland appointed new Minis- ters as follows: March 24, Oscar S. Strans, of New York, to Austria; April 16, General Alex- ander R. Lawton, of Georgia, to Austro-Hun- gary. Mr. Charles S. Fairchild wns nppointed Sec- retary of the Treasury March 31. The act of the last Congress granting land in severalty to Indians was first put into effect on March 31, when President Cleveland order- ed the allotment of land under this la~v to the Indians on the Warm Springs Reservation in Oregon. A proposed amendment to the Constitution of Michigan prohibiting the sale of liquor in that State was defeated iii a popular election, April 4, hy a majority of about 5000. The Rhode Island State election, April 6, was carried by the Democrats. John W. Davis was chosen Governor by nearly 1000 majority. The Crosby High License Bill, fixing the fee for the sale of spirituous liquors to he drunk on the premises in ~4e~v York and Brooklyn at $1000, and malt liquors $100, was vetoed by Governor Hill April 12. The public debt of the United States was re- duced during the month of March $12,808,467 71. The transatlantic yacht race between the Coronet and the Dauatless, for $10,000 a side, was won by the former. The start was made from New York March 12. The Coroaet reached Roches Point, Quecustown, March 27, amid the Dauntless March 28. The wiummiug boats time was 14 days, 19 hours, 3 minutes, 14 seconds, and the losers 16 days, 1 hour, 43 mnimiutes, 13 seconds. The Irish Crimes Bill was promulgated by Mr. Balfour in the British House of Comunions March 28. It abolishes trial by jury iii Ire- land, giving to muagistrates POwer to imiflict a maximum penalty of six niouths imprisonment for offences such as boycotting, comuspiracy, rioting, and the like, or inciting to the same. In grave cases, of murder or arson, it provides for a change of venue to England. Time law will have no time himnit, and will be applicable only in districts proclaimned by the Viceroy. On April 1 closure was applied by a vote of 361 to 253, and the bill passed its first read- ing. On April 15 it passed a second reading~ EDITORS DRAWER. 159 In the House of Lords the government pre- sented a land bill, which passed its first read- ing, providing for the purchase of Irish hold- ings, that is, for the abolition of the system of dual ownership created by the act of 1881. The leaseholders whose leases expired prior to 1881, numbering 160,000, are to be admitted to the benefits of the act of 1881 in the same man- ner as those whose leases expired in that year. A new Italian cabinet was annonneed, as follows: Signor Depretis, Minister of Foreign Affairs; Sign or Crispi, Minister of the Interior; Signor Viale, Minister of War; Signor Zanar- delli, Minister of Justice; and Signor Saracco, Minister of Public Works. Another effort was made to kill the Czar, on March 29, by an officer of the army, who shot at him while lie was taking exercise in the park of the palace at Gatsbina. DISASTERS. March 23.Seventy miners killed by an ex- plosion in the Bulli Colliery, Sydney, New South Wales.Twelve miners bnrned to death in a boarding-house at Bessemer, Michigan. March 24.News at San Francisco of the burning to death by the villagers of 260 tramps in a temple at usia Shib, China. April 1.Destruction i)y fire of the Hotel del Monte, Monterey, California. April 5.Eighteen miluers killed by an ex- plosion at Venita, Indian Territory. April 9.Explosion in a nitro-glycerine fac- ~HE American man the Drawer imagines, I only develops himself and spreads him- self and grows for all lie is worth in the Great West. He is more free and limberthere, and nnfolds those generous peculiarities and largenesses of humanity which never blos- somed before. The environment has much to do with it. The great spaces over which he roams contribute to the enlargement of his mental horizon. There have been races be- fore who roamed the illimitable desert, but they travelled on foot or on camel-back, and were limited in their range. There was no- thing continental about them, as there is about our railway desert travellers, who swing along through thousands of miles of sand and sage- bush with a growing contempt for time and space. But expansive and great as these peo- ple have become under the new conditions, the Drawer has a fancy that the development of the race has only just begun, and that the future will show us in perfection a kind of man ne~v to the world. Out somewhere on the Santa Fe route, where the desert of oiie day was like the desert of the day before, and the Pullnian car rolls and swings over the wide waste beneath the blue sky day after tory at Freiberg, Saxony. Thirteen persons killed. April 10 (and following days).Prairie fires from two and a half to seven miles wide, in Graham and Norton connties, Kansas. Fifteen persons and many houses and several thousand head of cattle burned. April 12.Fire in St. Augustine, Florida. The old slave market, cathedral, court-house, and ~t. Augustine and Edwards hotels burned. April 13.Packet steamer Victoria wrecked on the rocks near Dieppe. T~vclve passengers drowiied. OBITUARY. March 27.In Princeton, New Jersey, Paul Tnlane, philanthropist, age(l eighty - seven years. March 29.In Newark, Nc~v Jersey, Rev. Ray Palmer, D.D., hymn-writer, aged seventy-eight years. March 31.In Albany, New York, John G. Saxe, poet, aged seventy-one years. April 4.In New York, Miss Catherine L. Wolfe, philanthropist, aged sixty-one years. April 10.At Evansville, Indiana, John T. Raymond, comedian, aged fi fty-one years. April 12.In Wilmington, Delaware, Right Rev. Alfred Lee, D.D., S.T.D., LL.D., first bish- op of Delaware, and senior bishop of the Prot- estant Episcopal Church, in his eightieth year. April 15.In Paris, France, Very Rev. Mon- signor William Quinn, Vicar-General of New York, aged sixty-six years. day, under its black flag of smoke, in the early gray of morning, when the men were waiting their turns at the ablution bowls, a slip of a boy, perhaps aged seven, stood balancing him- self on his little legs, clad in knickerbockers, biding his time, with all the nonchalance of an old campaigner. How did you sleep, cap? asked a well-meaning elderly gemitle- man. Well, thank you, was the digmiifled response; as I always do on a sleeping-car. Always does? Great horrors! Hardly omit of his swaddling-clothes, and yet lie al ways sleeps well in a sleeper I Was lie borii on the wheels? was lie cradled in a Pullnian? He has al~vays been iii motion, probably; lie was started at thirty miles an hour, no (loubt, this marvel- lous boy of our new era. He was not born in a house at rest, but the locomotive snatched him along with a shriek and a roar before his eyes were fairly open, and lie was rocked in a section aui(l his first sensation of life was that of moving rapidly over vast arid spaces, through cattle ramiges, and along caflons. The effort of qnick and easy hoconiotiomi on chiarac- ter may have beemi noted before, but it seems that here is the production of a new sort of nian, the direct product of our railway era.

Editor's Drawer Editor's Drawer 159-164

EDITORS DRAWER. 159 In the House of Lords the government pre- sented a land bill, which passed its first read- ing, providing for the purchase of Irish hold- ings, that is, for the abolition of the system of dual ownership created by the act of 1881. The leaseholders whose leases expired prior to 1881, numbering 160,000, are to be admitted to the benefits of the act of 1881 in the same man- ner as those whose leases expired in that year. A new Italian cabinet was annonneed, as follows: Signor Depretis, Minister of Foreign Affairs; Sign or Crispi, Minister of the Interior; Signor Viale, Minister of War; Signor Zanar- delli, Minister of Justice; and Signor Saracco, Minister of Public Works. Another effort was made to kill the Czar, on March 29, by an officer of the army, who shot at him while lie was taking exercise in the park of the palace at Gatsbina. DISASTERS. March 23.Seventy miners killed by an ex- plosion in the Bulli Colliery, Sydney, New South Wales.Twelve miners bnrned to death in a boarding-house at Bessemer, Michigan. March 24.News at San Francisco of the burning to death by the villagers of 260 tramps in a temple at usia Shib, China. April 1.Destruction i)y fire of the Hotel del Monte, Monterey, California. April 5.Eighteen miluers killed by an ex- plosion at Venita, Indian Territory. April 9.Explosion in a nitro-glycerine fac- ~HE American man the Drawer imagines, I only develops himself and spreads him- self and grows for all lie is worth in the Great West. He is more free and limberthere, and nnfolds those generous peculiarities and largenesses of humanity which never blos- somed before. The environment has much to do with it. The great spaces over which he roams contribute to the enlargement of his mental horizon. There have been races be- fore who roamed the illimitable desert, but they travelled on foot or on camel-back, and were limited in their range. There was no- thing continental about them, as there is about our railway desert travellers, who swing along through thousands of miles of sand and sage- bush with a growing contempt for time and space. But expansive and great as these peo- ple have become under the new conditions, the Drawer has a fancy that the development of the race has only just begun, and that the future will show us in perfection a kind of man ne~v to the world. Out somewhere on the Santa Fe route, where the desert of oiie day was like the desert of the day before, and the Pullnian car rolls and swings over the wide waste beneath the blue sky day after tory at Freiberg, Saxony. Thirteen persons killed. April 10 (and following days).Prairie fires from two and a half to seven miles wide, in Graham and Norton connties, Kansas. Fifteen persons and many houses and several thousand head of cattle burned. April 12.Fire in St. Augustine, Florida. The old slave market, cathedral, court-house, and ~t. Augustine and Edwards hotels burned. April 13.Packet steamer Victoria wrecked on the rocks near Dieppe. T~vclve passengers drowiied. OBITUARY. March 27.In Princeton, New Jersey, Paul Tnlane, philanthropist, age(l eighty - seven years. March 29.In Newark, Nc~v Jersey, Rev. Ray Palmer, D.D., hymn-writer, aged seventy-eight years. March 31.In Albany, New York, John G. Saxe, poet, aged seventy-one years. April 4.In New York, Miss Catherine L. Wolfe, philanthropist, aged sixty-one years. April 10.At Evansville, Indiana, John T. Raymond, comedian, aged fi fty-one years. April 12.In Wilmington, Delaware, Right Rev. Alfred Lee, D.D., S.T.D., LL.D., first bish- op of Delaware, and senior bishop of the Prot- estant Episcopal Church, in his eightieth year. April 15.In Paris, France, Very Rev. Mon- signor William Quinn, Vicar-General of New York, aged sixty-six years. day, under its black flag of smoke, in the early gray of morning, when the men were waiting their turns at the ablution bowls, a slip of a boy, perhaps aged seven, stood balancing him- self on his little legs, clad in knickerbockers, biding his time, with all the nonchalance of an old campaigner. How did you sleep, cap? asked a well-meaning elderly gemitle- man. Well, thank you, was the digmiifled response; as I always do on a sleeping-car. Always does? Great horrors! Hardly omit of his swaddling-clothes, and yet lie al ways sleeps well in a sleeper I Was lie borii on the wheels? was lie cradled in a Pullnian? He has al~vays been iii motion, probably; lie was started at thirty miles an hour, no (loubt, this marvel- lous boy of our new era. He was not born in a house at rest, but the locomotive snatched him along with a shriek and a roar before his eyes were fairly open, and lie was rocked in a section aui(l his first sensation of life was that of moving rapidly over vast arid spaces, through cattle ramiges, and along caflons. The effort of qnick and easy hoconiotiomi on chiarac- ter may have beemi noted before, but it seems that here is the production of a new sort of nian, the direct product of our railway era. 160 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. It is not simply that this boy is mature, but be must be a different and a nobler sort of boy than one born, say, at home or on a canal- boat; for whether he was born on the rail or miot, be belongs to the railway system of civil- ization. Before he gets into trousers lie is old in experience, and he has discounted many of the novelties that usnally break gradnally on the l)il~riIn in this world. He belongs to the new expansive race that must live in motion, whose proper home is the Pullman (which will probably be improved in time into a dust- less, sweet-smelling, well-aired bedroom), and whose domestic life will be on the wing, so to speak. The Inter-State Commerce Bill will pass him along without friction from end to end of the Union, au(l perhaps a uniform di- vorce law will enable hini to change his mami- tal relations at any place where lie happens to dine. This promising lad is only a faint intimation of what we are all coming to when we fully acquire the freedom of the continent, and come into that expansiveness of feeling and of language whicli characterizes the Great West. It is a burst of joyous exuberance that comes from the sense of an illiumitable lion- zon. It shows itself in the tender words of a local newspaper at Bowie, Arizona, on the death of a beloved citizen: Death loves a shining mark, and she hit a dandy when she turned loose on Jim. And also in the closing words of a New Mexico obituary, which the Kansas Magazine quotes: Her tired spirit was released from the pain-racking body and soar- ed aloft to eternal glory at 4.30 Den s-er time. We die, as it were, iii motion, as we sleep, and there is nowhere aminy boundary to our expan- sion. Perhaps we shall never again know any rest as we now umiderstand the termrest being only change of motionand we shall not be able to sleep except on the cars, and whether we die by Denver time or by the 90th meridian, we shall only change our tinie. Blessed be this slip of a boy who is a man be- fore lie is an infant, and teaches us what rap- id traiisit can do for our race! The only tliimig that can possibly hinder us iii our progress will be second childhood we have abolished first. THE census taken in Massachusetts in the year 1885 was conducted on a very thorough system, and the enanmerators had to ask and write down the answers to thirty questions for each inhabitant. It was a most tedious work, but was enlivened occasioiially by sonic little experience or iuicident. Oui oiie occasion an enumerator was work- ing up an Irish section iii a small town, and was met at one house by the mother of a large family, who answered for the eiitire household. After time questions, iii regard to herself and busband ~vere answered, the children were next takemi, commencing with the eldest, who was iii lie years old. This oiie was disposed of and several others, when the enumerator dis covered that there was but a years difference in their ages. Without making any coninient thereon, lie continued till one was reached who was but three years of age; as the last one was five, he asked where tIme four-year-old one was. He was assured, however, that there was no mistake by the niothier when she re- plied, That one died. A CELEBRATED Washimigton belle, whose at- tractions iimvited such marked attentions from scores of men that the prefix of Mrs. seemed a dead letter, was receiving with another fashionable wonian. While chatting she iii- adverteimtly drew out her hiandkerchiief, and observing a knot in the corner of it, stopped, hesitated, aiid said, Ive a knot in the corner of my handkerchief; I must have put it there to remind me of somethmin~ Said the hostess Probably to remind you that you are mar- mied. SPEAKING of Washmiimgton society, Mrs. Gen- eral M planned a series of receptions, and allotted her friends in such nianner as to form congenial circles and prevent crowding her salon. Cohommel , acrus ty 01(1 bore, attend- ed the first one, aiid the following conversa- tiomi took place: Very pleasant lot of people here this even- ing, maam; but one misses a good many fa- miliar faces ! Yes, my dear Colomiel, the hostess replied; but I shah give another reception mmext FYi- day evemuimug, and thmeum a good maumy familiar faces will miss you. ONE Sunday evening last smimumer a bat, devotionally inclined, flew through the open window of a church in Rochester, and dis ported itself in those plumigimig circles pe- cuhiar to its hdmmd. Time choir boys were simig- lug, and the congregation of comurse standing, so it had a better opportunity than usual to terrorize the worshippers. First tIme congre- gatioii would uluck, amid thieii tIme choir boys ivould dodge, till the sea of Laces looked as if agitated by a violent storm, amid the suppressed smiles grew broader and broader. Just timen the choir begaui the secoimd verse of the hymn: Happy birds that slug and fly Amouuuid thuiac altars, 0 Most high. The effect was magical. A suiddeum swoop car- rie(h the bat omit liuto the umighit, amid saved the occasiomi; buit it was a close call for Sunday. ThREE youmng gemutlemneum hivimug in one of our great cities were retuirnimig from a ball oume flue wimiter evemuing at about five oclock in the nuormiimigthe expressiomm is forgivable, si mice they were all of Hiberniami extractionamid were miaturally thirsty. Thmey tried the doors of a dozemi places where at more reasonable hours liquid refreshment was dispemised, buit found nomme opemi. Iii timeir desperatioum they EDITORS DRAWER. 161 hethongli t themselves of tb at despised flu hi, milk, arid were soon regaling themselves on a COIl ple of bottles surreptitiously obtained front an area where they bad just heen left by the early milkman. In al)out five hours the three were facing a. police justice, and one of them Daniel OConnell by itamnewas tellimig the story. Did you steal the milk ? queried the jus- tice. Yes, your honor. There was a third bot- tle there which we might have taken, but proudly drawing himself up to his full height I (lid not wish to sully the immortal name I bear. SHINE EM UP? A BLUFF, hearty English friend was giving us his impressions of America, and he secuied to have es~)ecially noted the contrast between our young people null their juvenile English cousins. Your youth are more forward than ours, lie said, and less respectful to their el ilers. We remarked that this was only natural, a characteristic of all our people; our insti- tutions (levelolied a spirit of independence. Yes, lie responded ; and this shlirit up Pears to have lieeui in a marked ~vay (leveloped in your bootblacks. I was in Washimigton, and hall occasion to avail myself of the services of oiie of these knights of the brush. While lie was shining I asked his price, which lie said was ten cents. But., I said, iii New York it is only five cents. In ami instant lie hind thrown aside his brush. Well, mister, lie said, I guess yer(I better go ter New York amid oct yer boots blacked. CONSTANCE is very young, l)nt she is also better worth quotimig thaii most grown peo- pIe. Her emivy was somewhat aroused by the fact that a wedding was about to take place in the family of her little playmate, and that the playniate thereby had the advantageof her; so she rein arked, very complacently, to her little friends mamma Mis. , did you know that I was en- gagell to be married r Why, no, Coiiiiy. Is that so I Yes, maamn; Im engaged to Fritz Ward (small boy of her acquaiiitance). ~l-le (loesnt know it, but Ive got to explain it to him. Well, Coniiy, do you expect to l)e mnarriell 80011 Well, I hope so. The fact is, Im tired of being spanked, and I think well be married very 5OOIi.~~ Ax Irishuian was sent by his employer with a niessage to a mnerchaiit in the city. The of- tice of tue nierchant was duly reached, but lie was not imi. The oiily occmmpant of the room was a monkey, amril to hiinm Patrick promptly handed his masters note. Ihe miioiikev took it, looked it over with extremne care and in a perfectly busi miess-like man mier, and finally de A GREAT DIFFERENCE. TOMMY GUZZLE (some time in. the supper-room). lIehho, Billy, goin~ to get something for the inner man? BILLY MANNERS (who has just come in). No; Im going to get something for the outer woman 162 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. liherately tore it into bits. Pat on his re- turn gave an emphatic account of the treat- inent which the note had received, and the wrathful master set off at once, accompanied by his servant, to inquire into the meaning of it. The merchant was now in his office, and the sender of the message was beginning an earnest expostulatioii with him when Patrick interrupted him, and pointing to the monkey, that still occupied his eorner, said Oh sir , , it was not this gintleman ; it was the ilderly gintleman in the cornerthis gintlentaas father, I deem. MY PROFESSOR. lIE gave me a rose, And he said, Can you read The alphabet dewy-eyed Flora invented (So daintily tinted and charmingly scented) To write ever valley and mend ? Do you thinkcan it hethat he means to propose? Or why should he give me the eloquent rose? For it is, you know, Loves sweet intercessor. And soft were his eyes, and so tenderly beaming, They thrilled me and stirred all my heart into dreaming Of 1dmthe august professor. And I dreamed (was it bold?) that he meant to propose, So tender his words when he gave me the rose. I shall not be coy And coquettish, nor shy, When he seeks me again. Only trifling, you say? But I know he is earnest and true as the day; And his prayers how can I deny? For I feelI am surethat lie means to propose, Such presage of bliss is the gift of a rose. C. W. THAYESI. A PROMINENT physician, who has since died, once wrote a prescription for a powerfnl lini- ment. He was noted among the (Irli ~gists for his chirographi)-. He had a large i)ractice, and often wrote in such haste that it was (hifficult to read his prescriptions. The directions writ- ten upon the above-mentioned recipe were, Apply locally as directed. The clerk read it, Like a teaspoonful three tunes daily. rue patient took only one dose. Another doctor sent his bill to a widow for doctoring your husband until he died. TuE attention of parents with children to itaine is respectfully called to the melancholy paragra~)li which follow-s. Mr. J beino on one occasion belated in the mountaius of Geor- gia., stopped at a little cabin and asked a iiights shelter of the owner, who was sitting at the froiit (10cr lii all the luxury of shirt sleeves aiid a rusli-hiottonied chair tilted well back against the ~valh. It was hospitably accorded. A sup- per consisting of bacon and corn-bread was set before him; and the cci iversation turnin~ upon the fine pasture-lands of that section, Mr. J modestly insinuated that lie would have sup- posed it possible to keep a co~v for the benefit of tile two children whom he saw playing about the rooni. They (loiit need it; they are all right as long as that tliar lasts, said the father, point- ing with a jerk of his thumb to a barrel of whiskey sitting in oiie corner. Properly hor- rified,Mr. J expostulated, but in vain. It keepscrn screwed lip like a fiddle all the time, explained the fond parcuit. This incident led to some further talk about the little ones, and Mr. J affably asked their names. rhis here cue (here the niothser dragged forward a shame-faced youngster in butter- nut), hopin youll excuse his looks, was nanied for my pa~vJoseph Edward Malcohn Norton Gunter. It was rattled off as cue mouthful in a sing- scuig voice, and Mr. J , to ~vhom comment was difficult, said, And the little girl I Mary Josefine Rhody Catherine Benjamine Frankhine Palestine Gunter. She was uuamued for my maw, was the reply. A FEW years ago base-bali was a poisuilar game, an all-engrossing game, in Buffalo. State Engineer Horatio Se)-mour, Jun., found it so. Upon cue of his visits to that city lie heard inca talking of little else than base-ball, on the dock, at the hotels, and in tile count- iuig-rooms. Old merchiauuts and young clerks watched flue papers and the bulletins for the scores niade by tue nieuiibers of the National League, and seeusued to take little iuiterest iii legitimate buisiuiess. Feeling no interest what- ever in tIme American game, Mr. Seymour ~vas somewhat disgusted ~vi th the conditiouu of pub- lic sentiuncuit in Buffalo, and so expressed hini self to it synupathizing fricuid iii tIme eveuuiuug. The friend hiroposedi a visit to the circus for a chuauige, but Mr. Seymour declimied, saying that lie was very tire(l, auud iumtelu(led to give up his room at the hotel, go to the house of an uncle nil elderly, munch-esteemed citizenfind a quiet room, auu(h net a ecod nights rest. To~v- ardi miduiighst there was a violent riuigiuig at the old mauis (10cr-bell, and iuuvestigatiouu re- vealed that a boy was at the door with a tele- gram for Mr. Seymour. With no little anxiety tlse State Engiuseer, who hind been wakened from ~.s souind sleep, tore open the (lespatch, huopiiug that it had no bad ne~vs from home. Half he~vildered and half cuiraged, he read: Providence, 3; Bostouu, 2. ErrorsProvi- dence, 2; Bostoum, 4. Base lii ts He read uio more. What cii earth have I got to do with this ? lie roared cut to flue aharuuued but innocetut iuuesseumger; who replied, Why, aiumt you tue Mu. Seymour what re- ports base-ball for the Buffalo Courier r The State Engineer went back to his bed to wait lumupatiently for umuorning. Auid though the imext dusy was time Sabbath, hue took thue first traius for aluuuost any place where he would be likely to hear men, women, and children talkiuug about something besides scores, errors, fly balls, and base hits. MAX ELYOT. ~I! // ~ // jf! 6 .1 zr~ I I

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 75, Issue 446 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 0982 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0075 /moa/harp/harp0075/

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

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 75, Issue 446 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York July 1887 0075 446
R. R. Bowker Bowker, R. R. A Printed Book 165-188

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOL. LXXV. JULY, 1887. No. CCCCXLVJ. GREAT AMERICAN INDUSTRIES. VH.A PRINTED BOOK. BY It. R. BOWKER. I. THE world has many times come near to printing, and just missed it. The ancient Assyrians stamped their records deep in bricks or cylinders of clay, using a raised wood block, or possibly separate characters. A wooden hand-stamp dis- covered in a tomb at Thebes, left upon the Egyptian bricks for which it was used, in raised hieroglyphics, the name of Ame- nophpossibly that very Pharaoh who ~vas the taskmaster of the Israelites which was cut into it. The Greeks not only cut exquisite seals, leaving raised impressions upon wax, but used also the contrary process of engraving maps upon smooth metal plates, from which they might have taken ink impressions if they had only thought of it. The Roman potter used, it would seem, movable types to stamp his vessels with the owners name or a contents label; the private loaves of bread sent to the public oven were stamped with an owners mark; cattle and slaves were branded by a heated stamp; the signum of Cecilias Herrnias in raised brass, which saved that Roman citizen the trouble of writing his name or of learning how to write it, as well as several incised brass stamps which seem intended for use with ink, are in the British Musmm. Quintilian sug- gested the use of a stencil to teach Roman school-boys to write, since by following its lines with their stylus they could trace the letters; Cicero and other Latin writers come very near the idea of printing-types when they speak of the absurdity of expect- ing an intelligible sentence from chance mixing of engraved letters; Pliny, indeed, speaks of a certain invention by which Marcus XTarro proposed to insert in his books the images of seven hundred il lustrious persons, thus saving their fea- tures from oblivion, and making them known over the wide world, which sounds very like our wood-cut printing. Yet, so far as we know, all Roman books were made by slave copyists, so cheaply that Horace complains that his books were too common, while Martials first book of epigrams could be bought for six sesterces (24 cents) in plain and five denarii (80 cents) in fine binding, and the daily news- paper of Ciceros Rome, the Acta Diurna, which contained local news and gossip of marriages and divorces as well as acts of the Senate, was probably made in like manner. The Emperor Justin,who could not write, used a stencil to sign his name, and merchants had trade-marks to the same purpose. The Codex Argenteus, or Silver Book, at Upsala, Sweden, which dates from the sixth century or earlier, must have had its silver letters stamped on its purple vellum one by one, since some of the let- ters are upside down, and such engraved letters were in use by many calligraphers of the Middle Ages to outline initial letters for their illumination. Woven fabrics of silk and of linen were printed in color- ed inks from hand-stamps in Italy possi- bly us early as the twelfth century; in- deed, Breitkopf holds that the Egyptians thiis printed cloths, and the Mexicans and Polynesians had perhaps a like practice. The printing-press itself was rather an adaptation of the wine-press or cheese- press used in all countries than an inven- tion, and the playing-cards and block- books of the Middle Ages, made from en- graved wooden blocks, which preceded the use of movable types, were probably printed on it. All these items show that every ele Entered accordin,, to Act of Congress, in the year i857, by Harper and Brothers, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at washington. All rights reserved. \OL. Lxxv.xo. 446.il 166 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ment of type-printingexcept the type- mould for casting types, in which De Vinne finds the true origin of modern ty- pographyexisted here or there at one time or another in the world long before the mystical or mythical Koster or the undoubted Gutenberg of the fifteenth cen- tury. It seems, indeed, a predestination that it was left to the glorious era of the Reformation to consummate this among its other wonderful achievements. The truth is, the world was not ready before; there was no soil for the seed. An earlier Gutenberg would have livedperhaps did live - in vain. In Darwinian phrase, printing was an evolution requiring en- vironment. The environment was the same which made possible the Reforma- tion. Of course the Chinese were ahead of Europe. Their chronicles record printing upon silk or cotton in the century before Christ, paper being attributed to the first century after Christ. It is certain that many hundred years ago they had begun to put writing on transfer-paper, lay this face downward on wood or stone, rub off the impression or paste on the transpar- ent paper, cut away the wood or stone, and take an impression in ink which du- plicated the original. First, probably, they cut the letters into the block, leaving white letters on black ground, which method, Didot thinks, was known to the Romans and was the process referred to by Pliny; afterward they cut away the block, leaving the letters raised, to print black on white. This last process is at- tributed to Foong-Taou, Chinese minister of state in the tenth century, who was driven to the invention by the necessity of getting exact copies of his official docu- ments. Indeed, there is detailed tradition of a Chinese Gutenberg, one Pi-Ching, who in 1041 carved cubes of porcelain paste with Chinese characters,afterward baking them, and literally setting the porcelain types by help of parallel wires on a plate of iron in a bed of heated resinous cement. These types he hammered or planed even, and pressed close together, so that when the cement hardened they were practically a solid block, which could be taken to pieces a~ain by melting the cement. But Pi- Ching was born out of time, in the wrong country, and to the wrong language. The Chinese word - alphabet contains at least 80,000, possibly 240,000, characters (the National Printing - office at Paris made types for 43,000), and for the lesser num- ber the Chinese compositor would require a large room to himself, where he could wander among five hundred cases look- ing for a sign, while Chinese wood-en- gravers will cut on pear-wood, or on the hard waxen composition used for that old- est of existing dailies, the Pekin Gazette, an octavo page of characters for forty or fifty centsa hundredth part of the cost of coarse work, a thousandth of the cost of the finest work, here. The Chinese printer,without a press,but with a double brush like a ciwioe paddle, inking the block with one end, and pressing the pa- per laid on the block with the dry brush at the other end, prints two thousand sheets a day, on one side only, which are then bound into a book by making the fold at the front of the sheet, and stitching through the cut edges at the back. A fair-sized book is sold for eight or ten cents, and there is little inducement for improvement. Playing - cards, invented probably in Hindostan as a modification of chess, and then engraved on ivory, were made in China and in Hindostan centuries ago, and thence they seem to have made their way into Europe, probably through Saracens or Jews, before 1400. The demand for playing-cards and for image prints caused the industry of wood- block or xylographic printing to attain great proportions early in the fifteenth century. The image prints were the re- ligious chromos of the fourteenth and fif- teenth centuries. They were rude out- line drawings cut on wood, printed in an undetermined way, possibly on a press, and colored by hand, probably by use of a stencil. A St. Christopher, dated 1423, is the best known of these. Printed on paper, by this time in general use, cheap, widely distributed, they were of enormous educational service. Meanwhile the business of book-making by copying had had a curious develop- ment in two directions. The industry s@ flourishing in Ciceros Rome had dwin- dled to nothing by the sixth century. The great libraries had been destroyed. Few could write their names; fewer could read. The Irish monks alone preserved the art of illuminating, and from the isl- and of lona shed such light as they could throughout Europe. Charlemagne him- self could not write, but used a curious monogram to picture his name; he was the more ready, it may be, to permit his A PRINTED BOOK. 167 English adviser, the monk Alcuin, to re- quire that every monastery should main- tain a scriptorium, and every convent or bishop should employ a permanent copy- ist, using only Roman letters, for the making of books. The Church monopo- lized this art up to the twelfth century, when the ignorance of the inferior clergy, and later the influence of St. Francis dAssisi, who forbade Bible, breviary, and psalter to his order, made way for the lay booksellers, who congregated about the great schools of theology like Padua and Paris. But the Church still arro- gated superintendence and censorship; the University of Paris required the station- ers, vulgarly called booksellersthe first name coming from their selling at a sta- tion or shop to tell the truth, without deceit or lying, touching the price of books, which was fixed by four master- booksellers appointed by the university, with foi~r deniers profit when sold to teachers or scholars, or six deniers when sold to the public. Even then the book- seller might not buy a book for sale until it had been exposed five days in the hall of the university, and its purchase de- clined by teachers and scholars; and he was obli~ed to loan it for copying, at a small fixed price, to any student giving se- curity. Consequently the university was, later on, compelled to fulminate against base booksellers who, naturally desiring to earn a living, did not uphold the dig- nity of their profession, but mixed it up with vile trades, such as fripperies and like haberdashery, as modern booksellers have also been compelled to do. Vellum became scarce, and the richer buyers dis- dained paper. This fact promoted the differentiation of book-making into two distinct divisions: on the one side the su- perb missals of the religious orders and the daintily written and bound trouba- dour books of the courts; on the other, a flood of alphabets, primers, creeds, prayer- books, and crude school-books, wonderful- ly cheap, from a groschen up, made by un- professional copyists, demanded as the re- sult of the Church schools, the work of such early reformers as Wycliffe and Russ, and the general awakening of Eu- rope. The Fraternity of St. Luke, exist- ing in Paris in 1391, the Company of Sta- tioners, in London, 1405, and book-trade guilds in other cities, show the extent of the industry. Yet the great body of the people, and many of the friars, could not write. For them pictures were necessary; hence the image prints: It was natural that these should presently be bound together into books; and wood - engraving was also called upon to reproduce the pictures of the Biblia Paupcrum, or Bible of the Poor, the Speculum Salutis, and other early books of religious instruction, which had become very popular in manuscript, and which gave the ignorant friars ma- terial for their sermons. Thus the block- books came to be. There is a story, not fully a& cepted, of a Heroic Actions of Alexander, pictures and legends cut in wood, made by a twin brother and sister, Cunio, when but sixteen years old, at IRa- venna, Italy, in 1286; but the block-books known to us are chiefly German or Dutch, and a hundred years or more later. Some of them were without text, except for the legend engraved in the picture; others had text around the picture, or on an opposite page. At first, the edition being small perhaps a hundred copies or so -this text was copied by hand after the pictures had been printed, for the engraving of letters was costly. When movable types were invented, the text also was printed, some- times with the pictures, sometimes by a second impression and in different ink. Much of the confusion in the early his- tory of printing is due to the multipli- city of editionssome of them printed from blocks, imitating type letters after others had been printed from typesof popular books, such as the famous Specu- lurn, whose unknown printer is a mys- terious, shadowy figure in early typog- raphy, and as the Donatus, or Boys Latin Grammar, the only block - book without pictures, the school-book of the Middle Ages, known, like Websters Spell- er from the name of the Roman gram- marian of the fourth century, i~llius Do- natus, from whose greater work it was abridged. Ii. The world was now ready for printing. Before the middle of the fifteenth century Europe had a cheap material, paper; an oily ink, developed for block-book print- ing, in place of the fluid ink, which could be used only with the brush; probably the press itself; skilled artisans, trained in the block-book work; most important of all, the demand caused by education. It lacked movable types that could be fit- ted evenly and readily together, for nei 168 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ther the porcelain letters of Pi - Ching nor the individual stamps of the early copyists had developed to this point. The invention of printing in its mod- ern sense consisted in the simple produc- tion of such types, or, as De Vinne puts it, of the type-mould which should produce such types. Fifteen cities claim to be the birthplace of printing, but the honor rests between Haarlem, Strasburg, and Mainz. The Dutch legend is that some time about or previous to 1440, one Laurent Janszoon Koster, custos or sexton of a church in Haarlem, while in the Hout, or Haarlem wood, cut letters on a beech-tree, which suggested to him wooden types, from which he afterward developed metal types; and that a man in his employ, escaping with the secret to Mainz, originated thee art there. Haarlem contains many por- trait-monuments of Koster, and belief in him is an article of the Dutch faith, but later investigators claim that he is alto- gether a myth, made up, with much im- agination and some rascality, of two Haar- 1cm citizens, neither of whom was a print- er, and of the unknown printer of much later days. The German story centres in John Gu- tenberg, of the family called Gensfleisch taking his mothers name in accordance with a German custom, because her fami- ly was dying outas to whom there is a definite historical chain of evidence, in- cluding the records of two lawsuits. No- thing is certainly known of his first thirty years. He is supposed to have been born about 1399, at Mainz, whence his family were exiled, going to Strasburg. In 1439 he appears as a defendant in a law- suit brought in Strasburg by an heir of one Andrew Dritzehen, to compel Guten- berg to admit him to the secret and bene- fit of an art into which the deceased had bought by payment to Gutenberg. This art seems to have been printing, and the evidence in the suit shows that Guten- berg sent his servant to Dritzehens house, immediately on his death, to have a form of four pieces, lying in or about a press, separated by turning two buttons, so that no one might know what it is. We do not know, for Gu- tenberg won the suit and kept the secret. Different modern scholars construe it to be parts of the press, pages of type, ma- trices, or a four-part type-mould, such as is known to have been used by early print- ers. It is not definitely known whether Gutenberg printed any books in Stras- burg (some fragments of a type Donatus being most plausibly connected with him there), which caused a German critic to de- clare that if Strasburg is the cradle of print- ing, it is a cradle without a baby. By 1448 Gutenberg had removed to Mainz, for there is record of his hiring money, and in 1450 he made a contract with John Fust, a money-lender, to provide money for paper, vellum, ink, wages, and the other materials required, on half-profits, which contract was the basis of the second suit. In this suit, brought in 1455, Fust, who has been sadly confused with that later Dr. Faust, of Wittenberg, from whose wicked learning grew the Faust legend, foreclosed his mortgage, got pos- session of part of Gutenbergs implements and stock, and by help of Gutenbergs ap- prentice, Peter Schoeffer, who afterward married Fusts daughter Christina, took up the business of printing. T~iere is a legend that this Schoeffer, and not Guten- berg, invented the type-mould, but recent investigators show that this invention was peculiarly Gutenbergs. Gutenberg, who started a new print- ing-office after the separation, by help of money from Conrad Humery, physician and town clerk, printed two editions of the Bible. He printed also an edition of the Dortatus, several Letters of Indul- genee (the earliest job-work), a broadside Calendar of 1457, a Catholicort of 1460, and many other things. He was alive in 1465, when Archbishop Adolph made him one of the gentlemen of his court, and was dead in 1468, for in that year Conrad Humery had succeeded to his effects. III. Gutenberg, Koster (if he ever lived), and most of the early printers made their own type, and this, indeed, is the germ and key of the whole industry. The mak- ing of the type is now a calling by itself the trade of the type-founderbut it is most curious that up to the invention of the type-casting machine in 1838, by an American, David Bruce, Jun., of New York, there had been scarcely any improve- ments in the process since the early days. Then, as now, in all probability, the type- founder cut first his counter-punch of hard steel, which stamps into the end of a tiny bit of soft ~steel the interior part of the letter to be made. It is a patient man who must do this work, which is completed A PRINTED BOOK. 16~ by cutting away all the su- perfluous metal outside the letter, leaving in relief the letter A of the desired new pattern or new size. When a smoke-proof of his die shows the punch-cutter that his A is perfect, he hardens the bit of steel, and with successive blows of this die upon a bit of copper makes the matrix for any num- ber of type. If it is a very large letter, the metal is poured into a mould, with these matrices at the hot- torn, by hand, in the old- fashioned way, and the let- ters sawn apart; but most types are now cast in the little casting machines, which will turn out a hun- dred or more type a min- ute. The type - metal has been fused in great melt- ing-rooms, where the lead, antimony, and tin have been mixed in the crucibles in the proper proportions to form this alloy, which must be hard, yet not brittle; ductile, yet tough; flowing freely, yet harden- ing quickly. It is kept fluid in a little furnace un- der the casting machine, whence, as the caster turns a crank, it is spurted by a pump in just the right quantity to fill a tiny mould which pre- sents itself at the spout at just the right moment to receive it. The copper ma- trix forms the end of the mould, and as the latter jumps back with its quickly cooling charge of metal, the matrix frees itself from the mould, the upper half of the mould pops off, and the formed type is tossed out instanter. Thence the tiny bits go to the breakers, boys who break off the waste jets of metal; rubbers, with leather-protected fingers, sitting at large circular stones, rub down the rough edges; girls set the types up in long rows into a dressing-block, in which they are held while the dresser, with a planing tool, grooves their understandings and shaves their sides perfectly true. After passing the inspection of his magnifying glass, the good letters go to a haven of rest to wait the printers orders, while the bad are committed again to the flames. Iv. The compositor who sets the type is commonly spoken of as the printer, while his fellow who does the actual printing is called the pressman. The former stands, hour after hour, before his case of types, each kind in its own little box, and each box in its well-defined position in the case, so that the hand reaches for it by in- stinct, picking up and placing in the coin- posing-stick, which he holds in his left hand, type upon type, line upon line, the bits of metal of which there are in a page of the size and type before the reader about 6000 pieces. There are really two cases before him, the lower case, nearly flat, containing in its fifty-four boxes the small THE cOMPOsITOR AT WORK. 170 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. letters, figures, and common punctuation marks, the upper case containing in its ninety-eight boxes the capitals and less used characters. In the lower case, e, of which there are 60 to every 40 a and ev- ery 1 z, always occupies the centre, and the letters most in use are grouped nearest to it, so that the hand may travel no far- ther than need be. If he needs italics or other sorts, the workman must step aside to another case, or if he is to chauge to matter of another size or style of type he takes off the cases on his stand and replaces them with others. When he has filled up one line in his composing- stick, which he has previously adjusted by a screw to the measure or width of his page or column, it will frequent- ly happen that the word does not finish with the line. He must then break it prop- erly, putting the hyphen at the end of the syllable, and justify his line by putting thicker or thinner spaces between the words of the line. After the compositor has set his stickful of type, he deftly shifts it off upon a galleya movable brass trough usually the length of one or two pages or columns of the book. With the help of a measuring stick he counts up the number of ems he has set, m being a square letter which forms a convenient basis of measurement. English composi- tors reckon by ens, the ii being nearer the average letter. As soon as a galley is filled with type it is proved, either by inking it with an ink ball or roller as it stands on the stone or work-table, spreading over it a strip of wetted paper, and taking an im- pression by means of a fiat block covered with cloth, struck by a hammer; or else by putting it upon a proof press of the old- fashioned hand pattern. The proof-read- er now compares proof with the authors copy, and sends the proof, with his mys- terious signs upon it, back to the composi- tor for correction. This correction, as well as the distribution of the different letters into their proper boxes after the page is printed off or electrotyped, is paid for in the compositors charge per thousand ems. The most valuable compositor is the one who makes the cleanest proof, for the time lost in careful work is saved in the time of proof-reading and correcting. Either for taking proof or for printing, the types must be carefully locked up in their chase (another form of the word case) a strong frame of metal or wood by means of quoins, or wedges. For the rotary press this chase becomes a curved turtle, so called from the resemblance of its curvature to a turtles shell, and the rules between columns are thinner at the base than at the top, so that the square types may fit in and be properly locked up by screws which tighten them togeth- er. In the printing of a newspaper or a book each page of type must be so placed in the chase that when type and chase are locked up into a form, as it is then call- ed, the pages will back each other and fold together properly as the completed sheet comes off the press. This is called im- position, and the printers hand-books give diagrams to fit the different problems of the stoneman,~ or makerup. The many efforts to make a steam man do the work of a human compositor have not been fully successful. There are many patterns of type-setting machines, but the essential principle of most of them is the delivery from horizontal channels cen- tring at one point, or from upright pipes dropping the type to one spot, of the types called for on a key-board struck by the finger. The types are set in a continuous line, and must be justified to the prop- er measure and mistakes corrected by hand, since brains cannot be got rid of. For distributing, each letter or sign has its individual set of nicks, like the wards of a key, and it is passed on by the distrib- uting machine until it reaches a corre- sponding combination of metal fingers, which, so to speak, unlock its proper door and pass it into its particular home. In England most books are printed from the actual types, which are reset for new editions. The cost of type-setting is so much higher here that publishers were early driven to the use of plates, first stereotypes, afterward electrotypes, in the case of books of which more than one edi- tion was likely to be required. Van der Mey, a Dutch printer, about 1698, soldered his types together into a solid block, much as the Chinaman Pi-Ching cemented his porcelain types, but it was not till 1725 that an Edinburgh printer, William Ged, hit upon the present method, by which the types were freed for further use. One of his plates is still preserved in the Advo- cates Library in Edinburgh. The type, set with high quads and spaces, is ham- mered, or planed, to an even surface, and is then coated with oil. Two pages or more at a time are locked in a moulding A PRINTED BOOK. 171 frame, and either liquid gypsum is poured into the frame and allowed to set, or the form is pressed npon a soft clay or papier- machd bed, which makes the mould. These moulds are dried, enclosed in a casting pan, and lowered into the metal pot, where half a ton of molten type-metal is kept hot enough to set fire to paper. When the casting pan is filled, it is lifted out and taken to a cooling trough, and more metal is poured in to fill any interstices left by cooling. The mould is now peeled off, and the solid (stereo) block lifted out from the pan and sent to the planing and flanging machinesboth American inventionswhere the back is shaved to leave the blocks of a standard height. This process can be performed so quickly that the morning dailies perfect their plates within thirteen minutes from the receipt of the type. Stereotyping produces, however, only a type-metal block, not finely accurate, and easily worn down by much use. About 1839, two Englishmen, a Russian, and an American seem to have been simultane- ously at work in developing a galvanic process. The last, Joseph A. Adams, an engraver of New York, first did practical work, and he electrotyped the borders of the illustrations in the Har- per Family Bible of 1842. In 1852, the process as de- veloped by Mr. S. P. Knight was applied to entire pages of this Maga- zine, which then required from 36 to 48 hours per page. The form of type is pre- pared much as for stereotyping, but is coat- ed with graphite carbon ( black-lead). Upon this a plate of prepared wax, or similar yielding substance, is then pressed to make the mould. The wax is, howev- er, a non-conductor, and must therefore be coated evenly and completely with black- lead. This was formerly brushed on, in fine powder, by hand or by a brushing machinea dirty and not healthful pro- cess, requiring careful skill. The newer Knight method shuts the moulds in a tight box, within which a strong jet of water carrying the fine carbon is pumped against their face, leaving them perfectly and evenly coated. The deposit on this mould of a film of fine copper, precipita- ted from a solution of copper by reducing it with iron filings, is another improve- ment of the same inventor. The mould is now placed in the copper solution bath, attached to one electric pole, while a plate of copper is attached to the other. Elec- tro-chemical action deposits infinitesimal- ly fine particles of copper on the mould from the solution, while the copper at the other pole is giving up its substance TAKING PROOF OF ENGRAVED BLOCK. 172 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to the solution. Under the old processes, and when the galvanic battery supplied the current, twelve or fourteen hours were required to complete the shell; the newer processes, with the help of the dy- namo machine, converting coal into heat, heat into power, and power into electri- city, do the same work in from two to four hours. The shell is now removed from the mould, soft metal is poured into the under side, and the plate is planed down to standard height. We have now an accurate reproduction of the finest lines of the original, in hard copper, from which nearly half a million copies can be printed. Our type being now locked up, or our electros or stereos finished, we follow the forms to the press-room, where the act- ual printing, properly speaking, is done. The great room is filled with enormous machines, some noisily, some quietly, do- ing their work, evidently of most compli- cated mechanism. Their purpose and method become, however, quite simple to understand if we trace their development from its beginnings. The development of the printing-press itself has indeed been most interesting. The early presses, as shown in old wood- cuts, and as still existing in the Mus~e Plantin - Moretus at Antwerp, were very nearly the same as the press used by Ben- jamin Franklin, now in the United States Patent-office, and the hand-press used in many modern printing-offices for taking proofs and at the other extreme for fine hand-work. They were a simple adapta- tion of the cheese or wine press, with a car- riage for running the type and paper under the plate or platen, which lowered by a screw made the impression. The form of type, locked in its chase, was laid face up on the bed of the press; ink was applied by hand from an ink pad or ball; the sheet of paper was carefully placed between the tympan and a frisket or frame to keep the sheet in place and prevent the soiling of that part of the paper not to be printed on, which together were folded down upon the form; all this was pushed, or in later days rolled by the rounce, under the platen; pressure was applied by the screw, and when this was relieved, the carriage was brought back, the tympan lifted, and the printed sheet taken out. B]aew, of Amsterdam, about 1620, made some minor improvements in the travel- ling bed, the easier working of the screw, and a spring to throw back the platen after the impression, in his nine presses, which he named after the nine Muses; but so late as 1770 his press was still new- fashioned among English printers, many of whom yet held to the old-fashioned kind. Until the end of the last century the press still had a wooden frame, a plank of wood or slab of stone for its bed, and so small a platen that two pulls were required to print one side of a full sheet. Between 1790 and 1800, Didot, the French printer, devised a platen of iron large enough to print one side without moving along the bed, and Ramage, a Scotch American of Philadelphia, substituted an iron bed for the stone slab; and in 1798 Earl Stanhope, who revived the art of stereotyping, presented to the trade (waiv- ing a patent) his famous press, a stout af- fair, all of iron, printing at a single pull, which was made much more easy by the action of levers on the screw. He was outdone by George Clymer, of Philadel- phia, who early in the century (1817) completed the famous Columbian press, in which the screw was entirely replaced by a combination of powerful levers above the carefully counterpoised platen, by which the pressman was given delicate and indeed exact control of the pressure, so that he could almost feel the type. The stout frame of the Stanhope and the lighter but serviceable model of the Co- lumbian presented at that early day the contrast which has since been so often noted between English and American machine-building. Peter Smith, of New York, who was connected with the Hoe firm, in 1822 made a further improve- ment by simplifying the levers; and the Washington press, patented in 1829, con- structed by Samuel Rust on this plan including the toggle or elbow joint, with its enormous power, used by Otis Tuft in his press of 1813 displaced in great measure the Columbian, and is still made by the Hoes. With the era of steam, the steam-press. of course, made its appearance. In 1790 a literary feller, one William Nichol- son, of London, editor of the Philosop hical Journal, took out a patent for improve- ments in printing, which contained the three germs of the modern rotary press. The types, made narrower at the base than at the face, were to be fixed upon 174 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. (1) a printing cylinder, to be inked by (2) an inking roller, against which (3) an impres- sion cylinder of soft leather was to press the paper. Nicholson caught the true idea of fast printing in substituting rotary for reciprocating motion throughout his press. His printing cylinder required further de- velopment; but his impression cylinder, substituting for the great pressure required to cover the whole surface of a platen a contact with the type along a mere line of pressure, and his inking-roller, substi- tuting for the ink-ball which jabbed ink on the form by band a revolving cylin- der which received from the ink-trough and gave off upon the form a continuous supply of ink, made further progress easi- ly possible. The ink-roller was first made of leather; afterward cloth, felt, and silk were tried, and found unsatisfactory; finally a printer happened upon the dab- her composition of the Staffordshire pot- teries, and this mixture of molasses and gluea kind of solid jelly with a sticky surfaceproved the one thing needed. But it was one Kflnig, a Saxon clock- maker who came to London early in the century, who put power-printing to the actual test. After futile attempts to ap- ply power-printing to the ordinary hand- press, he developed a machine on which in April, 1811, he printed an edition of a London weekly, and, backed by Bensley, the printer, and by Mr. Walter, he then constructed the famous press on which the London Times of November 28, 1814, was printed. This had a flat bed of type, inked by rollers, and passing to and fro under an impression cylinder; by using two forms of type and two impression cyl- inders, virtually two presses attached to- gether, he presently succeeded in printing both sides of the paper on the same press. To understand fully the later develop- ment of steam-presses it must be noted that the printing form (type or stereotype) may be either fiat, in which case it may be stationary, or may move up and down or to and fro; or curved, in which case it revolves. All the varieties of presses vary on these lines, or on combinations of them. The old hand-press used a fiat stal~ionary form, on which the platen descended. The first American power-press, that of Daniel Treadwell, of Boston, patented in 1826, was of the same type; it was first used by the American Bible Society and the Ameri- can Tract Society, the latter working theirs by donkey-power, two mules being daily hoisted by tackle to the top story of their building. The Adams steam-press, invent- ed by Isaac Adams, of Boston, 183036, and still much used for fine work, re- versed this method, pressing the flat form of type, by an up-and-down motion, up against a fixed platen at the rate of about 800 impressions an hour, by help of a toggle or elbow-joint worked by an ec- centric rod. The cylinder press, so called (a term confusing because it covers also the type- revolving presses) is virtually K6nigs press, more or less modified, the fiat form being inked by rollers and carried to and fro under an impression cylinder. Kdnigs own press had been much bet- tered by Applegath and Cowper, in whose machine an inking-table distributed the ink more evenly to the rollers, and two wooden drums, carrying the sheet accu- rately from one impression cylinder to the other, obtained an exact registry for the two sides; and in 1827 the Times adopted their press of four cylinders, raised and depressed in pairs, so that two printed while the bed went forward and two when it went back. In one or another shape the cylinder press still does the bulk of the worlds printing. The ordinary news- paper presses have a small cylinder which rises to permit the form to run back for inking; job-presses have mostly a larger cylinder, revolving continuously, but with one portion of a smaller radius to permit the return of the form without printing; while the finest illustrated work, such as that of this Magazine, is mostly done with the stop cylinder, which stands still while the type returns, having a flat side to avoid contact, printing 1000 or more impressions an hour. The evident advance from the fiat-bed presses was to put the types themselves on a cylinder. Nicholsons idea had proved unworkable because of the awk- wardness of his wed~.e-shaped types. In 1815 Cowper patented curved plates to be affixed to a cylinder, the rest of which was to be used as an inking surface, but stereotyping was then slow and costly. Napier, an English press-builder, devised in or before 1841 a press with an enor- mous printing cylinder, on whose periph- ery the ordinary types were to be held in place by rules larger at the top than at the bottom, with ten small impression cylinder~ about itthe prototype of the great Hoe rotary. A PRINTED BOOK. 175 But it was left to an American, Colonel Richard March Hoe, to bring together the disjecta membra of these various improvements into a press which has been pronounced the greatest innovation on the routine of the printing craft since the days of Gutenberg. Yet how closely this development of the printing-press has been a work of evolution has already been shown. His first claim, in the patent of 1842, was for a double-cylin- der combination of Applegath and early Napier presses. In 1844 he patented what he called the Planetarium press, in which small cylinders were grouped around a larger one, like planets around the sun. Out of this was developed the famous Hoe rotary or lightning press, in which the form was carried on a huge cylin- der, the other three-fourths of which was used as an inking surface, about which the two, four, six, or eight 4. ADAMS PRESS. ~T. WEH PRESS. 1. EARLY PRESS. 5. STOP-CYLINDER PRESS. 2. STANHOPE PRESS. 6. THE HOE HOTARY PRESS. ~3. WASHINGTON PRESS. 176 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. impression cylinders and attendant ink- ing rollers were grouped. This press, first used by the Public Ledger of Phila- delphia, and in 1848 by La Patrie, Paris, finally superseded in the office of the Lon- don Times the curious Applegath press of 1848, in which the type was carried in an upright polygonal drum and the sheets were printed on end. Colonel Hoes pat- ent of 1847 included the ingenious device of the turtle, a curved chase with col- umn rules thinner at the base than at the face, in which ordinary type could be locked up for use on the cylinder. In the largest presses ten printings were made at each revolution of the great cyl- inder, five men feeding from each side, one above another, on this enormous five- story press, eighteen feet high, producing 20,000 impressions an hour. One more advance remained to be made. It occurred to Rowland Hill, the father of cheap postage, that the continuous web of paper made by the Fourdrinier ought to be utilized, and in 1835 he actually construct- ed a press with a small cylinder, complete- ly covered with pyramidal type or with a curved plate, which printed from the web. The red tape of the Stamp Office forbade the use for newspapers of anything but sheets of paper on which the government stamp had previously been impressed, and made his press useless. An American, William Bullock, took up the same idea in 1861, and made the first web perfecting press, utilizing the new quick method of stereo- typing with papier-mach6, and the Wal- ter press was constructed later on the same principle. The Hoe rotary was limited only by the human limitations of the feed- ers; the web perfecting press, containing two printing cylinders, printing both sides of the paper, does away with feeders alto- gether. These compact machines, eight feet high, eight wide, and twenty long, are fast displacing the old rotaries; aiid the latest perfecting presses built by R. Hoe and Company, with the cutting, fold- ing, inserting, and pasting attachments, under the Crowell patents, perform the remarkable feat of printing four, six, eight, ten, or twelve page papers of various sizes, six, seven, and eight columns in width, delivering the same, cut at the top, pasted down the centre margin, folded as desired, counted in lots, at a speed from 12,000 to 72,000 perfect newspapers per hour, depending on the size and number of pages to be printed. The capabilities of modern newspaper printing are best illus- trated in the feat of the New York Worlcf in printing, of a Sunday edition, 250,00& copies of a twenty-eight-page paper, using 98,000 pounds, and covering with print 600 miles, of paper. V.. The careful pressman has always twa prime objectsto get his form properly inked, and to get the proper pressure upon each part of it. If the type or elec- tro is good, and the paper good, and the ink goodwhich are all beyond his con- trolthis makes good printing. He finds that several light coats of ink applied suc- cessively give a much better distribu- tion than one thick coat, and this is the reason for the many inking rollers in the best modern presses, and for the stop-cyl- inder device. The frontispiece of the old Harper Bible is one of the finest exam- ples of wood-cut printing ever produced, its lights as clear and its darks as black as prints from a steel plate; and the pre- sent press - superintendent of this Maga- zine recalls how he and his fehlow-pren- tice counted aloud one, two, three to twelve rolls of the inker on the old hand- press before each sheet of paper was laid on. Modern presses have means of regu- lating the flow of ink from the fountain to different parts of the roller, but this applies only lengthwise on the form. For the rest, the pressman depends on mak- ing ready. Making ready illustrations for the printing-press is one of the most delicate and difficult processes in the mechanical arts. Much of the beauty of modern wood-engraving would be lost but for the careful regulation of color, that is, de- gree of blackness, got partly by regula- ting the supply of ink, but chiefly by the overlay, the purpose of which is to increase the pressure on the dark part of cuts and to diminish it on the light parts. In making the overlay~ the workman has before him a number of fiat proofs of the wood-engraving he is to treat, so called because they are taken with even pressure, and the artists. proof, taken by the engraver himself, in which by dabbing on more ink and giv- ing harder pressure here and lightening up there he has shown just the effects of light and shade he desires the print to show. The overlay cutter looks careful- ly through the artists proof for the high lights (the whites) and the ends of thin A PRINTED BOOK. 177 lines which should fade off into nothing. These portions he carefully cuts out of one of his flat proofs with keen knife, deft hand, and accurate eye, and then makes his first overlay. He then looks for the absolute blacks, and cuts out from another flat proof all but these. He then judges how many intermediate shades should be brought out in the print, and cuts one, two, three, or four more over- lays, as he thinks best, retaining in each only those parts where he wishes to bring forth effect by pressure. These are now. with minute accuracy pasted, one over the other, exactly together, for the slightest error would compel all the work to be 4on~ over again. He has now a com- pleted overlay, say of four layers, as in the cut here printed. The black part is four papers thick, the half black three, the middle two, the gray one, while the white is represented by holes. When the form containing this engraving is ready for the press, a light impression is printed on the paper sheet covering the tympan or cyl- inder, and by this guide the overlay is fit- ted on the pressing surface so that at ev- ery impression it will exactly correspond with the lines of the block. Where the overlay is thick the heavy pressure will load the ink heavily upon the printed sheet; where it is thin the pressure is re- lieved, and the lines get the merest film ~f ink. Sometimes it happens that there is a depression in the block or electrotype, or the block rocks by reason of being thicker on one side, in which case a layer of pa- per ~pasted under part of the block forces the face up, and this is called underlay- ing. The pressman must also get exact re- gistry; that is, the paper must take its exact place on the press to give even mar- gins, or in color printing to bring each color in exact relation to the others. This is effected by pointingbringing the sheet in exact range with two points, which in one press, the Campbell, con- nect by electricity, so that the sheet regu- lates the entire process, and cannot be printed unless it is exactly in place. Binding is a very simple art, which the division of labor has caused to seem very complex. Its beginning is so natural that it can scarcely be said to have been invented. The E~,yptian glutinator, as the Romans translated his name, glued together his pieces of papyrus into the voltoncn, or long roll, which was the first volume. When printed sheets came into beino~ it was natural enough that they should be folded for easier handling, that several sheets so folded should be fastened together, and that they should be protect- ed by a stout cover, which should carry TIlE OVERLAY. MAKING AN OVERLAY (Showing print from overlnid block.) 178 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the title of the book and such ornamenta- tion as seemed desirable. It is this simple work which has developed into the seem- ing complexity of the modern bookbind- ery, of which the census of 1880 recorded (blank-book making included) 588 estab- lishments, with $5,798,671 capital, pro- ducing from $5,195,771 worth of materi- al, $11,976,764 product, and distributing $3,927,349 wages among 10,612 cmploy6s, half of them women an average of $370 yearly. First of all, the printed sheet must he folded. Thia is done by hand, with no tool except a folder, like a paper-knife, to do the creasing, or by an ingenious ma- chine, the principle of which was patented about 1853 by David A. Wells, who was apprenticed a paper-maker, though since known to the public rather as a paper- user. The sheet is laid on a flat table, across the centre of which is a slit, into which a thin bar of metal forces the mid- dle of the sheet. Below this slit two roll- ers, working slowly together, clutch the sheet and carry it down folded, delivering it on a second table below for a repetition of the process, and so on as many times as the sheet is to be folded. A folder, hu- man, will do about 500 octavo sheets (of three folds) per hour; a folding machine, about three times as many. A newei~ 71iiLz)F ~ FOLDING MAChINE. A PRINTED BOOK. 17~ method of folding, used mostly in ma- chine folders dealing with a web of paper, creases the sheet by drawing it over a ta- pering cone, whence two rollers seize it and complete the fold. The folded sheets must next be gathered and collated. Each sheet when folded bears at the bottom of its first page the signature, the number or letter show- ing its place in the hook, whence the fold- ed sheet itself is often called a signature. Beginning with signature 1, or a, or with any title or other extra signature which may precede 1, the piles of folded sheets are laid in their proper order on a long table, alongside which a quick-handed girl passes, taking one of each sheet after another until she holds a complete book. In some binderies a revolving round table takes the place of the long one, and the gatherer sits or stands in one place, and while the table is swung round by ma- chinery, completes one book at each rev- olution. If inserts or plates of sin- gle sheets are to form part of the book, these are usually pasted or whip-stitch- ed by hand upon or within the folded sheet before gathering. The book is then collated; that is, a careful eye runs over each gathered set of sheets to see that all sheets are there, that each sheet is in its proper order, and that inserts are in their right place. The gathered and collated sheets are now to be sewed or stitched together. Sewing and stitching are, in binders par- lance, two very different methods of ac- complishing the same end. Stitching or stabbing is the simpler and cheaper process of driving a thread or a wire, by the help of machine-power, straight through all the sheets of a book, which are first stacked evenly together, or jogged up by the back and top. For thin pam- phlets, a line of stitching is sometimes run across the back by an ordinary sew- STITCHING MACHINE. 180 HARPEWS NBW MONTHLY 1\TAGAZJNE. ing - machine, built very stout and strong. The more usual method is to carry the thread through two or three holes by a stout needle, and tie it by hand. Wiring is the most modern method, by which tinned wire is fed from n spool, cut into a staple, driven through the book by the machine, and clinched on the other side, two or three such clamps ~completino the book In sewing, which is both the older and the better way, the set of sheets is placed in a press or treated by the smasher, which at a quick blow presses them firm- ly together between two plates of metal, and is thence taken to the sawing ma- chine, where a circular-saw cuts four or more furrows across the back to receive the threads. Several sets of sheets are pressed and sawn in a single stack, which is then taken to the sewing bench, an up- right frame in which bands of twine are threaded perpendicularly, so that they fit into the furrows made by sawing. Here a girl sits, who sews and ties each sheet sepa- rately through its fold upon these bands. When she has finished a bench of books, as a frameful is called, it goes to the pre- parer, who draws off each set of sheets separately, fastens the bands, and pastes in the end or lining papers. The books thus prepared are now trimmed at the edges by the guillotine or other cutting machine; uncut books of course escape this barbarity. If books are to be gilt-edged, red-edged, sprinkled, or marbled, these processes are next in order. The gold is applied in leaf, and burnished on. Red edges are made with the brush, and gilding is sometimes af- terward added, producing a very beauti- ful effect. For sprinkled edges the color is literally sprinkled on from a brush. Marbled edges are produced by dipping the book edges in a marbling trough, just as marbled paper is produced. The back of the book is now covered with glue, and presently rounded by pounding with a hammer till it takes the desired curve. It is next backed by placing it edge down between two clamps and working over it a heavy roller, which causes the back to spread slightly over the clamp. so that a ridge is formed along its edge, into which the cover board n~iay fit. The head-band and backing of cloth are glued on, and the book is now ready for its case. For cloth-bound books, in considerable editions, covers are made in quantities separately from the book. The basis is A PRINTED BOOK. 181 the two pieces of binders-board, a stiff separately covered, the bands are fastened pasteboard, made usually of mahila, cut to the boards through holes before the to the size of the cover, and perhaps bev- cloth, leather, or paper is pasted upon elled at the edges. The piece of cloth or the sides, and the lettering and tool- book-muslin has been cut large enough ing which ornament edges, backs, or to allow for the back width of the book,, sides are put on with individual tools by where it is stiffened with a strip of stiffen- the finisher. The engraver is a modern magician who has caused art to blossom in every corner of the land. If we put side by side an old block-book, one of Bewicks cuts, an English magazine wood-cut of twenty years ago, and one of the fine American tone engravings of to-day, we shall get a pictorial history of the progress of wood-engraving. The early engravers cut in bold outline, as if for filling in with ing paper, and to lap over the edges of the boards, and this is glued upon the two sides and folded over. For the VIII. lettering and ornamentation, brass dies have been cut or stamps electrotyped from type, and the blank stamping, col- ored ink, or gold-leaf is stamped on with the power of the embossing press. The book is finished by casing-up, which consists simply in pasting the set of sheets into the case by means of the outer flap of the lining papers. In fine bindings, where each book is VoL. LXXV.No. 44612 182 HAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. colors, black lines on white ground, using tive film which takes an exact photograph, the fibrous side of pear or apple wood reversed, of a picture to be copied, leaving blocks. There was also the so-called the picture itself as a guide to the engraver. dot manner, perhaps suggested by gold- This is a double gain, and most artists smiths work, in which figures were pro- now draw directly on paper in wash or duced by white dots on a black ground. body color, in preference to drawing back- The engravers of Diirers and Holbeins ward on the wood itself a design which the day attempted finer work, introducing the gravers tool must destroy as he interprets cross-hatching, an imitation of brush shad- it. The block is placed upon a cushion ings, and bolder black, with which was on the engravers table, and between the sometimes combined the stipple developed block and his eye is a magnifying-glass, from the dot manner, and later a style supported from a frame, through which of white line on black ground. These the eye directs and follows the hand. proved too much for the ordinary press of Thus equipped, the engraver uses other- that day, especially in connection with wise only the simplest toolsgravers of type-work, and wood-engraving, shunned well-tempered steel, sharpened occasion- by typographers, fell from its high estate ally on a whetstone near at hand, and to debased styles, and gave place, for book sometimes the multiple graver or tint illustration, to copperplate printing. It tool, which has a cutting series like a was Thomas Bewick, of Newcastle, Eng- comb, and cuts parallel furrows. This land, who revived the art in his books of last is seldom used by the best men. Line Fables, Quadrupeds, and British Birds, by line, with exquisite patience, the en- published between 1779 and 1804. To him graver pursues his wonderful work, in are attributed the use of wood cut across whose highest reach there is no secret be- the grain, overlaying, and the counter yond the eye careful to see, the hand deft process of slightly lowering surface por- to cut, the artistic judgment which dic- tions of engraved blocks; but it is prob- tates the right kind, direction, and width able that he revived and combined rather of line to interpret the artists feeling. The than originated these. He was appren- graver cuts away the furrows in the wood, ticed to a metal engraver, but his art in- leaving ridges which are to be the lines stincts led his graver to wood; his pictures of the print, so that a magnified wood of birds and animals are the perfection of block is simply a carefully ploughed field. simple vigor, avoiding the methods of cop- Nature and science have of late years perplate, striking out for clean lines and been set to vie with the work of the en- masses in strong contrast, using both the graver, and it is now possible to copy a black and the white line, never wasting landscape or a work of art for reproduc- two lines when one would tell the story. tion by the printing-press without the in- With his pupils and imitators, wood-en- tervention of the human hand. Process graving came into high fashion in Eng- work makes a more exact fac-simile of land. Large blocks were attempted, but pen drawings than the most accurate en- again presses proved inadequate; even the graver can do, but it finds its limitations Stanhiope press was unequal to Harveys in the artistic interpretation which a great IDentatus, a block 15 by 11~- inches, and engraver can give to a work of art in color it broke under the pressure of the Co- or tone, and to which even the best me- lumbian press. These difficulties were chanical work can only approximate. All ultimately to be avoided by the machine the processes depend upon the simple presses and the help of electrotyping, but fact that bichromatized gelatine (or a sim- meanwhile there was another reaction. ilar material), when exposed to light, is Charles Knights popular illustrated books rendered insoluble, while parts not so ex- and the illustrated papers and magazines posed can be dissolved away, leaving the which started a generation ago, again re- other portions in sharp line, or swelled vived wood-cut work, and in thie last twen- by water, producing a hill and valley sur- ty years there has been a surprising growth. face. There are in the multiplicity of The engraver has upon his table a processes three general kinds, the sim- smooth block of boxwood, upon whose phest being the reproduction of line-work surface appears, reversed, the drawing or in absolute fac-simile, by making an or- a photograph from the picture which he dinary photographic picture of the pen is to reproduce. Modern photography has drawing on the prepared gelatine, and been able to coat the wood with a sensi- dissolving away the white spaces. The A PRINTED BOOK. 183 gelatine relief which remains serves in one variety of this kind of process to make a plaster cast, from which a stereotype can be taken, or it is directly electrotyped; or the gelatine itself in one method is so hardened that it can be printed from to the extent of tens of thousands of impres- sions without the use of metal. The cut on page 178 is an example. By using pa- per prepared with a surface in grain or line relief, soft-pencil drawings not in dis- tinct line may be adapted to this process. The second kind of process is the half-tone, by which a picture not drawn in lines or points, but in tones or brush-work, like a wash-drawing or oil- painting, is divided into tiny lines or blocks in the process of photographing, and thus becomes a relief plate, closely imitating the effects of the brush. The 1i~ngravecL by linkey ENGRAVER AT WORK. 184 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. most successful method is that patented by Mr. F. E. Ives, an American, in 1881, in which the gelatine picture is swelled till the light parts of a picture stand out in hilly contour, like a relief map of the White Mountains, while the black parts remain as valleys. By taking a plaster cast from this the dark parts become the hills and the light parts the valleys. The ingenious part of the Ives process, most difficult to describe, is the inking method, for which the elastic composition of glue and molasses used in inking-rollers is made in flat sheets, furrowed by V-shaped ditches, which are crossed by other lines of ditches not quite so deeply furrowed. This leaves the inking surface a series of tiny pyramids close together, and the ink is pressed on so that it not only inks the tops of the pyramids, but their sides and the ditches between. This inked surface is now turned on its face and pressed upon the white plaster cast. Where this cast is high (the darks of the original picture), the inked pyramids are flattened out against it by the pressure, and leave a broad square of ink; where it is low (the lights of the original picture), only the tiny tops of the pyramids touch the cast, and the merest point of ink is left. The absolute blacks in the original picture are so high that even t~e furrows of the inking surface are pressed against the cast, obliterating the spaces between the blocks, and giving an absolute mass of black; per contra, the absolute whites of the original picture are so low in the cast that even the tops of the pyramids do not touch them, and they are not inked at all. When the inking surface is removed, the eye sees on the plaster almost an exact reproduction of the original picture, in little blocks instead of in continuous tone. This is taken off the plaster by a collodion film or photograph- ed directly, and the picture being now practically in line or point, a relief plate is easily made, like that on page 181. An- other method of half-tone work, made public by Meissenbach, a German photog- rapher, consists in photographing the ori- ginal picture as seen through a so-called grating made by coating glass with an opaque film, through which transparent lines are cut. By placing this grating a little distance in front of the picture a curious optical effect of translating the darker portions of the picture into thicker lines is produced. From this line effect a relief plate is produced. The third kind of process includes the photolithograph and the photogravure, which present themselves under any num- ber of names and patents. Neither of these produces a relief plate which can be used on the ordinary printing-press. The photolithograph is made, after slightly wetting the gelatine, by inking it with lith- ographic transfer ink, which is of course rejected by that part which has accepted water, and so transferring the picture to the stone for ordinary lithographic print- ing. The photogravure is kindred to cop- perplate printing, a plate being made in metal in the hills and valleys before de- scribed, ia which the blacks of the picture are represented by the depressions in the plate, which are deepened by a peculiar use of emery powder sprinkled on the mould, by which the granulated surface disclosed by a careful examination of pho- togravures is produced. This metal plate is inked as a steel or copper plate would be, the ink being left in the depressions and cleaned off the high lights, and the impression is taken by pressure on a cop- perplate press. Photographic progress has now reached that point where it is possible to photo- graph colored objects, and reproduce them either in the equivalent light and shade, or, by the combination of several relief plates, in approximation to their actual colors, though this last has not been ap- plied to any practical extent. In ordinary photography blue and purple turn out white, and strong red becomes black. By the use of plates prepared with a solu- tion of chlorophyl (the remarkable natu- ral substance which is the coloring matter of leaves) Mr. Ives in 1879 produced a true isochromatic photograph, and he con- tests the claim of priority of a German scientist, Dr. Vogel; who uses eosine to ac- complish a like result. By using proper- ly sensitized plates, the blues, the yellows, and the reds of natural objects may be eliminated, and a relief plate made for each, which, used in succession with the proper inks, would achieve a nature-col- ored press print. Ix. Type or xylographic (wood-cut) print- ing is but one of four general methods of impressing a print upon the surface of paper, which are illustrated in the dia- gram (page 185), showing the four ways of printing a black line. The first is the old-fashioned method of the stencil, in A PRINTED BOOK. 185 which the line is cut through thin metal or paper, and the ink is brushed on. This METHODS OF PRINTING BLACK LINE. is still somewhat used for coloring pic- ture-books. and has had a curious modern revival in the devices for multiplying handwriting: by the electric pen,in which a fine needle,worked by electricity, makes minute holes in a paper stencil; the cyclo- style,which does the same thing by a tiny wheel or ball covered with sharp points; and a still later contrivance, in which a metal stylus presses prepared paper against sharp ridges of a lnetal surface under- neath, and cuts a very similar stencil. Through any of the stencils thus prepared a brush or roller or pad niakes an inked print. The second Inethod is the raised line of type-work, wood-engraving, stere- otype or electrotype, or process relief plate, worked on the printing-press as al- ready described. The third method is the incised or cut-in line of the engraver on steel or copper, or the etcher in line or point, each of whom cuts his lines below the surface, rubs the ink into these lines, cleans off the surface of his plate before each printing, and removes the ink from the graved lines to the paper by applying the latter under enormous pressure. The fourth method uses no cut or raised lines, but transfers ink from a surface of stone or gelatine to a surface of paper as a re- sult of chemical affinities; it is the meth- od of lithography, and of such multi- plying processes as the papyrograph and hektograph. These latter, however, have the peculiarity of printing froni the ori- ginal inking, giving off more and more faintly with each copy a portion of the an- iline ink in which the original is written. About 1440, Tommaso Finiguerra, an Italian artist in nicllo (black) work, or the art of cutting ornamentation upon metal- work and filling in the lines with a black composition, hit upon a process of taking proofs of his work by rubbing lampblack and oil into the lines, and pressing paper upon the metal. This is said to have been the beginning of plate engraving, though a German origin is also claimed for it. It is the most difficult of all the processes of illustration, whether on the softer cop- perplate or on hard steel, which latter may, however, be tempered soft for the engraver and again hardened. The plate engravers tools are a burin or graver, foursquare but sharpened diagonally, to cut clean, strong lines; the dry-point, or needle, to scratch fine lines; the scraper, to scrape down the bur left by the dry-point; the burnisher, to polish the surface for high I-i PLATE-ENGRAVERS TOOLS. lights, and to erase errors, when the plate is beaten up from the back to get a new surface; and the rubber, a roll of cloth dipped in oil, to finish the surface. He cuts his lines always from him, with strong, firm, delicate hand, and must re- verse the picture as he works. Stipplea kind of engraving using dots instead of lines was formerly much in vogue for portraits, but is now chiefly used in com- bination with line. MezEotint is a kind of engraving said to have been suggested to Prince Rupert by the sight of a soldier polishing his rusty blade. The metal plate is roughened all over so as to hold ink, by rocking with a grounding tool or cra- dlea sort of graver with toothed edge lengthwise, crosswise, and criss-cross, and the ground thus produced, which prints the dark middle tint from which the process takes its name, is scraped and bur- nished to produce the half lights and high lights. Etching is a variety of engraving of uncertain origin, in use soon after 1500, in which the metal (or glass) plate is cov- ered with a waxen composition, upon whose surface a design may be transferred, or which may present a clean ground for the free-hand artist. The artist with a sharp etching-needle draws through this composition, exposing the surface of the 186 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. metal; a wall of wax and pitch is then formed around the plate; acid is poured upon it, which bites lines into the exposed metal, leaving the protected parts untouched. This is quick- ly run off, and the plate rinsed with lukewarm water. The lines which are bitten in suffi- ciently deep are then stopped up with a mixture of lamphiack and turpentine applied with a camels-hair brush, and those which are to be deepened are ROCKING again subjected to acid till the TOOL. strongest lines are of sufficient depth. The etching process has been a favorite with great artists, as less technical skill of the hand is required than for graver work, and it is also used by en- gravers to obtain a first outline of their subject upon their metal plate. Aquatint is an almost obsolete process, which is to etching what mezzotint is to engraving proper, the ground being laid in pulver- ized resin dissolved in spirits of wine, which granulates in drying, permitting the acid to reach the plate in the inter- stices, and giving when printed an effect like a wash of India-ink. All these methods give a reversed pic- ture in incised or cut-in lines, and their printing is the reverse of typographic or wood-cut printing. The plate is covered with ink, which is well rubbed or rolled into the lines, and the ink must then be rubbed clean off the rest of the surface, so that perhaps not a hundredth part is used. A dampened plate-paper is then laid upon the plate, and great pressure is required to transfer the ink from out the lines upon tl]e surface of the paper. The plate press is practically the rolling-mill of the iron-foundery, two metal rollers in a stout iron frame, between which the plate and paper pass under heavy pressure, the upper roller being blanketed to press the yielding paper into the engraved lines, and worked by long arms like a ships wheel. This press is also used to make transfer plates, soft steel being pressed against the hard steel engraving till it ti~es the lines in relief, and this plate be- ing hardened so as to incise its relief lines into a third steel plate, closely duplica- ting the first. The process of plate-print- ing is necessarily slow, three hundred mi- pressions of a large plate being a fair days work; a steam plate press has been invented, but has been only moderately successful. The wear on a copperplate by the polishing first with a rubber and then with the hand, and by the strong pressure of the press, causes the earliest impressions to be much the finer, so that artists proofs, proofs before letter, and those of other stages are usually of higher price; but with a good steel plate there is less difference. Wood-engraving has proved so much more adapted to book illustration that the number of plate-en- gravers is very much reduced; few are apprenticed, except by the bank-note com- panies, and steel-engraving is becoming almost a lost art. In 1796 a musician of Munich, one Aloysius Senefelder, who had used bits of limestone for jotting down his musical notes before he put them on paper, hap- pened to drop a piece of this stone, with a memorandum of some clothes the washer- woman was taking away, into the slop- bucket. On snatching it out, he noticed that grease adhered to the pencil marks, but not to the rest of the stone. This set him a-thinking, and for four years he studied drawing, tried crayons and inks. and acids, and worked at devising a press, until in 1800 his new art of lithography was achieved, and he obtained the exclu- sive privilege of its exercise. From all over Europe came offers that would have made him rich, but choosing to have all or nothing, he got nothing. The secret leaked out, he could not protect his privi- lege, and in a few years several printers~ were using lithography, though Napo- leon is said to have refused permission to practise the art in Paris because it offered a premium to counterfeiting. The key to the process is simply the mortal antipathy of grease and water. A fine calcareous stone is used, found at its. best near Munich, but also in the United States and elsewhere. It must be so porous as to absorb the lithographic ink or cray- on (which is made chiefly of pure wax, white Castile soap, and mutton suet, with enough lamphlack to make it distinct), yet so close-grained as to prevent the grease from getting much below the surface. The stone is grained by rubbing two stone~ together, if it is to be drawn on with cray- on, or polished if for line-drawing or for transfer from paper. If the drawing is~ made upon paper, with a like greasy ink, it is direct; if upon the stone, it must, of course, be reversed. After the design is put upon the stone, a thin wash of gur~i A PRINTED BOOK. 187 himself, a scraper pressing the paper upon the stone as it rolls by under severe press- ure. The steam lithographic press, in- vented in Paris by M. Eugues, 1850, is on the same principle, the stone moving under a roller to and fro, with attachments for alternately dampening and inking; it can print over a thousand copies an hour. One of the advantages of the lithographic process is that a drawing may be printed simultaneously on any number of presses by a simple process of taking an impres- sion from the first stone in transfer ink, which sets off under pressure upon a clean stone, that can be at once made ready to print. and acid penetrates between the grains of the parts not drawn upon, etching the sur- face slightly; and a wash of turpentine, which in turn affects only the drawing, takes out the lampblack, and leaves the colorless greaseto the sad astonishment of the novice in lithography, who sees his careful drawing vanish into naught. When the print is to be made, the stone is first dampened, the drawing repelling the water, and the rest of the stone taking it, and then inked with a roller, when the drawing takes the ink, and the rest of the stone repels it. The paper is now placed on the stone, and both together are run under a scraper, or roller, under severe pressure, whereupon the ink leaves X. the stone and remains upon the paper. The stone is now ready for another dampening, another inking, another im- pression; or it may be put away, with a coating of gum, for future printings; or it may be rubbed down to a new surface below the drawing, and used afresh for a new work. Zinc may be used much like the lithographic stone, producing a zinco- graph. Chromo-lithography, starting from the so-called lithochromy of Lacroix, in Paris, in 1826, has developed to extraordinary results, twenty or more stones, carrying as many tints, being now used to repro- duce, by as many successive printings, the gamut of the artists palette. The color lithographer produces first an outline or ground impression from a key-stone, giv- ing the general features of his picture. Prints from this stone are transferred in red chalk to other stones on each of which, with the guidance of the outlines, the artist draws that part of his picture which is to have the color this stone will carry. Two points or cross lines, which appear on every stone, form a guide to give each color its exact registry with other parts of the picture in the printing, the sheet of paper being laid on the press by the help of these guides with absolute exactness. The skilled chromo - lithog- rapher, in his choice of colors, seeks to produce the maximum of tones with the smallest possible number of printings, and the results achieved in the rapid work of such papers as Puck are often as sur- prising in their way as the triumphs of the Prang chromos in another direc- tion. cities. Prices in non-union towns have The hand lithographic presses are al- varied as much as fifty per cent. within ways of the style devised by Senefelder a radius of fifty miles. Each union also The printers trade can show one of the best organized labor unions of the coun- try, or of any country, in the International Typographical Union, with its 159 associa- ted local unions of compositors in as many places in the United States, Canada, and the Sandwich Islands (the Blue Grass, Kentucky; Tombstone, Arizona; Seattle, Washington Territory and Victoria, Brit- ish Columbia, being among the more re- cent), and sixteen pressmens unions in the chief cities. The number of unions which have lapsed is, however, considerable, and a few Printers Protective Unions of em- ployers and employed oppose free labor to organized labor. The membership, which reached 9800 in 1874, fell in 1878 to 4200; was in the census year 6600, and in 1885 reached 18,000. Each union printer in good standing has a travelling card, which is his passport to union offices, and which he deposits with the local union under whose jurisdiction he is at work. Union men taking work below the union scale become rats, and a Black Book of such is kept. Each union makes its local scale of prices, and these vary ex- traordinarily, according to the reports of each to the International Union, having been within the past two or three years as high as 38 to 40 cents per thousand ems for day and 46 cents for night work in New York, and 50 cents for either in San Fran- cisco, in both of which places weekly hands are at $18 per week, while in Leadville they reach $26; and as low as 20 cents per thou- sand ems for day and 25 cents for night work in Lawrence, Kansas, while weekly rates run as low as $9 to $12 in the smaller 188 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. decides what proportion of apprentices to journeymen it shall permit. Strikes are deprecated in these General Laws, and can be ordered only by a three-fourth vote of a union; but provision is made for a strike fund, started at twenty-five cents per head, from which an Execu- tive Council of the International Union may appropriate strike benefits of $7 per week per man to support strikes which it deems to be necessary; and rigid disci- pline is provided against union men who take or keep work in strikes, and in case of the wilful violation of boycotts. The unions are judges of the qualifications of their own members, but are prohibited from admitting any one who has not served an apprenticeship of five years. They are prohibited from making any distinction on account of sex, and nearly two hundred women are members. Be- sides this organization, the men in each printing-office are usually organized as a chapela name originating, it is said, from the fact that Caxtons printing-office was a chapel in or near Westminster Abbey. The betterment of wages is strikingly shown in the printing trades. Half a century ago American compositors were paid 25 cents or less per thousand ems on work which during the war reached 55 cents (currency), and is now at 40 cents an advance of nearly double, considering the prices of the necessaries of life. Eng- lish compositors in 1785 received but 3~ pence (6~ cents) per thousand ens (a mea- sure one-half our ems), and now receive 6d. to 9d. (12 to 18 cents) per thousand ems, and 8d. to lid. (16 to 22 cents) per hour for corrections. Previous to 1850 American compositors averaged from $113 to $1 38; by 1860 they had reached $1 75, and during the height of the war earned $3 (currency) and upward; since 1872 the average has been from $2 25 to $2. The product of the modern press almost defies estimate. In 1886 4676 books were recorded by the cataloguers as issued in the United States, 5210 in Great Britain, 16,253 in Germany, all of them probably below actual figures, since the Library of Congress acknowledges 8352 deposits scheduled as books. There are 15,000 periodicals in our own country alone. Truly, of the making of books, and of the writing about them, there is no end. The following table shows the develop- ment of the printing industry in the Unit- ed States according to census returns: 1850. r 1860. r ~ 1880. Number of establishments 673 1,666 - 2,159 3,467 Number of hands.., 8268 20,159 30,743 58,478 Capital $5,862,715 $19,622,318 $39,924,227 $62,983,704 Value of material $4,964,225 $12,844,288 $24,600,245 $32,460,395 Wages $2,737,308 $7,588,096 $18,795,356 $30,531,657 Product $11,586,549 $31,063,898 $66,469,000 $90,780,341 Wages per person $331 $376 $611* $520 * Currency = $489 gold. PHILLADA. II! what a pain is loves O How shall I bear it? She will unconstant prove; I greatly fear it. She so torments my mind That my strength faileth, And wavers with the wind As a ship saileth. Please 11cr the best I may, She loves still to gainsay: Alack and well-a-day! Phillada flouts me.

Phillada 188-196

188 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. decides what proportion of apprentices to journeymen it shall permit. Strikes are deprecated in these General Laws, and can be ordered only by a three-fourth vote of a union; but provision is made for a strike fund, started at twenty-five cents per head, from which an Execu- tive Council of the International Union may appropriate strike benefits of $7 per week per man to support strikes which it deems to be necessary; and rigid disci- pline is provided against union men who take or keep work in strikes, and in case of the wilful violation of boycotts. The unions are judges of the qualifications of their own members, but are prohibited from admitting any one who has not served an apprenticeship of five years. They are prohibited from making any distinction on account of sex, and nearly two hundred women are members. Be- sides this organization, the men in each printing-office are usually organized as a chapela name originating, it is said, from the fact that Caxtons printing-office was a chapel in or near Westminster Abbey. The betterment of wages is strikingly shown in the printing trades. Half a century ago American compositors were paid 25 cents or less per thousand ems on work which during the war reached 55 cents (currency), and is now at 40 cents an advance of nearly double, considering the prices of the necessaries of life. Eng- lish compositors in 1785 received but 3~ pence (6~ cents) per thousand ens (a mea- sure one-half our ems), and now receive 6d. to 9d. (12 to 18 cents) per thousand ems, and 8d. to lid. (16 to 22 cents) per hour for corrections. Previous to 1850 American compositors averaged from $113 to $1 38; by 1860 they had reached $1 75, and during the height of the war earned $3 (currency) and upward; since 1872 the average has been from $2 25 to $2. The product of the modern press almost defies estimate. In 1886 4676 books were recorded by the cataloguers as issued in the United States, 5210 in Great Britain, 16,253 in Germany, all of them probably below actual figures, since the Library of Congress acknowledges 8352 deposits scheduled as books. There are 15,000 periodicals in our own country alone. Truly, of the making of books, and of the writing about them, there is no end. The following table shows the develop- ment of the printing industry in the Unit- ed States according to census returns: 1850. r 1860. r ~ 1880. Number of establishments 673 1,666 - 2,159 3,467 Number of hands.., 8268 20,159 30,743 58,478 Capital $5,862,715 $19,622,318 $39,924,227 $62,983,704 Value of material $4,964,225 $12,844,288 $24,600,245 $32,460,395 Wages $2,737,308 $7,588,096 $18,795,356 $30,531,657 Product $11,586,549 $31,063,898 $66,469,000 $90,780,341 Wages per person $331 $376 $611* $520 * Currency = $489 gold. PHILLADA. II! what a pain is loves O How shall I bear it? She will unconstant prove; I greatly fear it. She so torments my mind That my strength faileth, And wavers with the wind As a ship saileth. Please 11cr the best I may, She loves still to gainsay: Alack and well-a-day! Phillada flouts me. Oil, WHAT A PAIN IS LOVE ! 2 j. E.A. ~ 7 ) 190 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. All the fair yesterday She did pass by me; She looked another way And would not spy me. I wood her for to dine, But eonld not get her; Will had her to the wine He might intreat her. Kt / /1 ~ / K I 7 ALL THE FAIR YESTERDAY SHE DID PASS BY ME. PHILLADA. 191 With Daniel she did dance; On me she looked askance: Oh! thrice unhappy chance; Phillada flouts me. Fair maid! be not so coy; Do not disdain me! I am my mothers joy: Sweet! entertain me! Shell give me when she dies All that is fitting: Her poultry and her bees, And her goose sitting, I AM MY MOTHER~ S JOY. 192 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A pair of inaitrass beds, And a bag full of shreds: And yet, for all this guedes, Phillada flouts me. She hath a clout of mine, Wrought with blue coventry, Which she keeps for a sign Of my fidelity: But, faith, if she flinch, She shall not wear it; To Tib, my tother wench, I mean to bear it. And yet it grieves my heart So soon from her to part: Death strike me with his dart! Phillada flouts me. FAITH, IF SHE FLINCH, SHE SHALL NOT WEAR IT. PHILLADA. 193 Thou shalt eat crudded cream All the year lasting, And drink the crystal stream Pleasant in tasting, Whig and whey whilst thou lust, And ramble-berries, Pie-lid and pastry crnst, Pears, plnms, and cherries; Thy raiment shall be thin, Made of a weevils skin Yet alls not worth a pin: Phillada fonts me. Yr ~ DOLL THE DAIRY MAID LAUGHED AT ME LATELY. If 7 ((\ 7/), ---~ K /1 194 HAIIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Fair maiden! have a care, And in time take me; I can have those as fair, If yon forsake me: For Doll the dairy maid Laughed at me lately, And wanton Winifred Favours me greatly. T~ OTHER PLAYS WITH MY NOSE. PHILLADA. 195 I One throws milk on my clothes; Tother plays with my nose: What wanting signs are those! Phillada flouts me. I cannot work nor sleep At all in season, Love wounds my heart so deep, Without all reason. I gin to pine away In my loves shadow, Like as a fat beast may Penned in a meadow. I shall be dead, I fear, Within this thousand year: And all for that my dear Phillada flouts me. I SHALL BE DEAD I FEAR. CADET LIFE AT WEST POINT. BY CHARLES KING, U.S.A. father, if not the founder, of the nations Military Academy at West Point. Possi- bly in those very days when he rested under Arnolds roof - tree in the rock- bound fortress of the Hudson Highlands he noted the strange topography that seemed to fit the spot for the great pur- pose to which it has been devoted. Cer- tain it is that our traditions tell us George Washington declared it the very place for the soldier school of the United States, and here, early in the century, the Corps of Engineers laid its corner-stone, and be- came the foster - parents of the infant academy. Its history and its purpose are known * To be prepared for war is one of the most effectual ways of preserving peace. Washingtons Address to Oongress, Jenuarg 8,1790. to nearly all. Yale and Harvard, its sen- iors by another century and more, are barely mentioned in some States and Ter- ritories where West Point is as a house- hold word. It is emphatically the peo- ples school, for its pupils are summoned from every Congressional district in the Union. It is democratic to an extent that no other school can hope to attain, for here, as nowhere else, the rank, riches, and prominence of parents avail as nothing, and every man stands on his own merits. Two-thirds of those appointed find no place on the final class list, and the son of a President has been distanced in the race the son of a bricklayer won. It is the peoples school because it is open to all, rich or poor, black or white, Ho- manist, Protestant, or Mormon. The nation demands of its aspirant only that he shall be perfect in physique, of good moral character, and well grounded in the studies of the public schools, that he may be fitted for a training which in rigor and exaction has no parallel in America. Fifty years agobefore we had such pub- lic schoolsthe standard of admis- sion was necessarily low, and three- fourths of those who easily passed the entrance examination proved subsequently unable to grapple with the problems of the four years course. Thousands of dollars were wasted in feeding, clothing, and turning away scores of incompetents. Wisely the au- thorities decreed a higher standard of admission as the facilities for meeting it were spread throughout the land. Dis- appointed parents and offended Congress- men made loud denunciation of the change, and declared the new standard one that Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, and soldiers like them could never have pass- ed, forgetful of the fact that times too had utterly changed, and that men of the mettle of those very three, were they boys again and had the opportunities of the boys of to-day, would need no lowering of the bars. The public schools give all the standard calls for, and it was to keep step with the progress of the age that a far-sighted Academic Board decided on the change. West Point would have -4.

Charles King, U.S.A. King, Charles, U.S.A. Cadet Life At West Point 196-220

CADET LIFE AT WEST POINT. BY CHARLES KING, U.S.A. father, if not the founder, of the nations Military Academy at West Point. Possi- bly in those very days when he rested under Arnolds roof - tree in the rock- bound fortress of the Hudson Highlands he noted the strange topography that seemed to fit the spot for the great pur- pose to which it has been devoted. Cer- tain it is that our traditions tell us George Washington declared it the very place for the soldier school of the United States, and here, early in the century, the Corps of Engineers laid its corner-stone, and be- came the foster - parents of the infant academy. Its history and its purpose are known * To be prepared for war is one of the most effectual ways of preserving peace. Washingtons Address to Oongress, Jenuarg 8,1790. to nearly all. Yale and Harvard, its sen- iors by another century and more, are barely mentioned in some States and Ter- ritories where West Point is as a house- hold word. It is emphatically the peo- ples school, for its pupils are summoned from every Congressional district in the Union. It is democratic to an extent that no other school can hope to attain, for here, as nowhere else, the rank, riches, and prominence of parents avail as nothing, and every man stands on his own merits. Two-thirds of those appointed find no place on the final class list, and the son of a President has been distanced in the race the son of a bricklayer won. It is the peoples school because it is open to all, rich or poor, black or white, Ho- manist, Protestant, or Mormon. The nation demands of its aspirant only that he shall be perfect in physique, of good moral character, and well grounded in the studies of the public schools, that he may be fitted for a training which in rigor and exaction has no parallel in America. Fifty years agobefore we had such pub- lic schoolsthe standard of admis- sion was necessarily low, and three- fourths of those who easily passed the entrance examination proved subsequently unable to grapple with the problems of the four years course. Thousands of dollars were wasted in feeding, clothing, and turning away scores of incompetents. Wisely the au- thorities decreed a higher standard of admission as the facilities for meeting it were spread throughout the land. Dis- appointed parents and offended Congress- men made loud denunciation of the change, and declared the new standard one that Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, and soldiers like them could never have pass- ed, forgetful of the fact that times too had utterly changed, and that men of the mettle of those very three, were they boys again and had the opportunities of the boys of to-day, would need no lowering of the bars. The public schools give all the standard calls for, and it was to keep step with the progress of the age that a far-sighted Academic Board decided on the change. West Point would have -4. CADET LIFE AT WEST POINT. 197 fallen hopelessly behind had it maintain- ed the gauge of 46. Well known as are its name and pur- poses, West Point to nine-tenths of our people is in its inner life as a sealed book. At other institutions the young man pays some five hundred dollars yearly to be a student; at West Point the institution pays the scholar. Herein lies one secret of its discipline. Not only does the gov- ernment lay before the fortunate holder of a cadetship an excellent education and a life position in a high and honorable profession, but it pays him for his efforts to win the final prize. The student knows iione of the cares or privations, and few of VoL. LXXV.No. 446.i 3 the temptations, of a large proportion of his fel]ow-toilers at the hundred colleges that adorn our land. He is abundantly clothed, warmed, housed, fedprovided for in every way. He has no expenses that his income does not amply meet; he has little or nothing to distract his mind from his studies; he cannot envy the dress or style of his wealthy classmates, for the son of a Vanderbilt must wear, and has worn, the same garb that warms the back of the hod carriers boy. Freely supplied with provision against every healthful need, fully taught every manly and grace- ful accomplishment, finely schooled in science and in soldier lore, carefully FIRST CLASS MAGNATES. 198 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. nursed and cared for in the event of ill- ness or injury, the nations pupil is indeed a favored boy. But lavish as is the nation in all the appointments of its famous school, there is no cent thrown away. For every dol- lar spent on the education of his future officers Uncle Sam demandsand has good right to demandfull recompense. In return for all these benefits the young cadet must bind himself to four years of submission to the avuncular will; to four years of hard study, of prescribed exercise, of close seclusion, of prompt and cheerful subordination to rigid discipline; to four years of a life every day and hour of which is planned for him beforehand; and he must willingly yield himself to the preconcerted moulding, or give place to one who can and will. The casual visitor to the academy sees in cadet life only a vision of military ex- ercises, of gallant, graceful forms, of fault- less uniforms and glittering arms, of bewil- dering hops and germans, of moon- light camps amid the grandest scenery on the continent, of romance and chivalry all athrob with the stirring strains of martial music; but he who knows it well knows it to be four years of rigorous preparation for a profession that is full of demands upon every energy of manhood. In years of association with the dear old Pointas boy visitor, as student youth, as graduate and instructorthe writer can recall hun- dreds of cases where the cadet bemoaned the fates that sent him into a life so full of monotonous routine and rigid disci- pline, and yet not one instance of a dis- charged cadet who did not sincerely re- gret his failure and banishment. To succeed at West Point a young man must have good natural ability, and more than the average capacity for application. To be happy there, he must be heart, soul, and enthusiastically a soldier. Without a fervent love for the profession he adopts, there must come days and weeks when he will groan in weariness of spiritso de- pressing does the wintry monotony be- come. A glimpse at the brighter side is best to be had during the annual encampment, when from mid-June until the end of Au- gust the Corps of Cadets deserts the gray stone barracks, and pitches its white tents among the trees along the eastern edge of the broad plateau. Three classesSeniors, Sophomores, and Freshmen they would be termed in collegeFirst, Third, and Fourth they are called at the Pointare here assembled for ten weeks of practical instruction in all manner of matters military. The Junior, or Second Class, after two years of unre- mitting duty, is away on the one almost delirious break in the four years course that one brief visit to home and fireside that is vouchsafed during the third sum- mer of cadet lifethe only visit so long as the cadet shall wear the gray. In camp, as in barracks, the corps is or- ganized as a battalion of four companies, with the full complement of officers and non-commissioned officers selected from their own ranks. It is a proud thing to be head of the class, and prospective pos- sessor of a commission in the engineers, but even this dignity pales in cadet eyes in presence of those luminaries of the First Classthe adjutant and first captain. Having served one year as a private in the Fourth Class, the cadet becomes eligible for appointment to the grade of corporal, and some twenty out of a hundred young sol- diers are decorated with the coveted chev- rons of gold-lace. Another year, and the same number become sergeants, the most soldierly and reliable among them being chosen by the Commandant of Cadets to be the first sergeants of the four companies and sergeant-major of the battalionpo- sitions which require grit and determi- nation quite as much as they do ability, for the orderly sergeant, as he was called for a century, and still is called by veterans of the wars of Mexico and the rebellion, is the very soul of the com- pany. One year more, and the Second Class men become First Class, and the most military and meritorious of their number step into the proudest offices of the whole course: the young soldiers who wear the plumes and clievrons of the adjutant and captains are probably envied as they will not again be for years. He may not realize it at the time, but a First Class officer ranks far higher in the little world at West Point than the same youth grad- uated and promoted (?) to the grade of junior subaltern at a frontier post. A day in camp is best observed late in August. By this time all the corps are well shaken down into their positions. The new cadets, or plebes, are all thor- oughly uniformed, drilled, and in their places in the battalion, and everything is moving with the clock-like regularity that CADET LIFE AT WEST POINT. 199 is so characteristic of the academy. With the furlough class away, there are per- haps two hundred and twenty young sol- diers tenting there close under the grass- grown parapets of old Fort Clinton, and their surroundings would inspire a heart of stone. The broad glistening Hudson, bursting its way through the gorge of the Appalachians from the north, comes sweeping down that magnificent reach from Newburgh, and under the rocky flanks of Breakneck, Bull Hill, and old Cro Nest, swirls around the jagged point of Constitution Island, and then is shoul- dered completely out of its course by the bold, jutting promontory that springs out from the mountain and stems the sweeping tide. The river beats in vain upon its adamant, and, flung aside, turns abruptly eastward, feels its way around the stubborn bluff, and thence flows once more southward, unvexed to the sea. North and east the Point is hemmed in by the mighty river, west and south by the rock-ribbed Highlands. The plateau, little by little, has been levelled and graded, until to-day it is a broad, beauti- ful, grass-grown plain, bounded on the west by the cozy homes of the officers and professors, on the south by the stately barracks, the grim, old-fashioned Aca- demic, the Grecian chapel, and the domed turrets of the Library. Skirting the precipitous river-banks, a broad, graded road encloses the plateau on the north and east, and others, as level and carefully kept, border it on west and south, and nearly bisect it along the meridian. Cov- ered with well-cropped turf, the western half of the plain is devoted to infantry drills; the batteries and the crunching hoofs of the horses are limited to the gravel of the eastern half. All around are the rocky heights, trimmed with pine and fir and cedar, with here and there a peep at the stony parapet of some old re- doubt or battery thrown up in the days of the Revolution. The square-built hostel- ry, once and for years known as Roes, stands perched at the northeast limit of the plain. Statues in bronze or marble gleam here and there amid the foliage, and tell of deeds of heroism and devotion on the part of the sons of the old academy. The tall white staff glistens against the dark background of the Highlands, and throws to the breeze, high over all, the brilliant colors of the Stars and Stripes; and on the easternmost verg~ of the broad plateau lies the camp ground, the sum- mer home of the Corps of Cadets. Laid out in mathematical regularity, with well-gravelled pathways, sentry posts, and color line, and shaded by beautiful trees, the encampment, like everything else at West Point, is so exquisitely trim and neat as to have little resemblance to the tented field as seen in actual service on the frontier. The white tents gleam in accurate ranks that look as though they were pitched by aid of the straight-edge rule. Farthest to the west are the guard and visitors tents; then comes an open space between them and the color line, along which the arms are stacked every bright day. It is in this space that the camp ceremoniesguard mounting, dress parade, and the weekly inspectionstake place. Immediately behind the color line are the tents of the four companies, two inward-facing rows to each, with a broad alley, known as the general parade, sep- aratiug the right and left wings. The company streets run east and west perpen- dicularly to the color line, and the tents of the cadet officers are pitched looking west along the streets of their respective companies. Behind the rows of company officers tents, and opposite the right and left of camp, are the larger domiciles of those cadet magnates the adjutant and quartermaster. Back still farther are the double tents of the four army officers who are the immediate commanders and in- structors of the four companies; and be- hind them all, at the rear of camp, is the big marquee of the Commandant of Cadets. Dotted about the rear of camp are the little tents occupied by the drum boy orderlies, the boot-blacks, varnish- ers, etc.; and around them all, day and night, paces the chain of sentries, which, posted in mid-June, is never removed un- til the simultaneous fall of every tent on the 28th of August. One day is the counterpart of another as the end of camp draws nigh, and the visitor who would take a peep at the in- ner phases of cadet life must have a friend at court, and be an early riser. Let us suppose that in your desire to have a nearer view of those slender striplings you have invoked the aid of some one of the officers on duty at the Point. He tells you to be prepared to make a day of it, warns you to be called at 5 AM., and is waiting for you on the hotel piazza when you appear. Muffled in your overcoats, 200 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. for these late August mornings are sharp- ly cold, you walk briskly down the graded path leading to camp. A faint, drowsy gleam as of a lantern is visible at the guard tents, and the gas jets along the sentry posts have the sickly glare that early morning gives to all. Camp lies still as a grave, dim and ghostly, but all the eastern sky is lighting up with the radiance of coming morn, and the hoary battlements of Old Fort Put, and the crags of Cro Nest overhanging the sleep- ing Point, are alternately wreathed with wisps of cloud and roseate in reflection from the orient. Not a sound is heard as you near the sentry lines, but you may never hope to slip in unobserved. Keeping beyond hail of the guard tents, your conductor purposely leads you down by Fort Clintons dark parapet, and you are close to the ghostly white village, when there is sudden gleam and rattle among the trees, a flash of steel, as a ca- det rifle comes down to charge bayonet, a stern young voice challenges, Who comes there ? and before you stands a vigilant sentry, the dew dripping from the visor of his forage cap, the collar of his overcoat well muffled about his ears. Friends with the countersign, is your conductors prompt reply. Halt, friends! advance one with the countersign, orders the sentinel, and at the uncompromising mandate, while you stand fast, your friend steps up to that levelled bayonet, and over its threatening point whispers some cabalistic word that in the twink- ling of an eye changes the whole atti- tude of the guard from one of fierce suspi- cion to respectful attention. Advance, friends, he says, as his heels come togeth- er and his rifle to the carry with si- multaneous click; and there he stands like a gray and white statue as you cross his guarded land, and penetrate without fur- ther hinderance the forbidden limits. Sound sleepers are the boys, thanks to all their vigorous exercise, undoubted ex- cellence of digestion, and presumable clearness of conscience. In ten minutes, by the inexorable rules of West Point, every mothers son in that camp must be up and doing, but among the tents not a soul as yet is stirring. In the gathering light you can see the sentries at the south and east slowly pacing their posts, and mark that the main guard is astir. A squad of little drummer boys is hastening across the plain toward camp; a corporal marches two silent youths in gray to the dew-dripping field-piece that stands at the northeast angle; the tips of the tents are gaining a rosy tint; the skies across the Hudson are gorgeous in their coloring; the mist is creeping from the stream that goes swirling down the silent reach; you hear a dull thud or two as the gunners ram home their cartridge, and the low- toned chatter of the drum boys as they brace their batter heads and look ex- pectantly at the gilded hands of the big clock in the Academic tower across the plain. Suddenly there comes the mel- low stroke of the bell, and with it a belch- ing cloud of smoke and flame from the black muzzle of the gun, a thundering roar, and at the same instant the shrill music of the fifes and resonant rattle of the drums as they break into the stirring rolls of the reveille. It is enough to rouse the Seven Sleepers. One after another tent flaps are raised, and still drowsy heads peer forth, and then by dozens, erect, slender, buttoned to the throat in their snug-fitting coatees, and looking all legs in their trim white trousers, the young fellows swarm upon the company streets; but as yet all are plebes the oldsters are in no such hur- ry to leave their warm blankets, and have learned the value of every military min- ute. The drums are playing their thun- dering march around camp; dozens of time-saving plebes, bucket-laden, are scur- rying off in the direction of the water tanks, and come back ready for their al fresco ablutions. If there be any who, like Fitz-James and Roderick, mutter their soldier matins by, we see nothing of it. Once more the drums have resumed the roll of the re- veille, then suddenly cease. There comes a brief interval of silence, during which the company streets fill up with forms in gray and white. Then, sharp, quick, im- perative, the assembly, or second call, is rattled on the drums. Fall in ! order the sergeants, and like a flash each com- pany springs into two long columns of files; for there is not an instant to lose. Every man must be in his place at the last tap of the inexorable drumnot twenty seconds from the firstand there it is. Left face, orders each first sergeant at the instant, while his classmate and sen- ior file-closer, the second sergeant, even as he answers to his own name, makes CADET LIFE AT WEST POINT. 201 timate friends, those & fellows will figure in the days delinquency :7 books as late at re- veille. Roll-call at West Point is a rev- elation to the unini- tiated. The first ser- geant rattles off his list of sergeants, corporals, and then, in alpha betical order, the privates, never hesitating a second. He uses no list, no book, no card Those seventy or eighty names are graven in his memory, and even as he calls each name he knows the voice that should answer Here, and his vigilant eye notes the sponsor. It i all over in half a minute. While the ranks at his single word scatter like sheep, he makes his brief soldierly report to the grave young captain, MARCHING TO THE MESS-HALL. who stands near the flank, and the first duty of the day is over. The captains report to the adjutant or the officer of the day, as may he the custom at the time. Absentees, if any, are promptly hunted np. Off come the gray coats as bedding is piled, tent floors are swept, and tent walls raised for ventilation, and in another half-hour the drums are merrily rattling away on the old army tune Pease upon a Trencher ) mental note of the two or three luckless wigbts who come tearing into ranks just one differential of a second too late to get there before the final tap, and though they may be his own classmates and in- 202 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the soldier signal for breakfast. Again the ranks are formed, rolls are called, the sergeants march their companies to the color line, the officers take their stations, the ringing voice of the first captain -the senior cadet officerorders atten- tion, swings the battalion into column of platoons to the left, then Forward guide right-march ! and to the stirring, old-fashioned music of the fifes and drums away they go across the broad level of the cavalry plain until they reach the main road; down the shaded lane between the chapel and the massive facade of the ugly old Academic; down past the beautiful pile of the new Head-quarters and the grassy terrace beyond, and then each pla- toon wheels in succession to the right, springily mounts the broad stone steps, and is swallowed up in the massive portals of the Mess-hall. Just so for years,witl trie same buoyant, elastic tread, in the same solid ranks, have the nations pupils marched to their daily bread. Faces that grew bronzed and bearded and lined with thought and care were bright and smooth-shaven and full of pluck and hope under the little blue forage caps, and forms that grew massive and stalwart, or feeble and shattered with hon- orable wounds, were all once clad in the tight-fitting uniform coatee. Grant, silent, patient, and invincible; Sherman, brilliant, nervous, and quick; Sheridan, fiery, meteoric, burning with fight and en- ergy; Lee, skilful and chivalric; Jackson, daring to the verge of recklessness, prayer- ful to the verge of fanaticism; Hancock, knightly and superb on every field; Thomas, leonine, steadfast, and indomita- ble; Meade, loyal, dutiful, and resolute; McPherson, Sedgwick, and Reynolds, mag- nificent even in death; Stuart, cavalier trooper and bold rider; Longstreet, grim war-dog of the Confederacy; Sidney John- ston and Charles F. Smith, twin types of soldierly grace and grandeur; dark-eyed, dapper Beauregard; saturnine Halleck; priestly Polk; scienti tic and staff-schooled McClellan; Joe Johnston, Shermans last armed antagonist; Hood and Hardee, Hill, Ewell, Ramseur, Rosser, Armistead, Garnett, Kemper, Pickett, Sumner, Frank- lin, Porter, Heintzelman, Burnside, Hook- er, Buford, Bayard, Howard, Rosecrans, Schofield, Stanley, Warren, Gibbon, Ord, Hunt, Getty, Humphreysa host of names famous in the annals of the great war and distinguished in the history of the na tionall in their time, to the same old tunes of the fife and drum, marched at the command of the cadet first captain, thrice each day, to take their soldier ra- tions at the Mess-hall. True, the Mess-hall itself is a far hand- sorrier building, as to exterior and inte- rior, than the original affair to which our greatest soldiers were marched, and even in the last ten years great changes have been made in the domestic econo- mies of the cadet. Time was when both table fare and service were far inferior to what they are to-day, and far shabbier than they should have been at the time; but now the Mess-hall challenges inspec- tion. Vigilant officers have taken it in hand and made it a model. Few institu- tions can show a better refectory; none can exhibit better appetites. Cheerful conversation promotes good digestion, say the doctors, and the clatter of tongues as the boys settle to their work exceeds the racket of knife and fork on the responsive crockery. There is a Babel of voices, an odd intermingling of dia- lects; for every section of our broad Union is there represented, and no cliques are encouraged. South Carolina hobnobs with her old enemy Massachusetts; creole blood from Louisiana is warmed by cof- fee from the same urn that starts the sluggish veins of the Pennsylvania Dutch- man; soft-voiced sons of Georgia and Ken- tucky elide their rs and swap merry badinage with a fellow whose backwoods whang proclaims the Pike from Mis- souri; a swarthy Californian rips out some half-Spanish, half-savage expletive in excited controversy with his New Eng- land vis-& -vis, whose wildest flight in the possibilities of blasphemy is Gosh all hemlock ! and a youth whose clear blue eyes and the bloudest hair and skin im- aginable proclaim him a Norseman who hails from a Scandinavian district in Minnesota happens along at the instant, with the red sash of the officer of the day over his shoulder, and the gentle- man from the Golden Gate puts a bridle on his tongue forthwith. The officer of the day is on honor to note in his re- port every violation of academic regula- tions, and profanity is one of them. Were the Californian his bosom friend, and dismissal the penalty of his offence, there could be no middle course. The word of honor of the cadet is the ne plus ultra of West Point ethics; there is no CADET LIFE AT WEST POINT. 203 going behind or beyond it. It is the first lesson taught the youngster on - - joining. It is preached in wordless sermons every day and hour of his four years course. It is the last thing of his education he is apt to forget. Like other boys, he has his fun, his faults, his vices, and his scrapes. He may violate every one of the few hundred regulations that have been evolved from year to year; he may cut church, run it to the Falls or other un- hallowed resort; he may even make a pre datory incursion upon the orchards or vineyards below the Point; but even to save himself or his best friend from pun- ishment he draws the line at one thing he wont lie. When a cadet says he has or has not done this or that, you can en- dorse the statement. And so, when the cadet lieutenant from Minnesota reports his classmate from Cal- ifornia for using profane language, the latter never thinks of questioning the re- port or of reproaching the reporter. It is a matter of duty and honor, and that is the end of it. California not only gets a formidable figure on the demerit books, but for many a weary Saturday afternoon he will have to confine himself to his room, or else walk extra, equipped as a sentinel, up and down the area of bar- Acks. But breakfast is over, time is up; the first captain makes quick but searching in- spection of each ta- ble to see that there has been no wast- age; the army offi- cer in charge, who isre quired to break- fast, dine, and sup on the identical fare which is laid before the cadets, comes forth from the stewards room and goes on to in- spect the kitchen. Each company in suc- cession receives the order to rise, and out 204 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. popular, because the most monotonous. For nearly an hour the battalion i exercised in the manual of arms, and though this drill is one which is taken up by battalion only a fort- night or so each year, it i~ of trifling interest to spec- tators, and a purely per- functory matter with the corps. Years ago, when the veteran Scott was chief of our little army, and it~ manceuvres were of the ponderous Prussian school, the manual, under such commandants as Major Worth and Charles F. Smith, was a miracle of precision and beauty, and the old-fashioned smooth- bore cadet muskets, with shining bands and barrels, were brought to the pre- sent, charge, or or- der with a simultaneous. crash that could be heard across the Hudson, and ev- ery motion of hand or fin- ger was clock-work. But with the adoption of the light-infantry tactics here came a change that few failed to see. Possibly more of the spirit of the tactics of Hardee and Up- ton has been adopted by the corps than those emi- nent authors ever intend- ed; certain it is that when unhindered the battalion of cadets will slap through the manual of arms with an easy grace that is pe- into the air and sunshine, leaping down culiar to itself, and with small attention, the steps, go the youngsters; quickly they after the initiatory squad drills, to the spring into ranks, and suddenly every finer points of the tactics. The general voice but one is stilledthe omnipotent effect is attractive and business-like it first captain againand by his command is all so deft and quick, but the old pre- the platoons wheel northward, and once cision of movement can no longer be more to lively music the battalion march- claimed for it. The manual is a mat- es briskly away. The sentry on No. 6 sa- ter to which our crack regiments in the lutes as they cross his post; one instant National Guard give great prominence they stand motionless after wheeling into and careful teaching; with the Corps of line, and then, at the command, Break Cadets it is of minor importance, and only ranksmarch ! scatter like a great covey when some new Commandant happens in, of quail all over camp. or a tactical officer who is a stickler for Next comes morning drill, the most un- points, is there any attempt to hammer OFFICER OF THE DAY. H z 0 0 H H 0 0 206 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the battalion into mechanical accuracy again. There is a brief reaction, some sharp drilling by the numbers for a week or two; then the matter is gradually forgotten in the press of something more important, and the corps easily slips back into its own jaunty, nonchalant style, and keen-eyed citizen-soldiers who have run up from the armories of the Seventh or Twenty- second, in New York, note how this motion or the other is slighted, and wonder what it means. It simpiy means that at the Point and in the regular service the old Prussian precision is a thing of the past; officers, cadets, and sol- diers have a dozen things of far greater importance to think of and attend to; ce- lerity is the word; and yetwere it hint- ed to the battalion that the manual was to be overhauled this particular day on parade, the whole command would brace up and execute the entire programme in a way that would confound the critics. Morning drill over, there is another scattering to tents. Busy police details from the lower classes put the company streets in perfect order; not a feather, a match, a wisp of straw, or scrap of paper is to be seen. All around and between the tents the details work, supervised by the vigilant eyes of some corporal, who well knows that should anything be amiss at inspection, no one but himself will be held responsible. Nominally the Third and Fourth classes are both represented on each police detail, but if the bulk of the work be not done to this day by the plebes, the system is radically changed from that of twenty-five years ag6, when they did all of it. Busy preparation is going on in each of the tents. Three, sometimes four, cadets are the occupants of each, and one of the inmates is orderly. His business it is to see that the wooden tent floor is care- fully swept, the blankets, pillows, and comforters accurately and squarely piled in the easternmost corner of the floor and farthest from the company street; spare shoes neatly polished and aligned at the back of the floor; all can- dles, candlesticks, cleaning materials, and miscellaneous items stowed away in the tin candle box which stands at the foot of the rear tent pole just behind the butts of the polished rifles; all belts, sabres, bay- onet scabbards, and other equipments dusted, and hanging from their pegs on the rear tent pole; the jaunty dress hats perched on their appropriate shelf; all woollen clothing, overcoats, coatees, rid- ing jackets, etc., neatly swung on a rack beneath the ridge-pole; all other clothing, including white trousers, belts, gloves, col- lars, and the like, stowed in the locker a West Point expression for a long wood- en box, about the size and shape of a cof- fin case, painted a dull green, and utterly innocent of lock or key. It is divided into four compartments, each a hollow cube of about eighteen inches cross sec- tion, each with separate lid, inside which are tacked some straps for brushes, shav- ing implements, etc.; and this locker is the sole stowaway the cadet can have for his summer belongings. Such books as are needed or permitted in camp must be neatly piled at the rear end of the locker, and behind it is stowed the broom. The white stone-ware washbowl rests, bottom outward, against the floor near the front end of the locker; the water bucket stands close beside it; a little wooden-framed mirror is perched on the front tent pole; and every item must be of the prescribed pattern, and purchased at the cadet com- missary store, even to the soap that is placed behind the washbowl. Hypercrit- ical visitors have been known to inquire if each piece of soap must be worn to uni- form thickness,but the sarcasm has fallen harmless upon the armor of West Point authority. Every article has its prescribed place, and must be nowhere else, or the young gentleman whose name stands top- most on the little orderly board that decks the front tent pole will hear of it through the delinquency book within the next twenty-four hours. It would take the uninitiated visitor half a day to put one of these tents in proper order for in- spection, but the expert yearling will do it in three minutes, and as the first drum taps for morning parade he issues from his domicile, buttoned to the throat in faultlessly fitting uniform, his collar, belts, gloves, cuffs, and trousers of glis- tening white, his shoes, belt plates, and brasses gleaming with polish, and his rifle in perfect order: a cambric handkerchief could not flick a particle of dust from his attire. The company grounds are picturesque sights at this hour. Up by the guard tents numbers of gayly dressed spectators are sauntering in to take their accustom- ed seats in the grove at the west end. The band, headed by its stately drum-major, CADET LIFE AT WEST POINT. 207 comes marching across the plain from its barracks below the hill. A group of offi- cers approaches from the distant mess, and the sentry on No. 1 rattles his piece to arms port, and the heights re-echo to his stentorian shout, Turn out the guard Commandant of Cadets ! or his similar announcement of the approach of some equally exalted functionary; the members of the guard scramble for the arm racks, seize their rifles, form ranks, and present arms with a unanimity and precision that would de- light any man not accustomed to such displays of adulation. Down in camp, the company streets are alive with cadets in full dress awaiting the fall in signal of the second drum, and along the row of company officers tents a dozen young satraps are winding themselves into their sashes as none but cadets ever think of doing, and only cadets succeed in obtaining so excellent a final effect. As an item of uniform, the sash, which used to be worn by all officers, is now restricted to the two grades which are best worth having general and cadet; the intermediate are hardly worth mention in com- parison with either and no general in the army or out of it can beat a cadet lieutenant ~ in the art of putting on a sash. The latter ties one end around the tent pole, steps off to its full length of seven or eight feet, then slowly winds himself into it until twice or jA? thrice it has encircled his slender waist in a fiat crimson girdle; then knots it in graceful loop behind the left hip, and the effect is complete. Suddenly the drum again taps sharply. The gray and white flocks in each company street resolve themselves 7~ % 7 into two long parallel files, elbow to elbow, that face sud- 31) denly outward from the centre of the camp at the last tap; PLEBE DRILL. the glistening rifles spring up to support arms, and each first sergeant calls off his roll as though the last thing lie were thinking of was the answering liere; one after another the white-gloved hands snap the pieces down to the carry and order as each man answers to his name; the sergeant faces his captain with soldierly salute and takes his post; the captain whips out his shining sword; the lieutenants step to their postsand then begins the sharp inspection. Man after man is passed under the scrutinizing eye of the young officer. A speck of rust about the rifle, a dingy belt plate, a soiled or rumpled collar, a tear in the glove, a spot on the trousers, dust on the shoes, a single button missing or unfastened, any one of these or similar solecisms, be it on part of First Class man or plebe, tent-mate or stranger, friend or foe, will probably be noted on the company delinquency book that day, and published by the adjutant to the whole battalion the next evening. The captain I 208 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. is a man of few words; to the upper-class man a mere look tells what is amiss; to the plebe he frequently adds a brief ad- monition or reproof. Poor young bears! they have a host of troubles to encoun- ter, and a thousand things to learn in less than a month. To see them, even when not in ranks or on duty, walking about camp, during their first summer at the Point, with their little fingers pressed to the seams of their trousers, and the palms of their hands flat to the front, so that the shoulders have to be square, and their backs flat as an ironing-board, one only wonders that even old age can ever bend or bow them. Inspection over, there is a moments breathing spell. Then the adjutant, with his sergeant-major and markers, appears at the head of the general parade, raises his hand in signal to the band, the drum- major whirls his baton, drums and fifes strike up the lively notes of adjutants call, the full band crashes into the mar- tial melody of a spirited quickstep, and the four companies come striding forth. There is no moments delay, but with the ease and grace of long practice the adju- tant forms the line, the captains march their perfectly drilled commands to their appointed places, guides spring out to the front, ranks are dressed to the centre, the band abruptly ceases, and the ringing voice of the adjutant orders, Guides posts ! Each in turn, the four companies are brought to the carry, order, and parade rest, the drum-major whirls his baton again, there is a flourish of trumpets and drums, and then band and field music come trooping down in front of that statuesque line of gray and white. It is a sight well worth seeing any bright sum- mer morning, and there are hosts of look- ers onmothers, sisters, and sweethearts by the dozen, each one of whom has in those motionless ranks some especial ca- det who is the central object of her thoughts, however general may be the flow of conversation. Back to its post goes the band, after a bewildering counter- march, near the sentry on No. 6; there is another flourish, another abrupt stop to the music, and in its place there rings upon the morning air the clear young voice of the adjutant as he calls the line to attention, opens the ranks, then comes gleaming down to the centre, turns sharply to the right in front of the colors, and with quick, springy steps the most envied youth at the Point stalks out to the front, halts midway to the command- ing officer, faces about, and at his next word arms clash to the present. Once more he faces the dark blue figure stand- ing solitary at the front, lowers his sword in graceful salute, and reports: Sir, the parade is formed. The officer in com- mand may be a hero of a dozen battles and brevets, but to lookers on, cadet and civilian, tis safe to say he is an object of small consequence as compared with the graceful stripling who takes his place at his side. Possibly it is the consciousness of this fact that makes his own share in the ceremony so brief and perfunctory. He puts the battalion through a very short exercise in the manual, and then, with an air of evident relief, turns over the control of affairs to the adjutant once more. The first sergeants and the plume-crested co- lossus of a drum-major make their precise reports; then with simultaneous clash the officers return swords, and face toward the centre; the adjutant and his fellow- magnates close in front of the colors, face the commanding officer in a long line of black plumes and red sashes. Forward, guide centre 1 is the adjutants next com- mand, and at the word march the band again strikes up, and with perfect align- ment a full score of young captains and subalterns march jauntily to the front, halt short at six yards from the lonely- looking party in sombre blue, together the white-gloved hands are raised in soldierly salute, together they drop, and the stat- uesque line becomes a scattering flock as the plumes and sashes scurry back to the tents, whither the companies march at the same instant. It often happens in camp that morning inspection follows instead of precedes dress parade as time is short. In this case the captains put their men through the ordeal while a detail from each company, conducted by the first ser- geant, is proceeding to another, guard- mounting, the prettiest ceremony of the day. To all but those marching on with the new guard this half-hour is the bright- est between the rising and setting of the sun, for the moment inspection is over all cadets not on duty and who have friends among the lady spectators are mingling with them back of the guard tents, and fun and flirtation begin forthwith. It is a short half-hour, for all too soon the warning drum is thundering again, and / , I L~1 t 210 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. leave-takings are of the briefest descrip- tion. Sharp at the stroke of nine the classes are again in ranks, and the hour of battery drill has come. The plebes march stiffly out to the field guns south of camp; the yearlings, wheeling into column of sections, swing jauntily off un- der their detail of First Class officers to where the battery horses have already been hitched to the limbers and caissons out on the cavalry plain, and that portion of the senior class not required as chiefs of platoon or section at the field batteries is already springin~ down the winding path to the sea-coast battery at the waters edge, and presently you will hear a thun- der of great guns that will stun all Orange Countyor would, but for the barriers of the massive hills that shut us in on every side. The liveliest spectacle, however, is here on the plain, for of all the drills and ex- ercises in which the cadet excels he is ~rt his best in those of the mounted service. Daring horsemen are the youngsters after two years practice in the riding hall, and light battery drill is a famous place for exhibition. Watch the boys as they go to their stations. The seniors, in their riding dress, gauntlets, and cavalry sa- bres, swing easily into the saddles of the somewhat vicious-looking steeds that are held in readiness for them, adjust their stirrups, take a preliminary and surrep- titious dig with their spurred heels to test the mettle of their nags, then clatter off to their posts to look over the horses and drivers of their detachments. The year- lings in their natty shell jackets stand ready at the guns; the bugle blares the signal cannoneers mount, and, like so many agile monkeys, they spring to their seats on the ammunition chests, and with another bugle blast, and rumble of hoof and wheel and clink of trunnion, away goes the battery down the gravelly plain. There are a few preliminary moves to warm them up to their work; the battery commander, a young artillery officer who knows his trade, swings them to and fro, faster and faster, from one formation to other column, line, and battery and then, as though ordered to check the ad- vance of an enemy swarming up the heights and give him canister at short range, with cracking whips and plunging steeds and rattle and roar of hoof and wheel, and hoarse - throated commands and stirring bugle peals, up the plain they come at tearing gallop until opposite the crowd of spectators at the guard tents, when there is a short, sudden blast, a simultaneous shout from the chiefs, a vision of rearing horses as the lieutenants and sergeants halt short on line with the brilliant guidongenerally the most pic- turesque horseman of the warlike throng, and always posted on the flank nearest the ladiesa flash of sabres in the air, a sudden rein in of the line of caissons, and gradual settle down to a. stand, long before which, nimble as cats, the cannon- eers have sprung from their seats, and are streaking. it across the gap to where the chiefs are seated on their excited chargers. Around sweep the guns with sudden swirl that wellnigh capsizes themthe three youngsters on each limber seemingly hanging on as though seated on sticking plastersthere is a rattle and bang of pintle-hooks, hoarse shouts of Drive on to the gun teams; gray and white forms leap and sway in and out among the wheels; sponges and rammers whirl in air; there is a belch of flame, smoke, and thunder-cloud, a bellowing roar; another, anotherhalf a dozen in quick succession; a thick sulphurous haze settles down on the plain and envelops guns and gun- ners; and suddenly comes another blare of bugle. Cease firing is the shout, and the mimic scene of Buena Vista is over. Even before the smoke has cleared away another order is given, with prompt, ex- citing response; plunging horses, crack- ing whips, a rush of teams, limbers, arid caissons between the black muzzles of the guns; a sudden whirl about of wheels and handspikes, and the next instant smoke and flame are belching in thunder-claps over the very ground where stood the waiting teams only a moment before. Then comes still another signal, a stowing: away of handspikes and rammers, a rapid rein-about of the limber teams, another blare, and away they go, the white legs. of the cannoneers flashing in a race be- side their bounding guns; a rush across the road to the edge of the grassy level beyond, another sudden whirl into bat- tery, a thundering salute to the rocky heights to the west, an echoing roar from. the great columbiads and Parrotts at the sea-coast down by the Hudson, and the Point fairly trembles with the shock and concussion. There is no hour of the day to match the excitement and elan of that of battery drill. CADET LIFE AT WEST POINT. 211 Ten oclock puts an end to it. Back come all the classes to their tents, the yearlings glowing with exhilaration and life, the plebes big with prospective achievements in the same line, the First Class men dignified and deliberate, as becomes their station. There is but short respite. By 10.30 the drum again sum- mons all to ranks, and away they go, in long, white-legged columns, the seniors to pontooii drill down at the bay, the yearlings to the laboratory, where they learn all manner of pyrotechny, the plebes to recitation in tactics, and thence to an hours drill of a far different kind. West Point aims to make its graduates gen- tlemen as well as soldiers, and gentlemen must mingle in society to gain there the polish and ease which should mark the well-bred man. Good dancers have always been found among the cadets, but for years this was an elective accomplish- ment. Observant officers noted that as a rule only those cadets who danced were apt to seek the society of ladies, and every one knows that in forming the man- miers of a gentleman association with re- fined and cultured women is simply in- dispensable. Hence the now inflexible rule that every cadet must learn to dance, as he does to ride, fence, shoot, spar, and swim, and before he begins his long tus- sle with mathematics and science the em- bryo soldier is turned over to the daily ministration of a Turveydrop. At one oclock the whole battalion marches to dinner as to break- fast, except that on days of unu- sual warmth they are clad from head to foot in glistening white helmets, shell jackets, and trousers all spotless as the driv- en snow. The First and Third classes take their turns with the dancing teacher during the early afternoon. At four oclock po- lice call sounds, and the entire space within the line of sentries is scrupulously spruced up by details from the lower classes. The whole battalion forms under arms as the sun goes westering down, and with the long skirmish lines flrin~ in ad- vance or retreat, rallying on the reserves. and around the colors, or deploying at the run, volleying at imaginary charges of cavalry, or picking off the distaftt leaders of a smoke-shrouded adversary, all to the THE ROW~~ AT DRESS rARADE. 0 0 z 0 CADET LIFE AT WEST POINT. 213 ringing accompaniment of skirmish calls on the key-bugles, the scene is beautiful and inspiring. The Point bee,ins toward sundown to fill up with carriages and omnibuses (Gen- eral Scott always insisted on omnibi) from the many summer resorts along the river-bank below, and when the drum taps for evening parade the throng of spec- tators is far greater than at troop, and the ceremony is still more stately. The bang of the sunset gun and the flutter to earth of the great garrison flat,, add vivid interest to nervous souls, and sometimes lead to sudden capsizing of camp - stools with their startled occu- pants, and to a con- sequently percepti- ble seismic effect on the usually stolid line. Laughingin ranks is one among the million military misdemeanors for which a cadet can acquire demerit, and - a broad grin, be it noiseless as a kit- tens footfall, is laughter in the inexorable military sense. And so from sun- rise to sunset, after which comes the march to supper, the day has been one of ceaseless duty and instruction, but so full of life, variety, and spirited move- ment that it is not in camp that the cadet finds cause to chafe at the monoto- ny. There have even been blissful morn- ing hours for the two dozen young fel- lows relieved at half past eight from guard duty, and given until dinner roll- call to recuperate. These may roam at will over the heights and ravines to the west, look down from the battlements of VOL. LXXV.No. 44014 Fort Putnam upon that superb panorama of earth and water, the rock-bound prom- ontory with its tented field, the glistening ribbon of river stretching away northward through the great gorge of the Highlands, the distant spires of Newburgh, the faint, mist-wreathed outlines of the Catskills oh, what a view to look back upon in af- ter years of isola- tion on the frontier, in lonely scout amid wastes of desert sage-brush and al- kali! If the day be warm, the cadet may visit the bath-houses over near Target Hill, and tempt the swift tides of the Hudson under the wary eye of the Ger- man Schwimrn-rnei- ster, who is so proud of the experts he makes in general athletics and with fist and foil and broadsword. But there are at- tractions which out- rival these, and still more likely, with some sweet-faced en- slaver, the cadet may wander through the shades of that ever- beautiful Chain Battery walk, that long since resigned its official title in favor of one so infi- nitely more descrip- tive . Flirtation and there barter his buttons for smiles that may serve to sweeten only the idle chat of a sum- mers hour, or in- thrall him in a web of silken memories that will bind him close and closer, a will- ing victim in her maiden toils. Every decade our statisticians labor over the question of the shifting centre of popula- tion of these United States, but no contro- versy arises as to the actual centre of flirta- tion: all authorities unite on West Point. Evening is our young soldiers gala ON FLIRTATION. 214 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. time. Three nights a week the grini cor- ridors of the old Academic are alive with music, laughter, the swish of silken skirts, and animated movement to and fro of dozens of fair girls in dainty evening dress, and of slender cavaliers in gray and white, often brightened with crimson sash and glitteringchevrons. Even the hops are run on military time. Precisely at the appointed hour the floor-manager signals to his musicians, and the first dance begins. Precisely at the designated moment, be it in the very midst of dreamy waltz or spir- ited Lancers, the inevitable and inexorable drum crashes through the resounding cor- ridors its imperious summons; the dancers scurry away to the dressing-rooms; the la- dies are bundled into the waiting buses or led away by faithful chaperons; the gray and white cavaliers exchange hur ned yet often most effec- tive good - nights with their fair partners; the drums and fifes strike up their shrill tattoo far over in camp: and away go the future hopes of the nation, scudding to their com- panies to avoid a late. For the eighth and last time that day the sergeants call their rolls and report to their captains, the captains to the adjutant or officer of the day, while the officer in charge, an army lieutenant, stands close at hand to see that all is in regular form. Then fol- low ten minutes chat, subdued scuffle and laughter in the company streets while the youngsters are making down their beds for the night (nothing but blankets on the hard tent floors); then comes a sudden single tap on the snare-drum at the guard tents, sharp orders of Put out those lights ! two more similar taps, and before the last has died away the darkness of Erebus has settled down on camp, and all is silent as the grave. For a few minutes the cadet officers pa- trol their company streets to insure order, and then the officers of the guard are left in charge. The sentries pace their silent posts, watchful, wary, for they know not when, nor how, nor how many disturbers may appear, and the faintest lack of effi- ciency is visited by prompt punishment. I did not see, or 1 did not hear, is an excuse that is never accepted, for sen- tries must be all eyes, ears, wits, and pluck. Even First Class men when on post are THE GRADUATING HOP. CADET LIFE AT WEST POINT. 215 subjected to manifold tests of their know- ledge of sentry duty, but to the plebe the first few nights on guard are of vivid in- terest. Time was when as a means of making these youthful guardsmen experts in their art, the authorities winked at what was known as deviling plebes on posta species of horse-play that had in- finite zest for all the participants except the plebe. Spectres, spooks, goblins damned, ghosts of Andrd and Arnold, great hi- yankidanks, cavalry on broomsticks, its tents at the tap of the drum,and march- es with flying colors to the great gray bar- racks. Here the young soldiers are housed for the long academic year, and for ten months of unremitting study. So long as the weather will permit, there is one drill each afternoon but Saturday and Sunday, the weekly inspection of the battalion un- der arms, and the daily guard mount and parade, but now everything is subordinated to the mental training, and a dozen articles the size of this could give but faint de light batteries of wheelbarrows, cow-boys with lassoseach and all must be seen, challenged, halted, until examined by a corporal of the guard, and as all were apt to come at the same instant, and from ev- ery possible direction, the unlucky sen- try was often at his wits end; often, too, whirled off his post and roped into Fort Clinton ditch. But deviling plebes,as cohducted in the rough old days, is one of the lost arts at the Point. Barrack life is a far different thing. On the 28th of August the furlough class returns to duty, the corps strikes scription of the course of study. Let us look rather to the mode of life as now pre- scribed. Four stories high are the barracks, with spacious cellars underneath; dry, well ven- tilated, heated by steam, and lighted by gas. Ten hallways with iron stairs pierce the massive building from front to rear, each hallway being termed a division of barracks. Each division has four rooms on a floor, two on each side of the hall, and all rooms except those in the great towers are of the same size, shape, and finish. The end farthest from the win- j7 / .7 SUNDAY MORNING INSrECTION. 216 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. dow is partitioned off into two alcoves, with a cross-piece for curtains. Each alcove contains an iron bedstead against the wall, and a row of iron hooks against the par- tition. Each room is furnished with a stout table, an iron mantel, a double set of open shelves called a clothes- press, a little shelf for helmets and dress hats, a wooden arm rack, and wooden pegs for caps and ac- coutrements. Two cadets, as a rule, occupy each room, each having an alcove to himself and the above- named sumptuous list of furniture to begin honse- keeping. Each purchases at the commis- sary store a single mattress for his bed, and, if he choose, a set of curtains of prescribed pattern and color for his alcove. In common they provide a wooden wash- stand, two buck- ets, two wash- bowls (we used to ~ get along with one),abroom,a candle box (for anything but can- dles, which are conti aband in bai racks), and a little wooden-framed mirror. Each stows his white trou- ~ P. sers, under-clothing, shirts, belts, col- lars, cuffs, gloves, shavin~ tools, brushes, and combs on their appropri- ate shelves in his half of the clothes- press; each item in a separate pile of its own kind, neatly folded, folded edge to the front, sqnare and vertical and on line with front edge of shelf. All books except those in actual use are squarely stood up, backs to front, EN REcONNAISsANcE. CADET LIFE AT WEST POINT. 217 against the wall on top of clothes-press. Each cadet neatly prints his name and puts it over his shelves, his accoutrements, his alcove, and in the slips of the orderly board; each folds his bedding, mattress and all, on the head of his bedstead, and not until tattoo can it be taken down; each hangs his clothing in prescribed or- der on the iron hooks, overcoat on first, uniform coat on second,trousers on third, shell jackets and riding rig further back, and the clothes-bag for soiled linen, etc., last of all; each ranges his shoes (no boots allowed) in accurate line, toes to front, at foot of bed; each takes week about as orderly, and must sweep and dust and do up everything in the room outside of his comrades alcove during his orderly week, and from the first of September un- til the middle of June he can count on that rooms being inspected at least twice each day and sometimes oftener, and on being himself spotted on the demerit books if the least thing be found out of place or in disorder. At daybreak the roar of the reveille gun and the thunder of the drums sum- mon him to roll-call, and he goes down those iron stairs four and five at a jump. After that he has half an hour in which to sweep, settle things, make up his bed, wash and dress for the day (reveille garb is incomplete as to interior detail), dust his furniture, and prepare for the inspec- tion which must come at the next roll of the drum. Tben he has his early break- fast, and time for some study before reci- tations begin at eight. Guard is mount- ed with all formality on the infantry plain, in front of the Super- intendents, in fine weather, and on the broad piazzas of the bar- racks when it storms. Roll- calls are as regular, though not as frequent, as in camp, but from 8A.M. to 1 P.M. no cadet can enter any room in barracks except his own, or leave his own except to go to reci- tation. From 2 until 4 P.M. the same rule obtains. At 4.15 in spring and fall are the artillery or infantry drills, and at some seasons the riding lessons of the Third Class. At sunset is the inevitable re- treat parade; then an hour, perhaps, for exercise and relaxation. Supper in due course, and half an hour afterward the bu- gle wails the dismal call to quarters, which summons every cadet to his room. - ------ / - CANDIDATES TURN OUT PROMPTLY 1 218 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. In ten minutes the sentries inspect. All right ? they ask, as they make their hur- ried visit to the different rooms, and the answer covers a multitude of things, but is conclusive; and so the evening study hours begin. You may pass the bright- ly lighted front of barracks any wintry evening and hear not a sound but the tramp of the sentries on the lower floor. A. cadet who quits his room to visit that of a comrade does it at no little risk. If seen or heard by the sentry, or caught at it by the tactical officer or officer of the day, he is booked for certain demerits, and the punishment of extras, or con- finement during the one hebdomadal half- holiday. One hundred demerits in six months will sever the connection of any cadet with the academy and the military ser- vice; and with very small exercise of in- genuity a cadet can pick up the entire number in a single day, and do it with- out leaving his room either. It was a cadet tradition that the gifted Edgar Allan Poe showed a phenomenal ability in that line. Rigid as is the discipline and unbend- ing the routine, time fairly flies through those months of barrack life. The cadet marches to his recitations with the same precision and silence that he marches to parade, and is no sooner out of one recita- tion-room than he must begin preparation for another. As a rule, there are but three recitations a daytwo in the morn- ing and one in the afternoon. Mathe- matics, mechanics, and engineering are disposed of between eight and eleven, each half of each class reciting ninety minutes, and each class being divided into sections of ten to twelve cadets to facilitate instruc- tion. Each section has its own recitation- room, and its own instructor in the person of a young officer who is especially skilled in the science or study being pursued. From eleven until one, chemistry, geol- ogy, French, and Spanish are the main topics; and in the drowsy afternoons his- tory, law, and drawing keep the youngsters busy. All this sounds as though the work were sedentary, and that no exercise crept in, but such is far from the case. The plebes have their daily gymnastics under a skilful teacher, and the three upper class- es have the liveliest kind of exercise in their lessons in horsemanship. West Point riding deserves a chapter by itself, for it would be a revelation to the city schools. Bareback, with crossed stirrups, with ev- ery kind of a horse except an easy one, the boys have to rough it for a year or~ more before they get a foot-rest. The big, gloomy riding-hall has its agile tenants day after day during the fall and winter months, and few indeed are the boys who are not time and again rolled in the tan - bark or pitched headlong over the hurdles. A cat with its reputed plural- ity of lives would be dead a dozen times over in taking half the chances those laughing youngsters will eagerly seek in their three years at cavalry and light- artillery drill, but it seems impossible to kill a cadet, and just as hard to scare one. More reckless, daring, graceful riding one need never look to see than among the Seniors when they come before the Board of Visitors in June; and all through the spring, varied by occasional scouts and reconnoissances over the rough mountain roads, the drills of the cavalry battalion on the plain are sights that one can nev- er tire of watching; while after an hours running at the heads, or leaping hur- dles bareback, picking up handkerchiefs from the ground, or mounting and dis- mounting at a gallop, the boys come back from the hall covered with glory, and tan - bark, but with famous appetites and few bruises. No, there is no especial lack of exercise even in the weeks of hard- est study. Only during those dread cx- aminations in January do some of the youngsters seem to lose their color; but the questions they then have to answer, the two weeks ordeal they then have to~ undergo, are enough to scare an encyclo- p~edia. The winter soon wears away, the spring- time comes, and then June, the month of rosesand graduation. Even as the stal- wart Seniors are passing their final exam- inations the Point begins to fill up with several score of young strangersshy, suspicious youths, in civilian garb of a. dozen different fashions, but in singularly unanimous frame of mind. One and all they have heard rumor of the rough usages that formerly surrounded the ini- tiation of the new cadet, and are on the watch for similar demonstrations. No graduate will attempt to deny that there was a time in the history of the academy when there was a vast deal of hazing, and that it was continued for the entire period of camp; but the plebes them- selves would seldom make complaint or- CADET LIFE AT WEST POINT. 219 give information of their tormentors; nine out of ten took it all grimly or good-hu- moredly, and those who whined or pro- tested at all were sure to be the head devils of the next years work. Deviling was ordinarily conducted with rare discrimina- tion; those young men who were solid, self-respecting, putting on no airs, and minding their own business, managed to get along with very little trouble; whereas the yearlings went wild with ecstasy over a bumptious new-coiner with a high opinion of himself. His life was made a burden to him, and no mistake. Still, no bodily harm was ever inflicted except through some unforeseen accident. Haz- ing as conducted at one time or other in every college in the United States has had far more that was really harmful about it than the system as it prevailed at the Point; but the latter was public property, and far more notice was taken according ly. At most colleges, too, it was the meek and most friendless of the Freshmen who came in for the liveliest hazing; the rich and influential had means of escape. At West Point the very opposite was the case: the higher in rank or riches was the father, the more presumably had the son to be taken down, to reach the rabidly democratic standard of the corps. In course of time, however, public sen- timent set in very strongly against the practice. It took hard work to uproot it, for the ingenuity and activity of the corps are something phenomenal; but the thing has been done, and to-day the ancient and objectionable custom is but the shadow of a formerly vigorous substance. The plebes are drilled as sharply and disci- plined as thoroughly as ever before, the line of demarcation between theirs and the senior classes is still maintained, but the tricks and pranks, the fagging that rendered life a burden, and the yanking that made night hideous, and with them all that had a tendency to the harmful, have been practically abolished. In three-quarters of a century of useful- ness and success the Point has known no era of higher scholarship, of sounder dis- cipline, and of more brilliant promise than that which culminates with the adminis- tration of the last five years; and the re- port of the Board of Visitors of 1886, sev- eral of whose number were animated by an unusually searching spirit of investi- gation, and stimulated possibly by com- plaints of undue severity and needless re- strictions, has stamped its every military feature, drill, discipline, and instruction, with the seal of its unqualified approval. A CENTRAL SOUDAN TOWN. BY JOSEPH THOMSON. THE general public, gathering its im- pressions from contemporary litera- ture, has come to look upon the whole of central Africaor, in other words, that part undiluted by contact or intermixture with foreign or Asiatic racesas a region wholly inhabited by barbarians, chiefly characterized by extraordinary customs, the most de~,raded forms of fetichism and cannibalism, with, it may be, a decided taste for gin. That this popular notion is erroneous in a marked degree it will be the object of this article to point out. With this view I propose to describe a town inhab- ited by purely African races, and situated in the central part of that continental zone called the Soudana term now too often popularly restricted to the eastern division, or Egyptian Soudan. Let us imagine that it is the month of June, near the close of the dry season; that, personally conducted by me, a party, consisting of the readers of this article, have voyaged along the west coast of Af- rica to the mouth of the river Niger, safe- ly passed the malarious region of the delta and lower reaches of that famous river, and then, by excessively weary overland marches, come from the south to the neighborhood of the central Soudan town which has been the goal of our pilgrim- age. As we struggle up a low rocky hill of lava aspect we are reminded by the terrific heat that Herodotus describes the people we are now among as being in his time strangely characterized by the daily custom of cursing and shaking their fists at the sun at mid-day. We have long ceased to wonder at this, for we have en- joyed experiences unknown to the illus- trious geographer, and exposed as we are to the sweltering heat of his solar majes- ty unmitigated by the shadow of a cloud, we are painfully aware of a tendency to revert to the primitive habit. The worst, however, is over, and the crest of the hill is reached, and as we pause to regain breath and mop our streaming faces, we may, as is the habit of personally conducted parties, improve our mind by a few judicious remarks tending to make clear our whereabouts. We are now at a distance of 1500 miles south of the Mediterranean, about the same west from the Atlantic, though only about 800 miles north from the Gulf of Guinea, so that there is no mistake about our being in the heart of Africa. Imme- diately to the north of us lie the wild and inhospitable plateau lands of Asben, pass- ing into the barren wastes of the Sahara; to the west rolls the Niger, and beyond lie regions yet unpenetrated by the restless energy of the white man, for its savage tribes and pestiferous forests are more formidable barriers than even waterless and burning deserts; to the south lie the countries which we have just traversed, equally deadly and dangerous, and which, like the district to the west, would have been impenetrable but for the fact that the Niger winds in glistening reaches, cleaving a way through the primeval for- ests and malarious delta to the ocean as if for the special advantage of the ubiqui- tous traveller; eastward extend wilder- nesses as barren and hazardous as those to the north. It will thus be seen that if our town is tin~,ed with the bright flush of dawning civilization, it owes little to its environment. The landscape which lies below and in front of us, owing to the unseasonable pe- nod of the year, is not by any means an attractive one, though in its apparent des- ert-like barrenness not without a certain element of impressiveness. The scorch- ing dry season, now drawing near a close, has transformed the whole country into a series of bare rocks, glaring sands, and red fields, which seem incapable of raising anything for either man or beast. The air heated on these furnace-like plains rises in hazy undulations, and comes waft- ed to us laden with dust in an almost un- breathable condition. The only feature which relieves the unutterable monotony of the scene is the occurrence here and there of grim, rugged, solitary trees, which bid defiance to the scorching sun and arid soil, and the appearance of a serpentine line of green stretching snake-like along the plain, indicating the verdure - clad banks of a dried-up stream winding west- ward toward the Niger. If we now turn our attention to the northern aspect of the hill on which we stand, we shall observe extending for- ward a low broken platform some three

Joseph Thomson Thomson, Joseph A Central Soudan Town 220-235

A CENTRAL SOUDAN TOWN. BY JOSEPH THOMSON. THE general public, gathering its im- pressions from contemporary litera- ture, has come to look upon the whole of central Africaor, in other words, that part undiluted by contact or intermixture with foreign or Asiatic racesas a region wholly inhabited by barbarians, chiefly characterized by extraordinary customs, the most de~,raded forms of fetichism and cannibalism, with, it may be, a decided taste for gin. That this popular notion is erroneous in a marked degree it will be the object of this article to point out. With this view I propose to describe a town inhab- ited by purely African races, and situated in the central part of that continental zone called the Soudana term now too often popularly restricted to the eastern division, or Egyptian Soudan. Let us imagine that it is the month of June, near the close of the dry season; that, personally conducted by me, a party, consisting of the readers of this article, have voyaged along the west coast of Af- rica to the mouth of the river Niger, safe- ly passed the malarious region of the delta and lower reaches of that famous river, and then, by excessively weary overland marches, come from the south to the neighborhood of the central Soudan town which has been the goal of our pilgrim- age. As we struggle up a low rocky hill of lava aspect we are reminded by the terrific heat that Herodotus describes the people we are now among as being in his time strangely characterized by the daily custom of cursing and shaking their fists at the sun at mid-day. We have long ceased to wonder at this, for we have en- joyed experiences unknown to the illus- trious geographer, and exposed as we are to the sweltering heat of his solar majes- ty unmitigated by the shadow of a cloud, we are painfully aware of a tendency to revert to the primitive habit. The worst, however, is over, and the crest of the hill is reached, and as we pause to regain breath and mop our streaming faces, we may, as is the habit of personally conducted parties, improve our mind by a few judicious remarks tending to make clear our whereabouts. We are now at a distance of 1500 miles south of the Mediterranean, about the same west from the Atlantic, though only about 800 miles north from the Gulf of Guinea, so that there is no mistake about our being in the heart of Africa. Imme- diately to the north of us lie the wild and inhospitable plateau lands of Asben, pass- ing into the barren wastes of the Sahara; to the west rolls the Niger, and beyond lie regions yet unpenetrated by the restless energy of the white man, for its savage tribes and pestiferous forests are more formidable barriers than even waterless and burning deserts; to the south lie the countries which we have just traversed, equally deadly and dangerous, and which, like the district to the west, would have been impenetrable but for the fact that the Niger winds in glistening reaches, cleaving a way through the primeval for- ests and malarious delta to the ocean as if for the special advantage of the ubiqui- tous traveller; eastward extend wilder- nesses as barren and hazardous as those to the north. It will thus be seen that if our town is tin~,ed with the bright flush of dawning civilization, it owes little to its environment. The landscape which lies below and in front of us, owing to the unseasonable pe- nod of the year, is not by any means an attractive one, though in its apparent des- ert-like barrenness not without a certain element of impressiveness. The scorch- ing dry season, now drawing near a close, has transformed the whole country into a series of bare rocks, glaring sands, and red fields, which seem incapable of raising anything for either man or beast. The air heated on these furnace-like plains rises in hazy undulations, and comes waft- ed to us laden with dust in an almost un- breathable condition. The only feature which relieves the unutterable monotony of the scene is the occurrence here and there of grim, rugged, solitary trees, which bid defiance to the scorching sun and arid soil, and the appearance of a serpentine line of green stretching snake-like along the plain, indicating the verdure - clad banks of a dried-up stream winding west- ward toward the Niger. If we now turn our attention to the northern aspect of the hill on which we stand, we shall observe extending for- ward a low broken platform some three A CENTRAL SOUDAN TOWN. 221 miles in circumference. Westward this platform grades into the plain, while north and east it drops abruptly in rugged precipitous cliffs. The scene which this platform presents is one of refreshing beauty in contrast with the surrounding landscape. At first we might imagine that a delightfully green and shady grove lies therenothing, in fact, but a veri- table oasis in the desert. We have no difficulty in distinguishing the now famil- iar abnormally bulky trunk of the ba- boah, which looks trebly monstrous be- side the graceful feathery acacias sur- rounding it; there are also numerous diim-pahns, strangely branched, as if in Bohemian protest against the prim mast- like stems which otherwise invariably distinguish the family of trees to which it belongs, and which is typically repre- sented in our landscape by th& tall and stately fan-palm. A closer inspection of this seeming grove soon dispels our first impression. Huts and houses in great numbers are observed peeping from amongst the trees, looking cool and cozy or hot and repellent, ac- cording as they lie in shade or sunshine, and at last the fact dawns upon us that here exists a town of several thousand in- habitants, and that we have almost un- awares reached our goal, for the town is Wurnu, residence of Umuru, King of the Mussulmans of the Soudan, and Sultan of Sokoto. The whole of the town is protected, as can be easily seen, by a massive wall of sun-dried bricks externally plastered with mud. The western front, being more li- able to attack than the hill and cliff de- fended aspects of the other sides, is fur- ther strengthened by a deep dry ditch or fosse running along the outside of the wall. In all Soudan towns the great aim is to prevent a sudden surprise from cav- alry, the chief strength of the Soudanese armies, and with such precautions as we have here it has often happened that towns have stood months and even years of regular siege before being reduced. Drawn by Harry Fran. Eagraved by Grimley. A VIEW IN WUEND. 222 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ~~1~_____ The entrances or gateways to the towns are conspicuous enough by the forts which guard them, not less than by the sight of people passing in and out. One of these, the Kofa-n-Rima, from which starts the road to Kano, the great commercial em- porium of those regions, appears prom- inently right below us. Protected by a massive square-built and flat-roofed tow- er, and with a door formed of thick roughly cut planks, and covered with iron plates, it can bid defiance to any destruc- tive weapon which an enemy can bring to bear upon it. A leafy, wide-spreading sycamore on the outside forms an admira- ble lounging ground for the gossips and idlers of the town, who watch the various travellers that enter, and thus constitute an effective news agency to spread a knowledge of distinguished or interesting arrivals, as well as of the affairs and events of the outside world, which they glean from strangers and foreign merchants. The only other features to be noticed from our point of vantage are the indica- tions of life which one naturally expects near a town of this size. It is only early in the morning or late in the afternoon, however, that the stir is great, as none but those wh~o of necessity must be out and active venture beyond the shelter of their houses, or from under their shady trees. A government messenger careering off on horseback, a humble trader, foot-sore, ur A SOUDANESE MERCUANT. A CENTRAL SOUDAN TOWN. 223 ging on with voice and hand his heavily loaded and life-burdened ass into the town, a lazy group of cattle under a tree, a herd of camels ruminating by the way- side, a few toilers in the dusty fields, or a woman here and there coming or going to the neighboring wells with large water- jars picturesquely poised on their heads, alone seem to indicate that Wurnu is not quite a Sleepy Hollow, but that some life throbs within its mud walls. Let us now descend from the hill and seek shelter from the sun. But first let me note the fact that we are the only Eu- ropeans who have entered this city since Barth, thirty years ago, visited it on his way to Timbuctoo, while he again was preceded by Clapperton in 1837, who died shortly after at the neighboring town of Sokoto. There is another matter about which it may be as well you should be prepared beforehand. Our reception will be something unique in the experience of most in our company. As we approach the town, and when least expected, a party of horsemen in fierce Bedonin-like array will spring from behind some cliff or out of an unseen hol- low, and with marrow-piercing war-cries and unearthly screams, spears levelled or swords uplifted, bear down upon us like a whirlwind, amid clouds of dust, appar- ently bent on annihilating or sending to Gehenna such infidels as ourselves. But even though you feel a decided want of backbone, a dozen spears, as it were, al- ready quivering in your bodies, and your heads not worth the purchase, pray do not run away, nor even blench for one mo- ment. Assume an indifferent expression, as if being chopped up or spitted on spears was a daily experience. If you can smile in the emergency, all the better, for just as we seem to feel the hot breath of their horses on our cheeks, and in a bewildered sort of way realize the disagreeable prox- imity of several spears, another shout will fill the air, the galloping horses as if by magic will stand stock-still, enveloping us in a cloud of dust, and by the cordial shouts of welcome and hearty salams we shall find a most pleasant assurance that all this fiendish display is intended as an honorable welcome to their town. Barely shall we have realized that this is the way they do these things in central Soudan, and that instead of being among foes we are among friends, when the horsemen are A GATEWAY OF WURNU. 224 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. off again, seemingly bent once more on annihilating an unseen enemy. Let us wait a minute, and from behind the gateway we shall hear the notes of native music, not such as would delight us at home, but yet harmonizing with our surroundings, and not without a cer- tain wild, weird charm of its own. Some of you may have heard similar shrill melancholy strains in the streets of Cairo in festival processions, or still more ap- propriately in Arab camps. Presently, however, the music will cease to monopo- lize your attention, as the musicians them- selves advance with their huge trumpets six feet long, their pipes and hour-glass- shaped tomtoms, heralding the approach of a Fillani nobleman. Following at no great distance comes the respected mag- nate, voluminously clothed, and mounted on a prancing fiery-eyed horse, one mass of rich trappings, which jingle and rustle at its every step. This is the messenger sent to bid us welcome by the Sultana task which lie will perform with that dignified bearing and inborn grace which seem somehow specially characteristic of Mohammedan races. This ceremony over, the horsemen will once more engage in mimic battle, showing their modes of fighting, and the skill with which they wield their weapons and manage their horses. Thus escorted, we shall be expect- ed to fall into procession, and headed by a court singer, who improvises a chant in our honor, which is accompanied by the pipes and accentuated by the stentorian notes of the trumpets and the unmusical notes of the tomtoms, we shall be con- ducted through wondering but respectful crowds to the quarters specially provided for us in the town. Let us imagine that this quaint and in- teresting ceremony is over, and that we are safely housed, that we have listened to a second messenger from the Sultan, and looked over the abundance of good things sent for our immediate entertain- ment, and finally have been left alone to refresh ourselves and rest after the ex- cessive fatigues of our journey. Toward the cool of the evening we can afford to wander forth once more, and seek new sights and scenes to gratify our lively curiosity. We must be prepared to be followed by crowds of the lowe~~ classes, more eager to see us than even we can be to see them. But observe how re- spectful they are, and how little of bar- barous vulgarity they have in their ex- amination of us, as compared with the pagan tribes we have hi.therto passed through on our journey to Wurnu. The streets of a town are generally the first thing to attract the attention of a visitor. Not so in Wurnu. Streets, in the ordinary sense of the term, there are none, for the simple reason that the whole area within the walls is divided into a series of compounds or courts, in which are sit- nated the various huts and houses for the use of the inhabitants. As the high boun- dary walls of these private areas have not been built according to any plan, the dif- ferent quarters of the town are reached by bewildering lanes, which are not only lines of communication, but not nncom- monly, as we can easily see, used also as a convenient kind of cloaca, into which all manner of refuse may legitimately be thrown, from a dead donkey to the refuse of the kitchen or the stables. The aspect of these lanes very much belies the gener- al character of the Haussa and Fillani as no African peoples I have met approach them in the cleanliness and tidiness of their own persons, and of the precincts of their courts and houses. Leaving for another occasion the ex- amination of the inside of their houses their penetralialet us wander through the town. Long dead-walls of glaring red clay suggesting prisons are varied by the occurrence here and there of a square tow- er-like building having an ordinary door- way to the street. From the roofs of these towers project long clay pipes to drain off the water from the fiat roofs. Sometimes, instead of a fiat-roofed build- in g, a conicalroofed erection takes its place, and in place of the ordinary Euro- pean-like doorway characteristic of all the square buildings, a horseshoe-shaped en- trance performs the same duty. Mats or fences of sorghum stalks replace not in- frequently the massive mud walls which enclose the compounds of the wealthy. These are all the architectural features which meet the inquiring gaze of the traveller. Having thus little to note in the houses we must turn to other objects for points of interest. And truly there is no lack. In shady nooks sit picturesque groups of natives in all kinds of combinations dis- cussing the news of the day, haggling over a purchase, or busily engaged in embroidery or making up of gowns and A CENTRAL SOUDAN TOWN. 225 trousers. This trade, we may note, is here entirely in the hands of men, who ply the needle with much skill. Further on we meet a courtier gorgeously dressed, look- ing ia his voluminous garments a very Falstaff in bulk, as he goes ambling past on his still more richly decorated horse, bent on a little exercise in the cool of the even- ing. Of the personal appearance of this aristocrat I shall not now speak, but we may take notice of the horse. By good luck here happens to be one standing waiting to be mounted, so we can more conveniently examine steed and trappings in detail. The animal before us is a very fair specimen of a Soudanese horse. It is somewhat lanky, with little beauty of line, but it is fiery-eyed, and its tail and mane, being uncut, give it a somewhat wild appearance. Soudanese horses are generally very vicious and difficult to manage, stallions alone being used for rid- ing purposes. They are specially trained for sudden forward charges, to stop within their own length when in full gallop, to turn with equal rapidity, and away like the wind out of harms way. At other times the favorite mode of progression is by making the horses left legs simultane- ously alternate with those of the right side, a method of travelling which is very pleasant and easy. The riders are fond of making their horses prance and plunge about with fierce and fiery action. There is nothing which the central Soudanese is so proud of as his horse, and nothing to which he devotes more time and atten- tion than its appearance and trappings. The head-gear is almost one mass of brass- plated ornaments, little bells, and a thou- sand tassels and flaps of leather in yellow, light blue, or dark red. The beautifully plaited reins would almost hold an ele- phant for strength, while the bits are per- fect instruments of torture. The lower jaw passes through a ring of iron, which is attached to a T-shaped bar lying in the mouth, and the whole arrangement is such as to give sufficient leverage to break the lower jaw without much difficulty. WEAPONS OF WAR AND CAVALRY AccOUTREMENTS. 226 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. So powerful is the bit that the slightest touch of the reins is sufficient to cause the poor brute to rear in the air, and not un- commonly fall back. The saddle is of the most ponderous as well as the most gorgeous description. The Soudanese artist revels here in his most intricate patterns and his richest col- ors, the favorite being crimson, blue, and gold. Gold-lace and fringes, velvets and silks, are alike impressed into use as they are for no other purpose. The rider sits bolstered up before and behind by erec- tions a foot high, which make mounting the saddle almost impossible without as- sistance. The stirrups are in keeping with the rest of the trappings, of great size, generally triumphs of the brass-workers art. The riding requirements are com- plete with the addition of a pair of shoes, to the heel of which are attached some formidable spikes, to do duty as spurs, to put new mettle in the horse by the draw- ing of some blood. Apart from the bits and the spurs, the native rider is most careful of his horse, and the fact that trav- ellers stopping at a town for a night have always a present of grain sent for their horses before they themselves are served speaks for itself. But we must continue our ramble before the night sets in. You will observe that as we advance we are leaving the aristocratic west end, or court quarter, and gradually entering more frequented parts, where the life of the town throbs with more force and vigor. To one thing, however, our atten- tion is drawn more forcibly than agreeably: we are reminded only too soon of a char- acteristic phase of Mohammedan countries. At every point of vantagenear the gate- ways, at the outskirts of the market-places, or along the more busy thoroughfares beggars in every degree of emaciation or of loathsome disease appeal to you in the name of the Prophet, and as you hope for a place in paradise, to minister to their wants. In vain, on finding you have empty pockets, you try to evgle them. The deformed and the cripples grovel in the dust at your feet with piteous cries; the blind, of whom there are large num- bers, guided by children, throng round you with their empty eye-sockets turned on you, more eloquent than words; wo- men with hardly a rag to cover their mis- erable skeletons hold up their fleshless arms with empty calabashes, shrilly de- manding alms in the name of God. To see these miserable creatures dragging out a life of semi-starvation for a few years, one is almost tempted to ask if the meth- ods of more barbarous races were not better. Invoking the aid of the guides sent us by the Sultan, we are at last relieved of the pitiful presence of the army of beggars, and able to enjoy once more the scene around us. We have now reached the industrial quarter of the town, and we are speedily surprised to observe the length to which the division of labor has pro- ceeded among the Haussa. With a dense population, a soil unproductive except in the rainy season, and an unequal division of property, the Soudanese have learned by hard experience that each man cannot supply all his wants by his own direct la- bor. Hence has arisen that division of tasks which has made him more depend- ent on his fellow-men, and raised him in consequence a great step in the ladder of civilization; for he has thus come under a law which by its action and interaction has widened his requirements and devel- oped a taste for something which will miii- ister not merely to the animal cravings of the body, but to the more noble delights of the mind and soul. Wonder not, theii, that in one quarter you hear the measured clang of blacksmiths hammers answered by the clinking taps of the brass-workers or the dull rhythmic beats of cloth-beaters. Peeping into this court or the other, you may see the weaver bending over his prim- itive though effective apparatus, and with swift action pass the shuttle from hand to hand as he works with well-timed move- ment of the feet the treadles to produce the necessary alternation of threads at each passage of the weft. The web he manufactures is rarely more than four inches broad, but it is well woven, and he likes it narrow. You observe some men near a number of circular pits, two feet in diameter and eight to ten feet deep; ap- proach nearer and you will observe that these pits are filled with a thick, dark blue fluid, while at the same time your nose is assailed by a very strong odor. This is the Marina, or place for dyeing cloths with indigoan art for which the Haussa are justly famous, as the colors they produce are most beautiful and very lasting. If you now look beyond the Marina you will observe a low kiln-like erection, from which much smoke is rising. There pottery is being burnt for domestic pur 227 A CENTRAL SOUDAN TOWN. poses. Within a very small area you may meet leather-workers, or tanners, tailors, saddle - makers, straw - hat weavers, and men engaged in a score of other crafts which need not be further specified. Having proceeded thus far in our ex- amination of the town, we may now pro- ceed to a more detailed examination of a Fillani household and compound. You have learned already that the natives of Wurnu, following the custom of their co- religionists in other lands, keep their wives as much secluded as possible from contact with the outside world. They have, as you have seen, built large walls of mud, or, in the case of the poorer peo- ple, erected mats of the stalks of Kaffir- corn, to produce the required degree of se- clusion. For greater privacy, those who are able to afford it subdivide the com- pound by other walls, forming courts within courts, there being an inner sanc- tum in which the chief wife is enclosed like the queen-bee in her cell, and which she will seldom leave, except for some very special reason. The family com- pound is entered through the portals of what may be called the masters day- room, or entrance hail, or audience chain- her, according as it may suit your fancy. This hall is ~usually flat-roofed, covered with rafters and a thick bed of clay, and supported by mud walls and central inns- sive pillars in number according to the size of the house. An outside door gives admission from the lane, and an inner, so situated as not to afford a view of the court, leads into the private quarters. In this cool and airy retreat all business is transacted, and the master of the house, if he is a man who can indulge in idle- ness, receives his friends and discusses the current gossip, the affairs of the realm, or the progress of the true faith by mis- sionary enterprise or with fire and sword among the Kaffir tribes of the south. Let us suppose ourselves to have been in- troduced to a friendly Fillani, who, being somewhat lax in the stern rules of his re- ligion about contact with infidels, and made otherwise accommodating by ju- dicious presents, will give us a glimpse into those precincts which are sacred to the family. Arriving at his door with all the pomp and circumstance at our com- mandfor display is always judicious in uncivilized landswe dismount and enter the hall of audience. We find our friend rALAcE SLAVES CARRYING COOKED FOOD. 228 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. seated cross-legged on a circular mat at the back of the apartment. He does not think it necessary to rise in greeting us, but contents himself with leaning for- ward as he takes our hand, with the salu- tation of Lafia! lafia ! Meanwhile at- tendarits spread out mats for us to sit on, if we have not brought our camp-stools as more adapted to our habits. As soon as we are seated our host begins the business of making an interminable series of ques- tions about the state of our health and that of every living thing connected with us. These inquiries he plentifully min- gles with compliments and Arabic excla- mations. Everything be is told is appai~- ently a signal illustration of the greatness of Allah, and calls for renewed expression of devout gratitude. While our interpre- ter does the polite on our part we may qui- etly make a judicious use of our opportuni- ties and take stock of our friend, noting his various points in dress and person. We ob- serve that lie is slen- derly built, small- boned, and with little muscular develop- ment, though he seems wiry and tough. He has the negros length of arm, but little else except his dark color. His face is good, with well-raised nose, and not too widely expand- ed nostrils. The lips are slightly thicker than the average Europeans, but the jaws are not more prominent. Curious- ly enough, he has a beard, though not luxuriant a feature which belongs neither to the pure race of no- mads from which he springs nor to the ne- gro race with which U his ancestors have in- termarried, for neither is usually character- ized by the possession of this appendage. The hair is shaved from the head. The eyes are his most pleasing feature, and have that liquid softness and clear depth which so niuch enhance the beauty of ma.ny Eastern races, and he has fine teeth. Such is a typical specimen of the Pu- lani peoplean alien Pace ruling byforce of character over the Haussa, who form the mass of the population. Turning mentally from the person of our host, whose portrait is given above, we are at once struck with surprise at the weight and astonishing number of yards required to make a noblemans dress. We have often heard of baggy Turkish trou- sers, but the roomiest Turkish trousers A CENTRAL SOUDAN TOWN. 229 would be positively tights in comparison with the capacious depths of Soudanese unmentionables, and no wonder the na- tives of those parts think our European trousers improperly scanty when we ob- serve that a pair of theirs would make half a dozen of ours. Imagine to yourself an enormous sack twelve feet broad when stretched out fiat, aud two feet deep, and you have their as- pect when off. At the bottom corners of this sack are the two holes for the passage of the feet. Our friend is only required to put his feet through the holes, to draw the string which encircles the twen- ty-f our feet of cloth till he has reduced it to the circumfer- ence of his waist, and he finds his legs swathed in a voluminous series of folds, which, if not comfortable, are at least pictur- esque, especially when the wearer is seated. The ap- pearance of this article of dress is enhanced by taste- ful embroidery in intricate Moorish patterns round the ankles and up the legs. Over the trou- sers is placed the gown, or tob, known generally under the descrip- tive title of the elephant shirt, for it is of a size sufficient to cover that bulky quadru- ped, and is thus in keeping with the trousers. I cannot do better than de- scribe it also as a huge sack, which, when stretched out, is from eight to twelve feet broad and five feet deep. At the top of the gownor, in other words, the bottom of the sackthere is a slit, as in the Mexican poncho, for the passage of the head, while each side of the sack or gown is open for about three feet for the passage of the arms when ne- cessary, the extra yards at the side being hitched on to the shoulder when the arms are wanted free. The front of this is or- namented, as a rule, with the most beau- tiful and intricate silk embroidery, requir- ing a considerable development of artistic taste and skill with the needle. The head-gear next demands our atten- tion, and here we find the character of V~OL. Lxxv.No. 440.i 5 FILLANI NOBLEMAN AND WIFE. 230 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the dressing almost as remarkable, requir- ing, as it does, quite as many yards of ma- terial. The face is enveloped in a white gauze cloth (sometimes exchanged for a dark blue one), known as the litharn. This article of dress is borrowed from the wild Tuareg tribes of Asben, among whom it may serve the double purpose of evad- ing recognition (and so providing a means of safety in blood feuds), and of keeping out of the nose and mouth the fine dust eternally blowing in suffocating clouds in the parts he inhabits. Only on state occasions do the Fillani and Haussa re- tain the litham on the face; at other times it is dropped to the chin, or even to the breast. Of the turban it need only be said that it is in keeping with the rest of the dress, and therefore large in the ex- treme. White is the popular color in Fillani dress, but not infrequently some tint of blue is adopted. The cotton of which their clothes are made and the in- digo with which they are dyed are both native products, while the weaving and sewing are equally home industries, ev- erything being marked by the absence of shoddy, and by the manipulators skill. The Fillani,it may be remarked in pass- ing, are distinguished by their cleanliness, soap and water being largely used not only in the ablution of their persons, but in washing their clothes. The soap is also home-made. The dress whose peculiarities we have been noting is of course that of a wealthy man, but it remains the same in type, though differing in size, among the poorer classes. It is what they all aim at, and if the poor man may be seen in simple loin-cloth or ragged remnants of what had once been an elephant shirt, it is his misfortune, not his choice. Having thus made a mental inventory of our entertainers person and habili- ments, we are ready, on the conclusion of the polite preliminaries of our visit, to ac- cept his guidance into the sacred precincts of the inner compound. Our unexpected apparition in these pre- served grounds is followed by an amount of delightful and piquant confusion, indi- cated by feminine half screams, half gig- gles, which show how the susceptible hearts of the ladies have been fluttered by our intrusion. We are only in time to catch glimpses of retreating feet and skirts, and are left to answer as best we may the questioning looks of some goats, which stamp indignantly their feet, and seem to inquire what we want there. In looking round we note the scrupu- lous cleanness of everythingthe well- swept yard, the well-washed earthen- ware, cooking pots, and other kitchen uten- sils, the daintily carved calabashes for milk, water, and a variety of purposes. Here stands part of a tree hollowed into a mortar for pounding certain grains, and there a bedded coarse-grained stone, on which the family meal is ground. Every- where are to be observed evidences of the thrift and industry which distinguish the Soudanese household. Unlike the domes- tic establishments of most Mohammedan parts, there is no pampered laziness or voluptuous ease. Wife and slave alike are busily engaged in household duties, or work which will bring money to the workers. Here is cotton being teased and cleaned, then with spindle and wheel turn- ed into thread. Food simmers or boils on the fire in the various savory, if oily, dishes for which the Haussa women are famous. We note that no heavy or un- womanly tasks are laid upon the females. The insides of the various huts, as in the case of the court, are models of cleanli- ness, the walls being frequently orna- mented with colors in various designs. The furniture is of the simplest. A raised bedstead covered with mats, some cala- bashes, earthen-ware water-pots, one large unburnt-clay receptacle to hold grain and preserve it from rats, another for articles of value to secure them in case of fire, are the chief articles which attract our atten- tion. The doorways are noticeable as being horseshoe - shaped a design borrowed probably from the north. In the store-rooms and masters apart- ments are to be seen a great variety of objects heaped together or lying about without any attempt at order. Here may be found the owners weapons of war many double - edged swords, with scab- bards handsomely ornamented with lea- ther and brass, and suspended by elabo- rate and betasselled silk ropes, daggers intended to be attached to the wrist by a leather bandthe cross-shaped handle when thus carried almost lying in the palm of the hand beautiful long iron spears neatly and prettily inlaid with brass bands, and generally barbed, revol- vers and pistols of the most obsolete types, as well as flint-lock guns which look A CENTRAL SOUDAN TOWN. 231 as if they would be as dangerous to the user as they could possibly be to an en- emy. Such are the offensive weapons. But there are also to be seen war dresses of enormously thick quilts, intended spe- cially as a. protection a~ainst poisoned ar- rows. The warrior when encased in these cumbersome garments looks the most un- wieldy and barrel-like of African Fal- staffs, as he can neither mount his horse nor dismount without assistance, and if unhorsed he is perfectly helpless. Many of the wealthy chiefs have also very beau- tiful coats of chain armor, with head-gear to match,which are probably of old Moor- ish workmanship, and are said by the na- tives to be as old as David, and are accord- ingly valued at a great price. Besides the objects which savor of war numbers of other things lying about in artistic disorder attract attention. Brass vessels are the most conspicuous, and in- dicate a manipulative skill and an artis- tic taste which we would certainly not expect in such a country. The chief types of native work are large circular salvers or trays, globular vessels, others carafe-like in form, urns resembling cof- fee-pots. They are all elaborately orna- mented, either in repouss~ or chased in the intricate manner which characterizes Moorish art. Many of the designs are most beautiful, and worked out with pa- tient care. In the brass-workers art, as in so many other things, the influence of North African ideas is easily traceable, though how they have come to take such fixed root in the Soudan it would be diffi. 232 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. cult to say. Our wonder at the quaint and effective work is enhanced on learn- ing that all these vessels are hammered out of brass rods, each two feet long and of the thickness of telegraph wire, in which form it reaches these parts from Europe. The specimens of pottery which we see lying about exhibit a wonderfut skill in that industry, considering that as yet they have not adopted the potters wheel. The most extraordinary objects, however, which attract our attention are the skin vessels for holding oil. In some way or other they are moulded into the required forms out of raw hide, and so constructed in a single piece as hardly to show the slightest trace of a joint. They are not sewed, but the two edges of the skin are made to adhere most firmly by some means. The outer aspect is ornament- ed in black, white, and light brown with strips of skin having those colors. The bair is left on except on the neck. They are ingeniously fitted with caps or lids to keep out any foreign matter. Only oil or grain is kept in them, as water soft- ens the untanned skin. In some cases they are clearly intended more for orna- ment than use, as frequently four smaller vessels of the same pattern are attached to the chief one with the most happy and artistic effect. One thing which we cannot fail to no- tice in looking round a Wurun household of the upper ten is that the people have largely acquired a~sthetic tastes, and de- light to surround themselves with articles which please the eye, as well as with those which are merely useful; and to minister to this taste a score of industries have sprung up. By the time we bave finished our sur- vey and made these mental notes the wo- men of the household have got over their first tremors, and come to the conclusion that we are a good-natured and a harmless looking sort of fellows. At first they peep over the wall or out of neighboring door- ways, till, growing bolder, they venture in groups out of their hiding-places to see, and doubtless to be seen. Not to alarm them,we take notes surreptitiously, and ob- serve that they make up quite an ethno- logical collection of African types. Fil- lani and Haussa women from the neigh- borhood, Nnp~ and Yoruba specimens from the Niger districts, and others from the tribes of Adamawa and the Benu~ re- gion. Clearly our friend is a man of catholic tastes in the matter of women. His harem presents all kinds of face and BRASS VESSELS AND NATIVE GOWNS. A CENTRAL SOUDAN TOWN. 233 figures, from the copper-colored Fillani, with slender,lithe figure,well-shaPed face, and positively beautiful eyes, to the shape- less form, black skin, ugly face, and mud- dy eyes of the lowest negro type. They are all dressed alike, with a lower turkcdi or cloth round the waist, hangin~, to the ankles, a second sheet wound round the body under the armpits, and a third worn in the varied modes of a shawl on the head and shoulder. The hair is gath- ered into a solid ridge of grease and hair, which extends from the brow to the nape of the neck, something after the manner of the crest of a helmet. From each tem- ple hangs a kind of stiff love-lock. The ankles are adorned with enormously heavy anklets of solid brass, the bar be- ing little short of an inch and a half in thickness, the ends ornamented with neat- ly made polygonal beads. Nothin~ bet- ter finished could be turned out of a Eu- ropean workshop. Round the wrist are placed several more brass bracelets, not so expansively made, but collectively so heavy that to ease their arms the wearers are frequently to be seen with hands clasped behind the head or hanging down their backs. Their ornaments usually in- clude a strin~ of agate beads made in the country. The women, unlike the men do not affect white colors, the more fash SKIN VESSELS AND NATIVE CLOTHS. 234 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. jonable cloths being checks of dark blue, a medium tint of the same, white, and Magenta. Among those who can afford expensive articles, the latter two colors are prevalent. I have said that strangers are not usu- ally admitted into the family compound, but it must not be supposed that the wo- men are strictly kept inside and never let out. Quite the reverse. In the evenings they are almost invariably left at liberty to wander forth and join in any dance or merry-making there may be afoot, and I would not like to be responsible for the statement that their behavior is always of the best on these occasions. During the day, also, if any of the women have any- thing to buy or sell at the market, there is no restriction to their going thither. In the more wealthy families, however, there is always one if not two wives who are kept in strict seclusion, and not unfre- quently eunuchs are employed to guard the morals of the harem. Such are the main features of a Wur nu household, and from prince to pauper it is the same in kind, if differing in de- gree. We have now but to drink a cala- bash of fura, a kind of thin acid gruel largely drank during the heat of the day, and also chew a portion of kola nut, a fruit which largely takes the place not only of the tobacco and snuff of other lands, but also of the spirits and beer, and then we may bid adieu to our host and return to our quarters. Our ti4p together through the town must now end, though we have left some of the most noteworthy features of Wur- nu life untouched. It would, if circum- stances had been favorable, have been no small pleasure to me to act as your guide to court and introduce you to the Sultan. Still more profitable would it have been to study in your company the religious life of the Soudanese, and note how largely they have been influenced by the teach- ing of the Koran, and how clearly they have grasped the elevating idea of a spir- itual Being, and how they mirror in their lives the truths they believe. We might have visited their mosques, and seen them with heads bowed to the dust acknow- ledging the greatness of a compassionate God. In their schools could we have seen the children learning in noisy chorus at once the tenets of their religion and the elements of their language. These as- pects of central African negro life would indeed have been fascinating, but not less attractive would have been the teeming market-place with its bewildering hurry- scurrying thousands and deafening though not discordant din. The types of people, the variety of goods, and the picturesque arrangement of stalls and booths would have presented a thousand objects of at- traction. Delightful also would it have been to have wandered outside the walls in the cool of the evening, to have sat by the well and entered into conversation with the people, and noted the picturesque groups of damsels drawing water, gossip- ing with their friends, or with free and easy carriage walking away with their wa- ter-pots poised elegantly on their heads. Inexorable fate, however, has ordained otherwise, and for the present we must re- main content with such peeps and glimpses. as circumstances have made possible for~ us. SWEETMEAT SELLER. K t~1 BY REBECCA HARDING DAVIS. 1.OLD AND NEW. THE train that rushed out of the wide winding suburbs of Wash- ington down into Virginia, in the dawn of a cold February morning, was filled with Northerners going to New Or- leans. They had, oddly enough, the alert, ex- pectant air of explorers into an unknown coun- try. The men looked out on the sleepy streets of Alexandria with as critical eyes as if it had been its namesake in Egypt, and the women buttoned their tight ulsters more closely, and slung their alligator satchels to their sides in readiness for any emergency. C They were intelligent people of the class who have leisure; they were familiar with the upper range of States; many of them ran over to Eu- rope or to California every summer. But this three-cornered segment of their country, which had a climate, history, and character of its own, was foreign to them as Arabia Felix. I was in the South thirty years ago, said one fidgety old gentleman. Visited a college found in eastern Vnginia Queer life! Great scrambling house in a large plantation, crowded with guests leaky roof, magnificent old family plate, patched a ) &

Rebecca Harding Davis Davis, Rebecca Harding Here andThere In the South 235-246

K t~1 BY REBECCA HARDING DAVIS. 1.OLD AND NEW. THE train that rushed out of the wide winding suburbs of Wash- ington down into Virginia, in the dawn of a cold February morning, was filled with Northerners going to New Or- leans. They had, oddly enough, the alert, ex- pectant air of explorers into an unknown coun- try. The men looked out on the sleepy streets of Alexandria with as critical eyes as if it had been its namesake in Egypt, and the women buttoned their tight ulsters more closely, and slung their alligator satchels to their sides in readiness for any emergency. C They were intelligent people of the class who have leisure; they were familiar with the upper range of States; many of them ran over to Eu- rope or to California every summer. But this three-cornered segment of their country, which had a climate, history, and character of its own, was foreign to them as Arabia Felix. I was in the South thirty years ago, said one fidgety old gentleman. Visited a college found in eastern Vnginia Queer life! Great scrambling house in a large plantation, crowded with guests leaky roof, magnificent old family plate, patched a ) & 236 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. carpets, negroes swarming everywhere. Saddled horses hitched always by the door in case you wanted to cross a field. Old families, each with its coat of arms and pride of birth. The most generous, un- methodical, kindly people in the world. The old gentleman in his enthusiasm took off his silk travelling cap, letting the cold wind blow over his bald head with its fringe of gray hair. His wifea pudgy, prim little woman-replaced it with, You forget, my dear ! Yes, yes. I forget Im a broken- down old invalid when I think of those days. It makes me a lad again to get into the South, turning to his listening neighbors. Ive been pastor of a church in western New York for forty years, you see. Never took a holiday. Some chron- ic trouble set in last fall, and the doctors saidEurope. My people raised the mon- ey at once. But I said, Ill go South and rest. No Europe for me. Why, gentle- men, in all the drive and struggle of those forty years the remembrance of the lei- sure and quiet, the laziness if you like, of the South, has come before me like a glimpse of the Isles of the Blest! Life there is not all money-getting. They take it as they go. His companions listened to the eager talk of the garrulous old fellow with as- senting nods and smiles, he being one of those people to whom the world in all of its humors says yes and smiles. But they did not at all agree with him. Having the usual large careless good-humor of the American, they had no lingering grudge or bitterness against the South because of the war. But it was alien to them, as it had always been; they were men whose occupations and thoughts ran in fixed and narrow ruts, and like the great mass of avera~e Northerners they knew the South only through long - ago recollec- tions or hearsay traditions. It was in their minds a vague tropical stretch of sugar and cotton and rice fields, peopled by indolent, arrogant men and haughty, languid women, their feet still firmly set on the necks of the negro race. The names of the stations, too, began to recall the fact that they were in a once hostile country, and among a people who had been their foe. As the conductor shouted Fairfax, Manassas, Oul- pepper, they looked out eagerly at the snow - covered fields and the unpainted wooden station-houses which replaced the brick Queen Anne villas affected by North- ern railways, expecting to find something novel and foreign. A few lean, nervous- looking white men were at work on the platforms, and a crowd of negroes shoul- dered each other away from the car win- dows. Fried chicken, sah ? Col boil tongue? Nice snack ! Hyahs yoh wine-saps! Albemarle apples ! Mr. Ely, the old clergyman, bought ap- ples and tongue from half a dozen, look- ing out laughing from the window as the train rolled on, leaving them squabbling and joking over the money. A pursy young man from Chicago was superciliously calling attention to the worm-fences, the lean fields, the for- lorn houses, as Wretchedly poor, sir! Now there is really no excuse for such poverty. Even grant that the State was laid waste by the war. All that was twenty years ago. Twenty years is enough for any man to get upon his legs again. It is all due to lack of energy! de- cisively said a close-shaven,trig little iron- master from Pennsylvania. We all know the South. Some of the best books in American literature are descriptions of these people. Did you ever read Uncle Torns Cabin, or A Fools Errand? They show you that a more indolent, incapable, pig-headed race never breathed. The men spend their time in idling, duelling, and drinking. The women are merely love- ly, helpless babies. Mr. Ely, with an indignant snort, gird- ed himself to make battle; but at that mo- ment the train stopped in the suburbs of Charlottevihle. Steep streets ran up into the picturesque town, back of whose peak- ed roofs rose the snowy hills. A crowd of students from the University filled the platform. An elderly man, after much hand-shaking with them, entered the car. Hello ! said Mr. Ely; surely I know that face, Sarah? Except for the bald head He bristled up. I beg par- don. It is a long time ago. But are you not Wollaston Pogue? I am James Ely. Dont you remember? I visited the Me- dills in Accomac in 55, and you Bless my soul! Of course I remember. Why, my dear sir, I arn glad to see you back in Virginia. And how has the world used you in all these years ? Well, well! ronghly enough, said HERE AND THERE IN THE SOUTH. 237 Ely, with a sigh. He had, in fact, a com- fortable home, and until lately sound health, yet, as the two men sat side by side, it was the anxious, lean Northerner who most looked like the victim of a de- structive war. The Virginian was a stout, ruddy, overgrown boy. Prosperity ap- parently oozed out of every pore, from the red fringe of hair about his shining pate to his beaming spectacled eyes, and the gurgling laugh of pure enjoyment that bubbled out every minute. Changes ? he said, rubbing his knees meditatively, as Ely plied him with ques- tions. Oh, great changes! Necessarily. The houses in which you visited have all passed from the old families. Except the Grange. That is a place of summer re- sort, kept by Mrs. Leigh. Not that lovely Anna Page who mar- ried Joe Leigh ? The very same. Beautiful as a dream, wasnt she? But she is making money fast, keeping boarders. The house was torn out by the Yanby one of the ar- mies. After the surrender that woman put up partitions, hung doors, glazed win- dows, papered, paintedwith her own hands. Shes equal to a whole troop of mechanics. ~ And John Medill ? Killed at Manassas. His son lost a leg, and was invalided for life. His daughters carry on the plantation. Vir- ginia is in the saddle every morning be- fore dawn. She herself ploughed and dug until she was able to hire hands. She had the banner crop of tobacco in that county last year. Mr. Ely made a clucking sound of amazement and dismay. And what be- came of the Alh~ires ? Drawn by W. H. Gibson. Engraved by .1. Tinkey. A GLIMPSE FROM THE CAR WINDOW. 238 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. They lost everything. The boys as they grew up went to work. Fred in an iron-mill in Richmond, and St. Clair as brakesman on this road. They have both risen steadily. No lack of energy there ! said the old clergyman, with a sharp glance tow- ard the scoffing iron man. But he fell into a depressed silence as his friend con- tinued his history. Brakesmen and board- ing-house keepers! He had cherished for so many years his picture of the stately Southern homes and their indolent land- lords, and now it was crumbling to pieces. If he had found a decayed, mouldering aristocracy, passively wasting away in their ruined homes, it would have been in mournful keeping with his recollection. But this busy, commonplace stir, this sud- den plunge of the defeated South into the worlds market-place, bewildered and an- noyed him. I hope the troubles did not injure you, Mr. Pogue ? he said at last. Major Pogue, quietly amended the Virginian. I had that rank in our army. Yesnodding good-humoredly I was left without a dollar. Fortune of war, eh? But I was young, and could accept the situation. It went harder with the old men. Our Southern women, I will say, were the first to stagger to their feet. In every household it was invari- ably the woman who first faced the inevi- table and tried to make the best of it. The old men never have quite recovered from the blow. Some of them even yet fancy that the old issues are still alive. But it is the men who were children in 65 that have their hands on the lever now; they make no mistake about is- sues. Where their fathers dreamed of re- opening the slave-trade and of conquer- ing Mexico and annexing Cuba, to form a great empire, they talk of new cotton-gins, and Bessemer steel-works, and coal-mines, and a thousand other ways of developing our resources. It is the young men who are the New South. I fancy you North- em people know little about the New South. Very little indeed, replied Mr. Ely, smiling uneasily. In fact, I did not know until five months ago that there was such a nation. You will seelaughing significantly. But what did you do after the sur- render? Start afresh, like your New South ? Precisely. Got a position as clerk in Atlanta. I have an interest in two or three concerns there now, and have my home near the town. I have just been up to see my boy at the University. Youll stop and make us a visit ? he added, anx- iously. Oh, Ill take no denial! Mrs. Ely will plead for me. I intend to take my daughter down to New Orleans to the Exposition, and we can form a pleasant party. Come, now, old friend; it is all arranged. Mr. Ely fidgeted and protested. He would have fallen again easily into those lax, hospitable ways. But his wife set- tled the matter in her slightly nasal, de- cisive tones. Of course we shall stop and wait for you and Miss Pogue, Major. But you must allow us to stay at a hotel. We really should prefer it. Mrs. Ely, away from home, usually was only a dumb, smiling adjunct to her enthusiastic husband. But there were times when she felt it necessa- ry to put down the brakes. Yet she wa~ secretly excited at the thought of studying one of the dark-eyed, languid Georgian women in her own home. During the afternoon, as they passed down through the close, shouldering hills and lonely villages of central Virginia, she tried t& picture to herself the indolent grace and flower-like beauty of these Southern wo- men, as she had read of them in their songs and novels. For herself, she was quite willing to be taken in the South as a fair specimen of the cultured Northern wo- men, though, after all, the culture amount- ed only to a nice taste in Kensington art. work, and a mania about drainage. But she pleased herself by thinking that she would open new worlds of thought to the Majors daughter, who doubtless knew nothing of society, or literature, or plumb- ing, or any of those great social questions which Mrs. Ely, like a brown sparrow in big grain fields, had picked at in turn. The mind of any woman, she said to her husband in these lifeless villages. must be limited, and their talk klein- stddtisch beyond bearing. They stopped for a day in Lynchburg, which recalled Pittsburgh to Mr. Ely. It. s almost as busy and as black, he said, as they sauntered past the towering fac- tories, and the business men look as if, like ours, they were challenging life at. the point of the bayonet. We wear out brain and body in our haste to be rich, at. Drawn by W. H. Gibson PINE BARRENS. 240 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the North, and you are following us, Im afraid. The Major laughed good-humoredly. We were forced into the race. The Southerner, when he goes into business, throws the same ardor into it that forty years ago he did into his fun, or courting, or fighting. A steam-engine will pull, you know, Mr. Ely, no matter what kind of load you put behind it. He pointed out the solid blocks of business houses and tasteful dwellings, built since the war. The next day, in Charlotte, the same story was told and retold. Instead of descanting, as he would have done ten years ago, on the ancient glories of the old South lost in the struggle, the Major was eager to show every sight of the solid foundation which the New South was lay- ing for an enduring, stable prosperity. Spartanhurg, Greenville, and other pretty towns followed, each with its wide shaded streets, its new mills in the suburbs, its cheap stores, its imposing new hotel, its stir of freshly awakened life. But who has done all this? asked Mr. Ely, half annoyed. Northern men At first, yes. They were the first to see that money was to be made here. They usually met a cold welcome, as you know. Our old men wanted to run the South in the old trackscotton, politics, fighting. But our own youn,,, men, as I told you, are getting the reins now in their own hands. Our leading manufac- turers, brokers, newspaper men, and even city officials, everywhere, are as a rule Southerners, and under fifty. Atlanta ! shouted the conductor. But this is a Northern city! ex- claimed Mr. Ely, as they stepped out into a large station, grimy with bituminous smoke, and walled in by blocks of huge warehouses that opened into crowded streets of conventional banks, hotels, and shops, solidly built, and offering an odd contrast to the irregular, strag~ling, green- bowered thoroughfares of Richmond, Charleston, and Savannah. Atlanta is the capital of our new nation, said the Major, as he handed Mrs. Ely from the car. It is the head-quar- ters for shrewd, pushing men from all the Gulf States. Outsiders call us Georgian Yankees. Two motherly negro women, turbaned and white-aproned, boarded the train in- stead of porters, took Mrs. Elys wraps, and led her to the waiting-room. A lady, very little and very young, was standing in the centre of the dingy room, watching the door. The alert, intent figure caught Mrs. Elys eye. A teacher from Boston, she decided, as she scanned the thin, eager features, the vigilant eyes, the mass of yellow hair. I wonder if she ever takes time to sit down or draw a long breath ? But the Major hurried to meet the lit- tle lady, kissed her, and presented her as my daughter Lola. In her dismay the clergymans wife was awkward, and posed self-consciously. But the Majors daugh- ter welcomed her with a quiet simplicity to which Mrs. Ely paid instant homage. She has never had any doubt of her breedin~, or social position, she thought. She would be just as sure of it in rags as in that velvet. The little girl stood waiting for her guests, polite but utterly incurious. She does not even observe how I am dressed, thou~ht Mrs. Ely. These Southerners all act as if they had that within which passeth show of money or clothes. In many ways their old ideas were de- molished that day. When I was young, said Mr. Ely to his wife at night, the South sent North for even its pins. It made nothing for itself. But here in Atlanta, Pogue tells me, they manufacture everything, fr& m a house to a match. All since the war. Take out the money value of the slaves, and Georgia never was so wealthy as she is to-day. The same is true of the Carolinas. Once let these hot-blooded, eager Southerners get a firm footing as manufacturers and producers, and theyll run the North hard in the business world. So Pogue says. Their acquaintance with the Pogue fam- ily brought them countless invitations during their stay in Atlanta. The new stately dwellings and their ~sthetic inte- riors became familiar objects to them. Here are the very same etchings, the same bric-h-brac and Daghestan rugs, that I left behind in New York and Phila- delpliia, Mrs. Ely complained to Miss Pogue as they drove out together one af- ternooii. The same hats on the women, the same dishes at dinner, and the same talk too, only that it runs in a more lei- surely current. You would see more distinctive life in the country, Lola said, turning her Drawn by W. Ii. jiSson. A RELIC OF THE DEPARTED SOUTH. Engraved by A. Lindsay. 242 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ponies into a broad grass-edged high- beautiful and grand. Yet, she added, way. with sudden pride, I doubt if the South- In an hour they were in the pine woods. erner will ever give up that custom. At long intervals there were openings Mrs. Ely, talking matters over that in which was a wide, low, many-galleried night as usual, declared that the Geor- house, with its appendage of dilapidated gian girl talked and thought precisely negro quarters and neglected farm lands like a New-Englander. And, as far as I a gray, hoary wreck of prosperous days. can see, she is not an uncommon type now The snow, which still lay in drifts in the in this New South. I have met women, woods, had melted here from the saffron since we came here, capable, shrewd, and stubble fields. The houses usually appear- alive with energy. They manage planta- ed to be over-full; all of the windows tions and shops; they raise stock, hold of- shone redly in the closing dusk; the rooms fices, publish newspapers. In deed, while were alive with children, with gay young Northern women have been clamoring for people; matrons with delicate, fastidious their rights, Southern women have found faces bent over their work; portly, hand- their way into more careers than they. somely dressed men loitered in the gal- They keep up with all the questions of the leries or rode down the long avenues, day. Miss Lola actually gave me some You would find the old habits of hos- new hints on drainage. I suppose we pitality kept up in these houses, said Americans have but one blood, after all, Lola. Family connections are large in and a hard struggle with poverty will pro- the South. A Georgian of the higher class duce the same woman in Georgia as in has cousins all through the Carolinas and Connecticut. the Gulf States, just as the Virginians and The next day our travellers, with the Kentuckians are really all of one blood. Major and Miss Pogue, left Atlanta for From five to ten guests may drop in unin- Montgomery. They soon left behind the vited for any meal, or come to stay a week. leafless, deciduous woods and the snow They are always sure of a welconme. The and entered interminable pine forests ris- old class of Southerners would rather ing out of the rich red earth, pale green give up their chance of heaven than the in the spring air. Occasionally the end- pleasure of keeping open house for their less phalanx of pines crowded back in dis- friends on earth. gust to make way for a flat plateau of yel- Mr. Elys face flushed. It is a gra- low clay, out of which rose a clarin, a cious, beautiful custom ! he exclaimed, forlorn huddle of gray, unpainted cabins. We lost much that was worth keeping Not a tree, nor flower, nor blade of grass, with the old feudal systems. appeared in the wide swamp of mud. Ne- Yes, said Miss Pogue, dryly. I groes in rags lounged against the worm- have known a dinner prepared in our fence, too lazy to look up at the train; house for four persons, and befor~ it was lean woolly cows, their sides daubed with served twenty guests arrived unexpected- mud, lazily got out of the way of the cars: ly. So it goes on all the year round. leaner hogs wallowed in the lower deeps That is delightful, hesitated Mrs. of mud, looking up to wink sleepily at the Ely. It takes one quite back to patri- puffing engine. The men of the hamlet archal life. But it would not suit North- lounged about the station-house, yellow- em house-keepers nor Northern cooks and skinned and heavy-eyed from long diet of chamber-maids. pork and whiskey. It does not suit here, said Lola, Mr. Ely, catching his wifes look of promptly. Our mothers were used to consternation, hastily explained. You it when they had plenty of money and of must remember, my dear, that up to the servants. But now that we have not beginning of this century this part of Ala- enough of either, the custom keeps many bama was an absolute wilderness, broken a family poor, and makes life a tread-mill only by a few settlements of half-breeds for most women. The generation I be- and Spaniards, with neither law nor re- long to, Mrs. Ely, she said, after a pause, higion. Pennsylvania and New York her thin, decisive features heating, have were then open to the great tide of immi- learned to practise small economies in pov- gration. It never has set in here. What erty, and they are forced to see that there progress has been made is due to the peo- is a great leakage in their incomes through ple themselves, not to European influence, these old customs which seem to you so as is the case with us. HERE AND THERE IN THE SOUTH. 243 Alabama turns her poorest side to the railways, said Major Pogue. But we will soon skirt the Black Belt, which is full of rich plantations under scientific cultivation. As good soil as you have in Pennsylvania. Mr. Ely smiled anxiously. The flat gray sky, and the monotonous pillared pines which held it like a roof, oppressed him; he had not drawn a full breath all day. To live always walled by these changeless trees into solitude and pover- ty, away from the life and motion of the worldhow soon it would make a man narrow and prejudiced and virulent! No wonder these people fight with the obsti- nacy and courage of tigers! The train halted that moment at a lit- tle lonely station at the foot of a hill. At its top stood a picturesque old mansion, which seemed to him to embody all the tragedy of the departed South. The sunset flamed redly up behind its gray walls and steep roof, the black shingles of which were mossed with age. A thin wisp of smoke drifted from its great out- side chimney across the cold sky; the wind swept through the empty galleries, no light shone from its windows. A lit- tle apart from it three ancient cedars stood on guard; they flung their distorted arms toward the east, bent by the winds that in winter swept the hill-top. They are pleading against the disaster that has fallen on the house, thought the old clergyman, smiling on his own gloomy fancy. A tall man, dressed in the coarse home- spun and wide - rimmed hat of the farm hands, came down the hill, and entering the car, sat down in front of him. Un- doubtedly a laborer: face, hands, and neck tanned one saffron hue; the high boots patched and muddy. But Mr. Ely detect- ed a haughty reserve in the high-featured face, better befitting a cavalier than a ploughman. The typical Southerner at last 1, he thought. ~ With that face, he might have ruled a thousand slaves, or led a regiment into the jaws of death. Two passengers, Western men, sitting near, loudly discussed the lean pigs, the bony cattle, the poor buildings on the farm; but the owners face remained calm as though dogs barked at his heel. Mr. Ely rushed to the rescue. You forget, gentlemen, he said, that the South for nearly a century had but one occupation agriculture. The loss of her slaves Drawn by W. H. Gibson. A cLARIN. 244 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. crippled her in that. She is turning now with all the strength she has to other in- dustries. She asks us Northerners in a friendly, brotherly way to come down to see in this New Orleans Exposition what she has done; if we go at all, it should be in the same friendly spiritnot to insult her. The men laughed, but were silent, and Mr. Ely presently fell into talk with the Alabamian, questioning him on the re- sources of his State. You s]~ould go to the northern part of Alabama, he said, in a grave, measured tone, if you wish to get a clear idea of her enormous undeveloped wealth. Near THE BLOSSOMING RUIN. HERE AND THERE IN THE SOUTH. 245 Selma, cotton raising is carried on now with so much skill and certainty that the sons of the great planters in Mexico are sent there as pupils, staying for years. You have been in Birmin~ham ? No. Is it a typical Southern city ? The planter smiled. I hope so; but not of the old South. Twelve years ago it was a cotton plantation. Now they are working coal-mines with an output of over 4000 tons a day, and iron-mines that yield metal which they tell me is as good as the best Swedish. With both, they can put pig-iron in the Northern market six dollars a ton cheaper than it is done in Pennsylvania. It is a fact, struck in Major Pogue, after greeting the farmer as an old friend. The enormous mineral wealth of Ala- bama is but just opened. Shehas rich vir- gin soil, and though you may not believe it, Mr. Ely, a law-abiding, God-fearing populatibn, anxious to work. She has good waterways, and one of the best har- bors on the whole coast at Mobile. What she wants is capital and skilled labor. Meanwhile Miss Pogue was talking of the planter with Mrs. Ely at the back of the car. It is Duprd Mocquard, she said. I have heard he was considered the hand- somest man in New Orleans before the war. A brave fellow too; lie fought half a dozen duels. He belonged to a wealthy creole family; they equipped a regiment for the war, which he commanded. And after After with a shrug. He is over- seer now where he was master, on one of his own plantations. He is as eager, I have heard my father say, about raising cotton as he was in duelling or flirting. His four children must live, you see. They reached Montgomery that night, and remained there for several days. Col- onel Mocquard drove out with them al- most every day. He did not lose any of his picturesqueness, at least in Mrs. Elys eyes, when he had laid aside his working clothes for ordinary dress. His old - fashioned, high - shouldered courtesy, she told her husband, would become a deposed monarch. The weather on the day after their ar- rival was cold. High winds drove light purplish clouds over a clear sky. The streets of the first Confederate capital stretched before them wide and muddy, the sidewalks of clay or boards sheltered VOL. LXxV.KNo. 44616 by fine old trees. Back among trim gar- dens and groves of green magnolias or leafless China-trees, brown with feathery clusters of last years flowers, were set quaint, low, many - galleried dwellings, which the Northern visitors admired en- thusiastically. They are picturesque, and they be- long to the climate and scenery, said Mr. Ely. But I am sorry to see here and there a towered brick house, or one of those pretentious villas with which w~e in the North abuse the memory of poor Queen Anne. Those houses are built, for the most part, said Lola, by wealthy Hebrews, brokers or dollar-store men. The Jews entered in and occupied the land as ~oon as the war was over. You will find them in every village and town in the Gulf States, living usually in the best houses, which old Southern families could no longer hold. Thats all right, my dear, interrupt- ed her father. They loaned us ahl,blacks and whites, money when we had none. Fair business transaction. Lolas delicate features flushed hotly. At fifty per cent.-yes. The day will come, perhaps, when tIme king shall en- joy his own, she replied,sharply. Then, hastily controlling herself and changing her tone: Montgomery, as you may nn- agi ne, Mr. Ely, is a beautiful city in sum- mer. This large building on the hill is the Capitol. The first Confederate Con- gress met here, you remember. They alighted and passed through the empty lofty halls, coming out again on to a high flight of steps which commanded a view of the quiet city and its superb rampart of rolling hills and rich planta- tiomis. Just here, on these steps, said Lola, Jefferson Davis stood when he was in- augurated President. Neither she nor tIme other Southerners betrayed any further remembrance of the great tragedy which had opened on this little grassy hill-top. The story was too familiar to them, and their own stinted lives too much a sequence and part of time tragedy, for them to see it merely as a great historic drama. But the old cler~y- mans heated fancy instantly peopled the hill with the men whose hours work that day had had such limitless results. A cold sunny day like this, perhaps, and each had come up from his own home, 246 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sincere, eager, ready to risk his property, life, and sacred honor for the cause he be- lieved to be true. And now The old man was loyal to the Union; his brothers had died fighting for it. But for the moment, he looked through the eyes of this other unknown brother, be- lieved as he believed, felt the wrench of his defeat. His heart beat thick, and a hot film darkened his eyes. They drove through the plantations in the suburbs of the city, passing stately old dwellings in disrepair and ruins, their parks overgrown with weeds and bram- bles. Before one a great stone lion, splen- did in its day, lay broken and over- thrown. The next moment they passed through the new townstreets of cheerful rose- covered cottages belonging to the colored people. Nowhere in the South have the freedmen made more steady and swift progress to thrift and intelligence than here. Swayne College, their principal school, was just dismissed, and a long procession of colored girls and lads march- ed down the street in tidy, bright-colored clothes, turning to the strangers clear, watchful faces. They drove to the hotel through streets of new warehouses and shops, while the Major and Colonel Mocquard discussed eagerly some new mining company just forming among the capitalists of the city. I think, said the clergyman, quietly, you have shown us to-day the signifi- cance of both the Old South and the New. APRIL HOPES. BY WILLIAM DEAN IIOwELLS. XXVIII. THE parting scene with Alice persisted in Maverings thought far on the way to Ponkwasset Falls. He now succeeded in saying everything to her: how deeply he felt her giving him her photograph to cheer him in his separation from her; how much lie appreciated her forethought in providing him with some answer when his mother and sisters should ask him about her looks. He took out the pic- ture, and pretended to the other passen- gers to be looking very closely at it, and so managed to kiss it. He told her that now lie understood what love really was; how powerful; how it did conquer everything; that it had changed him, and made hini already a better man. He made her re- fuse all merit in the work. When he began to formulate the facts for communication to his family, love did not seem so potent; he found himself ashamed of his passion, or at least unwill- ing to let it be its own excuse even; he had a wish to give it almost any other ap- pearance. Until he came in sight of the station and the Works, it had not seemed possible for any one to object to Alice. He had been going home as a matter of form to receive the adhesion of his family. But now he was forced to see that she might be considered critically, even re- luctantly. This would only be because his family did not understand how per- fect Alice was; but they might not under- stand. With his father there would be no dif- ficulty. His father had seen Alice and admired her; he would be all right. Dan found himself hoping this rather anxious- ly, as if from the instinctive need of his fathers support with his mother and sis- ters. He stopped at the Works when he left the train, and found his father in his private office beyond the book-keepers picket-fence, which lie penetrated, with a nod to the accountant. Hello, Dan I said his father, looking up; and Hello, father ! said Dan. Being alone, the father and son not only shook hands, but kissed each other, as they used to do in meeting after an absence when Dan was younger. He had closed his fathers door with his left hand in giving his right, and now lie said at once, Father, Ive come home to tell you that Im engaged to be mar- ned. Dan had prearranged his fathers be- havior at this announcement, hut he now perceived that he would have to modify the scene if it were to represent the facts. His father did not brighten all over and demand, Miss Pasmer, of course? He contrived to hide whatever start the news had given him, and was some time in ask-

William Dean Howells Howells, William Dean April Hopes 246-259

246 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sincere, eager, ready to risk his property, life, and sacred honor for the cause he be- lieved to be true. And now The old man was loyal to the Union; his brothers had died fighting for it. But for the moment, he looked through the eyes of this other unknown brother, be- lieved as he believed, felt the wrench of his defeat. His heart beat thick, and a hot film darkened his eyes. They drove through the plantations in the suburbs of the city, passing stately old dwellings in disrepair and ruins, their parks overgrown with weeds and bram- bles. Before one a great stone lion, splen- did in its day, lay broken and over- thrown. The next moment they passed through the new townstreets of cheerful rose- covered cottages belonging to the colored people. Nowhere in the South have the freedmen made more steady and swift progress to thrift and intelligence than here. Swayne College, their principal school, was just dismissed, and a long procession of colored girls and lads march- ed down the street in tidy, bright-colored clothes, turning to the strangers clear, watchful faces. They drove to the hotel through streets of new warehouses and shops, while the Major and Colonel Mocquard discussed eagerly some new mining company just forming among the capitalists of the city. I think, said the clergyman, quietly, you have shown us to-day the signifi- cance of both the Old South and the New. APRIL HOPES. BY WILLIAM DEAN IIOwELLS. XXVIII. THE parting scene with Alice persisted in Maverings thought far on the way to Ponkwasset Falls. He now succeeded in saying everything to her: how deeply he felt her giving him her photograph to cheer him in his separation from her; how much lie appreciated her forethought in providing him with some answer when his mother and sisters should ask him about her looks. He took out the pic- ture, and pretended to the other passen- gers to be looking very closely at it, and so managed to kiss it. He told her that now lie understood what love really was; how powerful; how it did conquer everything; that it had changed him, and made hini already a better man. He made her re- fuse all merit in the work. When he began to formulate the facts for communication to his family, love did not seem so potent; he found himself ashamed of his passion, or at least unwill- ing to let it be its own excuse even; he had a wish to give it almost any other ap- pearance. Until he came in sight of the station and the Works, it had not seemed possible for any one to object to Alice. He had been going home as a matter of form to receive the adhesion of his family. But now he was forced to see that she might be considered critically, even re- luctantly. This would only be because his family did not understand how per- fect Alice was; but they might not under- stand. With his father there would be no dif- ficulty. His father had seen Alice and admired her; he would be all right. Dan found himself hoping this rather anxious- ly, as if from the instinctive need of his fathers support with his mother and sis- ters. He stopped at the Works when he left the train, and found his father in his private office beyond the book-keepers picket-fence, which lie penetrated, with a nod to the accountant. Hello, Dan I said his father, looking up; and Hello, father ! said Dan. Being alone, the father and son not only shook hands, but kissed each other, as they used to do in meeting after an absence when Dan was younger. He had closed his fathers door with his left hand in giving his right, and now lie said at once, Father, Ive come home to tell you that Im engaged to be mar- ned. Dan had prearranged his fathers be- havior at this announcement, hut he now perceived that he would have to modify the scene if it were to represent the facts. His father did not brighten all over and demand, Miss Pasmer, of course? He contrived to hide whatever start the news had given him, and was some time in ask- APRIL HOPES. 247 ing, with his soft lisp, Isnt that rather sudden, Dan? Well, not for me, said Dan, laugh- ing uneasily. Itsyou know her, fa- therMiss Pasmer. Oh yes, said his father, certainly not with displeasure, and yet not with en- thusiasm. Ive had ever since Class Day to think it over, and itcame to a climax yestei.- day. And then you stopped thinking, said his fatherto gain time, it appeared to Dan. Yes, sir, said Dan. I havent thought since. Well, said his father, with an amuse- ment which was not unfriendly. He add- ed, after a moment, But I thought that had been broken off, and Dans instinct penetrated to the lurking fact that his father must have talked the rupture over with his mother, and not wholly regret- ted it. There was a kind ofhitch at one time, he admitted; but its all right now. Well, well, said his father, this is great newsgreat news, and he seemed to be shaping himself to the new posture of affairs, while giving it a conditional recognition. Shes a beautiful crea- ture. Isnt she? cried Dan, with a little break in his voice, for he had found his fathers manner rather trying. And shes good too. I assure you that she is -she is simply perfect every way. Well, said the elder Mavering, ris- ing and pulling down the rolling top of his desk, Im glad to hear it, for your sake, Dan. Have you been up at the house yet? No; Im just off the train. How is her motherhow is Mrs. Pas- mer? All well l Yes, sir, said Dan; theyre all very well. You dont know Mr. Pasmer, I be- lieve, sir, do you ? Not since college. What sort of per- son is he l Hes very refined and quiet. Very handsome. Very courteous. Very nice indeed. Ah! thats good, said Elbridge May- ering, with the effect of not having been very attentive to his sons answer. They walked up the long slope of the hill-side on which the house stood, over- looking the valley where the Works were and fronting the plateau across the river where the village of operatives houses was scattered. The paling light of what had been a very red sunset flushed them and brought out the picturesqueness which the architect, who designed them for a particular effect in the view from the owners mansion, had intended. A good carriage road followed the easi- est line of ascent toward this edifice, and reached a gateway. Within it began to describe a curve bordered with asphalted footways to the broad veranda of the house, and then descended again to the gate. The grounds enclosed were plant- ed with deciduous shrubs, which had now mostly dropped their leaves, and clumps of firs darkeniiig in the evening light, with the gleam of some garden statues shivering about the lawn next the house. The breeze grew colder and stiffer as the father and son mounted toward the man- sion, which Dan used to believe was like a chateau, with its Mansard - roof and dormer-windows and chimneys. It now blocked its space sharply out of the thin pink of the western sky, and its lights sparkled with a wintry keenness which had often thrilled Dan when he climbed the hill from the station in former home- comings. Their brilliancy gave him a strange sinking of the heart for no rea- son. He and his father had kept up a sort of desultory talk about Alice, and he could not have said that his father had seemed indifferent; he had touched the affair only too acquiescently; it was pain- fully like everything else. When they came in full sight of the house, Dan left the subject, as he realized presently, from a reasonless fear of being overheard. It seems much later here, sir, than it does in Boston, he said, glancing round at the maples, which stood ragged, with half their leaves blown from them. Yes; were in the hills, and were further north, answered his father. Theres Minnie. Dan had seen his sister on the veranda, pausing at sight of him, and puzzled to make out who was with her father. He had an impulse to hail her with a shout, but he could not. In his last walk with her he had told her that he should never marry, and they had planned to live to- gether. It was a joke; but now he felt as if he had come to rob her of something, and lie walked soberly on with his father. 248 HAI~PERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Why, Dan, you good-for-nothing fel- low ! she called out when he came near enough to be unmistakable, and ran down the steps to kiss him. What in the world are you doing here? When did you come? Why didnt you hollo, instead of letting me stand here guessing? Youre not sick, are you ? The father got himself in-doors unno- ticed in the excitement of the brothers arrival. This would have been the best moment for Dan to tell his sister of his engagement; he knew it, but he parried her curiosity about his coming; and then his sister Eunice came out, and he could not speak. They all went together into the house, flaming with naphtha gas, and with the steam heat already on, and Dan said he would take his bag to his room, and then come down again. He knew he had left them to think that there was something very mysterious in his coming, and while he washed away the grime of his journey he was planning how to ap- pear perfectly natural when lie should get back to his sisters. He recollected that he had not asked either them or his father how his mother was, but it was certainly not because his niind was not full of her. Alice now seemed very re- mote from him, further even than his gun, or his boyish collection of moths and butterflies, on which his eye fell in roving about his room. For a bitter in- stant it seemed to him as if they were all alike toys, and in a sudden despair he asked himself what had become of his hap- piness. It was scarcely half a day since he had parted in transport from Alice. He made pretexts to keep from return- ing at once to his sisters, and it was near- ly half an hour before he went down to them. By that time his father was with them in the library, and they were wait- ing tea for him. XXIX. A family of rich people in the country, apart from intellectual interests, is apt to gormandize; and the Maverings always sat down to a luxurious table, which was most abundant and tempting at the meal they called tea, when the invention of the Portuguese man-cook was taxed to supply the demands of appetites at once eager and fastidious. They prolonged the meal as much as possible in winter, and Dan used to like to get home just in time for tea when lie came up from Harvard; it was always very jolly, and he brought a boys hunger to its abundance. The din- ing-room, full of shining light, and heat- ed from the low-down grate, was a plea- sant place. But now his spirits failed to rise with the physical cheer; he was al- most bashfully silent; he sat cowed in the presence of his sisters, and careworn in the place where he used to be so gay and bold. They were waiting to have him begin about himself, as he always did when he had been away, and were ready to sympathize with his egotism, whatever new turn it took. He mystified them by asking about them and their affairs, and by dealing in futile generalities, instead of launching out with any business that he happened at the time to be full of. But he did not attend to their answers to his questions; he was absent-minded, and only knew that his face was flushed, and that lie was obviously ill at ease. His younger sister turned from him im- patiently at last. Father, what is the matter with Dan ? Her bold recognition of their common constraint broke it down. Dan looked at his father with helpless consent, and his father said, quietly, He tells me hes en- gaged. What nonsense ! said his sister Eu- nice. Why, Dan ! cried Minnie; and he felt a reproach in her words which the words did not express. A silence fol- lowed, in which the father alone went on with his supper. The girls sat staring at Dan with incredulous eyes. He became suddenly angry. I dont know whats so very extraor- dinary about it, or why there should be such a pother, he began; and he knew that he was insolently ignoring abundant reasons for pother, if there had been any pother. Yes, Im engaged. He expected now that they would be- lieve him, and ask whom he was engaged to; but apparently they were still unable to realize it. He was obliged to go on. Im engaged to Miss Pasmer. To Miss Pasmer I repeated Eunice. But I thought Minnie began, and then stopped. Dan commanded his temper by a strong effort, and condescended to ex- plain. There was a misunderstanding, but its all right now; I only met her yes- terday, andits all right. He had to APRIL HOPES. 249 keep on ignoring what had passed be- tween him and his sisters during the month he spent at home after his return from Campobello. He did not wish to do so; he would have been glad to laugh over that epoch of ill - concealed heart - break with them; but the way they had taken the fact of his engagement made it impos- sible. He was forced to keep them at a distance; they forced him. Im glad, he added, bitterly, that the news seems to be so agreeable to my family. Thank you for your cordial congratulations. He swallowed a large cup of tea, and kept looking down. How silly ! said Eunice, who was much the oldest of the three. Did you expect us to fall upon your neck before we could believe it wasnt a hoax of fa- thers ? A hoax! Dan burst out. I suppose, said Minnie, with mock meekness, that if were to be devoured, its no use saying xve didnt roil the brook. Im sure I congratulate you, Dan. with all my heart, she added, with a trembling voice. Icongratulate Miss Pasmer, said Eu- nice, on securing such a very reasonable husband. When Eunice first became a young lady she was so much older than Dan that in his mothers absence she some- times authorized herself to box his ears, till she was finally overthrown in battle by the growing boy. She still felt herself so much his tutelary genius that she could not let the idea of his engagement awe her, or keep her from giving him a need~d les- son. Dan jumped to his feet, and passion- ately threw his napkin on his chair. There, that will do. Eunice ! inter- posed the father. Sit down, Dan, and dont be an ass, if you arc engaged. Do you expect to come up here with a bomb- shell in your pocket and explode it among us without causing any commotion? We all desire your happiness, and we are glad if you think youve found it, but we want to have time to realize it. We had only adjusted our minds to the apparent fact that you hadnt found it when you were here before. His father began very se- verely, but when he ended with this re- cognition of what they had all blinked till then, they laughed together. My pillow isnt dry yet, with the tears I shed for you, Dan, said Minnie, de- murely. I shall have to countermand my mourning, said Eunice, and wear loud- er colors than ever. Unless, she added, Miss Pasmer changes her mind again. This divination of the past gave them all a chance for another laugh, and Dans sisters began to reconcile themselves to the fact of his engagement, if not to Miss Pasmer. In what was abstractly so dis- agreeable there was the comfort that they could joke about his happiness; they had not felt free to make light of his misery when he was at home before. They be- gan to ask all the questions they could think of as to how and when, and they assimilated the fact more and more in ac- quiring these particulars and making a mock of them and him. Of course you havent got her photo- graph, suggested Eunice. You know we ye never had the pleasure of meeting the young lady yet. Yes, Dan owned, blushing, I have. She thought I niight like to show it to mother. But it isnt A very good onethey never are, said Minnie. And it was taken several years ago they always are, said Eunice. And she doesnt photograph well, any- way. And this one was just after a long fit of sickness. Dan drew it out of his pocket, after some funibhing for it, while he tolerated their gibes. Eunice put her nose to it. I hope its your cigarettes it smells of, she said. Yes; she doesnt use the weed,? an- swered Dan. Oh, I didnt mean that, exactly, re- turned his sister, holding the picture off at arms-length, and viewing it critically with contracted eyes. Dan could not help laughing. I dont think its been near any other cigar case, he answered, tranquilly. Minnie looked at it very near to, cov- ering all but the face with her hand. Dan, shes lovely! she cried, and Dans heart leaped into his throat as lie grateful- ly met his sisters eyes. Youll like her, Mm. Eunice took the photograph from her for a second scrutiny. Shes certainly very stylish. Rather a beak of a nose, and a little too bird-like on the whole. But she isnt so bad. Is it like her ? she ask- ed, with a glance at her father. 250 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I might sayafter looking, he re- plied. True! I didnt know but Dan had shown it to you as soon as you met. He seemed to be in such a hurry to let us all know. The father said, I dont think it flat- ters her, and he looked at it more care- fully. Not much of her mother there ? he suggested to Dan. No, sir; shes more like her father. Well, after all this excitement, I be- lieve Ill have another cup of tea, and take something to eat, if Miss Pasmers photo- graph doesnt object, said Eunice, and she replenished her cup and plate. What colored hair and eyes has she, Dan ? asked Minnie. He had to think so as to be exact. Well, you might say they were black, her eyebrows are so dark. But I believe theyre a sort of grayish-blue. Not an uncommon color for eyes, said Eunice, but rather peculiar for hair. They got to making fun of the picture, and Dan told them about Alice and her family; the father left them at the table, and then came back with word from Dans mother that she was ready to see him. xxx. By eight oclock in the evening the pain with which every day began for Mrs. Mavering was lulled, and her jarred nerves were stayed by the opiates till she fell asleep about midnight. In this in- terval the family gathered into her room and brought her their news and the cheer of their health. The girls chattered on one side of her bed, and their father sat with his newspaper on the other, and read aloud the passages which he thought would interest her, while she lay propped among her pillows, brilliantly eager for the world opening this glimpse of itself to her shining eyes. That was on her good nights when the drugs did their work, but there were times when they failed, and the days agony prolonged itself through the evening, and the sleep won at last was a heavy stupor. Then the sufferers tem- per gave way under the stress; she be- came the torment she suffered, and tore the hearts she loved. Most of all she af- flicted the man who had been so faithful to her misery, and maddened him to re prisals, of which he afterward abjectly re- pented. Her tongue was sharpened by pain, and pitilessly skilled to inculpate and to punish; it pierced and burned like fire; but when a good day came again she made it up to the victims by the angelic sweetness and sanity which they felt was her real self; the cruelty was only the mask of her suffering. When she was better they brought to her room anybody who was staying with them, and she liked them to be jolly in the spacious chamber. The pleasant- est things of the house were assembled, and all its comforts concentrated, in the place which she and they knew she should quit but once. It was made gay with flowers and pictures; it was the salon for those fortunate hours when she became the lightest and blithest of the company in it, and made the youngest guest forget that there was sickness or pain in the world by the spirit with which she ignored her own. Her laugh became young again; she joked; she entered into what they were doing and reading and thinking, and sent them away full of the sympathy which in this mood of hers she had for every mood in others. Girls sighed out their wonder and envy to her daugh- ters when they left her; the young men whom she captivated with her divination of their passions or ambitions went away celebrating her supernatural knowledge of human nature. The next evening after some night of rare and happy excitement, the family saw her nurse carrying the pic- tures and flowers and vases out of her room, in sign of her renunciation of them all, and assembled silently, shrinkingly, in her chamber, to take each their portion of her anguish, of the blame and the pen- alty. The household adjusted itself to her humors, for she was supreme in it. When Dan used to come home from Harvard she put on a pretty cap for him, and distinguished him as company by certain laces hiding her wasted frame, and giving their pathetic coquetry to her transparent wrists. He was her favorite, and the girls acknowledged him so, and made their fun of her for spoiling him. He found out as he grew up that her broken health dated from his birth, and at first this deeply affected him; but his young life soon lost the keenness of the impression, and he loved his mother be- cause she loved him, and not because she had been dying for him so many years. APRIL HOPES. 251 As he now came into her room, and the waiting-woman went out of it with her usual Well, Mr. Dan ! the tenderness which filled him at sight of his mother was mixed with that sense of guilt which had tormented him at times ever since he met his sisters. He was going to take himself from her; he realized that. Well Dan! she called, so gayly that he said to himself, No, father hasnt told her anything about it, and was in- stantly able to answer her as cheerfully, Well, mother He bent over her to kiss her, and the odor of the clean linen mingling with that of the opium, and the cologne with which she had tried to banish its scent, opened to him one of those vast reaches of associations which perfumes can un- lock, and he saw her lying there through those years of pain, as many as half his life, and suddenly the tears gushed into his eyes, and he fell on his knees, and hid his face in the bedclothes and sobbed. She kept smoothing his head, which shook under her thin hand, and saying, Poor Dan! poor Dan ! but did not ques- tion him. He knew that she knew what he had come to tell her, and that his tears, which had not been meant for that, had made interest with her for him and his cause, and that she was already on his side. He tried boyishly to dignify the situa- tion when he lifted his face, and he said, I didnt mean to come boohooing to you in this way, and Im ashamed of myself. I know, Dan; but youve been wrought up, and I dont wonder. You n~ustnt mind your father and your sisters. Of course theyre rather surprised, and they don~t like your taking yourself from them we none of us do. At these honest words Dan tried to be- come honest too. At least lie dropped his pretence of dignity, and became as a little child in his simple greed for sympathy. But it isnt necessarily that; is it, mo- ther ? Yes, its all that, Dan; and its all right, because its that. We dont like it, but our not liking it has nothing to do with its being right or wrong. I supposed that father would have been pleased, anyway, for he has seen her, andand Of course the girls havent, but I think they might have trusted my judgment a little. Im not quite a fool. His mother smiled. Oh, it isnt a question of the wisdom of your choice; its the unexpectedness. We all saxv that you were very unhappy when you were here before, and we supposed it had gone wrong. It had, mother, said Dan. She re- fused me at Campobello. But it was a misunderstanding, and as soon as we met I knew you had met again, and what you had come home for, and I told your father so, when he came to say you were here. Did you, mother ? he asked, charmed at her having guessed that. Yes. She must be a good girl to send you straight home to tell us. You knew I wouldnt have thought of that myself, said Dan, joyously. I wanted to write; I thought that would do just as well. I hated to leave her, but she made nie come. She is the best, and the wisest, and the most unselfish Oh, mother, I cant tell you about her! You must see her. You cant realize her till you see her,mother. Youll like each oth- er, Im sure of that. Youre just alike. It seemed to Dan that they were exactly alike. Then perhaps we shant, suggested his mother. Let me see her picture. How did you know I had it? If it hadnt been for her, I shouldnt have brought any. She put it into my pocket just as I was leaving. She said you would all want to see what she looked like. He had taken it out of his pocket, and he held it, smiling fondly upon it. Ali~ seemed to smile back at him. He had lost her in the reluctance of his father and sisters; and now his motherit was his mother who had given her to him again. He thought how tenderly he loved his mother. When he could yield her the photo- graph she looked long and silently at it. She has a great deal of character, Dan. There youve hit it,mother! Id rath- er you would have said that than any- thing else. But dont you think shes beautiful? Shes the gentlest creature, when you come to know her! I was aw- fully afraid of her at first. I thought she was very haughty. But she isnt at all. Shes really very self-depreciatory; she thinks she isnt good enough for me. You ought to hear her talk, mother, as I have. Shes full of the noblest idealsof being of some use in the world, of being self-de 252 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. voted, andall that kind of thing. And you can see that shes capable of it. Her aunts in a Protestant sisterhood, he said, with a solemnity which did not seem to communicate itself to his mother, for Mrs. Mavering smiled. Dan smiled too, and said: But I cant tell you about Alice, mother. Shes perfect. His heart over- flowed with proud delight in her, piid he was fool enough to add, Shes so affec- tionate ! His mother kept herself from laughing. I dare say she is,Danwith you. Then she hid all but her eyes with the photo- graph and gave way. What a donkey ! said Dan, meaning himself. If I go on, I shall disgust you with her. What I mean is that she isnt at all proud, as I used to think she was. No girl is, under the circumstances. She has all she can do to be proud of you. Do you think so, mother ? lie said, enraptured with the notion. Ive done my bestor my worstnot to give her any reason to be so. She doesnt want anythe less the better. You silly boy! Dont you sup- pose she wants to make you out of the whole cloth, just as you do with her? She doesnt want any facts to start with; theyd be in the way. Well, now, I can make out,with your help,what the young lady is; but what are the father and mo- ther? Theyre rather important in these cases. Oh, theyre the nicest kind of people, said Dan, in optimistic generalization. Youd like Mrs. Pasmer. Shes awful- ly nice. Do you say that because you think I wouldnt ? asked his mother. Isnt she rather sly and humbugging ? Well, yes, she is, to a certain extent, Dan admitted, with a laugh. But she doesnt mean any harm by it. Shes ex- trernely kind-hearted. To you? I dare say. And Mr. Pas- mer is rather under her thumb ? Well, yes, you might say thumb, Dan consented, feeling it useless to defend the Pasmers against this analysis. We wont say heel, returned his mo- ther; were too polite. And your fa- ther says he had the reputation in college of being one of the most selfish fellows in the world. Hes never done anything since but lose most of his money. Hes been absolutely idle and useless all his days. She turned her vivid blue eyes suddenly upon her sons. Dan winced. You know how hard father is upon people who havent done anything. Its a mania of his. Of course Mr. Pasmer doesnt show to advantage where theres nono leisure class. Poor man Dan was going to say, Hes very ami- able, though, but 1w was afraid of his mothers retorting, To you ? and lie held his peace, looking chapfallen. Whether his mother took pity on him or not, her next sally was consoling. But your Alice may not take after ei- ther of them. Her father is the worst of his breed, it seems; the rest are useful peo- ple, from what your father knows, and theres a great deal to be hoped for col- laterally. She had an uncle in college at the same time who was everything that her father was not. One of her aunts is in one of those Protestant religious houses in England, repeated Dan. Oh ! said his mother, shortly, I dont know that I like that particularly. But probably she isnt useless there. Is Alice very religious ? Well, I suppose, said Dan, with a smile for the devotions that came into his thought, shes what would be called Piscopal pious. Mrs. Mavering referred to the photo- graph, which she still held in her hand. Well, shes pure and good, at any rate. I suppose you look forward to a hon en- gagement ? Dan was somewhat taken aback at a supposition so very contrary to what was in his mind. Well, I dont know. Why ? It might be said that you are very young. How old is Agnes Alice, I mean ? Twenty-one. But now, look here, mo- ther! Its no use considering such a thing in the abstract, is it? No said his mother, with a smile for what might be coming. This is the way Ive been viewing it; I may say ifs the way Alice has been viewing itor Mrs. Pasmer, rather. Decidedly Mrs. Pasmer, rather. Bet- ter be honest, Dan. Ill do my best. I was thinking, hop- ing, that is, that as Im going right into the businesshave gone into it already, in factand could begin life at once, that APRIL HOPES. 253 perhaps there wouldnt be much sense in waiting a great while. Yes ? Thats all. That is, if you and father are agreed. He reflected upon this pro- vision, and added, with a laugh of con- fusion and pleasure: It seems to be so very much more of a family affair than I used to think it was. You thought it concerned just you and her ? said his mother, with arch sympathy. Well, yes. Poor fellow! She knew better than that, you may be sure. At any rate, her mother did. ~What Mrs. Pasmer doesnt know isnt probably worth knowing, said Dan, with an amused sense of her omniscience. I thought so, sighed his mother, smiling too. And now you begin to find out that it concerns the families in all their branches on both sides. Oh,if it stopped at the families and their ramifications! But it seems to take in society and the general public. So it doesmore than you can real- ize. You cant get married to yourself alone, as young people think; and if you dont marry happily, you sin against the peace and comfort of the whole commu- nity. Yes, thats what Im chiefly looking out for now. I dont want any of those people in Central Africa to suffer. Thats the reason I want to marry Alice at the earliest opportunity. But I suppose therell have to be a Mavering embassy to the high contracting powers of the ether part now Your father and one of the girls had better go down. Yes ? And invite Mr. and Mrs. Pasmer and their daughter to come up here. All on probation l Oh no. If youre pleased, Dan I am, mothermeasurably. They both laughed at his mild way of put- ting it. Why, then its to be supposed that were all pleased. You neednt bring the whole Pasmer family home to live with you, if you do marry them all. No, said Dan, and suddenly he be- came very distraught. It flashed through him that his mother was expecting him to come home with Alice to live, and that she would not be at all pleased with his scheme of a European sojourn, which Mrs. Pasmer had so cordially adopted. He was amazed that he had not thought of that, but he refused to see any difficulty which his happiness could not cope with. No, theres that view of it, he said, jollily; and he buried his momentary anxiety out of sight, and, as it were, danced upon its grave. Nevertheless, he had a desire to get quickly away from the spot. I hope the Mavering embassy wont be a great while getting ready to go, he said. Of course its all right; but I shouldnt want an appearance of re- luctance exactly, you know, mother; and if there should be much of an interval be- tween my getting back and their coming on, dont you know, why, the cat might let herself out of the bag. What cat ? asked his mother, de- murely. Well, you know, you havent re- ceived my engagement with unmingled enthusiasm, andand I suppose they would find it out from mefrom my man- ncr; andand I wish theyd come along pretty soon, mother. Poor boy! Im afraid the cat got out of the bag when Mrs. Pasmer came to the years of discretion. But you shant be left a prey to her. They shall go back with you. Ring the bell, and lets talk it over with them now. Dan joyfully obeyed. He could see that his mother was all on fire with inter- est in his affair, and that the idea of some- how circumventing Mrs. Pasmer byprompt action was fascinating her. His sisters came up at once, and his fa- ther followed a moment later. They all took their cue from the mothers gayety, and began talking and laughing, except the father, who sat looking on with a smile at their lively spirits and the jokes of which Dan became the victim. Each family has its own fantastic medium, in which it gets affairs to relieve them of their concrete seriousness, and the May- erings now did this with Dans engage- ment, and played with it as an airy ab- straction. They debated the character of the embassy which was to be sent down to Boston on their behalf, and it was de- cided that Eunice had better go with her father, as representing more fully the age and respectability of the family: at first glance the Pasiners would take her for Dans mother, and this would be a tre- mendous advantage. 2~4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And if I like the ridiculous little chit, said Eunice, I think I shall let Dan mar- ry her at once. I see no reason why he shouldnt, and I couldnt stand a long en- gagement; I should break it off. I guess there are others who will have ~oniething to say about that, retorted the younger sister. Ive always wanted a long engagement in this family, and as there seems to be no chance for it with the ladies, I wish to make the most of Dans. I always like it where the hero gets sick and the heroine nurses him. I want Dan to get sick, and have Alice come here and take care of him. No~ this marriage must take place at once. What do you say, father I asked Eunice. Her father sat, enjoying the talk, at the foot of the bed, with a tendency to doze. You might ask Dan, lie said, with a lazy cast of his eye toward his son. Dan has nothing to do with it. Dan shall not be consulted. The two girls stormed upon their father with their different reasons. Now I will tell you Girls, be still! their mother broke in. Listen to me: I have an idea. Listen to her: she has an idea I echoed Eunice, in recitative. Will you be quiet ? demanded the mother. We will be du-u-mb 1 When they became so, at the verge of their mothers patience, of which they knew the limits, she went on: I think Dan had better get married at once. There, Minnie ! But what does Dan say ? I willmake the sacrifice, said Dan, ni eekly. Noble boy! Thats exactly what Washington said to his mother when she asked him not to go to sea, said Minnie. And then he went into the militia, and made it all right with himself that way, said Eunice. Dan cant play his filial piety on this family. Go on, mother. I want him to bring his wife home, and live with us, continued his mother. In the L part I cried Minnie, clasping her hands in rapture. Ive always said what a perfect little apartment it was by itself. Well, dont say it again, then, re- turned her sister. Always is often enough. Well, in the L part Go on, mother! Dont ask where you were, when its so exciting. I dont care whether its in the L part or not. Theres plenty of room in the great barn of a place everywhere. But what about his taking care of the business in Boston ? suggested Eunice, looking at her father. Theres no hurry about that. And about the excursion to insthetic centres abroad ? Minnie added. That could be managed, said her fa- ther, with the same ironical smile. The mother and the girls went on wild- ly planning Dans future for him. It was all in a strain of extravagant burlesque. But he could not take his part in it with his usual zest. He laughed and joked too, but at the bottom of his heart was an uneasy remembrance of the different fu- ture he had talked over with Mrs. Pasmer so confidently. But he said to himself buoyantly at last that it would come out all right. His mother, would give in, or else Alice could reconcile her mother to whatever seemed really best. He parted from his mother with fond gayety. His sisters came out of the room with him. Im perfectly sore with laughing, said Minnie. It seems like old times doesnt it, Dan hsuch a gale with mo- ther. XXXI. An engagement must always be a little incredible at first to the families of the betrothed, and especially to the family of the young man; in the girls, the mother, at least, will have a more realizing sense of the situation. If there are elder sis- ters who have been accustomed to regard their brother as very young, he will seem all the younger because in such a matter lie has treated himself as if he were a man; and Eunice Mavering said, after seeing the Pasmers, Well, Dan, its all well enough, I suppose, but it seems too ridiculous. Whats ridiculous about it, I should like to know ? he demanded. Oh, I dont know. Wholl look after you when youre married? Oh, I forgot Maam Pasmer ! I guess we shall be able to look after ourselves, said Dan, a little sulkily. Yes, if youll be allowed to, insinu- ated his sister. APPJL HOPES. 255 They spoke at the end of a talk, in which he had fretted at the reticence of both his sister and his father concerning the Pasmers, whom they had just been to see. He was vexed with his father, be- cause he felt that he had been influenced by Eunice, and bad somehow gone back on him. He was vexed and he was grieved because his father had left them at the door of the hotel without saying anything in praise of Alice, beyond the generalities that would not carry favor with Eunice; and he was depressed with a certain sense of Alices father and mo- ther, which seemed to have imparted it- self to him from the others, and to be the Mavering opinion of them. He could no longer see Mrs. Pasmer harmless if trivial, and good-hearted if inveterately schem- ing; he could not see the dignity and re- finement which lie had believed in Mr. Pasmer; they had both suffered a sort of shrinkage or collapse, from which he could not rehabilitate them. But this would have been nothing if his sisters and his father~s eyes, through which he seemed to have been looking, had not shown him Alice in a light in which she appeared strange and queer almost to ec- centricity. He was hurt at this effect from their want of sympathy, his pride was touched, and he said to himself that he should not fish for Eunices praise; but lie found himself saying, without sur- prise, I suppose you will do what you can to prejudice mother and Mm. Isnt that a little previous I asked Eunice. Have I said anything against Miss Pasmer V You havent because you couldnt, said Dan, with foolish bitterness. Oh, I dont know about that. Shes a human being, I supposeat least that was the impression I got from her par- entage. What have you got to say against her parents ? demanded Dan, savagely. Oh, nothing. I didnt come down to Boston to denounce the Pasmer fain- ilv. I suppose you didnt like their being in a flat; youd have liked to find them in a house on Commonwealth Avenue or Beacon Street. Ill own Im a snob, said Eunice,with maddening meekness. Sos father. They are connected with the best fam- ilies in the city, and they are in the best society. They do what they please, and they live where they like. They have been so long in Europe that they dont care for those silly distinctions. But what you say doesnt harm them. Its simply disgraceful to you; thats all, said Dan, furiously. Im glad its no worse, Dan, said his sister, with a tranquil smile. And if youll stop prancing up and down the room, and take a seat, and behave your- self in a Christian manner, Ill talk with you; and if you dont, I wont. Do you suppose Im going to be bullied into liking them ? You can like them or not, as you please, said Dan, sullenly; but he sat down, and waited decently for his sister to speak. But you cant abuse them at least in my presence. I didnt know men lost their heads as well as their hearts, said Eunice. Perhaps its only an exchange, though, and ifs Miss Pasmers head. Dan start- ed, but did not say anything, and Eunice smoothly continued: No, I dont believe it is. She looked like a sensible girl, and she talked sensibly. I should think she had a very good head. She has good manners, and shes extremely pretty, and very graceful. Im surprised sh~ should be in love with such a simpleton. Oh, go on! Abuse me as much as you like, said Dan. He was at once soothed by her praise of Alice. No, it isnt necessary to go on; the case is a little too obvious. But I think she will do very well. I hope youre not marrying the whole family, though. I suppose that its always a question of which shall be scooped up. They will want to scoop you up, and we shall want to scoop her up. I dare say Maam Pas- mer has her little plan; what is it ? Dan started at this touch on the quick, but lie controlled himself, and said, with dignity, I have my own plans. Well, you know what mothers are, returned Eunice, easily. You seem so cheerful that I suppose yours are quite the same, and youre just keeping them for a surprise. She laughed provoking- ly, and Dan burst forth again: You seem to live to give people pain. You take a fiendish delight in torturing others. But if you think you can influ- ence me in the slightest degree, youre very much mistaken. Well, well, there! It shant be teased any more, so it shant! It shall have its 256 HAIRPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. own way, it shall, and nobody shall say a word against its little girlys mother. Eunice rose from her chair, and patted Dan on the head as she passed to the ad- joining room. He caught her hand and flung it violently away; she shrieked with delight in his childish resentment, and left him sulking. She was gone two or three minutes, and when she came back it was in quite a different mood, as often happens with women in a little lapse of time. Dan. I think Miss Pasmer is a beauti- ful girl, and I know we shall all like her, if you dont set us against her by your ar- ro ance Of course we dont know any- thing about her yet, and you dont, really; but she seems a very lovable little thing, and if shes rather silent and undemon- strative, why, shell be all the better for you: you~ve got demonstration enough for twenty. And I think the family are well enough. Mrs. Pasmer is thoroughly harm- less; and Mr. Pasmer is a most dignified personage; his eyebrows alone are worth the price of admission. Dan could not help smiling. All that there is about it is, you mustnt expect to drive people into raptures about them, and expect them to go grovelling round on their knees be- cause you do. Oh, I know Im an infernal idiot, said Dan, yielding to the mingled sarcasm and flattery. Its because Im so anx- ious, and you all seem so confoundedly provisional about it. Eunice, what do you suppose father really thinks ? Eunice seemed tempted to a relapse into her teasing, but she did not yield. Oh, fathers all rightfrom your point of view. Hes been ridiculous from the first; perhaps thats the reason he doesnt feel obliged to expatiate and expand a great deal at present. Do you think so ? cried Dan, instant- ly adopting her as an ally. Well, if I say so, oughtnt it to be enough ? It depends upon what else you say. Look here, now, Eunice I Dan said, with a lau~,hing mixture of fun and earnest, what are you going to say to mother? Its no use being disagreeable, is it? Of course I dont contend for ideal perfection anywhere, and I dont expect it. But there isnt anything experimental about this thing, and dont you think we had better all make the best of it ? That sounds very impartial. It is impartial. Im a purely disin- terested spectator. Oh, quite. And dont you suppose I understand Mr. and Mrs. Pasmer quite as well as you do? All I say is that Alice is simply the noblest girl that ever breathed, and Now youre talking sense, Dan ! Well, what are you going to say when you get home, Eunice? Come 1 That we had better make the best of it. And what else I That youre hopelessly infatuated; and that she will twist you round her finger. Well ? But that youve had your own way so much, it will do you good to have some- body elses awhile. I guess youre pretty solid, said Dan, after thinking it over for a moment. I dont believe youre going to make it hard for me, and I know you can make it just what you please. But I want you to be frank with mother. Of course I wish you felt about the whole affair just as I do, but if youre right on the main question, I dont care for the rest. Id rather mother would know just how you feel about it, said Dan, with a sigh for the honesty which he felt to be not imme- diately attainable in his own case. Well, Ill see what can be done,Eu- nice finally assented. Whatever her feelings were in regard to the matter, she must have satisfied herself that the situation was not to be changed by her disliking it, and she began to talk so sympathetically with Dan that she soon had the whole story of his love out of him. They laughed a good deal together at it, but it convinced her that he had not been hoodwinked into the engagement. It is always the belief of a young mans fami- ly, especially his mother and sisters, that unfair means have been used to win him, if the family of his betrothed are unknown to them; and it was a relief, if not exactly a comfort, for Eunice Mavering to find that Alice was as great a simpleton as Dan, and perhaps a sincerer simpleton. XXXII. A week later, in fulfilment of the ar- rangement made by Mrs. Pasmer and Eu- nice Mavering, Alice and her mother re- turned the formal visit of Dans people. APRIL HOPES. 257 While Alice stood before the mirror in one of the sumptuously furnished rooms assigned them, arranging a ribbon for the effect upon Dans mother after dinner, and regarding its relation to her serious beau- ty, Mrs. Pasmer came in out of her cham- ber adjoining, and began to inspect the formal splendor of the place. What a perfect mans house ! she said, peering about. You can see that everything has been done to order. They have their own taste; theyre artistic enough for that-or the father isand theyve given orders to have things done so and so, and the New York upholsterer has come up and taken the measure of the rooms and done it. But it isnt like New York, and it isnt individual. The whole house is just ]ike those girls tailor- made costumes in character. They were made in New York, but they dont wear them with the New York style; theres no more atmosphere about them than if they were young men dressed up. There isnt a thing lacking in the house here; theres an awful completeness; but even the or- naments seem laid on, like the hot and cold water. I never saw a handsomer, more uninviting room than that draWing- room. I suppose the etchings will come some time after supper. What do you think of it all, Alice ? Oh, I dont know. They must be very rich, said the girl, indifferently. You cant tell. Country people of a certain kind are apt to put everything on their backs and their walls and floors. Of course such a house here doesnt mean what it would in town. She examined the texture of the carpet more critically, and the curtains; she had no shame about a curiosity that made her daughter shrink. Dont, mamma ! pleaded the girl. What if they should come They wont come, said Mrs. Pasmer; and her notice being called to Alice, she made her take off the ribbon. Youre better without it. Im so nervous I dont know what Im doing, said Alice, removing it, with a whimper. Well, I cant have you breaking down ! cried her mother, warningly: she really wished to shake her, as a culmi- nation of her own conflicting emotions. Alice, stop this instant! Stop it, I say ! But if I dont like her ? whimpered Alice. Youre not going to marry her. Now stop! Here, bathe your eyes; theyre all red. Though I dont know that it mat- ters. Yes, theyll expect you to have been crying, said Mrs. Pasmer, seeing the situation more and more clearly. Its perfectly natural. But she took some cologne on a handkerchief, and re- composed Alices countenance for her. There, the color becomes you, and I never saw your eyes look so bright. There was a pathos in their brilliancy which of course betrayed her to the May- ering girls. It softened Eunice, and en- couraged Minnie, who had been a little afraid of the Pasmers. They both kissed Alice with sisterly affection. Their fa- ther merely saw how handsome she look- ed, and Dans heart seemed to melt in his breast with tenderness. In recognition of the different habits of their guests, they had dinner instead of tea. The Portuguese cook had outdone himself, and course followed course in tri- umphal succession. Mrs. Pasmer praised it all with a sincerity that took away a little of the zest she felt in making flatter- ing speeches. Everything about the table was per- fect, but in a mans fashion, like the rest of the house. It lacked the atmospheric charm, the otherwise indefinable grace, which a womans taste gives. It was in fact Elbridge Maverings taste which had characterized the whole; the dau~,hters simply accepted and approved. Yes, said Eunice, we havent much else to do; so we eat. And Joe does his best to spoil us. Joe? Joes the cook. All Portuguese cooks are Joe. How very amusing! said Mrs. Pas- mer. You must let me speak of your grapes. I never saw anything sowell! except your roses. There you touch father in two tender spots. He cultivates both. Really? Alice, did you ever see any- thing like these roses Alice looked away from Dan a mdment, and blushed to find that she had been look- ing so long at him. Ak, I have, said Mr. Mavering, gal- lantly. Does he often do it ? asked Mrs. Pas- mer, in an obvious aside to Eunice. Dan answered for him. He never had such a chance before. Between coffee, which they drank at 258 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. table, and tea, which they were to take in Mrs. Maverings room, they acted upon a suggestion from Eunice that her father should show Mrs. Pasmer his rose-house. At one end of the dining-room was a little apse of glass full of flowering plants grow- ing out of the ground, and with a delicate fountain tinkling in their midst. Dan ran before the rest, and opened two glass doors in the further side of this half-bubble, and at the same time with a touch flashed up a succession of brilliant lights in some space beyond,from which tl]ere gushed in a wave of hot-house fragrance, warm, heavy, hu- mid. It was a pretty little effect for guests new to the house, and was part of Elbridge Maverings pleasure in this feature of his place. Mrs. Pasmer responded with gen- erous sympathy, for if she really liked anything with her whole heart, it was an effect, and she traversed the half-bubble by its pebbled path, showering praises right and left with a fulness and accuracy that missed no detail, while Alice followed si- lently, her hand in Minnie Maverings, and cold with suppressed excitement. The rose-house was divided by a wall, pierced with frequent doorways, over which the trees were trained and the roses hung; and on either side were ranks of rare and cost- ly kinds, weighed down with bud and bloom. The air was thick with their breath and the pungent odors of the rich soil from which they grew, and the glass roof was misted with the mingled exhala- tions. Mr. Mavering walked beside Alice, mod- estly explaining the difficulties of rose cult- ure, and his method of dealing with the red spider. He had a stout knife in his hand, and he cropped long, heavy-laden stems of roses from the walls and the beds, casually giving her their different names, and laying them along his arm in a mas- sive sheaf. Mrs. Pasmer and Eunice had gone for- ward with Dan, and were waiting for them at the thither end of the rose-house. Alice! just imagine: the grapery is beyond this, cried the girls mother. Its a cold grapery, said Mr. May- ering. I hope youll see it to-mor- row. Oh, why not to-night ? shouted Dan. Because its a cold grapery, said Eu- nice; and after this rose-house, its an arctic grapery. Youre crazy, Dan. Well, I want Alice to see it, anyway, he persisted, wilfully. Theres nothing like a cold grapery by starlight. Ill get some wraps. They all knew that he wished to be alone with her a moment, and the three womea, consenting with their hearts, protested with their tongues, following him in his flight with their chorus, and greeting his return. He muf- fled her to the chin in a fur-lined over- coat, which he had laid hands on the first thing, and her mother, still protesting, helped to tie a scarf over her hair so as not to disarrange it. Here, he pointed, we can run through it, and its worth see- ing. Better come, he said to the others as he opened the door, and hurried Alice down the path under the keen sparkle of the crystal roof, blotched with the leaves and bunches of the vines. Coming out of the dense, sensuous, vaporous air of the rose-house into this clear, thin atmosphere, delicately penetrated with the fragrance, pure and cold, of the fruit, it was as if they had entered another world. His arm crept round her in the odorous obscurity.. Look -. up! See the stars through the vines ! But when she lifted her face he bent his upon it for a wild kiss. Dont! dont! she murmured. I want to think; I dont know what I,m doing. Neither do I. I feel as if I were a blessed ghost. Perhaps it is only in these ecstasies of the senses that the soul ever reaches self- consciousness on earth; and it seems to be only the man-soul which finds itseli even in this abandon. The woman-soui{ has always something else to thiiak of. What shall we do, said the girl, if we Oh, I dread to meet your mother! Is she like either of your sisters ?. No, he cried, joyously; shes like me. If youre not afraid of me, and you dont seem to be Youre all I haveyoure all I have in the world. Do you think shell like me? Oh, do you love me, Dan ?~ You darling! you divine The rest was a mad embrace. If youre not af raid of me, you wont mind mother. I wanted you here alone for just a last word, to tell you you neednt be afraid; to tell you to But I neednt tell you how to act. You mi~stnt treat her as an invalid, you must treat her like any one else; thats what she likes. But youll know whats best, Alice. Be yourself, and shell like you well enough. Im not afraid. [TO BE cONTINUED.] SOCIAL STUDIES. BY RICHARD T. ELY. ~econb ~eties. 111.TIlE FUTURE OF CORPORATIONS. THE importance of a proper regulation of corporations by the State, which is the only possible power capable of such regulation, must be apparent to every one who has read the two previous articles in this series. The manner in which one- fourth part of the national resources is managed is a matter of most vital con- cern to every inhabitant of the United States. The, solidarity of interests is such that all must be affected thereby. A hu- mane, discreet, and honest administration of this enormous property will contribute very perceptibly to the prosperity of our country, while a dishonest, wasteful, and soulless management of corporate inter- ests must exercise a baleful influence upon our entire economic life, and upon those other higher spheres of national life to which it should minister. But we have not as yet said enough. It is not merely the fact that one-fourth of the re- sohrces of the country now belongs to corporations which should excite serious thought; it is the drift of things which is of the most importance. The corporate principle is daily extending. What is to be the outcome of this? The best thinkers on economic topics seem to be more nearly unanimous than ever b~efore in the opinion that co-opera- tion is to be the ultimate solution of the industrial problems of our day. This view was held, it is well known, by the Chi~is- tii~n socialists of England thirty-five years ago. and at that time they had mapped out pretty clearly the form of co-operation which they thought future society would adopt. A.~mong them were some of the most gifted Englishmen of this century, who have demonstrated long ago that they were not mere visionaries, but that, on the contrary, they far excelled in prac- tical wisdom their detractors. Many of these early Christian socialists, now old men, after a life rich in experience, still maintain their former opinion about co- operation. Mr. Thomas Hughes, for cx- ample, writes: I still look to this move- inent as the best hope for England and other lands. .Iobn Stuart Mill frequently gave cx- pression to somewhat similar views, al- though lie doubtless held that public au- thority would play a more important r6le in future industrial society than did the Christian socialists. He sympathizedat any rat