The New England magazine. / Volume 12, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 828 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 AFJ3026-0012 /moa/newe/newe0012/

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The New England magazine. / Volume 12, Note on Digital Production 0012 000
The New England magazine. / Volume 12, Note on Digital Production A-B

The New England magazine. / Volume 12, Issue 2 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 828 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 AFJ3026-0012 /moa/newe/newe0012/

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

The New England magazine. / Volume 12, Issue 2 New England magazine and Bay State monthly New England magazine and Bay State monthly Era magazine New England Magazine Co. Boston April 1892 0012 002
The New England magazine. / Volume 12, Issue 2, miscellaneous front pages ix-138

New En gland Magazine AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY. OONTFNTS $~ries, Vol. 6. Old Serie~, VOl. MARCH, x8921AUGUST, 1892. BOSTON, MASS.: NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE CORPORATION, 86 Federal Street. 12. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1892, hy the NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE CORPORATION, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. AU rights reserved. TYPOGRAPHY BY NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE, BOSTON, MASS. PRESSWORK BY POTTER & POTTER, BOSTON, MASS. INDEX TO TUE NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE. VOLUME vi. MARCH AUGUST, 18q2. PAGE. AMERICA IN EARLY ENGLISH LITERATURE Isaac Basset! 6hoa/e 20 AUNT MARTHYS SECRETARY. A Story Mary 7. Garland 98 ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH Rev. William H. Savage ....... .237 Illustrated by Valerian Gribayedof, Chas. H. Woodbury, Sears Gallagher, Louis A. Holman, Jo. H. Hatfield, M. Lamont Brown, James Hall, and A. Howes. The old Parsonage; Sir Richard Saltonstall; First old Parsonage, 1635; Old Meeting House in which Provincial Con- gress held their 2d and 3d Sessions; Harriet Hosmers Birthplace; Birthplace of Maria White (Lowell); Theodore Parker; Harriet Hosmer; Rev. John Bailey; Some old Watertown Tombstones; Anne Whitney; Birthplace of Anne Whitney; Fowle House, General XVarrens Headquarters; Paul Reveres House; Public Library; First Parish Church; John Weiss; Twilight on the Charles; Dr. Convers Franciss House; Dr. Convers Francis; Theodore Parkers Board. ing Place; House in which Theodore Parker kept School; Old Coolidge Tavern whete Washington once lodged; Watertown Churches of To-day. ART IN CHICAGO Lucy B. Monroe. 411 Illustrations: James H. Dole, Vice.President of the Art Institute; The Chicago Art Institute; Portrait of a Girl, by Rembrandt Van Ryn; Prof. N. P. Lulp, by Rembrandt Van Ryn; Princess Helena Leonora de Sieveri, by Van Dyck; The Water Mill, by Hobbema; W. M. R. French, Director of the Art Institute; The Sacred WoodPagan Inspira- tion, by Puvis de Chavannes; John H. Vanderpoel, President Chicago Society of Artists; Heads of Two Apostles, by Peter Paul Rubens; The Guitar Lesson, by Terburg; Judgment of Paris, by Walter McEwen; Charles L. Hutchinson, President of the Art Institute; Alice D. Kellogg, President of the Palette Club; Walter McEwen, from a charcoal sketch by Himself, engraved by M. Lamont Brown; Abraham Lincoln, from the Statue by Augustus St. Gandens; The New Art Institute ARMSTRONG (GENERAL) AND THE HAMPTON INSTITUTE Edwin A. Start 442 Illustrated chiefly from photographs by Jeannette El. Appleton and sketches by H. Martin Beal: View of the Water Front of the Hampton Buildings; Map of Hampton; General Samtiel Chapman Armstrong, en- graved by i\I. Lamont Brown; The Old Mansion HouseHome of General Armstrong; A Bit of the Old South, near Hampton; Memorial Church from Hampton River; Virginia Hall; General James F. B. Marshall; Whittier Prepara.. tory School; Harness Making; Officers of the Battalion; In the Girls Garden; Shellbanks The Old Homestead on the Hemenway Farm; The Barnyard; Reading-room and Library; Class in Natural History Science Building; In the Printing Office; Indian Students; Indian Boys playing Crokinole; Spahananadaka (Wild Rose), a Hampton Student; Indian Boys making Wheelbarrows; an Omaha Family and their Home before a Course at Hampton and Afterward. ARGENTINE REPUBLIC, THE Don 7uan S. Att7oell 767 Illustrated chiefly from Photographs by the Amateur Photographic Society of Buenos Aires, kisldly loaned for the purpose by Don Carlos R6hl, Consul-general of the Argentine Republic, New York. Illustrations: Government House, Buenos Aires; Provincial Bank, City of La Plata; Poor Peoples Huts, Buenos Aires Province; Private Residences on one of the Fashionable Avenues of Buenos Aires; Cathedral, Buenos Aires; Callao Street, Buenos AiresJesuit Convent on Right; Station of the Southern Railroad, Buenos Aires; Btokers Rings, Stock Exchange, Buenos Aires; Fa~ade of Opera House, Buenos Aires; Grand Stand, Race Course, Buenos Aires; A Rodeo, Small Herd of Cows on a Ranch; Scene in the Park of Buenos Aires; Municipal Building, La Plata; New Docks, Buenos Aires; An old Spanish Corner in Buenos Airesa relic of Cdlonial Times; El Challao, Andes Mountains; Ruins of Santo Domingo Church, Mendoza; Three Public Schools of Buenos Aires; Entrance to the Riachuelo. BRYANTS NEw ENGLAND HOME Henrietta S. Nahiner Illustrations by Chas. H. Woodhury, B. V. Carpenter, Louis A. Holman, and Sears Gallagher: William Cullen Bryant; Monument marking Birthplace of the Poet; One of Cummingtons streets; House in which Thanatopsis was written; William Cullen Bryant; Bank of the rivulet which flows through Cummington; Old School- house on the Bryant farm; Old road at Cummington; Schoolhouse presented to the Town by William Cullen Bryant; Interior of the Bryant Library; Library presented by the Poet to the Town of Cummington; The Bryant Homestead; Library in Bryant Homestead; Old Baptist Church; Bryants Fathers grave in the motintain graveyard. BERMUDA IN BLOCKADE TIMES Charles Halloek 337 BONIVARD, THE TRUE, THE PRISONER OF CHILION W. D. Mcfi7rackan 615 Illustrated by H. Martin Beal and Louis A. Holman. BLACK BASS FISHING IN NEW ENGLAND Charles Frederick Danforth 66o CANDIDATE AT BINNACLE, THE Benlamin Asbury Goodridge .. 796 Illustrated by Jo. H. Hatfield. CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD William Dana Orcut! 81 Illustrations; Jester, from ~ H. P. C. Theatricals Twelfth Night; Group from q~ D. K. E. TheatricalsCalus Julius Cnsar; Premilre Danseusein ~i H. P. C. The Obispab ; The g~ D. K. E. Theatricals Cams Johns Cnsar; Seal of Institute of i770; The ~e H. P. C. Theatricals The Obispab; Alco in The Obispab; Emblem of Porcellian Club; Groupfrom ~ D. K. E. Theatricals A Serpent in Petticoats; The Hasty Pudding Clubhouse; Medal of H. P. C.; ~ Skirtz in The Obispab; Group from the 92 H. P. C. Theatricals The Old Bedstead; Cassandra in 90 H. P. C. Helen and Paris: The Freak, the Frump, and Friar; Ballet Girls in Alice in Wonderland; Emblem of A. D. Club; Amita in The Obispab ; Running for the Dickey; Seal of the Pi Eta Society; Medal of the 0. K. Society; Watch charm of the Phi Beta Kappa Society; Institute Song; Seal of the Alpha Delta Phi Society; Dickey business; Notification of Membership H. P. C.; The Porcelliati Clubhouse. CARDINAL MANNING. A Portrait 185 COMMONPLACE BIOGRAPHY, A Thomas M. Glark, D.D 207 INDEX. PAGE. CLAY, HENRY, AS SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE Mary Parker Follelt 344 CHICAGO STOCKYARDS, THE. i//us/rated P. ~. OKeefe 358 CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR MOVEMENT, THE 513 I. The Early Days of the Society Rez. Francis E. Clark II. A New Religious Force A taos R. Wells III. The Outlook aod the Opportunity . . . 7oka Willis Baer Illustrated with Sketches and Portraits. CHICAGO, THE HEART OF Franklin H. Head 551 Illustrated chiefly from photographs: Tower of the Auditorium; A Moonlight Effect; The W C. I. U. Building; The Lake Front; Marshall Field & Co.s XVholesale Store: Among the Docks; The Masonic Temple; State Street; The Rooke and Hoard of Trade; The Lake Front Park; Hallway in Auditorium; Dining-room in Auditorium; Clark Street; Marshall Field & Co.s; Interior of Hoard of Trade; Court House and City Building; Twilight on Lake Michigan; Interior of First National Bank; Potter Palmer; Marshall Field; Geo. i\I. Pullman; Philip D. Armour; Pullman Building. CHILLON, PRISONER OF W. D. MeGrackan 615 CHICAGO FIRE, THE ,7osep/z Kirkland 726 Illtistrated from photographs kindly furnished hy Mr. Henry H. Belfield, and the Dibble Publishing Co., the publishers of Mr. Kirklands work The S tory of Chicago, Illustrations; Door of Republic Insurance Company Building (still standing); House now standing where the Great Fire originated; Historical Society Building, Dearborn Street; Tribune Building, Before and After the Fire; The Court House before the Fire; The Court House, seen through the Ruins of Clark Street; Booksellers Row, Before and After; Post Office; Post Office Ruins; First National Bank; Field and Leisters Store; Chamber of Commerce; Michigan Southern R. R. Depot; Armours Block; St. Jamess Church Before and After; Door of Unity Church; Ruins of N. E. Congregational Church; Unity and N. E. Congregational Churches after the Fire; St. Pauls Church Before and After; Looking South down Clark St.; View from Tribune Building Looking East; Crosbys Opera House; View of Wabash Avenue; Van Buren Street Bridge. EDITORS TABLE Edwin D. Mead 134, 266, 403, 543, 679, 8t~ EARLY VISITORS TO CHICAGU Edward C. Mason 188 Illustrations by Jo. H. Hatfield, Louis A. Holman, and from old prints. ELECTRICAL DEVELOPMENT OF THE FUTURE Professor Eliku Thomson 623 FAMILY TREE, A. A Story Mary L. Adams 257 Illustrated by Jo. H. Hatfield. FREE SUMMER PLEASURES FOR THE PEOPLE lN BOSTON Kate Gannett Wells 789 FRENCH CANADIANS IN NEW ENGLAND, THE Prosper Bender ~68 FREEMAN, EDWARD AUGUSTUS William (larke, M.A 607 FUTURE ELECTRICAL DEVELOPMENT Professor Eliku Tkomson 623 Illustrated by H. Martin Beal; Electric Signal operating through Fog and Darkness; Ships officer taking the Electric Wave Signal; Power Station at Niagara; Electric Street Cars; Power Station, New York City; Electric Freight Locomotive; High Speed Electric Locomotive; Lighting, ancient and modern; Electric Mine Locomotive; Electric Mining Drill; Electric Gardening; Electric Iron; Electric Cooking. FIRE, THE CHICAGO 7osepk Kirkland 726 GOVERNMENT OF CITIES Moorfeld Storey 432 GOVERNOR WINTHROPS FARM. A Chapter of Old Bedford History..Abram Englisk Brown 325 Illustrated hy Jo. H. Hatfield, H. Martin Heal, and Louis A. Holman: Governor Winthrop; The Two Brothers; A Portion of the deed of conveyance of the Winthrop Farm; Job Lanes House; Road dividing the Winthrop Farm; The First Meeting.house; Fitch Tavern; Mill on the Shawshine; Alice Stearos; Chestnut Avenue, Pickman House; Old Clock, Bedford Church; Bedford Church: The Bacon Homestead; Old Flag, 775; Rev. Samuel Stearns; Hannah Reed; Bedford House; Sign of David Reeds Tavern; The Winthrop oak. GOVERNORS RECEPTION, THE. A Story Frances M. Abbott 301 Illustrated by Jo. H. Hatfield: Don seem to be any signs of breakin the drouth ; When Mr. Atkinsons dickey strings were tied; Lucy; Gentlemen, will you let me escort you down and introduce you to the Governor? GLOUCESTER, ROUND ABOUT Edwin A. Start 687 HANS GUTEMANS WINNINGS. A Story Mac Gregor 7enkins 703 IN A LIYrTE OLD TRUNK. Illustrated 7ahn S. Barrows 213 IMPRESSIONISM IN PAINTING William Howe Downes 6oo JUST TAXATION 7. Whidden Graham 706 LENNETTE. A Story Ethel Davis 231, 372 LIND, JENNY, IN NORTHAMPTON Elizabeth Le Baron Marsh 391 Illustrations: Northampton from Elizabeth Rock; Mr. and Mrs. Goldschmidt, iI~i; A Nook in Paradise; Program of Jenny Linds Concert; Mount Holyoke from Hockanum Ferry; The Jonathan Edward Elm; The old church in which Jenny Lind sang; The lake in Paradise, Northampton; The Henshaw House, where Jenny Lind used to stop on her way up Round Hill; Round Hill, Northampton, from an Old I1rint. MARCO POLOS EXPLORATIONS AND THEIR INFLUENCE UPON COLUMBUS... Helen P. Margesson 803 MILWAUKEE (aptain (harles Kind ito Illustrated chiefly from photographs by S. L. Stein. The long sweep of sandy shore to the south; Up the river nearly two miles from the Lake; Residence of D. M. Benjamin; View of Grand Avenue and Ninth Street looking West; The Milwaukee Club; John Mitchells Residence; National Soldiers Home; North Point Water Tower and Park; View on the Milwaukee River; Mallards coming in to roost, from a painting by C. 0. Kert; Layton Art Gallery; One of Milwaukees new Hotels; A Bit of River Scenery; The Plankinton Residence; St. Pauls Episcopal Church; Emmanuel Church; The Milwaukee River; Chicago, Mil- waukee, aad St. Paul Union Depot; Schandein Residence; Trinity Church; Residences of James E. Patton and G. P. Miller; Hallway in G. P. Millers House; Chimneypiece in 1. A. Chapmans store; A new Milwaukee office building; T. A. Chapmans store; Colonel Fred Pabsts Residence. INDEX. xiii PAGE. M1CMAC FESTIVAL IN CAPE BRETON, THE 7. H. Wilson 177 MEXICO, THE REPUBLIC OF Don Gayetano kontero 579 Illustrations: President Diaz; Statue of Columbus, City of Mexico; The Cathedral of Mexico; Aztec Calendar Stone; Drainage Canal of Nochistongo; Interior of the Cathedral of Guadalupe; Shrines on Sacramonti; Popocatepetl from Tlamacas; Zacatecas; Ixtaccjihuatl from Tlamacas; Hacienda, Temasopa A Typical Mexican Farmhouse; Quere- taro; Hercules Cotton Mills near Queretaro; El Salto de JuanacatlanThe Majara of Mexico; A Mexican Water Carrier; A Mexician Mining Scene; Guanajuanto; A Loafer; Temasopa Calion; The Pyramid of Cholula; Acque- duct at Quereiaro A Bit of Aguascalienies A Native gathering Pulque; A Bit of Orizala; Castle of Chapultepec. MODERN LEAR, A. A Story Et/zelwyh Wet/zerald 603 NEGRO CAMP MELODIES Henri (leveland Wood 6o OMNIBUS 271, 408, 548, 684 A Heart of Stone, P. ;VlcArthur; The Modish Maid, Basil Tempest; ~Old and New, Francis Dana; From the Past, M. A. de Wolfe Howe, Jr.; A Diet of Worms, Amos R. Wells; Genlosan Joe, M. E. Torrence. A Medley, Susie RI. Best; One of Longfellows Letters, D. M. Jones. Her Name, Zitella Cocke; The Difference, T. H. Farnham; A Comforter, Robert Loveman; The De- butante, James G. Burnett. Worshippers of Light Ancestral, A. S. Bridgman; A Treasure Trove, P. McArthur; In Cliftondale, Allen Eastman Cross; Blind Love, Kate Whiting; The Violet, C. Battell Loomis; A Back-Bay Lesson, A. S. Bridgman. ON THE TRACK o~ COLUMBUS Horatio 7. Perry 290 ONE OF A THOUSAND. A Serial STORY. I. and II Eben E. Rexford 783 ~ MONOMOV POINT. A Story William Earle Baldwin 743 PROVIDENTIAL LEADING, A. A Story Mi~a (larke Parsons . 26 PROGRESS OF THE AMERICAN REPUBLICS, THE William Eleroy (nrtis 311 POOR MILLIONNAIRE, A. A Story Mary L. Adams . 489 PEOPLE IN CHURCH AND STATE. THE Edward Everett Hale 541 PROFESSIONS OR TRADES FOR WORKtNGMENS SONS Forrest Morgan 752 RECOLLECTIONS oG LOUISA MAY ALCOrr Maria S. Porter 3 Illustrations by May Alcott Nieriker, Louis A. Holman, and Jo. H. Hatfield: Amos Bronson Alcott; Mrs. Alcott; Bust of Alcott, by Ricketson, in the Concord Library; The Wayside; 1he Porch of the Orchard House; IVIiss Alcotts House at Nonquitt; Miss Alcott at the age of thirty.eight; Miss Alcott from a Photo by Warren; Orchard House, Concord (The Home of the Little Women); No. to Lotiisburgh Square, Boston; Bust of Miss Alcott made by Walter Ricketson for the Concord Library; House on Dunreath Place, Boston, where Miss Alcott died; The Alcott Lot in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, Concord; A Portion of Miss Alcotts last Letter. ROMANCE OF CASCO BAV. I., II., III Herbert M. Sylvester 379, 501, 756 Illustrated by Charles H. Woodbury, H. M. Sylvester, Sears Gallagher, and Jo. H. Hatfield: Fore River; lhe Stroudwater across the Old Canal; Some Quaint Headstones; The old Salt Mill; The Means House; The Means Sideboard; Stairway in the Tate House; Admiral Tates House; Buffet in the Tate House; The Tate Homestead, said to be the oldest House in Maine. ROUND ABOUT GLOUCESTER Edwin A. Start 687 Illustrated by Jo. H. Hatfield, Louis A. Holman, and Sears Gallagher. Rafes Chasm; Old Ellery Houseonce used as a Tavern; The Glottcester Court House; Mother AnnEastern Point, Gloucester; Main Street; One of the Residential Streets; A Bit of Gloucester, seen from East Cloucester; Low Tide at Magnolia; On Eastern Point; The Willows, near Annisquam; Fish Curing; Coffins Beach; Gloucester from East Gloucester; The Reef of Normans Woe; An old Timer; A Modern Gloucester Fishing Schooner; High School; Rev. John Murray; Rev. Eli Forbes; A Bit of Annisquam; Gale House, Eastern Point; Sketches around Cape Ann. STORIES o~ SALEM WITCHCRAFT Winfield S. Nevins 36 Illustrations; Witch Pine; Site of Bridget Bishops Salem House; Residence of Constable Putnam, Salem Village, t692; Shattuck House, Salem; Death warrant of Bridget Bishop; The Jacobss House, Danversport; Anthony Needham House, West Peabody; Site of Beadle favern, Salem; Trask House, North Beverly; Site of John Proctors House, Peabody; George Jacobs Grave, Danversport. SIXTY YEARS AGO. II [ney E. A. Kebler 48 SURPLICED BOY CHOIRS IN AMERICA S. B. Whitney 139 Illustrations: Chorister of the Madeleine, Paris, from a Painting by Kate Watkins; Choir of St. Janiess Church, New York; Choir Boys, Church of the Advent, Boston; Two Little Probationers; Choir of St. Pauls Church, Concord, N. H.; Hartwell Staples, Chtirch of the Advent, Boston; The Recessional, St. Pauls Church, Concord; Choir of St. Pauls, Milwaukee; Blatchiord Kavanagh, Grace Church, Chicago; Willie Cooper, St. Pauls Church, Kenwood, Chi- cago; Dr. Gilbert, Organist of Trinity Chapel, New York; Choir of St. Johns Church, Jamaica Plains, Mass.; Newton Wilcox, St. Pauls, Boston; Out-door Service, Grace Church Choir, of Chicago, at St. Clair Springs, Mich.; Arthur E. Greene, St. Pauls, Boston; Edwin S. Baker, Chtirch of the Heavenly Rest, New York: Choir of St. Stephens Chtirch, Lynn; Three Brother Choristers, St. Jamess Church, New York; Willie V. Macdonald, Appleton Chapel, Harvard; Geo. L. Osgood, Choir Master, Emmanuel Chttrch, Boston; S. B. Whitney, Organist and Choir Master, Church of the Advent, Boston; Group from Emmanuel Church Choir, Boston; Choir of St. Jamess Church, Cambridge; Recessional Chtirch of the Advent, Boston. SUMMER WOOING, A. A Story George Ethelbert Walsh 181 STORIES o~ SALEM WITCHCRAFT Winfield S. Nevins 217 Illustrated by Jo. H. Hatfield and Louis A. Holnian: John Putnam 3ds Place; Thomas Haines House; The Joseph Putnam House, Danvers; Thomas Fuller, Jrs. House, Middleton; The old Philip English House, built t6I~, taken down in sS~~ Benj. Fullers House, Middleton. SHAKER COMMUNITY, A 7ames K. Reeve 349 SQUIRES NIECE MARIA, THE. A Story Mary F flaynes 461 Illustrated by Jo. H. Hatfield. SHIP COLUMBIA, THE, AND THE DISCOVERY OF THE OREGON...... Edward C. Porter 472 Illustrated from old drawings by Haswell and Davidson, and sketches by Jo. Hatfield and H. Martin Beal: Autographs of Members of the Expedition; Hobarts Landing, North River, Scituate, where the 4oinnobia was built; Captain Grays Cup; Medals strstck to commemorate the Departure of the columbia and the Washington; Jos. Barrell; R. Hatwell; The Ship Columbia and the Sloop Washington; The Columbia in a Squall; At the Falkland Islands; The Ship Columbia and the Brig Hancock in Hancocks River, Queen Charlottes Islands; In Winter Quar- ters at Clayoquot; The Ship Columbia surprised by the Natives of Chickleset; In the Straits of Juan de Fuca; C. Bulfinch; At XVhampoa. INDEX. PAGE. SOcIALISM OF JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, THE Edward Gruib, M. A. 676 THREE LETTERS FROM HANCOCK TO DOROTHY Q Henry Go//ins Walsh 531 Illustrated from old Documents and Portraits: Autograph Letter by John Hancock; John Hancock, from a Painting by Copley; Dorothy Quincy, from a Painting by Copley. TOMS LIZA. A Story Edith Elmer. 668 VILLAGE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND Reuben Gold Thzoaites 275 Illustrated by Louis A. Holman, Jo. H. Hatfield, and H. Martin Beal: Great flocks of sheep as yet unshorn; Over the white footpaths which wind through the broad meadows ; The parish church lifts its hoary head above the tree lops; Farm Laborers at work; Sometimes the cottages abut directly upon the street, without allowance for a footpath; The Old Market Cross; But, as a rule, the villagers are domiciled; The American in England is at once attracted by the neat appearance of the cottages of the poor; A Bit of the Barnyard; Uncouth in speech and manner, the ordinary faim laborer is not an attractive creature ; Now and then the shop blossoms into a small grocery ; Breakfast time ; The Village Smithy; The little town ball has stood for centuries; Set off in donkey carts to see the neighboring attractions ; A solidly built structure is the old Chequers Inn; The last load of hay; Haymakers at the .big house; The village postman; Farmer Georges. WOMENS WORK AT THE HARVARD OBSERVATORY Helen Leah Reed 165 WITCHCRAFT IN CONNECTICUT Prof Ghas. H. Lever zore 636 WINTHROP, THE TOWN OF Albert Winslow 67obb 645 Illustrated by Valerian Gribayedoff, Louis A. Holman, and the Author: Ihe Winthrop Yacht Clubhouse; Fac-simile of Old Ma p of Boston Harbor, 773; Entrance to Bartlett Park; William F. Bartlett; The Bartlett House; St. Johns Episcopal Church; A Street in modern Winthrop; The Emerson House; Geo. B. Emerson; Winthrop Churches; A Bit of Winthrop; The Old Bill House; Dean Winthrops House; On the Harbor Side. WALT WHITMAN George .D. Black 710 WALT WHITMAN IN BOSTON Sylvester Baxter 714 WALT WHITMANS DEMOCRACY Walter Blac/eburn Harte 721 POETRY. APPLE BLOSSOMS Maud Wy;nan 529 AN AMERICAN STONEHENGE Thomas Wentworth Hi~ginson 622 BROKEN MEASURES Sarah Knowles Bolton 530 BLUE AND GRAY, THE Zitella 6ocke 512 CONTENT John B. Tabb 164 CZARS BANQUET, THE Marie Petravsky 319 DUSK Julie M. Li~z5p;nann 709 FALLEN LOVE Phil~p Bourke Marston 353 GONE John S. Barrows 354 HEAT Clinton Scollard ~O9 HE WAS GOOD TO THE POOR Allen Eastman 6ross 184 HUMAN FREEDOM LEAGUE Allen Eastman Gross 324 IF YOU XVERE HERE Philz~5 Bourke Marston 59 IN CHILDISH DAYS Mary T. Earle 216 IN A SUMMER GONE BY Menna Irving 265 IN CROWDED WAYS Edith Mary Norris 569 LIFE CYCLES Katharine C. Penfield 179 LESSON OF THE YEARS, THE James G. Burnett 212 LOVE, DEATH, AND SORROW John White Chadwick 323 MEANING OF THE SONG, THE Elizabeth K. Reynolds 567 MUTATION George Ed~ar Montgomery 644 POETS PRAISE, THE Gharles Edwin Markham 371 RELEASE Bessie Chandler 8o ROUGET DR LISLE Wilbur Larremnore 230 RETROSPECT Charles Gordon Ro~ers..~ 256 SONG AFTER SILENCE Clinton Scollard 33 SCHUMANN AND SCHUBERT Zitella Cocke 34 STORM CLOUD, THE Celia P. Woolley 180 SMILE OF PEACE, THE Gertrude Christian Fosdick i86 STRICKEN IN ENGLAND Anthony P. de Frietas 614 Two SOULS siEnna Irving 578 TWO WORDS F. E. B 599 WHEN I AM OLD Arthur L. Salmon 766 WHY FLOWERS BLOW Pearl Rivers ... 636 WORK AND WAGES (h rles Edwin Markham 441 LOUiSA MAY ALCOTT At the Age of Twenty. FROM AN UNPUBLISHED PORTRAIT IN POSSESSION OF MRS. PRATT. THE NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE. MARCH, 1892. VOL. VI. No. i RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTh By Maria S. Porter. o name in American literature has more thril- led the hearts of the young people of this generation than that of Louisa May Alcott. What a life of benefi- cence and self- abuegation was hers! How distinctively was her character an outcome of the best New England ancestry. In her veins ran the blood of the Quincys, the Mays, the Alcotts, and the Sewalls. What better inheri- tance could one have? and after all how important a factor in life is heredity One is so enriched, strengthened, and upborne by a good ancestry, or some- times, alas! so handicapped, baffled, and utterly defeated in the conflicts of life by bad hereditary influence, that when one has so fine an inheritance as was Louisa Alcotts, one should be thankful for it and rejoice in it as she did. In looking back upon Miss Alcotts life, heroic and faithful to the end, it is the woman who interests us even more than the writer, whose phenomenal suc- cess in touching the hearts of old and young is known so well the world over. Do the duty that lies nearest, was her life motto, and to its fulfilment were given hand and brain and heart. Helen Hunt Jackson once wrote of her: Miss Alcott is really a benefactor of house- holds. Truer words were never writ- ten. She was proud of her ancestors. I remember a characteristic expression of hers as we sat together one morning in June, 1876, in the old South Meeting House, where was assembled an immense audience, stirred to a white heat of patriotic enthusiasm by the fervid elo- quence of Wendell Phillips, whose plea to save that sacred landmark from the vandals who were ready to destroy it can never be forgotten. At the conclusion of Phillipss speech she turned to me, her face aglow with emotion, and said: I am proud of my foremothers and fore- fathers, and especially of my Sewall blood, even if the good old judge did condemn the witches to be hanged. After a moment of silence she added: I am glad that he felt remorse, and had the manliness to confess it. He was made of the right stuff. Of this an- cestor, Whittier wrote in The Prophecy of Samuel Sewall: Stately and slow with solemn air, His black cap hiding his whitened hair, Walks the Judge of the great Assize, Samuel Sewall, the good and wise; His face with lines of firmness wrought He wears the look of a man unbought. Of the name of Quincy, Oliver Wendell Holmes has written in Dorothy Q: Look not on her with eyes of scorn, Dorothy Q was a lady horn! Ay! since the galloping Normans came, Englands annals have known her name; And still to the three-hilled rebel town Dear is that ancient names renown, For many a civic wreath they won, The youthful sire and the gray-haired son. NEW SERIES. 4 RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT him by some of the great thinkers of the age. In a note to me in October, 1882, just after her father had been stricken with paralysis, she wrote: My poor, dear father lies dumb and helpless. He seems to know us all and it is so pathetic to see my handsome, hale, active old father changed at one fell blow into this helpless wreck. You know that he wrote those forty remarkable sonnets last winter, and these, with his cares as Dean of the School of Philosophy and his many lectures there, were enough to break down a man of eighty-three years. I continually protested Amos Brosson AJcott Miss Alcott began to write at a very early age. Her childhood and early girl- hood were passed in the pure sweet atmosphere of a home where love reigned. Louisa and her sister Anna were educated in a desultory and frag- mentary manner, or, perhaps one should say, without system. Mr. and Mrs. Al- cott, the two Misses Peabody, Thoreau, Miss Mary Russell, and Mr. Lane had a share in their education. Mrs. Haw- thorne taught Anna to read, and I think Louisa once spoke of her to me as her Mrs. Alcott. own first teacher. and warned him against overwork and taxation Mrs. Alcott was a remarkable woman, of the hrain, but twas of no avail. Wasnt I a great reader, with a broad, practical doing the same thing myself? I did not practise wide char~ what I preached, and indeed I have great cause mind, deep love of humanity, for fear that I may be some day stricken down as ity, untiring energy, and a highly sensi- he is. He seems so tired of living; his active tive organization, and she was married to mind heats against the prison bars. Did I ever a man whom she devotedly loved, who tell you what Mr. Emerson once said of him to me? Louisa, your father could have talked with was absolutely devoid of practical knowl- Plato. Was not that praise worth having? Since edge of life, and who was an idealist of then I have often in writing addressed him as the extremest type. With the narrowest My dear old Plato. means, her trials, perplexities, and priva- Just after the publication of the Cor- tions were very great, but she bore them respondence of Carlyle and Emerson, I all with heroic courage and fidelity, and found her reading it one day. Her face with unwavering affection for her hus- was radiant with delight as she said: band. Louisa early recognized all this. Let me read you what Emerson wrote She soon developed the distinguishing to Carlyle just before father went to traits of both father and mother. Emer- England. I shall write again soon, for son, soon after he made Mr. Alcotts Bronson Alcott will probably go to Eng- acquaintance, recognized his consummate land in about a month, and him I shall ability as a conversationalist, and was surely send you, hoping to atone by his through life his most loyal friend. Louisa great nature for many smaller ones that was very proud of her fathers intellectual have craved to see you. Again she acquirements, and it was most interesting read: He is a great man and is made to hear her tell of the high tributes paid for what is greatest. . . . . Alcott has RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT. 5 returned to Concord with his wife and children and taken a cottage and an acre of ground, to get his living by the help of God and his own spade. I see that some of the education people in England have a school called Alcott House, after my friend. At home here he is despised and rejected of men as much as ever was Pestalozzi. But the creature thinks and talks and I am proud of my neighbor. Carlyles estimate of Alcott, although not as high as Emersons, was a fairly appreciative one. He wrote to Emerson after Alcotts visits to him: He is a genial, innocent, simple- hearted man, of much natural intel- ligence and good- ness, with an air of rusticity, veracity, and dignity withal, which in many ways appeals to me. The good Alcott, with his long, lean face and figure, his gray worn temples and mild radiant eyes, all bent on saving the world by a return to the Golden Age; he comes before one like a kind Don Quixote, whom no- body can even laugh at without loving. Louisa, after reading these extracts, t a k e n from different parts of the books, said with emphasis: It takes great men like Emerson and Carlyle and Thoreau to appreciate father at his best. She always spoke with great freedom and frankness of her fathers lack of practical ability; and very pathetic were some of the stories she told of her own early struggles to earn money for the family needs; of her strivings to smother pride while staying with a maternal relative who had offered her a home for the winter while she was teaching in a small private school in Boston; and of her indignation when Mr. Fields said to her father, who had taken a story of hers to him to read with the hope that it might be accepted for the A//an/ic: Tell Louisa to stick to her teaching; she can never succeed as a writer This message, she said, made her exclaim to her father: Tell him I will succeed as a writer, and some day~ I shall write for the A/lan/ic! Not long afterward a story of hers was ac- cepted by the A/lan/ic and a check for fifty dollars sent her. In telling me of this she said: I called it my happy money, for with it I bought a second - hand carpet for our parlor, a bonnet for Anna, some blue ribbons for May, some shoes and stockings for myself, and put what was left into the Micawber Railroad, the Harold Skimpole Three Per Cents, and the Alcott Sinking Fund. One merry talk about the experi- ences of her girl- hood and early womanhood,with several pathetic and tragic stories, one beautiful moonlight sum- mer evening, as we floated down the Concord River, made a profound im- pression on me, and I recall the stories with great distinctness. When I was a girl of eighteen or thereabouts, she said, I had very fine dark brown hair, thick and long, almost touching the floor as I stood. At a time when the family needs were great, and discouragement weighed heavily upon us, I went to a barber, let down rhy hair, and asked him how much money he would give me for it. When he told me the sum, it seemed so large to me that I then Bust of Alcott by Ricketnon, in the Concord Library. RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT The Wayside FROM A DRAWING BY MAY ALCOTT NIERIKER and there determined I would part with my most preciouS posseSsiOn if during the next week the clouds did not lift. not laid This costly gift, however, was upon the family altar by the heroic girl. A friend who was ever ready to extend an unobtrusive helping hand when it was needed came to the rescue. Louisa, in relating this, said: That was not the first time he had helped father, nor was it indeed the last. Another incident that she told me that same evening in her inimitable way, with all its amusing and pathetic details, re- vealed to me how supreme was her loyalty and devotion to her family, and above all to her mother. In r850, when Louisa was eighteen years of age, Mrs. Alcott had, with the advice of friends, taken a position as visitor to the poor in Boston. She had also opened an intelligence office, where she often assisted gentlefolk reduced from affluence to poverty, to situations where, without an entire sacrifice of pride, they could earn an ~honest in- dependence.. One day as Louisa was sitting in the office sewing on some flan- nel garments for the poor, under her mothers supervision, a tall man, evidently from his garb a clergyman, entered and said that he came to procure a com- panion for his invalid sister and aged father. lie described the situation as a most desirable one, add- ing that the com- panion would be asked to read to them and perform the light duties of the house- hold that had form- erly devolved upon his sister, who was a martyr to neuralgia. The companion would be in every respect treated as one of the family, and all the comforts of home would be hers. Mrs. Alcott, who in spite of many bit- ter experiences in the past never lost her faith in people and was rather too apt to take them for what they seemed to be, tried to think of some one who would be glad of so pleasant a home as described. She turned to Louisa and asked her if she could suggest any one. The reply came at once: Only myself ~ Great was her r~other5 surprise, and she ex- claimed: Do you really mean it, dear? I really do, if Mr. R thinks I would suit. The clergyman smiled and said, I am sure you would, and I feel that if we can secure you, we shall be most fortunate.~~ When Mrs. Alcott had recovered from her surprise, she prudently asked him what wages would be paid. The smooth reply was that the word wages must not be used, but any one who lent youth RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT. 7 and strength to a feeble household would be paid and well paid, and with another smile he took his leave. Then Mrs. Alcott asked: Are you in earnest in engaging to go out for a month to live with these utter strangers? Of course lam, said Louisa. Why not try the experi- ment? It can but fail, as the teaching and sewing and act- ing and writing have. I do house-work at home for love; why not there for money ? But you know, dear, her mother re- plied, it is going out to service, even if you are called a com- panion. I dont care. Every kind of work that is paid for is service. It is rather a downfall to give up trying to be a Siddons or a Fanny Kemble, and become a ser- vant, at the beck and call of people; but what of it? All my highly respectable relatives, said Lou- isa, held up their hands in holy horror when I left the pater- nal roof to go to my place of servitude, as they called it, and said: Louisa Alcott will disgrace her name by what she is doing. But despite the lamentations and laughter of my sisters, I got my small wardrobe ready, and after embracing the family with firm- ness started for my new home. She had promised to stay four weeks; but, after a few days, she found that in- stead of being a companion to the in- valid sister, who was a nonentity, while the father passed his days in a placid doze, she was called upon to perform the most menial services, made a mere household drudge, or, to use her own expression, a galley slave. Then, said she, I pocketed my pride, looked the situation squarely in the face, and determined I would stay on to the bitter end. My word must be as good as my bond. By degrees all the hard work of the family was imposed upon her, for the sister was too feeble to help or even to direct in any way, and the servant was too old to do anything but the cooking, so that even the roughest work was hers. Having The Porch of the Orchard Hocee. FROM A DRAWING RY MAY ALCOTT NIRRIRRR. S FE COLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT. made up her mind to go when the month was over, she brought water from the well, dug paths in the snow, split kin- dlings, made fires, sifted ashes, and was in fact a veritable Cinderella. But, said she, I did sometimes rebel, and being a mortal worm, I turned now and then when the clergyman trod upon me, especially in the matter of boot- blacking, that was too much for my good blood to bear! All the Mays, Sewalls, and Alcotts of the past and present appeared before my minds eye; at blacking boots I drew the line and flatly refused. That evening I enjoyed the sinful spectacle of the reverend boot- black at the task. Oh, what a long month that was! And when I an- nounced my intention of leaving at its end, such dismay fell upon the invalid sister, that I consented to remain until my mother could find a substitute. Three weeks longer I waited. Two other vic- tims came, but soon left, and on depart- ing called me a fool to stay another hour. I quite agreed with them, and when the third substitute came, clutched my possessions, and said I should go at once. The sister wept, the father trem- blingly expressed regret, and the clergy- man washed his hands of the whole affair by shutting himself in his study. At the last moment, Eliza, the sister, nervously tucked a small pocket-book into my hand, and bade me good-by with a sob. The old servant gave me a curious look as I went away, and exclaimed: Dont blame us for anything; some folks is liberal and some aint! So I left the house, bearing in my pocket what I hoped was, if not a liberal, at least an honest return for seven weeks of the hardest work I ever did. Unable to re- sist the desire to see what my earnings were, I opened my purseand beheld four dollars! I have had many bitter moments in my life, but one of the bit- terest was then, when I stood in the road Miss Alcotts House at Nonquitt. RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT 9 that cold, windy day, with my little pocket - book open, and looked from my poor, chapped, grimy chillblained hands to the paltry sum that had been con- sidered enough to pay for the labor they had done. I went home, showed my honorable wounds, and told my tale to the sympathetic family. The four dollars were returned, and one of my dear ones would have shaken the minister, in spite of his cloth, had he crossed his path. This experience of going out to service at eighteen made so painful an impression upon her that she rarely referred to it, and when she did so it was with heightened color and tear- ful eyes. Long years before she wrote her story called Transcenden- tal Wild Oats, she had told me in her humorous way of the family experi- ences at Fruitlands, as the com- munity established by Mr. Alcott and his English friend, Mr. Lane, was called. In 1843, when Louisa was eleven years of age, these idealists went to the small town of Harvard, near Lancaster, Mas- sachusetts, to carry out their theories. Mr. Lane was to be the patriarch of the colony of latter-day. saints. Louisa, in speaking of her fathers connection with this movement, said: Father had a de- vout faith in the ideal. He wanted to live the highest, purest life, to plant a paradise where no serpent could enter. Mother was unconverted, but true as steel to him, following wherever his vagaries led, hoping that, at last she might, after many wanderings, find a home for herself and children. The diet at Fruitlands was strictly vegetarian; no milk, butter, cheese, or meat could be eaten or tasted even within the holy precincts nothing that had caused death or wrong to man or beast. The garments must be of linen, because those made from wool were the result of the use of cruel shears to rob the sheep of their wool, and the covering of the silk-worms must be despoiled to make silken ones. The bill of fare was bread, porridge, and water for breakfast; bread, vegetables, and water for dinner; bread, fruit, and water for supper. They had to go to bed with the birds, because candles, for conscientious reasons, could not be burnt, the inner light must be all-sufficient; sometimes pine knots were used when absolutely necessary. Meanwhile, the philosophers sitting in the moonlight built with words a new heaven and a new earth, or in the star- light wooed the Oversoul, and lived amid metaphysical mists and philanthropic pyrotechnics. Mr. Alcott revelled in the Newness, as he was fond of calling their nexv life. He fully believed that in time not only Fruitlands, but the whole earth would become a happy valley, the Golden Age would come; and toward this end he talked, he prophesied, he worked with his hands; for lie was in dead earnest, his was the enthusiasm of a soul too high for the rough usage of this work- a-day world. In the meanwhile, with Spartan forti- t~ide Mrs. Alcott bore the brunt of the household drudgery. How Louisas eyes would twinkle as she described the strange methods at Fruitlands! One day in autumn mother thought a north- Miss Alcott at the Age of Thirty-eight. 10 RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT. east storm was brewing. The grain was ripe and must be gathered before the rain came to ruin it. Some call of the Oversoul had wafted all the men away, and so mother, Anna, a son of Mr. Lanes, and I must gather the grain in some way. Mother had it done with a clothes-basket and a stout Russia linen sheet. Putting the grain into the basket we emptied it upon the sheet, and taking hold of the four corners carried it to the barn. During the summer, Mr. Emerson visited them and wrote thus in his journal: The sun and the sky do not look calmer than Alcott and his family at Fruitlands. They seem to have arrived at the fact to have got rid of the show, and so are serene. Their manners and behavior in the house and in the field are those of superior men, of men of rest. What had they to conceal? What had they to exhibit? And it seemed so high an attainment that I thought as often before, so now more, because they had a fit home or the picture was fitly framed, that those men ought to be maintained in their place by the couotry for its culture. Young men and young maidens, old men and women should visit them and be inspired. I think there is as much merit in beautiful manners as in hard work. I will not prejudge them successful. They look well in July; we will see them in December. But alas! Emerson did not see the idealists in December. When the cold weather came on, the tragedy for the Alcott family began. Some of those who had basked in the summer sunshine of the Newness fled to fresh fields and pastures new when the cold and dark days came. Mr. Lane, in whose com- panionship Mr. Alcott had enjoyed so much, left to join the Shakers, where he soon found the order of things reversed Miss Alcott fron a Photo ty Warren. RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT 11 for him, as it was all work and no play with the brethren and sisters there. Mr. Alcotts strength and spirits were ex- hausted. He had assumed more than his share of responsibility, and a heavy weight of suffering and debt was laid upon him. The experiment had ended in dis- astrous failure, his Utopia had van- ished into thin air. His strange theories had alienated many of his old friends; he was called a visionary, a fool, a madman, and some even called him unprincipled. What could he do for his family? Then it was that his wife, whose loyalty was supreme, whose good sense and prac- tical views of life had shown her from the beginning what would be the outcome of the experiment then it was that her strong right arm rescued him. He was cherished with renewed love and tender- ness by wife and children, who always remembered with pain this most bitter of all their experiences, and could never i~efer to it without weeping. Louisa, in recalling it, would say: Mother fought down despondency and drove it from the household, and even wrested happiness from the hard hand of fate. After Mr. Alcott had rallied from the depression caused by the failure at Fruit- lands, he went back to Concord with his family and worked manfully with his hands for their support; he also re- sumed his delightful conversations, which in those days of transcendentalism had become somewhat famous. When a young girl, I attended them with my mother at the house of the Unitarian clergyman in Lynn. The talks of Mr. Alcott and the conversations that followed were most interesting unlike anything that had been heard in Boston or its vicinity in those days. Afterward Ralph Waldo Emerson and Thoreau used to come and give us in parlors Lectures on Transcendentalism, as they were called. The busy years rolled on for Louisa, who exerted herself to the utmost to be the family helper in sewing, teaching, and writing. After her stories were accepted by the A/lan/ic, it became for her smooth sailing. One day, as Mr. Alcott was calling upon Longfellow, the poet took up the last A/lan/ic and said, I want to read to you Emersons fine poem on Thoreaus flute. As he began to read Mr. Alcott interrupted him, exclaim- ing with delight: My daughter Louisa wrote that 1 In telling me of this, Louisa said: Do you wonder that I felt as proud as a peacock when father came home and told me? This occurred before the names of the writers were ap- pended to their contributions to the magazine. Miss Alcott made two visits to Europe, travelling quite extensively and meeting many distinguished people. She was always an ardent admirer of the writings of Dickens, and she had the great plea- sure of meeting him in London and hear- ing him read. All the characters in his books were like household friends to her; she never tired of talking about and quoting them. Her impersonation of Mrs. Jarley was inimitable; and when I had charge of the representation of The Old Curiosity Shop at the authors carnival held at Music Hall, in aid of the Old South Preservation Fund, I was so fortunate as to persuade her to take the part of Mrs. Jarley in the waxwork show. It was a famous show, never to be for- gotten. People came from all parts of New England to see Louisa Alcotts Mrs. J arley, for she had for years been famous in the part whenever a deserving charity was to be helped in that way. Shouts of delight and peals of laughter greeted her original and witty descriptions of the figgers at each performance, and it was repeated every evening for a week. One day during her last illness I re- ceived a note from her, in which she wrote: A poor gentlewoman in London has written to me, because she thinks after reading my hooks that I loved Dickenss writings, and must have a kind heart and generous nature, and, therefore, takes the liberty to write and ask me to buy a letter written to her by Charles Dickens, who was a friend of hers. Such is her desperate need of money that she must part with it, although it is very precious to her. She has fourteen children, and asks five pounds for the letter. Now, I dont want the letter, and am not well enough to see or even write to any one about buying it from her; will not you try and do it for me? If at first you dont succeed, try, try again. Ill add something to whatever you get for it. Remember the poor thing has fourteen children, and has been reduced from affluence to poverty. The letter could not be sold for the 12 RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT price named, nor indeed to any one at its proper value, so Miss Alcott returned it and sent the price asked for it by the next steamer. This is only one of the many generous acts of sympathy of which I knew. The Aicotts were always Anti-Slavery people. Mrs. Alcotts brother, Samuel J. May, and her cousin, Samuel E. Sewall, were the staunchest supporters of Garrison in the early struggles. Mr. Alcott was the firm friend of that intrepid leader in the war against slavery. Nearly all the leading Abolitionists were their friends, Lucretia Mott, the Grimk~ sisters, Theodore Weld, Lydia Maria Child, Wendell Phillips, Theodore Parker, Miss Peabody, and others of that re- markable galaxy of men and women who in those benighted years were ranked as fanatics by the community at large. When the mob-spirit reigned in Boston and Garrison was taken to a jail in the city to protect him from its fury and save his life, Mr. and Mrs. Alcott were among the first to call upon him to express their sympathy. When the war came, the Alcotts were stirred to a white heat of patriotism. Louisa wrote: I am scraping lint and making blue jackets for our boys. My May blood is up. I must go to the front to nurse the poor helpless soldiers who are wounded and bleeding. I must go, and good-by if I never return. She did go and came very near losing her life; for while in the hospital she contracted a typhoid fever, was very ill, and never recovered from its effects; it can be truly said of her she gave her life to her country. One of her fathers most beautiful sonnets was written in reference to this experience. He refers to her in this as dutys faithful child. During her experience as a hospital nurse she wrote letters home and to the Commonweal/k newspaper. From these letters a selection was made and published under the title of Hospital Sketches. To me this is the most interesting and Orchard House, concord (the Home of the Littie Women.) RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT pathetic of all of Miss Alcotts books. With shattered health she returned to her writing and her home duties. Slowly but surely she won recognition; but it was not until she had written Little Women, that full pe- cuniary success came. Miss Alcott had the keenest insight into cbaracter. She was rarely mistaken in her judgment of people. She was intolerant of all shams, and despis- ed pretentious per- sons. Often in her pleasant rooms at the Bellevue have I listen- ed to her estimates of people whom we knew. She was sometimes al- most ruthless in her denunciation of so- ciety, so-called. I re- member what she said as we sat together at a private ball, where many of the butterflies of fashion and leaders of society were as- sembled. As with her clear, keen eyes she viewed the pageant, she exclaimed: So- ciety in New York and in Boston, as xve have seen it to-night, is corrupt. Such immodest dressing, such flirtations of some of these married women with young men whose mothers they might be, so far as age is con- cerned, such drinking of champagne I loathe it all If I can only live long enough I mean to write a book whose characters will be drawn from life. Mrs. (naming a person present) shall be prominent as the society leader, and the fidelity of the picture shall leave no one in doubt as to the original. She always bitterly denounced all un- womanliness. Her standard of morality was a high one, and the same for men as for women. She was an earnest advocate of woman suffrage and college education for girls, because she devoutly believed that woman should do whatever she could do well, in church or school or State. When I was elected a member of the school committee of Melrose in 1873, she wrote: I rejoice greatly thereat, and hope that the first thing that you and Mrs. Sewall propose in your first meeting will he to reduce the salary of the head master of the High School, and increase the salary of the first woman assistant, whose work is quite as good as his, and even harder; to make the pay equal. I believe in the same pay for the same good work. Dont you? In future let woman do whatever she can do; let men place no more impediments in the way; above all things 13 7 . ( ____ [ No. 0 Louioburg Square, Boston 14 RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT~ Bust of Miss Alcott made by Waltos Ricketson for the Concord Library. lets have fair play, let simple justice be done, say I. Let us hear no more of womans sphere either from our wise (?) legislators beneath the gilded dome, or from our clergymen in their pul- pits. I am tired, year after year, of hearing such twaddle about sturdy oaks and clinging vines and mans chivalric protection of woman. Let woman find out her own limitations, and if, as is so con- fidently asserted, nature has defined her sphere, she will be guided accordingly but in heaven s name give her a chance! Let the professions be open to her; let fifty years of college education he hers, and then we shall see what we shall see. Then, and not until then, shall we be able to say what woman can and what she cannot do, and coming generations will know and be able to de- fine more clearly what is a womans sphere than these benighted men who now try to do it. During Miss Alcotts last illness she wrote: When I get upon my feet I am going (D. V.) to devote myself to settling poor souls who need a helping hand in hard times. Many pictures and some busts have been made of Miss Alcott, but very few of them are satisfactory. The portrait painted in Rome by Healy is, I think, a RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUiSA MAY ALCOTT 15 very good one. The bas-relief by Walton Ricketson, her dear sculptor friend, is most interesting and has many admirers. Ricketson has also made a bust of Mr. Alcott for the Concord Library, which is exceedingly good, much liked by the family, and so far as I know, by all who have seen it. Of the photographs of Miss Alcott only two or three are in the least satisfactory, notably the full length one made by Warren many years ago, and also one by Allen and Rowell. In speaking of her pictures she once said: When I dont look like the tragic muse, I look like a smoky relic of the Boston fire. Mr. Ricketson is now at work upon a bust of her, a photograph of which, from the clay, accompanies this article. In a letter to me in reply to one written after I had seen the bust in his studio at Concord, Mr. Ricketson writes: I feel deeply the important task I have to do in making this portrait, since it is to give form and expression to the broad love of humanity, the fixed purpose to fulfil her mission, the womanly dignity, physical beauty, and queenly presence which were so perfectly combined in our late friend, and all so dominated by a fine intellectual- ity. To do this and satisfy a public that has formed somewhat an idea of her personal appear- ance is indeed a task worthy of the best effort. I certainly have some advantages to start with. The medallion from life modelled at Nonquitt in i886, and at that time considered the best like- ness of her, is invalu- able, as the measure- ments are all accurate. I also have access to all the photographs, etc., of the family, and the criticisms of her sister, nephews, and friends, and my long and inti- mate acquaintance. I feel this to be the most important work I have as yet attempted. I intend to give unlimited time to it, an(l shall not consider it completed until the family and friends are fully satis- fied. The success of the bust of the father leads me to hope for the same result in the one of his beloved daughter. - Miss Alcott al- ways took a warm interest in Mr. El- well, and assisted him towards his education in art in early life. Miss Alcott had a keen sense of humor, and her friends recall with delight her sallies of wit and caustic descriptions of the School of Philosophy, the unfathom- able wisdom, the metaphysical pyro- technics, the strange vagaries of some of the devotees. She would sometimes en- close such nonsense rhymes as these to her intimate friends: Philosophers sit in their sylvan hall And talk of the duties of man, Of Chaos and Cosmos, Hegel and Kant, \Vith the Oversoul well in the van; All on their hobbies they amble away, And a terrible dust they make; Disciples devout both gaze and adore, As daily they listen, and bake! The sylvan hall was, as I know from bitter experience while attending the sessions of the School of Philosophy, the hottest place in historic old Concord. Sometimes Miss Alcott would bring her nonsense rhymes or jingles, as she called them, to the club, and read at our pleasant club-teas, amid shouts of merri- ment followed by heartiest applause, such clever bits as the following: A WAIL UTTERED IN THE WOMANS CLUB. God bless you, merry ladies, May nothing you dismay, As you sit here at ease and hark Unto my dismal lay. House sri Dusreath Place Boston, where Miss Alcott died. RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT Get out your pocket-handkerchiefs, Give oer your jokes and songs, Forget awhile your Womans Rights, And pity authors wrongs. There is a town of high repute, Where saints and sages dwell, Who in these latter days are forced To hid sweet peace farewell; For all their men are demigods, So rumor doth declare, And all the women are De Staels, And genius fills the air. So eager pilgrims penetrate To their most private nooks, Storm their back doors in search of news And interview their cooks, Worship at every victims shrine, See haloes round their hats, Embalm the chickweed from their yards And photograph their cats. Theres Emerson, the poet wise, That much-enduring man, Sees Jenkinses from every clime, But dodges when he can. Chaos and Cosmos down below Their waves of trouble roll, While safely in his attic locked, He woos the Oversoul. And Hawthorne, shy as any maid, From these invaders fled Out of the window like a wraith, Or to his tower sped Till vanishing from this rude world, He left behind no clue, Except along the hillside path The violets tender blue. Channing scarce dares at eventide To leave his lonely lair; Reporters lurk on every side And hunt him like a hear. Quaint Thoreau sought the wilderness, But callers by the score Scared the poor hermit from his cell, The woodchuck from his door. Theres Alcott, the philosopher, Who labored long and well Platos Republic to restore, Now keeps a free hotel; Whole boarding-schools of gushing girls That hapless mansion throng, And Young Mens Christian U-ni-ons, Full five-and-seventy strong. Alas! what can the poor souls do? Their homes are homes no more; No washing-day is sacred now; Spring cleanings never oer. Their doorsteps are the strangers camp, Their trees bear many a name, Artists their very nightcaps sketch; And this and this, is fame! Deluded world! your Mecca is A sand-bank glorified; The river that you seek and sing Has skeeters, but no tide. The gods raise garden-sarse and milk, And in these classic shades Dwell nineteen chronic invalids And forty-two old maids. Some April shall the world behold Embattled authors stand, With steel-pens of the sharpest tip In every inky hand. 1t5 The Alcott Lot in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, concord. RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT 17 Their bridge shall be a bridge of sighs, Their motto, Privacy; Their bullets like that Luther flung When bidding Satan flee. Their monuments of ruined books, Of precious wasted days, Of tempers tried, distracted brains, That might have won fresh bays. And round this sad memorial, Oh. chant for requiem: Here lie our murdered geniuses; Concord has conquered them. From the time that the success of Little Women established her reputa- tion as a writer, until the last day of her life, her absolute devotion to her family continued. Her mothers declining years were soothed with every care and com- fort that filial love could bestow; she died in Louisas arms, and for her she performed all the last offices of affection, no stranger hands touched the beloved form. The most beautiful of her poems was written at this time, in memory of her mother, and was called Transfigura- tion. A short time after her mothers death, her sister May, who had married Mr. Ernest Nieriker, a Swiss gentleman, living in Paris, died after the birth of her child. Of this Louisa wrote me in reply to a letter of sympathy: I mourn and mourn by day and night for i\Iay. Of all the griefs in my life, and I have had many, this is the bitterest. I try so hard to be brave, but the tears will come, and I go off and cry an(l cry; the dear little baby may comfort Ernest, but what can comfort us? May called her two years of marriage perfect happiness, ahd said: If I die when baby is born, dont mourn, for I have had in these two years more happiness than comes to many in a lifetime. The baby is named for me, and is to be given to me as my very own. What a sad but precious legacy! The little golden-haired LuIn was brought to her by its aunt, Miss Sophie Nieriker, and she was indeed a great comfort to Miss Alcott for the remainder of her life. In i88~, Miss Alcott took a furnished house on Louisburg Square in Boston, and although her health was still very delicate she anticipated much quiet hap- piness in the family life. In the autumn and winter she suffered much from indi- gestion, sleeplessness, and general de- bility. Early in December she told me how very much she was suffering, and added: I mean if possible to keep up until after Christmas, and then I am sure I shall break down. When I went to carry her a Christmas gift, she showed me the Christmas tree, and seemed so bright and happy that I was not prepared to hear soon after that she had gone out to the restful, quiet of a home in Dunreath Place, at the Highlands, where she could be tenderly cared for under the direction of her friend, Dr. Rhoda Laxvrence, to whom she dedicated one of her books. She was too weak to bear even the pleasurable excitement of her own home,, and called Dr. Lawrences house, Saints Rest. The following summer she went with I)r. Lawrence to Princeton, but on her return in the autumn her illness took an alarming character, and she was unable to see her friends, and only occasionally the members of her family. On her last birthday, November 29th, she received many gifts, and as I had remembered her, the following characteristic letter came to me, the last but one that she sent me Thanks for the flowers and for the kind thought that sent them to the poor 01(1 exile. I had seven boxes of flowers, two baskets, and three plants, forty gifts in all, and at night I lay in a room that looked like a small fair, with its five tables covered with pretty things, borders of l)osies, and your noble roses towering in state over all the rest. That red one was so delicious that I revelled in it like a big bee, and felt it might almost do for a body I am so thin now. Everybody was very kind, and my solitary clay was made happy by so much love. Illness and exile have their bright side, I find, and I hope to come out in the spring a gay old butterfly. 1\ly rest-and-milk-cure is doing well, and I am an obedient oyster since I have learned that patience and time are my best helps. In February, 1887, Mr. Alcott wa taken with xvhat proved to be his last ill- ness. Louisa knew that the end wa~ near, and as often as she was able came, into town to see him. On Thursday morn- ing, March 2d, I chanced to be at the house, where I had gone to inquire for Mr. Alcott and Louisa. While talking with Mrs. Pratt, her sister, the door opened, and Louisa, who had come in from the Highlands to see her fttther, entered. I had not seen her for months, and the sight of her thin, wan face and sad look shocked me, and I felt for the first time that she was hopelessly ill. After a few affectionate words of greeting 4 F U (q~~ 1 0~ / S ~ ~-~ ) rr~ A Portion of Miss Alcotts Last Letter RECOLLECTJ0NS~ OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT 19 she passed through the open doors of the next room. The scene that followed was most pathetic. There lay the dear old father, stricken with death, his face illu- mined with the radiance that comes but once, with uplifted gaze he heeded her not. Kneeling by his bedside, she took his hand, kissed it and placed in it the pansies she had brought, saying, It is Weedy (her pet name). Then after a moments silence she asked: What are you thinking of, dear? He replied, looking upward, Up there; you come too ! Then with a kiss she said, I ~vish I could go, bowing her head as if in prayer. After a little came the Good-by, the last kiss, and like a shadow she glided from the room. The following day I wrote her at the Saints Rest, enclosing a photograph of her sister May, that I found among some old letters of her own. Referring to my meet- ing with her the day before, I said: I hope you will be able to bear the impending event with the same brave philosophy that was yours when (lear mother died. - your She received my note on Saturday morning, together with one from her sister. Early in the morning she replied to her sisters note, telling of a dull pain and a weight like iron on her head. Later, she wrote me the last words she ever penned; and in the evening came the fatal stroke of apoplexy, followed by unconsciousness. Her letter to me xvas as follows: DEAR MRS. PORTER: Thanks for the picture. 1 am very glad to have it. No philosophy is needed for the impending event. I shall be very glad when the dear old man falls asleep after his long and innocent life. Sorrow has no place at such times, and death is never terrible when it comes as now in the likeness of a friend. Yours truly, L. M. A. P. 5. I have another year to stay in my Saints Rest, and then I am promised twenty years of health. I dont want so many, and I have no idea I shall see them. But as I dont iive for myself, I hold on for others, and shall find time to die some day, I hope. Mr. Alcott died on Sunday morning, March 4, and on Tuesday morning, March 6, death, in the likeness of a friend, came to Louisa. Mr. Alcotts funeral took place on Tuesday morning, and many of the friends there assembled were there met with the tidings of Louisas death. iVJiss Alcott had made every arrangement for her funeral. It was her desire that only those near and dear to her should be present, that the service should be simple, and that only friends should take part. The services were indeed simple, but most impressive. Dr. Bartol, the lifelong friend of the family, paid a loving and simple tribute to her character, as did Mrs. Livermore. Mrs. Cheney read the sonnet written by Mr. Alcott, which refers to her as Dutys faithful child, and Mrs. Harriet Winslow Sewall, a dear cousin, read tenderly the most beautiful of Louisas own poems, Transfigura- tion, written, as I have said, in memory of her mother. That was all. AMERICA IN EARLY ENGLISH LITERATURE. By Isaac Bassett Giwate. UTSIDE that list of books which are prop- erly classed as Ameri- cana, and any one who has had occasion to consult Sabins Dic- tionary of Books Relating to America knows how extended a catalogue that is, there are numberless references, innuen- does, and hints to the early colonists, as well as instances of direct mention of this country, which cannot fail to arrest the at- tention of the reader of general literature. These casual xvords are of the nature of asides in the dramatic presentation of history. They are of all the greater in- terest and value for the reason that they are the artless, unpremeditated, uncon- scious expression of the sentiment which prevailed in their day. The perfect can- dor and unreserve with which the Eng- lish spoke of these colonies, and of those who were coming over here to settle, is just what lends a charm to language that might otherwise seem discourteous. Not until after the independence of the Col- onies do English writers seem to have realized that for the future, English liter- ature was to be a possession held by the English people as co-parceners in com- mon with ourselves. One notable excep- tion to this rule is met in a poem pub- lished by Samuel Daniel in 1598. And xvho knows whither we may vent The treasures of our tongue? To what strange shores This gain of our hest glory may he sent T enrich unknowing nations with our stores? What worlds in the yet unformed Occident May come refined with th accents that are ours? This was written after the failure of Gilbert and Raleigh to realize their dreams of empire on this continent. The poet kept his faith through every disaster, but it may fairly be questioned whether he was not looking for the civil- ization of the aborigines quite as much as for the settlement of the English here. Before the seventeenth century, England had very little interest in America, ex- cept as the waters along this continent were the favorite cruising grounds of her old sea-dogs who used to go hunting Spanish plate-ships for their prey. Amer- ica contributed little material to the writers of the Elizabethan age, particu- larly to the poets, dramatists, and divines who were the literary workers. The few instances of any mention of this part of the world in that day are of interest chiefly in contrasting the spirit of that time with the spirit of the pres- ent. In 1596, Thomas Lodge published A Margarite of America. Lodge had accompanied Drake upon one of that admirals freebooting expeditions to this continent. He was a writer of ability and taste, if not of genius; but his taste was that of his age. We naturally look to this performance for some new matter,. as the author had chosen a new field. Anything more barren of interest, noxv and here, would be difficult to imagine, impossible to find. It is all as fanciful and unreal as the Faery Queen of Spenser, or the romances of Amadis de Gaul. This shows under what a spell of romanticism that age was held. It helps us to understand the statesman- ship, the diplomacy, and the enterprise of the time. It brings into contrast with the thought and temper of that age, the scientific spirit which rules the present. The reader wonders that a gifted author should so signally fail to make himself entertaining. No doubt he interested his own generation. The public of that day cared more for chivalry and gallantry than for information. The next year, 597, Sir John Davis published his Epigrams. One of these was written in praise of tobacco, and it is curious to see how high a regard for America the discovery of this plant awakened in the English mind. The poet still clings to the traditions of the Homeric age. But this our age another world hath found, From whence an herb of heavenly power is brought; Mo!j is not so sovereign for a wound, Nor hath Nepuztke so great wonders wrought. The fumes of tobacco were as a pillar AMERICA IN EARLY ENGLISH LITERATURE. of cloud in that day to direct the Eng- lish to Virginia, very much as the fra- grance of sassafras invited them to the shores of New England. Sir John Beau- mont published, in 1602, The Meta- morphosis of Tobacco. Some lines of this are of interest yet. The author supplies this explanatory note Wingandelcoc is a country in the north part of ~merica, called by the Queen, Virginia. There may be added to this note the re- mark that Cipo, or Cibo, is found applied in those days to waters about Cape Breton. Even Beaumonts matter-of-fact lines upon a commonplace subject show plainly the tomantic and classic spirit of his age. Others do tell a long and serious tale Of a fair nymph that sported in the vale \Vhere Gipo with his silver streams doth go, Along the valleys of Wingandelcue, Which now a far more glorious name doth bear, Since a more beauteous nymph is worshipped there. 5 * * * * * * had the Castahan Muses known the place Which this Ambrosia did with honor grace, They would have left Parnassus long ago, And changed their Phocis for Wingandelcue; Yet it may be the people, void of sense, With savage rites and manners feared them thence; But our more glorious Nymph, our modern Muse Which life and light doth to the North infuse, Which outh with joint and mutual honor grace Her place with learning, learning with her place, In whose respect the Muses barbarous are, The Graces rude, nor is the Phienix rare; Which Fair exceeds her predecessors facts, Nor arc her wondrous acts now wondrous acts; Which by her wisdom and her princely powers Defends the walls of Albions cliffy towers; Hath uncentrolled stretched out her mighty hand Over Virginia and the New-found-land, And spread the color of our English Rose In the far countries where tobacco grows, And tamed the savage nations of the West, Which of this jewel were in vain possessed. It is not at all unlikely that King lames s Counter-blast to Tobacco was called out chiefly by the fulsome praises of the Maiden Queen mixed up with the praises of the narcotic used. The allu- sion to Elizabeth as our modern Muse Which life and light doth to the North infuse, would not be likely to prove soothing to one who was a Scotchman, at least by birth. Referring to the closing lines of the quotation from Beaumont, one cannot help wondeTing a little how far the sav- age nations of the West had been tamed in 1602. Feeble attempts had been made, under Raleigh and others, to col- onize the country, but the colonists were all lost. Only a few hogs had been left on the Bermudas as the outcome of the enterprise. The mild manners of the numerous progeny of these represented the taming of the West achieved during the reign of Elizabeth. Michael Dray- ton makes mention of these hogs, and of their gentle nature, in some laudatory verses complimenting the vagrant Coryat upon his Travels, in i6i I. Greatness to me seemed ever full of fear Which thou foundst false at thy arriving there; At the Bermudas, the example such, Where not a ship until this time durst touch Kept, as supposed, by Ilells infernal dogs, Our fleet found there most honest, courteous hogs. But Drayton had written, prior to 1605, one of his most spirited lyrics with the purpose of encouraging emigration to these shores. His language is so ani- mated with the spirit of that age, that the piece deserves to be presented in full, but space will admit only the splendid opening. You brave, heroic minds, Worthy your countrys name, That honor still pursue, Go and subdue, Whilst loitering hinds Lurk here at home with shame. Britons, you stay too long, Quickly aboard bestow you, And with a merry gale Swell your stretched sail \Vith vows as strong As the winds that blow you. Your course securely steer, West and by south forth keep, Rocks, lee-shores and shoals, When Eulus scowls, You need not fear So absolute the deep. And cheerfully at sea Success you still entice To get the l)earl and gold, And ours to hold Virginia, Earths only Paradise. In the Political Satires of Sir John Denham, belonging to the time of the 21 22 AMERICA IN EARLY ENGLISh LITERA PURE. earliest settlement of the Northern colo- nies, there is mention of one of the pro- ducts of this region as an article of im- portation. Of course it is the white pine that Sir John intends under the name of fir. Plant now New England firs in English oak, Build your ships ribs proof to cannon stroke. There is an interesting allusion to this country in the Britains Remembrancer of George Wither, published in 1628. As this work dealt particularly with the Plague of 1625, its date is fixed. In an enumeration of instances of the visita- tion of Divine wrath upon the British nation, the author refers to the outcome of attempts at colonization here: That hopeful voyage which brave Raleigh made, To prosecute those golden hopes he had, Was overthrown; and (to enlarge the cost) In him the more of wit tban money lost. * * * * * * * When in Virginia we had nnrs~d long Our Colonies, and hop~d they were strong, And almost able to subsist alone, By naked people they were set upon, And were endangered; for on us for ill God laid his hand, and lays it on us still. Elsewhere in his Remembrancer the author reminds Britain of the unworthy views with which the colonization of America had been undertaken and was carried on. Some shrewd reflections upon that work lead him to express an opinion which must have been common in that day. Speaking of the distracted church, he says: I know that if Thou please Thou canst provide A place for her securely to abide Amid the western wilderness, and where Scarce glimmerings of Thy favors yet appear, By moulding out the heathen salvages To be a people far surpassing these. This, Lord, Thou couldst effect; and make of them Thy people, whom these most of all contemn. And since this Nation, in their wealthy peace, Have sent out Colonies, but to increase Their private gains; since they fair shows have made Of publishing the gospel, when the trade For private lucre (as the times reveal) Was chiefest founder of their feign~d zeal; Since they in that and other things pretend Religion when tis farthest from their end, Thou didst but right, if Thou shouldst force their seed To settle on some barbarous coast for need But what will prove of greater interest now than any reference to the country and its products in those early times, er even the history of unsuccessful attempl s at colonization, are the casual notices we here and there come across of the peo- ple who were then coming here for set- tlement. The feeling with which the colonists were then being dismissed from England was bitter enough for the most part. It was the rancor of religious ha- tred. John Taylor, the water-poet as he was called, described the Separatists not far from 1620, and here are a few sped- men verses And what ungodly place can harbor then, These fugitive, unnatural Englishmen; Except that with the Turk or infidel Or on, or in the sea they mean to dwell, That if in lesser room they may be crammed, And live and (lie at Amster and be damned. This will answer very well for a general view of this subject as it presented itself to the amiable poe/a-a quaticus, but for a more particular description we have only to turn to The Praise of Hemp- seed, by the same author. Some parts of this performance of Taylors are ex- pressed in terms altogether too plain to suit the taste of the present. The crosss blessing he esteems a curse, The ring in marriage out upont, tis worse7 And for his kneeling at the sacrament, In sooth hell rather suffer banishment, And go to Amster damned, and Jive and die7 Ere hell commit so much idolatry. * * * * * * The spirit still directs him how to pray, Nor will he dress his meat the Sabbath day, XVhich (10th a mighty mystery unfold, His zeal is hot although his meat be cold. Suppose his cat on Sunday kill a rat, She on the Monday must be hanged for that. His faith keeps a continual holiday Himself (10th labor to keep it at play; For he is read and deeply understood That if his faith should work twould do no good. A fine clean-fingered faith must save alone, Good works are needIless, therefore hell do none. The allusions to Amsterdam in con- nection with the exodus of the Puritans from England abound in the literature of that period. To swear by way of Amsterdam was a proverbial phrase. The public feeling of annoyance at the removal of so many from England was greatly aggravated by the circumstance that the Hollanders were flocking into eastern England just about as fast as the AMERICA IN EARLY ENGLISH LITERATURE. 23 Puritans were leaving that part of the country. Altogether, the exchange was not in accordance with the laws of sup- ply and demand. The effect of this was to moderate the intolerance of the Church, and to soften public sentiment. Although Taylor was a man of no great discern- ment or discrimination, he had the sense to see the difference between the Puri- tans and the schismatics, the seditiously minded Nonconformists, and he had the honesty to make the distinction. He does the conscientious Puritans justice in these doggerel verses: There are a sort of men which conscience make Of what they say, or do, or undertake; Who neither will dissemble, swear, nor lie, Who to good ends their actions all apply, Who keep the Sabbath, and relieve the poor, According to their portion and their store, And these good people some men do backbite, And call them Puritans in scorn and spite. It could not have been thought other- vise than patriotic for the Puritans to have come directly to English colonies in America. What roused the bitterest feeling was their going to Holland and the Dutch coming in to take their places. Perhaps it can be better stated by saying, that the Dutch came over into England and the Puritans took the places they had left. We. find both parties sufficiently abused in the writers of that period. The jealousy and envy of the Dutch ap- pears plainly enough in the Old Fortu- natus of Dekker, published in r6oo. Fortunatus says to the kings: Wretches, why gnaw you not your fingers off, And tear your tongues out, seeing yourselves tro(l down, And this Dutch Botcher wearing Monsters crown? John Leyden, born in Holland, poor and base, Now rich in emperie, and Fortunes grace? The Puritans had for a long time been a common object of abuse and contempt from the poets, particularly from the play-xvriters. By this usage the latter were settling off a score which had been running for some time. It is reasonable to suppose that through the long period (luring which the early mysteries and moralities were the popular dramatic en- tertainments, the public conscience had not been slumbering altogether peace- fully, and the denunciation of the thea- tres by the Puritans was only the contin- uing of a warfare which had been begun some centuries earlier than the Eliza- bethan age. In a play of Robert Yar- ringtons, published in i6oi, a constable and three watchmen are introduced upon the discovery of a murder. The follow- ing is a part of the dialogue that ensues: 2d Watch. Is this the fruits of saint-like Pu- ritans? I never liked such damned hypocrisy. gd Watch, He would not lose a sermon for a pound, An oath he thought would rend his jaws in twain, An idle word did whet Gods vengeance on; And yet two murders were not scrupulous. This bitterness of feeling followed the Puritans over into Holland. In an Eng- lish play founded on a Dutch subject Sir John Van Olden Barneveld credited to Fletcher and Massinger, and published in 1619, the Dutch characters are represented as discussing the English people who are sojourning in Holland, and are wishing these all to the other part of the world. It is natural to con- clude that reference is here made to America and cannot lose sicrht of we b the fact that this was only the year be- fore the Pilgrims set out from Delft. If the above interpretation of the play be correct, it shows that the plan of removal from Holland was common talk in Eng- land, as well as in the latter country, at the time when the play was first performed in London. Leid. Whats she? Vand. An Englishwoman. Leid. Would that they were all shipped well To the other part of the world. These stubborn English We only fear. Such was the feeling toward the Puri- tans before they began to come to America. What the feeling was later, after they had found refuge here, we can nowhere learn more plainly and directly than from The Ordinary, a play writ- ten by William Cartwright at some time near i 640. Cartwright was a clergyman, a fellow of Christ Church in Oxford, and he enjoyed a high reputation as a poet. He had previously written a play, The Royal Slave, xvhich was performed be- fore the King and Queen at Oxford in 24 AMERICA iN EARLY ENGLISh LITERATURE. 1636. He was a wit, and in his own time was thought a man of taste. A few passages from The Ordinary xviii prove the quality of this latter possession. Act I., Scene III., of the play gives an inter- view betxveen a young man and his tutor: Andrew. Tutor, I would fain learn some reli- gion. JIearsc~. Religion? Yes, to become a martyr, and l)e J)iCtured With a long label out o your mouth, like those In Foxs hook; just like a juggler drawing Riband out of his throat. Then again, farther on, in Act II., Scene III., there is another allusion to the I~uritans Coster. Ill send some forty thousand into Pauls, Build a cathedral next in Banbury; Give organs to each parish in the kingdom, And so root out the unmusical Elect. But it is near the end of the play, in Act V., Scene V., that the real intent, the aninius of the piece appears. It is after dark in the streets of London. Three scoundrels have evidently knocked down one of the guardians of the peace. The parley they hold among themselves must have been relished in the theatres, as the play is written xvith the expectation that their action xvill be applauded. Lie thou there, watchman, how the knave thats looked for May often lurk under the officer! Invention, I applaud thee. Hearsay. London air, methinks, begins to he too hot for us. Slicer. There is no longer tarrying here; lets swear Fidelity to one another, and So resolve for New England. hear. Tis but getting A little pigeon-hole reformed ruff Sl~. Forcing our beards into the orthodox bent S/ia. Nosing a little treason gainst the King; Bark something at the bishops, and we shall Be easily received. Hear. No fitter place. They are good silly people; souls that will Be cheated without trouble; one eye is Put out with zeal, th other with ignorance, And yet they think theyre eagles. S/ia. We are made Just fit for that meridian; no good works Allowed there: faith, faith is that they call for, And we will bring it em. S/i. What language speak they? Hear. English, and now and then a root or two Of Hebrew, which well learn of some Dutch skipper, That goes along with us this voyage; now We want but a good wind; the brethrens sighs Must fill our sails. For what Old England wont Afford, iVew En6 land will. You shall hear of us, By the next ship that comes, for proselytes. Such soil is not the good mans country only, Nor is the lot his to be still at home. Well claim a share and prove that Nature gave This boon, as to the good, so to the knave. The mention of vessels coming back from the Colonies for proselytes reminds us how strongly and rapidly the tide of emigration was setting out from England at that time. Sir XValter Scott, comment- ing upon Slicers words, So resolve for Nexv England, says: This is intended to ridicule the Puritans of the time; who, on account of the severe cen- sures of the Star Chamber, the greatness of the fines there, the rigorous proceedings to iml)ose ceremonies, the suspending and silencing minis- ters for not reading in church the Book of Sports, and other grievances, sold their estates and set- tled in Nexv England. The emigration on these accounts at length became so general that a proclamation was l)ut forth in 1635 to stop those who had determined to follow their friends. It is remarkable that amongst those who were actually on shipboard, and prevented by the proclamation from proceed- ing on their voyage, were the patriot IJaml)den and his cousin, Oliver Cromwell. This incident in the life of Cromwell brings to mind Thomas Middletons Mayor of Quinborough, which was published in 66o. The date of its com- position is not easily made out, but it appears to belong to the last years of the reign of Charles I. There can be little doubt that Cromwell was intended under the character of Oliver, and that the play was so understood. The ground upon which this opinion rests is the cir- cumstance that English critics have iden- tified the Quinborough of the poet with Huntingdon, the birthplace of Cromxvell. The mayor of that town would represent the official who detained the emigrant from sailing. There seems to be an allu- sion to this forcible detention in the l)as- sage where Oliver is represented as try- ing to run away from a play, but is forced to xvitness it and to listen to profane music. If this be the intent of the piece, then the date of its composition is fixed AMERICA IN EARLY ENGLISH LJTERA ZEURE. 25 at a time soon after i 635. ~1his partic- ular passage is strictly personal; but if we take Oliver for the typical Puritan, as well as for Cromwell, and there is no forcing the meaning in doing this, then, it becomes admirably illustrative of the teml)er of the times. Sirn. What joyful throat Is that, Aminadab? What is the meaning of this cry? xlmin. The rebel is taken. .Sim. Oliver, the Puritan? ~4min. Oliver, Puritan and fustian-weaver al- together. Aim. Fates, I thank you for this victorious day; Bonfires of pease-straw burn, let the bells ring. Cloy. Theres two in mending, and you know they count. .5im. Las, the tenors broken! ring out the treble. [Oliver is brought in. I am oer-cloyed with joy; welcome, thou rebel. 0/is. I scorn thy welcome, I Aim. Art thou yet so stout? Wilt thou not stoop for grace? then get thee out. 0/is. I was not horn to stoop but to my loom; That seized upon, my stooping days are done. Iii l)lain terms, if thou hast anything to say to me, Send me away quickly, this is no biding place. I understand there are players in thy house, Despatch me, I charge thee, in the name of all The brethren. Aim. Nay, now, proud rebel, I will make thee stay, And to thy greater torment see a play. 0/is. Oh, devil, I conjure thee by Amster- dam. Aim. Our word is past, justice may wink a while, but see at last. [The p/nj begins. hold, stop him, StOl) him 0/is. Oh, that profane trumpet! Oh, oh! .S1,n. Set him down there I charge you, offi- cers. Oliv. Ill hide my ears and stop my eyes. Aim. Down with his gulls [hands] I charge you. f)/is. Oh, tyranny, tyranny, revenge it tribu- lation For rel)els there are many deaths, but sure the only way To execute a Puritan is seeing of a play. Oh, I shall swound Aim. Which if thou dost, to spite thee, A players boy shall bring thee eselna-viler. [Tn/er first cheater. Oliv. Oh, Ill not swoon at all fort, though I die. Aim. Peace, heres a rascal, list and edify. ~st (Yieat. I say still hes an ass that cannot live by his wits. Sun. What a hold rascals this? He calls us all asses at hrst dash; Sure none of us live by our wits, unless it be Oliver, the Puritan. 0/iv. I scorn as much to live by my wits As the proudest of you all. Aim. Why, then youve an ass for company, So hold your prating. Olivers conjuring by Amsterdam means by way of that city, and there is implied in that connection a wholly uncompli- mentary reference to the Puritans who were still residing in Holland. The last lines quoted show how a double construc- tion is put upon his words. If we go back and read as an invocation, 0 Devil, I conjure thee by Amsterdam! we get at one of the meanings of the line. Thomas Fuller, himself a worthy who wrote of English worthies, was loyal to the king; but he could not conceal from his hearers the danger England ran of losing the better part of her population. This may seem a strong way of putting the case, but xvho can read his sermon on The Fear of Losing the Old Light, l)reached before the corporation of Exe- ter in 1646, and not feel that the mat- ters of which he then spoke had, to his view at least, assumed vital importance to the nation. This sermon was not merely a review of the action of the (Jome-outers who followed the New Light in their sl)irittsal course, but it was a square look at the broad fact that the Colonies were being strengthened, and England was being weakened at pre- cisely equal pace. Fuller is delightful in his sermons as he is elsewhere, and we can keep along with him over a portion of this discourse. Speaking of missionary enterprise in his day, the preacher characteristically remarks, I have not heard of many fish (understand me in a mystical sense) caught in New England. * 5 * The fault is not in the religion, but in the professors of it, that of late we have been more unhappy in killing of Christians than happy in converting of Pagans. Alluding to the favorable inclination of the Gospel to verge westward, he says: This putteth us in some hopes of America, in Gods due time; God knows what good effects to 26 A PRO VIJ9ENFIAL LEADING. them our sad war may produce; some may be frighted therewith over into those parts (being more willing to endure American than English savages), or out of curiosity to see, necessity to live, frugality to gain, may carry religion over with them into this barbarous country. Only God forbid we should make so bad a bargain as wholly to exchange our Gospel for their gold, our Saviour for their silver, fetch thence li~num vitae and deprive ourselves of the tree of life in lieu thereof. May not their planting he our supplant- ing, their founding in Christ, our confession; let them have of our light, not all our light; let their candle be kindled at ours, ours not removed to them. To pursue this course of reading fur- ther would result simply in accumulating more evidence of the same general char- acter. Enough has already been given to show the relations between the early colonists and the mother country. If we were to continue on the same line of reading down to the time of American Independence, we should find that this event grew steadily, by a natural process of development, out of the antipathies prevailing a hundred and fifty years be- fore its time. It is in ways like this, in showing itself as a mirror of the time to which it belongs, that general literature most urgently claims our attention and our interest. In the drama and the songs of men, no less than in their sermons and their speeches, are reflected the life and the growth of all human history. A PROVIDENTIAL LEADING. AN IDYL OF SEVENTY SUMMERS AGO. By Mira Clarke Parsons. HEN Eleazar Ring, the handsome young car- penter, died from an accident encountered while helping a neigh - bor move a building, everybody pitied the young widow, who was left with her two little children to fight her way through the world. A smaller measure of sym- pathy overflowed upon his bright-eyed young half-sister, Eunice, who by the stroke was left, at the age of fifteen, homeless and dependent. Eleazar had taken her from a home in which there were many mouths to fill, and his father was old. He said: She has been more like a daughter than a sister to me, ever since she was born. Let her come to me. I have a good trade, and she shall never want for anything. In the midst of the girls grief for the loss of her brother, she never thought of blaming sister Dosia for considering her a burden in spite of her constant service in the household. But after she had eaten the bitter bread of dependence for a few months, Mrs. Squire Ellsworth, whose husband kept the store and Post Office at Fairmount Centre, twenty miles away, came to ask if she would go and live with her, and Eunice thankfully said yes.~~ She took the place of an adopted daughter in the squires household, and was never allowed to feel the difference between her own claim there, and that of the young Ellsworths. The spring she was nineteen years old, Mrs. Ells- worth said one day: Eunice, they want a teacher at the North End this summer. Mr. Clarke spoke to father about you yesterday, when he brought in the butter. I think I can manage to spare you if you want to go. Ann and Sally ought to be doing a little more housework. Mr. Clarke was serving his first term as Prudential Committee- man in his district. He had some acquaintance with Eunice; the inhabitants of a country town in Nexv England must needs know each other, when all the tribes went up to worship at the same temple. If he had come to feel any particular interest in the damsel,, A PRO VIDENTIAL LEADING. 27 he had made no sign. He called a few days later, and a bargain was made. Eunice was to begin the school on the first Monday in May, receiving four and sixpence (seventy-five cents) per week for her services, and continuing as long as the district money held out. Six weeks before the opening of our story, she was duly installed as school maam in district number nine. She boarded round, stopping the first week at the home of the committee-man. He, by virtue of his office, had once visited the school, on the opening week, quite unequally sharing the honors of the day with the minister, whose duty it was to visit the different school districts at that time, and see that the machinery was in running order. The day of the ministers advent was an occasion of delight mingled with awe, to the children of two generations ago in New England. He was reverenced by them as a superior being. The sight of his chaise in the distance, at recess time, was the signal for them to leave their play, form into line, and make their manners, as he rode solemnly past. The visit to the school alxvays closed with remarks and prayer; and many gray-haired children of to-day retain a vivid picture of a venerable form stand- ing behind the teachers desk, while the sunlight from the bare windows glorified the worn and whittled benches of the old schoolroom. After this time, unless there was serious trouble in the school, the minister was seen no more until the final examination day. It was nearly four oclock on a warm afternoon in June. The restless feet of the children kept time to the motion of the flies on the window panes, while through the open door floated the fragrance of Farmer Elders clover-field. A white- faced bumble bee, which had dropped in to exchange a friendly buzz with the drones in the red hive, had been caught and imprisoned in a hollyhock by a boy on the seat nearest the door, who at in- tervals stimulated its smothered rage to a deeper bass, by a snap of his fingers. The schoolhouse was set within a few feet of the dusty highway, having near it neither bush nor shrub, to bear off any weather at all. A patch of tall Canadian thistles grew on the south side, which at blossom time lured the bees and butter- flies, and caused the bare feet of the children to suffer tortures in pursuit of the restless rovers. The west window opened into a pasture which had been forbidden ground to the youngsters ever since one of them had spent half the night in a tree within the enclosure, by reason of the persistent attentions of a belligerent young animal beneath. The schoolmaam was engaged in en- deavoring to impress upon the mind of George Brown, in the A B C class, the difference between 0 and I, and failed to notice an unusual stir in the room, as at length, closing the spelling-book, she said: Now, say your verse. The child straightened up, and began to take an interest in things, as he re- peated in a shrill voice: Little David with his sling, At Go-li-er he (li(l fling, Hit Go-li-er on the head, Great Go-li-er fell (lown dead! Ann Maria Churchill giggled as the boy hastily resumed the perpendicular after illustrating the manner of the giants downfall, his movements being hastened by the appearance of a young man with a wooden measure in his hand, who vaulted lightly over the wall near the schoolhouse, while half a score of young animals, ea ~ er for the salt xvhich it had contained, followed close behind. Committee-mans coming! an- nounced the giggling girl to her com- panion in a loud whisper, as the young farmer deposited his salt-dish on a flat stone, and knocked at the open door. Good afternoon, Miss Ring. Our folks wanted me to stop and tell you that they expect you next week, he ex- plained, standing somewhat uneasily un- der the gaze of a dozen pairs of eyes. Will you walk in? We are just go- ing to spell round, she ventured. Nothing loath, he accepted the invita- tion. The youth were made to pass in order before him, till the spelling was accomplished, and the shadow on the west window-sill marked four oclock. Then school was dismissed. A shout 28 A PRO VIDENTIAL LEADING. rent the air. The urchins who had kept oid Adam in subjection by a tremendous effort for the past half hour burst forth with the imprisoned bumble bee, which, being at last released by his tormentor, sailed away on an afternoon sunbeam to join his kindred in the thistle patch. When the shouts had died away in the distance, Jotham and Eunice set out towards the teachers boarding-place. At Widow Mores gate they parted, jotham going half a mile further to his own home, a tiny brown farmhouse lodged like a birds nest in a dimple between the hills, overshadoxved by a tall butter- nut tree which dropped its fruit upon the roof in autumn, while a maple grove on the north kept the wind from the dwell- ing in winter. From the spare-room windows one could look away over the blue hills which formed the last link in a grand mountain chain, whose peaks further north, formed Graylock and his brethren. The low roof had sheltered many generations of the family of which jotham was the last to bear the name. An old book has come down to the present time, bound in leather, bearing date r729, entitled A Token for Mourners, by John Flavel, in which is inscribed Aaron Clark His Book God give Him grace theirin to Look that he may run the hlefsed race that Heaven may he his Dwelling place. This was Jothams great-grandfather. His father died when the lad was sixteen, leaving him to carry on the farm, with the aid and counsel of his mother, a woman of great thrift and management. His half-sister, Silence, with her wonder- ful brown hair and sympathetic eyes, had faded like a snowdrop, and quickly fol- lowed her father. Made painfully bashful by reason of his secluded life, the boy had served his time as a pupil in the red schoolhouse, where for many winters, until he was called up higher, old Master Taylor had held the rod of authority over the boys and girls, bringing it down alike upon the heads of the evil and the good. His son Simeon was as Jonathan to this lonely 1)avid, and their souls were knit together as brethren. They sat on the same hard, backless bench; they wrote in fair, round hand in their home- made writing-books: Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; Charms strike the sight, hut merit wins the soul. They did suibs by algebra without know- ing it, naming the process the Rule of Supposition; and, better spellers than ancestor Aaron, spelled Perrys Dic- tionary through from cover to cover at the evening spelling schools xvithout miss- ing a word. Jotham was the elder by two years, and the adviser and confidant of his companion. J otham had a tenor voice, clear and resonant as that of the bell-bird, whose evening song echoed through the maple grove hard by his home, while Simeon sang a good bass. Many happy winter evenings were spent by the two youths in the kitchen of the brown farm- house, with fiddle and home-made bass viol, on which they were wont to play skilfully. Sometimes even patient Aunt Darkis as the neighbors called her, was fain to tie her wide-bordered cap more closely over her ears, when Cousin Jemima joined in the harmony, uplifting her voice like a pelican in the wilderness, while she quavered through old Majesty and Sherburne. J emima xvas an old-maid relative, who was wont to sojourn from time to time with Aunt Dorc~ s, assisting with the spinning and other household duties, her tall, erect figure showing in marked con- trast to her aunt, who was bent and bowed. After school days were over, Simeon became a clerk in Squire Ellsworths store, at the Centre, three miles away, where he sold cotton cloth and molasses and divers and sundry other commodities, and boarded in the squires family. This was generally thought to be a great ad- vancement over plodding farm life. There had been nothing of importance in the conversation between Jotham and his companion during the short walk to Widow Mores, but the light that was never on sea or land shone in the young mans honest gray eyes as he lifted them to the June sky, and the story older than 29 A PRO VIDENTIAL LJXAI9IVG. the granite hills which encompassed his home was writing itself upon his heart. The schoolhouse was left to vacation quiet for txvo weeks in July, that the older scholars might spread hay and rake after. Then the swarm again settled, and the buzz of study and mis- chief went on as before, while the bright- eyed teacher reigned as queen bee and kept the hive in order. The boarding round, then a distinc- tive feature of district school-keeping, often brought Eunice to the home of the Pruden- tial Committee-man, for it was expected that this officer should provide a home for the teacher whenever, in her weekly revolutions through the district, she came to be entertained by a family whose poverty was in direct proportion to the number of children of teachable age which it contained, meaning from three years old and upward. So when Jim Robinsons turn came, with his family of five olive plants, his few unproductive acres, and a shiftless wife to mismanage the home, kind Aunt Dorcas said, I guess the teacherd better come and board out the Robinsons time here. Her son warmly approved the sugges- tion. He was a devout believer in Prov- idence. He had been tumbled up and down in his mind, seeking some way by which he could see the fair damsel oftener, and surely this was a direct in- terference in his behalf. Jims home was the abode of unthrift and discomfort, while his mother and Cousin Jemima were immaculate housekeepers, and the farm produced good store of creature com- forts. Noxvhere else was such an orchard, with fruit as golden as that guarded of old by the Hesperides, while the garden yielded all manner of herbs and vege- tables after their kind. Peace and plenty reigned in the farmhouse. How its master blessed the Providence which had filled the poor mans quiver with the poor mans blessing! Each toxv-headed urchin represented an added week of the girls presence under his own roof. The whole atmosphere of that summer of summers was full of unwritten poetry to the young farmer. There were walks in the twilight in the old-fashioned garden where the hollyhocks nodded their wise heads to each other over the gate, and the striped grass under the lilac bush held up its shining blades, tempting the two into bewildering proximity as they searched in vain for a matched pair. When the dew fell too heavily, the gar- den was abandoned for the great flat stone doorstep. The robin in the tree overhead would stir softly in her nest, hearing through her midsummer nights dream two young voices blending in sweet accord as they sang Addisons noble ode: Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listuing earth Repeats the story of her hirth: Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole. When Cousin Jemimas step was heard in the kitchen, as she wound the clock and set the bread for the morrows bak- ing, Eunice would flutter like a belated bird to her nest under the eaves, while Jotham would take his happy heart for a walk in the orchard, from whence he could see the twinkling of her candle through the trees for a few minutes. Then all would be dark, save in his heart, where the light of love shone like a bright star. He could only whisper the secret to the night breezes and the motherly robin. All too soon the bright summer passed. Examination day xvas over, with its array of delighted parents and august school- committee. The young teacher looked worried. It was a trying ordeal for her, no doubt. At last the guests had de- parted, the children had received their simple gifts, and said their tearful good- bys. Already the schoolroom was tak- ing on a mournful look amid the fading glories of maple branches and fall mari- golds, with which the older girls had covered the cracks in its plastered sides. Jotham unhitched Whitefoot from a post by the door. He was to take the teacher home, another duty of the Pru- dential Committee-man, and the last that would devolve upon him. Surely never were duties made sweeter in the pathway ~3O A PRO VJDENLIAL LEADING. therecf! He helped her to mount into the high wagon, and climbed in after her, feeling a little awkward in his unaccus- tomed position. They rode for a time in silence through the lovely mountain pathway, where every roadside stone and spike of golden- rod were transfigured in the slanting light. The lover was thinking of the moonlight strolls in the garden, and the evening songs. Then he broke the silence: Its going to be lonesome at our house, he stammered; I wishwont you come back for good? I think I could make you happy. I should try. Does any one smile at this quiet love making? Then he was not born in the atmosphere of repression which was round about New England two generations ago. It was not an easy matter for even a lover to say, I love you, and this lover was a man of few words. The ones xvhich he had just spoken signified a lifes devotion 1)rOmised. Surely, the girl had not been blind all ;u~mer to what was plainly visible to cvery one else. Yet she answered not a word. Was it maidenly shrinking, or womans perversity, which sealed her lips? How could she speak of what she had inadvertently heard only that morn- ing, the thought of which had been with her all the long, tiresome day? A neighbor, the most ignorant and longest tongued woman in the district, had made an early call on her hostess, and tarried on the doorstep near the spare-room window, for a few last words. They dew say, she affirmed, that the committee-mans shinin up to the teacher, Sh-h-h, cautioned the other. But she went on. Wal, to be sure, she might go farther and fare worse. Have you hearn tell that like as not Square Eilsworth 11 have to sign over? Ahdam says that Jim says that John says that theyve been livin tu high. Mis Ellsworth puts raisins in all her mince pies, and makes the under crust jest as rich as the top ! She says she dont want no hypocrite pies. And the gals is so extravagant, wearin meet- in shoes every day! Guess Eunice wont hold her head so high if she has to leave there. Mebby Jotham 11 take her out o pity. And he could have his pick o gals. At this point she was finally silenced by the energetic pantomime of her hostess, and departed. If the girl had but had time to think it over! But now she could only remem- ber, Mebby hell take her out of pity. It was a long three miles. The young man spoke once again: I did not mean to offend you. I am plain spoken, and, I never said such words to a girl before. And Eunice, unreaving her thick green veil, that it might drop over the caver- nous depths of her bonnet, responded, in a voice with a sob in it: Oh, why did you say them to me He left her at the squires gate, and took his way homeward in the darkening twilight, with his faith in Providence al- most wrenched from its hold. In his long waking hours, he lived over every scene of that happy summer. All at once, a thought flashed through his mind, why had it not occurred to him be- fore ? of his Jonathan, his bosom friend; how was it possible that he and Eunice could have been thrown together daily in the squires family, and not have come to feel something more than friendship in their close intercourse? Then he re- called many corroborating proofs. His friend was surely interested in the bright maiden whom he had loved in vain. J otham was, as he himself had said, a plain man. He basil never ventured far out into the world which lay beyond his hill-environed home, but he was formed of the same stuff which had made his ances- tors endure hardness as good soldiers, and he had read in a very old Book, with which he was wonderfully familiar: Greater love hath no man than this; that a man lay down his life for his friend. His life? That might not have proved so very difficult; but his love, which had become to him morning star and rising sun! All night he wrestled; but when he came out of his room in the early morn- ing light, he had prevailed. He took the milk-pail from the buttery shelf, and went out to begin his days work as usual, and A PROVIDENTIAL LEADING. 31 no other human being knew that he walked a mourner over a buried hope. Life in the brown farmhouse was as methodical as though old John XVyklifs motto, Doe the nexte thynge, had been inscribed over the broad fireplace; and Jotham blessed the necessity of toil without rest. His mothers dim eyes failed to notice what was plain enough to cousin Jemimas younger vision, brightened perchance by a memory of her own youth, the sad look which his face had taken on. But even her dull ears detected a new tone in his voice in family prayer, and there were no more soul-inspiring tunes played upon the old bass-viol, with his tenor accompaniment. Neither did Reuben come as of old when the evenings grew long. He was hard at work in the store, whose brisk fall trade gave the lie to old Maam Toogoods story of prospective failure. So the two only met on Sabbath days, on the meet- ing-house steps, when Jotham might have observed a new expression on the face of his friend, had he been as quick to note the shadows as in the old days. And what of Eunice? A spirit of un- rest, most perplexing to the family, had entered in and taken possession of the girl. She was as fitful in temper as an April day. At times as gay as a bobolink, she would stop in the midst of a burst of song or laugh-provoking story, and no owl could be more solemn. The children missed the charm of their old companion, and good Mrs. Ellsworth would have thought the girl was under conviction, but that she had been for four years a member of the church, in good and regular standing. Deacon Eastmans son Timothy, a good enough young man, walked briskly up to the squires front door one Sunday evening, and gayly lifted the knocker. Miss Eunice appeared, and answered a question in a way which sent him walking even more quickly away. It may be necessary to explain that Sun- day night in rural New England was the time for valiant young men to lay siege to the hearts of fair maidens, if haply they might win them to wife, and the first approach was wont to be in the time- honored form of a request for the damsels company. One day she was found crying behind the smoke-house, whither she had been sent with fresh coals for the ham-curing, but she explained that the smoke had got into her eyes. It was a blessing to her that the bonnets of the period were such effectual barriers to the curiosity of the outside world, else would she never have dared to sit near her lover or old Dame Toogood in meeting. Not a glimpse could the youth obtain of the face surmerged in the depths of her Nay- arino, else might his buried hope have felt some resurrection pangs. Digging potatoes is prosaic, back- breaking work. All day Jotham had plodded patiently back and forth along the furrowed rows, followed by a young lad who filled a basket for his stronger arms to empty into the cart, which stood in the centre of the field, while the oxen waited in the edge of the grove hard by, till the time to draw the load home. A bittersweet waved its oriflamme above the underbrush, while the smell of the freshly turned earth, mingling with the odor of dead leaves, suggested that summer was ended and the harvest almost past. Jotham paused at length at the end of a long row, looked back over the brown field across which the sun was throwing its last golden shadows, and leaned his hoe against the stone wall. Jimmie, said he, you may get the oxen, and draw the load home. The lad straightened a kink out of his back, and ran nimbly away. Listlessly following him with his eyes, he beheld Simeon approaching. He waited until his visitor had walked the whole distance of the field, and at length stood beside him, saying. Brother, and the old name trem- bled a little upon his lips, I have something to tell you. The farmer looked at the young clerk, in his tidy suit, plain and poor, but very clean, and at the delicate hands which bore no marks of toil, then down at his own, brown and roughened by his work. He thought, He has come to ask me to wish him joy. With a mighty effort 32 A PRO VIDENTIAL LEADING. he girded himself up, and xvith a low Yes, Simeon, led the way to the edge of the brush, where a fallen tree lay covered with a cushion of soft moss. They were hardly seated when Simeon began: A great change has passed over my life. I want to tell you about it, my friend. The friends face was pitiful to look upon; but by reason of the falling shadoxvs, and his oxvn earnestness, the other took no heed. He went on: Long time have I holden my peace; but there is a fire in my bones, and a voice sounding in my ears that I can but obey. Brother, if you had pondered upon a subject until it seemed the one thing of any importance to you; if your prayers had been offered with special reference to it for a long time; if it pos- sessed you when you lay down and when you rose up, would you not take it as an indication that Providence was ordering your path in that direction? Poor Jotham! Lie had indeed be- lieved in such ordering all the last happy summer. He almost groaned as he at length made ansxver. I should hope so, brother. Have you not reason to believe that she also has felt? Simeon started. I do not under- stand you. It was only last night that I fully made up my mind. The obstacles are many, but my Leader has spoken, and I must go forward. Before the new moon shines through these trees again, I shall leave the old life behind me, and go forth like the disciples of old, hav- ing neither script nor purse. I must 1c a rnissio;uiry. It will be long before I can get my education; so long that I cannot rest from thinking how many souls must starve before my hands can break unto them the bread of life. Oh, why do the children of the bride-chamber tarry, when the bridegroom bids them to go forth? He paused, breathless, and for the first time raised his eyes to the face of his companion, who reverently rose, lifted his old straw hat from his head, and said, Let us sing the Doxology! And, standing side by side, with the young moon gleaming softly in the gathering twilight through the old trees above them, they sang: Praise God, from whom all blessings. flow.~~ To the elder there was a joyous under- tone in the musk, not audible in the ears of the other. Then, amid the fast falling shadows, but with a darker shadow lifted from his heart, he led his friend along the familiar path to the house, where Aunt Dorcas and Jemima waited and wondered. A few weeks passed, wherein all the old love and confidence were blissfully renewed, never again to be dimmed or doubted, and then Simeon went forth on his long journey whose goal was in the islands of the sea. Then our believer in Providence waited for a leading. He hardly dared to hope that it would be along the path- way of his strong desire, but he took heart from a word dropped by Simeon, to the intent that Eunice seemed to have something on her mind. When the evenings grew long in the late autumn, a mild epidemic broke out in the town, in the form of a singing- school. Old Lucas, as he xvas somewhat irreverently called, with his beloved violin and singing-book, began a circuit which included divers of the hill towns within its orbit. With his bristling gray hair pushed back fiercely from his forehead, he was a spectacle to angels and men, as he taught the youth and maidens how to make melody unto the Lord. The Town Hall at the Centre was filled weekly with a goodly number of singers, each bearing a tallow candle set upright in an auger hole bored in a block of wood. When the tune was set to a quick measure, the dim room resembled a swamp filled with dancing Will o-the- wisps, as, like Gideons lamp-equipped army, each singer held his book in one hand, while with the other, in which his light was held, he beat the time with ut- most vigor and delight. The singing-master had at the begin- ning tried the voices, and Eunice was placed at the head of the counter, while Jothams fine tenor gave him a seat di- rectly behind her. But the sight of her SONG AFfER SILENCE. 33 tortoise-shell comb and high standing ruffle was hardly a fair exchange for that of the bright face which had smiled up at him the previous summer from the striped grass under the lilac bush. J othams long green cutter was roomy enough to have taken in half a dozen girls, but he had no companion in his rides to and from the singing-schools. The winters entertainment was to end in a grand concert, when the book was to be sung through, from Old Hundred to the Anthems, inclusive. And now, on each evening, Old Lucas was wont to call upon some one to select and lead a tune, that the new choir might be able to choose a leader upon whom the departing masters mantle might fall. On the last evening, Jotham was called. There was no escape. With a great ef- fort he advanced to the front and named the tune Dundee, set to the words, Let not despair, nor fell revenge Be to my bosom known; Oh give me tears for others woes, And patience for my own. He rapped his tuning-fork and took the pitch. All the parts were carried with a full volume of melody, while over all, soaring up among the dim old rafters, floated the leaders sweet tenor, voicing a prayer for patience. But another leading drew his look toward the seat where the counter sat, and caused the eyes of the girl he loved to meet his for one brief moment, as the strains died away and a hush followed which was like a prayer. Whatever the revelation may have been, it caused him some delay in reach- ing home that night. Old Whitefoot waited in the squires shed, while his master tarried within for a season. The snowdrifts over which the green sleigh passed on the homeward way might have been strewn with lilies of midsummer for aught the young man knew. His buried hope had arisen to a deathless resurrec- tion. Before the snow had melted into the singing brooks of the springtime, Aunt Dorcas welcomed a daughter to the brown farmhouse, and when the robin and her mate came back to their tree by the window, they heard a quaint song of love from the nest within. SONG AFTER SILENCE. By C/in/on Scoilard. WINTER is a weary time! Not the ripple of a rhyme Stirs the icy shores along, Quickening quietude with song. Smiles are choked with snow, Not a metaphor will flow Envious frost doth hold in fee Every lip in Castaly. But let spring the bonds unbind With the soft touch of its wind, What a rapture ! What a sweep! What a swifr, ecstatic leap! Mortal words but half express All the rapture, all the stress Sweeter are the strains that come If the lip awhile be dumb. 34 SCHUBERT. SCHUBERT. By ZI/ella C~ocke. WHO would know thee, a loving heart must bring, And hear with his hearts ears; else shall he miss Thy perfect message and his own true bliss, As bird that fain would soar on single wing, But faints and falls, in its unequal flight; For deepest depths of human tenderness Are thine, the mothers love and dear caress, The wanderers longing for the blessed sight Of home and Fatherland, the lovers heart, Wild with despair, or thrilled with joyance sweet Of happy souls who full requital meet. Thus natures yearnings find in thee a part; O gentlest Master of them all, since pain And joy do live, thou hast not lived in vain! SCJftZUMANN 35 SCHUMANN. By Zitella Gocke. HAT subtleties of song upon the loom Of Time, 0 Schumann, thy bold Fancy weaves, Now gorgeous tapestries of shimmering leaves, Melodious birds, and fragrant fields of bloom ; And now, a gossamer-spun canopy Meet for Olympian gods, and bright with beams Of never-fading stars, we see in dreams, And visions born of raptured ecstasy! Anon, on smooth-wrought texture of sweet tones, A sudden, plaintive wail of dissonance, Caught in the warp and woof of fair romance, Of joys high carnival, or griefs low moans. Rare Weaver ! ere thy fabrics lustre pale, Times shuttle, weary grown, itself shall fail! By U/Thfeld S. Nevins. VIII. BRIDGET BISHOP. BRIDGET BISHOP was arrested April 19, 1692, on a warrant issued the day before. Her examination took place on the day of arrest, and she was committed to jail. Bridget was the second wife of Edward Bishop, sawyer. Blshop was her third husband. Her first was one Wasslebee, and her second, Thomas Oliver. Bishop himself married again, nine months after Bridget was hanged. It is interesting, as a matter of curiosity, in this connection, to know that his father, Edward, was living in 1692; also a son, born in 1648, and a grandson, Edward. The Bishops at the time of Bridgets arrest were living near the line between Salem Village and Beverly, on the road which now leads from North Beverly to Danversport, and near the Cherry Hill farm. Goodwife Bishop kept some sort of a public house for the entertainment of travellers. From the documents on file it appears that she sold cider, if nothing stronger, and that her guests sat up late at night playing at shovel-board, drinking, and rhaking so much noise that the neighbors complained of the place. Bishop and his first wife, Hannah, were before the court in 1653 and fined, he for pilfering of apples and lying, and she for stealing Indian corn and lying.1 Bishop was also fined for contempt of court in not obeying a summons in January, 1692. Bridget Bishop was arrested on a charge of witchcraft in r68o, tried and discharged. It is evident, therefore, that neither of them stood before the community in the best possible light. Any new charge to 1 Essex county court at Ipswich, 5653, Nos. 4243. Witch Pins, court-House Salem. STORIES OF SALEM WITCIJ CRAFT. 37 the discredit of either was quite likely to be believed. Samuel Gray, who prefer- red the charge of witchcraft against this woman in i68o, testified long after, on his deathbed, his sor- row and repentance for such accusations as being wholly groundless. 1 T h e court reporter on the occasion of Bridget Bishops examination before the magis- trates in 1692 left this record: As soon as she came near all fell into fits. Mary Walcott said that her brother Jonathan stroke her appearance, and she saw that he had tore her coat in striking and she heard it tear. Upon some search in the court a rent that seems to answer what was al- leged was found. They say you bewitched your first husband to death. If it please your worship, I know noth- ing of it. She shake her head and the afflicted were tor- tured. 1 calef, Fowlers Ed., 247. The like again upon motion of her head. The court sought to make her confess by leading questions repeated in various forms, but was unable to shake her firm denial of every charge. The report con- tinues: Then she turned up her eyes and the eyes of the afflicted were turned up. It may 1)e you do not know that any have con- fessed to-day who have been examined before you Site of Bridget Bishops Salem House. Residence of constable Putnam, Salem Village, 1692. 38 STORIES OF SALEM WITOJICRAFT. that they are witches. No, I know nothing of it. John Hutchinson and John Lewis in open court affirmed that they had told her. Why, look you, you are taken now in a flat lie. I did not hear them. The remainder of the report is so nearly like that in other cases that its use would be mere repetition. The prisoner was sent to jail. The new court of Oyer and Terminer, which had been con- stituted by Governor Phips on May 27, sat in Salem, June 2, for the trial of Bridget Bishop. She was, therefore, the first person tried by the new court, and the first of the alleged witches of Salem and Salem Village to be tried in 1692. The evidence against her at this trial has come down to us with a considerable de- gree of fulness. There were five indict- ments. They charged the prisoner in the usual form with witchcraft in, upon, and against Mercy Lewis, Abigail Williams, Mary Walcott, Elizabeth Hubbard, and Ann Putnam, respectively. In addition to the customary testimony of the afflicted that the shape of the accused did often pinch, bite, choke, and otherwise hurt them, and had urged them to write their names in a book, which the apparition called our book, they manifested the usual evidences of torture in the court- room. Among the interesting testimony in the case was that of William Stacey, who deposed that he had the small-pox some thirteen years before, and Bridget Bishop professed great love for him in his afflic- tion. Some time after he did some work for her, for which she paid him three pence. He put the money in his pocket; but had not gone above three or four rods when he looked in his pocket but could not find any money. One day he met Ph~p going to mill. She asked him whether his father would grind her grist. He wished to know why she asked. She answered, Because folks counted her a witch. Deponent made answer he did not doubt his father would grind it, bnt being gone about six rods from her with a small load in his cart, sud- denly the off wheel plumped or sunk down into a hole upon plain ground, that this deponent was forced to get one to help him get the wbeel out. Afterwards he went back to look for said hole where his wheel sunk in, hut could not find any hole. One winter about midnight be felt something cold pressing on his teeth be- tween his lips. She saw Bishop sitting on the foot of the bed. She hopt upon the bed and about the room. Some time after, Stacey, according to the records: Shattuck i-louse Salem. STORIES OF SALFAif WITCHCRAFT. 39 Death Warrant of Bridget Bishop~ 40 STORIES OF SALEM WITCHCRAFT. in a dark night, was going to the ham, who was suddenly taken or hoisted from the ground, threw against a stone wall, after that taken up again and throwed down a hank at the end of the house. Some time after this deponent met the said Bridget Bishop hy Isaac Stones hrick kill; after he had passed hy this deponents horse stood still with a small load going up hill, so that the horse trying to draw, all his gears flew in pieces and the cart fell down. John Hale of Beverly testified that the wife of John Trask desired of him that Bishop be not permitted to receive the Lords Supper till she had given satisfac- tion for some offences that were against her because she did entertain certain people in her house at unseasonable hours in the night to keep drinking and playing at shovel-board, whereby discord did arise in the other families and young people were in danger to he corrupted. He greatly feared that if a stop had not been put to those disorders Edward Bishops house would have been a house of great prophainness and iniquity. The next news he heard of Christian Trask xvas that she was dis- tracted, and her hus- band said she was so taken the night after she complained of Goody Bishop. He continued his testi- mony at length, sta- ting that the distractions returned from time to time until Mrs. Trask died. As to the wounds that she died of I did ohserve three deadly ones, a piece of her windpipe cut out, another wound ahove it through the windpipe & gullets the veins they call juglar, so that I then judged and still do apprehend it impossihle for her with so short a pair of scissors to mangle herself so without some extraordinary work of the devil or witchcraft. Is there any reason to doubt, after reading this testimony, that Christian Trask was insane, and so committed suicide? Txvo xvitnesses testified that on taking Anthony Needham House, West Peabody. The Jacobs House, Danversport STORIES OF SALEM WITCHCRAFT. 41 down the cellar wall in the old Bishop house where Bridget lived in 1685, they found in holes in the wall several puppets made up of rags and hogs bristles with headless pins in them with the points out. Puppets were believed to represent the person whom the witch desired to afflict, and by sticking pins into those images the mischief was supposed to be mysteriously and safely accomplished. Whatever was done to the images was, so the belief ran, done to the person whom they represented. Samuel Shattuck testi- fied that Bridget Bishop came to his house to buy a hogshead which he asked very little for, and she went away without it. Sundry other times she came in a smooth, flattering manner, he had thought since to make mischief. At or very near this time his eldest child which had promised much health and understanding was taken in a drooping condition, and as she came often to the house it grew worse and worse. As he would be stand- ing at the door would fall out and bruise his face upon a great stepstone as if he had been thrust out by an invisible hand. Sometimes the child would go out in the garden and get on a board, and when they would call it, it would walk to the end of the board and hold out its hands as if it could come no further, and they had to lift it off. John Lander testified that Bishop came into his room one night and sat on his stomach. He put out his hands and she grabbed him by the throat and choked him. One Sunday while he remained at home, The door being shut I did see a black pig in the room coming towards me, so I went towards it to kick it and it vanished away. Immediately after I sat down in a narrow bar and did see a black thing jump into the window and came and stood just before my face upon the bar, and the body of it looked like a munkey and I being greatly aifrighted, not being able to speak or help myself by reason of fear, I suppose, so the thing spake to me and said, I am a messenger sent to you, for I understand you are troubled in mind, and if you will be ruled by me you shall want for nothing in this world, upon which I endeavored to clap my hands upon it, and said you devil I will kill you, hut could feel no substance and it jumped out of the window again, and immediately came in by the porch, although the doors were shut, and said you had better taken council, whereupon I strooke at it with a stick but struck the ground-sill. Then Essex Inst. Hist. con. II., i4~. his arm was disennabled, and opening the door and going out he saw Bishop in her orchard going towards her house, and seeing her had no power to set one foot before the other. The trial occupied most of the week. Bridget was convicted and sentenced to be hanged. She was executed on Friday, June io, being the only person hanged on that day, and hence the first victim of the great witchcraft delusion of 1692. Calef says, she made not the least con- fession of anything relating to witch- craft. 2 Of her execution we have no details, but the court records contain the original warrant for her execution and the sheriffs return thereon. As this is the only death warrant which has been preserved in these cases, it is quoted here in full: To George Corwin gentrn High Sheriff of the county of Essex greeting Whereas Bridget Bishop, als Oliver, the wife of Edward Bishop of Salem in the county of Essex, sawyer, at a speciall court of Oyer and Terminer held at Salem the second day of this instant month of June for the countyes of Essex, Middlesex and Suffolk before Wiliam Stoughton Esq. and his associate justices of the said court was indicted and arraigned upon five several in~ dictments for using, practicing and exercising on the nynteenth day of April last past and divers other days and times before and after certain acts of witchcraft on and upon the bodyes of Abigail Williams Ann Putnam junr. Mercy Lewis May Walcott and Elizabeth Hubbard of Salem Village single women whereby their hodyes were hurt afflicted pined consumed wasted and tormented contrary to the forine of the statute in that case made and provided. To which indictment the said Bridget Bishop pleaded not guilty and for tryal thereof put herself upon God and her coun- try whereupon she was found guilty of the fel- onycs and witchcraft whereof she stood indicted and sentence of death accordingly passed agt her as the law directs. Execution whereof yet remains to be done. These are therefore in the name of their maj(es)ties William and Mary now King r.nd Queen over England & c to will and command you that upon Fryday next being the tenth dy of this instant month of June between the hours of eight and twelve in the aforenoon of the same day safely conduct the sd Bridget Bishop als Oliver from their majties goal in Salem aforesd to the place of execution and there cause her to be hanged by the neck until she be dead, and of your doings herein make return to the clerke of the sd court pr cept. and hereof you are not to faile at your peril and this shall be sufficient war- rant given under my hand and seal at Boston the eighth dy of June in the fourth year of the reign of our Sovirgne Lord & Lady William and 2 Fowlers Ed., 247. 42 STORIES OF SALEM WITCHCRAFT. Mary now King and Queen over England & c annogr dom 1692 WILLIAM STOUGHTON According to the within written precept I have taken the hody of the within named l3rigett Bishop out of their majesties goal in Salem and safely conveighed her to the place provided for her execution and caused ye sd Brigett to he hanged hy the neck until she was dead [and huried in the place] all which was according to the time within required and so I make returne hy me. GEORGE CoRwIN SIIERWF. The words in brackets in the sheriffs return xvere written in the original and then partially erased. They are impor- tant, however, as indicating the disposi- tion of Bishops body. No doubt other bodies were disposed of in the same manner. Corwin probably erased the words after writing them, because the matter of burial was not mentioned in the warrant IX. THE JAcOBS FAMILY. THE history of the Jacobs family in connection with the witchcraft persecu- tions is peculiarly interesting. George Jacobs, Sr., George Jacobs, Jr., and his wife Rebecca and daughter Margaret, were all accused. The old man must have been about seventy years of age or more, for he had long, flowing white hair. He lived on a farm in what was then known as Northfields, and in Salem rather than Salem Village, but on tern tory now included in the town of Dan- vers. The exact site was near the mouth of Endicott or Cow House River, the first of the three rivers one crosses in driving from Salem to Danvers. Jacobs was evidently a man of some property, and probably a good average citizen; but, like most of the others xvho fell un- der suspicion of witchcraft, and for that matter, many of their neighbors, he had had a little trouble which brought him into court. The records show that in 1677 he was fined for striking a man. His son, George, Jr., three years earlier, was sued by Nathaniel Putnam to re- cover the value of some horses that he had chased into the river, where they were drowned. The court found against Jacobs. On the tenth day of May, 1692, Hathorne and Cor- win issued a warrant to the con- stable of Salem, directing him to ap- prehend George Jacobs, Sr., of Salem, and Margaret Jacobs, daughter of George Jacobs, Jr., of Salem, single woman. On the same day, Joseph Neal, constable for Salem, returned that he had apprehended the bodies of George Jacobs, Sr., and Margaret Jacobs. They were taken to Salem that day, and the examination of the old man was begun at once. After some preliminary questions and the usual sufferings of the afflicted, the report continues, Jacobs saying: I am as innocent as the child horn to- night. I have lived 33 years here in Salem. What then? If you can prove that I am guilty I will lye under it. Sarah Churchill said, last night I was afflicted at Deacon Ingersolls, and Mary Walcott said, it was a man with 2 staves. It was my master. Pray do not accuse me. I am as clear as your worships. You must do right judgements. What hook did he hring you. Sarah? The same hook that the other woman hrought. The devil can go in any shape. Did he not appear on the other side of the river and hurt you? Did not you see him? Yes, he did. Look there, she accuseth you to your face, she chargeth you that you hurt her twice. Is it not true? What would you have me say? I never wronged no man in word nor deed. 1-lere are 3 evidences. You tax me for a wizzard. You may as well tax me for a huzzard. I have done no harm. Is it not harm to afflict these ?I never did it. But how comes it to he in your appearance? The devil can take any license. - -~-- - Site of Beadle Tavern Salem, STORIES OF SALEM WITCH (RAFT. Not without their consent. Please your worships, it is untrue, I never showed the book. I am silly about these things as the child born last night. That is your saying. You argue you have lived so long, but what then, Cain might (have) lived so long before he killed Abel and you might live long before the devil had so prevailed on you. Christ bath suffered 3 times fsr me. XVhat three times? He suf- ~ fered the cross and gal You had as good confess (said Sarah Churchill) if you are guilty. Have you heard that I have any witchcraft? I know that you lead a wicked life. Let her make it out. Doth he ever pray in his family? Not unless by himself. Why do yoo not pray in your family? I can- not read. Well you may pray for all that. Can you say the Lords prayer? Let us hear you. He might [missed?] in several parts of it & could not repeat it right after many trials. Sarah Churchill, when you wrote in the book you was showed your masters name you said. Y es ssrr. Well, burn me or hang me I will stand in the truth of Christ. I know nothing of it. This examination, begun on the joth, was suspended for some reason before completion, and finished on the r ith. On that day the accusing girls were pres- ent in full force. Among them was Sa- rah Churchill, who gave positive evidence against the prisoner. Subsequently, Sa- rah Ingersoll deposed. That seeing Sarah Churchill after her examina- tion, she came to me crying, and wringing her hands, seemingly much troubled in spirit. I asked her what ailed her. She answered she had undone herself. I asked in what. She said in belying herself and others in saying she had set her hand to the devils book whereas she said she never did. I told her I believed she had set her hand to the hook. She answered and said, no, no, no. I never, I never did. I asked her then what made her say she did. She answered because they threatened her, and told her they would put her into the dungeon and put her along with Mr. Burroughs, and thus several times she followed me up and doxvn telling me she had undone herself in belying herself and others. I asked her why she did not deny she wrote it. She told me because she had stood out so long in it, that now she durst not. She said, also, that if she told Mr. Noyes but once she had set her hand to the book, he would believe her, but if she told the truth, and said she had not set her hand to the book a hundred times he would not believe her. George Herrick testified that in May he went to the jail and searched the body of Jacobs. He found a tett under the right shoulder a quarter of an inch long. He ran a pin through it, but there was neither water, blood, nor corruption, nor any other matter, and so we make re- turn. The following document is also among the papers: wee whose names are under written having received an order from ye sreife to search ye bodyes of George Burroughs and George Jacobs wee find nothing upon ye body of ye above sayd Burroughs but wt is naturall but upon ye body of George Jacobs wee find 3 tetts wch according to ye best of our judgements wee think is not naturall for wee run a pinn through 2 of ym and he was not sincible of it one of them being within his mouth upon ye inside of his right cheak and 2d upon his right shoulder blade and a 3d upon his right hipp. Ed Welch sworne John Flint jurat Will Gill sworne Tom \Vest sworne Zeb Gill jurat Sam Morgan sworne John Bare jurat. The jury found Jacobs guilty, and he was sentenced to the galloxvs, and exe- cuted on August 19. After his con- 1 Jacobs was buried on his farm in Danversport, where his grave may be seen at this day. The remains were exhumed about 1864, examined, and redeposited in the earth, where they had lain for nearly tsso centuries. The skull was found to be fairly well preserved. The jaw- bones were those of an old man, the teeth being all gone. A metallic pin svas the only article found, save the bones. Fansily tradition has it that Jacobs was hanged on a tree on his own farm. Mr. c. M. Endicott says his grandmother, a direct descendant, told him that the body, after execution in Salem, was brought home for burial by his son, who witnessed the hanging. Upham says it was a grandson. Upham, II., 320. Essex Inst. Mist. c011., I., ~ calef, Fowlers Ed., a~8. 43 Ttasls House, North Beverly. 44 STORiES OF SALEM WITCHCRAFT. demnation the sheriffs officers went to his house and seized all his goods, and even took his wifes wedding ring. It was with great difficulty that she obtained it again. She xvas under the necessity of buying provisions of the sheriff, such as he had taken from her. These not being sufficient to sustain life, the neigh- bors supplied her with more. In the mean time, xvarrants were is- sued, on May 14, for George Jacobs, Jr., and his wife Rebecca Jacobs escaped. When the constables took Rebecca she had four young children in her home. Some of them followed her on the road, but being too young to continue far, they were left behind, and cared for by the neighbors. Rebecca Jacobs was kept in irons eight months, then indicted and brought to trial on January 3, 1693. She was promptly acquitted. In the mean time touching petitions had been presented to the chief justice by the mother, and to Governor Phips, praying for her release. They were of no avail. The woman was kept in a dungeon, half fed and uncared for beyond what was neces- sary to sustain life, through the long winter months. Her treatment was in keeping with that of other victims. In cruelty and barbarity it must be frankly said that it finds parallel only in the acts of the savages of the forests. Margaret Jacobs, to save herself from punishment, acknowledged that she was a witch and testified against her grand- father, and also against Mr. Burroughs. On August 2, 1892, the day after Mr. Burroughs and George Jacobs, Sen., were executed, she addressed a letter to her father as follows: Honored Father, After my humble duty re- membered to you, hoping in the Lord of your good health, as blessed be God I enjoy, though in abundance of affliction, being close confined here in a loathsome dungeon, the Lord look down in mercy upon me, not knowing how soon I shall be put to death, by means of the afflicted persons. My grandfather having suffered already and all his estate seized for the king. The reason of my confinement is this: I, having through the magis- trates threatenings and my own vile and wretched heart, con- fessed several things contrary to my own conscience and knowl- edge, though to the wounding of my own soul, the Lord pardon me for it. But 0, the terrors of a wounded conscience who can bear? But blessed he the Lord, he would not let me go on in my sins, but in mercy, I hope, to my soul, would not suffer me to keep it in any longer, but I was forced to confess the truth of all before the magistrates, who would not believe me, hut tis their pleasure to put me here, and God knows how soon I shall be put to death. Dear father, let me beg your prayers to the Lord on my behalf, and send us a joyful and happy meeting in Heaven. My mother, poor woman, is very crazy,. and remembers her kind love to you, and to uncle,. viz: d A , so leaving you to the protec- tion of the Lord, I rest your dutiful daughter, From the dungeon Margaret Jacobs. in Salem prison, Aug. 20, 1692. At the next session of the court, Mar- garet made another confession, in which she said: The Lord above knows I know nothing in the least measure, how or who afflicted them, they told me without doubt I did, or else they would not fall down at me, they told me if I would not confess I should be put down into the dungeon and would be hanged, but if I would confess I should have my life. The which did so affright me with my own vile wicked heart, to save my life made me make the like confession I did, which confession, may it please the honored court, is altogether false and untrue. . . . Whatever I said was altogether false against my grandfather and Mr. Burroughs, which I did to save my life and to have my liberty, hut the Lord, charging it to my conscience made me in so much horror that I could not contain myself before I had denied my confession, which I did, though I saw nothing fi 92 Site of John Procters House, Peabody. STORIES OF SALEM WITCh CRAFT. 45 but death before me, choosing rather death with a quiet conscience than to live in such horror, which I could not suffer. Whereupon my denying my confession, I was committed to close prison. She asked the court to take pity and compassion on her young and tender years, she having no friend but the Lord to plead her cause. At the time set for her trial she was troubled with a disorder in her head, and thus escaped. The evi- dence which she gives as to the pressure brought to bear to make her confess her- self a witch corroborates what was said by many others, and raises the question in our minds whether all the so-called con- fessions were extorted by similar promises of mercy on the one hand, and threats of punishment on the other. Margaret re- mained in prison some time after the proclamation of freedom was issued by the governor, because she could not pay the fees and charges of the jailer. IX. THE PROcTERS. THE story of the trial of John Procter and his wife Elizabeth is full of interest. The Procters lived originally in Ipswich, but subsequently in Salem Village, at the point now known as Proctors Crossing in Peabody. The house stood near the southerly end of Pleasant Hill. Procter was a respectable and well-to-do-farrn~r. He came into conflict on one or two occasions with Giles Corey, but this does not seem to have had anything to do with the subsequent proceedings on the charge of witchcraft against him or his wife, although the same efforts have been made in this case as in many others to attribute the prosecution to personal animosities. Procter, in 1678, was a referee in a case between Corey and John Gloyd. The decision of Procter and the other arbitrators was against Corey, but that did not appear to create any ill-feelings between the two, and they are said to have drunk together after the decision had been announced. A short time after this Procters house caught fire and some one was unkind enough to suggest that Corey set the fire, as already mentioned in an earlier chapter. As there stated, he was acquitted, when brought to trial. One collision between Procter and Giles Corey was as follows: Corey was driving a yoke of oxen along the road past John Procters house, and in going up the bill just beyond Procters had taken two or three sticks of wood to put behind the wheels while the oxen rested. He appears to have taken the sticks up and thrown them on the cart instead of to the side of the road or carrying them back. At this moment Procter and Anthony Needham came along. Procter accused Corey of having some of his wood on the cart, and asked, Wilt thou never leave thy old trade? Anthony Needham subsequently appeared against Martha Corey when she was accused of witchcraft and examined. The Coreys then lived near the present railroad cross- ing at XVest Peabody. Needham lived near there, the house now being on the turnpike near the crossing of Lowell Street and the Boston & Maine Railway; and Procter lived at the junction of the Lowell and Ipswich roads, now Lowell and Prospect Streets, Peabody. Complaint was made against Elizabeth Procter, on April 4, by Captain Jonathan Walcott and Lieutenant Nathaniel Inger- soll, for afflicting Abigail Williams, John Indian, Mary Walcott, Ann Putnam, and Mercy Lewis. She was arrested on the i ~th, and taken to Salem for examination, together with Sarah Cloyes, sister of Re- becca Nurse. Danforth, deputy-governor, Samuel Appleton, Samuel Sewall, and Isaac Addington sat with Hathorne and Corwin on this occasion. Procter him- self, like a good husband, followed his wife to court, but at the cost of his life. The girls of the accusing circle cried out against him, and he was then and there arrested. During the examination of Goodwife Procter, this scene occurred: Elizabeth Procter, you understand whereof you are charged, viz., to be guilty of sundry acts of witchcraft. What say you to it? Speak the truth, and so that you are afflicted, you must speak the truth as you will answer for it before God another day. Mary Walcott, doth this woman hurt you ?I never saw her so as to be hurt by her. Mercy Lewis, does she hurt you? (Her mouth was stopped.) Ann Putnam, does she hurt you? (She could not speak.) Abigail Williams, does she hurt you? (Her hand was thrust in her own mouth.) John Indian, does she hurt you? This is the woman that came in her shift and choked me. STORIES OF SALEM WiTcHcRAFT Did she ever bring the hook? Yes, sir. What to do? To write. What, this woman? Yes, sir. Are you sore of it? Yes, sir. Again Abigail Williams and Ann Pntnam were spoke to by the court, hot neither of them could make any answer, by reason of dumbness or other fits. What do you say, Goody Proctor, to these things? I take God in Heaven to be my wit- ness, that I know nothing of, no more than the child unborn. Ann Putnam, doth this woman hurt you? Yes, sir, a great many times. (Then the accused looked upon them and they fell into fits.) Did not you, said Abigail, tell me that your maid had written? Dear child it is not so. There is another judgment, dear child. Then Abigail and Ann had fits. By and by they cried out, Look you, there is Goody Proc- ter on the beam. Shortly both of them cried out of Goodman Procter himself, and said he was a wizard. Immediately, many, if not all, the be- witched, had grievous fits. Ann Putnam, who hurt you? Goodman Proc- ter and his wife. Afterwards, some of the afflicted cried, there is Procter going to take up Mrs. Popes feet, and her feet were immediately taken up. What do you say, Goodman Procter, to these things? I know not, I am innocent. During the examination of Elizabeth Procter, Abigail Williams and Ann Putnam both made offer to strike at said Procter, but when Abigails hand came near it opened (whereas it was made up into a fist before) and came down ex- ceeding lightly, as it drew near to said Procter, and at length, with open and extended fingers, touched Procters hood very lightly. Immediately, Abigail cried out, her fingers, her fingers, her fingers were burned. The following document which was filed in the case of Procter and his wife and Sarah Cloyes, was the form used in all other cases. It is quoted here more for the light it throws on the methods of procedure in those days than for impor- tance in this or any other one case: Salem, April 11th, 1692. Mr. Samuel Parris was desired by the Honorable Mr. Danforth, deputy-governor, and the council, to take in writing the aforesaid examinations, and accord- ingly took and delivered them in, and upon hear- ing the same, and seeing what was then seen, to- gether with the charge of the afflicted persons, were by the advice of the council all committed by us. JOHN HATHORNE, ~- Assts. JONATHAN Coa~wiN, 4 Procter and his wife were brought to trial about August 5. The testimony offered at these trials differed very little from that used to convict in other cases, and the witnesses were substantially the same. One or two of the depositions are of rather more than ordinary interest. Among them, I find this somewhat re- markable production: Elizabeth Booth testified that on ye 8th of J one hugh joanes Apercd unto me & told me that Elesebeth Prockter kiled him because he had a poght of sider of her which he had not paid her for. On June 8th Elesebeth Shaw Apered unto me & told me yt Elesebeth Procter & John Willard kiled Her Because she did not use those doctors she Advised her to. . . . Ye wife of John Fuller Apered unto me and told me that Elesebeth Procter kiled her because she would not give her Aples when she sent for sum he apparition of Law Shapling and Doe Zerubabel Endicott appeared and said Elizabeth Procter killed them, and the apparition of Robert Stone, ser., told him that John Procter and his wife killed him, and at the same time Robert Stone, jr., appeared and said Procter and his wife killed him because he took his fathers part. John Bailey deposed that On the 25th of May last myself and wife being bound to Boston on the road, when I came in sight of the house where John Procter did live there was a very hard blow struck on my breast, which caused great pain in my stomach and amazement in my head, but did see no person near me only my wife on my horse behind me on the same horse; and when I came against said Procters house, according to my understanding, I did see John Procter and his wife at said house. Procter himself looked out of the window, and his wife did stand just without the door. I told my wife of it; and she did look that way and see nothing but a little maid at the door. Afterwards, about a mile from the aforesaid house, I was taken speechless for some short time. My wife did ask me several questions, and desired me if I could not speak I should hold up my hand; which I did and immediately I could speak as well as ever. And when we came to the way where Salem road cometh into Ipswich road, there I received an- other blow on my breast, which caused me so much pain I could not sit on my horse. And when I did alight off my horse, to my understand- ing, I saw a woman coming towards us about six- teen or twenty pole from us, but did not know who it was. My wife could not see her. When I did get up on my horse again, to my under- standing, there stood a co~v where I saw the woman. As matter of fact, Procter and his wife were at this time, in jail in Boston, and had been there since April ii. Bailey was undoubtedly frightened at the stories he had heard the previous evening in Salem Village, where he must have passed the night on his way from his home in Newbury to Boston. His wife, who per- 46 STORIES OF SALEM WiTCh CRAFT. 47 haps had not heard the stories about Procter and other witches, was not agitated and could plainly see that there was only a maid standing at the door. As for Baileys other troubles that morn- ing, we may believe as much or as little as we please of the story he told. We know now that there was not a particle of reality in it. It may .have been deliber- ate falsehood, or it may have been the effect of a too fervid imagination. Of Procters family, Benjamin, the oldest, was in prison with his parents; and his sister, Sarah, aged sixteen, William, aged eighteen, Samuel, aged seven, Abigail, between three and four, and one still younger, were about home. William was sent to prison three days later, so it must have been the little maid, Abigail, whom Bailey saw standing in the door- way. Daniel Elliott testified that he heard one of the accusing girls say that she cried against Goodman Procter for sport. The girls must have some sport, she is said to have added. 1 Procter and his wife were convicted and sentenced to be hanged. Every effort possible was made to save him from suffering the penalty. John Wise and thirty-one of his old neighbors in Ipswich signed a petition in his behalf to the court of assistants. They said: We reckon it within the duties of our charity, that teaches us to do as we would be done by, to offer thus much for the clearing of our neighbors innocence, viz.: that we never had the least knowledge of such a nefandus wickedness in our neighbors since they have been within our ac- quaintance. . . . As to what we have seen or heard of them, upon our conscience we judge them innocent of the crime objected. Nathaniel Fulton and twenty of their nearer Salem Village neighbors signed a similar petition, saying: We whose names are underwritten, having several years known John Procter and his wife, do testify that we never heard or understood that they were ever suspected to be guilty of the crime now charged upon them, and several of us, being their near neighbors, do testify, that to our appre- hension, they lived Christian-like in their family, and were ever ready to help such as stood in need of their help. Fulton also petitioned for the release of Rebecca Nurse and others. Putnams 5alem Witchcraft Explained, 449. Procter wrote a letter to Rev. Messrs. Increase Mather, Allen, Moody, Willard, and Bailey, which was signed by himself and several of his fellow-prisoners, in which he said: Here are five persons who have lately con- fessed themselves to be witches, and do accuse some of us of being along with them at a sacra- ment, since we were committed into close prison, which we know to be lies, two of the five are (Carriers children) young men, who would not confess anything till they tied them neck and heels, till the blood was ready to come out of their noses. My son William Procter, because he would not confess that he was guilty when he was innocent, they tied him neck and heels till the blood gushed out at his nose.~~ This letter was written after the pre- liminary examinations, and while the prisoners were lying in jail awaiting trial. They asked that they might be tried in Boston, and if not, that they have other magistrates, requests which show in the strongest manner that the trials were notoriously unfair, for no accused persons would take the risk of offending the magistrates before whom they might be tried unless the emergency was a most extraordinary one, because failure to attain the object sought was sure to be prejudicial to their cause. They also begged that some of the ministers be present at the trials, hoping thereby you may be the means of saving the shedding of our innocent blood. No attention was paid to this appeal for fairness in trial, nor to the appeals for life subsequent to Procters conviction and sentence. He was executed on August r 9. His body, it is believed by his descendants, was recovered afterwards and buried on his farm, where it has since reposed. Elizabeth Procter escaped by pleading pregnancy. Some months after the death of her husband she gave birth to a child.2 Her home had been desolated. Not only had her husband been hung and three of her children imprisoned, and she herself brought within the very shadow of the gallows, but the officers of the law had stripped that home of all its worldly possessions. Her execution was again ordered early in 1693, but Governor 2 5avages Genealogical Dictionary of New England gives the date January 27, 2691-3, hut the correctness of this is questioned. 48 SIXTY YEARS AGO. Phips granted a reprieve. Many of her relatives in Lynn were accused and some brought to trial. All in all, the severe treatment of this family had led to the charge of special persecution. The reason for this, it is believed, was Proc- ters intense opposition to the whole witchcraft business from the very begin- ning, and particularly when he said he could whip the devil out of them. Possibly if he could have applied his remedy to the accusing girls, in the beginning, we should never have had any Salem Village witchcraft. Another charge of special persecution is that Procter was refused a request for time in which to prepare for death and adjust his business affairs, and that Rev. Mr. Noyes refused to pray with him. How much more time he needed than his com- panions we know not. He had as much as was allowed to them. It was short, it is true undoubtedly less than two weeks from his sentence. SIXTY YEARS AGO. RECOLLECTIONS OF NEW ENGLAND COUNTRY LIFE. II. By Lucy A. Kebler. HE busy feet and active / ~ hands of the mother ~ and daughters found full occupation in the ~ ~ farmers house. The ~ ~ breakfast was between five and six in summer, and perhaps an hour later in winter. This was hardly cleared away before, in haying and harvest- ing time, the luncheon had to be prepared and taken to t~ie laborers in the field. A jug of home-made root beer, or mo- lasses and water flavored with ginger, or occasionally lemonade with a dash of spirit, was carried with the basket of solids. At twelve, the blowing of the tin horn, or the more sonorous conch shell, announced dinner. Tea at five was the last meal, unless one wished for a bowl of bread and milk at the early bedtime. In the morning the new milk was strained, and the older, skimmed. Two or three times a xveek in summer, butter was churned, and afterwards prepared for market. Cheeses were pressed, and each day buttered and turned. These, with keeping the house in order, the weekly washing and ironing, the extra baking on Saturday, were the ever-recurring occu- pations. There were many incidental ones. The making the supply of candles for the year was quite an event. The George Jacobs Grave Danveraporl SiXTY YEARS AGO. 49 day before this, the wicks were cut double the length desired for the candles, put round the rods and twisted, six or seven on each. Bright and early in the morn- ing, for this was to be a work of hours, boards were put on the kitchen floor, that no spot might mar its whiteness. The rods, four or five inches apart, were placed on slats supported by chairs; the boiling tallow xvas put in front, the house- wife seated in a low chair, and the dip- ping of one row after another, over and over again, continued until the acquired size was attained. An assistant was at hand to add tallow from the kettle over the fire, and xvhen that was exhausted boiling water. Lamps filled with sperm oil were used for carrying about the house, but candles were depended upon for sexving and reading. Bayberry and xvax were supposed to add hardness, and improve the candle. All soap for washing and scrubbing purposes was made at home. The leech- tub always stood in the corner of the woodshed. This was perhaps a yard or more square at the top, sloping down to a few inches at the bottom. It was filled with wood ashes, and water put in grad- ually, which dripped through into a trough below. The ley thus obtained was sufficiently strong when it would bear up an egg. The refuse grease and bones were boiled in this, and soap was the result. Its consistency and transparency were quite as much a test of the hou~e- keepers skill, as the lightness of her bread and the clearness of her jellies. The butchering and caring for the beef and pork, the salting and transfer- ing of most of it to barrels in the cellar, was one of the busy times. The proper portions xvere frozen for the occasional roast: that selected for sausages was chopped and seasoned, and the skins filled. These provided the meat for many a breakfast. Sam Wellers re- mark about meat pie being applicable to home-made sausages as well. The trying out the lard for home consumption and for sale was one of the incidentals, as was also the smoking of hams in the large brick oven, for which purpose corn cobs were always used. The beef and pork that had been packed away was brought up, piece by piece, for the boiled dinner. These, with the accompanying vegetables, cab- bage, turnips, carrots, squash, and pota- toes, were put into the same vessel, at proper intervals, and boiled. Beets, on account of their coloring property, were cooked separately. At dinner time, the beef and pork were put in the centre of a large pexvter dish, and the vegetables symmetrically arranged around, all form- ing the noon meal once or twice a week. In some cases the water in which these had been boiled was skimmed the next day, and beans added, making, in farm- er s vernacular, black cows milk or bean porridge the last name perhaps the origin of our childhoods game of clap- ping hands to the tune of: Bean porridge hot, Bean porridge cold, Bean porridge in the pot Nine days old. In the season of fresh vegetables, the labor was added ef gathering and pre- paring them for the table, and also the fruits for present use and drying or pre- serving. There were some superstitions that regulated the time when this various work was to be performed. The butch- ering and candlemaking must always be done in the increase of the moon, else the meat would shrink in cooking and the candles melt. The calf must never be killed xvhen the sign was in the heart, lest the mother should be injured by the separation. No parent was so regard- less of the welfare of her child as to wean it when its intellect or feelings would be endangered by the sign being in the head or heart. The Farmers Almanac hanging by the kitchen fire- place always supplied the necessary in- formation. In almost every community there was some one, not quite normal, who was always sent for to bring his stick of witch hazel, which acted as a divining rod to locate a spring over which a well should be dug. In these psychical days, when we realize more and more that we know very little of the action of mind on mind or mind on matter, we are not per- haps quite so sure as we once were that there was no subtle influence imparted to the hand of this exceptional person, 50 SIXTY YEARS AG O~ which impelled the stick to point to the crystal xvaters below. In every house there were the large wheel onwhich to spin the wool, the small one for the flax, and in most, the loom. Children were taught to spin when a thick plank had to be put on the floor, to add to their height. Aside from its practical utility, the spinning on the large wheel was a most graceful exercise, and from its requiring the use of various muscles, a most healthful one. A young girl never looked prettier than when drawing out the fleecy thread with one hand, and turning the wheel with the other, as she stepped back and forth at its side. From this yarn were knitted the stockings and mittens, and other was woven into cloth for the pantaloons and frocks worn by the farmers, and the gowns for the everyday use of the wives and daughters, also for the many blank- ets required in those cold rooms, where the pitchers had to be emptied at even- ing lest in the morning they should be broken by the ice formed in them. The weaving was either done at home, or a small price paid to an expert for doing it. A native of the town in which I lived had spent her married life in com- parative luxury, but her husband invested his means in the South, and died there, before anything was realized from them. She was left with seven children, the eld- est a daughter of fourteen, the youngest twins of a year and a half. With the few hundreds remaining of what had been thousands, she renovated an old house into a dwelling for her family, and resumed the occupation of weaving which she had learned in her girlhood. The daughters and younger boys wound the quills and spools, while her shuttle flew from side to side. The neighboring farm- ers gave her six cents a yard for weaving, and so expert was she, that, in addition to her housework, she sometimes accom- plished thirty yards a day. Besides plain cloth, she wove table linen of compli- cated patterns, and the heavy and beau- tiful variegated counterpanes, of the kind that our children are only too glad to resuscitate for porti~res. With a mother so full of energy, who was capable also of directing their edu cation, it is not surprising that her sons became prominent in the pulpit and as teachers, and their children energetic business men in various departments of life. There were no stores of ready made clothing and no sewing machines in the early days. I doubt xvhether it would have been possible to buy a shirt. These and most of the garments worn by men, and all of those worn by women, were made at home. The exquisite hem- stitching of the shirt ruffles, the stitching on the collars and wristbands, when every thread was counted, the dainty em- broidery on the infants cap, were works of art. A day or two in the fall and spring the niantua-maker lent her aid, and for a few days more the tailoress came with her goose. and cut and made the thick garments for the men. The thin- ner ones were made without her help. Was it because she worked for the stronger sex, that her pay was a few cents more a day than that of her sister dressmaker? The making of a coat collar stiff with buckram was a full days work. It was a little break in the monotony of those days, when these busy women came, whose needles flew none the less rapidly while the news of the town was retailed, or, at the earnest solicitation of the chil- dren, songs were sung. They were never tired of The frog who would a wooing go, as given by the tailoress as she bent over her goose, pressing the seams. The peddler with his two trunks filled with small articles, and the vender of the bright tins, for which the carefully as- sorted white and colored rags were ex- changed, were always welcome in those days, when it did not require an elabor- ate lunch or German to provide excite- ment. A few weeks in the year, a company of ship-carpenters with their intelligent foreman, found board in the farmers home, and his oxen drew away the care- fully hewed and shaped timbers for the vessels, many of which were launched from our seaport towns. It was in the thirties, I think, that stoves were introduced to the New Eng- land kitchens. Before that, the boiling and stewing and the frying of doughnuts were done in pots and kettles hung on SIXTY YEARS AGO. hooks and trammels suspended from the long cranes in the fireplaces, that I re- member was so large that, seated on the bench inside, I looked up to the stars, blinking at the bright blaze below. It was an art to make the fire. A log so large that, when put on in the morning, the remains were left to cover with ashes at night was placed back of the andirons; the forestick nearly as large, on them; and then the superstructure of kindling and sticks of wood. These were lighted from the indispensable tinder box, a tin receptacle that contained the flint and steel with which to strike fire on the charred rag. The cover was also a can- dlestick, never without its candle. A common way of speaking of a shiftless woman was, that she never had any tinder. Meats were roasted on spits sus- pended from hooks over the mantel, or in tin kitchens in front of the fire. The Dutch oven, too, was used. This was a shallow tin vessel, in which the meat or dough was placed, and on the iron cover coals, so that the top and bottom of what it contained were evenly browned. A little before the advent of stoves the re- flector was invented. This was tin, and half way between the sloping top and bottom was a shallow pan in which the saleratus biscuits were baked. Delicious shortcake was rolled on tin sheets and baked before the fire, and was a favorite bread for company teas. But the brick oven was the dependence for baked beans, brown and white bread, pies, puddings, and custards. Those who remember these short- cakes, the rye biscuits dropped on the bricks of the oven, and the potatoes roasted in the ashes, may be pardoned for thinking the cooking of these a lost art. I have spoken of the spinning-wheel in the farmers kitchen. It was also found elsewhere. I remember few things with more pleasure than visits to a friend of my mother in Newburyport. Her hall was lined xvith family portraits, some of which dated back to her English an- cestors, and then, as now, her relatives were prominent in college, church, and state. Her favorite occupation was spin- ning on the wheel which stood by the window in her prettily furnished sitting- room. She was always dressed in black silk, and this and all she could obtain from others was, after serving, its usual purpose, ravelled and carded with wool, making a soft gray yarn, which she en- joyed giving to her friends, and of which I have knit many a sock. She was Aunt Becky to every one, though she did rebel when the fisherman, making his weekly rounds, called her so. I think she stood in axve of no one excepting her maid of all work, who would work night and day if summoned by the voice, but on no account would her dignity permit her to answer the hand-bell. It was but a short distance from this pleasant home that Lord Timothy Dexter flourished, whose numerous wood and plaster figures of Revolutionary heroes, and of himself, adorned his grounds and were placed over his front door, and were the wonder of my childhood. He had for a time the Midas faculty of turning all he touched to gold, and this did not fail him when he followed the advice of a waggish friend and sent a cargo of warming-pans to the West Indies; for the sugar manufacturers found the pan with its long handle just what they needed to dip their syrup, and the perforated cover to strain it. Whether the little blue-covered book in which, at the end, xvas a half page of stops and marks, that people might pepper and salt as they chose, was equally suc- cessful as a money venture I do not know. The district school as it was has been frequently written about, but the present generation cannot realize how pleasant it was and how much of per- manent value was gained then. For the summer term of two or three months a female teacher was employed, who was examined as to her qualifications by the school committee, consisting usually of the clergyman, the doctor, and one or two others, who were supposed to have kept their school knowledge in their memories. As a part of her duties were strictly feminine, there should have been added some one familiar with the various stitches used to adorn the sampler, the proper arrangement of the star, Irish, and other forms of patchwork, as well as plain 52 SIXTY YK~kS AGO. sewing and knitting. But this was before the days of women in school boards. A knowledge of anatomy and arboriculture was evidThtly not required to teach the embroidery of the favorite picture of a woman under a weeping willow guarding the funereal urn, which hung over the mantel above the gruesome coffin-plates, a constant reminder of the friends that had gone. By eight in the morning, the girls in their calico frocks and white sunbonnets, with bright dinner pail on the arm, and leading perhaps a little brother or sister, were on the way to school, stopping for a favorite companion as they went. After the first day there were no impedimenta of books; these were left in the desk until the school was closed for the sum- mer. No nightmare of lessons to learn out of school disturbed the play hours. The schoolhouse reached, the bonnets and dinner pails were carefully placed on shelves in the little entry, and though there was sure to be in some of these a more tempting luncheon than in others, the rightful owner never found them dis- turbed. Called by the rapping of the teachers ferule on the window, all were soon in their places, after having made a respectful courtesy or bow at the door. A chapter in the Bihle was first read, each rising from the seat as the turn came for the allotted three verses. There xvere three reading lessons in the day; this in the Bible was one, the others being ih the English Reader or American First- Class Book, both excellent books. There were primers for the younger pupils, the A B Cs and abs being the first stepping-stones. The New Hamp- shire Book, by Mr. Hildreth, or Peter Parleys Childs History and Geography, and Colburns First Lessons, the lat- ter still, I believe, the best mental arith- metic, were taught to all who could read. There were classes in Cummings Geography, Blakes Philosophy, Whelplys Compend, Blairs Rhetoric, Watts On the Mind; and connected with Murrays grammar was parsing in Popes Essay on Man and Youngs Night Thoughts. The rules that governed the relation of the words were at our tongues ends and easily applied now, xvhile to us septuagen ar ins, Greek is easier than the grammar of to-day. Each child went on at her own sweet will in written arithmetic; as this was not taught in classes, and there were no blackboards, the teacher turned aside from hearing some lesson to aid in solving a difficult problem. As the rules given were perfectly incomprehensible, there was ample opportunity for the bright pupil to find out the principle for herself and apply it. The one for in- stance for double proportion, where more required more and less required less, is still an enigma, and the relations of Tare and Tret are perhaps a little hazy. The teacher certainly had little time for explanation. Besides the spell- ing classes, hearing the lessons of which I have spoken, and any additional ones that a pupil wished, there were the copies to set in the writing books, the quill pens to be made and mended, the sew- ing to prepare for the last half hour in the morning, and all this with keeping in order thirty or forty restless children. Saturday noon the Commandments were taught and instruction given in the West- minster Catechism. In the hour between morning and afternoon sessions, there were rambles in the adjacent woods, or in rainy weather plays in the schoolroom when the merry voices could be heard singing, Come Philanders, lets be marching, For your true love lets be sarching, varied with oats, peas, beans, and barley grow; or Queen Anne, arrayed in as regal robes as the childrens ward- robe afforded, would sit in the sun and receive her subjects, and allot them their partners. More quiet games, and these, I blush to own, were sur- reptitiously carried on in school time also, were puzzles on the slate, cats cradle, and a more useful one of seeing who could find the most xs and zs on the maps. To this last may be owing the fact, that the memory of some localities, with us elders, is more to be depended on than others. Once or twice in the course of the summer the committee came to examine the pupils. They always found the room swept and garnished, and the children in the cleanest of frocks and jackets. An address was given, and SIXTY II ~~iRS AGO. 53 all were glad when the dreaded ordeal was over. The winter school was usually taught by some college student. It was the custom for Harvard and other colleges to have their long vacation in the winter; consequently, young men wishing to earn money to enable them to remain and graduate, took a week or two before vaca- tion, and also after it, and thus had time to teach the district school. There was a double advantage in this. He who had had, perhaps, for his cheap diet, bread and milk in his room, or, not much better, shared the commons of those days, was physically strengthened by the abundant if somewhat coarse fare at the farmers table, for, especially if he boarded round, he was sure of the best in the larder. This boarding round was a thrifty device to add to the length of the school term by receiving the teacher into the homes a certain number of days for each pupil, instead of paying the sum necessary for his board. This estab- lished kindly intercourse, and the attri- tion of the students mind with that of the common sensible men who had gained much knowledge outside of books, was of use to him. The young people, too, enjoyed. the opportunity of adding algebra and perhaps a little Latin to their summer studies, and also the having a bright young man join their singing school, and the sleighing and skating parties, and making a fresh element in the evening frolics of all kinds. New books were found on the table. The work of busy hands was lengthened by listening to the last Waverley novel, or to the sterling Nor/k American Review. The quiet rhymes of the Lady of the Lake or the more stirring ones of Marmion were learned to repeat on the next weekly speaking-day, which alternated with the dreaded one of com- position. These for the girls, while the boys almost raised the roof of the old schoolhouse by their loud declamations of the favorite speeches of Patrick Henry and Daniel Webster. Carlyles mystical utterances were first heard by many a New England boy and girl as they were read to them by the col- lege enthusiast. Some of us never take up Sartor Resartus without at the sam~.. time seeing a group of eager listen- ers around a blazing wood fire. The youth who cared enough for college education to walk sixty miles to Exeter to save the stage fare of a dollar and half, and, having entered, to burn the mid- night lamp after teaching school all day, were not likely to be nonentities in the future. The pulpit, the forum, the bench, and the bar of to-day prove this. College athletics are very well as they are conducted now; but commend me also to the mental and physical gymnastics the fathers and grandfathers were familiar with in those winter school-days in New England. The cold supplied amusement for a good many evenings. Sometimes on the large pond would assemble the skaters, who vied with each other in making intricate figures on the smooth surface, or tempted the rosy cheeked girls to slide at their side, the fires on the thick ice casting a ruddy light on the beautiful scene. Another evening all the sleds were taken to the long hill and hours were spent in coasting. Again the merry sleighbells told of a party to some hostelry, where the evening was finished with game and dance. But the singing school was perhaps the pleasantest of the gatherings of young people. The teacher of the day was sometimes able also to teach this in the same building which had resounded with the loud reading and recitations a few hours earlier. The first evening was ex- citing, when the voices were tried and those were selected who could best lead in the various parts, bass, tenor, treble, and counter, as they were then called. Little excepting psalmody was attempted, and the words were not applied to the tune until the notes were mastered. Two hours were spent more or less har- moniously, and not unfrequently the do, re, me was exchanged on the way home for dulcet utterances which altered the whole future of the young pair whose hearts beat happily to other music than that of the sleigh bells. We hear of the stern clergyman, to whom the young did not dare speak of harsh and incompetent teachers, and pupils rude and disagreeable, who were a 54 SIXTY YEARS AGO. terror to the little children; but I am writing my own reminiscences~ and those unpleasant features of New England life are not a part of them. Occasionally a stray lecturer wandered to the little toxvn, and his audience heard of temperance, anti-slavery, phrenology, or perhaps of some new light in literature. There was one lecture on Mnemonics by whose aid we were soon able to give an incredible number of dates; but alas! the formula /ionorfca ba la tudini tat a bus que alone remains in my memory, while the manner of its use and the in- formation collected by it are long since forgotten. In the summer, there was little time for the busy young men, and almost as little for maidens, for much festivity; but once or twice in the season the chaises were washed and the harnesses brightened for a ride to some pleasant village or a picnic in the woods. One resort in the neighborhood, just on the line between Windham and Derry, was Bissells Camp, and connected xvith this was a romance, al- ways so charming to the young. Quite out of sight of the country road, in the midst of forest-trees, an East Indian, so the story went, having been crossed in love, built a log house, rough as possible out- side, but within the ceilings were frescoed in East Indian scenes, the walls hung with velvet, and with beautiful carved furniture in the one sitting-room.. The oxvner had dwelt there with a friend, their only domestic a swarthy countryman, who lived in a frame hut near by. Here the time was spent in hunting in the woods and fishing in the beautiful ponds near. Before my time the money, lavishly spent in horses, dogs, and guns, disappeared; the wound perhaps was healed, and the owner left the place which had resounded to the yelping of hounds and the crack of guns, to be a pleasant spot for young people to pass a holiday. The young girl who was fond of horse- back riding was quite capable of going to the pasture and calling the horse ac- customed to her voice (and which would do its best to elude others), lead it by the halter to a stone xvall, mount it, and at the barn saddle it and ride three miles for the mail or to call on a friend. This I have often done. My father would not allow us sisters to drive together, still less with our mother, until we could harness a horse and were able to take a stone from his shoe. This learned, we en- joyed many pleasant journeys. The afternoon teas made a variety in the quiet country life. About two, with knitting or sewing in the bag on the arm, the bepuffed hair or cap, protected by the green silk calash, the expected guests left their homes. At five they were in- vited to the table, groaning with its variety of bread, cakes, preserves, and pies. It was the proper thing for the hostess to depreciate her wares, though none knew better than she, that no bis- cuits could be lighter, no pound-cake a more delicate brown, no preserves clearer, and no pastry more flaky than hers. She did not expect to receive the reply my good farmer brother-in-law once made, who, being about to accept the cake the hostess offered with the remark that she was sorry it was not fit to eat, drew back his hand with, Well, I wont take any, then. At a little after six, all were on their way home, to be ready to strain the milk into the shining pans and to do the even- ing chores. This word chores was an elastic one. I remember being wickedly amused at hearing a poor woman, who had to come to ask the ministers advice as to what she should do with an erring boy, say, Well, it is something of a chore to bring up a child. The amusements of children were simple and healthful. The little girls had their out-of-door playhouses, as well as those in the attic and the corner of the woodshed. A favorite one of my own was a rock in the middle of a brook, midway between our house and that in which my dearest schoolmate lived. It remained undisturbed by passers-by all summer, and when winter came the flitting was quite an event. The acorn cups and saucers, the mosses, the bits of broken china, the oak-leaf plates for the cake and fruit, the rag babies on their chairs made of cork and pins, gave quite as much pleasure to us as the elaborate toys of to-day do to our grand- children, and offer far more scope to the SIXTY YEARS AGO. 55 imagination. Dolls were almost unknown. We, however, had a very large one, handed down from a previous generation. I shall never forget my experience in taking it one day freshly dressed to a neighbor who xvas always interested in our plays. She looked horrified. An if ye know the second commandment, say it to me Of course, I was too well taught, both at home and at school, not to be able to repeat it. An dont ye know, my bairn, that that is a graven image? Hul-gul, odd-or-even, morris, and fox and geese were familiar games, and as we grew older we xvere delighted to play checkers and backgammon with our father and elder brother. Old maid and high-low-jack sometimes beguiled an evening, but by many cards were con- sidered an invention of the Evil One. Bad, bad leads to gambling, was the remark I once heard made to a couple in the seventies, who were having a quiet game at the fireside, and who certainly had never seen one played for money in their sober life. The word co-operation was not a fre- quent one in the parlance of those days; but there was a great deal of the thing in practice. It was much pleasanter for twenty young people to gather in front of the large pile of corn, to husk it in two hours, even at the risk of forfeiture for the red ears, than for two to do it in ten. The pile exhausted, the supper and games that followed made the even- ing a pleasant one. There was much more fun in several meeting to pare and cut the winters supply of apples for apple sauce, than for the members of one household to prepare it. To fill the nine- pail brass kettle, polished like a mirror, and the additional heaping panful, to put in when gradual stewing made room for it, would have been stupid work for one or two, but not so with companions to share it and occasionally throw the unbroken peeling the canonical three times around the head and drop it, to see what letter it made. In the towns near the sea, it was pleasant for several to join in the very early ride, and to- gether stack the salt marsh grass which was to be brought home later to season the winters food for the cattle. Of course, the Farmers Almanac had to be consulted as to the state of the tides for these expeditions. the road tax was paid, in part at least, by the combined work of the farm- ers, xvhen with their teams and under the lead of their road master the crooked paths were made straight, and the rough places plain. In winter, the deep snowdrifts were broken through by the long line of oxen attached to sleds, and thus the roads made passable. But the great co-operation work was the raising of buildings. After the tim- bers were prepared, the number of men necessary were notified, and during the afternoon, under the direction of the carpenter, were put in place, and the skeleton prepared for its covering. An especially appetizing supper was pro- vided, and in some cases the too liberal distribution of liquor during the work endangered the building and the builders. This was thought to be the cause of a tragedy in Wilton, which was duly re- corded in the poetry of those days, and which exhibits a curious mingling of old- time theology and quaint lamentations: All on a sudden, a beam broke, Xnd let down fifty-three; Full twenty-seven feet they fell, A mournful sight to see. Some lay with broken shoulder hones, And some with broken arms, Others with broken legs and thighs And divers other harms. One instantaneously was killed; His soul has taken flight To mansions of eternal day Or everlasting night. Two more in a short time did pass Thro deaths dark shady vale, Which now are in the realms of joy Or the infernal hell. Two more in a few minutes space Did bid this world adieu, Who are rejected of their God Or with his chosen few. We certainly join with the author of this poem of nearly fifty stanzas in a more cheerful view. But we must hope their precious souls Are with their Jesus dear, Reaping tj~ie fruits, the blessed fruits, Of faithful servants here. 56 SIXTY YEARS AGO. This was by the Wilton poet of that day. Most small towns had an applicant for literary honors. Ours was not an exception, as a volume of poems by the Rustic Bard on our bookshelves testifies. It was one of the amusements of our childhood, to annoy an elder sister by repeating one addressed to her, begin- ning: Young honored dame of learned fame, This compliment I send you; Please to excuse the humhle muse, Nor let my song offend you. Some of the poems in the volume, in the quaint Scotch phraseology, would not have disgraced Burns. Others perhaps had more feet than the verse would bear, and the feet were lame without the verse but all show traces of the genius which with cultivation might have ripened into the true poet. There was one custom which it is not pleasant to remember. The few town paupers were each year put up at auc- tion, and found homes with those who would board and clothe them most cheaply. As these poor included the insane, who were perhaps unmanageable by any means known then, the old, too feeble for much work, and the child, popularly supposed to be able to earn his own living at seven, we cannot but think their lot must often have been a hard one. We confess that our forefathers were sometimes wanting in the amenities that sweeten life ; but could we expect them in an Abner or an Ahashuerus, a Bildad or a Jehosaphat? Sterne exhorts godfathers not to Nicodemus their children into nonentities. This sin could not be laid at our ancestors doors, as much as at ours, with our Hatties, Susies, Katies, Ellies, and the rest of the diminutives we are so fond of using, in- stead of the full name which lends dig- nity to the one who has it, and is an inspiration to bear it worthily. Lack of beauty, not of strength, was the fault in the olden time, when Scripture names were almost universal, though not al- ways quite to the extent they were in one family in a neighboring town, whose un- fortunate prefixes we used to repeat in our childhood in a kind of rhythm: Elihu, Eliphaz, Amazee, David, Noah, and Jesse, Bildad, Levi, Ashur, and Gad Napthali, Jude, and Sapphira. The choice was sometimes very pecu- liar, as in that of Talitha-cumi, a towns- woman. Classic and romantic lore was occasionally called on, as in the case of Lorenzo and his twin brothers Homer and Virgil, who lived not far from Hora- tio Corinna and Diocletian. I have written of one phase of New England life; but there was another, which has passed away quite as fully. The country towns are now dotted with summer cottages and villas, where city people, with their city habits, come for a few months, but are by no means a type of those families who lived on the acres they had inherited from their forefathers who had bought them from their prede- cessors, the Indians. In the white house with green blinds, with the short walk from the road, shaded by the grand elms, sat the courtly gentleman of the old school, in his library filled with books, to the contents of which the handsome bindings lent additional value, or leaving it, with stately step and manner as cour- teous as to a guest, gave directions to his workmen guiding the plough or wielding the scythe. Then the matron, after see- ing to every detail of her careful house- keeping, entertained her young friends with stories of her early life, when she had seen Washington, and danced with Lafayette; and handsome as she was now, in her turban and kerchief, it was easy to imagine the grace with which she would take her part in the minuet. in these days, when researches into the distant past have almost made it present, what could be better to excite interest in that more recent past than to rehabilitate one of those elm-shaded houses. It will soon be too late to gather all that should be in it, and those will have passed away whose memories serve them in arranging the once familiar furnishing. Let us fill it as it should be. In the hall, near the front door, hang the brightly-painted fire buckets, ready for use at the first alarm struck by the meeting-house bell. Below these there is the mahogany hat-tree with its long SIXTY YEARS AGO. 57 pegs, never without the carefully brushed silk hat for the walk about town or the broad-brimmed panama for use in the grounds. Here is the green silk or brown linen calash in readiness for the matron as each summer morning she cuts her bouquets of white and damask roses, lilacs, sweet Williams, bachelors buttons, ladies delights, peonies, princess feather, coxcombs, and hollyhocks, lightened by feathery sprays of asparagus. Portraits of her ancestors look down on her as she goes out on her pleasant errand. A mahogany table at a distance from the door has its drawer for her garden gloves and scissors. Opening from the hall lighted by its hanging glass lantern is on one side the draxving-room, with its land- scape paper, not always in consonance with the carefully guarded portraits by Stuart and Copley that hang over it. Rare and beautiful is an exquisite minia- ture by Malbone, of the young girl who later presided with such dignity over her household. Above the polished table, betxveen the windows, is the profusely ornamented gilt mirror which reflected the faces of so many who have gone to the Silent Land. The mahogany chairs with their embroidered seats are here, telling of the industry and skill of the young girl who had prepared them for her future home. Their delicately carved backs, still intact, show that to sit erect was the invariable custom of those who had occupied them. Was it a subtle instinct that the out- ward should correspond to the inward uprightness, that made our Puritan grand- mothers always preserve this posture? On the high white carved mantel are the candelabras with their crystal drops, the gilt clock under its glass cover, and here and there an India vase or ornament brought from afar by some seafaring relative. Back of this room, and smaller, is the library, with its walls lined with books, the edges protected by the notched leather fastened by brass-headed nails to the shelves. In the centre is the large writing-table, and on it a massive silver inkstand with, on either side, the vase for the red wafers and the sand box, as necessary in those days as the blotter in these. Here, too, is the chair and table combined, once so common, and always so convenient. The chintz-covered lounge woos the student to his after-dinner nap. Across the hall from the drawing-room is the sitting-room, the family room which we see the moment we enter. At the side of the fireplace is the mothers chair, and near it her work table with its large bag underneath. On it is her knitting, with the scarlet sheath ready to pin at her side. Here she made and mended7 and here her children gathered around her for instruction and for story. The desk and drawers, blackened with age, is near the window, and to it she went, to write one of the letters, the art of writ- ing which is almost a lost one. The pendulum of the tall clock swings to and fro, regardless whether it marks the mo- ments of joy or sorrow; the pictured moon, the letters for the day and the figures for the date are all there, and have recorded many a period of weal and woe for those who have gone where time is no more. The stand, with its hinged top, is ready to be brought to the arm- chair of the father, when at evening he reads his weekly paper or the last Review. On the mantel, above the shining brass andirons, are the silver candlesticks, with the indispensable snuffers in their long tray. In the closet is the extra dinner set, with its numerous platters and curiously shaped dishes and gravy bowls. Here are the Washington and Franklin pitchers and Brewster teapot and the Lowestoffe plates. Most prominent of all is the silver tankard, in which, for some unex- plained reason, the tiny grandmother was put at her birth; and on either side the pieces with the familiar inscription: Ex dono Jupiiiorzim, showing that an ancestor had received them from a class he had instructed at Harvard. Back of this room, and with the door usually open, is the dining-room. The polished table in the centre, with its leaf down, has its mate between the window to be used when additional room is re- quired. On the centre of the sideboard is the epergne, with its hanging baskets of silver wire; on one side the large Japanese punch bowl, on the other the heavy cut decanters so often replenished 58 SIXTY YEARS AGO. with the Madeira mellowed by its two voyages round the Cape. The drawers are filled with dainty table linen, and the shelves with the tall champagne glasses and star cut tumblers and wine glasses. Here is the lignum-vitae caster, with its cut bottles and silver tops, and the oval salts filled for use. On the floor between the claw-footed legs is the velvet-lined sloping case of round ivory-handled knives and forks, each in its own recep- tacle. The plain leather-seated chairs, an armed one for the head and foot of the table, are ready for the occupants. In the closet is the blue India china din- ner set, with one shelf devoted to the white pencilled-edged tea service, the cups and saucers as thin as eggshells. Back of the dining-room and separ- ated from it by a hall, is the large, cheer- ful kitchen, with every appliance known then to facilitate the work of those who prepared the dainty cooking for the gen- tlemen of those days, who were some- what Epicurean in their tastes. On the shelf in the store closet are loaves of sugar in thin blue wrapping, and by their side the hammer, knife, and scissors, for the housewife to use when each morn- ing she fills her sugar, bowls. Guava jelly and jars of foreign sweetmeats stand side by side, with the home-made preserves and the never-failing hard gingerbread and pound cake. The chambers are, of course, differently furnished, but those most handsomely arranged all have the tall, slender, post, carved bedsteads, with valence and full curtains. In the one over the drawing- room, these are of white dimity, and by the side, between the windows, is the dainty dressing-table, with its starched and fluted sprigged muslin cover and curtain reaching to the floor. In a drawer of the swell-front, brass-handled bureau are the treasures which even almost a century ago were relics of the past. The ex- quisitely carved Watteau fans, the painted porcelain jewel boxes, containing the funereal rings with their initials and mottoes, are here, as well as the immense fan which takes a strong arm to wield. On the shelves in the closet are the huge bandboxes, not too large for the Leghorn, Navarino, and satin bonnets, with their wide bows and long feathers. Here hang the matrons heavy black satin and her flowered brocade dresses, by the side of her husbands cloak, with its silver clasp an(1 broad velvet facing. We shut the blinds with their heart-shaped orifices, for the sun must not fade the carpet nor the yellow brocade cover of the high- backed arm-chair. Across the hall is the mothers room, with its dark chintz curtains and high- chest of drawers. Below the looking- glass, with its landscape top, which has reflected the curls of the bride and later her whitened hair, is the quaint low bureau, and on it the velvet-lined dress- ing box. In the closet are the pretty French calicoes for morning and the black silk for afternoon. The coat, spen- cer, and surtout of her husband are here, which he wears when she goes down- stairs in her pelisse, and with her large sable mufg ready for walk and drive, in still another room are bed-curtains of red on a white ground, where Washington is represented holding aloft a banner with the inscription, First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his country- men. He is on the way to the Temple of Fame, which, unfortunately, does not look high enough for him to enter. From this home we go to the farm- house just outside the grounds. On the walls of this, instead of the por- traits by Copley and Stuart, are black silhouettes, the framed sampler, and the map, where the Northwest Ter- ritory is the generic name for what are now populous states. From the painted porcelain knobs supporting the glass above and below hang the blown thistles, so beautiful that we can hardly pardon the farmer for trying though ineffectually, to destroy the troublesome weed. The three-cornered closet displays through its glass doors the flowered tea-set, and the dresser in the kitchen has its row of pewter plates with the brides initials. This house, too has its high chests of drawers, but fortunately for the health of the sleeper no curtains for the beds covered with patchwork quilts or woven home-made counterpanes. The back kitchen has its cheese-press, and in the dairy near is the churn with its dasher, IF YOU WERE HERE. 59 which has wearied many an arm before the welcome butter has come. All speaks of the past; yet we wonder whether even with these visible reminders that past can be made as real to this generation as are Egypt, Troy, Her- culaneum, and Pompeii, so vividly have these been pictured by their explorers. To us septuagenarians these familiar ob- jects have brought memories of the courtly gentleman, the stately matron, and the fair youth that filled the rooms with life. For the moment we are with them, forgetting the intervening years with their joys and sorrows, and even the fierce struggle that brought grief to so many of these stately homes and farmers firesides. This, too, is not a real thing to our descendants. Manasses and Pitts- burgh Landing mean scarcely more to them than Thermopyl~ and Pharsalia, while to us they are so present that, wakened by a measured tramp, we start, thinking that another regiment is going to the s~tation on its way to the southern battle-fields. IF YOU WERE HERE. A SONG IN WINTER. By P/bli~ Bourke Mars/on. ye, if you were here, HLo dreary, weary day; If yo ur lips warm and dear Found some sweet word to say, Then hardly would seem drear These skies of wintry gray. But you are far away How far from me, my dear What cheer can warm the day? My heart turns chill with fear, Pierced through with swift dismay, A thought has turned Life sere. If you, so far away, Should come not back, my dear; If I no more might lay My hand on yours, nor hear That voice, now sad, now gay, Caress my listening ear; If you, so far away, Should come no more, my dear; Then with what dire dismay Year joined to hostile year Would frown, if I should stay Where memories mock and jeer! But I would come away To dwell with you, my dear; Through unknown worlds to stray, Or sleep, nor hope, nor fear, Nor dream beneath the clay, Of all our days that were. NEGRO CAMP-MEETING MELODIES. By Henry (Yeveland [Food. N my grandfathers land, near a creek which runs through the town of Harrods- burg, Ky., there stood for many years a syca- more tree under which, history relates, the first religious services were held by early settlers on soil then a portion of the extensive wilderness district belonging to Virginia. The genuine camp-meeting was said to have originated in southern Kentucky, and the small gathering of in- trepid pioneers under the arching white limbs of a tall sycamore was probably the nucleus of a band of worshippers which has since spread to large proportions. As the wild lands were settled by increasing immigration, the camp-meeting became a recognized feature of the new country on the one hand, from the want of suit- able places of worship, and on the other, from the magnificent forest-trees and beautiful woodlands which offered such alluring shade and ample accommodation to the seekers after righteousness. Dating from the war, the liberated race has taken most kindly to the camp-meet- ing, perhaps as much on account of the novelty it affords as the freedom of wor- ship and large attendance it permits; for during slavery the race was prohibited from holding large assemblies even of a religious nature. The negro is nothing if not religious. lit matters not how young, or how old, or how good, or how sinful he may be in his normal state, he never fails to extract from religion that fervid enjoyment that characterizes his type. He never wearies of attending church; it comprises not only his religious, but his social life. He cares little for pastime or entertainment, in general. He manages to extract both from his devotional exercises, and is satisfied. A friend of mine who lives near a church where the congregation is colored, avers that a protracted meeting has been in active progress there for the past twenty years; and the long series of meetings, of one kind and another, which have been held in the building almost constantly, year after year would almost warrant the assertion. To see the negro at the height of his religious frenzy, however, and in the full enjoyment of its influence, one should attend camp-meeting, where the dusky worshipper yields up himself fully to the spell of the fervor which enwraps him with its intensity, and sways him with its peculiar forces. This was especially the case a few years ago. Progress and imitative influence have been at work, and have touched the scene, robbing it of much that was char- acteristic. The last negro camp-meeting I attended was held under a commodious canvas, while a fashionable choir did the singing and rendered popular hymns of the day to an organ accompaniment. Alas I sorely missed the picturesque groupings under the forest-trees and the grand volume of powerful voices chanting the weird songs of this dusky people. There xvere few scenes more impressive than the old-fashioned camp-meeting, held at night-time beneath the overhang- ing branches of the trees, through which the moonlight came in subdued rays, while brightly-burning torches amid the deeper gloom made sharp studies in lights and shades. Add to this the rich, sonorous voices of the worshippers, rising and fall- ing in rhythmical cadences, lending to the silence of the night their rare melody, and the scene is one that cannot readily be forgotten. The words of these tuneful songs are frequently improvised, and are full of repe- titions, as is usually the case with com- positions by the negroes; and to repro- duce them apart from their proper surroundings is to rob them of muck of their wild beauty and the strange im- pressiveness which they possess in so NEGRO cAMP-MEETiNG MELODIES. Ci marked a degree, when voiced by the lusty lungs of the camp-meeting wor- shipper. The sermons are usually lurid, and carry convictions to the hearts of the hearers, as numerous groans and mourn- ful exclamations testify during its de- livery. Oh ! my soul, Yes, Lord Jes lisen at im Talkin ter me I Now yer preachin I Bress Jesus! Now yer hittin me hard! are some of the expressions heard, on this hand and on that, as the speaker waxes vary- ingly exhortative and menacing. The climax is reached by a repentant sinner shouting out the joy of a new-found re- ligion; and amid the moaning and pray- ing and weeping, the excited, swaying congregation takes up some jubilant re- frain, until the echoes, far and near, are awakened to tumultous life. The sermons themselves become almost a chant, delivered in a high-pitched key, and with a sing-song monotony and a catch of the breath between sentences, or a running of one sentence into another, all of which produces an effect that one must hear to fully comprehend. The speakers are often very illiterate, and many amus times. I recall hearing one prayer offered up for all agnominious sinners, while another speaker grew thankful for the number present of Gods childring, and dropped a tear for those who were casted away from out his glorifious pres- ence, while yet another spoke of the days that had been hypothecated an gone. While gathering some of the most characteristic songs, I was informed by a dusky singer that I had been miscor- rected in regard to the words of one of them, and that to have him, for a small consideration, line it out to me while I wrote it down, would be the super- natural way to get at the matter. The old-time melodies are fast dis- appearing and a new order of things is beginning to supplant them therefore, I have striven to preserve a few frag- ments, at least, of song, in an effort toward perpetuating some of the quaint melodies before the drilled choir and accomplished organist have fully estab- lished their innovations on this distinc- tive feature of the negro camp-meeting. Chief among those hymns that stir one with their fervor is the one, Camp- meetin in de wilderness. CAMP-MEETIN IN DE WILDERNESS. Moderato. -~ - -A----N___ r~-~-N~N--~i ~ $ iiJ!111N74F.._-.__ ~~-L~ ~~ Ar 9 Dars a camp meet-in in de wil(lrness, An shoutin all a roun, When ~__-N--N--N --N-N 9. -N--~E-~-- ei 111-N-~v-N ~~iZiii~i~- ixz~1 9 H Gabriel blows his trum-pet De I-Jo -ly Ghost comes down. Brethren rise and shine, Be - -N-N -N-N-~~~ ~ -. ~ ~~~ I 9-. 9 99-I hold King Je - sus com in, Brethen rise and shine, Gn inc ter meet im in de clouds. Some says that nothin ails me, Some gives me up fer lost, An ehery refuge fails me, An all my hopes is crossed. CHORUS: ing mistakes are made in the use of words. The negro orator usually has a great liking for long and high-sounding words, and handles them recklessly at Nex door ter death they foun me An snatched me frum de grave, I tells ter all aroun me His wondrous power ter save. CHoRus: Several other verses are sung, which, are often improvised to suit the melody. Another fine song is that entitled Im jes from do founting. NEGRO (AMP-MEETING MELODIES. IM JES FRUM DE FOUNTING.* ~ ~ N~1 .9 .9- -9- .9- ~-~ ~ Oh! sis - ter do you love Je - sus? Yes in my soul I love him too Oh! Im ~2zzL.~e .9- 9- W.9- +--+ * W9-.9-4~ 9- W jes from de founting, Oh! Im jes from de founting, Oh! Im jes from de founting, Dat never runs dry. How grandly the voices rise and fall enthusiastic congregation, swaying their as this truly fine old hymn is sung by an dusky bodies in rhythmic motion. AINT DAT LOVELY? -N ~ L 3 __ EDVHZiiZN - ___ _ ______ ____ ___ ~ 111 Aint dat love-ly? Aint dat lovely? Aint dat lovely? 5ee dem chillen all dressd in white. ist si;io-e;- I went tlown in de valley fer ter pray, An I got so happy dat I stayed all day. CHORUS: Aint dat lovely? Aint dat lovely? Aint dat lovely? See dem childring all dressed in white. I want ter go ter heaben ter hab a good time, Eatin of de bread an drinkin of de wine. CHORUs: High up in heaben Ill take my seat, An cast my cross at Jesus feet. CHORUS: Another, somewhat similar, runs: Eberybodys talkin bout dc good ole way, An youd better be prepared fer de jcdgmint- day. Andante. CHORUS: Yes, go tell de news, Yes, go tell de news, Yes, go tell de news, Tell de news till you die. DAVID PLAY ON voua HARP. Mary had one only son, De Romans an de Jews dey had him hung, Dey hung him twixt de yeartb an sky, Fer sinners ter see how brave he did die. CHORUS: Little David, play on yer harp, hallelujah! Little David, play on yer harp, hallelujah! Stop, oh sinner, stop, dont run, Let me tell yer what de Amightys done, He tuck his son, had him crucified, An stuck a spear right in his side. CHORUS: KEEP YO HOUSE CLEAN. __ [1 L~99 991 N-- 9 Keep yo house clean, Anyou need not meddle with mine. Lit tie did I think he was so --N --N--N---N--N -N ~ ~ ~ ~ j~21 nigh, you need not meddle with mine. He spoke an he made me laf an cry; You oee(l not meddle with mine. Oh! keep yo house clean, Oh! keep yo house clean, ~ -N{-~N~ ~ N- U Oh! keep your house clean, An you need not med - tIle with ~ Fountain. none. C,2 Vivace. NEGRO cAMP-MEETING MELODIES. One song runs thus: Oh dying lamb, oh dying lamb, oh dying lamb, Eberybodys welcome ter de dying lamb. Here a mother wants religion, yes, yes, religion, Oh glory hallelujah, ter de dying lamb. Here is a fragment that recalls the John Brown song: My bodys hound fer ter moulder in de clay, While my soul goes marchin, erelong, Hard trials an tribulations, Oh, sinner, cant yer jine me, While my soul goes a marchin erelong. A popular song is, In de valley: These are two verses of a pleasing melody: Ole Satans camped aroun my house, Ans a stumblin block in my way, But Jesus is my bosom friend, He moved it all away. CHORUS: Praise Jesus, hallelujah! Love an serve de Lord! (Repeat.) De sun run down in a purple stream, An de moon hit bled ter death, An my soul awoke frum hits wicked dream, When hit felt my Saviours breath. CHORUS: IN DE VALLEY. Vivace. -k--- a_______ ,V ~ ~- e ~ ~ K ~rn Oh! sin-ner lets go down, lets go down, lets go down. Oh! sin-ncr lets go down, Down t~~L~~aLeeaaea in de val - ley for tcr pray. Situ - dy in a - bout dat good ole xi ay. Good ~ a ~rn ~ Lord show me de way; Oh! who shall wear de star-ry crown? Good Lord show me de way. A CAMP-MEETING MELODY. 3 A-F-~--~ ~-~ A~A- A ~ za K e~a a- ~- Dis is de way de Baptis mourns, Oh! my Lord! Dis is de way de Baptis mourns, -___ 4-~zpu -~--~ ~ ta- Oh! my Lord! An its um-m-m, an its um-m-m, an its um-m-m. Till de break ob day. At the passage an its urn-rn-rn, etc., mourning dismally as if suffering with an each singer clasps his jaw and cheek in his aggravated case of toothache. The effect hand and rocks backwards and forwards, is highly grotesque, as one may imagine. WHOS DAT A CALLIN? ]VThderato. FA-A#-A -~ ~ L -a. Satn cant git his grip on me; NYhos dat a - cal - lin? lie IA__A ~ -~__-N-~_~__H__ ~ Li cant fool me wid his trick - er - y, Im boun ter go ter heaven when I die Whos dat a callin? Whos dat callin so low? I dont fear old Nick ner his wicked eye, Whos dat callin so low? (33 64 NEGRO c~Aifr-MEETING MELODIES Here is a portion of a hymn which re- minds one of a Chinese novel that runs into the hundred volumes, it is so lengthy; indeed, I have never been able to learn just the number of verses which com- pose it: De Lord dont speak like a natral man He speaks so de heart can understan, Rocks an mountings fall on me, Jesus he walked on de big salt sea. Done tuck my Lord away, away, away, etc. An Nora went ter work an felt mighty vain, When hit thundered an lightened an begin ter rain, An hit rained an rained til de waves did rise Till dey like ter dim ter de hebenlv skies. De waters riz an riz ter de sill o de door, An de dancers moved ter de upper floor, De water kep a risin an~ riz all about Till dey rushed ter de winders an all peeped out. Dey seen ole man Nora come a floatin by, An cried out dey wuz a goin ter drown an die, REFRAIN: But Nora he felt hissef secure, For he knowed de good Lord had done locked de door. DONE TOOK MY LORD AWAY. Doloroso. ~___ j~zN i~N N ~ ~ Done took my Lord a - way, a - way, a - way, Done 9 ~_ 7 N ~ -~-~_-~i_-I took my Lord a - way Cant ye tell me where tei find hlm? If yer wanter go ter hehen when yer die, Stop yer long tongue from tellin a lie, Ive hin weighed an weighed agin An I thank my Lord Im free from sin. REFRAIN: God Amighty spoke an Nora understood, He built him an ark out o gopher wood, He worked mighty hard on de heart an hark, A hundred an forty years a huildin de ark. God Amighty spoke ter Nora again An said, Hurry up, git yo fambly in. An take two erlong of ebery ting, From dem as has a hoof ter dem as has a wing. As I have written in the first of this sketch, it takes the ensemble the torch- lit grove, the moving, exultant mass of dusky worshippers, the nasal, sonorous voices of these unlettered children of the sun to give to such songs the full weirdness and wild beauty which they possess. When one has once heard these melodies under these favorable circumstances, it is something never to be forgotten. Noah BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. By Henrk/ta S. Nakrner. AMONG the mountains of western Massachusetts, eighteen hundred feet above the sea, in a green valley, lies a little hamlet of which the great world knows little, for it is far away from the great centres. But when the locomotive shall shriek along its hills and valleys~ to bring it within reach of the great currents of business life, its pic- turesqueness will disappear, for its chief charm lies in the fact that it is farthest removed from the railroad of any town within the borders of the state. Once a day only, in the late afternoon, the pulse of the world is felt for a few moments, when the eagerly expected stages from east and west arrive with morning papers. For six months of the year the rigors of a northern climate render the life here somewhat dull; but during the short months of the delightful summer, tem- pered by the cool breezes of the hills, the streets and roads are enlivened by the summer tourist, perhaps, the coaching William Cullen Bryant. 66 BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. party, it may be simply upon pleasure bent, or it may be making pilgrimage to visit the hamlets one famous shrine, the birthplace and ancestral home of William Cullen Bryant. Cummington is a natural centre for the surrounding country, the approaches to it from all quarters descending from higher levels. The people of the adjoining towns, taking advantage of this, have established an agricultural society, with buildings and grounds, in this valley; and the annual Fair days are the chief holiday of the year for many an overworked farmer and his family. Many points of interest are within easy access, and reached by drives through lovely and picturesque scenery. The natural falls at West Worthington, the mineral ledges at West Chesterfield, and the Windsor Jams are natural features which well repay the visitor. A few miles away, at Chester- field, is the summer home of John W. Chadwick, the poet preacher, whom Cummington itself may almost claim; so familiar is his figure among her mountain nooks, and so welcome is the soul-inspir- ing message which he brings. In another direction, a pleasant two or three hours drive leads to the summer homes, at Ashfield, of that Nestor of our fine art interests, Professor Charles Eliot Norton, and that knight of civil service re- form, George William Curtis. The principal street of this little hamlet lies along the banks of the alder-fringed Westfield so charming, as one of her singers has it, a river which, in the language of the General Court a hun- dred years ago or more, is well-known to be as difficult a stream to cross as any in the state of that bigness, a statement which causes a smile on the face of the small boy who fearlessly fords its current. Other towns have the same wide - sweeping circuit of wood-clad hills, glorious in the morning rays and in the gorgeous sunset dyes; other rivulets go singing down the narrow glen; other leafy shades are abodes of glad- ness The yellow violets modest bell Peeps from the last years leaves~ below, in other forests; the fringed gentian, bright with autumn dew, greets the wayside listener upon other highways; on other hillsides the March gust, the fragrant summer breeze, the spirit of the evening wind that breathest through my lattice, wait their singer; the melancholy November days, the saddest of the year, and June with its cheerful sounds come to the other places ; but from this quiet spot came the voice which made audible these sounds, the eye that made visible the glory of the forest, hill, and stream. Monument marking Birthplace of the Poet. BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. 67 This town cannot claim the antiquity of places nearer the seaboard, rich in their colonial lore, but her hundred and more years of life, although they do not show thrilling tales of struggles with In- dian neighbors, or fields where her sons resisted oppression, do show an honor- able record; for they can point to thrifty bomes and farms redeemed from the forest and sterile soil, to two or three generations of sons and daughters scat- tered far and near, who for intelligence and moral worth challenge a place among the first and best of those who have peo- pled the great West. Thirteen years before the shot heard round the world was fired down in Con- cord, a manbut recently returned from captivity among the Indians in Canada, bearing the testimony of his zeal and ser House in which Thanstopsis was written. One of Cummingtono Streets. 68 BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND ROME. vice perpetually about him in the shape of a leaden bullet, purchased at auction from the Commonwealth, in company with twenty-six other men, the township No. 5. He was of Scotch parentage, with the proverbial Scotch integrity; a man of note in the medical and military profes- sions, and with large landed estates. The town of Concord chronicles the liberality of this Colonel John Cuming, the moving spirit in the enterprise, who gave in his lifetime to the poor, and at his death a portion of his estate to the schools and to the poor, a legacy to the church, and a portion to the University of Cambridge. To this little settlement in the western wilds of the state, he gave his name. Was it the ~esthetic feeling of the early settlers that led them afterwards to petition the General Court to change the name of their town to Lebanon or Hebron? or was it their love of the Scrip- ture names? As not one of the original purchasers ever sought this inhospitable wild for a home, nor ever looked upon it, save, pos- sibly, in imaginary dreams of a fair future which never came, curiosity bids us seek some adequate reason for their venture; but history, as well as tradition, is silent. Wijijam cullen Bryant. BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. The curious antiquarian will find many a discontinued road, and many an aban- doned spot where once a hearth-fire was kindled. What pathos in the tales they tell of the endurance, the struggle, the faithfulness of those pioneers, who hewed the forests, cleared the paths, and planted the family fireside What monument so impressive as these old traces, these grassy landmarks, which cultivation has not obliterated A bit of ground hol- lowed out, a fragment of an old apple- tree, are all that remain of the first home estab- lished here by that he- roic man, Colonel Samuel Brewer. The house was a log cabin; and from the door the intrepid man, with no aid, built the road six miles to the highway, that he might bring upon his back from Northampton, twenty miles away, the meal that fed his household. Near this spot was the house built in a day, for one of these early in- habitants, by the united efforts of the seven families who were the sole occu- pants of this then uncultivated region. A town so far in the interior, away from the large water highways, would not naturally figure much in the military an- na~s of the period; but a few scattered records show that in their seclusion the hearts of the people were stirred with patriotic ardor. We read that they ap- pointed a committee of safety, and erected an alarum just where the people were to assemble for the common defence upon the discharge of three guns, a pre- caution which seems to us, in view of the inaccessibility of the region, rather su- perifuous. The frequent records of ac- tions taken to Se if the Town will Come into Some Method for hiring Soldiers for Bank of the Rivulet which flows through cummington. Old Schoolhouoe on the Bryant Farm. 70 BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND .JIOAIE. the Continental Army, to Raise a sufficient Sum of Money to purchase Soldiers Clothing, etc., show that they bore their part cheerfully in the common struggle. Tradition tells us of an old Indian trail, which became the military road from Northampton to Bennington; and as an old axe, bayonet, and part of a saddle were discovered near it, we conclude that there was an en- campment of some kind in the region. The one authentic passage which connects it with the events of the Revolutionary War seems to be the fact that a detachment of Burgoynes army passed over this road as prisoners of war, encamping here one night on their way to Boston. Two of these sol- diers deserted upon this occasion, and, remaining here, established homes, mar- ried and reared families, and here ended their days. An anecdote of this period relates that a little boy, James Everett, Schoolhouse presented ts the Tows by William Oulles Bryant. was playing with a toy cannon as these British and Hes- sian soldiers pas- sed on their way, and that as he dis- charged it in the face of the enemy one of the horses became frightened and threw his rider, which so terrified the would-be sol- dier, that he hur- ried in to hide himself under the bed. Of the ten men whose names have been handed down among their descendants as participators in the War of the Revo- lution, one Tim- othy by name used to relate that he was one of the guards placed over Andr6, the night before his execution. Near the spot where Colonel Brewer pitched his tent, there now lives an aged man born in Vermont, to whom the youth of Cummington have eagerly lis- tened, as he related the tales of Indian camp-fires and marauding parties, whose traces he saw in the rude pictures made upon the trees by their hatchets. The party of which the principal tradition remained came from Canada during the French and Indian war; and our aged narrator listened to the story of their adventures told by one of their captives, a child of Mrs. John- son, who was born in their camp during the journey, and re- turned years after to the scene of the tragic capture. As elsewhere in the early settlements of Massachusetts, BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. 71 the first thought of the pioneers was to plant the church and school. Leaving the valleys behind, they sought the bleak- est and most inhospitable hilltops on which to rear their altars, religious and domestic. On one of these hilly crests they established temporary quarters for public worship, and fixed near by their place for the dead. of it remains but picture from The Tis a bleak wild hill, but green and bright In the summer warmth and the mid-day light. Theres the hum of the bee and the chirp of the wren And the dash of the brook from the alder glen.. No visible reminder this immortal pen- Two Graves: Library presented by the Poet to the Town of Cummington. Interior of the Bryant Library. 72 BEYANT S NEW ENGLAND IIOAIE. Two low green hillocks, two small gray Stones, Rose over the place that held their bones; But the grassy hillocks are levelled again, And the keenest eye might search in vain Mong briers and ferns and paths of sheep For the spot where the aged couple sleep. The town having come into existence, the people forthwith proceeded to decide upon Some permanent place of worship, contending for nine years before the question was finally settled. During this time of waiting, the same walls which dispensed hospitality to travellers were also devoted to the uses of the town- meeting, to political assemblies, and to public worship on the Sabbath. In this elder time it would seem that religion and politics suffered no divorce, that no walls were too sacred for the promulga- tion of the doctrine of the rights of man; the spirit which sanctified their sacred place, it might be supposed, would preside also over business chamber and council hall. The establish- ment of a church organization and the incorporation of the town were of equal importance in the minds of these early settlers, and one speedily fol- lowed the other; the first church num- bering eight male members, and the first minister being ordained in the open air. Not a vestige remains of the first perma- nent church building, which stood for fifty years; but it is historic in the minds of a younger generation, who have lis- tened admiringly to the description of its old yellow sides, its immense blue sounding~board above the pulpit, its high square pews, where a loosened rail and the clatter of the seats falling upon their hinges as the audience rose during the prayer were a blessed relief to the child condemned to the two long services of the day. Its first pastor, identified with its existence for fifty years, has not only be- come one of the familiar figures of the past to the children of a later day through anecdote and legend; but he has be- come immortal through the pen of the poet who as a child sat in these old- fashioned pews, trembling, doubtless, as the tithing-man remorselessly went his rounds. His youth was innocent; his riper age Marked with some act of goodness every day, While the soft memory of his virtues yet Lingers like twilight when the sun is set. Library in Bryant Homestead. We do Dot know which to The Bryant Homestead. BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. 73 admire most in the terms of settlement of the Rev. James Briggs, the ortho- graphic abandon or the indifference to the requirements of our modern pastorate with its European trip. Voted to give Mr. Briggs two hundred acres of good Land and two hundred Dollars. Stated by Ry at 35, 4d Pr Bushel for Settlement; also fifty Pounds the first year and Rise five Pounds a year till it amounts to Sixty Pound. Stated by Ry at three shillings and four Pence Pr Bushel for Salery. The two lots assigned as the ministers portion of the first survey were on the side of Remington Hill; and the picnic party painfully toiling up its slopes, now abandoned to blackberries and the cata- mount, wonders what induced this prac- tical people to pitch their tents upon this hillside. Was the poetic instinct in them struggling for opportunity as they looked upon Greylock, silent and immovable on the near horizon, on the south the hills dipping down to meet the far Hoosac range, and XVachuset in lonely grandeur far away to the north? Very pathetic to the observer to-day is the old cellar with its extinguished hearth-fire, and the few straggling apple-trees which marked the site of a family home now utterly oblit- erated; even the family name extinct save in nomenclature, which has chris- tened the highest point of Township, No. 5, as Remington hill. In these days of subdivision and detail in life, we can hardly understand how powerful was the influence of Parson I3riggs upon the life of the town. His parish comprised the xvhole territory. He par- ticipated in the joys and sorrows of all the people, attending all the funerals, per- forming all the marriages. At the town- meeting and at the school examination his was the principal figure. With char- acteristic New England thrift, he not only worked his own farm, but improved the inclement winter weather by writing his stock of sermons for the whole year. How simple the life and thought of the period, when the lesson of yesterdays catastrophe, or the dissemination of some Robert Elsmere did not tax the ner- vous brain to meet the demands of a modern Sunday morning audience, and when instead of the nebular hypothe- sis, or conservation of energy, the New England Primer was the Sabbath as well as the weekly diet of the rising generation I At last the business interests of the town began to centre along the highway of the Westfield, which runs from corner to corner of the town through a narrow valley with steep hillsides; and the pecu- liar topography of the town rendering a common centre of religious worship diffi- cult, the one religious society became disintegrated, a Baptist, Methodist, and Universalist claimed a right to their own form, and in a little town which never numbered more than twelve hundred people, there were at one time seven re- ligious edifices. If these early settlers were not con- scious of the true meaning of culture as conceived by Matthew Arnold, they did realize the necessity of a sub-structure of knowledge, upon which to build up char- acter, and in compliance with the terms of their title deed, which reserved one sixty-third part of the territory for the use and support of a school in said town- ship forever, they early provided for the education of the young. On the border of a forest stood the little broxvn schoolhouse, with its long slah seats, its rafters and beams stained and dingy, and its huge stone fireplace. A little depression in the soil and an an- cient ash, which shadowed the teachers desk, are all that remain to designate the spot xvhere our fathers poet began the ascent of the steeps of learning. But one person remains xvho sat upon the front seat when the boy poet on the back seat was essaying his first trial to woo the muse. One still remains who at a little later period shared with younger brothers and sisters of the poet the thorough if limited course of instruction dispensed by stern, Puritan schoolmasters, for the school- mistress was an evolution of a later date. In this little brown schoolhouse, photo- graphed so vividly in the recollection of one who still delights to recall the scenes connected with it, Bryant read his first attempt at composition, The Embargo. The same vivid chronicler relates the fact of having had sixty notches cut in the heavy beam overhead for remaining at the head of the spelling-class for sixty consecutive days. 74 BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND J7ZOALE. In 1790, the inhabitants of Cummington erected a building for what they were pleased to term a select school, an at- tempt to add a little to the bare rudiments of learning, and ambitiously named it an Academy. In strange recognition of the liberality of its largest donor, it was called Wards Folly. In this Academy, the mother of Bryant was a pupil; also Dr. Bradish, afterwards so prominent in the business and political circles of New York. After the Hill had ceased to be the centre of the town, a large acad- emy was built in the East Village; and so liberal was the instruction, that a group of eight young men here fitted for college, seven of them entering in one single year, a record which the town has nevef since equalled, and which no other mountain town of its size could possibly equal. The town cannot claim among its illus- trious names any of great distinction in the law; but in the medical profession there have been names of ability, promi- nent among which were those of Bradish, Peter Bryant, and lowland Dawes, the last named having been a student with Dr. Bryant. He spent a long professional life here, and his name is still mentioned with kind affection by thcse who profited by his skill, and are now themselves upon the outer verge of life. There has been here no lack of friends for the oppressed negro. Little has been thought here of that other race dishonired by a cen- tury of the xvhite mans rule buf we proudly name one of Cummingtons sons, the earnest champion of the rights of the Indian, Senator Henry L. Dawes. One of the oldest inhabitants of Gum- mington has for us a peculiar interest, as the son of the parson mentioned in The Old Mans Funeral: Then rose another hoary man and said In faltering accents to that weeping train, Why weep ye thus? . This aged citizen, now past his ninetieth year, has had in his own life something worth relating. Homan Hallock passed many years in Syria, where he invented type for the Arabic language, thus making the Bible accessible to the natives of those desert lands. Still vigorous and hearty, in spite of his weight of years, cared for by his daughter and her family, he retires at periods to a house devoted to his own pursuits, and passes the time in solitude. Here in the windy, haunted interior, in the midst of machinery and half- finished efforts at invention, stands ready the coffin which he made for his own inter- ment twenty years ago. Perhaps the most interesting chapter in the history of the town, except its association with Bryant, and that which has distinguished it from the other moun- tain towns in the vicinity, is the chapter connected with the Anti-Slavery move- ment. The making of whetstones was an industry in the little town; now, with many other manufacturing interests, it has become extinct, but it brought to the place, somewhere between 1840 and 1850, John S. Stafford. In the town of St. Johnsbury, Vt., he had suffered for his adherence to the cause that was beginning to agitate earnest souls and making it a matter of conscience in his relations with the church, he had been ostracized, and so sought a new home. He found in Cummington, elements ready to his hand, only waiting the lighted torch, con- spicuous among them Deacon Hiram Brown of the Congregational Church, who was ready for a valiant fight, and who, being an able organizer, sought at Old Baptist Ceurch in which Abolition Meetings were held, BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND IrJOJifE. once to have the church put itself upon record as Anti-Slavery. He met with but slight response. Resolutions were drawn up, and after finding that the pastors influence was successful in pre- venting their passage, except in the mildly inoffensive statement that slavery was a sin, the faithful few, six in number, firmly protesting, left their brethren, after a time receiving letters of excom- munication. Of a different mould from her husband was the gentle, fragile wife of Deacon Brown. Her life was full of religious fervor, and it was with heroism, if with trembling, that she stood up in the days when women were counselled to keep silence in the churches, and spoke her conviction that no countenance should be given to the accursed thing. The eagle- eyed, lion-hearted Anti-Slavery veteran, Deacon Hiram Brown, still lived until a month ago in a xvestern city, his mantle having fallen upon his son, Edwin R. Brown, the ready advocate of every re- form and every endeavor to benefit humanity. Among the seceders xvas Widow Butts, poor, yet in her poverty and humility having a thought for her enslaved sister. The edict which cast her out from the fostering care of the church put in currency among the vil- lagers the saying, Visit the widow and fatherless in affliction, and carry them letters of excommunication. In 1821, there had been established a Bapfist society, which had built a little church. In I85o, this society had dwindled in numbers until only four members re- mained. Its building, which still stands, whose walls have witnessed so many chang- ing scenes, and which has been given up to so many uses other than those forwhich it was dedicated, was never devoted to any use more sacred than the rights of man; never were loftier thoughts uttered there than when the apostles of freedom ascended its platform. The town fathers had found it convenient for their pur- ppses, as well as the itinerant showman; and in the state of dilapidation incident to such uses, the turbulent spirits of the disaffected found the bits of plaster and remnants of tobacco ready missiles with wnich to reply to the arguments of the devoted speakers whom they could not answer otherwise. First to enter this rude arena was Samuel May. Then Parker Pillsbury, stern prophet of doom, with his deep, un- compromising voice and beetling brows, indifferent alike to the hurled projectile and the vulgar word, stirred up the in- different people. Stephen Foster and Abby Kelley came as they were com- mencing the crusade which only ended xvith their lives. The home of Mr. Staf- ford, the pioneer, was so humble in its resources that there were only two rooms in which to meet the exigencies of a family which consisted of the proverbial quiverful; but there were high-souled parents under the roof. In the family room, the kitchen stove xvas in close proximity to the dining table and sleeping arrangements, and the culinary processes proceeded simultaneously with the enter- tainment of guests. Here sat Wendell Phillips, consummate flower of Bostons cultured and aristocratic circles, by the side of this earnest xvhetstone manufac- turer, and their common love for humanity made them of one kin. In a little red schoolhouse near by this home, Lucy Stone, a rosy checked maiden, travel- ling through the country, posting her own bills upon bridges or any convenient out- post, stopped to speak to a small audience. Forty years later, a gray-haired matron, she came to speak, not for her black, but for her white sister; and the doors of the church, which could not open for her first appeal, swung back for her last. When the Anti-Slavery movement had become organized, the hospitable home of Deacon Brown was thrown open to all those who came to help in the work. Here it was the privilege of some to hear the persuasive oratory of Garrison and the calm logic of C. C. Burleigh, who finally became the regular speaker for the society on the Sabbath during the half year; a generous friend in Florence, Mr. Hill, offering to pay for his services there half of the time. Out of this grew the Free Society at Florence and Cosmian Hall. Hither, too, came Sojourner Truth, dark sybil, friend and worker; and the sweet singers, the Hutchinsons, who devoted 76 BRJI4NTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. their gifts with such prodigality to the unpopular cause. One Fourth of July, this society of workers, wishing to protest against the celebration of partial freedom, prepared a picnic in a beautiful grove just outside the village, where Anti-Slavery sentiments were to form the toasts of the day. So bitter was the feeling of the people, that, as the procession wound through the main street, the blinds were drawn and doors shut, that the offensive spectacle might not be witnessed. One little maiden, aflame with curiosity, who de- sired a share in the proceedings, was shut up in her room by an irate father, but with the connivance of a sister-in- law, this black-eyed Flora escaped the paternal vigilance, in a homely, everyday garb sought the place, and soothed her wounded feelings by waiting upon the tables. Later on, the incensed father, converted to the cause by the patriotic F songs of the choir, became one of the most ardent supporters of the work, and when he became old and blind would refer to the times with great feeling. This choir, chosen from among the sympathizers, deserves mention. The words of the songs and adaptations of others, from the pen of E. R. Brown, exist, alas! only in the fleeting memories of those who heard them. A few of those who participated in this time that tried mens souls are still left, and with par- donable pride they recall those days. Among these dwindling few, let the names of Francis H. Dawes and Melissa Everett Dawes, his wife, be recorded, also Arunah Bartlett and Amanda T. Bart- lett, his wife, this last couple having both passed their ninetieth year. They thought the five miles between their home and the rendezvous of the faithful no obstacle in their zeal and devQtion to the cause. The rugged type of New England woman here noticed, not only extended her zeal to the breaking of the fetters of her enslaved sister in the South, but also to the effort to release her sister at home from the thralldom of the long skirt. The edifice which echoed these voices of prophets and other strange sounds has now, after forty years, been repaired, beautified, and rededicated to its original purpose. Although the centre of this movement was found in East Cumming- ton, there were outposts in the town which extended sympa- thy. Upon Cummington Hill there was settled in 1845, a pastor of gentle breeding and winning manner, yet with staunch principles and fearless- ness. When in Wolcott, Conn., his people be- sought him not to bring dissension and division into the church by his advocacy of the cause of the slave; in speaking of this afterwards, this mild soul said: I scorned it as a man, and I abhor- red it as a Christian. This firmness resulted in the burning of his church; and James D. Chapman, whose memory is still lovingly cherished in this town, befriended in the pecuniary trouble resulting from his course by the philanthropy of Arthur and Lewis Tap- pan, sought here a new field, anticipating the time when the Anti--Slavery banner should be raised. He was unceasing in his endeavor to interest the l)eople of his charge in the work, urging the passage of the resolutions which his brother in theLord had worked so industriously to frustrate. Bryants Fathers Grave in the Mountain Graveyard. BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. 77 Curnmington had her share in the great struggle of the war; and when, after the terrible conflict, the country sat down in the midst of her desolated homes and waste places to repair the ruin, Bryant, an old man, came back to build up the home of his ancestors and to linger awhile in the haunts of his boy- hood, before the summons should come to join the innumerable caravan. Here, after the death of the companion to whom he had addressed the plaintive wail: How shall I know thee in the spheres which keep The disembodied spirits of the dead? he sat down in his library to the absorb- ing task of the translation of the Odys- sey, as a partial relief to his lonely heart. To his home, which he restored upon the foundations and with some of the material of the old house, there came yearly front their western homes for a brief summer sojourn, the two brothers of the poet, John Howard, also a mem- ber of the guild of poets, and Arthur, who with the same inborn love of Nature had turned his attention to horticulture and forestry. The summers in which the country people delighted to meet and accost the three white-haired brothers, as they climbed with agile footsteps their native hills and rocks, passed all too quickly! and one fatal June day there were but two left to ramble in the old places, and then but one, who now comes only at rare intervals to walk in lonely solitude the accustomed paths. In the corner of a green, sloping meadow, at the junction of two roads, opposite the place where sleep the gen- erations xvhose part in all the pomp that fills the circuit of the summer hills is a green grave, there once stood a little house, in which on the third of Novem- ber, 1794, the frail infant came into the world, who was destined to such pre- eminence as poet, journalist, and citizen. This spot, which commands the sweep- ing circle of eastern hills, is now marked by the simple granite monolith recording the date of his birth. No more beauti- ful spot could have been chosen by poet, for it was these same rock-ribbed hills which, from a higher point, were the inspiration of the youthful Bryant. in course of time the humble building was taken down and a portion of it purchased by Mitchell Dawes, and by him removed a half mile westward, to become the birthplace of a family of sons and daugh- ters, among whom was the present Mas- sachusetts senator. Dr. Peter Bryant established his house- hold gods upon the spot where the new Bryant homestead now stands, a mile to the westward. Here at a corner of the building stands an old oak, a sapling of the original tree, in whose branches the young sisters and John, the brother of our poet, were merrily playing upon the day when the news of the battle of Wa- terloo reached this quiet nook, weeks after the dreadful day when it occurred. Of one of his ancestors, the poet speaks with reverent mention, in The Old Mans Counsel; and to the vigor- ous self-reliant mother, who with her five weeks old infant, would mount her horse and resume her spinning and weaving, the poet was indebted for many of his prominent characteristics. From this modest country home the poet, with pub- lic spirit, built two highways to the little hamlets of East and West Cummin~ton, that those villages might be reached by a gentler slope than the former steep approaches permitted. By his planting of orchards, building of stone walls, and restoration of the almost forgotten beau- ties of the place, he stimulated his neigh- bors to endeavors in the same direction, and the homes in the vicinity bear wit- ness to the wholesome influence thus exerted. But a more lasting monument to his grateful remembrance by his towns peo- ple is the little stone building in the valley, with its choice collection of liter- ature, a gift perpetually fresh and inspir- ing. The writer worked during some happy, memorable weeks in helping to arrange and classify this library of books, and has many pleasant memories con- nected with that time. While the build- ing for their reception was in process of construction the books were temporarily placed in a building near the Bryant homestead. This house was built upon the foundations of the home of Bryants 78 BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. maternal ancestors, which he presented to his daughter, Mrs. Parke Godwin. From the piazza and eastern windows of this house, beautiful for situation, the panorama of the hills, glorious with au- tumn foliage, was daily opened to the gaze of the worker. Hither came the gray-haired poet each morning, climbing the hill with agile step, and with cheer- ing word and helpful suggestion marking those hours as never-to-be-forgotten places in the highxvay of life. One morning, a young fellow, coming into this room, with its floor piled high with books, remarked, I suppose you have read all these books, Mr. Bryant? Not quite all, but I knoxv something about them all, probably, was the re- sponse. The mornings were enlivened by anecdotes suggested by the work, and as this worker spoke of her poor compre- hension of Broxvning, he replied: Per- haps Browning might say in regard to his poems as Jean Paul Richter said when some one asked him what he meant by a certain work, When I wrote it there were two who knew, myself and God, but now only God knows. Glancing at a book written by Hurlbut, h~ re- marked, He wished to introduce me to Napoleon III., an honor which I de- clined, regarding him as a murderer. With his severe truthfulness, he depre- cated Froudes sacrifices to brilliant effect. He said, Until Grote wrote his history of Greece the historians all leaned to the aristocratic side, and gave the narrative of events a turn unfavor- able to pol)ular rights. His memory at threescore and ten was remarkable; the delighted listener xvill not soon forget the serene look of the poet as he leaned against the mantel, the books scattered in confusion around, repeating passages from Pope or Tasso in the original, with easy change to the Bug/ow Papers. Still another precious reminiscence, shared by a little handful of delighted friends and neighbors, is that of September 2, I877, when the poet xvalked to the little church at West Cummington, a distance of four miles, with his staff in hand, quietly tak- ing his seat among the country worship- pers. At the close of the services the pastor remarked that Mr. Bryant had kindly consented to read some of his poems. With the benign presence of the sages of old, Mr. Bryant rose and said that he was very happy to comply with the pastors request, as the people as- sembled were his neighbors and the de- scendants of those among whom he had lived when in youth he had written these poems. The simple rendering of Than- atopsis, with the cultured, musical voice, was most effective. He spoke of the character of this ~ of Nature, which in her different phases appealed to the writer, and said he wrote it when he was eighteen and while wandering through the woods of Cummington. Beginning the poem, he read to the words, comes a still voice, saying that this portion was written at a later period, when he was twenty-one and when it seemed to him that the poem was incomplete in form. He then read the original poem, which ends where the prayer begins, So live, etc., this portion having been written in the year 1821, thus adding the moral idea, he said, to what had been originally simply an adoration of Nature. From this he passed to the reading of the exquisite Water Fowl. This poem, also a poem of his youth, he said, was written at a time of great discour- agement, when he was about starting in life, uncertain as to his career, and alone. Just as the western sky was suffused with the red of departing sunlight he saw a water fowl apart from its kind, flying solitary and alone on tireless wing, as it had been doing all day, and the thought occurred to him, he said: by what In- visible Power has it been held up through the long day? The lesson it spoke to him he has told us in the matchless poem. He remarked simply in connec- tion with the reading that a lady once said to him that the veteran missionary Brigham had told her that while travel- ling in the wilds of South America, on his way from the Atlantic to the Pacific, these verses were of the greatest comfort to him, especially the line, from zone to zone) etc. He then said that these were poems of his youth, but he would read one more, written in his old age. He said he was by many years the old- est person present, and we might not BRYANTS NEW ENGLAND HOME. 79 feel the significance of the poem at the time, but he hoped we should all live long enough to do so.? He then read, Waiting by the Gate. When he closed, with the xvords, With neither dread nor longing to depart, I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me. The tears stood in many eyes, and with hushed breath and subdued footfall we passed out from the little white church on the hillside to our homes, feeling the benediction of a sacred presence. What augury could have told, on that bright autumn Sabbath, that with swift foot the messenger was coming, and that a few months later, in the glorious June, as he had wished, The sextons hand, my grave to make, The rich, green mountain turf should break. Happy ending of a life, whose last words in public, upon the unveiling of the bronze which perpetuates the features of the exile Mazzini, were the acknowledg- rnent of the rights and duties of human brotherhood! He does not rest in the secluded hillside cemetery, but in Roslyn, the home of his active years. In the elevated mountain cemetery, from whose height the eye commands a wide horizon, embracing ten towns or more with their spires, lie the remains of the poets father and his maternal ancestors. To those who have ever sought this spot, in its silence and loneliness, far from the dwellings of men, these lines of John H. Bryant on The Mountain Graveyard have an added meaning: Tis a spot where the daylight latest stays And earliest comes with its crimson rays, XVhere the friends that have gone before me lie, Each one with his feet to the eastern sky. I go to that spot when the early flowers Awake on these bright sunny hills of ours, When the summer comes with its sultry heat And fierce on the earth the sunbeams beat, \Vhernthe maize on the autumn hills is white, And the yellow forests are bathed in light, When the winds of the icy north are still, I sometimes visit this lonely hill. Here we find the plain slab with the inscription PETER BRyANT A studious and skillful Physician and Surgeon, And for some time a member Of the State Senate, Born at North Bridgewater, August 12, 1767. Died March i~, 1820. In 1879, Cummington celebrated her centennial. Her poet, alas! had de- parted; but his place was worthily filled by the younger brother, John Bryant, and the historian of the day, Hon. Henry L. Dawes, performed his labor of love for the town of his birth. The question has been asked, Why Cummington should be a centre of advanced and liberal ideas why her inhabitants are able to claim a better intellectual life than is found in the average country town. One indica- tion of this life may be seen in the heavily loaded mail bags which find their way to this remote place. We look back and trace a possible cause. In the western outskirts of the town, in the early days, lived the genial, witty James Everett. He was the would-be soldier of Revolu- tionary time, the boy brave in spirit, but weak in flesh, whom we have noticed; he claimed a common ancestry with Edward Everett. In the days when books and papers were fewer than now, there were found in his home the Nor/li American Review and the writings of Channing. These he circulated among his neighbors; a lady of refinement in the town now speaks of him as the one who first gave her a love of reading, through his kindly interest, and the volumes lent to her in childhood. From that home, to which there came fifteen children, many went to settle in western homes, carrying with them the New England traits inherited and cultivated in their native town, one of the daughters to marry a brother of our Bryant. Another no less potent in- fluence in another part of the town was that Dr. Howland Dawes, who surrounded himself with papers and books; whatever privations came to the home, which he shared xvith brother, nephews, and nieces, there was always to be found there some treasured book. The little ones gathered 80 RELEASE. at his knee listened to the recital of Burnss poems until they were indelibly fastened upon their youthful memories, and the old well-worn copy is religiously preserved by a descendant. Later, the Anti-Slavery agitation, which brought to the place so many earnest thinkers, sowed seed which has produced fruit in the ready espousal of later reforms and the eagerness with which new thought in the scientific and religious world are wel- comed and discussed. And who shall tell how great an education to the people of this little New England village have been the presence and the memories of her great poet? RELEASE. By Bessic G/iaud/er. ~ ERE was one heart in Brussels years ago, ~My own heart tells me that this thing is true, 1-One breaking heart that night of Waterloo; It was a womans heart, I seem to know, Whose smiling face its anguish sought to hide, Whose dancing feet its heaviness belied; Yet when the cannons voice broke rudely in And marred the music, then that heart grew light, Its misery was hushed amid the din; The fair face brightened in the dread and fright. Have you no fear? they asked, who wept and fled. At least the dance is ended now, she said. There is one heart here in the world to-day, My own heart tells me that this thing is true, That unsuspected goes upon its way, And dances, as the other dancers do. Yet should the day come when the trumpets voice Shall still all other music here below, That heart would leap, and quicken, and rejoice, And say, amid the universal woe, What is there now, for us to dread or fear, Since life, at least, is ended for us here? 7 IT is a curious fact that almost nothing is known about the clubs and club- life at Harvard University outside the narrow limits of the college world. At certain periods, each year, the daily papers contain sensational reports of some ab- surdity or atrocity, and label it Society Life at Harvard; but concerning the true relations of the clubs and club men to the college itself, the public has but scanty knowledge. The explanation of this is simple. The club system at Harvard is entirely pecu- liar to itself. In the smaller colleges it is rather the exception than the rule, that a man is not a member of some one of the many Greek letter societies which flourish. At Princeton there are no soci- eties. At Yale the societies are distinctly democratic. The election of members to the Skull and Bones, the Scroll and Key, and the Wolfs L/ea depends largely on personal merit and popularity. Promi- nence in scholarship or in athletics makes a student almost certain of election to one of these three most famous Yale societies; AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD. William Dana Oreuti. and thus an added stimulus is given a man to distinguish himself. At Harvard, however, the qualifications are different, family and money certainly being two distinctive qualifications for popularity. At Yale, membership in the sophomore societies counts for little in securing a man a place in the senior or- ganizations. At Harvard, this sophomore membership is of the greatest importance; for when once a member of the Institute of 1770 the Hasty Pudding Club (the senior society ), is within sight. As will be seen by the manner of electing men into the Institute, it is personal friendship rather than general popularity which counts. There is but one senior society at Har- vard. The Hasty Pudding Club has had several rivals, but not one has long been able to maintain its claim. This fact has made it necessary that the Pudding should have a large membership, which explains the fact that eighty men are made members of this society; while at Yale, fifteen is the usual society limit. The oldest and largest society at Har- vard is that known as the Institute of 1770. It was founded in a very business- like manner by the members of the class of 1771, Samuel Phillips, afterwards lieu- tenant-governor of Massachusetts, and John Warren, being the prime movers. As these young gentlemen truly re- marked, there was at this time a cold indifference ,to the practice of Oratory, and the Institute of 1770 was established originally to meet this lack. For many years the society was known as the Speaking Club, and essays and orations were delivered with no less enthusiam and interest than were shown in later years by members who attained national promi- nence. Among these early members may be mentioned the names of Christopher Gore, Rufus King, James Freeman, Henry Ware, and John Quincy Adams. From time to time, rival societies Jester, from 9! H P. C. Theatricals. Twelfth Night. 82 CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD. that year, the Hermetick Society and the AKpt~o~ovo~4tevor, two dangerous rivals, combined with the older organization, and the enlarged society now took the name of The Institute of 1770, by which it has since been known. Th~ seal was designed in 1837 by Rev. Samuel Longfellow, then in his sophomore year. By degrees, the Institute has become a sophomore society. Originally, its mem- bership was limited to seniors; but in 1781, the society was resigned to the junior class, the senior members being obliged to pay a more strict attention to their collegiate exercises than the duties. of this club would permit. Eater, soph- omores were eligible for membership; and finally it became the custom to elect ten freshmen into the society at the close of their first college year. At the begin- ning of the next year, these ten members. choose ten more, and these twenty men elect a third ten. Tbis process is continued until the full number of the Institute has been filled, which number varies from one hundred to one hundred sprang up, flourished for a while, but and twenty men. then invariably dropped out of existence Gradually the Institute of 1770 came or were merged in the stronger organiza- to have less and less importance, until it tions, leaving the was finally, to all Speaking Club practical purposes, supreme in its merged into the power. Del/a Kaff a Ey5- From its earliest si/on. This state days, the members of affairs continued took profound until the present oaths not to dis- senior class came close the secret of the society, to take charge of or even that there is such an the society. They one subsisting. As this secret felt that the college was the fact that the club was needed a strong organized to encourage oratory, social sophomore some of the most brilliant mem- organization, and hers of the society in i8or sug- they determined to gested that the name Speaking place the Institute Club might disclose to the upon its feet again. uninitiated the purposes of the Subscriptions were organization! Thus the Speak- obtained from the ing Club became a thing of the past and present past, and the Patriotic Associa- members, and a tion flourished in its stead. large house, not far This name was again changed a Premiere Danseuse in 91 H. P. c. from the college The. Obispah. few years later to The Social yard, was rented. Fraternity of 1770, and by this title This was fitted up for the convenience of the society was known until 1825. In the members. The building contaiiv a Group from 93 D. K. E. Theatricals. caius Julius c~sar. CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HAR yARD. 83 large room in which the members meet a supper. In 1791, it became the turn as a society, a large and valuable library, of a freshman member, Mr. Joseph Mc- a secretarys room, a breakfast-room, and Kean, to furnish the entertainment; and a room for billiards and pool. The cui- the crowning triumph of the feast was a sine is in charge of a steward, and mem- young pig roasted whole. This proved bers can enjoy late breakfasts and suppers so successful that it was unanimously de- at their leisure. The rooms are well- cided to make the roast pig a permanent furnished, and are a popular resort. part of all future banquets; and from this The members retain their membership until they graduate, but the seniors take no active part in any of the proceedings of the society, and the juniors resign their interest at Christmas. Thus it will be seen that the Institute is distinctly a soph- omore organization, and as such it is without a rival. It is not certainly known in what year the Force//ian 6Vub, the swellest of the college social organizations, came into existence. Its records extend back as far as 1791 ; but it is rumored that as Seal of Institute of 1770. early as 1789, several of the students or- ganized themselves into a society known fact, the society came to be known as the only to themselves as The Argonauts, Pig Club. and were in the habit of meeting at each in 1792, the name of Gentlemans others rooms on alternate Friday even- Society was adopted, the society having ings. These meetings were of an entirely a grand marshal and a deputy marshal social nature, and always terminated with from the senior class, and a correspond- The 93 D. K. E. Theatricals Caius Julius C~sar. The 91 Hasty Pudding CIuh Theatricals, The Obispah CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD. ing and a recording secretary from the junior class. Two years later it was de- cided that this name worked against the best interests of the society, and it was theYefore changed to the Forcellian Club, a title which it has retained ever since. It was Joseph McKean who was really the founder of the club as it now exists. In 1794 he became its grand marshal, and left behind him an enviable reputa- tion. He was of an exceptionally happy disposition, and was possessed of no little physical activity and strength. From the time he became the leader, Mr. Mc- Kean imbued the club with his refined characteristics, and made it famous for the gentlemanly bearing of its members. The foundation of the forcelliau Club, says one of the former officers, are laid on some of the strongest principles of our nature, upon sociability, brotherly affection, and generosity, and upon those qualities of liberality and courtesy, and that spirit of a true gentleman, which are best expressed by one of the Greek mot- toes of our society. It was these senti- ments upon which Mr. McKean strenu- ously insisted, and which still exist as the principles of the society. When Mr. McKean resigned his office in 1798, he was succeeded by Charles Davis, who was famous for his quick wit and genial qualities. In i8oo, Francis Dana Channing was chosen grand mar- shal. His administration was important in the club epochs, as during it the first club emblem was adopted. It was a heart-shaped silver medal, having on the one side the name and date of the club, and on the other two clasped hands, over which are the words, Turn zilvimus vivarnus. At the two corners were four Greek letters, the ab- breviation of the club motto. The colors are white and green. In 1831, the Porcel- han Club united with the Knz~hts of the Square Table, an or- ganization which had flourished since 1809. For some time, the members of one club had also been members of the other, so the union was a natural one. At this time, the present badge was adopted, being an eight-pointed star. Besides the dates and mottoes, the medal Alco in the H. P. C. Theatricals. The Obispab. has on it the boars head, the crest of the Poreellian Club; a helmet, the crest of the I.Cnh1~rkts; and clasped hands. The society exists to-day practically as it did in 1831. Its members number about fifteen, being drawn principally from the Zeta Psi Socktj, and represent- ing the richest men in college. Two years ago the club-rooms were torn down, and a fine brick building was erected, at a cost of over thirty thousand dollars. This club-house is well ar- ranged for the comfort of the members the chief attraction being the splendid library, for which the Porcel- liau has always been famous. Many of the mem- bers of this society have gained national Emblem of Porcellian Club. 86 CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT LIAR VARD. prominence in later life. Among these may be mentioned, Wendell Phillips, Samuel Parkman, Joseph Story, William Ellery Channing, Washington Allston, Leverett Sallonstall, Charles Cotesworth Piuckney, Samuel Emerson Smith, Ed- ward Everett, Jonathan Mayhew Wain- wright, James Walker, Theophilus Parsons, Charles Francis Adams, Robert Charles Winthrop, Benjamin Peirce, Oliver Wen- dell Holmes, Charles Sumner, James Russell Lowell. William Wetmore Story, and William Morris Hunt. The Nasty Pudding (Yiib was formed in 1795, to cherish the feelings of friendship and patriotism. To accom- plish this it was the custom of the club for many years to celebrate Washing- tons Birthday with an oration, patriotic speeches, and songs, followed by a din- ner. This practice later fell into disuse; but that the original purposes of organiza- tion were not forgotten, is shown by the fact that more than one hundred of the members served in the War of the Re- bellion. The original constitution of the club stipulated that two members, in alpha- betical order, shall provide a pot of hasty- pudding for every meeting, and it is from this custom that the name was derived. The medal of the club is octagonal in form, having on its face a representation of a pudding-pot, with two hands above it holding a spoon and a bowl, and bear- ing the motto, Seges vo/is respondef. On the reverse is the figure of a sphinx, with Group from the 94 D. K E. Theatricalo, A Serpent in Petticoats, CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD. 87 the motto, Concor~ dia discors. The colors are white and corn color. The pe- culiar shingle or token of member- ship of the club is a strip of black cam- bric, bearing the name of the member in large white letters, which is placed above the door in his room. At first the meet- ings of the club took place in the different members rooms; but in 1849 it was found that a regular place of meeting was needed, and No. 29 Stoughton Hall was obtained from the college authorities. A few years later, an adjoining room was added; and in 1871, two other rooms on the same floor were granted to the club, all being made over into comfortable quarters. The next step was the adoption of a club building on Jarvis Field, in which the club remained until i888, when it moved into the present handsome club- house on Holyoke Street. The erection of this was made possible by the energetic work of the members of the classes of 86 and 87 and 88. This building is well planned to meet the needs of the club, having a large audience-room and stage for its theatricals, and a well-filled library. It was this new building which gave the Hasly Pudding (zb its present pop- ularity. Before r886, its membership was not so highly prized as at present, because the building on Jarvis Field was not con- veniently located for social purposes. Moreover, it is since that date that the annual theatricals of the club have at- tained their present prominence; pre- viously to this, having been simply for the amusement of the members. Phillips Brooks is said to have created great merri- ment in those days by his capital assumption of feminine Mies. The former limit of one hundred mem- bers is now reduced to eighty: twenty-five being chosen at Christmas from the junior class, twenty more the following fall, and the remaining thirty-five as their names are passed upon. The method of election is essentially more democratic than for any of the other social clubs. There is a large nominating committee, to which the members propose the names of their friends, whom they wish to have fellow-members of the club. These names must be passed by a two- The Hasty Pudding Club-House. Medal of Hasty Pudding Club. CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HAR VARD. thirds vote of the nominating com- mittee, and then have to be posted for three days without being black- balled by one-fifth of the members. The club has feasts at its club- house at stated intervals, at which the ancient dish of hasty pudding is still provided. Besides these enter- tainments, there is an annual Straw- berry Night, which finds especial favor with graduate members. The club theatricals are now the most popular of the public social events, performances being given in Boston and New York as well as at the club- house at Cambridge. On Class Day the senior members give their spread in the club-house, an invitation to which is among the most treasured of Class Day trophies. A pleasant feature of the member- ship is that members of the Faculty are eligible for membership, and thus Skirtz in The Obispah a delightful bond of good-fellowship has always been maintained between mem- bers of the club and the college authorities. The initiation rites are, of course, a Group from the 92 H. P. C, Theatricalo. The Old Bedstead. profound secret; but the absurd require- ments of a few years ago are now com- pletely done away with, and whatever ordeal the candidate passes through takes place at the annual dinner. It is said that formerly, if the good storekeepers of Boston were amazed at being assailed by the apparently in- sane remarks, seges vo/is respondet and concordi~i dis c o rs, they excused every- thing when told that the individual was running for the Pudding. The Hasty Pud- ding 67/nb contains many famous names upon its roll of membership. In its archives is a sketch in India ink upon a page in its oldest record-book, rep- resenting a youth seated on the ground, eagerly feeding himself from a generous pot of pudding, beneath which are some verses and the signa- ture, Washington Allston, Sec. H. P. C . Other names are those of W. E. Channing, Andrews Norton, Chancellor Benjamin F. Dunkin, Edward Everett, Judge Peleg Sprague, Bishop Jonathan M. Wain- wright, Rev. Henry Ware, Jr., William P. Prescott, Rev. James Walker, John S. Palfrey, Jared Sparks, George Bancroft, C. C. Felton, R. C. Win- throp, Oliver Wendell H o 1 m e s, Charles Sumner, J a m e s Russell Lowell, Phillips Brooks, Governor William E. Russell, Dean Briggs, Prof. J. K. Paine, W. W. Goodwin, F. B. Peabody, and B. H. Palmer. The P. K. F. Sockly, or the Dic- key, as it is more popularly known, has now attained a greater promi- nence than any similar organization has ever been accorded. It is hoped that the facts here presented may serve to offset some of the many CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD. 89 exaggerated stories concerning the society which have gained ground during the past few months. The Dickey is closely related to the fits/i/u/c of 1770, the first five or six tens of the latter society comprising the membership of the former. These fifty or sixty men are the four hundred in college society life, and from them are chosen the members of the smaller and more select social organizations. The method of election has already been described in the account of the Ths/i/u/e of 1770, but the initiation is very different, and is of a more violent nature. Elec- tion to the first ten is the greatest social honor a man can receive, as it assures him of membership in any of the other societies he may wish to join. A successful candidate is not usually notified of his election until the Wednes- day night on which he is taken out. Then those who are already members of the society go to the students room, forming a line from the top of the stairs to the street. The candidate is taken in whatever condition he may be found, often from bed, and is passed down the line with more haste than gentleness. Then he is placed in the centre of the body; and the procession proceeds singing the Institute Song to the room of the second man on the ten, who is taken out in a similar manner. When the ten men have been thus captured, they are taken in front of the Holyoke House, where lusty cheers are given for the new mem- bers. These men are then allowed to return to their rooms, the first five to begin running the next morning. This usually lasts from three days to a week, and during this period the pub- lic has an opportu- nity to see the ridiculous require- ments which the candidates pass through. From the time the student begins running to the time he receives his final initiation, he is not supposed to wash, shave, or comb his hair. He wears the oldest flannel shirt he owns, no neck- tie, and has his trousers turned up at the bottom. He is obliged to do whatever he is ordered by any member of the society, each neo- phyte being the special slave of two other members. The regulation re- quirements, which each one has to perform in addition to the more absurd ones, are to wake the members at some unearthly hour of the morn- ing, and to sell newspapers and black shoes on the street. The candi- date is not allowed Group from the 89 H. P. C. Theatricalo, The Freak, the Frump, and the Friar. Cassandra in 90 H. P.C. Theatricalo. Helen and Paris 90 CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD. to speak to or recognize any but Dickey men; so when he is seen in the dress de- scribed, he is completely ignored by all others. It is in compelling the victims to do original and humiliating feats that the in- genuity of the members is taxed. How- ever, their efforts to afford amusement, at least to themselves and to all except the candidate himself, are certainly success- ful. The anecdotes relating to these per- formances have heen almost exhausted by the recent controversy. The candidate is required to ride a childs velocipede, decked out with feather plumes, and a many-colored coat; to chase horse-cars, and then placing his foot on the step, simply tie his shoe-string, to the disgust of the conductor and the occupants of the car; to take his bed apart every night, carry it out into the yard, and then put it up again; to go into the stores and violently berate the store- keepers; to rise during a play at the theatre and object to the acting, only to be forcibly ejected from the house; to write ridiculous things about himself and send them to the papers for publication; to kiss every baby he meets; to raise his hat and smile at every one he passes; to act as valet, coachman, or footman to his tormentors. If he has some especially weak point, it is that point which is. assailed and made to appear ridiculous. There are occasions, however, when the biter is bit. A prominent member of the present senior class had been put through every antic which could be im- agined. As a final exploit, he was ordered to call at the home of one of the mem- hers on Commonwealth Avenue; to inquire if Mrs. , this members mother was at home, and then to order drinks in a loud voice. To make sure that the mandate was carried out, this member and two others accom- panied the victim as far as the door. The butler opened the door and ushered him into the hall. Mrs. was at home, and with some misgiving the embryo Dickey man ordered drinks. The lady, however, instead of feeling insulted, at once saw what was up, and invited the student into the parlor, while she called her daugh- ter and a friend. Later, all adjourned to the dining-room, where a delightful lunch was served. In the mean time, the son of the household and his friends were waiting outside, shivering, and wondering why the victim of their joke was not ejected from the house. Finally, they could stand it no longer, and they entered the ball. Peals of laughter were issuing from the dining- room, and a smoking repast was on the table. With a quiet smile the mother invited her son and his friends to take seats with the rest of the company. To return to the ceremonies of the Dickey ordeal. After the running has been completed satisfactorily, the ini- tiation takes place at the club rooms. It Emblem of the A. D. Club. Ballet Girls in 93 D. K. E. Theatricals. Alice in Wonderland. CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD. 91 was then that the famous branding took place. This was not absolutely essen- tial, as crew and football men, and others who so desired, were not required to have it done; yet almost all the mem- bers wished it, as a mark of distinction. The custom was the outcome of the ancient one where a lighted cigar was held as close as pos- sible to the arm with- out burning, so that the victim might ex- pect to be burned each moment. The general sentiment of the college is that the practice was a bar- barous one, and there is no regret that the whole thing has now been done away with, as a result of Mr. William Lloyd Garri- sons letter. The other parts of the initiation are kept profoundly secret; but enough is known to warrant the asser- tion that the ordeals are the most trying of those of any society in college. The social life of the Dickeys has been little more than a name; membership in it, as already stated, being chiefly valued as being the open sesame to other so- cieties. The principal events are the Christ- mas and spring thea- tricals, which are not only very enjoyable, but also excellent performances. The Dickey men of the junior class have recently instituted junior parties, which are now among the social events in Boston society. For some years the P. K. F. Society of Harvard has existed as a distinct organization, having no connection what- ever with the fraternity. It was origi- nally the Alpha chapter; but as it refused to make certain changes, and also to receive members of other chapters into its body, its charter was taken away, and it ceased to exist as a Greek letter society. Thus the name Dickey is more properly its name than the title of D.K.E. The Harvard chapter of the Ai~pAa Della P/li Soeie4ji xvas the direct result of a visit to Cambridge by delegates of the Yale, Columbia, and Uni- versity of New York chapters, in 1836. They initiated a few members of the classes of 37 and 38 as hono- rary members of the Yale and Columbia chapters, empowering them to become, if possible, an active chapter. It was thought best, however, to ascertain the feel- ing of the Faculty in regard to secret so- cieties before any active steps were taken, and further de- velopments proved that these precautions were wisely taken. The reply to the pe- tition was the very unfavorable r e p o r t that any proposition for the establishment of a secret society is inadmissible, and that it is inexpedient to increase the number of literary societies in the College. This stopped all action in the matter until about the first of March, 1837, when the members decided that a nominal Harvard chapter might be instituted without any infringement on the col- lege statutes. To accomplish this, the new members were initiated as hon- orary members of the Yale Chapter; and thus began the existence of the A~p/za Della Liii at Harvard. The next Amita in 91 H. P. C. Theatricals. ~The Obispah. 92 CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT HARVARD. election and initiation. All social events took place in the private rooms of the members, while the literary exercises were held in the society rooms. The first public celebration of the society occurred July 20, 1855, in the First Church at Cambridge. James C. Carter was the orator of the occasion; Elbridge J. Cutler, the poet; ~nd Rev. F. D. Huntington, the Plum- mer Professor at Harvard, and later the Bishop of the Diocese of Western New York, officiated as president of the convention. The class of 1859 took an almost unprecedented stand, and pledged themselves not to become members of any secret society. This proved a stumbling-block for all secret year a second petition was presented to the Faculty, which met the same unquali- fied refusal, so it was still necessary to continue as the Honorary Yale Chapter. A room was obtained over the Porcellian Library; and here the members met for social and literary enjoyment. From this time until 1846, the society enjoyed so excellent a reputation that a third petition to the faculty was granted; and in March, 1846, the Alp/ia Delta P/li became an authorized organ- ization, inaugurating regular forms of organizations, and it was soon rumored that they had been dissolved. As a mat- ter of fact, however, the Alp/la Delta P/il continued to flourish as an unrecognized society, and members were elected and N -~~~---- N Running for the Dickey. CLUBS AND CLUB LiFE AT LIAR VARD. 93 initiated as before. In order that its existence might be unknoxvn, the mem- bers referred to the society as the A. P., choosing this combination of letters as it closely resembled A/f/ta Delta and also the name of a college boat, the ha/dee. Thus a member would recognize the re- ference, while the uninitiated ear xvould be deceived. A few names should be mentioned to show the class of men the A/f/ia Delta Pit! attracted to its membership. On its records may be found the signatures of Ru- fus King, James Russell Loxvell, Samuel Elliot, James Gore King, Ellicott Evans, Samuel Longfellow, Edward Everett Hale, John Lowell, Francis James Child, George Martin Lane, John Brooks Felton, Charles Franklin Dunbar, Christopher C. Lang- dell, James Bradley Thayer, Elbridge Jefferson Cutler, Charles William Eliot, Adams Sherman Hill, Phillips Brooks, Charles Francis Adams, Jr., John Cod- man Ropes, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., and James Barr Ames. The early history of the society shoxvs that its interests were divided between social and literary pursuits ; but at pres- ent it exists purely as a social oroaniza~ tion. Its members are picked from the early tens of the Dickey, and the number of members chosen from each of the three upper classes is comparatively small. The club dines together once every five or six weeks. No student who is not a member can be introduced at the club rooms until three years after graduation; but outside persons may be introduced by members. This is the rule with the other clubs as well. A curious feature of clubs and club- life at Harvard is that, instead of having; several distinct rival organizations, with few exceptions each club is an inner cir- cle of another. Thus the Dickey, as has been stated, is an inner circle of the Institute of 1770, and the A//ha Delta P,~ the Zeta Psi, and Dc/ta P/il are inner circles of the 1)ickey. This sys- tern is carried still farther, and the A. D. club exists as the select inner circle of the A/f/ia Dc/ta P/i!, and the Force//ian as the select few from the Zeta Pd. The Zeta Psi and the Dc/ta P//i rank equally with the A/f/ia Delta P/i, in p0~)- ularity and numbers, and between thcm all there exists the closest relations of friendship. The P1 Eta Society has had a compar- atively short, but exceedingly varied ca- reer. It was instituted by the class of i866, with the intention of devoting it to literary and social purposes. The faculty allowed it to exist conditionally for one year; its lease of life being ex- tended annually until 1 86~, when perma- Watch-Cherm of the Phi Beta Kappa Society. Medal of the 0. K. Society, Seal of the Pi Eta Society. 94 CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT LIAR VARJ). INSTITUTE SONG. IN UNISON. Marching Time. Now we 11 eel - e - brate the prais - es of the fa - mous Ins - ti - tute; What so - 2 0 fa - moos are the din - ners of the glo-rious Ins - ti - tote, And the --.--~4, T~E - ~ -7- ci - e - ty can yen-tore her po - si - lion to dis-pute?. Shes the old - est of them el - o - qoence of her de - bates no mor - tal can re - fute, Then . . . . drink her down with t , , ,/ V all, and of the widest-spread re - puCe, So rah, rab, rah for the In - sti - lute, In - sti - tote I three times three, let no - bo - dy be mute, So rah, rah, rah for the In - sti - tote, In - sti - tote I (Custom has now done away with the words, the syllable in being sung instead.) nent organization was effected. For sev- eral years the society flourished, and at one time could claim the distinction of being a rival of the Hasty Pudding C7ub. When the latter society erected its club- house, however, the Ti Eta practically re- ceived its death blow, for in 1889 it was on the point of dissolution. A strong effort on the part of the 90 and 91 members, however, kept the society on Seal of the Alpha Delta Phi Society. its feet. While not claiming it~ for- mer popularity, it offers its members social opportunities, its chief event being its annual theatricals. The present sen- ior members are agitating the question of purchasing a building to be used as a club-house, and if this is done, its pop- ularity will undoubtedly increase. There is room enough in college for two strong rival senior societies, and in future years this may fill the long-felt want. The initiations to the Ti Eta are more secret than the Dickey, but are under- stood to be hardly less formidable. Sto- ries are told of long rides where the vtctim is blindfolded and taken to a lonely spot, there to play the part of a corpse until he really believes the coffin which encloses him has been deserted, and that his last hour has come. One man was blindfolded and made to run at the top of his speed between two mem- bers, who suddenly let go of him, as he went tumbling over an embankment. The more humorous forms of initiation consist of compelling the men to climb small saplings; to call on young ladies with members, and propose marriage; and other requirements which are also employed by the Dickey. Every mem- ber is compelled to go through some form of initiation where a bandanna hand- kerchief; an iron bar, and a stout rope are called into use. The victim is blind- folded with the handkerchief, and bound with the rope, holding the iron bar in both hands. Everything possible is done to make him drop the bar, such as pre- tending to throw him into a pond of water, etc. If he does drop it, he is disgraced. For many years the senior members of the Ti Eta society have given their CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT IJARVARD. Class Day spread in Massachusetts Hall, and this has always proved one of the most delightful events of the day. The P/il Be/a Kappa Society has a strong chapter at Harvard, but member- ship in it is valued more for the honor attending it than for any social advantage. A year ago the constitution was radically changed, so that high rank is not the only requisite for election. By the new regulation, the choice is allowed of those much influence in the college world. Among its members are some of the brightest and most respected men in the University. Of the other organizations for social purposes, reference should be made to the Polo Liub, which is composed of a men who deserve the honor, but have select fexv of the been prevented by sickness or other un- wealthiest men in avoidable circumstances from attaining college. the required rank; and, secondly, men Harvard is espe- may be rejected whose marks are good, cially rich in literary societies. The but whose abilities do not promise well Sig;zet Society was founded in 1870 by for the future. members of the class of 187 I, with The Delta Upsilon society is made up Mr. Charles Jo.~eph Bonaparte, a mem- of a quieter and more studious class of her of the present Board of Overseers, men than the other college societies. It as president. The membership was is one of a very few fraternities which small, and intended to include the rep- exist at Harvard, but it does not wield resentative men of the class, at least five 96 CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT IL4EVARD. members having to rank in the first half of their class. Essays and conversation took the place of orations and debate; and theatricals xvere strictly forbidden. The principal part of the initiation was made to consist of the presentation by HAsty PUDDING CLuB. My dear It gives Irle great pleasure to irlforrrl you of your election. You x~ill receive tYke privileges of the club Upop sigriir~g the copstitutiop arjd pay- ir~g to the Treasurer the ipitiatiop fee. You s~ill be ipitiated at the next reg- Ular dipper, xthep you dill be expected to Cambridge, 6~e$ /49~/SY/ Notification of Membership, Hasty Pudding Club. each member of what he considered his best literary production. It was originally intended to run the Si net Socie/j as a rival of the Hasty Piulding Club, but it was found that this was impossible, and the idea was given up. The men are now elected with no refer- ence whatever to other societies, the fact of their membership in others counting neither for nor against them. In 1872, the Signet gave the Class Breakfast in Massachusetts Hall, to the Faculty and members of the senior class on Class Day morning. This was done out of compliment to its pres- ident, who xvas the Class Day orator. The society emblem con- sists of a signet ring inclosing a nettle. These are supposed to signify unity and imparti- ality. The token of mem- bership is made up of these symbols with the words Signet, 1870 on a field of white satin, the whole framed in black. The colors are gold and black. As the Institute of I7~o is a feeder to the other social societies, so is the Sz~net the opening wedge to the smaller and more select junior liter- ary society, the 0. K. The formation of this society was due to the reaction, already referred to, against the Greek letter societies by the class of 1859. It was intended at first to form a temporary society, but its remarkable success induced its founders to make it permanent. The aim of the society has always been literary, and great pre- cautions have been taken to keep the social element from predominating. For this reason no club- rooms have ever been obtain- ed, the meetings taking place in the members rooms. For several years a strong rivalry existed between the 0. K. and the Hasty End- ding (Vub, during which the members of one society did not belong to the other. This was undoubtedly the result of the introduction of theatricals into the exercises of the former, as the animosity apparently died out xvhen these were given ill). The number of members has always been limited to sixteen men. Secretary. CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE AT I/AR VAR.!). 97 The Coilfirence Fran~ai~e and the Den/seizer Verein are two literary societies especially devoted, as their names indi- cate, to the study of French and German authors. The members include the best linguists in college, and at the meetings all conversation and business are conducted in the foreign tongue. At each meet- ing some one or two papers are read and discussed, and the rest of the evening is passed in social conversation. The initiations to these so- cieties afford much amusement to the members. The suc- cessful candidate is notified of his election, and the date is set for his formal introduction to the club. On that night all the members assemble, and after the regular meeting the president announces the pres- ence of several new members. They are called up singly or in groups, and are required to perform in French or German whatever the members demand. This usually consists of songs, anecdotes, and discussions. On one occasion, during the initiation of the nexv members to the ~onfirence Fran(aise, four men were required to join in debate in French on the merits and demerits of the McKinley Bill. One of the two men, to whom the affirmative part of the question was assigned, was known to be a bitter opponent of everything Republican, and there was considerable curious anticipation as to his remarks. The natural order of events was reversed, so as to bring the argument of this student last; and the two negative advocates began the debate, stating as much against the bill as their imaginations and familiarity with the French language would permit. The first speaker in the affirmative, however, had by this time become seriously con- fused, and the five minutes allotted to each speech was exhausted before he had made a single remark. His col- league was then called on to continue the argument for the affirmative, amid much laughter. He assumed a dignified position, and said in the choicest French, My colleague has said everything there is to be said in favor of the McKinley Bill. This sally was very enthusiastically received, and the speaker was told to re- sume his seat, while the other candidates were further subjected to the exacting demands of the members. College society life is not entirely an enjoyment of the present, but is a source of pleasure to old graduates, who delight to relate incidents of their college associa- tions. They follow all events relating to the college with a much keener interest, feeling that they still have a bond of sympathy greater than simply that of an alumnus, and they fondly train their sons to follow in their footsteps. There is undoubtedly ground for much of the criticism so freely bestowed on college societies. It is inevitable per- V The Porcellian Club-House, 98 AUNT MARTHYS SECRETARY. haps Lhat a society must contain some members who have never been kept from excesses at home, and naturally do not begin curbing themselves during their college course. These men often come from the wealthiest families in society, families of high standing, yet feel that their college life is to consist solely in frequenting their club-rooms and mingling socially with their fellow-students. The typical society man of Harvard, however, does not belong to this class. He is not the best scholar in his class perhaps, but he is a conscientious student. He is often seen at the club-rooms, and enters thoroughly into any kind of legitimate fun. He is not a drunkard; he is a gentleman and understands his position. He mingles with the other club members who belong to the class described, but has as little respect for them as has the college at large. The complete college education is that is it not ? derived from a wholesome combination of experience gained from contact with ones fellow-students, and the learning and culture obtained from the academic course. Every student ha~ an equal chance to take advantage of the latter, but the society man has the greatest opportunities in the former. It is cer- tainly well that college life should have its touch of humor and enjoyment, and it is the social organizations xvhich are the greatest factor in furnishing this. There is doubtless sometimes danger that stu- dents may go beyond what is gentlemanly or right in their fun, and there is room to advance society standards; but experi- ence has proved that the men who have devoted part of their time while at col- lege to the enjoyments of society life have not become the least serious and suc- cessful of the graduates of Fair Harvard. AUNT MARTHYS SECRETARY. By Mary j Ga;ia;zd. T was found in a storehouse of old things, the garret of a big mansion house in New ~ Hampshire, on one of the de serted farms talked about now, and recommended to seekers for summer homes. ~ This old mansion had never passed quite out of the hands of the Dunstane family xvho had for generations owned it. As a farm it was deserted enough; and its possibili- ties in crops slumbered the whole year through. All the long winter the house, too, shut its eyes, and drexv its coat of snow around it in solitude. But one day in the first week of June, when clambering vines seemed to be tug- ging at the barred front-door, and the sweeping elm-branches tapped at the closed blinds, the house suddenly threw off its sleep, and seemed by an inward impulse to fling wide its doors and win- dows to the outside world of sunshine and sweet air. The inward impulse was Jane Dixon, seconded by her husband, Thomas. They lived up the road a piece, and were now making the old house ready for its new summer dwellers, a remote branch of the original Dunstane stock, who were turning to the homestead as a refuge from the ghost of nervous prostration, which was dogging the footsteps of some of these rich poor of the city. Jane, with broom and pail, scrubbing- brush and soap, had made the paint show its best color, the sallow complexion of age at best, and Thomas had mar- shalled the ranks of heavy chairs and piled-up mahogany tables, and with strong arm polished them to a fine splendor and the dark ruddiness that mahogany old age attains. lane and Thomas had had written in- structions from one Joscphine Dunstane, AUNT MARTHYS SECRETARY about whom they curiously gossiped as they scrubbed and polished. Who be she, anyway, Jane? I never hearn of a Josephine in the Dunstane family. ~ You aint heerd all there is in the world, Thomas. But, br! this woman aint a Dunstane, more n her name, and none on em are blood relation, theyre so fur off; but theyll come here right into old Marthys shoes, tho everythin jests she left it, n wutll they know or keer about all the old things she sot her eyes by? They come to the country jest for fun n to pick scenery, as father uset say, n theyll make fun, s like s not, of Aunt Marthys preciousest treasure, thet old sekertary in the garret. Aunt Mar- thy, sez she, Give the key, Jane, to the one thet hes the most o the right sort o feelin mong the young folks, n tell her, Aunt Marthy, who never saw her, says theres a secret in the upper drawer. Id a mind to hey it buried with me, but then again Ive a fancy to let it help some young life. But mind, Jane, sez she, only give the key to some one with the right feelin. Jane, and Thomas rested a big rough hand on the claw-foot of the old table he was polishing, ~ howll you tell about the right feelin ? Cause Im a woman, Ill know when the right girl shows, Thomas. A man aint no jedge of feelins. Aunt Marthy trusted you with her bosses, and a pooty good jedge you are of bosses feelins, but twould take you more~ n into the middle of next centry to jedge of a woman~ s. But, Jane Never mind, father ! You n I pull along well nough; you tend to the table, n make it show its feelins. I promise ye I wont make no mistake bout that ere key. And Jane shook a small brass key that hung on a yellow ribbon, and then carefully dropped it into one of those secret pockets that adorned her petticoat, a puzzle even to herself sometimes. I wont be in no hurry, n if the right one aint here, well ! secrets thats kep a haif a centry 11 keep a year or so longer! and Jane tramped heavily out with her pail. A spinx ! thets wot Jane is chuckled the old man; n Aunt Marthy was another; looked like it, too, like thet picter of the Gyptian spinx I see n her book. Aunt Marthy, the last in direct line of the Dunstanes, had had no choice about the disposal of the old home or any of its belongings, save her own personal property, since by her fathers will a cousin of his became heir to everything else when her life interest ceased. Aunt Marthy had lived alone with Jane and Thomas for nearly twenty years, and shrinking more and more from a world that seemed to spin around entirely out- side her orbit, she sank deeper in her in- dividual past, never communicated with these distant relatives, who merely knew of her existence, and at seventy-five years of age made a solitary exit from a solitary life, . her maiden story known only to the sphinx-like Jane who had served her for so long a time. To Jane had come a small sum in the village bank, all wearing apparel, and the charge of the key. The money had bought the small cottage up the road, and the care of the big house, spring and fall, had brought her a small remittance from the heir at stated times; but not until now had there been any hint of see- ing or using the property. The warm June day was almost goner when Thomas drove three miles over the hills to the station for the city folks, and Jane gave the last touches to the chairs and curtains. Fulls a pea pod, she thought, as the big old family carriage came up the road, followed by a modern buggy from the station. Four inside our kerridge, n one out! The big man on the box with Thomas must be John Dunstane; he looks kind o flesh n blood like! The fat woman inside s Mis Dunstane, I guess; the young gal with hers homelys a stump fence, but her dress s plain n sensible, if she does look stuck up. Thet young feller on the seat with the small boys never growed; a tailor made him. Them young scamps 11 worry the chick- ens. Nother tailor-made man in the buggy n a gal to match, all frills n flum- mery. I wont wash them frills, n she neednt think I will ! 100 AUNT MARTIJYS SECRETARY. So Jane made her inventory, as the landing was effected on the broad stone step, and then curtsied in a way that made the small scamps giggle. The older woman xvalked straight into the wide hall, and sank down on a chair forlornly; the young woman of the frills, I know the right feelin one aready put glasses on her nose, and took in the near view from the step, saying with re- lief, There is a hammock place under those pine trees. The small scamps disappeared with a shout and double tumble on the grass; the tailor-made men lighted cigars, while the other bared his head, and putting his hand on the plain girls shoulder, said, Real country at last, Martha! And Martha, who stood with her hat in her hand, drew in a long breath of satisfaction, and quietly said, I like it ! Marthy Marthy! thought Jane. Queert shes got her name and she thought at once about the feelins. But she was soon too busy in helping the new people to choose and arrange their rooms, and in directing the prepa- ration of their substantial supper with her not over-young niece, Mirandy, as an assistant in the kitchen, to think of feelins. Only after she and Thomas had ~ trudged up the road and were sit- ting on the big do or-stone of their own cottage for Thomass evening pipe, did she say with energy, I n one Tho- side, a suspended puQ looked his a n d what too well would be the use- less question, Which? In a week the old I)unstane house looked wide awake, and Jane and Thomas found that from six in the morning to seven at night, they and Mirandy had to exercise as never before, to keep even with the whims o them city folks. But for the still evenings and nights at their own place, the faithful old bodies would have felt that they were catchin the narves that Mis Dunstane was throwin off. flosses has feelins, if they dont show em! grumbled Thomas, one night at his pipe service on the stone. Only one in thet crowdt the big house thet knows they hey tho; thet Miss Marthyll jump out o the kerridge at every bad hill, and 7 AUNT MARTHYS SECRETARY 101 shes dead set agin check-reins! No style to Marthy V Miss Julia said, when she let Jacks head down to-day, jests they was gittin on the bosses for a hoss- back ride. Wotd Marthy say? Oh she didnt say nothin ; she laughed and trotted Jack faster out o th yard. She aint any real relation o th Dunstanes, Jane, aint Marthy; shes a relation o this Mis Dunstane. I heerd her tell one o them young men to-day, and she was a Lakernan o Berkshire. Heres Miss Marthy, now, father How she swings long the road True enough; the girl xvas soon on the doorsteps, her hat caught off to let the breeze stir her brown hair, and no trace of the hard look sometimes on her mouth, as she chatted of horses and cows with Thomas, and questioned Jane xvith gentle courtesy about the bygone life of the old mansion. Strange, that I should have the same name, Martha Tryphemia, she said, as Jane ended her story of old Aunt Mar- thys lonely life. Is it, now? Tryphemy ! xval ! that is cur us! said Jane; n you no Dun- stane neither! Wish Aunt Marthy knexv that! Prhaps she do, Jane, said Thomas as he knocked his pipe-bowl empty. In the gathering twilight, Martha Mat- ton said good-night to the old folks, and they watched her swinging step till she waved her hat from the top of the bill between them and the old house. Wut be they a tryin to do wth that Miss Marthy, Jane, them Dunstanes? This was on the evening conference on the home stone. They nag her moren half the day, and thet feller is pesterin her with tentions, when all the time he thinks Miss Julias twice as fine. Miss Marthys colds our door-stun in Decem- ber, but I guess theres more fire down below. Father, thet girls just a martyr. Thets wut Miss Julia calls her name, its German, she says; n thets wut she is, a martyr, but wuts all about I cant make out. Hes she got money? Mebbe; n thets wut thet feller with the bang on his mouth I call it is arter. Taint her he wants, sures fate; n I guess she spicions it. Let- ters she gits dont seem t help her; she jest looked savage when I come on her stretched out in the door of the hay-barn this mornin readin so busy she didnt see me till I tumbled over her. Shes in some kind o fix, thets clear. Miss Julia, shes full o curosity about things in the garret; n shes got her eyes on Aunt Marthys old sekertary. Why, Jane, sez she, this mornin, its full a hundred year old, n sech beautiful wood, n carved by hand; its a per- fect treasure, n we must hey it in town. Then she tried to open it; n sez I, Miss Julia, thets mine till the right owner s found, n I hey the papers from Miss Marthy Dunstane, to show it. Oh, ho! sez she. Wut do you mean by the right owner, n howll you find the right owner? Thets my secret, sez I, n she turned n went down stairs, quite miffy. She wont give it up, n~ she wont git it neither. Wholl git it, Jane? Thets my secret, Thomas. Martha Matton aint a grain o feel- in, thets wut Miss Julia told the young man to-day, Jane, said Thomas, when they sat in council the next even- ing. Wuts her judgment got to stan on? sniffed Jane. I wuz a drivin up Barrerss Hill, and Miss Marthy jumped out to walk, when she see one o them Barrers children tumble off o the stun wall, and a big stun roll on top o its arm. Miss Julia screamed, and covered her eyes with her hands, but Miss Marthy hed the child in her arms in no time, and found thet there wuz a bone broke. Quicks a doctor could do it she triced it up with her handkercher, took the young un, twas that three-year old Jim, howlin like an Injun, and carried him to his mother, who xvuz runnin cross lots to see wuts the row. Then Miss Julia, whod ben cryin n takin on, sez to Mr. Primes, Marthy aint a grain o feelin; I could- nt never a done it, Im so sensitive 102 AUNT MARTIrIYS SECRETARY Sensitive fiddlestick! Wut else d Miss Martha do? She told us t come home thout her, n went cross lots herself t git thet young Dr. Pulswell from the Mills, t come n make sure all wuz right. Thomas, sez she, I know somethin wut to do in mergencies, but the doctor must see to the child. But she looked calm s a clock. N tells the time o day bettern most clocks. The l3arrers children are a tough lot, n th young unll be all right. They mostly grow on stun walls. Martha Mattons favorite haunt, as Jane had intimated, was the old barn in the orchard. Who with any country claims on his affections does not know the charms of such a place on a hot summer day? It may not be in an or- chard setting, as this one was, but it will have its wide doors at each end open to ~he air; it may be old or new, but its mows will be filled with the sweet hay, with long fringes, swinging low from the outer beams; it may or may not have stalls for the cattle, but it will not be at all re- lated to the modern stable. This barn was to Martha Matton an ideal bower. The great beams overhead were better than lattice-work; the fragrance of the hay was better than that of roses; the rakes and scythes hanging on the beams suggested pictures of the summer fields before they had yielded their fleece to the shearers, the white and rosy fleece of the clover and blossoming grasses. She had seen the mowers bend to their work in the old-fashioned way, and lis- tened to the rhythmic strokes of the scythes, better far than the machines. The big field, stretching away to a hill- side, she could see through one open door. It was now bare to the sunshine, and only ringing with the whirr of locusts and grasshoppers. From the other door, near which her seat of piled-up hay was placed, she saw the yet waving grass of the orchard under the apple- trees, which txvisted and stretched their old arms about, as if seeking for their younger days of full blossom and fruitage. They still covered themselves with leaves, and offered a shelter from the noonday heat, though allowing enough sun- shine to filter through, to change many a blade of grass from green to gold. This Barn was to Marsha Matton an ideal Bower AUA7T MAR ThYS SECRJETAA~Y. 1 OJ Martha, half reclining on her hay mound, with arms clasped over her head, watched the ladder of light made by a sunbeam slanting through the hay-loft window to the floor below; xvatched the hens as they stepped hesitatingly upon the threshold of the barn door, and lis- tened to their droning talk, which seemed assertive too. She recalled the question small Tommy Dunstane had asked that morning before he left her for more ac- tive pleasures: Cousin Martha, what d you spose the hens are thinking about? instantly answering his own question: I spose they think they re the people and we are the hens. Yes, thought Martha, they do put down their feet and cock their heads, as if they were the people, and wisdom would die with them. I wish they would advise me. Shall I make a slave of my- self for life, from a sense of gratitude? Uncle Norcross writes that I ought to reward Aunt Josephine and himself for their care of me by securing this fortune; and Percival Primes knows well enough what bait hangs at the end of the line they dangle. He doesnt want me ; and Julia longs for what I would gladly be free from. Such a puzzling checker- board my life is now If I had just a modest hundred or two of my own! Then I would pick up the dropped threads of my studies and make myself what I could take delight in being, a doctor. But I should horrify my rela- tions, and be forever a terrible example of undutifulness ! Dear me Jane was not to be found that night when Thomas turned his face homewards, nor did she appear till his first pipe had been smoked. But her old face was full of happy mystery when she did come in sight; and Thomas, knowing something had happened, was so excited that his empty pipe was in his mouth, when Jane, after all her knockings about inside were done, sat down with her half-knit woollen sock in hand for the days re- view. Wal, Jane Wal, Thomas, wut new fashion of smokin hey ye taken to? Is thet a city notion Im xvaitin fur ye to light your pipe, ii smoke it the nateral n not the speritooal way. Thomas, with a foolish look, pulled the old pipe out of his mouth, and made it ready for duty; but not till many whiffs of smoke had curled into the evening air, and many rounds had been been made by the shining needles, was there a sound save tbe twitter of home-returning birds, the call of a whippoorwill, and the disputing katydids. She did, she didnt; she did, she didnt ! How tired I be o them katies, at last said Jane; n they dont contradict each other moren folks do, only they make more noise bout it than fine folks do. Then there was another silent and vigorous ro.und of knitting. Father, at last Ive give thet key to Marthy Tryphemy Matton, n old Aunt Marthys glad in heaven, I do blieve. Ye see, she continued, twas this way. After the familyd gone off, s I thought, the hull lot on em, on thet two days scursion, I took the time to do some washin, some o them old tablecloths o Aunt Marthys. Mis Dunstane took sech a likin to em, theyre so old-fash- ioned! Sech a pother they make bout old things! shd think theyd want youn me t set up in their city house, cause xvere old! Wal! I laid out to wash them cloths n put em out in the back orchard to whiten. Jests I went into the orchard gate, I see a bit oMiss Marthys blue gown hangin over th sill o th barn door, n I wondered how shed managed to stay behind. I went, kind o soft, over to the bleachin ground, n I could see Miss Marthy framed like a picter in the doorway, settin on a hay mound. Her head was throwed back agin the side o the door. She had her arms over her head, an a letter was a layin in her lap, n her eyes seemed lookin inter next year. So I picked up my basket, n meant to git axvay thout her knowin any one was round; but thout movin a hair, Jane, she called out, are you very busy? No, sez I, I aint no call to kill myself in the nex half hour, guess Mirandy cn git along thout me. \Val, Jane, sez Miss Marthy, then I wish youd come here n let me talk to you. So I just settled down on tother side 104 AUNT MAR ThYS SECRETARY. o the barn door n well I xvish Id hed this sock o yourn in my pocket. I hed to pick up the grass, n braid it. Miss Marthy sot up straight on the hay, with her hands round her knees, n put her eyes on me, n I see for the first time wut good eyes they be, might be black or might be gray, cordin t inside weather, I guess. At last she sez, Jane, I cant remember my father, n my mother is jest like a dream to me, I was so young when she died. Aunt Josephine n Uncle Norcross, her brother, you know bed the care o me, n they hey given me food n clothin n schoolin, but they dont love me. I dont know anybody to advise me wut to do, now thet I hey to choose between txvo roads, n Jane, I do believe youre put in my way this mornin as a sort of guide-board. Wal, sez I, Miss Marthy, I aint much of a guide-board, but I cm make a sign, praps, if I know which way ye want to travel. Thets easy told, sez she, but wishes n wants n feelins aint alwers to be trusted. Then she told the hull story. Percival Primes, sez she, is a fur away cousin of Aunt Josephine, n his father wants him to marry me, because well, because he calls me a sensible girl. I happened to serve the old gentleman once, n hes made his sons inheritance depend on marryin me. He aint a good son, Jane, sez she, he aint a good man; he dont love anybody but himself, n his father wants to save him from himself. Aunt Josephine and Uncle Norcross want me out of the way, mar- ried n settled, so they want me to say Yes to him to-morroxv to-day, if Id gone. Howd you manage to stay to hum? sez I. Why, I kep out o the way, sez she; hid in the haymow for an hour. They called n hunted everywhere, but jest here; they didnt know of this bit o my property! I heard em say, Shes probly off doin some doctorin. N Jane, I do like doctorin; if I hed a bit o money all my own, Id study for it, n do some good in life. No one but Uncle Johnthets this Mr. Dunstane, 11 hear to it for a minute. Its a disgrace, Julia sez, n wut Julia sez is law to Aunt Josephine. I couldnt wait no longer. I riz straight up, n pulled up my gown; but if them pesky pockets didnt act contrairy, n I hed to make the hull mortal toxver on em, fore I found thet key. I guess she thought my wits wuz clean gone, but when Id got my fingers on the ribbin, I said, Spose I give ye a key instid of a A key to the sitooation? sez she. Yes a key to the sitooation I sez I, n I pulled out the brass key. Why, Jane ! sez she, its a real key; whatIl that do for me? Wal, Miss Marthy, t seems s if old Aunt Marthyd given me a story to tell ye, n this key goes with it; f Id got my knittin I could tell it better, but with the help o this ere grass Ill git through. A good while ago, I said to her, I bed a gal o my own bouts old as you, n she died. Twas after thet I come to Aunt Marthy, for Id lived tother side o the mounting, n I couldnt stay there, n Thomas couldnt, so jest afore old Peter Dunstane died, Aunt Marthy asked us shed known us alwers t come n live with her. One day, xvhen wed ben here bout ten years, Aunt Marthy wuz so sick t I thought shed die, n when she was gittin better, she sez to me one day, Jane, sez she, I blieve I kin trust ye, n fore I die I want to be o some use in the world. I xvant to bless it goin out of it, ef I hevnt xvhile Ive been in it. I wuz goin to tell her how her good quiet life hed alwers blessed people, but she stopped me. No, Jane, she sez, not bein bad may be bettern nothin, but I oughter been a positive active force, her very words, n Ive only been a negative one. Might a been different! she sighed. Only one mission for woman, father said, n thets a home mission. Ef a woman cn read n write n add, ts enough. Mother wuz alwers pale, 11 out o sperrits, n father said twas cause she tried when she wuz young to know too much. But she never told me anything about her life, cept as she told it by her silence. Stay with your father when Im gone, she said on her death-bed, n when hes gone yell be free to go somewhere n be somethin.~~ But when father died his will follered, n AUNT Ji/ARTHYS SECRETARY. 1o~ fettered me. I was tied to the place, with only nough money to keep it, n too old to make new ventures. Mong mothers things I found an old housewife thetd ben in her sekretary drawer moren fifty year. Txvas made o bits o silk put together like wut they call crazy patch- work. A wallet kind of a thing, bound round xvith green ribbin. Silk n ribbin looked like faded pressed flowers. In this housewife wuz ~ letter more yellern faded than the silk. Thet letter told me the story o mothers life, n ef Id known it sooner t might a made a difference in mine. Too late for me, said she but mebbe I cn help some young girl by it, n Im goin to make you guardeen. Jane. Youre a jedge o character, n I trust your common-sense. The old sekertary in my rooms got thet housewife in it, n I shll leave it in your care. Heres a bankbook thets to go with it. N then she told me the kind o girl she wanted to help. Mebbe the new Dunstanes thatil come herell hey mong em some young woman thet youll choose for me; but, anyway, Jane, you wont hurry, n youll make sure o the right one. Miss iViarthy stopped me. Jane, you dont know me yet; and, besides, Julia is a real Dunstane, and ought to be the one. sez I, Miss Marthy, Im the one to decide, n Ive made your lection sure, so thets the end o thet. Then out o my biggest pocket I took the bank- book, Village Bank, Siasville, made out to Marthy Tryphemy Dunstane, n put it /\ - ~ .- Pr~ The afternoon passed like a dream. 106 AUNT MARTIJYS SECRETARY in Miss Marthys lap open. She jest looked at it s if she wuz scared, n the red riz n her face clean up to her hair; her eyes filled; but she swallered hard, n after a minute she says: Two thou- sand dollars There must be some mis- take Can I honestly take it, Jane? Aint it Dunstane property? Wal, sez I, Miss Marthy, old Aunt Marthy didnt hey much of her own way while she lived, nor much of her own way anyhow, but she hed a fexv things that were hem n she hed a right to say who should hey em. If she hednt been honestern most, shed a hroke her fathers will in the beginning, lawyers said shed ought ter, n I said shed ought ter, for twas a crazy xvill, n I blieve Peter Dunstane was crazy fore he ever came inter the world. By this time Miss Marthy was smilin, n sez she, Jane, if its true its like a fairy story, n youre the fairy. Look more like a witch, I guess, sez I; hut heres the key to the old sekertary, n youll hey the house to yourself to-day, so you cn open it n hey plenty o time ter read wut you find. To Martha Matton, sitting on the gar- ret floor in front of the old secretary, reading the story of a young life nearly a century ago, the afternoon passed like a dream. Indeed, she had seemed walking in sleep, as she climbed the narrow stairs leading to the garret. The s~cretary stood conspicuous among other old things tall and slender, with twisted legs and carved top, its age revealed only in its style and its deep color. Martha sat down before it, musing on the secret it contained, as she twirled the key by its narrow yellow ribbon. One small win- dow was open to the breeze, and the sunshine lighted up the corner where the secretary stood. A wasp buzzed on the window pane; a sparrow sang on the elm outside; and to Martha Matton, on the floor, twirling the ribbon it seemed as if with that small key she was to open a new world. She paused before putting the key to the lock, as many a discoverer has paused, before testing the power of the clue he holds. At last she put the key in, turned it, and let down the top. Queer little pigeon-holes and three drawers. Over the smallest drawer hung another key, on a faded green ribbon. Everything was empty, save one pigeon- hole, in which were a wooden box of red wafers and a wooden sand-box, of a style unknown to Martha. Older people remember xvhen sealing-wax or the crisp wafer fastened the carefully folded letter; they recall the perforated sand shaker which dried the ink and raised the words of the bold penman into palpable black ridges dear to the touch of childhood. Martha took the key from its hook, and in the drawer which it opened she found the housewife which Aunt Marthy had described to Jane. Pinned to it was a folded paper addressed in a crab- bed hand, To the one I would help. Martha opened it, with the feeling that a gentle spirit was beside her, and she half audibly breathed her thanks, as she read: I who write this never saw you who read, but our souls must be related, and I greet you to-day. The sparrow sang again, and a silver aspen near the elm rustled so mysteriously that Martha looked up, almost expecting to find some one visibly beside her. I have a right to give you the savings of many years. It was easy to save here, easier than to spend, for my allowance was too large for dress in my quiet life. It was not large enough to do what I wished when younger, and when I had saved this I was old. Yes, I have a right to give you the means to make your life what it ought to be. Have I a right to give you my mothers secret? If it will help you, I have no right to withhold it. Through fifty years of marriage it lay treasured in her secretary, my mothers one private place. If she had shared it with me my life might have been different. If a woman lives in her fancies, without the balance of active duties in the line of her intellectual tastes, she becomes the feeble slave of circumstances. If feeling does not help our growth, and is not turned into service, it is false feeling. The letter in the housewife was written as a farewell to my mother by her lover, when he knew that she was to marry Peter Dunstane because her father would secure an estate by the marriage. A tiue AUNT MARTIJYS SECRETARY 1Q7 feeling would have strengthened her to break her bonds, to carry on the education she had begun, and to wait for the time when Timothy Deering had finished his studies and they could make their way in life together. Martha started, for Timothy Deering was the name of her own grandfather, her mothers father, whom she did not remember, but who had named her, his only grandchild, Martha Tryphemia, on his deathbed. The aspen rustled again. But children, obey your parents, had been the very bread of my mothers life, and whether it was in the Lord was a question never raised. XVhen the crisis came and her father ordered her to set her face, because of uncertain fortune, against her growth with him she loved, and take Peter Dunstane, with his money and his narrow views of life and of womans place in life, she obeyed; and she died, making believe she was happier in obey- ing than in loving. Poor mother! She let me live the same colorless, repressed life; she discouraged every desire of mine for greater independence, and I could not leave her alone at last in her feeble health to the wearing round of household duties and needless petty economies. My poor mother! We will now to- gether try to make amends by helping some fresh brave young soul that hesi- tates at the parting of two ways, to set her feet in that road which is narrow indeed, but ever climbing the heights. I give the secretary and the old house- wife with its contents into your hands, dear young struggler. Keep them as a sacred trust which the hands of two still living friends have put in your way, to help you in avoiding their mistakes. The aspen rustled and sighed again as Martha finished the letter. She dropped it in her lap, sat still on the floor, her chin resting on her hands, and tried to recall what her old nurse had told her about her Grandfather Deering. He was a minister, a fine old man. He must have been a handsome youth, and he was a great scholar. He did not marry till he was quite old, and then married an orphan who was working for an edu- cation and was his pupil in Latin. His own daughter was named Martha, but IViartha Lakeman, taking her mothers family name; and Martha Matton re- membered that she had often wished she had been given Lakeman instead of Try- phemia for her own middle name. How strange it all seemed! The old housewife lay in the open drawer. Mar- tha rose. The air of the attic, with its odors of dead herbs and yesterdays seemed oppressive. She took the house- wife, locked the secretary, her secretary, and hurried with the silk wallet to her own room, which Jane had told her was old Aunt Marthas summer room. Too small for Julia, Aunt Josephine had decided; and Martha had rejoiced that she found it so undesirable, for how cosy it was, and how airy too ! South and east the xvindows looked across the mead- ows to the wooded hillsides; and near the south one, where the big dainty cov- ered armchair stood, a great pine sang its song of the lost sea, and sent in the balsam of its breath for healing. The space between this window and the other on the same side had seemed bare, and Martha had filled it with a table for her books. Now a new thought struck her. I do believe the secretary would just fit in here, and so Jane was called. Of course I knew youd see where it blonged, Jane said, stood there, I guess, moren forty year, right in that spot. Thomas! Mirandy! Come quick, both o ye ! I want yer! Jest bring the sekertary down to its old place. Things come round, xvells people. Manys the time Ive seen Aunt Marthy settn tween them winders, writin t thet desk! Look out fr thet ere leg, Mi- randy! Thomas! dont bang the wall! There ! dont it look nateral? Jane looked on xvith pride, while Miss Martha praised the beauty of the car- ving, and Thomas and Mirandy grumbled a bit at the weight. Never could Martha forget that August afternoon spent in the old-fashioned bed- room. The windows were all open to the breeze that fluttered the muslin cur- tains at the windows and brought in the fragrance of the pine. The big easy chair took Martha, with the old house- 108 AUNT MAR THYS SE GRE TAR Y wife in her hands, to its comfortable depths, and the summer stillness was un- broken by a human voice. It was all so strange and story-book like, and in her wildest dreamings she had never seen herself in a story-book. She drew from the faded old wallet a letter, written on paper as yellow as the bit of yellow silk in the housewife, though once it had been as white as that had undoubtedly been. It was folded carefully, as the worn creases showed, and a fragment of the red wax seal still clung to the paper. The letter was dated August 2 8th, i8 . Again a strange coincidence; for this, too, was August, and the 2 8th. It was postmarked in a college town in Maine, and the handwriting was clear and firm, only the beginning looked blurred. Who should say what bad fallen on the line? Mv VERy DEAR TRvPHEMIA: Once more I xvrite to you, only once more; for beyond this would be a wrong to you and to my own con- science. I plead no longer for myself; I have stroggled, and, I hope, conquered the self which sai(1, I cannot anti will not give her up, for I know that she loves me, and turns from me only becaose she hears the voice of parental authority. It is true that I think you are wrong. You will think that my eyes are held from seeing the right way by my affections. Let me suffer this rather than appear to persuade you from the path of what you deem duty. But to obey a fathers Thou shalt when it means binding yourself to live a lie, when it bars the way to the growth of your mind and your soul, when it is to make of you a mere title- deed, this I cannot do without pleading with you for yourself. Such a command is not in the Lord, and therefore it is not right to obey it. I look forward, and see you, not only giving up that which has been the joy of life, but forced through your own act to serve the things which you must despise. I see your ideals fade and fall before tbe winds of derisive commonplace, and see you yielding obedience to the laws of a life you were made to accept through a mis- taken sense of duty. I implore you to reverence now in yourself the woman that would be, that may be, and accept not this yoke. It may be right for you to see me no more; but to kill your ideals no child has a Pobt to give such obedience, no father or mother has a right to command it. Obey your father, so far as I am in question, and I will believe that as you follow conscience you must so far be right; but oh! do not obey him to the lifelong loss of the spirit that must forever suffer if its grandest ideals are cast out. You will not make any human soul the better by a concession to grasping worldliness. It is difficult to keep back the bitter personal cry as I write, but I will not load your sorrow with my own. I would only bar the way, if I could with a flaming sword, that leads only to a wasteti, loveless life, and point to the higher law that for- bids the barter of ones spiritual dower for am mess of ~)ottage, whatever pious praise be written on the contract. In sad sincerity, and with prayer for your welfare, now and always. your friend, TInorHv DERRING. Prophecy fulfilled was written below the signature in a womans tremulous hand, with the date, August 28, i8 . The yellow sheet dropped from Martha Mattons fingers. She sat long, thinking; then folded the letter, replaced it in the old housewife, and returned it to the drawer where it had lain so long. Her bank book she put into another drawer, and turned the key of the old secretary upon her fortune and her oracle. A week later, Thomas took one day in his cart to the village station, a trunk and something else carefully boxed up, so odd in size and shape that a council of village loafers could not make out what it could be, though they sat on it by turns and in groups all the afternoon. The next morning Martha Matton walked the three miles from Janes cot- tage to the same station, alone, and when the express train stopped, she said good- by to one person only, the young doctor from Kebo Mills, who chanced to be there. No Dunstane was in sight. What Thomas called a cold strike, came upon the country that night. Jane called it ridiclous cold; cold nough to skin a dog! and at early evening banged the door against the premature chill and frost, and stirred the xvood-fire on the wide hearth in her kitchen. For her own use she would have no stove till winter reigned, and old bones cried out for heat. The pot-hooks and fire-dogs had served more than one generation in the Dunstane kitchen before the range was thought of. On each side of the chimney was a rocking-chair, black and comely in its antiquity, with a padded back and a plump, feather-cushion, gay with flowered chintz. Tallow dips, in shining brass candlesticks, had been taken down from a high shelf over the dresser, and stood on a round table with remarkable legs, spreading from one cen- tral pillar. Thomas, in his chair, basked in the heat and watched his pipe-smoke as it 109 AUNT MARTIzJYS SECRETARY. curled, or the chimney-smoke as it wrig- gled up the wide mouth that swallowed it at last. No use to interview Jane till the heel of her stocking was set up, and Thomas knew from long experience the time when silence was golden. At last Jane pushed her spectacles up till they raised the frill of her cap, settled back, slightly off the perpendicular, she never leaned, and began to knit, with the air of one whose work goes of itself. Still Thomas had cleared his throat sev- eral times, and yawned several more be- fore she spoke. Wut ye fidgetin fur, Thomas? I spose I aint no call now to keep back the sekal of the story, n Ill prophesy another; n two sekals more n most stories hey. Theyre a pooty mad lot o folks at the house to-night, Thomas, n they wont stay there much longer. Wutd they say to Miss Marthy when they come hack? Why she hed the first say, n tol the whole truth, bout the sekertary n bout the bankbook. Not bout the letters, thets her secret now. Miss Julia hed to look onhappy, n sod Mr. Primes; but theres sornethin atween them txvo; n~ the other tailor-made, Mr. Greenfold, hes goin away to-morrow wont never be Mis Dunstane s son- in-law, I guess Miss Marthy stood all their railins, n jest went ahead n got ready to go. Course she couldnt stay with them creeturs, n you know how tuckered out she wuz here last night. I aint made no mistake bout thet girls bility n true feelin Now shes free from the rest, Uncle John 11 find a way to give her his right hand when she needs it. Wuts she goin to do? Why, shes goin to study n fit herself for a doctor. Them new Dunstanes? Wal, theyll never be old Dunstanes here, I guess. They hate the old place, and say theyll shet it up. Miss Marthy heerd Mis Dunstane tell Miss Julia shed hey it sold. I know some one thetll buy. Uncle Johnll git a hint o who wants it from Miss Marthy, nt cant be sold thout Uncle John says so. Thomas, wouldnt it be a good place fur a doctor, n~ wouldnt it be a good thing, dont you imagine, for Dr. Pulsewell, with all his practice round here, in Siasville, n Pilot- ville, n Bondstown, t take a partner? Thats my opinion. Aunt Marthv? She object? Bless ye, a growin n a useful life, Jane, sez she, s wut every woman s well s every man, merried or single, should hey, minister or doctor, or anythin thet grows; but never stay still for half a centry, in a pigeon-hole, like mothers old housewife. By Captain Char/es King. [Illustrated chiefly from Photographs hy 5. L. Stein.] HAT grand lake exclaimed Sir Ed- win Arnold, when but a few days ago he paid his first visit to the western shore of Lake Michigan at Mil- waukee, and stand- ing on the bold bluffs overlooking the bay gazed out upon the dancing, glisten- ing waters. An inland, unsalted sea, it stretches to the horizon and beyond, the mirror of the summer skies, the sport of the wintry gales. Time was when only on its buoyant wave did the traveller reach the haven of this deep recess among the wooded shores. Now three lines of rail stretch southward to that other city ninety miles away, and in all the luxury of the palace car we wel- come the coming or speed the parting guest. Time was, half a century ago, when tourist, settler, or emigrant, one and all, embarked at Buffalo, and in such famous old side-wheel steamers as the James Madison or the Eniy5ire State made the nearly week-long voyage, touch- ing at the projecting piers of Dunkirk, Erie, Cleveland, the sandspit of San- dusky, the plain of Toledo, and the old half-French, half-American town of De- troit, twisted and turned through the mazes of the St. Clair flats, steamed forth court-House, Milwaukee. MILWAUKEE. AK/IL WA UKEE. 111 upon the broad and often restless bosom of Lake Huron, skirting the pine-covered points of Thunder Bay, calling with the mails and exchanging greeting with the hospitable soldiers under the heights of Michilimackinac, Gem of the Lakes then pushing southwestward picking the way amonh. those oddly named islands and headlands, those Frenchy titles which fresh-water salts could never learn, yet easily mastered; for long since the Isle aux Galets of the voyageur gave way on the government charts to Skilligallee of the sailor, and Seul Choix was metamor- phosed into Swishway. Then, southward bound, the glistening white prow split the pale green waters of Michigan, now per- haps turning blue black under the dis- tant windward shore and warning us to heave to for the night, and ride out the coming gale under the friendly lea of the Manitous. The names of point and headland, of channel and waterway far over on the the great lakes to the valley of the Father of Waters. In fleets the canoes of the Ojibbeway and Menomonee, and the bateaux of the voyageur once swarmed through these winding streams; but the Indian mothers shuddered as they told their big-eyed broods how one dread day the breath of the Great Spirit lashed into scud and spray the broad channel at the entrance, and, in sudden wrath, over- whelmed the war fleet of their fathers and strewed the stony beach with the corpses of their braves. Deaths Door the mariner calls it yet. Butte des Morts the missionaries named the point where the winding Fox turns eastward for its final stretch to Lake Winnebago. Many and many a gale did those old-time steamers weather under the lee of the Manitous, and many are the bleaching spars and ribs of the stranded wrecks along their foaming beach to-day. Once away from the Manitous, with the light at Sleeping Bear just abeam, a straight course over the trackless waters, landless as mid-ocean, south by west, magnetic, would land the traveller at the mouth of the muddy, turbid stream, oozing from the swampy hummocks about that The long sweep of seedy shore to the south. western side, tell of Indian tragedy in the years long gone by. Deep down into the heart of the Guisconsin is thrust an arm of the inland sea; and this, with the chain of placid lakes and rivers, formed the favorite route of the trapper, the trader, and the troops journeying from Pottawotomie town Chicago; and scores of huge propellers, barges, whole flotillas, freight laden, steer that course to-day, and return loaded to the guards with grain. Not so the steamers of half a century a go. All south at the head of the lake was flat, stale, though, as it 112 MILWAUKEE. turned out, by no means unprofitable. many a point within those limits, there is All over to the west on the Wisconsin almost universal belief that the German shore was bold, beautiful, undulated, language is our only medium of vocal forest-crowned. Here and there little communication; that beer and pretzels creeks came rippling through rifts in the are the staple products; that the bier bluffs and over the sands, to pour their stube is our house of worship, Gain- tribute into the lap of old Michigan, brinus our God, and Blatz, Pabst, or old Illini they used to call it but only Schlitz, his prophet. More especially is at one point along the shore line of two hundred and fifty miles was there a stream that could be justly called a river. Mahnawauk Seepe said the Winnebagos and Menomonees, when asked its name; and Mahnawauk meant the grand council grounds, Mahnawauk became Milwaukee; Milwaukee, built about the intersection of three lovely winding streams all uniting to form a navigable river, was for years a port no steamer passed without a linger- ing call. Milwaukee gained in grace and beauty what her bustling sister at the head of the lake gained in wealth and power. And yet on the great chain of lakes no city is so little understood, so little known in the very communities from whence sprang her pioneers. If there be one thing that more than another vexes the spirit of the travelling Milwaukeean, the old settler, as he is termed to-day, it is to find that east of Buffalo and south of St. Louis, and at this the case, we sometimes think, about the very Cradle of Liberty, and in the heart of the very group from which we drew the breath and inspiration of the early day in the northwest glorious New England. It is to controvert this theory, among other things, that these pages are written. If you would see and judge for your- selves, I should like to have you ap- proach our western city of homes as in the busy and bustling forties all comers were landed at our door; to wit, by sea We are proud of our railways, proud of the great and commodious stations the rival companies have built within our gates; but, coming in by rail, you are hemmed between long parallels of brown freight-cars or rushing express trains. You see nothing of the beauties of Mil- waukee beyond fleeting glimpses of its bay. Let me, therefore, bring you hither to see it as I saw the fair city one balmy Up the River nearly two miles from the Lake. MIL WA UKEE. 113 morning in early summer of the year just gone by, tra- versing the very route we took in ~ Then, storm- bound, the old Empire State had taken refuge under the sand dunes at Grand Haven, eighty-five miles across the raging water, and only ven- tured out when the winds were stilled, Then it was late in the autumn and the woods were aflame. Last year it was early June; the leaves were emerald, the translucent sea had not a ripple on its hroad expanse. The great white steamer lay at the railway dock, all her gleaming lights reflected in the deep, her prow turned to the star-twinkling xvest, the gilded spear at her stem pointing to the crescent nioon just sinking below the wave. We had whirled across Michigan on the View o~ Grand Avenue and Ninth Street, looking Went, Residence of 0. M. Benjamin. steamboat express. We were tired of clatter and rush and roar, and were glad to seek the cool, white staterooms of the Ci/j of Afliwaukce. In ten minutes, without strain or sound save the plash of the waters along our load line, we were standing steadily out to sea, the spires of the sleeping city fourscore miles ahead. Let us, too, enter by this the eastern gate. So disciplined, orderly, and silent is every one aboard, that it is possible for the voyager to retire at once and, un- disturbed by sound of voice or footfall, MIL WA UKEE. 114 drop off to sleep before the harbor lights noiseless way. From the huge paddle- are passed, and know no more until boxes there comes the dull, muffled sound called in the morning far up the Milwau- of churning waters; from beneath our kee River. But what one gains in rest, perch the musical plash of foaming wave, he loses in scenery. Come with me to tossed aside by the swelling lines of our the upper deck at five, and you will only hull. In front of our prow, sharp as it pity the sluggard who remains below, is, there jets into air and falls in ceaseless First, like the flre~wor5hippers, we look shower a little fount of snowy spray. rearward eastward where our foam- Pale green, pellucid, every ripple tinged ing wake and the great rollers tossed with rose, every foam-crest edged with by our heavy wheels are all tinged with pink, the deep waters sweep silently by. crimson and rose and gold. The orient We are rapidly nearing the Wisconsin is all one blaze of color. Every cloud shore, but it is still hidden, bride-like, in the radiant heavens, every wisp of behind that soft, intangible veil. Stroll- vapor floating above the cool, green irig forward we take our stand at the waters, blushes under the caressing touch edge of the upper deck. Far astern the of the rising day god. The black smoke red gold disc is every moment climbing from our tall chimneys floats away astern, higher and triumphing over the vanish- blending, far to the rear, with the fleecy ing mists. Far ahead the wisps of cloud mist. Around us the decks and stan- float like pallid ghosts upon the surface. chions and spars are wet with the con- No breath of air is astir to aid the sun densing vapor. In front, under the gilded god in his work. We glide steadily, dome of the pilot-hOu5e~ stands our Pali- silently on through yielding banks that nurus, mute and vigilant, his sinewy hands seem to vanish as we draw nigh, yet are grasping the wheel, the dim light still ever present at our front and flanks. burning at the binnacle before him,~hi5 And now the skies are blushing far be- eyes piercing the filmy veil ahead, and yond the zenith. The thin fog-wreaths guiding us unerringly on our smooth and bow to some magic influence and are The Milwaukee Club. JILL WA UKEJZ. lifi John Mitchells Residence. melting from our view. The waters still the eastward windows throwing back the yield their faint, white breath, but, slanting sunshine like so many gleaming farther aloft, the sunbeams pierce and mirrors. Northward, bold and pre- rout their filmy foes. Do not speak to cipitous, the wooded bluffs begin to the man at the wheel is the rule the peer through the veil. Southward, a world over; but, without speaking, the long, low, forest-covered point sets far man at the wheel is summoning you. out to sea. Already we are well within He nods expressively towards some object the headlands of our deep and spacious far to our front and a little to the right bay. Huge elevators loom up on the of our course. Shooting high aloft, lowlands just in front. The glistening through the eddying mists of the morn- cross flashes from the twin spires of the ing, a tall slender shaft all agleam with Polish Church, that towers among the rose color and gold rises against the frame structures of the southwestern part western sky, surmounted by what seems of the town. The graceful, semicircular to be a dazzling jewelled crown. It is sweep of sodded terrace rises gradually the landmark of our beautiful city the from the lake level in front to the com- first object the mariners eye can reach manding point at the north, its crest as he nears the western shore. Fair and graced with statuary and bordered by slender and graceful it is, perched almost rows of shade trees, through which are at the edge of our highest bluff. It is peeping, here and there and everywhere, the stand-pipe of the waterworks, and the beautiful and artistic homesteads the glistening, gilded object rising through along the bluff, the massive proportions the mists a little further south is the of the railway station at the very edge of statue of Justice high above the Court the waters, the harbor entrance with its House dome. And now, here and there, spider-legged light tower and lofty trestle, other towers and spires begin to gleam the sharp outlines of mast and rigging and sparkle in the sunshine. Faint and among the shipyards at our left front, dim, as though rising from some mirage, the long sweep of sandy shore to the the outlines of great buildings appear, all south, and then the great flame-belching- 116 JILL WA UKEE. smoke-breathing chimneys and furnaces of the rolling-mills. We are gliding steadily on towards that narrow slit in the strand, bordered by long, black crib- work. Already the sparkling green of the deep waters is changing to the duller hue of the tide from the burdened river. The morning sunshine has triumphed over the dark vapors of the night. All nature smiles and thrills in the reviving, genial warmth; and Mil- waukee, once the great council grounds of Sac and Fox, Winne- bago, and Menomonee, now twenty square miles of home and civiliza- tion, lies outspread before us. On within the piers we ride. Slowly we round the bend and paddle between long lines of lake craft moored at the docks of great elevators or crowded warehouses. Sturdily our helmsman responds to the low-voiced orders of the captain from his perch above the pilot-house. The big bridges swing to let us through. The lone policeman at the draw gives friendly nod to the deck. hands standing by with ready hawser. The long vistas of the streets are silent and deserted, for the ca- rillon of St. Johns has not yet clanged the summons to be up and doing.. Bong-g-g goes the deep-toned, muffled bell far down in the engine - room. The huge wheels cease their revolution anti allis silence. Bong-g, bong-g-g! Again the waters are troubled, and, swirling, eddy- ing, foaming, they come rushing forward under our prow as the reversed paddles check our onward way and our good ship slowly, majestically, floats alongside the dock; the hawsers are made fast; the landing stage run out; and we are brought to the very junction of the streams. This, the broader of the two,. fringed by high brick structures east. and west, is old Mannawauk, modern- ized Milwaukee. This that winds its. eastward way between long lanes of brown freight-houses and distant, tower- ing elevators, whose wharves are ever occupied by the biggest craft that sail or steam the western waters, is the Menomonee; still bearing unchanged. North Point Water-Tower and Park. National Soldiers Home. A/IL WA UKEE. 117 the name its Indian paddlers gave it when it came winding hither to the con- fluence through a whole township of wild rice, the home of teal and brant, of wild swan, and the clamorous wawa. Now one vast level of lumber, coal, and freight yards; its miles of hank bordered by mammoth plants of tannery and packing-house, manufactories of furni- ture, sash and blind, tinware, marble and granite, bricks and beer; its farther windings marked by block upon block of along between massive walls of stone and plate glass, for this is the heart of the business section, the banks, the cham- ber of commerce, the great insurance building whose foundations rival those of ancient Rome. We turn again and bowl over noiseless block pavement be- side parallel tracks, along whose glistening rails the electric cars are already begin- ning their daily whiz. The thoroughfare is broad and roomy. A backward glance shows it dipping into the valley of the View on the Milweukee River. car-shops and round-houses and corn- Milwaukee, still bordered by high edifices manded by terraced, wooded bluffs, from of brick and stone. Ahead the sunshine whose undulations and winding roadways is bathing the lofty topmost story of the peep the pretty homes of scores of citi- new hotel, and flashing from the gilded zens. But I shall not take you thither tips of the flagstaffs on three of the now. Westward the star of empire great retail stores of the metropolis. No takes its way, but eastward, for the time time for them now. They will open later. being, the waiting carriage bears us. It So will your eyes, if you have believed is too late for sleep; too early for break- of Milwaukee only what rumor and the fast, but just right for the lake front and newspaper paragraphers have had to say. Milwaukees glory. This is Wisconsin Street, the main east- Swiftly we are borne on the solid iron ward artery of the East Side; and Mil- bridge to the farther shore, and spin waukee, you must remember, has more 118 MIL WA UKEE. sides than most stories. Opposite the great hotel is the modest red brick home of the Milwaukee Club, the pioneer or- ganization of its kind in our midst. Across the street are big blocks of brick and older relics of frame; but both are doomed to disappear and give place to the new custom-house and post-office, the new government building which will cover the entire square and quadruple, at least, in size the three-story edifice we thought so much of in the days before the War. Further eastward, fine apart- ment buildings line the thoroughfare; then some old-fashioned homes and shell whose days are numbered; then the massive pile of the railway station at the lake front. But here we turn sharply northward and go winding smoothly up a gentle ascent. To our right, the green- Mallards coming in to roost. FROM A PAINTING BY C. 0. KERT. OWNED BY HOWARD F. BORWOETH. li/IL U/A UKEE. 119 carpeted undulations of the bluffs. Be- yond them, the blue-green billows of that matchless bay. Higher and higher we drive. Broader grows the park. Again we turn eastward, spinning by the stone effigy of our pioneer Old Solomo, as the Winnebagoes called Juneau, whose log hut stood alone upon the river bank not so many a year ago but that many a as we turn into prospect Avenue, past sparkling fountain, Past terraced lawns and blooming beds of color and fra- grance, past broad, shaded grounds un- guarded by fence or wall, past tennis- courts and tented field and hammocks hanging in the shade, and here and there and everywhere, bright vistas of those sparkling waters stretchinb far to the Layton Art Gallery. man who sought its shelter still lives to orient, where they seem to blend with the tell of the simple, warm-hearted hospi- blue of the soft summer sky. Eastward tality of its genial owner, again we turn, crossing high over the Northward again, and, high above the railway tracks that burrow through the far-spreading waters, we are rolling along grassy blufg and on we go to the very the verge of those terraced slopes we edge of the old North Point to Wood- sighted from the distant offing nearly an land Court, where New England enter- hour agone. Where are mist and fog prise has studded the height with pretty wreath now? In undimmed radiance, homes; and here we leave our carriage the glad June sunshine pours upon the for the moment and stroll out upon the welcoming sod, upon budding, bios- verge. soming shruh and plant, xvhere the robins There to the east lies old Michigan. are darting and the bluebirds flashing Here, far below our feet and dancing from tree to tree; upon stately elm and away under the touch of the rising sprightly maple. Juneau, pioneer of breeze, the gleaming, emerald waters of Mahuawauk, looks down the long vista the bay. To our right the graded slope, of one beautiful thoroughfare, overarched the long, semicircular sweep of terraced like a long, leafy bower. Leif Ericcson, bluff, crowned with elegant homes, the daring Norse explorer, towers in grace- gradual descent in the middle distance ful pose at the head of the next. We to the lower level of the town, the harbor whirl past many a beautiful homestead entrance and the great range of ship and bordering our smooth and noiseless way lumber-yards beyond, the far away fur- 120 MIL WA UKEE. naces and flames and smoke clouds at Bay View, the long, low, wooded point fading to a narrow fringe of foliage at the southeast, the white glimmer of sail, the distant trail of smoke from coming steamer, the glinting crosses and spires in the southwestern suburbs four long miles away. Here lies the bay so many travellers proclaim like that of Naples. Here is the lake front. Yonder the dim regions of the southern and southwestern outskirts. But you have seen only the edge of Milwaukee. Again the carriage. Again the rapid, exhilarating motion. Again to the north, until we pause an instant to gaze aloft at the tall, slender, graceful shaft we saw from so far out at sea. Then westward ho ! Back to the valley of Mahna- wauk Seepe bowling along high above its broadest reach on iron viaduct and noting where, winding from the north, it is lost between its beautiful forest- fringed banks. Westward still, climbing, climbing, past railway shops and tracks half way up the slope, and at last on the curving road overlooking the river valley we alight and stroll up a steep path to the north and finally reach the level summit of a commanding heights, the loftiest within our limits; and here on the edge of the citys great reservoir we stand, and, east, west, north, and south, whichever way we look, Milwaukee lies before us. East- ward across the river and above the cut-stone dam, the avenue bears away One of Milwaukees New Hotels. MIL kFA UKEE. 121 A Bit of River Scenery. straight to the lake bluff, straight to the the once laggard stream. The pure green point where the tall standpipe is planted waters of the lake are forced by main- on the crest. There the city is but moth turbines through this stone conduit, thinly settled, and all along the broad and you can see them as, swirling and drive and roadways near the lake and eddying in cool, foam-crested little bil- above the avenue are the great buildings lows, they sweep aside the dull brown of some of our local charities; Saint current of lazy Mahnawauk and, giving Marys Hospital, the orphan asylums, and their impetus at last to his languid flow, the Industrial Home. The railway that the rejuvenated river sweeps onward past has gradually climbed the bluffs from the great tanneries, planing and flour mills handsome station at the edge of the bay huddled under its steep banks, under now whisks suddenly away from the shore bridge after bridge traversed by swift- and, darting through its deep cut, emerges running electric cars, past long rows of in a shallow depression, where we boys business blocks, warehouses, even retail among the old settlers stalked the hoarse stores, to whose very doors the great lake lunged bullfrog in the early days. Still on craft are floated and discharge their car- the up grade, the railway curves again to goes. On through the heart of the town, the north and on its high embankment past the docks where the long passenger skirts the river as it did the lake. For steamers are moored, and then, bending several miles the general course of the eastward again, past elevator, warehouse, Milwaukee is parallel with the shores of bridge and ship-yard, out once more into Michigan, and, just there below the dam, the welcoming waters of old Michigan. at the foot of that high, terraced bluff, a Looking northward from our perch, the tunnel has been bored from the bay to new streets are bordered by neat frame 122 JILL WA UKEE. cottages, for this is a section of the city only lately settled. Then the blue rib- bon of the river can be seen winding away between its leafy banks. Boat- houses, summer car- dens, latticed arbors are peeping from every point and cove. Pretty summer homes, high above the waters, deck the western banks. The newly-planned city park, like Philadel- phias preserves along the upper Schuylkill, already controls the St Pauls Episcopal Church. other. Lovely is the sail any moonlit evening up the shad- owy stream, all alive with merry boating parties, all a-twinkle with myriad lights from steam- er, skiff, and shore. Half an hours swift run on the launches lands you among the groves at Lueddemans, or in the deep, cool recess of Pleas- ant Valley famous places to take children or to take your beer, or even, when in Deutsch- land doing as the Deutschland- ers do, taking both. Farther east, close along the bluffs that overhang the wave, runs the lake-shore drive in four smooth parallel tracks where the trotters and light wagons are seen to best advantage flashing be- tween the road resorts from the tollgate to the Ultima Thule of Whitefish Bay. Here from the crowded decks of the steamer at the wharf, from the thronging trains of the Lake Shore road or the equally popular dummy line, and from bus or buggy, cab, carriage, or chariotee, innumerable Milwaukeans of both sexes and all ages gather by the thousands in the afternoons and evenings, listen to the music of the band, stroll along the broad verandas of the pavilion or among the winding, shaded walks for whispering lovers made ; sip creams and ices on the upper bal- conies; dance by the hour on the covered plat- forms; indulge in beer and skit- tles ad lilitum in the resounding alleys, or dreani away in the placid and precious companionship of the cigar whole hours watching the play of the moonbeams on the dancing waters. Farther north- ward still, over The Plankinton Residence, MIL WA UKEE. 123 The Milwaukee River. Emmanuel Church. among the bends and silent overshadowed find these cosey nooks. The rapids and reaches of the upper Milwaukee, are rocks at Humboldt, where once our scenes of peaceful beauty the average paper mills were standing, and where now citizen knows nothing of. great cement works border the river for The driveways here are half a. mile, cut off all navigation from distant from the below, but above the farther shoals at stream, and only Lindwurms where the waters ripples over afoot or in the great beds of smooth and solid rock, and saddle can one where one can wade from bank to bank 124 MIL WA UKEE. without finding depth beyond the knee, the river winds broad and deep and silent again, and this is the paradise of picnic parties who do not mind a mile or so of tramping. Here, too, are shaded bridle paths that tempt the lover of nature, but, being too narrow for two equestrians, suit other lovers not ~o well. And these are regions little known in our busy and bustling community. With a population of two hundred and twenty- five thousand there are not twenty-five who regularly or even frequently ride. Bicycle, tricycle, street-car, and that sort of riding is done, of course, by every- body, but horseback riding is less prac- tised in the metropolis of Wisconsin than in any city, big or little, that I have ever known. Looking westward and northwestward Schandein Residence. chicago, Miiwaukee, and St. Paul Union Depot. MIL WA UKEE. 125 over the intervening mazes of streets com- mercial, streets mercantile, streets manu- facturing, and streets domestic, the ground dips into the broad valley of the Meno- monee, and there, four miles away on its southern bank, is still another cluster; here the Falk, Jung & Borchert firnii from our height, and, far to the fringing woods, stretches the city, an undulating perspective of frame houses, cottages, gardens, groves, with here and there a structure of solid brick or stone to break the monotony, with church spires rising every few squares, with the great brick cylinder of the West Side water-tower standing in bold relief a mile away. Well over to the northwest are other heights croxvned with frame home- steads, and along that ridge runs the northern city-limit line. Westward the eye roams to the green wood bordering the curves of the Menomo nees. Southwestward, ah there the view is broken in the middle distance by immense blocks of brick and wood grouped together, banded by light iron bridges thrown at dizzy height across the streets; and these are the malt-houses, the brewing houses of the greatest lager beer plants in the West, --- one of them has not its equal in the world. Blot- ting out so great a slice of scenery, the big group of buildings over a mile away upon the rising ground to the southwest is the main plant~ of the Pabst Company It has an- other, a branch, far down below the Menomonee on the South Side. It has offices, agencies, storehouses all over America, and in not a few places outside. It manufactures and ships more lager than any brewery in Christendom. Two years ago it was rivalled in St. Louis, but now that one competitor is left far behind. It would be hard to number the times the, public-spirited and open-handed head of the firm has contributed to aid in every good and generous work. Trinity Church. Nearer at hand, among the great mill and factory buildings on the west bank manufactures and ships its particular of the river, half way up the heights, is brand of Milwaukees renowned product; another big brewery, the Schlitzs Corn- while, out to the west, beyond the rise panys. Over on the east side of the where stands that immense smoke-stack river, yet lying west of south from our of the Pabst Company, there can be seen high perch, such is the winding course almost at the western horizon the belch- of the stream, is still another huge stack ing chimneys of still another brewery half of buildings and chimneys covering two way down the hillside to the winding blocks at least; that is the Blatz Coin- Menomonee shore that is Millers. panys, one of the oldest in the country Then we have Gettelmans, a new claim- ~mnd one of the best in America. Far out ant for public favor and already a strong MJL WA ULTEE. 126 Residences of James E. Patton and G. P. Miller. one; the Obermann, the Cream City; St. Johns, the brown dome of the court and, so large are the interests involved, house, beyond those huge wooden eleva- so constant are the demands upon them, tors stacked high with winter wheat still that all these rival companies are banded waiting shipment to the east, and there together under the name of the Brewers in the low ground beyond the fringe of Association. masts and smoke-stacks, covering space When contributions are needed for any equal to a dozen squares, are the great object under the sun in the city of Mil- iron works of the B. P. Allis Company, waukee, the first people counted on are where employment is given all the year the brewers. We owe them far more around to at least two thousand men; than the New Englander would at first, where engines of every kind and descrip- perhaps, be ready to concede. It is a tion, from the mammoth pumping ma- fact, however, that the public records of chine down to a pony-power pocket edi- the cities of the United States bear me tion, are being turned out fast as an en- out in saying that in proportion to terprising firm can make them. One of population there is much less drunken- the feathers in Milwaukees cap is the ness, much less crime here than in any fact that not only have New York and of the great communities. People of all Albany, Chicago and Minneapolis come classes drink honest beer, as they do in to us for their big engines, but even Bos- Germany and Austria, and leave spirits ton and Providence. Then, west of these alone. thronging hives of home industry, out in But though the manufacture of beer is the once marshy valley of the Meno- one of the great sources of Milwaukees monee, in the great packing-houses and growth and prosperity, it is by no means lumber yards, in the great shops of our the only one. Look far to the south, fol- greatest railway, down here between the lowing the windings of the river, beyond bordering heights on the north and the those graceful church towers, St. Pauls graded slopes on the southern side, many and immanuel, past the spire of the thousand men are busily employed, men Cathedral, the clock tower and eagles of whose little homes are clustering all MIL WA UKEE. 127 along the peaceful streets of the outlying wards; for in no city in America, per- haps in the world, are so many lots owned by the occupants. We have no swarming tenement-houses, those centres of crime and disease that mar the great cities of the East. Milwaukee is em- phatically a home city, and therein lies additional explanation of her peace and good order. Another thing in her favor. All these great manufacturing establishments ex- cept the breweries, which must have their vault and cellar-room, are on the low grounds skirting the river. The smoke from their chimneys floats westward when the wind is from the lake, or out through this broad natural groove to sea. Over the breezy heights whereon are placed the residence section, our skies are un- dimmed by sooty clouds. Yonder towards the lake front lies one section, that through which we drove; but westward and south- westward lies still another, of ten times the acreage of that through which we passed, and, in the eyes of those at least who there have built their nests, more beautiful. Following Grand Avenue to the westward heights, where stand those tall spires, we come to the broad espla- nade of Washington Place. Here is the statue of the Father of his Country in martial cloak and Continental uniform, and here and beyond on the two mile stretch to the west are the costliest and most elaborate of our homesteads; some of them with their lawns and conserva- tories, their miniature lakes and winding drive-ways covering entire squares and all of them representing the fruits of in- dustry and enterprise, for they are the homes of men, every penny of whose fortune was made in Milwaukee. Parallel with Grand Avenue are other broad and shaded streets bordered on both sides with homesteads less preten- tious and ornate, perhaps, but of grace- ful style and cosey, even commodious interior. Here and there dart the swift electric cars. Rapid transit is a problem that has but recently been solved with us; but now one can go from the heart of the business section of the city to the outlying districts in half Pucks forty hallway in G. P. Millers House. 128 MIL U/A UKEE. minutes. All the beautiful newly-graded suburbs to the north between the river and the lake front are to-day within easy range of the court-house, the banks, and the big retail stores. As to population, we are indeed some- what European. The southwestern sec- tion of the city is given over almost en- tirely to Poland, and a large colony of Chimney-piece in T. A. Chapmans Store, that hard-working and frugal nationality is planted close to the river bank in the uppermost ward of the East Side. Twenty thousand strong were these hardy people a year ago, and already they are thor- oughly at home, many of them owning their little cottages, and some, of the most lucrative and important of the municipal offices being graced by their distinguished if somewhat difficult names. The Pole is a power in local politics, as every would-be officeholder knows, and here as elsewhere the longest pole hut that is a Southern, not a New England allegory. We have our Sobieski and Pulaski streets, our Kosciusko Guard, stalwart soldiers they are, too, whose appearance under arms would rejoice the heart of a lVlassachusetts or Connecticut inspector, but whose muster-roll would dazzle his eyes and baffle his powers of speech. We have our Kuryer Poiski, which is the official organ of these sturdy descendants of Warsaws last champion, and many of them can read it, though xvhen their children go to school is a mystery to him whose work - shop windows overlook the backyards and intervening alley-ways in one of our pleasantest residence blocks, and who sees squad after squad of tiny scaven- gers, from early morn till dewy eve, scouring the pre- mises, raking over the ash- heaps and garbage-barrels, sometimes even raking off such items as have incau- tiously been left too near the fence. As for Germany, there is no part of the city it has not reached. Baden and Bava- ria, Hesse and Hanover, Prussia, Pomerania and Wurtemburg, all are here, and here to stay. Nearly one hundred thousand strong in 8~ was the contingent born in or descended from the lands of the Rhine, the Elber, the Oder and the Weser. They began coming by squads early in the fifties and by battalions later. In 85 our population was less than r6o,ooo. Now, with a total of 25,000, it is not an over estimate to say that much more than half are Ger- mans. A very pessimistic paper in Chicago found much comfort during a brief and meteoric career in frequent paradings in its pages of the names of the city fathers of Milwaukee. German and Polish certainly predominated. At MIL WA UKEE. 129 one time, in fact, within the past three years, there were not half a dozen Amer- icans on the list. But they did their duty, these others, without the hope of fee or reward; in a manner Chicagos people would have been only too glad to have had theirs imitate. Squabbles have been rare, and scandal, rarer, and except Colonel Fred Pabsts Residence. T. A. Chapmans Store. 130 MiLWAUKEE. A New Mitwaukee Office Building. MIL WA UKEE. 131 tor a few Anarchists and ultra Socialists, who were tolerated in their midst, more law-abiding and home-loving citizens, more honest and reliable public officials than these Germans are rarely to be found in any community. New England sees so little of them, that New England- ers can have little idea how quickly they adapt themselves to republican institu- tions, and how thoroughly they appre- ciate the blessings of American liberty. Of other nationalities we have but few. Ould Ireland, once a potent factor in XVisconsin politics, is now practically out of it. Hardly 1,000 Sons of St. Patrick, probably not more than 5,000 Hibernians all told, can we muster to- day. Sons of Ham are fewer still. There are barely ~oo colored people in the city. Pig-tailed Celestials will not mount up to threescore; and, while statistics are in order, let me say that in 1840 we had not 2,000 people within our gates; in i85o we had 20,000, most of whom had come from New York and New England. These were the men who lifted Milwau- kee out of its wilderness and started her on the road to wealth. Look around you now from this com- manding height. Note the evidences of thrift, prosperity and comfort on every side in these far-spreading northern sub- urbs. This was all virgin forest xvhen Yankee brains first planned and Yankee hands hewed out from bluff and wood those busy, bustling thoroughfares in the valley of old Mahnawauk below us. Juneau and Walker and Kilbourn, the earliest of our landholders, were not, tis true, New England men; but pres- ently these came in scores. Back to our carriage now, and on to breakfast; we can recapitulate as we go. Forty years ago, when Milwaukee was in ner teens, there was only one business street to speak of, that which ran parallel with the river on its eastern verge. There was just room between the sidewalk and the shores on which to build fairly sub- stantial frame stores, and later, after vigorous hammering with the old-fashioned pile-driver, to plant the foundations of more ambitious structures with solid walls of brick. Bricks wi/k straw, be it under- stood, both within and without; for, thanks to beds of peculiar clay, the vege- table sinew was reproduced in the color. Later, in the nascent ~estheticism of the populace, the individuality gained through the hue of its building block gave to the town the title by which it is known poetically to-day the Cream City; and though our cream really is not brick color, nor our brick, cream color, the subtlety of the description lay in the fact that we would not speak of it either as straw or clay color, and the nearest thing we could think of that pleased the senses was cream. Very dainty and fresh was the appearance of our new-made walls. Spick, span, new and glistening with white paint and green were the frame cottages among the bold bluffs of the East Side. Trim and orderly were the little garden patches with beds of ger- anium and verbena, and the rows of mountain ash-trees along the fences, the sprightly young elms just being trained to shoot at the edge of the broad wooden sidewalk. Very familiar were the names on every sign along that main business street, from its southern end at the Walkers Point bridge to its bifurcation at Market Square. Seven long, irregular blocks were there, and many a name re- called the days of Lexington and Concord, Bunker Hill and Bennington. From the Penobscot, the Merrimac, the Thames, or the Connecticut, vigorous young men had pushed into the far western wilderness, ousting the Pottawotomie as their sires did the Pequots. We had our little colony of canny Scots, small in number, but big in influence. We had a few Pennsylvanians, and a great draft from the Empire State, but these latter were only transient Knickerbockers; for with some exceptions the New York families whose sons and daughters sailed in those early days around the chain of lakes to seek their fortunes along the shores of Lake Illini hailed from the land of the Puritan, and, whatsoever may have been the influences that brought about the subsequent change, the early days of fair Milwaukee, the alert, vigorous, pushing, conquering days, were those when the blood and brain of the New England States led in our councils and ruled in our debates. Before she was fairly in- 132 1k/IL WA UKEE. corporated as a city the free school bell was clanging in every Milwaukee ward. New England masters strode the little rostrums. New England customs held in every class. New England songs began the exercises of every day. The first tune we urchins learned to pipe in the old First Ward was The Old Granite State. The first chorus taught us when the High School opened in the fall of 57 was The Old House at Home where my Fore- fathers dwelt. Our pedagogues had draughted their principles from Ply- mouth, their patriotism from Faneuil Hail. Some of them were reared within the shadow of the Old South Church. Spare the rod and spoil the child may have been bred in the bones of their sinewy right hands, but practically they spared few children, they spoiled many a rod. Massachusetts votes as she fought, said an orator, when the fifteenth amendment was up for discussion, and she did both with vim peculiarly her own; New England masters taught as they spanked with a thoroughness I can feel to this day. Our law-makers, most of them, hailed from New England; our law-breakers from almost anywhere else. Our clergy, many of them, came from New England pulpits; our first physician from Vermont; our first justice of the peace from Maine; our first bookstore was stocked by Mas- sachusetts; our lead- ing merchants, hardware, drugs, and dry-goods were of New England, though New York captured and holds to this day the boot and shoe trade. Our greatest bank, in like manner, rose from small beginnings with Scotia at the helm ; next to it in the volume of busi- ness, and second to none in the honor and integrity of their managers, are two whose respective heads hailed from Maine and Vermont. The pioneers of the early days, who bought their land and held to it, such men as Bowman, Hawley, Wells, Weeks, Brown (Deacon Sam), Merrill (W. P.), Tweedy, Upham, Holton, Kirby, Jason Downer, and a score of others came one and all from the New England States. The leading editorials of the ante-bellum days were penned by the grandson and namesake of Massachusettss delegate to the con- stitutional convention at Philadelphia, and the great grandson of the foremost citizen of Scarborough, Maine. A Vermonter occupies his chair to-day. Our greatest railway, whose eastern terminus is now Chicago, and whose branches cover nearly seven thousand miles and reach every section of the northwest, was raised from next to nothing under the management of New Hampshire. Its first superinten- dent also was from the Granite State. Its great engineer, who had planned almost every mile of its track, every span of its bridges, and who has served it faith- fully from start to finish, came hither from Vermont; so did the honored old head of its passenger department. The most brilliant, eloquent, and distinguished statesman Wisconsin has yet sent to the National Congress, Milwaukees contribu- tion to the Senate, was a Green Mountain The New Hotel MIL WA UKEE. 133 boy who won the name of the greatest constitutional lawyer of the West, and learned his first lessons in the law under the eye of Rufus Choate. Aye, through all the struggles of the early day in the northwest, New Eng- land then was foremost in our midst. For twenty years, in professional and business affairs, her sons held distin- guished position, if not absolutely dom- inant control; and even after the deluge of immigration from foreign shores, New England kept and held her own. Even in the midst of competition that might have daunted a faint-hearted man, a New England merchant who had learned the business behind the counters of one of Bostons greatest stores dared to come and cast his lot with us and enter the list with rivals from every other nationality. Other New En gland names were for brief periods linked with his, but dropped out, perhaps discouraged. He held on and stands to-day sole representative in the great dry-goods trade which engrosses so many of our prominent firms. There are larger stores and stocks in such cities as Chicago, Cincinnati, and St. Louis, hut in all the West not one to match his in artistic grace and finish. Its destruction by fire six years ago was a calamity to all Wisconsin; its prompt reappear- ance, in added beauty and comfort, a source of general rejoicing; and now, pre-eminent in its line, it is a monu- ment to New England pluck and per- severance. Nor is it only in business, political, and professional matters that the influence of the old colonies has been so marked. Milwaukee Sundays in the old days were to many of us children as lugubrious, I must declare it, as Plymouth sires and Connecticut mothers could make them. But the sweet home life, the glad old customs of Thanksgiving and Christmas, when all our kith and kin were gathered under the roof-tree, the uproarious patriot- ism of our Fourth of July, the reverent observance of Washingtons birthday, the enthusiastic gathering at the annual ban- quet of the Sons of New England with its toast and speeches, The shot heard round the world, The sword that flashed at Bunker Hill, the homestead manners and customs, Puritan morals (though we burned no witches, as did our forebears at Salem, we sold, alas fire- water to the aborigine and doubtless cheated him in trade), Puritan manners and pumpkin pie, the Bible every day of the week, and boiled dinner on Mondays, the quilting bees, even the house and barn raisings, all these were not the exception, but the rule in old Milwaukee. And so, though times may change, though other influences may prevail, though the blue laws are long since dead, there is ever among us a loving remembrance of the vim and energy of the clear-headed, hard-handed, indomitable men, the pa- tience and devotion of those hopeful, prayerful women, whose influence, like the little leaven that leaveneth the whole lump, permeated all society as it ruled in all our councils, and builded even better than it knew, the foundations of this fairest city of the lakes. EDITORS TABLE. THE course of our government, and of our people, during the recent controversy with Chili have not heen such as to give pleasure to serious men. They have heen such as ought to humiliate us and make us ashamed. They have shown that in our national character, and in our character as a memher of the great family of nations, we have not yet reached a stage of development, which it was hoped hy many that we had got far beyond. The question is not that of the exact shades of right and wrong as hetween our government and Chili upon the points of controversy. The question is that of the readiness of our government, and of great masses of our people, to hristle up and hluster and threat, to talk war and to hurry out ~he gunhoats, when some believed wrong had heen done us, even had the wrong heen ten times as great, instead of calmly awaiting the issue of diplomatic conference, and if that proved unsat- isfactory, then simply asking for the arhitration of some outside state, which there was no reason in the world to douht that our little enemy would at once accept. If the Old Adam in a great repuhlic like this, the war spirit which we devote so much fine rhetoric to condemning in the na- tions of the Old World, can he roused to the ex- tent which we have seen in the case of a petty grievance like this with Chili, what trust can we place in the reason and forhearance and self-con- trol of our people in a really serious exigency and under a grave provocation? This is a mat- ter of so much moment at this time when good men everywhere are laboring for the disarmament of nations, and for supplanting the old methods of fist law and war hy the methods of inter- national tribunals, of peaceful conference and rational arhitrament, that we cannot afford to let this Chilian affair slip away into forgetfulness and the chronicles, without thoroughly learning its lesson and preaching to ourselves the sermon which we so clearly need. The attack upon our sailors hy the Valparaiso moh in Octoher was certainly a deplorable and a serious occurrence, of a character which no govern- ment, whose duty it is to protect its citizens, can overlook. XVe can understand it hest by bring- ing it home and changing its clothes. If just at the time of the Trent affair in t86i, when Americans were most inflamed against England for her sympathy with the South in the war, a hundred sailors had landed from some British man-of-war anchored in Boston harhor, for an evenings carouse in the North End of the city, and a row had resulted, starting in some tavern brawl hetween some of their numher and some turbulent North Enders, leading to a general raid by a mob, and a riot which could only he quelled hy the police, after two of the red-coats were killed, we should have in this just the equiva- lent af the affair in Valparaiso. It would un- douhtedly have heen true that it was precisely as red-coats that the sailors provoked the attack; the moh would have had the applause, and quite possibly the prompting of many young bloods ahout town; the police would not have had the hottest sympathy with the sailors, whom it was their office to protect and get back to their ship; pa/erfamilias, reading the details in the morn- ing paper, would have said, as likely as not, that it served the blasted Britishers right; some young Biglow or Sawin might have sent a poem to the Courier the next week from Lexington or Concord, which the English visitors staying at the Parker House would have found very offensive reading; and the British consul, writing home to the Foreign Office, would have had no lack of material to show the ill will toward England prev- alent in this same city of Boston; to which ill will, the tragedy was chiefly owing. But what of it? There would have heen no cause for war in all this, unless the national gov- ernment refused to express its regret, and to take steps to bring the individual offenders to justice. There has been no such refusal on the part of Chili; but although the processes of South American courts are slower even than those of Louisiana, whose dilatoriness fretted Italy so much a year ago, and although Chili is hardly yet out of the throes and fever of civil strife, with a government in working order, an impartial read- ing of the correspondence shows that she did everything that could fairly be expected, by way of apology, and of pressing judicial inquiry. Her minister of foreign affairs at once wrote of the Valparaiso affair to our minister as a deplorable event. Her minister at Washington vtrote a month later to our secretary of state of the lamentable events, at Valparaiso, which my gov- ernment has deeply deplored. The legal in- vestigation was meantime regularly proceeding, with no valid ground to doubt the purpose of the courts to (leal with the American sailors as justly as with Chilian citizens. Early in January minis- ter Perreira wrote to Senor Montt in Washing- ton: Inform the United States government that a summary of the attorney-generals report relative to the occurrence of Octoher s6, which Chili has lamented and does so sin- cerely lament, will he sent on Monday, the 4th inst. On January 8 Mr. Montt wrote to Mr. Blame: I have received special instructions to state to the gov- eminent of the United States that the government of Chili has felt very sincere regret for the unfortunate events which occurred in Valparaiso on the s6th of Octoher. Although incidents of this nature are not rare in ports fre- qttented hy sailors of various nationalities, the fact that deaths and wounds were caused in the disturhance on the t6th of Octoher, the zeal with which the Chilian authorities are accustomed to watch ovet the personal security of all who tread its territory, the fact that persons employed in the service of a friendly nation were concerned, and the frank desire for Atnerican cordiality whicls my government entertains, have led it to cordially deplore the aforesaid dis- turhance, and to do everything in its power toward the trial and punishment of the gstilty parties. For our own part, it seems to us that here was all the apology that a government anxious for peace, and not stickling for phrases, need bother itself about. Ilere was a good place to assume that we had got all that we wanted, and to thank our distenipered little cousin, adding, if we liked, EDITORS TABLE. the hope that the court would he as expeditious as possible, and settle twenty thousand dollars upon the Riggin family. But if the dialect of this apology did not just suit the ears of the officials charged with upholding our honor, had anything in minister Perreiras letters, or conduct, warranted a doubt of the readiness to trim it to a nicety? Had anything warranted our President, when finally an explicit demand for different phraseology ~vas made, to get so impatient for a reply to this ultimatum, that in three days he should send an enormous war message to Congress, hy way of pressure and threat to the little state? Nothing whatever. So far as we can see, minister Per- reiras course throughout had been most cour- teous, conciliatory, and exemplary; and as a matter of fact, his long message, prepared with the utmost care in the midst of the pressing duties of his new office, within three days of the receipt of our ultimatum, conceding every point, that it was right to concede, in the readiest manner, was coming over the wires at the very hour that our Presidents hurried bluster was being read in Congress. We say that this is a disgrace to this republic; and we say that it is a matter so serious, with reference to its bearings on possible future contingencies of the sort, that we cannot afford to let it slip away into the limbo of forgetfulness without very much more preaching to ourselves about it than has yet been done. We have written as if the attack upon our sailors at Valparaiso were the only matter at issue. But this had been preceded by a long chapter of occurrences revealing the feeling of American officials toward the new regime in Chili, all of a character most exasperating, and together furnish- ing Chili with much more plausible pretexts for sending gunboats to bombard San Francisco, than the Valparaiso mob and Senor Mattas angry note, furnished for the war talk indulged in here. Everything had indicated a sympathy with the Balmaceda government, and a coldness toward the popular party, which could not fail to rankle in the memory, when that party came into power; and which, to our thinking, would have excused much more bitterness on the part of the Chilian people than has found expression. Our pursuit of the I/a/a was something, the best jurists tell us, without sanction from international law. Our minister in Chili was open and pronounced on the side of Balmaceda, and in declaring the rising of the people against him hopeless, and it was well known that his son was a leading official in a great South American business scheme which would gain millions by Balmacedas triumph. There were features attending the shelter of the political refugees by Mr. Egan, which carried such protection quite beyond what diplomats are by common usage permitted to extend. And the manner in which information came from our admiral of the movements of the Congressionalist troops at Quintero, as proved by the telegram found in Bal- macedas quarters after his flight, waiving entirely any discussion or opinion as to the admirals in- tentions, was certainly such as to excuse the gravest suspicion, and the anger of any people emerging from a civil war like that in Chili. All these things were to be remembered, as well as the killing of Mr. Riggin, when it came to talking of war with Chili. These things, we say, gave Chili much more plausible pretext for war with us than we had for war with her; these things also were to go before the court, if it came to arbitra- tion; and these things commanded us to be ready and quick to propose arbitration, when relations became strained, instead of waiting for Chili to do it, if the fact that we were the strong power and Chili the weak power were not alone a sufficient command. But throughout this whole unfortunate affair we have never officially recog- nized that there was a Chilian point of view, we have shown no disposition to concede anything, we have shown no spark of graciousness, or brotherhood, or neighborhood no magnarninity, hut only extremest legality, and worse than that. Our fine sentiments about the era of peace and good-will among nations, about the federation of the world, about international arbitration and the methods of reason, all overboard, so far as official action went and an insane itching to get out our new navy and spank this little South American republic, kill a few thousand Chilians to avenge our ruffled honor. Thousands of United States Christians gossipped about this comfortably be- tween the pudding and the sherbet, as one of the two or three proper and proximate alternatives. We were once more the bully from before the foundation of the world. We dont want to fight, but by jingo if we do, Weve gut the ships, weve got the men, weve got ,tbe money, too. The ships, to our thinking, were responsible for three quarters of the mischief. We have got a new navy, it has been exhibited with great eclat in all our harbors, the newspapers have dilated upon its magnificent guns, and the boys and their uncles are sure that it can beat anything going they would like to see it tried. And this would be a naval war. The war fever was hottest in the Washington clubs where the naval men most congregate, and we read that there was the keenest disappointment there as it began to look more like peace. When the fever was at its highest, and the obligation for repression and re- serve was greatest, the Secretary of the Navy said to the newspaper reporters for publication, and the word was spread through the country: Chili has insulted our government as it has never been insulted before. Shall we acknowledge ourselves to be a nation of cowards, willing to permit nor national dignity to be assailed, or shall we act the part of men and resent such conduct? I believe that Chili will be forced either to apologize and make the proper reparation asked for by the President, or take the consequences, which means that in thirty days we will be able to whip the entire Chilian navy. We will pounce on her from the quarters where she least expects it. We hope that we have the sympathy of every earnest reader in saying that there ought to be such a spirit in this republic, as would make it sure, that any high official of the government speaking in this reckless tone at a critical time like this would be relegated to private life within twenty-four hours. We certainly do not think that the great mass of the American people read such words as these with approval. We do not mean to imply, in anything here said, that the majority of the American people wanted to go to war with Chili. 135 136 We have to applaud, for the most part, the calm and sensible editorial utterances of the great newspapers, although these same newspapers were many of them willing to tickle the war palate by brilliant programs of a Chilian campaign and broadsides with pictures showing how our brand new navy would look bombarding Valparaiso. We do not doubt that it was the idle and the fussy folk who made most of the noise, and that these screeching tenors could have been drowned hy a thundering bass not at all in harmony, had the intellectual and business centres really been stirred by a belief that overt wrong was immi- nent. The shallows murmur when the deeps are: dumb. But when all this is remembered, it must be remembered that, as a matter of fact, our government has made an exhibition of itself xvhich is not edifying, accompanied by an amount of popular thirteenth-century bluster and jingoism, which shows that the nation is yet much further frog having arrived at manhood than some of us had hoped. We have said that we hold our new navy, and the excitement which has attended its creation, responsible for three-quarters of the mischief. Without this new navy at hand ready for business, and, as the talk of the Washington clubs has shown us, anxious for business, we should have had no war message from our President to Con- gress, nor any interruption in the course of the regular diplomatic correspondence, hy which the State Department, in these years, has duly settled much more serious disputes with much more pow- erful disputants. This wretched Chilian chapter should alone suffice to show the folly and the wickedness of the creation of a powerful navy, or of any movement toward armament, after the manner of the European powers, by this great republic at this age of the world. It was a motto of the militant old time, In time of peace prepare for war. A word which it would be more profitable to remember now is this: Pre- pare for war and you will probably have it. It is a very hypocritical and miserable business for us to be preaching disarmament to Europe and practising armament at home. Horace Creeley well said that the only way to resume specie payment was to resume. The only way to ever effect the disarmament of the nations is to disarm and to take some risks in doing it. It is very discouraging, at a time when sensible men all over the world are feeling and saying this, to see the United States of America suddenly starting up with a passion for a new navy. Two principles control different men and na- tions in times of vexation and resentment; and perhaps they were never more plainly stated than by Hosea Biglow in his colloquy between the old Bridge and the Monument. The one principle is: Ef you want peace, the thing youve gut to du Is jes to show youre up to fightin, to. The other principle is: For growed-up folks like us twould be a scandle, When we git sarsed, to fly right off the handle. Ef were goin to prove we he growed-up, Twont he hy harkin like a tarrier pup. We have to say of ourselves with regard to the Chilian controversy, that it has shown that we are not yet growed up. IT would not be right, perhaps, in condemning,. as we have here done, the course of our govern- snent in the controversy with Chili, to say noth- ing of one notable exception. The controversy itself is a subject of such moment, that the matter of the Democratic or the Republican complex- ion of the administration, is a trivial accident, and the critic will not be suspected of being af- fected by party bias in his praise or blame. At the risk of any personal invidiousisess, the frank- est and heartiest praise should be given to our Secretary of State, for the dignified, patient, an4 pacific tone with which he seems throughout to have conducted the diplomatic correspondence, and the conferences with the Chilian minister at Washington. The ministers final statement shows the readiness and wisdom of the Secretary of State in paving the way to arbitration at every critical momeiit, when it seemed that arbitration might be necessary. And it must not be forgot- ten that it was the regular course of diplomacy, and not the threats, which brought the matter to a successful issue; the Chilian governments con- cession of our demands being already on the wires to us before the news of the Presidents message to Congress had gone abroad at all; the message was a mere superfluity of naughti- ness. The newspapers tell us that while the jingo- ism in Washington was at its height, Mr. Blame was present at a dinner at Senator Hales, with sundry senators and sundry foreign ministers. After dinner, says the reporter, the conversa- tion turned upon the Chilian affair. As the dis- cussion deepened, Mr. Blame became acutely ex- cited, and at last broke out in violent denuncia- tion of the idea that Chili should be dealt with harshly. He declared that, although the Valpa- raiso incident was nothing tnore than a drunken squabble in a disreputable slum, signifying noth- ing, the Chilian government bad already apolo- gized for it ten times more than ours had done for the brutal and barbarous massacre of Italian citizens in New Orleans. At this the Marquis Imperiali, the Italian minister, who was present,. bowed and complimented the Secretary on his. magnanimity. Mr. Blame went on to charac- terize in the severest terms the disposition to ex- act further concessions from Chili, and wound up by declaring in the most emphatic manner that if the administration should adopt such a policy as. that, he repudiated it, and wanted to be so un- derstood. This speech ended in a complete and almost tragic silence, we are told, and so the incident terminated. Among the hundred newspaper stories about Mr. Blame which are not true, we are glad that this is generally understood to be true. At such a time the Secretary may be pardoned for breaking his ordinary diplomatic reserve, and for any little extravagance or heat. As Mr. Blame seems to be on the point of retiring from public life, it is pleasant to applaud his noble stand upon this Chilian question, perhaps the last important diplomatic question with which he will have to deal; and the country will remember his long and consistent and far-sighted efforts to bring all the American republics into closer and more vital union. EDITORS TABLE. 4

S. B. Whitney Whitney, S. B. Surpliced Boy Choirs in America 139-164

THE NEW ENGLAND MA APRIL, 1892. SURPLICED BOY CHOIRS IN AMERICA. By S. B. W/zi/ney. THE rapid introduction of boy choirs in our Episcopal churches during the past few years has been so general through- out the country, taking the place of t h e conventional quartet and chorus choir, that reflective musical students have tried to find some cause for it. Ritualism has been assigned by some; while others have ascribed it to the fact that so many of our people spend their summer vacations in England,where the surpliced boy choir is almost uni- versal, especially in the cathedrals and larger parish churches, and we have a tendency to copy English ways. We think that Ritualism has little or no- thing to do with this change; for in England the boy choirs are as universally found in churches and cathedrals where there is an utter lack of anything like high ritual in the service, they have been employed for years, and during all this time there has been no appreciable change in the manner of conducting the service. Even in this country, choirs of boys and men, unsurpliced, have been employed in many churches; and at Appleton Chapel at Harvard College a boy choir has been introduced to render the service for the daily prayers and the weekly vesper service, to the great satis- faction of the president, faculty, and the large congregation of students and oth- ers who enjoy the services. Certainly, Appleton Chapel would be the last place where any one would expect to find any- thing in the way of ritualism connected with its services; and so the question arises, in this case as in that of hundreds of churches throughout the country: Why was the boy choir introduced to supplant the quartet and chorus? We think that the reason lies in this fact, that earnest people are more and more demanding distinctive church music, dis- tinctively rendered, distinctive in its form, like the architecture of the build- ing in which it is performed. No one would mistake Cologne Cathedral for a town hall or court house. So no one ought to mistake a church anthem for an opera chorus, or a secular part song. Music written for the church should bear the church stamp. In any case, let it be distinctive, something, the like of which one will not be likely to hear at the opera house or concert hall. There should not enter into sacred music any- thing of a frivolous character; nor should it suffer from haphazard construction. It demands strict form as alone suited to NEW SERIES. GAZINE. VOL. VI. No. 2. 140 BOY CHOIRS IN AMERJ(A. FROM A PAINTING BY KATE WATKINS, EXHIBITED IN THE BOSTON ANT CLUB, 1892. its dignity and gravity. This is not sup- posing that to be dignified it must be heavy, or to be grave it must be melan- choly. We must have strictness of form to set it apart from the lighter uses to which a style less severe is adapted. Technical strictness of form is certainly not any hindrance to grace or sweetness, any more than the bony structure of the human form is to the marvellous beauty of the most illustrious examples, or the severity of mathematical accuracy and strictness of scientific principles to the highest beauty in architecture. This general desire for distinctive church music is a natural outcome, after many years during which suffering con- gregations have been racked and tortured with church music, so called, of no char- acter whatever transcriptions of operatic selections; and music written to order for quartet choirs, giving in turn each voice of the quartet a solo, with no pretence to any form of artistic construction, ac- cording to the rules and canons of the choral art, followed by the best writers of church music. As a natural result, such compositions are fragmentary in their construction, and entirely unacceptable to the cultivated musical ear. As a re- action from all this, the, demand seems to have been, as we have stated, for dis- tinctive church music. As we have no distinctive American school of church music in this country, we naturally turn to the mother country, to England, where a distinctive style of music has pre- vailed for years. The many cathedrals throughout the country have called for organists and composers of acknowledged chorister of the Madeleine, Paris. BOY CHOIRS IN AMERICA. 141 ability, to whom the whole religious world is indebted for services and anthems of the very highest order; which, being in- troduced into our churches, have been the means in many places of driving out the flimsy compositions and so-called sacred music which before prevailed. That there is a distinctive school of church music in England, no one would doubt who has ever frequented the Eng- lish churches; and we are indebted to it, in a large measure, for the great advance which we have made in the matter of re- ligious music. We trust the time is not far distant when there will be in this country an American school of church music as well, similar to that which ex- ists in the mother land. Although we have no churches and cathedrals estab- lished by the state, in which the merits of original compositions by American composers can be at once recognized; yet the time has come when we should make a beginning in this important field of music. But we have also learned from our English cousins that distinctive church music naturally calls for a distinctive choir to perform it, a choir which one will not be likely to hear the next day in the con- cert-room or opera house. In this way we have distinctive church music, distiuc- tiveiy rendered. To this cause, rather than to ritualism or anything else, is due the fact of the introduction of boy choirs so extensively in this country. English church music has gone beyond the bounds of the Episcopal Church, and been taken up by the many other re- ligious bodies, its distinctive merits being at once recognized; we find English anthems and English hymn tunes in the musical publications and hymn-books of Presbyterians, Baptists, and Methodists. Madison Avenue New York. The English organist occupies a much more exalted position than that of his brother organist in America. Usually a graduate of some college or university, his position as a musical authority is at once recognized in the town or city where he resides. The cathedral or- ganist often starts as a chorister in the cathedral where he afterwards may have charge of the music, going meanwhile to Oxford or Cambridge, where he pursues his academic and musical studies. He may have as a fellow-student, one who, pursuing the theological course, will ob- tain his doctors degree, and eventually Choir of St. James Church 142 BOY GILOIRS IN AMERICA. may become Dean of the very cathedral where he himself may afterwards be in- stalled as organist. In this way, begin- ning his musical career as a choir boy, afterwards receiving instruction on the organ from the cathedral organist, occa- sionally substituting at a service, and eventually becoming deputy-organist, later on pursuing the higher musical studies of musical theory and composition, his final success as a church musician is assured from the start. We have only to cite such men as Stainer, Barnbv, Sullivan, and others in proof of what results from the thorough training which English or- ganists receive to fit them for the various positions which they afterwards occupy. In utter contrast to this, the American organist assumes his position oftentimes with little or no training at all worthy of the name. He may have had instruction on the pianoforte, and possibly a few lessons on the organ, but it often hap- pens that he takes up his work with no adequate preparation for it whatever.. This state of affairs has improved very much in the last few years, certainly very much since the time long ago, when the organ was first placed in Kings Chapel. It is a matter of history that an organist was advertised for, to come out from England to take the position there, and it was suggested that it would be very much to his advantage if he had some other trade, like that of barber, or some similar occupation, to enable him to augment his stipend. Oftentimes in the past persons have been employed as organists who played during the week at theatres and concert halls. Of course, such persons could have no possible sym- pathy with the religious service, nor any adequate idea of its musical requirements, and it is a matter of little wonder that there has often been a certain antag- onism between the two departments of the church, the pulpit and the organ-loft. The occupants of these two positions in choir Boys, Church of the Advent, Booton. BOY GIJOIRS IN AMERICA. 143 the church were naturally as far apart in their ideas of church service as were their relative positions in the church building; and the clergyman was often obliged to watch the organist, lest he should introduce some ir- reverent or secular adapta- tions of music into the services. The introduction of boy choirs into our churches, by bringing the organist and choristers into the chancel, has done away with the antagonism which before existed and made the musical services to supple- ment the efforts of the clergyman, in giving to the congregation a musical ser- vice where everything is in harmony and in keeping with the place and occasion. It has also made a demand for organists of much greater ability, and greater knowl- e(lge of church music, voice culture, choir training, etc., than has existed in the past. The result is so noticeable in the past few as we have no cathedral churches where years, that persons proposing to qualify the organist receives a sufficient stipend themselves as organists have felt the need to enable him to give almost his entire of greater care in preparing themselves time to the preparation of the music for than was formerly the case. the daily services. Only one church occurs to us, viz., Trinity, New York, where the salary of the organist at all compares with that of one holding a similar position in England. There will be a grand opportunity whenever the pro- posed cathedral in New York is com- pleted, to inaugurate the system of daily morning and evening services through- out the year, with the necessary daily choir practice. The result of the estab- lishment of daily matins and evensong in a great cathedral like the one to be erected in New York will be felt through- out the length and breadth of the land. Meanwhile it behooves every organist and choir master to exert himself to the utmost to improve the music in the choirs already in existence. In this connec- We cannot hope to cope with England tion, it seems rather unfair for persons in the matter of church music, so long visiting England, and hearing the various Two little Probationers. 144 BOY ChOIRS IN AAIEI?ICA. excellent choirs to be found everywhere of church music in this country. In there, to depreciate our own choirs in this way will he prove his right to occupy comparison, on their return from abroad. the exalted position which has been given It would be wrong to expect that a choir him in the church, as the clergymans in this country, that is only obliged to most worthy assistant. sing at two services during the week, The style of music which prevails in could possibly hope to compare favorably English churches is the result of years of growth, from the earliest composers of that country who wrote for the church, down to the present time; and although there may have been times past when com- positions, written for the church by these old English composers, may have been open to the charge of being pedantic in their style and lacking in originality, the productions of the modern English composers, such as Stainer, Calkin, Tours, Stan- ford, and others equally dis- tinguished, would not warrant any such criticism. With a broader musical education, these modern composers have been greatly influenced by the modern trend of musical composition in all departments of the art, and as a result the services and anthems which they have given to the church are worthy of the admiration of all English-speaking people. A friend once said to me, as Choir, St. Pauls School, Concord, N. H. I was taking my departure from London for the Conti- with a choir that sings twice every day, nent, You will bid good-by to church with the necessary daily practice. Nev- music until you return here. And this ertheless, it has often been the case that was strictly true; for although in Paris Englishmen visiting this country have and other cities on the Continent I heard had occasion to speak of the attainments many services great in their way, none of some of our choirs in terms of the impressed me as being so thoroughly de- highest praise. A professor of Cam- votional, and so far removed from secular bridge University (England), who was music, as the music which I heard in present at an Easter service in a promi- England. It seemed like getting back nent church in one of our large cities, home to go down to St. Pauls once remarked to a friend that no bgtter ser- more, and hear the beautiful service there, vice could be heard in all England. Such in all its dignity and impressiveness. commendation of our musical advance- A word may be said just here with re- ment should be an encouragement to gard to adaptations of masses written for every choir master and organist to perse- the Romish Church being introduced vere in the work of raising the standard into the English and American churches, BOY CHOiRS IN AMERICA. 145 especially on the have been heard at greater festivals. The the Church of the principal reason for Advent, in Boston, their use seems to be on the greater festi- the fact that an elab- vals, through the orate service is thus liberality of a secured with orches- wealthy parishioner tral accompaniment. who has taken great Many of these ser- interest in church vices are written in a music, and in the very florid style, with boy choir movement elaborate solos, in particular, and written with no idea made it possible to of their ever being have these elaborate sung by a boy so- services, to the great prano. The result is, satisfaction of the that it often seems to many worshippers be a makeshift not who are always pres- altogether satisfac- ent on those occa- tory. We must ex- sions. It behooves cept the services of the English and the Gounod, which are American composer much more suscep- to give to the church, tible to this adapta- services similar to tion, and seem to fit t h o s e mentioned, into an English ser- written with orches- vice with much tral accompaniment, greater propriety so that the churches than the more florid Hartweil Staples church of the Advent, Boston may not be depend- compositions of ent on foreign sources Schubert, Weber, and others. For seve- for music on these greater festivals. ral years past, such orchestral services In the days when quartette choirs pre- The Recessional, St. Pauls Church, Concord, N. H Photograph by W. G. C. Kimball. Choir of St Pauls, Milwaukee. BOY CHOiRS IN AMERICA. 147 vailed, there seemed to be a general complaint that the choir appropri- ated the entire music of the service, so that the congregation was oblig- ed to remain silent, even in the singing of the hymns. The simpler music used when the boy choirs were first in- troduced, made it pos- sible for the congregation to supplement their ef- forts, thus making the service more congrega- tional. But as time went on, the music written for the choir gradually became more elaborate, so that it was feared by many that the old state of affairs had returned, and that the congrega- tion would again be de- prived of its right to be heard in the service. The question as to how much of the musical part of the service the choir can justly appropriate to itself is one xvhich is con- stantly recurring, and so much has been written about this whole matter of con- office of music in reli- gious worship is twofold, not only to express but also to exci,e devo- tion; and the devout worshipper can often be moved and made better as much by hearing am anthem as a sermon. Let the humble worship- per join in all parts of the service where he can render in1e774~e;?t assist- ance, but let him re- member that as the spire of the great church towers aloft, far above the choir transcepts and nave, so it is given to the trained .choir to soar aloft far above and be- yond, to heights where the great congregation cannot expect to follow. But let the congregation, listening in reverent silence, be moved to Bratchford Kavanagh Grace Church, Chroago. greater devotion, and thank God for the excep- tional musical gifts vouchsafed to the few, though denied to the multitude. There can be no greater model for a church service than Bachs Passion Music, written as it is for trained soloists, a trained chorus, and the great congregation, when those mighty chorals occur, in which each and every worshipper is supposed to join, thus making a service in which all the known resources of the musical art are brought into play. We come now to the matter of voice culture. It may seem a strange thing to say that a boys voice naturally is not musical; hut it is true, nevertheless, ex- cept in rare instances. A boy when first asked to sing, or make a musical sound, is very apt to do it, straight out from the shoulder, with the same tone that he would use in shouting to a companion in the street, certainly with the same loca- tion of tone, and that location the throat.. It is often the wiser course, in begin- ning with such a boy, to make him take a comparatively high note, as softly as he can sing it, then the one next below,, gregational singing, that it is only neces- sary to dwell upon it for a moment. It ought never to be forgotten that the 148 BOY CI~JOIRS IN AMERICA. Willie Cooper St Pauls Church Kenwood, Chicago. fgradually going down the scale. Until boys have learned properly to locate their ones, they should never be allowed to sing an upward scale, for the very reason, that the idea cannot be got out of the mind of the youthful chorister that the high notes are a little beyond his reach, and consequently require more and more exertion, as the scale proceeds upward. By beginning at the top, on the contrary, with a soft head tone, and working down, a very even scale is soon produced, with no perceptible break. Of course, all singing at this stage must be done very softly, until the voice is located, so that the tones proceed from the mouth rather than from the throat. Constant daily practice will so strengthen the voice, that, to use the boys expression, he will be able in time to make as much noise as he did before, . and certainly a venT different kind of noise, resembling the tones of a flute rather than those of a street newsboy, shouting his papers. Different syllables are used by choir mas- ters in first locating the voice. It has often been found that the syllable who, will place the tone in the mouth, when other syllables like la and ah fail of accomplishing this result. It is much better to cultivate the voice downward, thus giving a pure and bell-like tone to the whole scale, rather than upward; for otherwise, as the voice ascends, the temp- tation is, to carry the chest tones up as far as possible, and then a decided break will occur resulting from the changes to the head tone. In singing downward, the head tone so modifies the chest tone in the lower part of the voice that, as before said, a perfectly even scale will result, with no perceptible break. After the voice is properly located, and it has be- come a matter of habit to produce the tones of the scale correctly, it will be perfectly safe to try the upward scale; indeed, it is an advantage at this stage to Dr. Gilbert, Organist of Trinity Chapel, New York. do so, using the syllables do, re, ml, etc., exaggerating the lip motion, to assist in clear enunciation of the words; and to prevent that mouthing of words so com- mon in many choir boys, whose lips never BOY CHOIRS IN AMERICA. 149 Choir of St. Johns Church, Jamaica Plain Mass. seem to move either in Chant or Te hope to keep the pitch for any length of Deum; unless the congregation is in- time, in a cold church, or in a cold room; formed beforehand what particular an- a damp, muggy atmosphere is also apt to them or canticle is being performed, it be fatal to correct intonation. But, under will never be able to find out from any- favorable conditions, choirs can be so thing which is heard. It is one thing to trained as to be able to sing an anthem be able to sing with the syllables, hi, ak, or canticle of considerable length unac- or who, and quite another to be able to companied without falling from the pitch. enunciate words with the same tone of It is a capital idea for choir masters to voice. The exaggerated lip motion that have many parts of the service, like the we have mentioned will be very likely to versicles, responses, and amens, sung accomplish this good result. The upward unaccompanied; and oftentimes many scale singing will have a tendency to give greater fulness to the loxver part of the voice, without impairing its quality. Whereas, the constant singing of the downward scale, without some qualifying exercise like this, will in the end be liable to produce a hollow and disagreeable tone on the low notes. If a boys voice is thoroughly placed and even, and he is taught to produce his tone in his mouth, he will never, except in rare instances, be known to sing flat; whereas if he uses his throat unduly he will be constantly pulling up, from a lower to a higher pitch, often falling a little short of the proper intonation, and, consequently, will be very liable to sing flat. Of course the condition of the atmosphere has also much to do with the flatting so often heard in choirs. No body of singers can Newton WIlcox~ St. Paulo, Boston. verses of the psalter can be thus treated. In this way a choir will gain an inde- pendence, and be made to feel that it can sing as well without the organ as Outdoor Service Grace Church Choir of Chicago, t St. Clair Springs Mich BOY CHOIRS IN AMERICA. 151 with. For the same reason, it is much better to have all rehearsals in the choir room with only piano accompaniment, occasionally going to the organ when some elaborate service is to be produced. In most of the English cathedrals, the organ is never used in the service on Friday, in order to make a difference in the music of that day, being a fast day. This is a capital practice for the choir, from a musical point of view as well, for the choir that is independent enough to sing a whole service without the organ on one day of the week, will be able to do so on any other day, and thus this same kind of independence can be brought about. The many beautiful voices heard in English choirs has led many persons to think that their great excellence is due to the difference in climate, between England and America. This is evidently a mistake, for as the matter of vocal cul- ture is becoming better understood by the choir masters of this country, it is found that our American boys are as capa- ble of producing a pure musical tone as the English lad. In fact, it is a matter of remark among our organists when abroad, that they never hear soloists there who compare for a moment with such Amer- ican soloists as Coker, Brandon, Forbush, Kavanagh, or ]3ond. These boys, of course, were exceptional boys in their time,and had exceptional training; but they were American boys, of whom we have been very proud. In recurring for a moment to the comparison of our own with the English ch6irs, it must not be forgotten that travellers usually hear the very best of English choirs, both in ca- thedrals and in the larger parish churches. But many of the choirs in the parish churches fall very much below the stan- dard of attainment which the daily prac- tice and daily service gives to these, and it would be a very easy matter to find choirs in England that fall very much below the average of our best choirs here. Most of the choir masters in this coun- try have a probationers class, into which is placed every new boy who applies to sing. He is there taught to produce his tones properly, to read music, to chant, and to become familiar with the church service. Then when a vacancy in the choir occurs, it is always understood that the boy best qualified will have the posi- tion. In this way, the boys are placed upon their mettle, and it is an incentive for them to do their best. It is always well to have boys of different ages in a choir, so that, as their voices change, they will gradually drop out one at a time. Were the boys of a choir all of the same age, or nearly the same, when the time Arthur E. Greene, St. Pauls, Boston. came for change of voice to occur, the choir would suddenly collapse so far as the altos and sopranos are concerned. Even with the present plan it is not al- ways possible to avoid the difficulty aris- ing from having several boys lose their voices at about the same time. This is owing to the fact that some boys mature at a much earlier age than others; while one boy may lose his voice at the age of thirteen, another may be able to sing un- til past seventeen; in fact, there was a noted solo boy in Boston, who was in his eighteenth year before losing his soprano voice. 152 BOY CHOIRS IN AMERICA. Edwin S. Baker, church of the Heavenly Rent, New York. The so-called public school training which boys receive is often found to be more of a detriment than an advantage, so far as their usefulness in the choir is concerned. A good share of the time devoted to music practice is taken up in teaching them to read music; and even with the best systems in use in our schools it requires be- tween two and three years for the scholars to become proficient readers, so that very little time is left before the change of voice occurs, in which they can be useful in the choir. But the boy chorister learns little or no- thing in the way of vocal culture at school. The music teacher in many cases is only able to visit the school once or twice a month. The school teacher supervises the daily practice, so far as she may be able to do so; but she is often one not musical by nature or training, and although she may endeavor to do her duty faithfully, the result is still anything but satisfactory. If a boy has a naturally prominent voice, he is urged on to lead the others, which he often does to destruction, so far as musical tone is concerned. It is next to impossible for a boy to obtain in this way any adequate vocal training. The choir boys are often cautioned by their choir masters to sing very softly at the school practice; or, better, not to sing at all. It has become quite the custom in Choir of St. Stephena Church, Lynn. BOY CHOIRS some of the larger churches, especially in the West, to have large choirs of fifty, seventy-five, and even a hundred voices; but this has never been found necessary in the churches abroad, though their church buildings are very much larger than ours, and the conventional cathe- dral choir will hardly ever number more than thirty or forty voices. The choir of St. Pauls Cathedral, London, numbers fifty-four voices, thirty-six boys and eigh- teen men. If this choir is adequate for a church that can easily seat six or eight thousand people, certainly, we have no call for choirs in this country numbering over thirty voices. The excuse for large num- bers is that a boys voice by cultivation IN AMERICA. 153 becomes softer, and therefore the more cultivated it becomes the greater will be the number of choristers required; cer- tainly a mistaken idea, for, as we have mentioned, in all preliminary vocal prac- tice the young chorister is cautioned to sing softly, yet when the voice is thor- oughly established and located, constant daily practice will soon make it as full and strong as it ever was before; besides, now it is a musical voice, and a musical tone will travel farther than a mere noise. The most noted and effective choirs, either in England or on the Continent, are, comparatively speaking, small choirs. The Choir Festivals, which have been held so numerously in this country in the Three Brother Chorioters, St. Jamess Church New York. 154 BOY CHOIRS IN AMERiCA. Willie /~ Macdonald, Appleton Chapel, Hareard. past few years, have been of no little service in introducing music of the high- est order and merit, and they bave also been the means of introducing the boy choir where it was almost unheard of before. The annual Choir Festival, which has been held in the diocese of Vermont, for instance, in the past fourteen years, has not only raised the standard of music throughout the state, but has also been instrumental in the estabhshment of sev- eral boy choirs. This is quite remark- able, when one considers the fact that there are no large towns in that state, Geo. L. Osgood, Choir Master, Emmanuel Church, Boston, and it has been thought that it would be next to impossible to establish and maintain a boy choir in a city of less than fifty thousand inhabitants. But, al though there is not a city in Vermont with this number of inhabitants, very good choirs may now be found there in towns of less than ten thousand inhabitants. The Choir Festivals are of great use to the choirs in the smaller towns in many ways. The best of music is selected by the committees in charge; it is then dis- tributed among the different choirs, and the work of practice begins. Later on, the precentor holds separate rehearsals with the different choirs, and then come the two or three general rehearsals before the festival. Thus the choirs have good music placed in their hands, and are taught how properly to render it, so that they can afterwards successfully produce it, in the various churches. It is the custom in this country, in churches where boy choirs are employed, to begin the service with a processional hymn, which the choir sings as it marches from the choir room to its place in the chancel. This custom of singing them- selves into their seats, as it is sometimes called, is quite unknown in England, the choirs in most of the churches there merely marching in while the opening voluntary is being played. They often have in some of the higher churches there, however, a function which they call the solemn procession, in which the S. B. Whitney, Organist and Choir Master, Church ot the Advent, Boston. BOY CHOIRS iN AMERICA. 155 choir and clergy, starting from the chan- cel, move down the centre aisle, and around the various other aisles of the church. The litany is thus sung in some churches in this country. It may not he generally known that litanies were intended to be sung in this way, the clergy and choir marching around various parts of the great cathedral, in order to get within nearer reach of each worship- per. Litanies have been sung in a similar manner about the streets of a city, especially in time of pestilence, the Church thus coming to the people to Choir of St. James Church Cambridge. Group from Emmanuel Church Choir, Boston. Recessional Church of the Advent, Boston. BOY CHOIRS IN AMERICA. 157 carry the consolations of religion, when it was well-nigh impossible for the people to come to the Church. It is a beautiful thing to see, as well as to hear, a well- trained choir singing the processional hymn as it goes marching up through the midst of the congregation, followed by the clergy and headed by the cross, illus- trating as it does the march of Chris- tianity through the world, and coming more into touch with the great body of worshippers. It is a great incentive to congregational singing, for which reason the choir should always march up the centre aisle when it is possible, rather than enter by a side door. It may be a matter of surprise to many to learn, what we have on undoubted au- thority, that boy choirs are not a modern innovation. In the accounts of St. Michaels Church, Charleston, S. C., there has been found a bill for washing the surplices of the clergy and children. This was in the year 1798. In 1807, the organist of the same church was requested to have at least twelve boys in the choir, that being the same number then em- ployed in the English Cathedral. At Trinity Church, New York, in 1733, before an organ was placed in the church, a Mr. Man is mentioned as the person who officiated in setting and singing the psalms, that is the metrical version by Tate and Brady, which was ordered to supersede the older version by Sternhold and Hopkins, as early as 1704. But it i~ also on record that the employment of boys to lead the singing at this church dates from about 1710. In 1741, an organ having been erected in the church, it was ordered that the churchwardens pay to Mr. Eldridge, the sum of five pounds, for his care and pains in having the children taught to sing psalms, etc. The choristers were the children of the Episcopal Charity School, accompanied by the organ, led and drilled by an in- dividual called the chorister. Some- times, on great occasions, an anthem was sung, but very rarely, the performers being gentlemen amateurs, who volun- teered their services for this purpose. We are told that on the 15th of January, 1761, an anthem was performed on the death of his late Sacred fylajesty (King George the II.), the chorus being composed of the boys of the Charity School. These boys were not vested, but wore the old Charity School regula- tion suit of blue coats and knee breeches with brass buttons, a dress which still lingers in many of the old towns of Eng- land. At the funeral of the Rev. Dr. Barclay, rector of Trinity Church, in August, 1764, the children of the Charity School marched at the head of the pro- cession singing a hymn. This is sup- posed to be the first instance on record of a processional hymn being sung in public in this country. In the year i8i8, the clerks of Trinity Church, St. Pauls, and St. Johns Chapels, Trinity Parish, New York, were ordered by the vestry to assist in instructing the congregations in Psalmody, under the direction of the then rector, afterwards Bishop Hobart. This seems not to have been a satisfactory arrangement, and endeavors were made to establish choirs in the different churches; but there was so much trouble in their formation, that the vestry of the parish decided to have some boys prop- erly instructed in singing, and in June, 1847, a committee reported that a school for choristers had been in operation nearly six months, and that the boys have the best of daily teaching and practice in music. The committee added, that it will require a year and probably longer to get a set of boys fully prepared, after which there will be a regular succession of boys, and it is be- lieved they may then be a substitute for female singers. From Christs Church, Philadelphia, we learn that Miss Clifford, in i8i6, be- queathed a sum of money to be applied to teaching six boys, as a choir to sing in Christ Church. There is no mention of these choristers being vested. To the Rev. Dr. Francis L. Hawkes we owe the establishment of the first vested choir in the North. This was at St. Thomas Hall, Flushing, L. I., in the year 1841; and we are informed that the fact of Dr. Hawkes having established this vested choir defeated his election to the bishop- ric of Mississippi. In describing the chapel at Flushing, the Rev. Dr. Mead, who opposed the consecration of Dr. 158 BOY CII OJES IN AMERICA. Hawkes, gave the following description of it: There was a choir and splendid organ. The little boys, the choristers, went into a vestry-room, each took down his white surplice from a peg, and ten or fifteen entered the choir and chanted the service of the church. This was the only instance of the use of the surplice in this way that he had ever known. We are told that at this description, there was considerable of a sensation, and much surprise was evinced. In reply, Dr. Hawkes gave his version of the matter, and said: The new chapel was a small building, fifty by thirty feet, with a chan- cel capable of accommodating some two hundred people. Now, with regard to the surpliced choir, music was taught at the hall on account of its moral influence. I had trained a choir of boys, who often went to New York, where the congrega- tions were much pleased to hear them sing. It was true that the boys had on their white surplices, after the manner of the singing boys of the Church of Eng- land; and, said Dr. Hawkes, I take great pride and delight in them. This was too much, however, for the con- serx~atism of the time, and Dr. Hawkes lost his election to the See of Mississippi. A short time after this, the rector of a parish in Ohio, the Rev. Mr. Tate of Columbus, endeavored to establish a vested choir of men and boys, and the result was that he was driven from the diocese and threatened with deposition from the ministry. Trinity Parish, New York, was or- ganized in 1697. The employment of boys in this church to lead the singing dates from about 1710. In 1709, the parish founded the Charity School, the boys of which sang at some of the special services, as has been mentioned. After the great fire of 1776, which destroyed church and school, the latter was moved up town, and the attendance of the boys doubtless ceased. The church then built was in its turn taken down, to make way for the present structure, completed and opened in 1846. A fine organ was built by Henry Erben, and an English or- ganist, Dr. Edward Hodges, appointed. The choir boys had been trained by Dr. Hodges, and from this time, boys have served continuously in the choir, at first in conjunction with a double quartet and mixed chorus, all in the organ gallery at the west end. In 1858, Dr. S. H. Cutler succeeded Dr. Hodges, and in the following year the boy choir was placed in the chancel and the feminine element finally dropped. Choir vestments were not worn until a year later. In i866, Dr. A. H. Messiter was appointed or- ganist, and in June of last year, 1891, the twenty-fifth anniversary of his appoint- ment was celebrated by a service, at which Gounods Orph& oniste Mass for men~ s voices was sung by a hundred and twenty-five past and present members of the choir. The regular choir numbers thirty-five, eighteen boys and seventeen men, about two-thirds of whom are paid salaries. The service music used is chiefly English, the anthems from all sources; and at the principal festivals the classical Masses of Beethoven, Haydn, Schubert, etc., are sung, the service of Ascension Day being accompanied by a complete orchestra and the choir largely increased. The church contains two organs, a large one in the west gallery and a smaller one in the chancel; both are used at Sunday services, and are not mechanically connected, the assistant or- ganist, Mr. Victor Baier, usually playing on the large organ, which is used for voluntaries and occasionally in the ser- vice. The choir of Old Trinity is so well known throughout the country, on account of the reputation it has always maintained for its admirable performance of church music, that extended comment here would be superfluous. The choir of Trinity Chapel, West Twenty-fifth Street, New York, was or- dered to be vested by the Trinity Church corporation, in March, 1866, but it does not appear that the vestments were worn until the first Sunday in May of that year. This choir is well known as one of the most important of the Trinity Church corporation, and has for the last twenty- two years been under the direction of Dr. Walter B. Gilbert, the well-known organist and composer, whose music is sung in many of our churches. If he had never written anything else, he would certainly be entitled to the thanks of all BOY CHOIRS IN AMERICA. 15.9 good church people for having given us the beautiful music of the hymn, Pleas- ant Are Thy Courts Above. The choir of Trinity Chapel consists of thirty-two members, twenty boys, and twelve men, and during the entire time of its exist- ence it has performed th~e music of the daily service throughout the year. One of the celebrated choirs in New York is that of St. Johns Chapel, Var- rick Street. This is another chapel of the Trinity corporation. The choir was vested for the first time in September, i866. The organist and choir master is Mr. George F. Lejeurne. This was one of the first choirs to give a special monthly musical evening service. These services became so popular, that it was well-nigh impossible to gain admission to the church without going some time in advance of the hour appointed for the beginning of the service. The most elaborate selections of music, from the oratorios and other sources, were given with the most perfect finish so far as the execution of the music was concerned; and by Mr. Lejeurnes method of train- ing the voices of his choristers, a peculiar quality of tone resulted, quite different from that produced by any other choir- master in the city. The choir of St. Chrysostoms Chapel is one of which the Trinity corporation may well be proud. This choir is the one usually chosen to supplement that o,f Dr. Messiters choir on the great festival of Ascension Day. It is thus to be set down to the credit of old Trinity, that three of the first churches to properly and permanently establish boy choirs belong to that venerable parish. The choir of the Church of the Heav- enly Rest, Fifth Avenue and 4~th Street, has been in charge of Mr. Henry Carter for some three or four years. Mr. Car- ter has been an organist for forty-five years, having begun at the age of nine as organist to the Rev. Sir John Seymour, father of the present Admiral Seymour. He was at one time organist of the English cathedral at Quebec. Later on he had charge of the choir of the Church of the Advent, Boston, and during his administration the choir was very much improved and some fine soloists were brought out, among them being Masters Willie Breare, John Laster, Arthur But- trick, and Fred Sayer, who were soloists of the first order. A most interesting musical performance was at this time given by the choir in Music Hall, Boston; Dr. Cutler, who was then at Trinity, New York, coming on, and bringing with him his solo boys, Richard Coker, Theodore Toedt, Ehrlich, and Granden; with the accompaniment of the then newly im- ported great organ, the effect was grand. After being for a short time at St. Ste- phens, Providence, Mr. Carter, in 1873, joined the musical staff at Trinity Church, New York, playing the great organ in the gallery, where he remained seven years. At the Church of the Heavenly Rest he found a choir without soloists, and in fact without one satisfactory voice; but with good results he has brought forward Masters Edward Baker, Frank Osborne, Harry Gibbs, and Winfred Young, who have made their mark as soloists. The Cathedral choir at Garden City, L. I., has made quite a reputation for itself under the able direction of Dr. W. H. W~odcock, who has had great success in producing a beautiful pure tone from his choristers, and a certain finish in the ex- ecution of church music that has at- tracted many people to Garden City. One of the finest solo boys who have been heard in or about New York in late years was the soloist of this choir, Mas- ter Fred Forbush, who not only had a most beautiful voice, but was so thor- oughly musical in his nature that he sang like a young artist. There seem to have been a succession of fine solo boys at this cathedral; one of them, after leaving the choir, sang in a church in New York at a salary of nine hundred dollars, prob- ably the largest salary ever paid to a boy soloist, certainly in this country. The present choir of St. Jamess Church, New York, was organized May ist, ~886; before that date the music was rendered by a quartet of men and women, re- inforced by a small chorus of boys. The boy singers, however, in the days of the old quartet, did not take much interest in their work, and left most of the singing to be done by the men and women. Since May, r886, only boy 160 BOY CHOIRS IN AMERICA. sopranos have been used. The choir has become famous, chiefly through the purity of tone developed in the boys voices. In November, 1886, the choir commenced giving recitals of standard oratorios and cantatas. The performance of these works elicited the strongest commendations from the musical public at large; not only were people of the Episcopal church attracted to the ser- vices, but many came to hear the choir from other denominations. Among the works sung have been Haydns Crea- tion, Gauls Holy City, Sullivans Prodigal Son, Barnbys Rebekah, Spohrs Last Judgment, Stainers Daughter of Jairus, Webers Jubi- lee Cantata, Handels Messiah, Men- delssohns Lauda Sion, Mendelssohns Elijah, Gounods Gallia, Gauls Ten Virgins, Garretts Shunamite, Stainers Crucifixion, Arnolds Song of the Redeemed, Garretts Harvest Cantata, and the Two Advents. All of these works have been sung complete, with the exception of the larger orato- rios. The choir enjoys the distinction of being the only choir in this co~intry, which has ever had special cantatas corn- posed expressly for it. Dr. Arnold, of Winchester Cathedral, England, com- posed the Song of the Redeemed; and Dr. Garrett, of the University of Cam- bridge, wrote the Two Advents for St. Jamess choir. Other works from foreign authors will probably follow in due time. The fact that the choir has rendered works of such importance, in a manner acknowledged by all to be equal to the singing of choral societies gener- ally, has done much in New York City to vindicate the ability of boys to sing difficult music as well as xvomen. The choir of the Church of the Holy Trinity, Madison Avenue, has been very much improved since it has come under the direction of Mr. H. W. Parker, the well-known organist and composer. This choir often unites with the Garden City choir in special festival services held al- ternately at Garden City and in the Church of the 1-loly Trinity; and Mr. Parkers choir has supplemented the mixed chorus of the Church Choral So- ciety, in some notable performances which have been given, with orchestral accom- paniment, under the direction of Mr. Richard Henry Warren, Mr. Parker pre- siding at the organ. There are many fine choirs in Brook- lyn, and on the occasion of the Brook- lyn Choir Festival, which occurs annu- ally, a wonderful chorus of over six hun- dred voices is to be heard; the singers filling up the entire body of the church where the festival is held. Here is some- thing to see as well as hear, a congre- gation robed in white, and congregational singing of elaborate anthems and services and hymns, the performance of which is impressive in the highest degree. The Church of the Advent, in Boston, was the first church in that city to employ boy choristers in the choir, and the first church in New England in which a vested choir appeared. This church, beginning in an upper room , on Causeway Street, subsequently removed to a church building on Green Street, thence to Bowdoin Street, afterwards to the beautiful church on the corner of Mount Vernon and Brimmer Streets. In the early days of the parish the music was under the management of several gentlemen, constituting a music committee, xvho filled the position of organist from among their own number. In 1852 a choir of boys was introduced by the Rev. Dr. Croswell, but they were not vested until some years later under the Rev. Dr. James A. Bolles. The first professional organist was Dr. Steven Henry Cutler, a thoroughly competent and well educated church musician, whom we have already mentioned in connection with the establishment of the boy choir at old Trinity, New York. Mr. Edward Mattson succeeded Dr. Cutler, after a short interval, during which a parishioner presided at the organ. During Mr. Mattsons admin- istration the choir attained notable excel- lence as regards the individual voices of its members. On the departure of Mr. Mattson his place was filled by Mr. Henry Carter, an English organist of rare ability, of whose work in training the choir and developing rare solo talent I have already spoken. On his leaving Boston to become the organist of St. Stephens, Providence, many of his 161 BOY CHOiRS IN AMERICA. choristers followed him, which left the choir in a sad condition for his successor, Mr. Hermann Daum, who found it uphill work, though ably assisted in the training of the boys by Mr. William H. Daniell, who was the first to fill the independent position of choir master. Mr. Daum was succeeded by Mr. William J. Coles, a young man of remarkable talent and promise, but on account of failing health he was soon obliged to give up the posi- tion. The Rev. Joseph W. Hill was now appointed choir master, and the writer took the position of organist. Marked changes were made in the character of the services. Some of the greater masses of Gounod, Schubert, and Mozart were sung for the first time; given first with piano accompaniment and afterwards with a small orchestra to supplement the or- gan. In 1882, Mr. Hill went to old Trinity, New York, and the writer took full charge of the music as organist and choir master. The last Sunday in Novem- ber, 1891 (the first Sunday in Advent), being the twentieth anniversary of his in- cumbency as organist of the church, was celebrated by a special service, in which many past as well as present members of the choir took part, making a notable chorus; the music sung being the Mass for male voices (Orph& oniste Mass) by Gounod, the same music that was sung at the twenty- fifth anniversary of Dr. Messiter in New York. Among the notable soprano solo- ists brought out in the choir in the past few years have been Fred Bond, who had a phenomenal voice, Fred Rimbach, Edwin Warring, Hartwell Staples, Peter Delehanty, and Eugene Storer. The acoustical properties of the new Church of the Advent are exceptional, and the organ is one of the finest instruments in the country. As before stated, on the greater festivals, a large and effective orchestra is always employed, the players being taken largely from the Boston Symphony Orchestra, through the liberality of Mr. j. Montgomery Sears, a gentleman who has always taken the greatest interest in the boy choir movement, and who at his own expense established some years since, and still maintains, a fine choir at Trinity Church, Marlborough, Mass. The influence which has always been exerted by the Church of the Advent, as a pioneer church in matters of church music, especially during the administra- tions of Dr. Cutler, Mr. Carter, and Rev. J. W. Hill, has been widely felt and acknowledged. The Church of the Messiah was the next in Boston to employ a vested choir. It attained great excellence under the direction of Mr. J. T. Gardam, who resigned a few years ago, to be fol- lowed by Mr. Joseph Stewart, the present choir master. The society has lately moved into a new church. There have been some notable solo boys connected with this choir, among them being Mas- ters Waldo Merrill and George Proctor. The latter, after change of voice, having a strong inclination for music, pursued his studies at the Conservatory, and is now the organist of the church, and gives promise of making his mark in his chosen profession. The two choirs of St. Pauls and Emmanuel, Boston, have both sur- pliced choirs in the chancel, after having gone through the various changes of having first quartet choirs in the gallery, then quartet and chorus choirs, and afterwards a choir of boys and men still in the gallery loft, finally placing this latter choir in the chancel, surpliced. The choir of boys and men in St. Pauls church was introduced in September, 1887, under the direction of Mr. Warren A. Locke. For three years it sang in the old choir loft, but in the fall of 1891 the new organ was placed in the front part of the church, and the choir took its place beside it. I~he choir is sometimes augmented at special services by the choir of Harvard College, which is also under the direction of Mr. Locke. The choir consists of twenty-four boys and eight men. The choir of Appleton Chapel, at Harvard, was introduced in October, 1883, being composed at that time of sixteen boys and eight men. The numbers have since been increased to twenty-four boys and twenty men. All the men are in the University, and it not infrequently happens that there will be but two or three years interval from the time when the soprano or alto, a Cambridge schoolboy, leaves the choir to his re-entrance as a tenor or bass, as he 162 BOY CHOIRS IN AMERICA. becomes a Harvard freshman. There are daily services during term time at a quarter before nine in the morning. At times, as at the recent serVice in memory of James Russell Lowell, the choir is augmented by the choir of St. Pauls, making a chorus of seventy-five voices. The choir of Emmanuel Church is under the direction of Mr. George L. Osgood, the well-known director of the Boylston Club and the Singers Society of Boston, and has done admirable work while under his charge. It numbers forty voices, twenty-four boys and sixteen men, the latter so chosen as to form an effective chorus for the performance also of works for male voices. Mr. Lexvis S. Thompson is the organist and supple- ments Mr. Osgood in the training of the boys. In 1889 a new organ was placed in the church, built by George S. Hutch- ings, one of the most effective organs in the city. The choir of St. Jamess Church, Cam- bridge, was founded in 1884. Its growth and improvement have been rapid, and its influence is not limited to the parish wherein its work lies. Mr. Ernest Douglass is the organist and choir master. The choir of St. Stephens Church, Lynn, was organized in the spring of 1876, under the rectorship of the Rev. Lewis DeCormis, to whose efforts the in- stitution of the choir was largely due. Its first choir master was Mr. Walter B. Bartlett, and the organist, Mr. Lemuel G. Carpenter. In 1879 Mr. Edward K. XVeston took charge as both organist and choir master, remaining until his death in 1891. During his administration the choir attained its present high position among the boy choirs of Massachusetts. Mr. Weston was succeeded by Mr. Fran- cis Johnson as choir master, and by Perley B. Pilsbury as organist. The choir of St. Johns Church, Jamaica Plain, has done effective work under the direction of Mr. J. Everett Pearson. Com- ing to the church in 1889, he succeeded in getting a choir of boys and men to- gether, and after diligent practice such rapid progress was made that it was thought that by Christmas the choir would be sufficiently advanced to make its first essay in church on the occasion of public worship, which it did. The choir has gone on constantly improving, and has become one of the best choirs to be heard in the vicinity of Boston, the boys getting a beautiful quality of tone and performing church music with ac- curacy and finish. Time and space forbid me to speak in detail of all the excellent choirs to be found in New England and other parts of the country. There are several fine choirs in the diocese of Connecticut that deserve special mention, notably that of Trinity Church, Middletown, which has been under the direction of Mr. H. De- Coven Ryder, who has not only had re- markable success in developing the choir of his own church, but has been largely instrumental in organizing the Choir Festival Association of the state, which has already given three festivals with notable success. Trinity Church, New Haven, has a boy choir under the direc- tion of Mr. XV. R. Hedden. A former member of Trinity choir, New York, Mr. Hedden has been able to bring to his work the experience thus gained, and has so improved his choir as to be able to give special evening services, bringing out such works as The Daughter of Darius, by Stainer; the Advent Hymn, by Schumann; and God, Thou Art Great, by Spohr. A boy choir has also within the past few years taken the place of the old quartet at Christ Church, Hartford, so long the scene of the labors of the late Henry Wilson, the organist, whose music is gratefully remembered by the older members of the congregation. Mr. George P. Havens organized the choir, and has remained in charge up to the present time; just now, however, leaving for a similar position at Christ Church, New Haven. At the beautiful church at Morristown, N. J., is to be heard a very efficient choir, which has been under the direction of Mr. Alfred Baker, who is soon to relin- quish it for a metropolitan position. The music at All Saints Church, Worcester, Mass., has for many years been rendered by a choir of boys and men. Under the direction of Mr. Rice as choir master and Mr. G. Arthur Smith as organist the 163 BOY (VI QIRS IN AMERICA. music has advanced to a high standard of excellence. The choir of St. Pauls School, Con- cord, N. H., has for twenty-two years been under the charge of Mr. James T. Knox. In i868, while the enlargement of the old chapel was in progress, the Sunday services were held in the second story of one of the school buildings. There the present choir master and or- gamst began his long and valuable ser- vices to the school. A cabinet organ was the first instrument used, and a com- pany of ten boys composed the choir. Mr. Knox, then a young man with a rare enthusiasm for music, spared no effort to perfect himself in the divine art, and expended unlimited patience and time in training the choir. He imparted a portion of his own zeal to his pupils, the boys cheerfully giving both study and play hours to practising, although no release from the regular school work was ever gained thereby. More than three hundred boys have be- longed to the choir in the last twenty years. In many of the boys have been developed rare solo voices; among those who are thus numbered one recalls with pleasure Frank H. Potter, George K. Sheldon, Augustus M. Swift, William F. J ennison, Hoffman Miller, and George S. Hodges. A beautiful new chapel has been occupied by the school for the past three or four years, and a large and effective organ by Hutchings placed in the chancel, which adds much to the attractiveness of the service. The number of choristers is fifty-four, twenty-eight trebles, five altos, seven tenors, and twelve basses. St. Pauls Church, Concord, N. H., has maintained a boy choir for many years, under the direction of Mr. F. H. Brown, organist and choir master. Mr. Brown relinquishing his post a year ago, Mr. H. G. Blaisdell succeeded him and the choir is prospering under his administration, and promises to attain a high state of perfection. Probably one of the most effective choirs in the South is that of St. Pauls Church, Baltimore. This church is in charge of the Rev. J. S. B. Hodges, a gentleman who has done so much for the cause of church music in this country, both by his influence and writings and especially by his compositions, the nu- merous anthems and canticles emanat- ing from his pen being used extensively by the various churches throughout the country. The choir dates from Easter, 1873, Dr. Hodges at first taking the whole responsibility of the training of the choristers, oftentimes taking his place at the organ as xvell at the afternoon service when the boys were beginning to displace the old mixed choir. Mr. Win- terbottom, now of Brooklyn, was many years choir master and organist. He was succeeded by Mr. Crook, who after- wards went to Calvary Church, New York. Mr. W. H. Whitingham is the present organist and choir master. The choir consists of fourteen sopranos, five altos, five tenors, and five basses. There are many excellent boy choirs in New York state outside the metropolis. At the Cathedral of All Saints, Albany, under the able direction of Dr. Jeffries, an English organist; at Syracuse; at Roches- ter, xvhere Mr. J. E. Bagley has several choirs under his charge; at St. Pauls, Buffalo, and in many of the smaller cities, the male choir has been introduced and local choir festivals are of frequent occur- rence. It has been much easier to in- troduce such choirs in the West than it has in the East, there being no old pre- judices to overcome, and little or no fear that its adoption meant or implied anything more than a more appropriate rendering of churchly music. At ~Aeve- land, Detroit, Toledo, Cincinnati, and St. Louis, to say nothing of smaller towns, may be found many excellent choirs. In Chicago, the Choir Festival held a year ago, in the Auditorum, where some twelve hundred singers, boys and men, sang in a chorus, under the very able direction of Mr. H. B. Roney, will give some idea of the prevalence of this kind of choir in and about that city. This Festival was a most decided success, from a musical point of view, due in a large degree to the untiring zeal and energy with which Mr. Roney entered into the preliminary work of preparing the singers for the final rehearsals. Prob- ably the best-known choir in Chicago is that of Grace Church, where Mr. Roney 164 WRY SONGS AkE SUNG. is in charge. The choir first sang in the church in October, 1884, under the charge of Mr. Herbert 0. Gidham; who was succeeded, in turn, by Messrs. S. B. Whiteley, C. E. Reynolds, F. C. F. Kramer, and Mr. Roney, the present in- cumbent, who assumed the charge in May, 1887, and enlarged the choir to a membership of seventy-five choristers. The services at Grace Church have at- tracted much attention since Mr. Roney has brought the choir to its present high standard of perfection; and at the special monthly services on Sunday evenings, the church building has been found to be too small to accommodate the vast multitudes of people who desired to attend. Master Blatchford N. Kavanagh was the soloist of the choir. This lad had a most re- markable soprano voice, which skilful training, as well as practice, had devel- oped so that he became one of the noted soloists of the country. Besides having this remarkable voice, under good culti- vation, the lad had, withall, a musical nature of the highest order, and sang his selections with much expression and feel- ing. Indeed, his voice was considered so phenomonal that Mr. Roney, leaving his ch~Ar for a time in the hands of a deputy organist, took the lad to Califor- nia, singing in all the large cities from Chicago to San Francisco. He has never sung in the East, his voice changing some two years ago; so that there has been no opportunity to compare him with such soloists as Brandon, Forbush, or Noung. But there is little doubt that this lad was one of the greatest, if not the greatest, soloist that this country has ever pro- duced. There is a fine choir at St. Jamess Church, under the direction of Mr. Smedley, also at the Cathedral Church on the West side. Mr. Walter C. Hall has charge of a choir at Emmanuel Church, and is doing good work. The boy choir has also taken the place of the quartet at Trinity Church. There is a very fine choir in the cathedral at Denver, in charge of Dr. Gower, a very able organist and choir master, who came out from England several years ago, to take charge of the music at this church. With the wonderful progress that has been made in this country in the last fifteen or twenty years in view, both in church music and choir training, the outlook for the future is full of promise, and there is some warrant for thinking that the time is not far distant when the daily service will be heard in many cathedrals of the larger dioceses at least; which, with the necessary daily practice, will insure greater efficiency and excellence, the effect of which will be felt ~at once by the parish choirs, so that, at no distant day, the standard of church music will come up to, if not surpass, that of the mother country. Let this be our hope. CONTENT. By Jo/zn B. Ta~b. XAJ ERE all the heavens an overladen bough VI Of ripened benediction lowered above me, What could I crave, soul-satisfied as now, That thou dost love me? The door is shut. To each unsheltered blessing Henceforth I say, Depart! What wouldst thou of me? Beggared I am of want, this boon possessing, That thou dost love me.

John B. Tabb Tabb, John B. Content 164-165

164 WRY SONGS AkE SUNG. is in charge. The choir first sang in the church in October, 1884, under the charge of Mr. Herbert 0. Gidham; who was succeeded, in turn, by Messrs. S. B. Whiteley, C. E. Reynolds, F. C. F. Kramer, and Mr. Roney, the present in- cumbent, who assumed the charge in May, 1887, and enlarged the choir to a membership of seventy-five choristers. The services at Grace Church have at- tracted much attention since Mr. Roney has brought the choir to its present high standard of perfection; and at the special monthly services on Sunday evenings, the church building has been found to be too small to accommodate the vast multitudes of people who desired to attend. Master Blatchford N. Kavanagh was the soloist of the choir. This lad had a most re- markable soprano voice, which skilful training, as well as practice, had devel- oped so that he became one of the noted soloists of the country. Besides having this remarkable voice, under good culti- vation, the lad had, withall, a musical nature of the highest order, and sang his selections with much expression and feel- ing. Indeed, his voice was considered so phenomonal that Mr. Roney, leaving his ch~Ar for a time in the hands of a deputy organist, took the lad to Califor- nia, singing in all the large cities from Chicago to San Francisco. He has never sung in the East, his voice changing some two years ago; so that there has been no opportunity to compare him with such soloists as Brandon, Forbush, or Noung. But there is little doubt that this lad was one of the greatest, if not the greatest, soloist that this country has ever pro- duced. There is a fine choir at St. Jamess Church, under the direction of Mr. Smedley, also at the Cathedral Church on the West side. Mr. Walter C. Hall has charge of a choir at Emmanuel Church, and is doing good work. The boy choir has also taken the place of the quartet at Trinity Church. There is a very fine choir in the cathedral at Denver, in charge of Dr. Gower, a very able organist and choir master, who came out from England several years ago, to take charge of the music at this church. With the wonderful progress that has been made in this country in the last fifteen or twenty years in view, both in church music and choir training, the outlook for the future is full of promise, and there is some warrant for thinking that the time is not far distant when the daily service will be heard in many cathedrals of the larger dioceses at least; which, with the necessary daily practice, will insure greater efficiency and excellence, the effect of which will be felt ~at once by the parish choirs, so that, at no distant day, the standard of church music will come up to, if not surpass, that of the mother country. Let this be our hope. CONTENT. By Jo/zn B. Ta~b. XAJ ERE all the heavens an overladen bough VI Of ripened benediction lowered above me, What could I crave, soul-satisfied as now, That thou dost love me? The door is shut. To each unsheltered blessing Henceforth I say, Depart! What wouldst thou of me? Beggared I am of want, this boon possessing, That thou dost love me. WOMENS WORK AT THE HARVARD OBSERVATORY. By Helen Leak Reed. ASTRONOMERS have always wel- now so largely used that the observer,. corned to their ranks, women of magnifying glass in hand, can at any hour genius like Caroline Hersehell, of the day study the photographic plate Mary Somerville, and Maria Mitchell; and with results even more satisfactory than various European and American observa- those formerly obtained by visual or tele- tories have of late years employed not a scopic observations at night. In the few women computers. The Harvard average observatory, where men are em- College Observatory has been especially ployed, it is obviously impracticable for appreciative of the work of women; not women to engage in night observing. only employing them as computers, but Photography as applied to astronomy has, definitely encouraging them to undertake therefore, greatly increased her opportuni- original research. Yet, although there is ties for original research. Although in a field for womans work in astrometry, astrometry, photography has often been the so-called old astronomy, with its used to show the contact of an eclipse, or problems relating to the positions and the transit of a planet, or to answer some motions of the heavenly bodies, a much similar purpose, its use in astrophysics is wider scope is offered for the work of much more extensive. Yet, valuable as woman in astrophysics, the so-called are the photographic records of solar and new astronomy. For in this latter branch lunar surfaces, the photographic analyses of practical astronomy, photography is of the stars in a group or of the con- The Harvard Observatory.

Helen Leah Reed Reed, Helen Leah Women's Work at the Harvard Observatory 165-177

WOMENS WORK AT THE HARVARD OBSERVATORY. By Helen Leak Reed. ASTRONOMERS have always wel- now so largely used that the observer,. corned to their ranks, women of magnifying glass in hand, can at any hour genius like Caroline Hersehell, of the day study the photographic plate Mary Somerville, and Maria Mitchell; and with results even more satisfactory than various European and American observa- those formerly obtained by visual or tele- tories have of late years employed not a scopic observations at night. In the few women computers. The Harvard average observatory, where men are em- College Observatory has been especially ployed, it is obviously impracticable for appreciative of the work of women; not women to engage in night observing. only employing them as computers, but Photography as applied to astronomy has, definitely encouraging them to undertake therefore, greatly increased her opportuni- original research. Yet, although there is ties for original research. Although in a field for womans work in astrometry, astrometry, photography has often been the so-called old astronomy, with its used to show the contact of an eclipse, or problems relating to the positions and the transit of a planet, or to answer some motions of the heavenly bodies, a much similar purpose, its use in astrophysics is wider scope is offered for the work of much more extensive. Yet, valuable as woman in astrophysics, the so-called are the photographic records of solar and new astronomy. For in this latter branch lunar surfaces, the photographic analyses of practical astronomy, photography is of the stars in a group or of the con- The Harvard Observatory. Room devoted to Draper Memorial Work, at the Harvard Observatory WOMENS WORK AT THE HARVARD OBSERVATORY 167 figuration of nebul~, even more wonder- ful are the recent stellar discoveries made by photographing the spectra of the stars. It is in this last-named branch of astrophysics, that the women assistants at the Harvard Observatory have accom- plished important results. Perhaps the most striking results thus far achieved by these women as- sistants are Mrs. Flemings discov- ery that variable stars of a certain type may be proved variable by the bright lines in their spectra, and Miss Maurys dis- covery that Beta Aurigae is a close binary, proved so from the study of its spectrum. Yet the whole experi- ment of employ- ing women to the extent to which they are here em- ployed is worthy of attention. For the Harvard Observatory is the first to develop a corps of trained women assistants, dealing with difficult problems as successfully as men deal with them at other observatories; and this corps of women, in addition to doing thorough routine work, has shown great capacity for original investigations. Moreover, they are employed not from the meaner motive which so often leads to the open- ing of some new field for womens work, viz., that their work can be obtained at a cheaper rate than that of men; for the women assistants doing routine work are paid at the same fixed rate per hour as the men in other departments of the Observatory who do the same kind of work. Work paid for by the hour pos- sesses certain obvious advantages, since the worker is thus tied down to no fixed hours, and she may even do portions of her work at home. Much of the Harvard Observatory work is, however, carried on in two light, pleasant rooms, of which illus- trations are here shown. These rooms appear the workrooms that they are,. with their convenient writing-tables, shelves of note-books, astronomical cata- logues and reports, with their walls hung with star maps and portraits of noted astronomers. Here and there on tables. and window-seats lie magnifying glasses,. frames for holding the plates, and other necessary appli- ances; while ranged in the hall- way and ante- chamber are num- erous wooden boxes containing the brittle though perishable glass. plates, those in- disputable records of the Draper Memorial work. In these very glass plates is seen one of the chief ad- vantages derived from the applica- tion of photogra- phy to astronomy. For these plates. reproduce the condition of the same region of the sky at various periods, and hence may be referred to at any time to confirm any discovery. Should a bright star suddenly appear in the sky, its previous absence or comparative faintness could at once be proved from these incontrovertible rec- ords. The work in which women take part at the Harvard Observatory may be divided into three classes. r. Computing, based on the work of others. For twenty years some women have always been included in the corps of Harvard computers. 2. Original deductions (not necessa- rily star-work). Work of this kind has been carried on chiefly by special students. of the Harvard Annex. In this class of work must be named a longitude cam- paign probahly the only longitude cam- paign ever conducted wholly by women, whereby Miss Byrd and Miss Whitney determined the precise difference in lon- gitude between the Smith College and Henry Draper, MD., LL.D. 168 WOMENS WORK AT THE HARVARD OBSERVATORY Harvard College Observa- tories. Miss Bryd is now direc- tor of the Smith College Observatory, and Miss Whitney is Maria Mitchells successor at Vassar. In this second class of work may be included also the making of a standard catalogue of the stars near the North Pole by Miss Anna Winlock, the daughter of a former director of the Har- vard Observatory. 3. The Henry Draper Me- morial work, and four other investigations, less extensive, though similar in kind to those provided for by the Draper fund. As the Draper Memorial in- vestigations form one of the most noteworthy departments of the Harvard Observatory, / and as these investigations under the general direction of Prof. E. C. Pickering, the di- rector of the Observatory are carried on by women, the present article will devote itself principally to a description of this work. Moreover, the work is supported wholly by a woman, Mrs. Anna Palmer Draper of New York, in honor of her husband, Dr. Henry Draper, who was a pioneer in the work of photographing stellar spectra. Henry Draper, son of the distinguished Draper Photographic Teleocope House. John William Draper, was born in Vir- ginia, March 7, 1837. He received the degree of Doctor of Medicine from the University of the City of New York in 1858, and for eighteen months after his graduation was on the staff of the Belle- vue Hospital. At the end of this time, he was chosen professor of Natural Sci- ence in the Academic Department of the University of the City of New York, holding successive- ly in this institution the chairs of Physi- ology in the Medi- cal Department, of Analytic Chemistry and of Chemistry in the Academic Department. For a long time, also, he was Dean of the Faculty. At the end of the aca- demic year, June, 1882, he resigned his professors chair; but overwork / Draper Photographic Telescope. 4 WOMENS WORK AZ! TInE HARVARD OBSERVATORY 169 had already begun to tell on him, and he died Nov. 20, 1882, after a brief illness. As an instructor, Henry Draper received the highest praise from his students; for he possessed to an unusual degree the power of kindling their enthusiasm while adding to their store of knowledge. Yet, engross- ing as were the duties of Dr. Drapers chosen vocation, he still found time for an avocation that would have sufficed for the life-work of most men. Furthermore, on the death of his father-in-law, Mr. Cortland Palmer, in 1871, he became managing trustee of a large estate, and in this position was known as an exceedingly efficient business man. Finally, he by no means neglected society, but had a large circle of warm friends, among whom he was distinguished for his wit and conversational powers. He was fond of art, music, and outdoor sports; and he spared neither the great wealth at his command nor his own energy to pursue to a successful end those scien- tific investigations in which he was interested. The avocation referred to above was spectroscopic pho~ tography. In this branch of practical astronomy, Dr. Draper was an indefatigable worker. His fame as a scientific man is based on his photographic investigations, as regards, i. Diffraction spectrum of the sun. 2. Stellar spectra. the attention of Prof. Joseph Henry. ~. The existence of oxygen in the sun. The latter, visiting Dr. Drapers observa- 4. Spectra of the elements. tory in 1863, induced him to write a Undoubtedly, the fact that from earliest monograph On the Construction of a youth Henry Draper had been his fathers Silvered Glass Telescope fifteen and one- assistant and confidant in many of the half inches in aperture, and its use in experiments undertaken by the latter did Celestial Photography, which appeared much to develop his scientific ability and in July, 1864, as No. i 8o of the Smith- acumen. His interest in photqgyaphy sonian Contributions to Know/edge. was aroused during his medical course, To his observatory at Hastings on the when he had had occasion to make a Hudson, Dr. Draper soon added a photo- series of micrographs, illustrating certain graphic laboratory, and for several years microscopic studies, for his graduation devoted himself to celestial photography. thesis; and his interest in astronomy re- ceived an impetus when, in i 857, during a European tour, he had an opportunity to see the great Rosse telescope. On his return to America, he began to construct for his own use, a telescope similar to the Rosse telescope, though much smaller. So striking were the experiments success- fully carried on by the young man while constructing this fifteen and one-half inch reflecting telescope, that they attracted Region of Bright Line Stars in cygnus, Spectrum Plate. 170 WOMENS WORK AT TIlE HARVARD OBSERVATORY It was not until after the completion of his great twenty-eight-inch telescope, in 1872, that Dr. Draper secured his first successful photograph of the spectrum of a fixed star. This photograph, obtained without slit or lens, by using a quartz prism placed just inside the focus of the smaller mirror, was the result of a long investigation carried on by him for sev- eral years. He made gradual improve- ments in his methods, and was greatly aided in his work by the invention of dry plates in 1879. In October, 1879, he read a paper before the National Acad- emy of Sciences, which attracted much attention, and from August, 1879, until his death, he made seventy-eight photo- graphs of stellar and planetary spectra. Although in the photographing of stellar spectra may be counted Dr. Drapers most valuable contributions to science, other branches of astronomy deeply in- terested him. In 1874, he was appointed Director of the Photographic Department of the United States Commission estab- lished to observe the transit of Venus. Devoting himself to this work for three months, in spite of the fact that his home duties prevented his actually joining the expedition, the success of the observa- tions was so largely due to him, that Con- gress ordered a special gold medal struck in his honor at the Philadelphia Mint. Dr. Draper also organized and directed a small expedition to view the total solar eclipse of July 29, 1878. The party was a notable one, consisting of Dr. and Mrs. Draper, Mr. Thomas A. Edison, Prof. Henry Morton, and Mr. Geo. F. Barker. The station, Rawlins, Wyoming, had been selected by Dr. Draper on account of its favorable atmospheric qualities; and the expedition was so well equipped, that Dr. Draper was able to reach the conclu Enlargement of Spectrum of Beta Aurigee, 1889, Dec. 31, Oh 5 G.MT. Enlargement of Spectrum of Beta Aurigae, 889, Dec. 30, 17h. 6 GM.T. WOMENS WORK AT THE EAR VARD OBSERVATORY 171 sion that the corona of the sun shines by bility of recording the position and bright- light reflected from the solar mass by a ness of stars was stated in three elabo- cloud of meteors surrounding it. rate papers by Mr. G. P. Bond, published It is not possible here, from lack of in the Astro;io,nisci~en Nackrichte,~ in space, to speak of the many mechanical the same year. For a time, stellar pho- devices by means of which Dr. Draper tography at the Harvard Observatory was facilitated his own work. These, and suspended; but in 1882 it was resumed, indeed all his inventions, were freely con- with the assistance of Prof. W. H. Pick- tributed to the general cause of science. ering. Thenceforth, continuous experi- Mrs. Draper had always taken deep ments in stellar photography were made interest in Dr. Drapers work, and had at this observatory, aided by appropria- even at times been his assistant in some tions from the Rumford Fund of the of his delicate experiments. After his American Academy, and later by the death, she at first thought of establishing Bache Fund of the National Academy of in New York, an observatory equipped Sciences. With the eight-inch Voigtliin- with his superb apparatus, and liberally der doublet purchased from the latter endowed for the purpose of continuing the investigations begun by him in spec- trum photography. But, realizing the importance of similar experiments already going on at the Harvard College Obser- vatory, early in 886 she placed at Pro- fessor Pickerings service Dr. Drapers eleven-inch telescope, and furnished suffi- cient money to test thoroughly certain ex- periments recently begun by him. The first photograph of a star ever made had been taken at the Harvard Observatory by Prof. G. P. Bond and Mr. J. A. Whipple, on a daguerrotype plate, in i85o. In i857 the work was resumed on glass plates, and the possi fund, Prof. B. C. Pickering, in 886, had begun a series of experiments in spec- trum photography. Hitherto, it had been possible to photograph the spectrum of but one star at a time, and that a star of the first or second magnitude. Now, by placing a prism in front of the object glass, thereby securing a great increase of light, all the stars at one time visible in the field impressed their spectra sim- ultaneously on the plate. It is not sur- prising, therefore, that Mrs. Draper, in- stead of founding a new observatory, de- cided to encourage these Harvard inves- tigations which were so directly in a line with those begun by Dr. Draper. The first New Southern Station of Harvard Observatory, Ariquipa, Peru. 172 WOMENS WORK AT TILE LIAR VAR]) OBSERVATORY years work with the eleven-inch D r a p e r telescope was so satis- factory, that Mrs. Draper enlarged the scope of the Draper Memorial. The in- vestigations in i888, comprised under this heading, were: i. A catalogue ot the spectra of all stars north of2 00, of the 6th magnitude, or brighter. 2. A more extensive catalogue of spectra of stars brighter than the 8th magnitude. ~. A detailed study of the spectra of the bright stars; including a classification of the spectra, a determination of the wave lengths of the lines, a comparison with terrestrial spectra, and an applica- tion of the results to the measurements of the approach and recession of the stars. Since the work was first undertaken, other minor investigations have sprung from these; and in the course of the work, several brilliant discoveries have been made. The instruments employed in the Draper Memorial work are the eight-inch Bache telescope, now in Peru; and the eight- inch Draper telescope, in constant use at Cambridge. This lat- ter instrument was provided by Mrs. Draper after it had been found necessary to send the Bache telescope to Peru. While the whole work is under the direction of Professor Picker- ing, the director of the Harvard Obser- vatory, the photo- graphs have b e e n taken by Mr. H. H. Clayton, and later by Mr. W. P. Gerrish. The examination of the plates, the measurement of the position and the brightness of the stars, the discussion of the results obtained from the plates, and the forming of catalogues from these results, have been carried on mainly by Mrs. Mina Fleming and her assistants, at present numbering eight. Now the brightness of a star may be photographed: i. As a point (if the tele- scope is moved by clockwork). 2. As An Interior at the Harvard Obaervatory. Mrs. Mine Fleming. WOMENS WORK AT THE HARVARD OBSERVATORY 173 a line (if the telescope is at rest, or has a motion different from that of the earth). 3. As a surface (if the spectrum is pho- tographed). According to the end in view, any one of these methods is employed at the Harvard Observatory; and the plate, after it has been developed, is given to one of the women assistants for exam- ination. The first examination is di- rected toward the quality of the image; and this quality is estimated on a fixed scale. The estimate is based on the clearness or definition of the image; and only those plates estimated at four or five, and marked A, are considered as ef- fectually covering the region photo- graphed. When the plate is poor, a second is made on another night, and the work is continued until a godd one is obtained. The next step is the compari- son of the good plate with a chart, to see whether or not it covers the region of sky intended to be photographed. After this second examination, the plate is placed on a frame making an angle of 450, with a horizontal mirror which re- flects the light back through the plate. Each image on the plate is then studied through a magnifying glass, and all plates showing marked peculiarities in any of the spectra photographed upon them are noted as objects of special interest for future investigation. The accompanying illustration shows a spectrum plate of the bright stars in the vicinity of Cygnus. The spectrum of a star, it will be remem- bered, is obtained by dispersing the ray of light coming from it into its compo- nent colors. On this spectrum plate, then, the stars appear photographed not as points, but as long, narrow surfaces. The spectra of the stars, as of other lu- minous bodies, vary in appearance accord- ing to the chemical constituents of the substances whose incandescence renders them luminous. Now, by the classifica- tion of the Draper catalogue, the bright stars are arranged in five groups; viz., first, second, third, fourth, and fifth type stars, according to the varieties of lines in their spectra. The stars of the first three types offer a gradual yet marked sequence. Those of the first type are the simplest, and seem to present spectra showing an earlier stage of development than that of our sun; those of the sec- ond type present spectra resembling that of our sun; while those of the third type have spectra showing a stage of develop- ment in advance of that of our sun. Fourth and fifth type stars have not yet been assigned their precise place in the sequence. The objects of special interest searched for on the spectrum plates and noted by the observer as worthy of future investiga- tion are, first, third-type stars, the spectra. of which have been divided into four classes. The first three classes show n& special differences from red stars in gen- eral, but the fourth class has a striking peculiarity. The spectra of these stars have the lines due to hydrogen bright, and all these bright line spectric objects discovered from the examination of the plates have proved to be variables of long period. Several stars not before known to be variables have thus been proved variable. This important dis- covery was not made by chance. For some time previous to the spring of i 89& Mrs. Fleming had suspected that the presence of bright lines in the spectra of third-type stars indicated variability. A. careful study of successive plates con- firmed her suspicion, and on the i6th of April, 1890, she was able to announce her discovery that the star D. M. + 480 2942 in the constellation Cygnus had been proved variable from a study of its spectrum. During the next year and a half, eleven new variables were discovered by Mrs. Fleming, and forty others were suspected of variability. The second class of peculiar objects sought for on the spectrum plates is com- posed of fourth-type stars in color of so deep a red that it is extremely difficult to photograph their spectra. Yet in spite of difficulties the Draper Memorial work has added to this class six stars not previously known to belong to it; and the spectra of several known to belong to it have been photographed, although as yet not with entire satisfaction. The third and final class of peculiar objects sought for on the spectrum plates consists of fifth-type stars, including bright line stars and planetary nebuke. 174 WOMENS WORK AT THE HARVARD OBSERVATORY The most important discoveries among these have been in the rare class of stars discovered by Wolf and Rayet. The Draper Memorialwork has led to the dis- covery of twenty-seven stars of this class; whereas, previous to this investigation only thirteen had been known to astrono- mers. In February, 1891, Prof E. C. Pickering first called attention to the proximity of these stars to the central line of the Milky Way (as shown in the accompanying diagram), in an article published in the As/ronomiseken Nacli- rick/en. After the spectrum plates have been carefully examined, they are next com- pared with the ordinary chart plates on which the stars appear simply as points, for the confirmation of the variability of stars suspected of being variable from the nature of their spectra. The chart plates themselves are also examined in a search for clusters and nebuke. And here it must be noted that the only planetary nebula up to this time ever discovered by photography was discovered by Mrs. Fleming. Among the various investigations con- ducted by the Draper Memorial is a piece of work carried on by Miss Maury alone; namely, the detailed study and classifica- tion of the spectra of the brighter stars photographed with the eleven-inch tele- scope. Photographs have been obtained of nearly all the stars visible in the lati- tude of the Harvard Observatory and sufficiently bright, and the examination ~of their spectra is approaching comple- tion. As a result of this examination has come the discovery that Beta Aurig~e is a close binary revolving in four days. The doubling of the lines in the spectrum of this object is similar to the doubling of the lines in Zeta Urs~e Majoris, discovered to be a binary by Professor Pickering. The greater importance of the discovery in the case of Beta Aurig~e lies in the velo- city of the latter; for, while the period of the former star is fifty-two days, that of the latter is only four days. The velocity of the latter is almost unim- aginable (one hundred and fifty miles a second), and the value of the prism in examining it may be realized from the statement that the prism can multiply about five thousand times the power of the object glass in separating close and rapidly revolving pairs. Miss Maury is making a careful study of numerous photographs of the spectra of Zeta Ursa~ Majoris, Beta Aurig~e, as well as of Beta Lyr~e, a star apparently of the same nature as these two recently discovered to be a probable binary by Mrs. Fleming. Miss Maury is also making a study of the spectra of stars of the Orion type, and from her various investigations important additions to our knowledge of these bodies will result. There remains to be named a large piece of photometric work undertaken with the eight-inch Draper telescope. Miss Leland has measured forty thousand stars of about the tenth magni- tude uniformly distributed over the sky, and these measurements will be reduced to a uniform scale to furnish standards of stellar magnitude. The Harvard Observatory is fortunate in having a station in the Southern as well as one in the Northern Hemisphere. The establishing of a station at Chosica in Peru, in 1889, provided for by the Boy- den and Draper funds, afforded unex- ampled opportunities for photographing the entire heavens from pole to pole. The region of sky to be covered in Peru extends from 200 to the South Pole, and in the course of the various re- searches this region will have been covered four times by the photographic telescope. All the plates taken in Peru are sent to the Harvard Observatory, and are there examined as above described. Indeed, many of the third-type stars spoken of above have been discovered on these southern plates. The records of two valuable original observations made at the Chosica Station by Messrs. S. I. & M. H. Bailey have also been reduced, catalogued, and prepared for the printer by the Draper Memorial women assistants. The examination of the plates, as above described, by no means comprises the whole work of these women assistants. In addition to this they record their observations, reduce the co-ordinates of objects examined, identify the objects photographed with the stars in various catalogues, and finally check the results by a direct comparison of the chart with WOMENS WORK AT TIlE IIARVARJ9 OBSERVATORY 175 0 S 7/ 0 S Fourth-type stars in region of the Milky Way. the photograph. The Draper Memorial Catalogue (published in the Harvard College Observatory Annals, Vol. xxvii.) is a catalogue of the spectra of 10,400 stars (involving the measurement of 28,266 spectra) giving positions for the year 1900. Yet ample as this printed catalogue is, it by no means contains all the records made in preparing it. The copy which went to the printer was naturally less full than the manuscript records. Three catalogues were made, in fact, before the copy was sent to press; and the printed catalogue contains only about one-tenth of the records used in preparing it. Besides the Draper Memorial work, four other Harvard Observatory investi- gations have been published with the aid of the women assistants: i. The catalogue of one thousand stars within r~ of the North Pole (of these only forty are in other catalogues.) 2. A study of the Pleiades. This group will probably always be used by astronomers as a test and means of com- parison with the work of their predeces- sors. The Harvard Observatory aim is to furnish a measure of photographic brightness of a portion of the stars in this group, so that the results reached by other observers may be reduced to a uniform scale. ~. Trails of equatorial stars. Here the object is to determine the photographic intensity of all bright stars within two degrees of the equator. 4. The enumeration of all the nebuke photographed in a given portion of the sky. This investigation shows the prob- ability of a marked addition to the num- ber of known nebuke. Photography has already greatly increased the limits of the nebuke in Orion. A few years ago, Prof. W. H. Pickering found this nebulous re- gion to include the sword handle, and more lately it has been found to include a wide area extending north and south from this. Several subsidiary investigations similar to those already begun in the Draper Memorial work, will be undertaken at the Harvard Observatory when the Bruce telescope is completed. This telescope has been provided at the cost of fifty thousand dollars, by Miss C. W. Bruce of New York. This photographic telescope, with a focal length of eleven feet, will have an objective of about twenty-four inches, and the object glass will be a compound lens of the style known as portrait lens. This telescope will fur- nish a large amount of material, and will photograph stars of the seventeenth mag- nitude or fainter. As the lenses are now in the hands of the Clarks for polishing, it will doubtless be mounted within a year. Miss Bruce, who has a deep inter- est in astronomy, has made more than one substantial gift to encourage workers 176 WOMENS WORK AT TIlE HARVARD OBSERVATORY in this science. The sum of six thousand dollars was lately expended by her in awards to various astronomers who had achieved distinction. Mrs. Draper, too, in addition to the large amount of money expended by her on the Draper Memo- rial, has founded the Henry Draper Medal of the National Academy of Sci- ences, to be awarded for distinction in solar physics. Although in practical astronomy the field for womans work is a wide one, the number of paid positions for workers in this field is naturally limited. Yet the success of the Harvard experiment of training a corps of women assistants has been so marked, that it is to be hoped that other observatories may follow this example. As the resources of the various observatories are increased by the liber- ality of people interested, like Mrs. Draper and Miss Bruce, in encouraging the development of astronomy, it may not be too much to expect to see larger numbers of women among the observa- tory assistants. Not all women are capa- ble of working in this field, for the work demands special mental qualities. Mrs. Fleming has an eye remarkably keen in making measurements, a mind unusually alert in observing, and an executive abil- ity so marked that it has gone far toward insuring the success of the Draper Memorial work. Mrs. Fleming is a native of Dundee, Scotland, where she taught for five years, and passed successful ex- aminations in this capacity. Her father had strong scientific tastes, and was the first man in Dundee to take a practical interest in introducing the daguerreotype process into that city. Miss Maury, also, has marked scientific ability. She is a granddaughter of that Lieutenant Maury whose meteorological work has been of infinite value to seamen on the Atlantic; she is a niece of Dr. Henry Draper, and before coming to Cambridge was gradu- ated from Vassar College. Mrs. Flemings brief reports of discov- eries made by her are sent to the As/ro- nomA~chen Nachricli/en, and other astro- nomical journals, over the simple signa- ture, M. Fleming; but her work is well-known to astronomers as that of a woman. The extent to which it is ap- preciated may be judged by an extract from a review which appeared last October in The Oliserva/ory, the regular publication issued at the Royal Observa- tory, Greenwich, England: It would be difficult to say too much in praise of the zeal and skill with which the great work (the catalogue) has been accomplished. The name of Mrs. Fleming is already well known to the world as that of a brilliant discoverer, but the present volume shows that she can do real hard work as well. Of the Draper Memorial, it may be said that no scientific man ever had a nobler memorial than this. The cata- logue itself is unique. In the words of a recent review above quoted: Hitherto catalogues have been made of the positions and geometrical characteristics of neb- uke; but a general index to the physical nature of ten thousand objects is a novelty of the first importance, and cannot well fail of its avowed object. THE MIGMAC FESTIVAL IN CAPE BRETON. By j H Wilson. T the eastern extremity / ~m of Nova Scotia, and ~ separated from it by a narrow and picturesque -d ~ ~ body of water known ~ as the Strait of Canso, is Cape Breton Island, a wild and rugged place, offering few advantages as a per- manent place of residence, but brimful of interest to the tourist in search of novelty, adventure and experience. In the centre of this island is the famous Bras dOr, which is in reality an arm of the sea, as its name implies, though usually spoken of as a lake. In the middle of this lake is Chapel Island rather a barren waste, with a small whitewashed church, a low one-story house, and several Indian wig- wams. During the entire year none other than those who inhabit these primeval abodes are seen about the island, save for the space of ten days in the month of August, when the descendants of the original set- tlers of this part of the country flock here in large numbers to perform their civil and religious rites. The special occasion is the festival of St. Anne, and the privi- lege of actively participating in the cele- bration is limited to the Micmac Indians., Of the two Indian nations which early occupied the eastern part of this country, the Algonquins chose to settle in upper New England and the provinces; and the red men who found a home in Nova Scotia and Cape Breton Island were the Micmacs, a branch of this nation. Like all others, this tribe has dwindled greatly in numbers durtng the last few years, and it will not be very long before the Mic- macs and their interesting annual festival will be a matter of history. The present survivors manage to eke out an existence by fishing, basket-making, coopering, and begging; and it is in the festival season that they look for a rich harvest from this latter business. Chapel Island, as part of an Indian reservation, was granted by the government in 1792 to two chiefs, Bask and Somma, for the sole use of their tribes living in Cape Breton Island; but many years before this Father Maillard came from Canada to Christianize the Micmacs, and forthwith built a church, which was destroyed when Louisburg was taken by the English in 1758. The present chapel is the fourth in the his- tory of the island. Father McDougal ministered to the wants of these Indians for upwards of thirty years, and was suc- ceeded by Father McKenzie, their present priest. The tribe has a chief in the per- son of John Dinney, and though his is a life office, the term usually depends upon good behavior. Remarkable indeed is the power which this man wields over his people! For several days prior to the begin- ning of the festival the Indians begin to congregate on the island from all parts of Cape Breton; and by the time Father McKenzie has arrived, a large number of wigwams, both white and gray, have been erected everywhere. The appearance of their more civilized brethren is a wel- come sight to the copper-faced youths, who are in their glory as they ferry their audience across in sail and row boats. Meanwhile, the chapel has received needed repairs; the interior has been washed up, and perhaps a little paint has been added; the altar, white and clean, has some fresh candles and a lavish dis- play of flowers, usually artificial ones, ribbons, lace, anything, completes the adornment of this, the focal point of their adoration. As these straight-haired red men and their squaws crowd the chapel at the opening service, which is a Mass, they present an interesting study. At- tired in red, blue, green, yellow, every color in fact, the women lend a pictu- resqueness to the scene. The devotional expressions noticeable on the faces of the worshippers might be traceable by some to a feeling of superstitious awe, which would not be wholly inappropriate to the nature of these but two-thirds civilized people. The psalms are chanted out of a book especially compiled for the In- dians, the work of a German publisher.

J. H. Wilson Wilson, J. H. The Micmac Festival in Cape Benton 177-179

THE MIGMAC FESTIVAL IN CAPE BRETON. By j H Wilson. T the eastern extremity / ~m of Nova Scotia, and ~ separated from it by a narrow and picturesque -d ~ ~ body of water known ~ as the Strait of Canso, is Cape Breton Island, a wild and rugged place, offering few advantages as a per- manent place of residence, but brimful of interest to the tourist in search of novelty, adventure and experience. In the centre of this island is the famous Bras dOr, which is in reality an arm of the sea, as its name implies, though usually spoken of as a lake. In the middle of this lake is Chapel Island rather a barren waste, with a small whitewashed church, a low one-story house, and several Indian wig- wams. During the entire year none other than those who inhabit these primeval abodes are seen about the island, save for the space of ten days in the month of August, when the descendants of the original set- tlers of this part of the country flock here in large numbers to perform their civil and religious rites. The special occasion is the festival of St. Anne, and the privi- lege of actively participating in the cele- bration is limited to the Micmac Indians., Of the two Indian nations which early occupied the eastern part of this country, the Algonquins chose to settle in upper New England and the provinces; and the red men who found a home in Nova Scotia and Cape Breton Island were the Micmacs, a branch of this nation. Like all others, this tribe has dwindled greatly in numbers durtng the last few years, and it will not be very long before the Mic- macs and their interesting annual festival will be a matter of history. The present survivors manage to eke out an existence by fishing, basket-making, coopering, and begging; and it is in the festival season that they look for a rich harvest from this latter business. Chapel Island, as part of an Indian reservation, was granted by the government in 1792 to two chiefs, Bask and Somma, for the sole use of their tribes living in Cape Breton Island; but many years before this Father Maillard came from Canada to Christianize the Micmacs, and forthwith built a church, which was destroyed when Louisburg was taken by the English in 1758. The present chapel is the fourth in the his- tory of the island. Father McDougal ministered to the wants of these Indians for upwards of thirty years, and was suc- ceeded by Father McKenzie, their present priest. The tribe has a chief in the per- son of John Dinney, and though his is a life office, the term usually depends upon good behavior. Remarkable indeed is the power which this man wields over his people! For several days prior to the begin- ning of the festival the Indians begin to congregate on the island from all parts of Cape Breton; and by the time Father McKenzie has arrived, a large number of wigwams, both white and gray, have been erected everywhere. The appearance of their more civilized brethren is a wel- come sight to the copper-faced youths, who are in their glory as they ferry their audience across in sail and row boats. Meanwhile, the chapel has received needed repairs; the interior has been washed up, and perhaps a little paint has been added; the altar, white and clean, has some fresh candles and a lavish dis- play of flowers, usually artificial ones, ribbons, lace, anything, completes the adornment of this, the focal point of their adoration. As these straight-haired red men and their squaws crowd the chapel at the opening service, which is a Mass, they present an interesting study. At- tired in red, blue, green, yellow, every color in fact, the women lend a pictu- resqueness to the scene. The devotional expressions noticeable on the faces of the worshippers might be traceable by some to a feeling of superstitious awe, which would not be wholly inappropriate to the nature of these but two-thirds civilized people. The psalms are chanted out of a book especially compiled for the In- dians, the work of a German publisher. 178 THE MI GALA C FESTIVAL IN CAPE BRETON If a sufficient inducement is held out, one of them will favor the visitors with a solo, at the close of the service, of course; and as he stumbles along, pointing with his finger to the Indian characters, the performance, while solemn enough to them, is rather mirth provoking, at least to those who have not thoroughly imbibed the spirit of the occasion. The service over, the congregation presses forward to pay special homage to the statue of St. Anne, which occupies a prominent place near the altar, as does also one of the Virgin. Each penitent drops a bit of money in the box, reverently kisses one of the toes of the statue, makes the sign of the cross, and silently passes out, all the while mut- tering some prayer. One of St. Annes toes is quite worn away by these oft- repeated acts. On one of the last days of the mission takes place the procession of St. Anne, which attracts more visitors to the island than any other event of the season. It is commonly known as the scaring of the devil; and if his Satanic Majesty refuses to be disturbed by the noise and general uproar, a little uneasiness is felt by some of the visitors. A queer cere- mony indeed is this, savoring as it does of ages long past. Shrines containing images of both the Virgin and St. Anne, and decorated with the same tawdry ma- terials as are seen upon the altar in the chapel, are borne aloft by six Indian girls robed in white; and as the procession moves along from the chapel to a small enclosure much resembling from a dis- tance a country graveyard, a number of the men range themselves at intervals on either side of the line and keep up an incessant firing. If their ammunition suddenly gives out, they rush off to get a fresh supply. Behind the girls march six youths who lead the singing, and the large book, out of which they are supposed to be reading the music, is carried by a stalwart Indian, who must perforce walk backward; and as the perspiration streams off his face, a kindly disposed Indian will ever and anon step forward and mop it with a large handkerchief. Arrived at their destination, the maidens reverently deposit their burden on the ground, and the two saints come in for a still further share of homage; the chanting and firing all the while being kept up. Again the girls take up the sacred images, and the return trip is made. When half way back, all the devotees drop quietly on their knees, and as they solemnly sing the Gloria in Excelsis, Kyrie Eleison, the Credo, and the Agnus Dci, the scene is most impressive. A big dinner is another feature of the festival; but there is an air of exclusive- ness about this event which is lacking in the other ceremonies, for only the male members of the tribe are allowed to sit around the festive board. The chief with much pomp attends to the preparation of the feast, which consists of bread, tea, and pork; of each of which an enormous quantity is consumed. So strong is the aroma of the boiling pork, that the visi- tors are quite content to view the scene fror-K a distance. When everything is ready, the Indians squat around on the grass, the priest comes and blesses the company, also the food, and the brawny redfaces commence to ravenously devour the good things. Occasionally, a consid- erate Indian bethinks himself of his squaw, perhaps at that very moment look- ing wistfully at him from the door of their wigwam, and he will carry her a bit of pork and bread. Great solemnity pre- vails at this feast, and only when the chief addresses any remark to his subordinates do they attempt to speak. As a fitting climax to the ten days mis- sion, the marriages are solemnized at the close, and the cereniony is followed by a wedding dance, which possesses much attractiveness. Like all brides, these must have new dresses for the occasion, and much attention is giver~ to the mak- ing of the wedding gown during the pre~ vious few weeks. Totally unlike more civilized folk are they in that no mention is ever made beforehand who the es- poused couples are. This is a point about which a strict secrecy is kept.. Only once a year do the marriages take place, as the visits of the priest are lim- ited to the festival season. The closing event over, the Micmacs pack up their few belongings and quietly steal away, leaving the island deserted for anothet. twelve months. LIFE CYCLES. By Ka//uzrine C. ONE time ten, Gleefulness. Life but a holiday, Merry, and glad and gay; Meant just for fun and play, Nothing to do. Two times ten, Eagerness. Precious the gift of life, Though with all danger rife. Grand to be in the strife. What can I do? Three times ten, Earnestness. Some seeds of service sown. Somewhat of harvest won. Life richer, sweeter grown, More sacred too. Deeper the sick worlds need. Noble the work indeed, Body and soul to feed In service true. Light breaking everywhere, Showing the darkness there. Such need to be and bear! So much to do! Four times ten, Joyousness. Truths secrets clearer seen. Eyes of the soul more keen. Closer the tie between Wrecked lives and true. Giving lifes richest gold. Gaining sweet peace untold, Blessings a hundredfold, Joys ever new. Hands full an~ heart full too: Still seeking service new: Singing, through glad tear-dew, So blest to do. Five times ten, Restlessness. Burning the midday heat. Weary those hurrying feet Treading their constant beat All the day through. Peifeld. So much truth still unknown. So little progress shown. Fuller the pathway grown With work to do. Service so freely given. Not yet earths fetters riven. Sad hearts to madness driven. What use to do? Six times ten, Quietness. Silent! thou restless one. Not yet thy lifework done. Not yet the battle won. Still much to do. Life ah how grand a thing, Spite of sins poison sting. Faith comes the cure to bring, Teaching lifes clue. One heart, however strong, Too weak to right all wrong: Yet each must sing his song; Each give his due. Out on the worlds vast tide, Stemming the flood to ride? Fame, and naught else beside, The good in view? Rather, in quiet spots Planting forget-me-nots; Making the garden plots Blossom anew. Sanctified eagerness, True-hearted earnestness, Waking through quietness, Harmonies true. Seven times ten, Peacefulness. Calling back voiceful years. Lingering by some with tears. Hearing, through hopes and fears, That watchword do. Thinking how sweet the way Trodden from day to day; Though weary, sad, or gay, Still grown more true.

Katharine C. Penfield Penfield, Katharine C. Life Cycles 179-180

LIFE CYCLES. By Ka//uzrine C. ONE time ten, Gleefulness. Life but a holiday, Merry, and glad and gay; Meant just for fun and play, Nothing to do. Two times ten, Eagerness. Precious the gift of life, Though with all danger rife. Grand to be in the strife. What can I do? Three times ten, Earnestness. Some seeds of service sown. Somewhat of harvest won. Life richer, sweeter grown, More sacred too. Deeper the sick worlds need. Noble the work indeed, Body and soul to feed In service true. Light breaking everywhere, Showing the darkness there. Such need to be and bear! So much to do! Four times ten, Joyousness. Truths secrets clearer seen. Eyes of the soul more keen. Closer the tie between Wrecked lives and true. Giving lifes richest gold. Gaining sweet peace untold, Blessings a hundredfold, Joys ever new. Hands full an~ heart full too: Still seeking service new: Singing, through glad tear-dew, So blest to do. Five times ten, Restlessness. Burning the midday heat. Weary those hurrying feet Treading their constant beat All the day through. Peifeld. So much truth still unknown. So little progress shown. Fuller the pathway grown With work to do. Service so freely given. Not yet earths fetters riven. Sad hearts to madness driven. What use to do? Six times ten, Quietness. Silent! thou restless one. Not yet thy lifework done. Not yet the battle won. Still much to do. Life ah how grand a thing, Spite of sins poison sting. Faith comes the cure to bring, Teaching lifes clue. One heart, however strong, Too weak to right all wrong: Yet each must sing his song; Each give his due. Out on the worlds vast tide, Stemming the flood to ride? Fame, and naught else beside, The good in view? Rather, in quiet spots Planting forget-me-nots; Making the garden plots Blossom anew. Sanctified eagerness, True-hearted earnestness, Waking through quietness, Harmonies true. Seven times ten, Peacefulness. Calling back voiceful years. Lingering by some with tears. Hearing, through hopes and fears, That watchword do. Thinking how sweet the way Trodden from day to day; Though weary, sad, or gay, Still grown more true. 180 THE STORM-CLOUD. Faint life with longings stirred, Into lifes more and more; Waiting the afterward; Loosed from the finite shore; Ready. to hear the word Infinite truth before No more to do. Surging to view. No more to do? not so. Service unfolding still, Passing from earth-scenes low Grander grand life to fill; Into the lights clear glow, Bidding each soul and will Living anew. Be, love, and do. THE STORM-CLOUD. By Celia P. Woolley. A NOBLE ship a-sail on prosperous seas, Touched one fair morning by an idle breeze, The pilot sleeping at his wheel, Missed its true course and, floating, wandered far Beyond the reach of guiding chart or star; XVith boastful prow and willing keel Nor dreamed of rocks where angry billows play, Nor guessed what harm in shallow brightness lay! The sunlit waves smiled on below; The pilot dreaming still within his sleep Of white-armed naiads in the briny deep, That pine a mortals love to know. A friendly storm-cloud watched and lay in wait, Strength matched with daring, love disguised as hate; The sky grew darker with her wrath! Soon waves were tossed upon a furious blast, And waters strewn with broken spar and mast; But, storm-led, back into the path Of Truth and Safety rode the ship once more. Then how the angry pilot cursed and swore, And mourned his losses loud and long! The rigging torn and soiled, the broken beam, His happy sleep, and sweet alluring dream Of water-maidens and their song! And still he waits and longs to sail again In that same ship and on that selfsame main, To where the sunlit billows play; To feel that soft breeze kiss his cheek once more, And live in that forbidden world of yore, Where honors dead, and dreams have sway. Myself, I pray to know the good thats blent With forms of evil and with punishment. The rose has uses for a thorn, The sea for pointed rock, the summer cloud For lightning stroke that means perhaps deaths. shroud; A friend for just rebuke and scorn.

Celia P. Woolley Woolley, Celia P. The Storm Cloud 180-181

180 THE STORM-CLOUD. Faint life with longings stirred, Into lifes more and more; Waiting the afterward; Loosed from the finite shore; Ready. to hear the word Infinite truth before No more to do. Surging to view. No more to do? not so. Service unfolding still, Passing from earth-scenes low Grander grand life to fill; Into the lights clear glow, Bidding each soul and will Living anew. Be, love, and do. THE STORM-CLOUD. By Celia P. Woolley. A NOBLE ship a-sail on prosperous seas, Touched one fair morning by an idle breeze, The pilot sleeping at his wheel, Missed its true course and, floating, wandered far Beyond the reach of guiding chart or star; XVith boastful prow and willing keel Nor dreamed of rocks where angry billows play, Nor guessed what harm in shallow brightness lay! The sunlit waves smiled on below; The pilot dreaming still within his sleep Of white-armed naiads in the briny deep, That pine a mortals love to know. A friendly storm-cloud watched and lay in wait, Strength matched with daring, love disguised as hate; The sky grew darker with her wrath! Soon waves were tossed upon a furious blast, And waters strewn with broken spar and mast; But, storm-led, back into the path Of Truth and Safety rode the ship once more. Then how the angry pilot cursed and swore, And mourned his losses loud and long! The rigging torn and soiled, the broken beam, His happy sleep, and sweet alluring dream Of water-maidens and their song! And still he waits and longs to sail again In that same ship and on that selfsame main, To where the sunlit billows play; To feel that soft breeze kiss his cheek once more, And live in that forbidden world of yore, Where honors dead, and dreams have sway. Myself, I pray to know the good thats blent With forms of evil and with punishment. The rose has uses for a thorn, The sea for pointed rock, the summer cloud For lightning stroke that means perhaps deaths. shroud; A friend for just rebuke and scorn. A SUMMER WOOING. By George E//iei6er/ Wa is/i. THE little Quaker community of Hinsboro had been invaded by two woridlings that summer, which had so disturbed its wonted quietness that Brother Cox had been forced to lament more than once. Alas, that this should be! The days of our peace have gone. Brother Cox felt the trouble more than the other members of the community, for he knew that he was partly responsible for it. To think that his nephew, his only brothers son, should come out to Hinsboro and in these few short months raise such a commotion among the people! But there was a redeeming virtue in the young man, which Brother Cox dwelt upon with a feeling of relief. Before the saucy face and blue eyes of Ella Stratton were seen in Hinsboro ,Jack Cox was as quiet and demure as the most conserva- tive Quaker. True, he only attended meetings once a week, and then it was generally out of respect for his uncle; but he never entered into the gay life which had since shocked the sensibilities of the Quakers. Naturally, Brother Cox took a per- sonal dislike to the new tenants of the deserted cottage on the outskirts of the village, and he could scarcely conceal his disapproval of the young girls actions. He felt convinced that she was at the bottom of all the trouble. Her showy dress, pink cheeks, blue eyes, and rip- pling laughter suggested the world too strongly for the Quakers to enjoy. She belongs to the world, Brother Cox said one day as he passed her. She has no right out here among our peaceful people. It will be well for us when she leaves. They were only summer tenants, and consisted simply of Mrs. Stratton, her daughter, and two servants. They did not exhibit much wealth or finery, but to the plain Quakers their dress and gen- eral appearance seemed altogether out of propriety. Then the way Ella laughed and tramped over the fields on foot or rode on horseback shocked the good housewives. Jack Cox had known the family in the city, and he soon joined Ella in these rides and walks. It was from such a simple beginning that the trouble arose. The old entice- ment of woman had led the young man astray, and he was soon looked upon as being as great a sinner as the fair tempt- ress. The two were practically ostracized in the community, and the upright Qua- kers passed them only with a nod and a simple word of greeting. Ella only won- dered, but Jack shrugged his shoulders. Brother Cox was inclined to be more lenient than the others. His fields stretched nearly out to the cottage of the Strattons, and he would often stop in his work to glance at the red house. One day he paused in his labors, and looked up to discover the bright face of Ella Stratton. She was leaning on the fence which separated the two grounds. Dont you get tired of work, Mr. Cox? she asked in a sweet voice. I do, dreadfully, and you are older than I am. The good Quaker straightened himself up to his full six feet. He was still a fine-looking man of fifty, with gray locks, a calm, noble face, and dark eyes. Work keeps us from mischief, he answered seriously. I know that, and I suppose you think I ought to be at work now, and not standing here to bother you, she replied. It would be better for you, was the rather unexpected reply. The girls cheeks colored a little at the ungallant words, but she asked de- murely: Do you think Im so very wicked? Ye are of the world and worldly- minded. I cannot judge thee, but thy actions have not my approval. Oh, what do I do that you dont like? she asked, in a penitent voice. You know Ive been brought up so, and how could I know what to do? True, mused Brother Cox, wiping his brow. The sin is not so much yours as those who have brought thee up. Then mamma and papa must be wicked? was the quick question. I

George Ethelbert Walsh Walsh, George Ethelbert A Summer Wooing. A Story 181-184

A SUMMER WOOING. By George E//iei6er/ Wa is/i. THE little Quaker community of Hinsboro had been invaded by two woridlings that summer, which had so disturbed its wonted quietness that Brother Cox had been forced to lament more than once. Alas, that this should be! The days of our peace have gone. Brother Cox felt the trouble more than the other members of the community, for he knew that he was partly responsible for it. To think that his nephew, his only brothers son, should come out to Hinsboro and in these few short months raise such a commotion among the people! But there was a redeeming virtue in the young man, which Brother Cox dwelt upon with a feeling of relief. Before the saucy face and blue eyes of Ella Stratton were seen in Hinsboro ,Jack Cox was as quiet and demure as the most conserva- tive Quaker. True, he only attended meetings once a week, and then it was generally out of respect for his uncle; but he never entered into the gay life which had since shocked the sensibilities of the Quakers. Naturally, Brother Cox took a per- sonal dislike to the new tenants of the deserted cottage on the outskirts of the village, and he could scarcely conceal his disapproval of the young girls actions. He felt convinced that she was at the bottom of all the trouble. Her showy dress, pink cheeks, blue eyes, and rip- pling laughter suggested the world too strongly for the Quakers to enjoy. She belongs to the world, Brother Cox said one day as he passed her. She has no right out here among our peaceful people. It will be well for us when she leaves. They were only summer tenants, and consisted simply of Mrs. Stratton, her daughter, and two servants. They did not exhibit much wealth or finery, but to the plain Quakers their dress and gen- eral appearance seemed altogether out of propriety. Then the way Ella laughed and tramped over the fields on foot or rode on horseback shocked the good housewives. Jack Cox had known the family in the city, and he soon joined Ella in these rides and walks. It was from such a simple beginning that the trouble arose. The old entice- ment of woman had led the young man astray, and he was soon looked upon as being as great a sinner as the fair tempt- ress. The two were practically ostracized in the community, and the upright Qua- kers passed them only with a nod and a simple word of greeting. Ella only won- dered, but Jack shrugged his shoulders. Brother Cox was inclined to be more lenient than the others. His fields stretched nearly out to the cottage of the Strattons, and he would often stop in his work to glance at the red house. One day he paused in his labors, and looked up to discover the bright face of Ella Stratton. She was leaning on the fence which separated the two grounds. Dont you get tired of work, Mr. Cox? she asked in a sweet voice. I do, dreadfully, and you are older than I am. The good Quaker straightened himself up to his full six feet. He was still a fine-looking man of fifty, with gray locks, a calm, noble face, and dark eyes. Work keeps us from mischief, he answered seriously. I know that, and I suppose you think I ought to be at work now, and not standing here to bother you, she replied. It would be better for you, was the rather unexpected reply. The girls cheeks colored a little at the ungallant words, but she asked de- murely: Do you think Im so very wicked? Ye are of the world and worldly- minded. I cannot judge thee, but thy actions have not my approval. Oh, what do I do that you dont like? she asked, in a penitent voice. You know Ive been brought up so, and how could I know what to do? True, mused Brother Cox, wiping his brow. The sin is not so much yours as those who have brought thee up. Then mamma and papa must be wicked? was the quick question. I 182 A SUMMER WOOING. wont believe that, for they have always been so good to me; mamma is and papa was before he died. Well, child, ye cant blame them, Brother Cox said consolingly, noticing the distress of his young visitor. Whom can I blame, then? Is it my grandmother and grandfather, or their grandmothers and grandfathers? That isnt the question; ye can do better now. Oh, I would like to do better so much! Will you tell me how? I should so much like to have you; for I like you. This was said in so artless and inno- cent a tone, that it went straight home to the mans heart. As he walked away from the place five minutes later, he re- called the look which accompanied the words. Such a face, such eyes, mouths and expression are not often seen in this prosaic world, and Brother Cox should be forgiven for thinking of them again, and then again. He never knew before how pretty and winning the Stratton girl was. If she was only of our belief and number, he muttered to himself. But I might try to make her one. She is not yet lost to wickedness. She wants to learn. Ill teach her. After that the old rail-fence proved a regular trysting place for the two. Ella found plenty of excuses for going out to the fields, and Brother Cox cultivated the cornfield near that fence oftener than elsewhere. The weeds persisted in drop- ping up on the west side of the field, and he felt bound to keep them under control. One day Ella brought some lemonade out to. him, carrying it in a small silver pitcher. It was some of her own manu- facture, and the day was so warm that it was very refreshing. 0! Mr. Cox I have some lemonade for you, she said, as she hurried over the ploughed field. I hope you like lem- onade. I made it myself, and you looked so hot and tired out here in the sun, that I had to bring you a drink. Brother Cox did drink, and smacked his lips. It was so kind of her to think of him, and while he talked, he admired her bright face and her manners. Could any man look upon such a vision of beauty and not feel his pulse beat faster? Cold and dutiful as the Quaker was, there was still much vitality of youth in his strong frame. After all, he was only a man, and the rights of nature soon broke through all barriers of sect. He loved the beautiful girl who helped him to lem- onade. Was he too old for such a bright girl to look upon with favor? He had been called the handsomest man of the com- munity before he courted his dead wife, and he was sure that he still possessed some of the requisites of a lover. But she was a girl of t~he world and not ac- customed to the prosaic life of the Quakers. Would she be content to live in his large, gloomy house, and try to make it bright and comfortable for him? He could teach her the ways of his sect, and give her a fine home. He would gradually draw her away from- the ways of evil, and centre her mind upon thoughts of love, charity, and religion. She may be frail, now, but the sturdy oak was once but a sapling, he said. She can learn and grow. He trod the floors of his old home with a lighter and firmer step. The bareness of the old-fashioned rooms impressed him with a sense of dissatisfaction. They would have to be re-furnished and bright- ened. The flowers and vines around the house needed cultivation and pruning, and even the outside of the house would need a new coat of paint. Ive thought of doing this before, Brother Cox muttered, and it may be done now. There were improvements about the yard, the gardens, and the outbuildings, which were readily suggested to his criti- cal eyes. He made notes of these things, and resolved to make a complete trans- formation. She has been brought up in the ways of the city, and she would not like to come to a gloomy house. It will be just as well to improve things a little at first. She cant grow into our ways at once. The golden harvest of the autumn was approaching. The crops nodded obei- sance to the reapers on every side. The autumn colors suggested peace and quiet- ness in the Quaker community after the long, toilsome days of the summer. A SUMMER WOOING. 183 Brother Cox stood by the old fence separating his fields from the garden sur- rounding the tenants cottage. The days work had been finished, and the faint shadows suggested the approach of twi- light. Ella Stratton, with a meek, de- mure face, was standing beside him. I feel that I have become so much better this summer, she said. You know why; you have been so good to me, and have taught me so much. Ye should not say that, for it might make me vain. Such a sin should not come to me at my age. Why, you are not old, Mr. Cox. There was a thrill of pleasure in the sturdy frame, and it seemed to straighten more erectly than ever. Then my errand here will be made easier for me. Ye know that I have come here for a purpose. Ye have guessed it? Yes, Mr. Cox, I have, was the quick reply, while the face flushed beautifully. This must be the way of the world, he thought, for the girl to make such advances. It was so different in the community! I would have spoken to thee before, but I wished to know thee better. Thats why Ive spent so many hours at this fence, talking to thee. Oh, how kind of you! I wanted to know you better too. I thought prob- ably you would dislike me. I was so different from you, and wicked. But ye are learning our ways, and ye are very apt. Ye can be very good, and there is nothing like having a pro- tector. And such a good protector as I shall have! she said with a look of admira- tion at him. Ye are kind to say so. The Coxes have always been good to their wives and families. I know that, for they are so good to every one now. I love them. I believe that I love the whole family. I never enjoyed a summer so much as this one in Hinsboro. It was so graceful for her to say it. He felt that she made his wooing easy. How remarkable that she had divined his feeling all along! Then ye think that I will suit thee? he asked in a voice that was almost rail- lery. Ye have studied me enough at this fence? Yes. I know I shall like you. I knew it from the first. Everybody thought that you were so cold and stern that you couldnt love any one. But I knew dif- ferently. I liked you then, and now I love you. She kissed his brawny hand impul- sively, her warm lips sending a delicious thrill through him. This was not an old mans courting, but a young womans, and, though strange to Brother Cox, it had a sweetness that drowned any thoughts of wrong. Shes a frail little thino he thought, but shes loving and shes good. She only needs some one to train her. But ye know Im old, and sometimes cross, he said deprecatingly. I am past fifty. That is not very old, and I like old men. And you have such a manly form, and beautiful hair, and ways. I shall always be proud of you. Flushed with his success, he felt that he could be plainer, and he continued: Ye know Im strict in my living not approving frailties and gay life. That should repel thee. Oh, no. Jack told me all about that at first. He said you were strict, but that you had a loving heart beneath it all. He always got along well with you, and he knew that I would. Jack, Jack! Had he known of it all? Had he been putting her up to this strange wooing, laughing in his sleeve at his uncles sentiment? The girl con- tinued rapidly: He wanted to speak to you first, and tell you all. He knew that you would disapprove of our match, but I told him not to tell you, I would first win your friendship, and then your love. I would meet you every day, and if I could make you like me by autumn then he could tell you all. I didnt know as I could marry him if you didnt give your consent; but when I found how nice and good you were, I felt that it was all right. A shadow seemed to settle over the landscape. Everything appeared dark. 184 HE WAS GOOD TO TITLE POOR! Night must be approaching, and a man s eyes at fifty are not quite as good as at twenty-five. Brother Cox heard the voice of the girl, but it all seemed so strange. He had not thought of Jack. Are you going now? Oh, yes, it is getting dark. I didnt realize that it was so late. I must go back to the house too. The dew is on the grass. Good- night. Jack and I will always love you always. He felt the press of the warm lips on his hand again, but they did not send the thrill through him as before. It certainly was dark walking across the field, and several times Brother Cox stopped to find his way. It was strange that he should get lost in the fields which he had tilled and cultivated for forty years. When he reached the house he felt tired, and he rested on the front piazza before entering the large dining-room. He seemed dazed and uncomfortable. The painters and carpenters had left their tools around, reminding him of the im- provements he was having made in his home. They seemed a mockery now. He entered the house and walked across the strong floors. Then he strolled toward the dining-room. Jack, Jack, where are ye? Come here. I want to see thee. I know all everything. She has told me, and ye have my approval. Im getting the house fixed up, and ye must come here to live. Is it really true, uncle? You are as good as you are handsome, uncle. Ella always said you were. Ye must live here every summer, and come and see me as often as ye can in the winter. We will, uncle. HE WAS GOOD TO THE POOR! By Allen Eas/man Cross. [ He was good to the poor! that was the comment that was heard above all else at cardinal Mannings funeral. That is a great epitaph. NewsAaj5er 1km.] Ii Ewas good to the poor! was the thought that stirred In many a heart of the mourning throng, As the funeral cortege crept along; And never was verse or speech or song A tribute phrased in so dear a word. A friend of Humanitys cause is sure To link his fate to the peoples fate, And, as more than a leader of Church or State, To stand in the paths of scorn and hate, The chosen friend of the friendiess poor. For more than a prince of the Church was he, And more than champion of a creed! Since his heart was as large as the peoples need; For suffering hearts his heart could bleed This legitimate prince of Humanity! And more than a prince of the State he stood, An heir of more than a royal line, As the heir of the saints, and the Christ divine, Whose love in the love of men did shine From the heart of this prince of brotherhood.

Allen Eastman Cross Cross, Allen Eastman He Was Good to the Poor 184-185

184 HE WAS GOOD TO TITLE POOR! Night must be approaching, and a man s eyes at fifty are not quite as good as at twenty-five. Brother Cox heard the voice of the girl, but it all seemed so strange. He had not thought of Jack. Are you going now? Oh, yes, it is getting dark. I didnt realize that it was so late. I must go back to the house too. The dew is on the grass. Good- night. Jack and I will always love you always. He felt the press of the warm lips on his hand again, but they did not send the thrill through him as before. It certainly was dark walking across the field, and several times Brother Cox stopped to find his way. It was strange that he should get lost in the fields which he had tilled and cultivated for forty years. When he reached the house he felt tired, and he rested on the front piazza before entering the large dining-room. He seemed dazed and uncomfortable. The painters and carpenters had left their tools around, reminding him of the im- provements he was having made in his home. They seemed a mockery now. He entered the house and walked across the strong floors. Then he strolled toward the dining-room. Jack, Jack, where are ye? Come here. I want to see thee. I know all everything. She has told me, and ye have my approval. Im getting the house fixed up, and ye must come here to live. Is it really true, uncle? You are as good as you are handsome, uncle. Ella always said you were. Ye must live here every summer, and come and see me as often as ye can in the winter. We will, uncle. HE WAS GOOD TO THE POOR! By Allen Eas/man Cross. [ He was good to the poor! that was the comment that was heard above all else at cardinal Mannings funeral. That is a great epitaph. NewsAaj5er 1km.] Ii Ewas good to the poor! was the thought that stirred In many a heart of the mourning throng, As the funeral cortege crept along; And never was verse or speech or song A tribute phrased in so dear a word. A friend of Humanitys cause is sure To link his fate to the peoples fate, And, as more than a leader of Church or State, To stand in the paths of scorn and hate, The chosen friend of the friendiess poor. For more than a prince of the Church was he, And more than champion of a creed! Since his heart was as large as the peoples need; For suffering hearts his heart could bleed This legitimate prince of Humanity! And more than a prince of the State he stood, An heir of more than a royal line, As the heir of the saints, and the Christ divine, Whose love in the love of men did shine From the heart of this prince of brotherhood. His Eminence Cardinal Manning.

Cardinal Manning 185-186

His Eminence Cardinal Manning.

Gertrude Christian Fosdick Fosdick, Gertrude Christian The Smile of Peace 186-188

Rene Robert Cavejier Sleur de a Salle. FROM A PAINTING BASED UPON THE OEAVIEE POETEAIT. EARLY VISITORS TO CHICAGO. By Edward G. Mason. IT is customary to speak of Chicago as a comparatively new place, but it as- sumes a respectable antiquity when we remember that it was known to white men more than two hundred years ago. Those who saw it then xvere so regardless of the curiosity of posterity as to leave but scanty mementoes of their presence. Could any one of them have imagined that he was standing on the site of a city destined to be the second in size in our land, that upon the marsh and sand bank which lay before him was to rise the metropolis of the Great West, we may be sure that he would have taken pains to let us know of his being at the very be- ginning of human association with this portion of the earths surface, and to ask us, for that reason, to hold his name in remembrance. We cannot possibly identify the ear- liest visitor to Chicago, but high authority

Edward G. Mason Mason, Edward G. Early Visitors to Chicago 188-207

Rene Robert Cavejier Sleur de a Salle. FROM A PAINTING BASED UPON THE OEAVIEE POETEAIT. EARLY VISITORS TO CHICAGO. By Edward G. Mason. IT is customary to speak of Chicago as a comparatively new place, but it as- sumes a respectable antiquity when we remember that it was known to white men more than two hundred years ago. Those who saw it then xvere so regardless of the curiosity of posterity as to leave but scanty mementoes of their presence. Could any one of them have imagined that he was standing on the site of a city destined to be the second in size in our land, that upon the marsh and sand bank which lay before him was to rise the metropolis of the Great West, we may be sure that he would have taken pains to let us know of his being at the very be- ginning of human association with this portion of the earths surface, and to ask us, for that reason, to hold his name in remembrance. We cannot possibly identify the ear- liest visitor to Chicago, but high authority EARLY VISITORS TO C/I/CA GO. 189 is inclined to hold that the first civilized man who crossed the Chicago Portage was the dauntless pioneer, Rend Robert Cavelier Sieur de la Salle. We know that two years of his life in America are involved in obscurity, and his own journal and maps relating to this period, though in the possession of one of his relatives a century later, have disappeared. But an anonymous manuscript exists purporting to contain an account of his explorations during these years, related by La Salle himself. This states that in 1671 La Salle set forth on Lake Erie, crossed Lake Huron, passed the Straits of Mackinac, and La Baye des Puants, which we call Green Bay, and dis- covered an incomparably larger bay, which doubtless was the south- ern part of Lake Michigan. At its foot towards the west he found a very good port, and at the end of this a stream going from the east to the xvest. This port, it is thought by Francis Parkman, whose opinion is of the utmost weight, may have been the entrance to the Chicago River, and the stream, the Des Plaines branch of the Illinois. The words usually translated, very good port, Ires beau /zazre, may, without violence, be also rendered very beautiful harbor, and thus become a tribute to the Chicago River, and a more complimentary de- scription of it than La Salle gave after a subsequent visit. If this manuscript ~s correct, La Salle was at the site of Chicago two years before Joliet and Marquette. It is confirmed to some extent by a map apparently made in 1673 but the exact truth of the matter will probably never be known until those documents come to light which La Salles aged niece, Miss Madeline Cave- her, had in her possession in the year 1756. She wrote then to her nephew: I have waited for a safe opportunity to send you the papers of M. de la Salle. There are some maps which I have at- tached to these papers. The safe op- portunity seems never to have come, and there is no trace of these precious man- uscripts after the date of this letter, although the most careful search has been made. When they are found, as I believe they yet will be, I earnestly trust that they will make good the claim that La Salle was the earliest visitor to Clii- cago. No city could ask for a more famous ancestor. He was the real dis- coverer of the Mississippi as a whole. The Spaniards had reached its lower windings prior to his day, his own coun- trymen had explored its upper waters perhaps before he saxv it, but he was the first to unite these discoveries, the first to navigate the mighty stream from the mouth of the Illinois River to the Gulf of Mexico, and the first to take posses- sion of its matchless valley for civiliza- tion. He was the real discoverer of the Great West, for he planned its occupa- tion and began its settlement; and he alone of the men of his time appreciated its boundless possibilities, and with pro- phetic eye saw in the future its wide area peopled by his own race. It seems very fitting that a city which is the incarna- tion of the energy, the courage, and the enterprise which animated his iron frame should begin its annals with the splendid name of La Salle. Assuming, then, that he was the first, the next visitors to Chicago, who are usually spoken of as the earliest, were Louis Jolliet, usually written Joliet, and Jacques (James) Marquette. Returning from their famous journey on the Missis- sippi River, they doubtless crossed the Portage from the Des Plaines River to the South Branch, and went by way of the Chicago River to Lake Michigan, and along its western shore to the present Green Bay, in the late summer or early fall of the year 1673. Father Marquette in his narrative of this journey mentions the river, that is the Illinois, which brought Fac-Simile of La Salles Autograph. 190 EARLY VISITORS TO CIII CA GO. them with little trouble to the Lake of Illinois (now Lake Michigan). He says: We have seen nothing like this river for the fertility of its land, its prairies, woods, wild cattle, stag, deer, wild-cats, bustards, swans, ducks, par- rots, and even beaver, its many little lakes and rivers. He speaks of the portage of half a league, and of the escort which one of the native chiefs gave them to the Lake of the Illinois. These friendly Indian hosts accompanied Joliet and Marquette from the town of Kaskaskia, which was situated on the broad meadow opposite Starved Rock, or, as some think, nearer to the present town of Joliet, and probably bade them good-by upon what is now the Chicago River. It is curious to notice that Joliet, who was the leader of the party and especially charged by the Government with the discovery of the great river, has had less of the resulting honor than Marquette, though the larger part was rightfully his share. Marquette himself says: Comte de Frontenac, our governor, and Mr. Talon, then our intendant, selected for the enter- prise the Sleur Jollyet, whom they deemed com petent for so great a design. wishing to see Father Marquette accompany him. They were not mistaken in their choice of the Sieur Jolliet, for he was a young man horn in the country and en(lowed with every quality that could be (lesired in such an enterprise. lie possessed experience and a knowledge of the languages of the Ottawa Country, where he had spent several years; he had the tact and prudence so necessary for the success of a voyage equally (langerous and diffi- cult; and lastly he had courage to fear nothing where all is to be feared. J oliets failure to receive his due meed of fame results entirely from the fact that Marquettes narrative of their voyage was preserved; xvhile all of Joliets papers, including his carefully prepared report to his Government, and a very exact map, were lost by the upsetting of his canoe in the rapids above Montreal, when he had almost completed his return trip. He was scarcely able to save his life, writes Father Dablon, which he disputed with the waters over four hours. In a letter to Comte de Frontenac, Joliet says: I had escaped every peril from the Indians: I had passed forty-two rapids and was on the point of disembarking, full of joy at the success of so long and difficult an enterprise, when my canoe capsized, after all the danger seemed over. I lost two Joliets Map of Canadas Acadie. C f4t aufr 6rd~L ~~/4 g# g.~c a, ~uAap IIWC4ffZ Care ~ Lt~I Lw .4~r iti ~m a~ lr~a.e~J S 4~UV~ Ifnga4h attLf4R~S~UU~C Ma~dLC 3dL.~I ~WmLabj ws& c*iE,~J L~j~#pAdbjS~1VSfkSW~ ~ t~ ~*Z~v a ~ r rw~ ~ ~ ~6 ~54J -l~ ~AC~ i~& ~ %raZ~P1Ue L~y ~ h? It ~w~rA~ ~ ~ui d Lit ~ .k c.edI.~ eil kfldpdwm(V ~OU~ CITIWt/, AICEICt a ~ ~ 4Ifl*M(1J~~ snn( ~Le iOuyi4 o~ A ~4QS~It/~9M& ~ A WU ~JV*L /4~4~~4n4IAiI1M4 a17WW1E ~u~eauL~ e aa~ ~e hi ~fifIt~n~e $ ~WZ E~t i4W.d/IiV~4 GILt 01 .Wffl~ ~4 A~A~ I ~ ~Z ~ZA nd~J/k~4L Yaf~i KWkLip~ULE~ ~ Am& 4~ dbaL3pU7~C ~dIfffmaerq ~wj~hj ~ ~~e XN~ fritff 7C ~4~t *~ p. f~$Z~W ~ Dedication of Joliets Map en .fii Car~Jet Ac~/~e X ~4t ead/& ,~ 192 EARLY ViSITORS TO CI/ICA GO. men and my box of papers, within sight of the first French settlements, which I had left almost two years before. One of these men was an Indian slave, proba- bly the same given to Joliet by the great chief of the Illinois whom he visited at his village on the river now called Des Moines, on his way down the Mississippi. J oliet prepared from recollection an ccount of his voyage, and sketched a map, both of which Frontenac sent to France. This map, and perhaps others from his hand, have recently come to light, and we have also a statement pre- pared by Father Claude Dablon, Superior General of the Jesuit Missions in America, from information furnished him by Joliet, who speaks in it as enthusiastically as did Father Marquette about the Illinois River, which he says is large and deep, full of barbels and sturgeon; game is found in abundance on its banks; the wild cattle, cows, stags. turkeys appear more there than elsewhere There are prairies there six, ten, and txventy leagues long, and three wide, surrounded by forests of equal extent, beyond which the prairies begin again. Certainly no state in the Union has received more complimentary mention from its first visi- tors than Illinois. It further appears from this statement that either Joliet or Father I)ablon him- self, but probably the former, was the first to suggest a ship canal from Lake Michigan to the Illinois River. For the good Father, in his remarks upon the utility of joliets discovery, says: A very important advantage (of it) and which some xviii perhaps find it hard to credit, is that we can quite easily go to Florida in hoats, and hy a very good navigation. There would he hot one canal to make hy cntting only one-half a league of prairie to pass from the lake of the Illinois Michigan) into St. Louis River (1)es Plaines). The route to he taken is this: the hark should he huilt in Lake Erie which is near Lake Ontario; it would pass easily from Lake Erie to Lake Huron, from which it would enter the Lake of the Illinois. At the extremity of this lake would he the cut or canal of which I have spoken to have a passage to St. Louis River, which empties The Building of the Griffin. FROM VOvAOE nE nENNEFIN PUBLISHEO IN AMSTEROAM IN 1704. EARLY VISITORS TO CIJICA GO. 193 into the Mississippi. The bark having thus en- tered this river would sail easily to the Gulf of Mexico. If ever the proposed ship canal from Lake Michigan to the Illinois River is constructed, it will not be amiss to asso- ciate xvith it the name of the first pro- jector of such a work, Louis Joliet. Count Frontenac wrote the French Government in 1674 that Joliet left with the missionaries at Sault Ste. Marie, copies of his journals: These, he says, we cannot get before next year, and Father Dablon, speaking of the loss of Joliets narrative and map, says: Father Mar- quette kept a copy of that which has been lost. Thus far, neither of these copies have come to light, but I do not despair of the finding of one or both. The joy of the discovery is, I trust, reserved for some ardent antiquarian who will eagerly unroll the time-stained pages, and find in them something more than we now know of the Chicago of 1673. Perhaps he will thus reveal the names of the five other French men who accompanied Joliet and Marquette through their entire voyage, and were with them here, and one of whom revisited Chicago with Marquette in the following year. Of these five men we know nothing more, save that it is probable that one of them was a victim of the catastrophe at the Sault St. Louis, just by La Salles old seignory of La Chine, which put such a luckless ending to this otherwise successful exploration. We may be proud to inscribe the name of Louis Joliet upon the muster roll of the early visitors to Chicago, for he would have been no mean citizen of any city. Almost all of our knowledge of him is of recent date, and strikingly illustrates the better historical methods which prevail in our day, and their successful application. Fifty years ago, Bancroft, in his History of the United States, speaking of the voy- age of Joliet and Marquette, said: There is scarce a record of Joliet, but this one excursion. But the i?esearches of John Gilmary Shea, Pierre Margry, the Abbe Faillon and others have discovered the names of Joliets father and mother, and the record of their marriage, and the fact that one of those present at their wedding was Jean Nicolet, the first white man to visit the Fox and Wisconsin Rivers, having paddled along their course thirty- eight years before Joliet saw them. We know now that Jean Joliet, father of Louis, was a wagon maker in the service of the company of the Hundreds Asoci- ates, then owners of Canada; that Louis was born at Quebec in 1645, and was educated by the Jesuits for the priesthood. We have even the record of his taking part, perhaps as one of the champions of his school, in a public dispute in philos- ophy, which all the dignitaries of the col- ony attended, and in which he and an- other youth won great praise. The de- lights of a fur traders life led him to give up his clerical profession, and he made several excursions to the Northwest, explored the shores of Lake Superior for the government, and even then went very near to the Mississippi. He was specially chosen by Count Frontenac to lead the party to discover the great river; and priests, officials and traders alike com- mended the wisdom of this appointment. The year after his return he married Claire Bissot, the daughter of a wealthy Canadian merchant, and engaged in trade with the northern Indians. He made a journey to Hudson Bay by way of the Saguenay River in 1679, and was strongly urged by the English established there to join them, but he was true to his flag and country. The Canadian Government, in recognition of his eminent services, granted him the seignory of Jolliet in Lower Canada, which still bears his name, and also conceded to him and an associate called Lalande Junior, in 1677, the islands of Mignan, twenty-nine in number, extending forty-five miles along the Labrador Coast, and advantageously situated for the fisheries. In r68o, he received a further grant of the great Island of Anticosti, lying at the mouth of the St. Lawrence. He established him- self here in i68i, with his wife and six servants. The English in 1690, on their way to attack Quebec, under Sir William Phips, perhaps out of revenge for his refusal to join them, burned his buildings and took his family prisoners. He made a chart of the St. Lawrence River, ex- plored the coasts of Labrador, was ap- pointed by Frontenac, Royal Pilot for the 194 EARLY VISITORS TO CIrLICA GO. 6w~a~tc ~owV~,i ta 4 ~ /~ t~oa~f A.~ t~4u~ Li.4~%W41s14j ci4. ~/ ~ A.. (/~~ iro~ 4 iiwi~ ~a~i~i ~ s7~uJe fli:, ar~e~ ~n~e ~ A~,w czt/ i~ / / /c~c ~ 4 ~ (Z~ta~ Fac-Simile of Letter of Father Marquette to Dablon. St. Lawrence, and Hydrographer, or offi- married Jean Tach~, the great-grand- cial map-maker, at Quebec. He died father of the Most Rev. Alexander Antoine about the year r 700, and was buried on Tach~, the late popular and able Catholic one of the Mignan islands. His son, Archbishop of Manitoba; who was, there- Jean Baptiste Jolliet, who took the sur- fore, the lineal descendant and represen- name de Mignan from his island patri- tative of the courageous, intelligent, and mony, just as Robert Cavelier added de famous explorer, Louis Joliet. la Salle to his name from the family prop- History accords to the brave young erty near Rouen, had a daughter who priest Marquette, the right to be called EARLY VISITORS TO CIJICA GO. 195 the earliest resident of Chicago, because of his dreary encampment by the banks of the Chicago River in the winters of 16745, on his second journey to the Illinois. He was attended by two faith- ful French voyageurs, Pierre Porteret and Jacques , whose last name is un- known. Father Dablon says that one of these men, but does not tell us which, was with Marquette on his former voyage. I am aware that South Chicago, Evan- ston, and possibly other places, are in- clined to dispute with Chicago the honor of this visit from Marquette; but Chicago will not yield to any of them her first City Father without a struggle. An attempt has been made to show, from Marquettes journal of this journey, that he wintered upon the Calumet River, and not upon the Chicago. We learn from this document that he set out from the Mission of St. Francis, which was on the site of the town of Green Bay, October 25th, 1674, crossed the portage from Sturgeon Bay to Lake Michigan, and fol- lowed its western shore southward; and after various detentions, on December 4, he says: We started well to reach Portage River, which was frozen half a foot thick. There was more snow there than anywhere else. To identify Por- tage River with the Calumet, it is neces- sary to assume that Marquette spent nine days in going from the Chicago River to the Calumet, a distance of twelve miles, or an average of one and one-third miles per day; while up to his arrival at the Chicago River, he had travelled at the rate of seven miles a da~r, including all delays. It is also necessary to assume that he made a portage between the Grand Calumet and the Little Calumet, where there is no portage now, and went up the Little Calumet to Stony Brook, near the present town of Blue Island, then up Stony Brook and by way of the Sag to the Des Plaines a route which, so far as known, has never been followed by any other traveller, is not laid down on any map, and there is no evi- dence of its use at any time. I should except, perhaps, an account in the pos- session of the Chicago Historical Society of the ruins of an old fort, on the line of the Sag in the town of Palos, in Cook County, from which it has been argued that this must have been a French fort, that the French would not have had a fort except upon a stream, that a stream is of no use unless it is navigable, and that Father Marquette was the best man to navigate it, and, therefore, did so. I cannot accept the argument, but I am greatly interested in the fort; and should be glad some day to lead an exploring party in search of it. To my mind, the most convincing proof that the Chicago River is the Portage River of Marquette and Joliet is the account which the latter gives in Dablons statement, that the cut- ting of half a league of prairie, but a little over a mile, would enable a bark to pass from Lake Michigan to the Des Plaines River. This could not be true of the route by the Calumet, Stony Brook, and the Sag, where a twelve-mile canal would be necessary for a small vessel to pass, and is applicable only to the short portage between the South Branch and the Des Plaines, which must, therefore, have been the route followed by Joliet and by Marquette on his second journey. It was the Chicago River, therefore, over whose frozen surface the valiant missionary toiled on that bleak December day. It was on its banks that he penned that journal, which doubtless was the first literary production ever written in Chi- cago, and which gives us such a picture of the unselfishness, the heroism, and the sanctity of that lovely soul. We cannot give up Father Marquette; for his associa- tion xvith Chicagos site is amongst the most precious of its early memories. The feeling that he in some measure be- longs to Chicago lends a new interest to that brief but beautiful life, which began in 1637, in the little city of Laon in northern France, and ended in ~675, on the eastern shore of Lake Michigan. Marquette was born six years before La Salle, and it is noticeable that he came of a family bearing the same ter- ritorial designation as that of the famous pioneer. Rose de la Salle was the name of the mother of Marquette. He entered the Society of Jesus at an early age, and vowed to seek a mission in sonie land that knew not God, there to labor to his latest breath. He came to Canada, 196 EARL Y VISITORS TO CHICAGO. (I 4 Fac-Simile of Part of the Autograph Map of the Mississippi or conception River. Drawn by Father Marquette at the time of his Voyage, and preserved in St. Marys collegeMontreal. diligently studied the Indian tongues, and was soon assigned to the Lake Superior Mission. First stationed at Sault Ste. Marie, and then at La Pointe, he labored faithfully among the Indians, and at the latter place first met those who proudly told him that their name, Illinois, meant men. He accompanied his wandering flock to Mackinac, and established the Mission of St. Ignace; and there he rejoiced to receive the appointment of missionary to accompany Joliets expedition, because it enabled him to carry the cross to the Illinois, whose manly representatives had won his heart, and to the nations of the Great River. We owe to him the only detailed account extant of that expedition. It is remarkable that only a mutilated copy of this found its way into print until 1852. At that time the original manuscript journal and map of Marquette which had 0~~ UAC JVPtRIEVI? oe TRACt MA~OA e, C LAC ner jUNO 1.5 (4 te~ F- CI4A(ANL,V 37 EARLY VISITORS TO CHICAGO. 197 lain unnoticed in Canada during all these years, were committed to the com- petent hands of John Gilmary Shea, to edit and publish. One can imagine with what interest he examined the little manu- script quarto containing Marquettes own copy of his narrative, the map, and the journal of his last voyage, all in his own handwriting, which was duly authenticated by comparison with the parish register of Boucherville in Canada, which was kept by Marquette for a year or more. There are no original documents now known to exist of more intimate cofluection with the early history of this region, and none of which it would be more appropriate to have fac-similes preserved in an ap- propriate place in Chicago. Those who may see these originals at Montreal, I think will care most to look at that unfinished journal which so vividly recalls the brave young priest who made its entries while delayed in the forlorn cabin at the Chicago Portage by the bit- ter winter weather and the beginning of his mortal illness, two hundred and seventeen years ago. I never read its graphic pages without being impressed with the fact that the writer speaks of two other Frenchmen besides his own companions as being in the neighborhood of the Portage during his stay there. After describing his cabining near the Portage, probably on the South Branch and not far from the classic region of Bridgeport, and his resolve to winter there, he writes under date of December 30, 1674: Jacques arrived from the Illinois, whieh was only six leagues from here; some had informed la Taupine and the surgeon that we were here and unable to leave the cabin. On January r6, 1675, he adds: As soon as the Iwo Frenchmen knew that my illness prevented me going to them, the surgeon came here with an Indian to bring us some whortleberries and some bread; they were only eighteen leagues from here in a beautiful hunting ground for buffalos and deer, and turkeys which are excellent there; they had also collected some provisions while waiting for us; and they had made the savages understand that their cabin was for the Black Robe; and I must say that they did and said all that could be expected of them; the surgeon having sojourned here to attend to his devotions. I sent Jacques with him to tell the Illinois who were near there that my illness pre- vented my going to see them. On the 24th he writes: Jacques re- turned with a bag of corn and other re- freshments that Ike Fre;ick had given him for me, and on the 26th he men- tions that he told three Illinois Indians who came to see him that he would en- courage f/ic French to bring them goods, and they must satisfy those who were among them for the wampum which some had taken from them, as soon as the sur- geon set out to come here. Later, after he had left his camp, and was on his way to the Indian Village on the Illinois, he says, on April i, 1675 : We hope to- morrow to reach the spot where the French are, fifteen leagues from here, and under date of April 6th he adds: We have just met the surgeon with an Indian going up with a canoe load of furs, but the cold being too severe for men who have to drag their canoes through the water, he had just made a cache of his beaver and goes hack to the village with us. If the French get robes from the coun- try they do not rob them, so great is the hardship they experience in getting them. This is the latest entry in the journal, and the last mention of either of these two Frenchmen. Another hand has com- pleted the story of Marquette, who so soon after this heroically finished a life heroic; but there is not a word more concerning the good Samaritans who met him in this wilderness. The one dis- appears as completely as does his name- sake, the mole, underground; and the other might have been buried with his beaver skins for all that appears concern- ing him. Now who were La Laupine and the surgeon, and how came they in that re- gion? They may have found their way thither after and in consequence of Joliet and Marquettes first voyage in 1673, eighteen months before, when, as the good fathers say, they were at the same portage. But it is evident they were familiar with the region, had been estab- lished in it long enough to build a cabin and bake bread, to preserve buffalo hides and beaver skins, and to be well known among the Indians; and that they knew of Marquettes second journey, had col- lected provisions and provided a cabin for him and were awaiting his coming and beyond that, nothing. The one was a noted coureur de bois, whose real 198 EARLY VISITORS TO CIII CA GO. name, as we learn elsewhere, was Pierre Moreau, taking his soubriquet perchance from his mole-like appearance or ways or color. He was once a soldier in the garrison at Quebec, and in 1671 was at Sault Ste. Marie, when Joliet was there at the formal taking possession of the country in the name of Louis XIV. At a later period than that now under con- sideration, we hear of him as follows: The intendant of Canada, M. Duches- neau, writing to M. de Seignelay, the Minister of Marine 4 Paris, November ioth, 1679, says: The man named La Taupine, a famous cou- reur de bois, who set out in the month of Sep- temher of last year, 1678, to go to the Outawacs with goods, and who has heen always interested with the Governor, having returned this year, and I heing advised that he traded in two days 150 Fac-Simife of Tontys Autograph. heaver rohes in one single village of this trihe, amounting to nearly nine hundred heavers, which is a matter of puhlic notoriety, and that he left with Du Lhut two men, whom he had with him, considered myself hound to have him arrested, and to interrogate him; hut having presented me with a license from the Governor permitting him and his comrades, named La Monde and Dupuy, to repair to the Outawac nation to execute his secret orders, I had him set at liherty; and im- mediately on his going out, Sieur Prevost, Town Major of Quehec, came at the head of some sol- diers to force the prison, in case he were still there, pursuant to written orders he had received from the Governor couched in these terms: Count de Frontenac, Councillor of the King in his Council, Governor and Lieutenant-General for his Majesty in New France. Sieur Prevost is ordered, in case the Intendant arrest Pierre Moreau, alias La Taupine, whom we have sent to Quehec as the hearer of our dispatches, upon pretext of his having heen in the hush, to set him forthwith at liherty and to employ every means for this purpose, at his peril. Done at Montreal, the 5th day of Septemher 1679, signed Frontenac, and lower down Barrois. The Intendant continues: It is certain, my Lord, that the said La Taupine carried goods to the Outawas, that his two comrades remained in the Indian country, apparently near Du Lhut, and that he traded there. . . . You will learn all I wish to tell you, my Lord from the interrogatories of the said La Taupine which he refused to sign, de- claring that he did not know how to do it, though he writes well. Again, the angry Intendant, writing to the same, Nov. ~3th, i68o, says: The Governor has despatched again that fa- mous Coureur de bois, La Taupine, whom I had arrested last year, and whose Interrogatory I sent you. It is he whom he employs to carry his or- ders and to trade among the Outawas Nations. These letters give us something of an idea of the bold forest ranger, the trusted agent of Count Frontenac, who was one of the first Chicago citizens, so to speak, Pierre Moreau. It is possible, and even probable, that he was another of the five who accompanied Joliet and Marquette in 1673; for he was with Joliet, as we have seen, at Sault Ste. Marie in 1671, would have been likely to join him two years later, and we find him now in 1674 in a region of which he plainly had some previous acquaintance. Chicago may not feel any particular pride in him, but after all there is something interesting and picturesque about this tawny rover of the woods and prairies in whom dwelt the spirit of the free, wild West. In his companion, the surgeon, we are more interested. He must have been a person of education, for this his profession shows; of religious training, as his sojourn with the priest to perform the offices of the church indicates; and a man of kindly heart and dauntless spirit, as his fifty-mile tramp in midwinter to aid the suffering missionary abundantly proves. It further- more appears that he exercised control over the Indians, and was a bold and successful hunter and collector of furs. Was he perhaps an army physician who came from France with his regiment and was stationed originally in garrison at Quebec or Montreal, had heard the year before the wondrous tale of Joliet and Marquettes discoveries in their Missis- sippi voyage, and with or without leave EARLY VISITORS TO CHICAGO. 199 followed in their footsteps? Or was he their predecessor, and in reality the ear- liest dweller here, and so Chicagos first citizen? And did he send to his friends at home descriptions of this distant land which, could we read them now, would give us nexv information concerning ear- liest Chicago? These questions are not altogether so fanciful as they may seem, and it is not impossible that they may one day be answered. Just as the man- uscript of Pierre Radisson, slumbering for more than two hundred years in the Bodleian Library, and but recently brought to light, reveals that he and his brother-in-law, Des Groseilliers, a daring pair of fur traders, reached the Upper Mississippi fifteen years before the ven- turesome voyage of Joliet and Marquette; so the archives of some old chateau in La Belle France may some time give up the rollicking epistles which shall tell us how the gay young surgeon and his mole- like companion hunted and camped in and around Chicago, possibly even before the earliest record noxv known of a visit to the citys site. Another intrepid priest, some two years later, was the next, so far as xve at present know, to come to this distant spot. Father Claude Allouez, although he has perhaps received less honor than some of his compeers, was worthy to be Mar- quettes successor, and was one of the forerunners of civilization here. Devot- ing himself to the conversion of the Ame#- ican Indian, and seeking only, as he says, the privilege of doing them good and of suffering without complaint, he was faith- ful to his vows. At Sault Ste. Marie, and along the whole South Shore of Lake Superior, at Chegoimegon and the distant Lake Nipissing he gathered and instructed the natives. He was the founder of the mission of St. Francis Xavier, at what is now Green Bay, and was ordered thence to succeed Marquette at the Illinois Mis- sion in 1676. The beginning of his nar- rative illustrates well his simple faith and zeal. He says: While preparing for my departure, as the weather was not yet suitable, I made some visits in the bay, where I baptized two sick adults, one of whom died next day; the other lived a month longer; he was a poor old man who being de- crepit and half deaf was the laughing stock and outcast of all, even of his children, hut God (lid not cast him out; he did him the grace to enroll him among his children by baptism, and to re- ceive him into Heaven, as I have every reason to believe. He describes his journey along the great lake of the Illinois, that is Lake Michigan, and mentions incidentally that finding themselves on that body of water on the eve of St. Joseph, he gave it the name of that great saint, and that he should henceforth call it Lake St. Joseph. This was one of the four names given to the lake in those early days: Lac des Illinois, Lac Dauphin, Lac Missihigening and Lac St. Joseph. He continues: We advanced coasting along vast prairies that stretched away beyond our sight; from time to time we saw trees, but so arranged that they seemed planted designedly to form alleys more agreeable to the sight than those of orchards. We followed these vast plains for twenty leagues, and often said, Benedicte opera Domini Domino. At length, after making seventy-six leagues on Lake St. Joseph, he says: We entered the river which leads to the Illi- nois, that is, the Chicago River. I here met eighty Indians of the country, by whom I was handsomely entertained. The chief advanced about thirty steps to meet me, holding in one hand a firebrand, and in the other a feath- ered calumet; as he drew near, he raised it to my mouth, and himself lit the tobacco, which obliged me to pretend to smoke. He then led me into his cabin, and giving me the most comfortable place, addressed me as follows: Father, take pity on me, let me return with thee to accompany thee and lead thee to my village; my meeting with thee to-day will be fatal to me unless I profit by it. Thou bearest to us the gospel and the prayer; if I lose the occasion of hearing thee, I shall be punished by the loss of my nephews, whom thou seeest so numerous, but who will assuredly be de- feated by the enemy. Embark then with us, that I may profit by thy coming into our land. This was in April, 1677, and this re- ception seems to have taken place at the then mouth of the Chicago River, or somewhere about the present junction of Madison Street and Michigan Avenue. The chiefs address was the first of the innumerable multitude of public speeches delivered in Chicago, and surpasses them all in brevity, if not in other respects. A little more than two years later, in October, 1679, four canoes deeply laden with a forge, tools, merchandise and 200 EARLY VISITORS TO CIII CA GO. arms, and bearing fifteen Frenchmen, coasted along the western shore of Lake Michigan, and perhaps halted at the mouth of the Chicago River for a night, but not more than that, for this was the party of the great La Salle, then making his first attempt to reach and explore the Mississippi, and his eager spirit could brook no unnecessary delay. He passed on, circling around the southern shore of Lake Michigan, till he reached the mouth of the St. Joseph, called by him the Miamis, and went thence by the portage, near the present town of South Bend, Indiana, to the head waters of the Kan- kakee, which in his time was called the Theakiki. This name was also applied to the whole length of the Illinois River, otherwise known as Riviere Seignelay, Riviere Macoupin, and Riviere Divine. The Des Plaines, thirty years later, was known as the Divine River; and it may surprise some to know that this name was once applied to the pellucid stream which we know as the Chicago River. La Salle, on this excursion, had bid farewell to his famous vessel, the Grzj/ftn, at the en- trance to Green Bay, as she spread her sails for the return voyage to Niagara. He never saw her again, and her fate is wrapped in mystery. But it is interesting to know that an enthusiastic antiquarian in northern Michigan believes that he has discovered her buried hull. His theory is that she was driven before the furious gale which we know raged for days just after La Salle left here, and was wrecked upon the shore of Lake Michi- gan, opposite to the entrance of Green Bay. The original beach upon which she struck, he thinks, from changes in the shore of the Lake, is now a mile or more inland, and there amidst the forest, in a huge sand hill, shaped something like a vessel, he believes she lies concealed. There are hidden, if he is correct, the timbers, perchance the very form of that historic craft, laden with mementoes of that by-gone age, waiting to be brought to light, just as in our time the old war vessel of the Vikings has been unearthed on the coast of Sweden, and the Pilgrims ship on the shore of Massachusetts. It would be a pleasant vacation pastime to test the truth of this theory; and should any undertake it, I trust that when they find the Grijft~n they will see that she is intrusted to the charge of the Chicago Historical Society, to be properly en- shrined in its new building. Early in the winter of i68o, five fugi- tives from La Salles settlement, on the Illinois, driven away by Iroquois war parties, wearily journeyed across the Chi- cago prairie and followed the lake shore northward. These were Henri de Tonty, La Salles faithful lieutenant, the man with the hand of iron and heart of gold, the Recollet friar, Zenobe Membre, the gallant young Sieur de Boisrondet, a Parisian youth named Etienne Renault, and a servant called lEsperance. Their stay here was very brief. They were fleeing from savages and starvation, and barely reached the hospitable village of Pottawattamies at Green Bay in time to save their lives. No misfortunes could daunt such men as La Salle and Tonty; and in the bitter December weather of the year 1682, they were once more at Chicago with Father Membre and twenty-three other French- men and thirty-one Indian allies, many of whom were Mohegans from New Eng- land. Here they made sledges, placed on them their canoes and baggage, and dragged them over the icy surface of the Chicago River and across the portage to the Illinois, and went on their way, this time to succeed in following the Missis- sippi to the Gulf, and plant the lilies of France at her mouth. These occasional visits to Chicago were soon to be followed by its settled occupa- tion, and close upon the heels of the pioneer and priest came the soldier. In 1685, there appeared here Olivier Morel de la Durantaye, a native of Brittany, a captain in the famous regiment of Carig- nal-Salieres, whose roster might also be reproduced from the list of the places in North America named for its officers: It was the first regiment of regular troops ever sent to America by the French government. Raised in Savoy by the Prince of Carignan in 1644, it was soon employed in the service of France, and fought under the banners of its king in the war of the Fronde and in the Austrian war against the Turks. It was incorporated with the fragment of a German regiment, and took its double name from the Colonel de Salieres, who was put in command of the whole. EARLY VISITORS TO CHICAGO. 201 In i66~, it was sent to Canada to put down the Iroquois; and says Parkman: As with slouched hat and plume, bandolier, and shouldered firelock, these hronzed veterans of the Turkish wars marched at the tap of the drum through the narrow street, or mounted the rugged way that led up to the fort (of Quehec), the inhahitants gazed with a sense of profound relief. Tame Indians from the neighhoring mis- sions, wild Indians from the woods stared in silent wonder at them. Their numhers, their discipline, their uniform, and their martial hearing filled the savage heholders with admiration. One of their officers, Chambly, was sent to build a picket fort on the River Richelieu, below the rapids which are named from him. Another, Sorel, built a fort at the mouth of the river, on the site of the town, both of which bear his name. A third, Durantaye, was ordered to take command at Michilimackinac, whence in 1684 he led a force of sixty Frenchmen to the relief of Tonty at Starved Rock, and probably came and returned by the Chicago portage. In the following year Tonty says in his Memoir, I arrived at the Fort of Chicagou where M. De la Durantaye commanded. This was the first fort here of which we have any account, and was probably a stockade structure constructed by Durantaye in i68~. He seems to have returned again to Mackinac, for in 1687, he led a party from that place to join the Marquis de Denonville, Governor-General of Canada, in his famous attack upon the Senecas in western New York. Tonty also marched from the Illinois with sixteen Frenchmen and two hundred Indians to take part in this campaign, and according to one account he came by the way of Chicago and mustered some recruits here, perhaps from the garrison of the fort. He led his party across the country to Detroit, Far-Simile of Hennepins Autograph~ where he met Durantaye and two other famous pioneers, La Foret and Daniel Greysolon Du Lhut, from whom the present city of Duluth takes its name. They bad a large body of French and Indians from the upper lakes, and the united force pushed on to Niagara and joined the governor-generals army at the rendezvous on the southern shore of Lake Ontario, near the Seneca country. Two thousand five hundred men marched through the wilderness toxvard the great town of the Senecas, with Durantaye, Tonty, and Lhut, and their couriers de Part of Hennepins Map, published in 1704. 202 EARLY VISITORS TO ~IIIGA GO. hds in the van. In the narroxv defile the advance, separated from the main body, came upon an ambush of three hundred Indian warriors, who closed upon their rear with yells of triumph, think- ing this detachment to be the whole army. But better leaders for such a fray there could not be than these three in- trepid Frenchmen, who held their wood-rangers steadily to their work, until sud- denly through the forest came the main body, head- ed by four companies of the fighting Carignan regi- ment, and the Senecas sul- lenly abandoned the field. Their great town was taken and destroyed, and down to Jean Baptiste our time their descendants knew the scene of their crushing defeat by the French as Dyagodiyu, or The Place of a Battle. The Illinois and Chi- cago contingent bore a conspicuous part in that conflict, and their services were thoroughly appreciated by Denonville, who names Tonty in his despatches with the highest praise. The exact location of Durantayes officers in the eighteenth century as a place of meeting to concert plans, or a point of rendezvous for expeditions against the savages, and is described in I 718 as Fort Miami, situated at the mouth of the River Chicagou. After Mad Anthony Wayne had broken the power of the Indians at the battle of the Fallen Timbers, and com- pelled them to make the treaty of Greeneville, in I 795, by one of the articles of that treaty the Indians ceded to the United States one piece of land six miles square at the mouth of the Chicagou River emptying into the southwest end of Point de Salle Lake Michigan, where a fort formerly stood. This doubtless refers to Durantayes Fort, or its successor on the same site. It would be fitting to preserve in Chicago at the present day in some appropriate way the name of Durantaye as that of her first military commander. While Durantaye and Tonty and their men were absent on the expedition against the Senecas, there came to Chi ______ ~n ~AA Chicago in 779 11 (704 ANDRFAS HISTORY OF CHICAGO Fort of Chicagou we do not positively know, but from this time there seems to have been a fort at Chicago as long as the French exercised control over this region. It is mentioned in occasional despatches and correspondence of French cago a forlorn party, striving to make their way to Canada and thence to France. These were Henri Joutel, Father Anastasius Douay, Teissier, and the Caveliers, brother and nephew of La Salle, the survivors of La Salles last EARLY VJSITORS TO CHICAGO. 203 effort to colonize the Mississippi Valley. Leaving their great leader slain by an assassins hand, to his last sleep in the wilds of what is now the State of Texas, after infinite privations they reached Lake Michigan at this point, in the fall of 1687. The stormy weather prevented their embarkation, and burying their bag- gage and provisions they returned to Fort St. Louis of the Illinois, situated on what is now called the Starved Rock, there passed the winter, were at Chicago again in March and April, i688, and set forth in their canoes on April 5th of that year, keeping well to the west side of the lake to shun the Iroquois. We might claim next a visitor of noble rank, were it not that the brilliant nseu- domaniac Baron La Hutan is so exceed- ingly unreliable in his own statement that he arrived at Chekakou on the 24th of April, 1689, excites the gravest doubts as to his having been here at all. Upon the whole, xve may be willing to concede him to Evanston or South Chicago, upon the express understanding that in consid- eration thereof they shall no longer dis- pute Chicagos right and title to the good Father Marquette. By the time the next party of whom we have knowledge arrived here, the Jesuits had a mission at Chicago. John Francois Buisson de St. Cosine, a priest of that order, with others, went from Mackinaxv to the Illinois in 1699 and stopped here. He says: We went . . . to the house of the Rev. ~ i1~I~iii:HflhIFtt Cabin of Jean Baptiste Point de Salle, prairie on the other, The Indian village is over 150 cabins. This house of the Jesuit Fathers may well have been, as has been suggested by one of our Chicago antiquarians, at the junction of the North and South branches of the Chicago River, where the meeting of the three branches formed the natural basin or small lake spoken of. Father St. Cosine further tells us that, when they had made half of their portage to the River of the Illinois, that is the Des Plaines, a little boy of their party having started on alone, although he had been told to wait, got lost. He continues: \Ve were obliged to stop and look for him. All set out. We tired several guns, but we could not find him. . . . I with four other men re- turned to look for this little boy. We looked for him again all that (lay withont being able to find him. As next day was the least of All Saints, this obliged me to go and pass the night at Chi- kagon with our people, who having heard mass and performed their devotions early, we spent all that (lay too, in looking for that little boy, without being able to get the least trace. It was very difficult to find him in the tall ~7~rmt~ Fort Dearborn Built in 803. Jesuit Fathers, and found there Rev. Father Pinet and Rev. Father Buinateau who had re- cently come in from the Illinois. The house of the Jesuit Fathers is built on the banks of the small lake, having the lake on one side and a fine large Fort Dearborn in 1816. ) EARLY VISITORS TO CIII CA GO. grass, for the whole country is prairies. You meet only some clumps of woods. As the grass was high, we elurst not set fire to it for fear of hurning him. I was ofiliged to start, having given Brother Alexander directions to look for him, and to take some of he French who were at Chicagou. We learn nothing more from him of the small boy, as to whose fate we might still be in uncertainty but for the thought- fulness of another member of the party. Rev. Thaumur de La Source, writing from Arkansas, says: I will tell you that Mr. de Montigny took a hoy twelve or fifteen years old with him, who got The Kiozie House in 832. lost while making the first portage in the prairies. Mr. St. Cosine remained with five men and spent two days looking for him without heing aWe to find him. This hoy made his way to Chicagou where Brother Alexander was, thirteen days after. He was utterly exhausted, and was out of his head. We are glad that the urchin was found at last, and may hope that be recovered. This party was in charge of a trusty leader, Henry de Tonty, who, perhaps, was at Chicago more frequently than any whom I have mentioned, who stand on our early muster roll. Whenever you meet with his name in these early records, you may be sure that the context tells, of a fearless, modest, able and faithful man and soldier. And Father La Cosines account is no exception. Writing to the Bishop of Que- bec, he says: I cannot, Monsiegneur, express our ohligations to Mr. l)e Tonty; he guarded us as far as the Akanscas and gave us much pleasure on the way. He facilitated our course through several nations, winning us the friendship of some, and intimidating those who from jealousy or a desire 204 The last of Fort neerborn. FROM ANOREAS HISTORY OF OIIIOAOO~ 205 EARLY ViSITORS TO CHICAGO. of plunder had wished to oppose our voyage; he has not only done the duty of a brave man, but also discharged the functions of a zealous mis- sionary. . . We were four canoes, Mr. De Tontys, our two, and another of young voyageurs who chose to accompany us, partly on account of Mr. De Tonty, who is generally loved by all the voyageurs. Some Indians attempted to persuade them not to go to the Mississippi for fear of the tribes there, says Father St. Cosine, but Tonty told them he did not fear men. They told us that they bewailed our youth, who would be killed. Mr. de Tonty replied that they had seen him meet the Iroquois and knew that he could kill men. It must be avowed that the Indians have a very great esteem for him. It is enough for him to be in a party to prevent their offering any insult. . . . It was a deep regret to part with Mr. de Tonty. . . . He is the man who best knows the country. He has been twice to the sea; be has been twice far inland to the remotest nations; he is loved and feared every- where. On his loyalty to his great leader, La Salle, whose right arm he was, I have not space to dwell. But of all the tributes to La Salle, there is none to my mind finer than these words spoken of him by the one who knew him best, lienry de Tonty: Behold one of the grandest men of this century, of a spirit admirable, able to accomplish every kind of discovery.~~ In the first crusade there was a noble leader who was known as Baldwin Bras de Fer, Baldwin of the Iron Arm. But knightly soldier that he was, in all that constitutes true chivalry our Bras de Fer, Tonty was as worthy to wear the title, which was his by literal right; for the hand lost in the Sicilian wars and re- placed by one of metal, whose weight made the Indians who felt it call it great medicine, caused him to be known from the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the Gulf of Mexico, and even in the traditions of the present descendants of the Indians of his day, as the great chief with the iron arm. These incidents and visits, and prob- ably many more, the accounts of which have not yet come to light, all occurred prior to the year 1700, and within the twenty-five years following Joliet and Marquettes discovery. In the next cen- tury the published references to Chicago are quite infrequent, and we pass over them until we come to one who resided here so long and at such a comparatively early period, although a hundred years after Marquette, that he is often spoken of as the first settler in Chicago. It is related that some time during the last quarter of the last century, when there was nothing here but a fort, an In- dian living a few miles south of the place took his rifle and set out on his daily hunt. Passing near a clump of bushes on the borders of a grove of timber, his attention was attracted towards an ob- ject that made its appearance in the midst of the bushes, the head and upper part of the body alone being visible. Astonishment filled the Indians mind at the sight of a black face, white eyes, and short, woolly hair. After gazing at the un- wonted sight a moment, his ejaculation was UhI Mucketaweos (black meat) Mani- tou (bad spirit) I By the aid of his rifle the singular animal was captured and carried to the Indian village. Wonder filled the breast of every savage, old and young. Runners were sent to all the neighboring villages, with accounts of the strange animal & aptured. Nearly all the tribes came to see it, and numerous opin- ions were formed and expressed as to what it was and where it came from, but all settled down to the one conclusion that it was bad meat, and so they spared the creatures life. Such is the tradition preserved from that time, and it undoubtedly refers to the first appearance here of Jean Baptiste Point de Sable, a negro from San Domingo, who in some way reached the Chicago region certainly as early as 1879, established himself here as a trader, and remained for many years. He came to have much influence among the Indians, and it is said even aspired to be the head chief of those who lived in the neighborhood. But whether through the survival of the original im- pression caused by his sudden appearance, or for some other reason, he failed to reach the summit of his ambition. Colonel Arent Schuyler De Peyster, the British commandant at Mackinaw in 1779, in his Miscelidnies written in that year, speaks of Eschigagou, a river and fort at the head of Lake Michigan, and under date of July 4th makes mention of Jean Bap 206 EARLY VISITORS TO CIII CA GO. tiste Point de Saible, a handsome negro, well educated and settled at Eschicagou, but much in the French interest. Au- gustin Grignon, an old French resident of Wisconsin, giving his recollections in the year 1857, says: At a very early period there was a negro lived at Chicago named Baptiste Point de Sable; my brother Perriole Grignon, visited Chicago about 1794, and told me that Point de Sable was a large man; that he had a commission for some office, but for what particular object or from what government, I cannot now recollect; he was a trader, pretty wealthy, and drank freely. I know not what became of him. It would be interesting to know what commission this was, and whether as holder of it he made any reports to his government. He was well educated, it seems, and, therefore, these reports when they are found, as they doubtless will be, may be of even more interest to Chi- cagoans of the present time than they were to the person to whom they were addressed a century ago. At that time the French dominion had ceased in the Northwest, while the English had not given up their posts on the frontier, and Jean Baptiste was doubtless an official of Great Britain. Other accounts inform us that, disappointed at his failure to secure the leadership of the Indians here, he retired to Peoria, where he spent the remaining years of his life in the company of another San Domingo negro, Glamor- gan, who had settled there. It seems to be quite certain that he lived here at least fifteen years, from 1779 to 1794, and it is said that the cabin which he occupied was afterwards the residence of a French trader named Le Mai, and then of John Kinzie. It was the same struc- ture which we see in all the old prints of Fort Dearborn or early Chicago, on the north side of the river, with the great tree behind it; and stood as nearly as may be at the foot of Pine Street, partly upon the ground now occupied by Kirks factory, and partly in what is now known as North Water Street, properly an ex- tension of Kinzie Street. The large tree which was back of the house and is men- tioned in various descriptions of the house, stood almost precisely on what is now the northeast corner of Pine and North Water Streets. I am indebted for this exact information as to the location of this historic building to George H. Fergus, Esq., of Chicago, who has made a special study of the matter, and whose conclusions were confirmed by the recol- lections of John Noble, the last occupant of the old Kinzie house, who died in r888. It might be well to mark the site of the house of Point de Sable and John Kinzie xvith a tablet, as has been done at the site of Fort Dearborn. From the documents of which I have given but an outline, and others which I have not space even to mention, it sufficiently ap- pears that this young city has a past full of romance and picturesqueness, and memorable in many ways; a past which furnishes an historic background which, viewed in true perspective, enables us best to understand the mighty develop- ment of the great West, and to realize its marvellous progress; a past in which glorious names are written, and where noble figures of black-robed priests, mailed warriors, and red chieftains stand out as distinctly as if they had trod our soil but yesterday; a past so rich in splendid lessons of fortitude, fidelity, and unselfishness, that it may be not only in- teresting but profitable, occasionally to look back from the Chicago of to-day to that of its early visitors. A COMMONPLACE BIOGRAPHY. By Thomas if. Clark, L). D. SOME time ago a little dingy book, bound in strong leather, upon which the mice had expended some feeble efforts, accidentally fell into my hands, with the title, Private Record of Ex- penses, nicely printed in ink on the cover. At the first glance it did not seem to contain anything that could pos- sibly interest one, there was nothing but a careful entry of every dollar and every quarter of a cent received and ex- pended for a series of years; with an occasional expression of gratitude, when it turned out that there was a trifle of money left over at the end of the year. But still, as in an hour of weary leisure I lingered a little over the pages, I began to discern the living man with some de- gree of distinctness, and to take a sort of interest in his humble, humdrum exist- ence. It was edifying to see how one could manage to live comfortably, fifty years ago, on a very small income, and to find out what he had to pay for hls meats and groceries and clothes, and servants wages and postage and public tolls, as contrasted with what we are paying now. With nothing but this Private Record of Expenses to enlighten me, I found out in the very beginning his profession, the region in which he was settled, the circumstances under which he went to housekeeping, the style in which he lived, and later on the increase of his family, the domestic afflictions, and his domestic habits, the amusements that he coveted, the luxuries in which he indulged, the literature that he fancied, and the peri- odicals that he subscribed for, his re- ligious and political opinions, the con- troversies of the day in which he took an interest, the little weaknesses incident to his nature as seen in a fondness for jewelry and an occasional glass of port and a not infrequent purchase of cigars and a hankering after Christys Minstrels, and the like. There is nothing heroic in the good mans character, and not the slightest touch of adventure in his career; but if it is true, as has so often been said, that a thoroughly honest exhibition of the most ordinary life could not fail to be edifying, it struck me that here was an opportunity to present a biography, which, at any rate, would have the merit of per- fect truthfulness. Nothing could be more simple and commonplace than such a sketch as this, but it is a fair exhibition of the kind of life which most men lead, and it may be somewhat interesting to observe how much may be learned from an ordinary expense book. The first thing that I discovered was the fact of his being an Episcopal clergy- man, settled somewhere in the vicinity of New York, as appears from this entry on the first page of the book: 1843, November 19, carriage hire for Bishop Onderdonk, five dollars. For the sake of putting a little life into the dry bones of the Expense Book, I will now reduce certain portions to the form of a diary, and shall introduce nothing whatever that is not indicated in the cash receipts and expenditures. DIARY: i843, November 23. To-day I have completed the furnishing of my house. I find that the list of articles pur- chased fills more than five pages in my Expense Book. I have been very economical in my expenditures, but the footing of the bills is much larger than I had expected. I was a little startled in being called to pay ten dollars for a sett of knives and forks; but, as an offset to this, I bought another dozen for ordinary use at 94 cents. The cooking-stove and fixtures having been put in order, I shall make my first purchase of provisions to-morrow and en- ter upon housekeeping. This is an im- portant step in my life. November 25. I have begun with buy- ing my groceries, & c., in very small quan- tities, as I wish to become familiar with the current prices, and I am determined,

Thomas M. Clark, D.D. Clark, Thomas M., D.D. A Commonplace Biography 207-212

A COMMONPLACE BIOGRAPHY. By Thomas if. Clark, L). D. SOME time ago a little dingy book, bound in strong leather, upon which the mice had expended some feeble efforts, accidentally fell into my hands, with the title, Private Record of Ex- penses, nicely printed in ink on the cover. At the first glance it did not seem to contain anything that could pos- sibly interest one, there was nothing but a careful entry of every dollar and every quarter of a cent received and ex- pended for a series of years; with an occasional expression of gratitude, when it turned out that there was a trifle of money left over at the end of the year. But still, as in an hour of weary leisure I lingered a little over the pages, I began to discern the living man with some de- gree of distinctness, and to take a sort of interest in his humble, humdrum exist- ence. It was edifying to see how one could manage to live comfortably, fifty years ago, on a very small income, and to find out what he had to pay for hls meats and groceries and clothes, and servants wages and postage and public tolls, as contrasted with what we are paying now. With nothing but this Private Record of Expenses to enlighten me, I found out in the very beginning his profession, the region in which he was settled, the circumstances under which he went to housekeeping, the style in which he lived, and later on the increase of his family, the domestic afflictions, and his domestic habits, the amusements that he coveted, the luxuries in which he indulged, the literature that he fancied, and the peri- odicals that he subscribed for, his re- ligious and political opinions, the con- troversies of the day in which he took an interest, the little weaknesses incident to his nature as seen in a fondness for jewelry and an occasional glass of port and a not infrequent purchase of cigars and a hankering after Christys Minstrels, and the like. There is nothing heroic in the good mans character, and not the slightest touch of adventure in his career; but if it is true, as has so often been said, that a thoroughly honest exhibition of the most ordinary life could not fail to be edifying, it struck me that here was an opportunity to present a biography, which, at any rate, would have the merit of per- fect truthfulness. Nothing could be more simple and commonplace than such a sketch as this, but it is a fair exhibition of the kind of life which most men lead, and it may be somewhat interesting to observe how much may be learned from an ordinary expense book. The first thing that I discovered was the fact of his being an Episcopal clergy- man, settled somewhere in the vicinity of New York, as appears from this entry on the first page of the book: 1843, November 19, carriage hire for Bishop Onderdonk, five dollars. For the sake of putting a little life into the dry bones of the Expense Book, I will now reduce certain portions to the form of a diary, and shall introduce nothing whatever that is not indicated in the cash receipts and expenditures. DIARY: i843, November 23. To-day I have completed the furnishing of my house. I find that the list of articles pur- chased fills more than five pages in my Expense Book. I have been very economical in my expenditures, but the footing of the bills is much larger than I had expected. I was a little startled in being called to pay ten dollars for a sett of knives and forks; but, as an offset to this, I bought another dozen for ordinary use at 94 cents. The cooking-stove and fixtures having been put in order, I shall make my first purchase of provisions to-morrow and en- ter upon housekeeping. This is an im- portant step in my life. November 25. I have begun with buy- ing my groceries, & c., in very small quan- tities, as I wish to become familiar with the current prices, and I am determined, 208 A COMALONELA CE BIOGRAPHY. as far as possible, to pay for everything on the spot. This is always the safest course. In order to celebrate the in- auguration of my housekeeping, I have indulged in the luxury of a chicken, for which I paid 3 cents. November 28. To-day I thought it best to economize in our dinner, and I bought 3 ~ pounds of corned beef at 6 cents~ total, 21 cents. It is very annoying to be called to pay toll every time that I cross Haarlem Bridge. It would seem as if a great thoroughfare like this ought to be free. November 29. Paid subscription for the Daily Tribune, $5. I do not ap- prove of all the strange and novel ideas set forth in this paper, but I have con- cluded to take it, as it accords very well with my political opinions, and is edited with great ability. This has been a day of considerable extravagance. I pur- chased a turkey, for which I paid $1.12 2 and, as we cannot foresee the exigencies that may arise, I bought a corkscrew and cook-book. December 6. Paid wages on account, 3. As Mary is doing all the work of the house, I have agreed to pay her full wages, a $6 a month. To-day I indulged in a trip to New York, dining there for ~ cents; in the evening went to the Museum, price, ~o cents. Chickens vary from ~o cents to 622 cents a pair. Turkeys are down to 75 cents. December i8. I feel the need of a little relaxation in the evening, and have purchased a backgammon table for $i.~o. I trust that I shall not become so absorbed in this fascinating game as to keep me from the proper discharge of my duties. 1844, January 6. Paid Fred Squires the 25 cents that I owed him. It is a relief to have this little debt off my mind. Owe no man anything, let this be my motto. January i r. Bought a hat in New York for $~, and an overcoat for $i8. It is a costly garment, but will probably last me for several years. Dinner in the city reasonable, 31 cents. I could not resist the temptation to buy a pipe and some tobacco, $i .88. I fear that I may have a leaning towards self-indulgence in certain forms. January 25. One corset lace, 2 cents. This is the first purchase I have been called to make for my beloved wife. (And the first intimation of his being a married man.) February 5. An excellent piece of roast beef for dinner, for which I paid fifty-eight cents, good seven pounds weight. Not as economical as some other kinds of food, but as much so as chickens and geese. February 8. Made a large purchase of miscellaneous pamphlets, as I am often accustomed to do, price $i .87 ~ Very frequently I find something that proves to be very interesting in these old pamphlets, and I get them for a song. I still continue to spend more money for cigars than I should, although they cost me less than a cent apiece. February io. Nine & one half pounds of mutton, 58 cents. This will give us two or three good dinners. Brandy, 122 cents. Newmans Sermons, $1.25. The author of these sermons is making a great deal of talk both here and in Eng- land, and is said to hold some peculiar views. I do not think that there is any danger of his disturbing my doctrinal opinions, and I may possibly learn some- thing from him. He is said to be very profound and eloquent, and likely to be heard from in the future. One mouse- trap, i~ cents. February 15. Paid 372 cents for postage. There is scarcely a week in which I do not receive a letter from some source, and I wish that my correspon- dents were obliged to pay the postage on their letters beforehand, especially when they write about their own affairs. The current rates seem to be unnecessarily high, and I can see no reason why we should be made to pay for every separate piece of paper enclosed in the letter, instead of the whole being charged by weight. A circular letter has just been sent to our clergy from a church in Texas, enclosing a special appeal and asking for contributions to re-place the roof~ which had been blown off in a storm ; with a statement that $5oo would be required in order to do this. The postage was cents which I had to pay, and if 250 of these letters were sent out, and all who A COMMONPLACE BIOGRAPHY 2O~ received them should respond favorably, the postal charges would amount to the whole sum needed for repairs. March 8. Bought a P/zreno-Mnemo- technic Dictionary, $I.5o. Some one has informed me that this Dictionary will assist me in the memory of words, which sometimes fail me. I must practise a little in private, before venturing to pro- nounce the name of my new Dictionary. March i4. A box of Homeopathic Medicines, $3.00. Certain of my parish- ioners have advised me to try this new school of medical practice, assuring me that, in any event, the remedies can do no harm. I think that I will not men- tion the fact of this purchase to my good friend. Dr. B , but, as he never sends in any bill, there can be no objec- tion to his continuing his visits as for- merly. Mrs. A may not agree with me in this experiment. March 29. Returned from the city this evening. I am surprised to see how rapidly the omnibus charges foot up at 25 cents a ride. It is, however, upon the whole a cheap mode of conveyance, and it is not easy to understand how the people of the great city of New York, which now extends far above Canal Street, managed, for so long a time, to get about without the Omnibus. April i3. Daguerrotype likeness of Mrs. A. $3.00 This is a wonderful in- vention and may lead to something more effective in the future. While the delin- eation is painfully accurate, the picture is indistinct in certain lights, and does not convey as pleasing an impression as a well-painted miniature. April 23. Bought a horse, Back- er, 50.00. A sett of xvaggon harness, whip, and tying-strap, $26.63. A Rock- away wagon with two seats, $125. This is a very heavy outlay, but it is impossible for me to visit my scattered parishioners on foot, and I shall save the public charges in going to the city. I trust that my new horse will prove to be better than his some- what inauspicious name would indicate. May 3. Paid horse-doctors bill, $4.00. I begin to fear that the animal I have recently purchased will not turn out to be altogether sound. I shall, however, give him a fair trial. May 7. Newspaper postage, 8o cents. A most unreasonable charge. May 2 I. i hair mattress, 2 bolsters,, 2 pair pillows, $34.50. This is a large sum to pay, but it cannot be helped. We must sleep comfortably, whatever happens. June i8. I9onnes Works 6 Vols., $i7.5o. This seems to be a very extrav- agant expenditure, especially as I have just had an addition to my family, but I feel the need of a more thorough ac- quaintance with the old standard English Divines, and the Reviews have pro- nounced these Works to be full of thought and rich in expression. Dr. Donne became conspicuous by preaching his own funeral sermon, a little before his departure, under the singular title, Deaths Duel. June 28. Paid nurse for 6 weeks, $30.00. A cap for Mrs. A., $1.25. I pillow for crib, $I.622. i pew cushion, $5 .oo. My family expenses are increas- ing rapidly, but I wish to make every- thing as comfortable as possible, and it is refreshing to see Mrs. A. sitting up again, wearing her new cap, which is quite becoming. July 5. Herrings Domestic Physi- cian, $2.00. It is very important to know just how to administer my Homceo- pathic Medicine, and I am told that Herring is the best authority on the sub- ject. I do not like, at present, to con- sult openly with any one in regard to this matter, it might impair my influence in certain quarters. July i i. Sewing woman, 3712 cents. The usual charges and quite reasonable. i dozen porter, 1.25. Cap for baby, 50 cents. Missionary Society, ~o cents. August i ~. Paid for 3 months keep of horse, 24.00. Horse doctor, 5.oo. Medicine for horse ioh. died 1.00. Backer has proved to be a bad bargain. August 23. 3 pair chickens, $1.22. Poultry does not rise in price, like many other things. September 4. Bought three flower- pots, i8 3~ cents, for the adornment of our parlor, and 3 chickens for 35 cents. September 6. One live rooster and r hen, 87 2 cents, as a starting-point of 210 A COMMONPLA CE BIOGRAPHY an experiment in raising our own fowls. I am not sanguine as to the result. September 9. Two pair shoes for Mrs. A. 2.00. Jaynes Carminative Balsam, 50 cents. Hair-brush for baby, 25 cents. Tobacco 122 cents. We are getting very proud of our baby, now that his hair has begun to grow. The crying of the children at night has in- duced me to resort to the Carminative, as, in this case, remedies of a more searching nature seem to be needed. I shall still adhere to Homceopathy in or- dinary instances. September io. The experiment our one rooster and hen promises so well, that to-day I have invested 3.75 in the purchase of another full-grown hen, and i 8 chickens, and I have bought 22 cents worth of corn and Indian meal for their nourishment. September 14. I am very much an- noyed by the frequent breaking of my glasses, and again have had to pay 25 cents for repairs. I envy people who can get on without using spectacles. September 24. I have had to pay three bridge tolls during the past week, amounting to 75 cents. How soon will this nuisance be abated? October 20. Paid 6212 cents to visit the Fair of the American Institute. A most interesting and wonderful display! It would seem as if there could be little room left for further advance in, scien- tific discovery or mechanical invention. It can hardly be expected that we shall ever be able ~o light our streets more brilliantly than they are now, and already the use of gas as a lighting material has been introduced into some of our dwel- ling-houses. No one would desire to travel with any greater rapidity and com- fort than we travel in these days, and the mails bring us information of the events that happened the day before, a hundred miles off. October 24. Took Mrs. A. to the city, where we heard the Oratorio of David, tickets 2 .oo. The performance surpassed my powers of description, and it is not conceivable that musical science in this country should ever advance much beyond the point it has now reached. October 25. Bradleys Sermons, 2.50, and Bishop Ives Sermons, 622 cents. It is rumored that the Bishop is inclined to join the Church of Rome, and this makes me anxious to read his sermons. October 29. Eccaleobion Exhibi- tion (?) 12 cents. November 12. This closes my first year of housekeeping. The total receipts for the year have amounted to 986.11. Viz: Salary, 500. Fees, 58.o0. Mrs. As investments, 430.00. Total expended exclusive of furniture, 803,11 ~. It is a great relief to find that I have thus far been able to live within my income. Laus ])eo. November 19. Having boots footed, 4.00. It might have been as well to buy a new pair, but the long legs add materially to the cost. Is not this a su- perfluous waste of leather? It may be thought so, in the next generation. 1845. February 17. My expenses to-day have been heavy. A dress-coat, fine black cloth, 19.00. A black satin vest, 5.00. I observe that the frock is, to a great extent, superceding the accus- tomed dress-coat for everyday wear, and is usually worn by mechanics at their work, and also by merchants in their offices. I do not like the innovation. Subscribed for the Pro/es/an! Church- man, 2.50. My opinions lean towards a somewhat moderate tone of Church- manship, such as is represented in this newspaper, but I always wish to keep my mind open to conviction. March i5. 250 cigars, 1.25. Not a high-priced brand. April i. A fiageolet and instruction book, 2.50. Not a boisterous instrument, and easy to play upon, requiring but little breath and not much practice. If Mrs. A. does not seriously object, I shall be glad to relieve the monotony of our lonely even- ings, by the aid of this instrument, after I have practised a little in private. A wagon for little Mary, 2.00. She needs to be more in the open air, and I shall be glad to wheel her about in the back lane, where I shall not be much observed. April 21. Bought a horse, 45.00. A COMMONPLACE BIOGRAPHY. 211 Gratuity to horse-jockey, 2.00. To stable-boy, 68 cents. I trust that I shall be more fortunate in this purchase than I was in Backer. The horse-jockeys manner inspired me with confidence, al- though Jam a ware that he belongs to a class of men, who are presumed to be somewhat economical of the truth. He seemed pleased with my gratuity, more so than the stable boy. June 24. One bottle Tricopherous, 50 cents. I am not an old man yet, but I begin to perceive symptoms of ap- proaching baldness. I do not know of any Homceopathic remedy, and the Tn- copherous is highly recommended by the vender, and I have concluded to try it. One box percussion caps, 25 cents. The cats disturb us very much, and I hope that the occasional discharge of a pistol may prove to be a salutary warning. August 5. Paid Mr. Cronin for a course of lectures upon Elocution, 7.00. Certain of my younger parishioners have recently intimated but not to me per- sonally that there is some room for improvement in my reading and delivery, and I am willing to do all that I can to remedy the defect, if such defect really exists. September 4. Paid subscription to The Churchman, 3.00. This paper is a little more positive than its rival, the Protestant Churchman, but I am willing to hear both sides. October i. Melvilles Sermons, 75 cents. It is all the fashion to preach Melville in our Episcopal pulpits, and many of our clergy are trying to imitate his fluent style. This leads me to buy the book. One tin president, ~o cents. (The compiler is unable to interpret this item, although it is somewhat suggestive). November 12. Another financial year closes to-day. Total expended, 978.1614. Total of receipts, 988.11. Praise be to God for all His mercies! Amen. I find that my average payments to the butcher have not exceeded 2.00 a week, or about 28 cents a day, for a family of three adults and two children, that is, between five and six cents per capita, and yet we have not suffered for want of any of the necessaries of life. I myself have indulged in some of its luxuries and wish that I had not spent quite so much on my tobacco. 1847, August 5. Expense of moving, 15.00. I now find myself established in a new parish, with a larger salary than I ever had before, and hereafter I shall not be obliged to live as frugally as I have done. August io. Expended ifii.oo in re- furnishing my house, and shall soon be prepared to receive company after a man ner comparable to my position. My 6 mahogany chairs, i 8.oo, and beautiful centre-table, 12.00, make a fine appear- ance. Let me not be over-powered by the splendors of this fleeting world! November i. Saurins Sermons, 2 Vols., 2.75 ; Byrons Works, 4 Vols., 3.00; Maturins Melmoth, 90 cents. Rather an incongruous collection, but I feel the need of variety in my mental food. May i. Ticket to Christys Minstrels, 50 cents. Very much entertained and intend to go again. May 26. Subscribed for the Evergreen and the Morning S/ar. The titles please me. Fifty tickets soda water, 1.00. September 9. A half-hour glass, i.oo. An irreverent youth suggests that I should keep it in action on the pulpit, after the ancient fashion, while I am preaching. Patent blotting paper, io cents. I am curious to see what this can be. October 28. One box Homceopathic Medicine, 5.00. Epps Domestic Ho- mceopathy, 75 cents. October 30. Paid undertakers bill for the funeral of poor little Frank, 8.5o. Our household circle is broken! November 6. Tuppers Proverbial Philosophy, 63 cents. Everybody is enthusiastic over this new book, and it is having an unprecedented sale. I have bought a cheap copy, and will commence reading it aloud this evening. November 18. Paid for fixing little Franks hair, 44 cents. Alas! November 25. A box of quill pens, 25 cents. Steel pens are coming into general use, but I prefer the old goose- quill pen, especially when I can buy them ready made. 212 TEE LESSON OF TITLE YEARS. December 13. New York Herald, 50 cents. I do not care to become a regu- lar subscriber to this doubtful paper, but I am told it is very readable. December 31. My total receipts dur- ing the year have been 1,412.06. The largest amount I have ever received. It would seem as if everything is now estab- lished on a firm basis, and my anxious days are over. The ladies of the parish are very liberal and kind, and my lot has fallen unto me in pleasant places. But who can tell what a year may bring forth! 1849, January 8. Having little Mary daguerrotyped, she being 4 years, 7 months old, 1.50. Having Charlie taken, he being 3 years, i month, and 6 days old, r.5o. March 19. Adriens Exhibition. Most wonderful and mysterious! March 26. Tricophorus, 25 cents. The first bottle did me no good, but the druggist strongly advised me to try another. May i. Receipts up to this date, 469.38. One wedding fee, i.88. Present from father, 5o.oo. May 3. Paid in exchange for a gold watch, 33.00. Watch price 6~.oo. Repairing gold spectacles, ~o cents. i pair steel spectacles, 2.50. June 2. A gold chain, 21.00, upon exchange 5.oo, paid i6.oo July i. (Written in pencil marks and in a tremulous hand) Paid Margarets wages, 6.oo. This is the last entry in the book. The new gold watch, and the costly gold spectacles served the good man only for a little month. Death, who closes all our earthly accounts, stepped in, and here the matter ends. THE LESSON OF THE YEARS. By James G. Burne/t. IN youth we long for Time to run With flying feet Lifes pleasant ways; No sooner does one day of bliss Pass into nights long loneliness, Than Youth, with Loves impatient sight, Is watching for the coming light Of other happy days. But when the years are slowly gone, And all the hopes they brought are dead; Ah, then it is we learn at last, That all too soon the years have passed, With all their thoughts and memories sweet, And all too quickly ran Times feet, With softly falling tread.

James G. Burnett Burnett, James G. The Lesson of the Years 212-213

212 TEE LESSON OF TITLE YEARS. December 13. New York Herald, 50 cents. I do not care to become a regu- lar subscriber to this doubtful paper, but I am told it is very readable. December 31. My total receipts dur- ing the year have been 1,412.06. The largest amount I have ever received. It would seem as if everything is now estab- lished on a firm basis, and my anxious days are over. The ladies of the parish are very liberal and kind, and my lot has fallen unto me in pleasant places. But who can tell what a year may bring forth! 1849, January 8. Having little Mary daguerrotyped, she being 4 years, 7 months old, 1.50. Having Charlie taken, he being 3 years, i month, and 6 days old, r.5o. March 19. Adriens Exhibition. Most wonderful and mysterious! March 26. Tricophorus, 25 cents. The first bottle did me no good, but the druggist strongly advised me to try another. May i. Receipts up to this date, 469.38. One wedding fee, i.88. Present from father, 5o.oo. May 3. Paid in exchange for a gold watch, 33.00. Watch price 6~.oo. Repairing gold spectacles, ~o cents. i pair steel spectacles, 2.50. June 2. A gold chain, 21.00, upon exchange 5.oo, paid i6.oo July i. (Written in pencil marks and in a tremulous hand) Paid Margarets wages, 6.oo. This is the last entry in the book. The new gold watch, and the costly gold spectacles served the good man only for a little month. Death, who closes all our earthly accounts, stepped in, and here the matter ends. THE LESSON OF THE YEARS. By James G. Burne/t. IN youth we long for Time to run With flying feet Lifes pleasant ways; No sooner does one day of bliss Pass into nights long loneliness, Than Youth, with Loves impatient sight, Is watching for the coming light Of other happy days. But when the years are slowly gone, And all the hopes they brought are dead; Ah, then it is we learn at last, That all too soon the years have passed, With all their thoughts and memories sweet, And all too quickly ran Times feet, With softly falling tread. THERE stands under a table, in an old-fashioned parlor of an old-fash- ioned house, a little trunk, not more than eighteen inches long and hardly twelve inches wide and deep. It is cov- ered with sealskin with the short shiny hair left on, such covering as was often used in other days for trunks. It is now yellow xvith age, but of a soft color shad- ing gently into a light brown, where the back of the animal was which furnished the skin. The covering is fastened to the trunk by brass naAs, through strips of leather, and on the top is a single brass handle and the initials of the former owner A. A. B. fashioned in brass nails. From the look of the outside, one could not guess what the trunk contains; the question might be asked whether it is endowed with magical flying l)roperties, or whether like Pandoras vase, it con- tains woes of mankind. It would require no great stretch of imagination to picture this trunk in the possession of some old crone with toothless mouth and pointed chin, around whom a black cat rubs affectionately, and whose high-heeled shoes seem well adjusted as an overbal- ance to give her the necessary start for her broom stick ride; or again the owner might be some long-haired, black-capped, black-gowned alchemist, who used its tiny recesses as a safe keeping place for hi~ elixir of life and other potent fluids and charms. Supposition is akin to supersti- tion. The facts declare the owner to have been a quiet, stately woman, en- dowed with the necessary ability to be- witch her friends by her kindness and t~ practice her alchemic spells upon materials, which combined to pro- ~ duce such dainties as only our grandmothers knew how to make. Through curiosity, Pandoras vase was opened. The same power prompts the opening of this chest and, lo within are memories of the past, in the form of bundles of old letters, little boxes of trinkets, jewellry, and homely useful articles as well. The inside is lined with wall-paper of a quaint pattern, and. on the cover is the makers card a trunk, saddle and harness-maker, wh@ ends his announcement of his wares by saying, All kinds of Military Equipments for credit or even cask. The first box opened reveals a pair of eyeglasses with silver bows and frame, the eyes as round as an owls eyes, quaintly fastened to the rims. There is but little spring to the bow, and the wearer must have been obliged to keep a perfectly erect position and a grave face; for the slightest relaxation of the features would cause the glasses to leal) from the nose unless it was one of the unabridged kind. There is also in this box a pair of silver knee-buckles, with a stock By Jo/in S. Barrows.

John S. Barrows Barrows, John S. In a Little Old Trunk 213-216

THERE stands under a table, in an old-fashioned parlor of an old-fash- ioned house, a little trunk, not more than eighteen inches long and hardly twelve inches wide and deep. It is cov- ered with sealskin with the short shiny hair left on, such covering as was often used in other days for trunks. It is now yellow xvith age, but of a soft color shad- ing gently into a light brown, where the back of the animal was which furnished the skin. The covering is fastened to the trunk by brass naAs, through strips of leather, and on the top is a single brass handle and the initials of the former owner A. A. B. fashioned in brass nails. From the look of the outside, one could not guess what the trunk contains; the question might be asked whether it is endowed with magical flying l)roperties, or whether like Pandoras vase, it con- tains woes of mankind. It would require no great stretch of imagination to picture this trunk in the possession of some old crone with toothless mouth and pointed chin, around whom a black cat rubs affectionately, and whose high-heeled shoes seem well adjusted as an overbal- ance to give her the necessary start for her broom stick ride; or again the owner might be some long-haired, black-capped, black-gowned alchemist, who used its tiny recesses as a safe keeping place for hi~ elixir of life and other potent fluids and charms. Supposition is akin to supersti- tion. The facts declare the owner to have been a quiet, stately woman, en- dowed with the necessary ability to be- witch her friends by her kindness and t~ practice her alchemic spells upon materials, which combined to pro- ~ duce such dainties as only our grandmothers knew how to make. Through curiosity, Pandoras vase was opened. The same power prompts the opening of this chest and, lo within are memories of the past, in the form of bundles of old letters, little boxes of trinkets, jewellry, and homely useful articles as well. The inside is lined with wall-paper of a quaint pattern, and. on the cover is the makers card a trunk, saddle and harness-maker, wh@ ends his announcement of his wares by saying, All kinds of Military Equipments for credit or even cask. The first box opened reveals a pair of eyeglasses with silver bows and frame, the eyes as round as an owls eyes, quaintly fastened to the rims. There is but little spring to the bow, and the wearer must have been obliged to keep a perfectly erect position and a grave face; for the slightest relaxation of the features would cause the glasses to leal) from the nose unless it was one of the unabridged kind. There is also in this box a pair of silver knee-buckles, with a stock By Jo/in S. Barrows. -214 IN A LITTLE OLD TRUNK. buckle to match; and here also is the stock itself a white linen plaited affair, which must have given the wearer s throat the appearance of being sore unless the sharp corners of a high collar ap- peared above its horizon. This set of buckles figured at Bunker Hill, and like the hill was left to tell the tale. Here, too, is a set of vest-buttons silver links, form, and hollow, fas- tened to the vest by ~ /7, tains resting on their cotton bed a rooch of gold, with a lock of hair inside arranged as a letter S., and a little locket with a delicately-painted female figure in Greek drapery, rested before an altar on which a fire is blazing with crimson flames; the woman seems about to lay upon the altar a festal wreath of green laurel. The locket is douhle-faced, but the reverse side is blank. In a little round pill-box marked Aunt Betseys Ring, is a most interesting ob- ject, a ring made in three sections, piv- oted together; on one section is a pair of flaming hearts, on the other two sec- tions two hands, which clasp over the hearts xvhen the sections are brought to- gether, forming the complete ring. Some of the fingers of the hand are gone, but there are enough left to clasp, and they still hold together like some married pair who have passed the golden port and, as broken and time-worn, they go down to- gether into the valley, still hold to one another. On the hearts is engraved B. S. Perhaps this ring was a love pledge, for see when the ring is closed the hands cover and protect the hearts, no one can see them; the bare heart is shown when they are torn asunder. The ring is slender, but it is large, and must have en- circled a plump finger. In the box, with its gaudily gilded and embossed cover, is an interesting collection two little silver spoons about four inches long, each holding half a tea- spoonful. On the handles is the mark I & H. B.; the I is crossed and stands for j John and Hannah the initials mean. These little spoons are worn; they have paddled back and forth a great deal; one shows marks as of childish teeth, and, indeed, it must have been a delight to children to be permitted to use such little spoons. Here, too, is a silver snuff-box with some snuff in it It is very small, not much bigger than a silver dollar, and twice as thick; it could not have held many charges, judging by some noses that used to inhale pro- digious quantities with that long-drawn xvhiz peculiar to the inveterate snuff- takers. Two slender gold slide pencils, and two sturdy silver ones, are also resting here, a quaint single eye-glass, probably used as a lorgnette the glass is about an inch square, and the handle is but a continuation of the sides drawn down into two small loops. The crowning beauty of the box is a miniature pin, a broochwith a like- ness of A. A. B. in her girl- hood, her auburn hair coiled on the back of her head, with a few stray curls before the ears, parted on one side, and on the opposite side a little comb. It is a quiet face, with gentle brown eyes, but a firm mouth. In these little boxes are some battered gold beads and hair bracelets with gold clasps; one has a topaz set on the clasp. In a fourth box is a I. B. K. badge of gold, with its pink-neck ribbon. In an 01(1 parchment bag is a gold watch one of the old turnip pat- terns. The case is perfectly plain and of a yellow gold rarely found nowadays; it was called Guinea gold, as it was brought from the African Coast. This case is but an outer case and is re- movable; the watch proper is within, and here is another gold ease. Both these cases are entire pieces of gold beaten from a sheet, so there are no loints. The watch has a plain face open as the day; the figures are Arabic numerals, and the I 4w IN A LITfLE OLD TR UJVK. 215 hands are gold with arrow-head points. The works are very elaborate and require a deep space, for a fusee and drum furnishes the connection for the spring, and the little chain is wound back and forth. Crown wheels, racks, and pinions, and one knows what not beside are to be found in this mechanical wonder. The balance wheel is concealed by an elaborately en- graved scroll-work, and the regulator is a little dial that turns to an index point. The name of the London maker is on the works, and it ap- pears that this watch was made to order. As the watch does not fit closely into the outer case, according to a pleasant cus- tom, watch papers were made use of; and were furnished by the watch owners lady friends; these served as a cushion to the watch, preventing jar and wear. Much artistic taste was displayed in the manu- facture of these tokens of regard, and the three which are enclosed by these gold sides are beautiful; one has two turtle- doves billing above two hearts, the whole bordered by a garland of roses; another, painted on white satin, reinforced with paper on account of the xvear and tear of time, has a moss-rose design, and on the back the words The desert shall re- joice and blossom as the rose~ with the donors name ; and still another, em- broidered on lace now almost as golden as the watch, the words barely distin- guishable, God is Love, and the initials A. B. These papers were doubtless the prototypes of the xvatch photographs of to-day. With the watch is a chain of fine brass- links running into a large ring whereon are hung two seals, one a fine chalcedony stone with a delicate engraving on the face, mounted with gold; the other a carnelian red as blood and mounted in the old-fashioned, white-filled gold; in places the outside is worn away showing the white filling. The chain slide, as well as the large ring, is also brass, decorated in high-relief, with leaves and flowers of copper and silver, giving a not unpleasant effect and forming a curious piece of workmanship. Here is a spectacle-case, one of those long silver caskets, just the thing for a child of morbid tendencies to gloat over as resembling a coffin, furnishing his rest- less hands something to bury at a mock funeral. This old case seems to belong in some stout, old gentlemans vest pocket, there to be fumbled for by a trembling forefinger. Such cases are very rare noxv, seldom found except in such collections as this in the little old trunk. Some sl)ecie-Purses of knitted silk, em- bellished with bright steel beads and with rings of silver, fill up one corner of the trunk, and are patiently waiting the change of fashion in their favor, then to reappear either for active service or as patterns for some industrious needle- xvoman to repro- duce in fresh, new silk. Here in a little portfolio are some locks of hair, locks of near and dear ones on the other shore; some, too, are locks cut from the heads of little ones, the bright gold of them would hardly be recognized as belonging to the head now crowned with whitening locks. But such relics are only for those who knew and loved, and not for the outside world. In the other fold of this portfolio are other reminders of friends silhouettes. Here are two, evidently different views of the same face, a big-nosed, heavy- faced fellow. The next is of a man of uncertain age, head round as an apple, clear, cut features, a dapper little man beyond a doubt; the next a buxom woman with a double chin; and the next an old man with an ample nose and pro- 216 IN CIJILDISII PA YS. truding under-lip, a long lock of hair hang- ing down behind his high collar. Here is a young woman, of whom one might sing Annie Laurie, with an innocent face and a mouth ready to speak. In opposition to this last are two pictures of a woman of seventy years or better. Two women they are for though there is a family likeness, there is a difference enough to show that one has teeth, for the mouth is filled, the lips preserving their usual position, while in the other the lower-jaw protrudes beyond the straight upper lip. Very interesting are these portraits. They seem the work of a profes- sional; there are no shaky outlines all are cut, clear, and sharp. With these silhouettes is a little paper marked Aunt Marys Handiwork; it consists of a carefully cut-out picture of a pitcher of flowers, each stalk and leaf cut with scrupulous care. The picture had been painted in colors before cutting out. With this is a carefully painted picture of two turtle doves standing on a very im- possible rock; the colors are bright, though softened some if anything, im- provedby age. This exhausts the stock of curios, unless these bundles of papers and letters can produce anything. The Pandoras vase has been opened, and who knows how many spirits have already flown? The packages of letters must lie. IN CHILDISH DAYS. By Mary T. Earle. IN far-off childish days, when tender care And mother-love were all the world I knew, Except the one a babys fancy drew, Peopled by dreams, by visions quaint and fair, I thought, xvhen I a womans garb should wear, My mother, playing in lifes daxvn anew, Would be my child; whose pathway I would strew With joys; for whom all burdens bear. I held her in my arms a little while A child she was, as helpless as at birth, A child too weary for the jar of earth. It was my joy to win her fleeting smile Oh, soon there fell a silence, breathless, deep My arms are empty, she is fast asleep.

Mary T. Earle Earle, Mary T. In Childish Days 216-217

216 IN CIJILDISII PA YS. truding under-lip, a long lock of hair hang- ing down behind his high collar. Here is a young woman, of whom one might sing Annie Laurie, with an innocent face and a mouth ready to speak. In opposition to this last are two pictures of a woman of seventy years or better. Two women they are for though there is a family likeness, there is a difference enough to show that one has teeth, for the mouth is filled, the lips preserving their usual position, while in the other the lower-jaw protrudes beyond the straight upper lip. Very interesting are these portraits. They seem the work of a profes- sional; there are no shaky outlines all are cut, clear, and sharp. With these silhouettes is a little paper marked Aunt Marys Handiwork; it consists of a carefully cut-out picture of a pitcher of flowers, each stalk and leaf cut with scrupulous care. The picture had been painted in colors before cutting out. With this is a carefully painted picture of two turtle doves standing on a very im- possible rock; the colors are bright, though softened some if anything, im- provedby age. This exhausts the stock of curios, unless these bundles of papers and letters can produce anything. The Pandoras vase has been opened, and who knows how many spirits have already flown? The packages of letters must lie. IN CHILDISH DAYS. By Mary T. Earle. IN far-off childish days, when tender care And mother-love were all the world I knew, Except the one a babys fancy drew, Peopled by dreams, by visions quaint and fair, I thought, xvhen I a womans garb should wear, My mother, playing in lifes daxvn anew, Would be my child; whose pathway I would strew With joys; for whom all burdens bear. I held her in my arms a little while A child she was, as helpless as at birth, A child too weary for the jar of earth. It was my joy to win her fleeting smile Oh, soon there fell a silence, breathless, deep My arms are empty, she is fast asleep. JOHN WILLARD of Salem Farms was employed during the earlier days of the witchcraft prosecutions to as- sist in bringing in the persons accused. Accusations were finally made against Wil- lard himself. It has been stated that he was charged because he had expressed sympathy with the accused and doubts of the justice of the proceedings. One remark quoted is: Hang them, they are all witches. Just why this remark should bring upon him the displeasure of the prosecutors is not easy to understand. Is it not more probable that he was cried out against, as so many others were, from no apparent motive, but through the ex- citement and terror of the times? He was talked about for some time before any movement was made to arrest him. He went to his grandfather, Bray Wilkins, and asked the old man to pray with him, but Wilkins was just going from home and could not stop then. He told Wil- lard he would not be unwilling if he got home before night, but Willard did not reappear. On election week Wilkins and his wife, both more than eighty years of age, rode to Boston on their horse. Wil- lard went, also, with Henry Wilkins, Jr. Daniel Wilkins, Henrys son, had heard the stories about Willard, and protested against his father going with him. He is quoted as saying of Willard: It were well if Willard were hanged. On elec- tion day, Bray Wilkins and his wife and T Rev. Deodat Lawson were at Lieutenant Richard Ways house for dinner. Willard and Henry Wilkins came in later. The elder Wilkins says he thought Willard did not look on him kindly, for, he says, to my apprehension, he looked after such a sort upon me as I never before discerned in any. Wilkins was taken very sick that afternoon and remained so some days. He was carried home, and on ar- riving there, found Daniel Wilkins, the young man who had advised his father not to go to Boston with Willard, also very ill. The old man himself fell ill again. Mercy Lewis and Mary Walcott were sent for to come and solve the mys- tery of so much sickness in the Wilkins family. They were, as usual, equal to the occasion. They saw the appari- tions of Sarah Buckley and John Willard upon the throat and breast of Henry Wilkins, and saw them press and choke him until he died. Lewis then went to the room where old Bray Wilkins lay. Asked if she saw anything, she replied: Yes, they are looking for John Willard. A little later she exclaimed: There he is upon his grandfathers belly. A warrant for Willards arrest was is- sued on May io, on complaint of Thomas Fuller and others. Two days later, Con- stable Putnam returned the document with the indorsement that he had made search for him and could not find him. He was produced in court on the i8th, By U/infield S. Nez;ins. XI. WILLARD, CARRIER, AND How.

Winfield S. Nevins Nevins, Winfield S. Stories of Salem Witchcraft 217-230

JOHN WILLARD of Salem Farms was employed during the earlier days of the witchcraft prosecutions to as- sist in bringing in the persons accused. Accusations were finally made against Wil- lard himself. It has been stated that he was charged because he had expressed sympathy with the accused and doubts of the justice of the proceedings. One remark quoted is: Hang them, they are all witches. Just why this remark should bring upon him the displeasure of the prosecutors is not easy to understand. Is it not more probable that he was cried out against, as so many others were, from no apparent motive, but through the ex- citement and terror of the times? He was talked about for some time before any movement was made to arrest him. He went to his grandfather, Bray Wilkins, and asked the old man to pray with him, but Wilkins was just going from home and could not stop then. He told Wil- lard he would not be unwilling if he got home before night, but Willard did not reappear. On election week Wilkins and his wife, both more than eighty years of age, rode to Boston on their horse. Wil- lard went, also, with Henry Wilkins, Jr. Daniel Wilkins, Henrys son, had heard the stories about Willard, and protested against his father going with him. He is quoted as saying of Willard: It were well if Willard were hanged. On elec- tion day, Bray Wilkins and his wife and T Rev. Deodat Lawson were at Lieutenant Richard Ways house for dinner. Willard and Henry Wilkins came in later. The elder Wilkins says he thought Willard did not look on him kindly, for, he says, to my apprehension, he looked after such a sort upon me as I never before discerned in any. Wilkins was taken very sick that afternoon and remained so some days. He was carried home, and on ar- riving there, found Daniel Wilkins, the young man who had advised his father not to go to Boston with Willard, also very ill. The old man himself fell ill again. Mercy Lewis and Mary Walcott were sent for to come and solve the mys- tery of so much sickness in the Wilkins family. They were, as usual, equal to the occasion. They saw the appari- tions of Sarah Buckley and John Willard upon the throat and breast of Henry Wilkins, and saw them press and choke him until he died. Lewis then went to the room where old Bray Wilkins lay. Asked if she saw anything, she replied: Yes, they are looking for John Willard. A little later she exclaimed: There he is upon his grandfathers belly. A warrant for Willards arrest was is- sued on May io, on complaint of Thomas Fuller and others. Two days later, Con- stable Putnam returned the document with the indorsement that he had made search for him and could not find him. He was produced in court on the i8th, By U/infield S. Nez;ins. XI. WILLARD, CARRIER, AND How. 218 STORIES OF SALEM WITCH CRAFT having been arrested in Groton. Among the more interesting papers on file in the case is the following deposition of Mrs. Ann Putnam. Whether it was presented to the magistrates to induce them to issue a warrant for Willards arrest, or was given in at the preliminary examina- tion at Beadles Tavern in Salem, we have no means of knowing. The document is as follows The shape of Samuel Fuller and Lydia Wil- kins this day told me at my own house hy the bedside, who appeared in winding sheets, that if I did not go and tell Mr. Hathorne that John Willard had murdered them they would tear me to pieces. . . . At the same time the apparition of John Willard told me that he had killed Sam- uel Fuller, Lydia Wilkins, Goody Shaw and Ful- lers second xvife, and Aaron Ways child, and Ben Fullers child and this deponents child, Sarah, six weeks old, and Phillip Knights child with the help of William Hohbs, and Jonathan Knights child and two of Ezekiel Cheevers children with the help of William Hobbs; Ann Elliott and Isaac Nichols with the help of William Hobbs. . . . Joseph Fulers apparition also the same day came to me and told me that Goody Corey had killed him. Must we not accept one of two expla- nations of this remarkable piece of evi- dence that the whole story was literally true, and therefore witchcraft a reality, or that Mrs. Ann Putnam deliberately falsified? Will the theory of general terror and hallucination in the com- munity sufficiently explain the statement? Were the people out of their wits, as Martha Carrier said? On th~ other hand, I am bound to say that I find no evidence of any cause which should prompt Mrs. Putnam to make such serious charges against Willard and others, unless we accept the claim of some writers who profess to believe that it was for the purpose of supporting the general plan of prosecution for witchcraft. Willard was committed to jail, and subse- quently tried at the August session of the court. Only one piece of evidence has been preserved from this trial. Susan Sheldon, eighteen years of age, testified that at Nathaniel Ingersolls house, on May 9, she saw the apparitions of four persons: William Shaws first wife, the widow Cook, Goodman Jones and his child, and among these came the apparition of John Willard to whom these four said, you have murdered us. Thes& four having said thus to Willard they turned as. red as blood. And turning about to look at me they turned as pale as death. These four desired me to tell Mr. Hathorne. Willard, hearing them, pulled out a knife, saying if I did he would cut my throat. [On another occasion there came to her a shining man and told her to go and tell Hathorne. She told him she would if he would hunt Willard away, she would believe what he said.] With that the shining man held up his hands and Willard vanished away. About two hours after, the same appeared to me again and the said Willard with them and I asked them where their wounds were and they said there would come an angel from Heaven and would show them, and forthwith the angel came. . And the angel lifted up his winding sheet, and out of his left side he pulled a pitchfork-tine and put it in again, and likewise he opened all the winding sheets and showed all their wounds. And the white man told me to tell Mr. Hathorne of it an(l I told him to hunt Willard away, and I would, and he held up his hand, and he vanished away. She also saw Willard suckle the appari- tions of two black pigs on his breasts. John Willard was found guilty and sen- tenced to be hanged; and on August i~ he was executed. Brattle says of Willard and Proctor at their execution, that their whole management of themselves from the jail to the gallows was very affecting, and melting to the hearts of some con- siderable spectators. Martha Carrier was arrested, probably, on May 28, as the warrant against her was issued on that day. She was exam- ined on the 3rst. Martha was about forty years of age, and the mother of a large family of children, four of whom were taken into custody at the same time that she was. We have little information re- garding her life previous to her arrest. At the examination before the local mag- istrates they said to her: You see you look upon them and they fall down. It is false, she replied; the devil is a liar. I looked upon none since I came into the room but you. Susan Sheldon said: I wonder what could you murder thirteen persons for. Goodwife Carrier repelled the insinuation, and the afflicted all had terrible fits. She charged that the magistrates were unfair, and said: It is a shameful thing that you should mind these folks that are out of their wits. To the accusers she cried: You lie, I am wronged. The recorder of the trial adds: STORiES OF SALEM WITCHCRAFT. 219 The tortures of the afflicted were so great that there was no enduring it, so that she was ordered away and to be hound hand and foot with all expedition, the afflicted in the mean while almost killed. As soon as she was well bound they all had strange and sudden cease. Martha Carrier was committed to prison where she remained until the August term of court when she was tried, con- victed and sentenced. Her execution took place on the nineteenth of the same month. Her daughter Sarah, eight years of age, confessed herself a witch and testified against her mother. Little Sarah said she had been a witch since she was six years old, that her mother made her a witch and made her set her hand to the hook. The place where she did it was in Andrew Fosters pasture. The witches promised to give her a black dog, but it never came to her. A cat came to her and said it would tear her in pieces if she would not set her hand to the book. Her mother came like a black cat. The cat told her that she was her mother. Richard Carrier, eighteen years of age, told the magistrates that he had been in the devils snare. His examination continued as folloxvs: Is your brother Andrew ensnared by the devils snare? Yes. How long has your brother been a witch? Near a month. How long have you been a witch? Not long. Have you joined in afflicting the afflicted per. sons? Yes. You helped to hurt Timothy Swan, did you? Yes. How long have you been a witch? About five weeks. Who was at the Village meeting when you were there? Goodwife How, Goodwife Nurse, Good- wife Wilds, Proctor and his wife, Mrs. Bradbury and Coreys wife. What did they do there? Eat, and drink wine. From whence had you your wine? From Salem, I think. Goodwife Oliver there? Yes, I know her. During the trial of Martha Carrier, Benjamin Abbott testified that he had some land granted to him by the town of Andover, and, When this land came to be laid out Goodw# Carrier was very angry, and said she would stick as close to Benjamin Abbott as the bark stuck to the tree, and that I should repent of it afore seven years came to an end, and that Dr. Prescott could never cure me. These words were also heard by Allen Toothaker. She also said to Ralph Farnum, Jr., that she would hold my nose so close to the grindstone as ever it was held since my name was Benjamin Abbott. Presently after I was taken with a swelling in my foot, and then was taken with a pain in my side, exceedingly tormented, which led to a sore which was lanced by Dr. Prescott, and several gallons of corruption did run out, as was judged. This continued six weeks, and subse- quently he had two sores in the groin which brought him almost to deaths door, and continued, until Goodwife Carrier was taken and carried away by the constable, and that very day I began to grow better; therefore he had great cause to think that Carrier had a great hand in his sickness. Abbotts wife testi- fied to all the above, and also that there was terrible sickness and death among the cows, some of whom would come up out of the woods with their tongues hang- ing out of their mouths in a strange, aifrighting manner. The case of Elizabeth How, wife of John How, husbandman, sometimes de- scribed as of Jpswich and sometimes as of Topsfield, has always excited much interest. The documents in the case show that she was a woman of most ex- emplary character, devout and pious, kind and charitable. These traits availed her nothing, however, when children accused her of witchcraft. She was arrested on May 29th, on a warrant issued the pre- vious day, and brought before the magis- trates for examination on the 31st. Elizabeth How was torn from a loving and afflicted husband and two interesting daughters. Her husband was blind, and it is related that after his wife was placed in Salem jail, he and one daughter used to ride thither twice each week to visit her. After the conviction and sentence, one of the devoted daughters went to Boston to beg for the life of her mother, but the governor was immovable. On her being brought before the magistrates, the accusers went through their usual per- formances. What say you to this charge? asked Hathorne. If it was the last moment I was to live, she re- plied, God knows I am innocent of any- thing in this nature. She was com- mitted for trial, and tried at the sitting 220 STORIES OF SALEAL WITCh CRAFT. of the court on June 29th. The first charge against her was made by a girl of ten years, of the name of Perley. There had been trouble between the How and Perley families, which is pretty clearly stated in the testimony that follows. Timothy Perley and his wife, Deborah, testified that, There being some difference between Goode How and Timothy Perley about some boards, the night following three of our cows lay out, and finding them the next morning we went to milk them, and one of them did not give but two or three spoonsfuls of milk, and one of the other cows did not give above half a pint, and the other gave a quart, and these cows used to give three or four quarts at a meale; two of these cows continued to give little or nothing four or five meals, and yet they went in a good English pas- ture, and within four days the cows gave their full proportion of milk that they used to give.~ These witnesses further deposed that Elizabeth How afflicted and tortured their daughter, ten years of age, until she pined away to skin and bone, and ended her sorrowful life. Also that How de- sired to join the church in Ipswich, and they went there to testify against her, and Within a few days after had a cow well in the morning as far as we know; this cow was taken strangely running about like a mad thing a little while, and then ran into a great pond and drowned herself, and as soon as she was dead, my sons and myself towed her to the shore, and she stunk so that we had much ado to slea her. Francis Lane testified that he helped James How get out some posts and rails, and Hows wife told them she did not think the posts and rails would do be- cause John Perley helped get them, and when they went to deliver the posts and rails the ends of some forty broke off; although Lane said, that in his appre- hension they were good sound rails. Captain John How, father-in-law of Elizabeth, testified that she asked him to go with her to Salem Farms when she was to be examined, and he declined be- cause he had to go to Jpswich, and that soon after he got home, Standing near my own door talking with one of my neighbors, I had a sow with six smale pigs in the yard, the sow was as well as far as I know as ever one, a sudden she leaped up about three or four feet high, and turned about and gave one squeak, and fell down dead. He told his neighbor he thought the animal was bewitched. and then cut off her ear, and the hand he had the knife in, was so full of pain that night and several days after that I could not do any work, and suspected no other person but my said sister, Elizabeth How. Eliza- beth How was hanged with others on Tuesday, July ~9th. XII. SUSANNA MARTIN, MARY EASTY, ANIIY OTHERS. SUSANNA MARTIN of Amesbury was a. widow. She had been charged with witchcraft as early as 1669, but escaped conviction at that time. Her examina- tion in 1692 took place at the Village on May 2, the warrant having been issued on the 3oth of April. In the preliminary examination, Goodwife Martin was con- fronted by about the same witnesses and the same sort of testimony as those who had preceded her. The following extract from the record of her examination is in- teresting Hath this woman hurt you? Abigail \Vil- hams declared that she had hurt her often. Ann Putnam threw her glove at her in a fit. And the rest were struck dumb at her presence. What, do you laugh at it? Well I may at such folly. What ails these people? I do not know. But what do you think ails them ?. I do not desire to spend my judgement upon it. Do you think they are bewitched? No, I do not think they are. Well, tell us your thoughts about them. My thoughts are mine own when they are in, but when they are out they are anothdrs. Do you believe these afflicted persons do not say true? They may lie for aught I know. May not you lie?I dare not tell a lie if it would save my life. What do you think is their master? If they be dealing in the black art you may know as well as I. Martin was committed to jail, where she remained until the 29th of June when she was brought before the higher court for trial. At her trial one singular piece of testimony was offered. It was evi- dence of such peculiar neatness on the part of Goodwife Martin as to lead a neighbor to conclude that she was a witch. Sarah Atkins testified that Su- sanna Martin came to her house in Newbury one very stormy day in an ex- traordinary dirty season, when it was not fit for any person to travel. She asked STORIES OF SALEM WITCHCRAFT 221 her if she came from Amesbury afoot, and expressed surprise thereat, and told her children to give Mrs. Martin a chance to get to the fire and dry herself. Martin replied, she was as dry as I was, and I could not perceive that the soles of her shoes were wet. This, the witness de- clared, startled her, and she at once con- cluded that the woman was a witch. John Kembal deposed that he agreed to purchase a puppy from Martin, but not keeping his bargain, and purchas- ing a puppy from some one else, she remarked she would give him puppies enough. Coming from his intendeds house soon after sunset one night, there did arise a little black cloud in the north- west and a few drops of rain, and the wind blew hard. In going between John Weeds house and the meeting-house there did appear a little thing like a puppy of darkish color. It shot between my legs forward and backward. He used all possible endeavors to cut it with his axe, but could not hurt it, and as he was thus laboring with his axe, the puppy gave a little jump from him and seemed to go into the ground. In a little further going there did appear a black puppy somewhat bigger than the first, but as black as a coal, to his apprehension, which came against him with such violence as its quick motions did exceed the motions of his axe, do what he could. And it flew at his belly and away, and then at his throat and over his shoulder one way, and off and up at it again another way, and with such vio- lence did it assault him as if it would tear out his throat or his belly. He testified that he was much frightened, but re- covered himself and ran to the fence, and calling upon God and naming the name of Jesus Christ, and then it in- visibly flew away. Mary Easty, wife of Isaac Easty of Topsfield, and sister of Rebecca Nurse and Sarah Cloyse, was fifty-eight years of age in 1692, and the mother of seven chil- dren. The Eastys lived on, and owned, one of the largest farms in the town. It was the farm known to the present gen- eration as the Peirce farm. A warrant for the arrest of Mary Easty was issued by the magistrates on April 21, and she was examined on the following day and committed to prison. During her ex- amination, the magistrates said to her: Confess if you be guilty; to which she replied: I will say it, if it was my last time, I am clear of this sin. Her answers to this and other questions had evidently led the magistrates to have doubts as to her guilt, for they asked the accusing girls if they were certain this was the woman, and they all went into fits. Subsequently they said: 0, Goody Easty, Goody Easty, you are the woman, you are the woman. On May r8, for reasons which the present age knows not nor ever can know, Mary Easty was re- leased. Two days after her discharge, Mercy Lewis, living at Constable John Putnams, Jr., had a fit and performed in a manner usual to the accusing girls. A messenger was sent for Ann Putnam to come and tell who afflicted Mercy. At Anns home he found Abigail Williams, whether there by design or accident we may only surmise. The girls visited Mercy Lewis, and declared that they saw Mary Easty and John Willard afflicting her body. John Putnam and Benjamin Hutchinson went to Salem the night of the 20th of May and procured from Hathorne a warrant for the arrest of Mrs. Easty. She was apprehended the next morning and taken to Beadles in Salem for ex- amination. Upham says, after midnight, she was roused from sleep by the unfeeling marshal, torn from her husband and children, carried back to prison, loaded with chains, and finally consigned to a dreadful and most cruel death. She was an excellent and pious matron. Her husband, referring to the transactions nearly twenty years afterwards justly expressed what all must feel, that it was a hellish molestation. For the second time Mary Easty was examined and committed to jail. She remained there from May 2 I until the September sitting of the court, when she was tried, convicted, and sentenced. Previous to the trial, she united with her sister, Sarah Cloyse, in a request to the court that the judges would act as coun- sel for them and direct them wherein they stood in need. This request to the judges after several trials had been held would indicate that such service was not being rendered to the accused persons. That 222 STORIES OF SALEM WITOIJORAFT this was the fact we have already seen in other cases. Instead of acting as coun- sel for the prisoners, the judges usually performed more nearly the part of pro- secuting attorneys, and cross-examined the accused, often in a broivbeating manner. These sisters also asked that witnesses in their behalf might be ex- amined. They especially named the pastor and others of the church in Tops- field. If those persons previously tried had been allowed their rights in this particular, why did Mary Easty and Sarah Cloyse petition thus to the court? After conviction, and while in the jail awaiting execution, Mary Easty petitioned the governor, judges, and ministers, not for my own life, for I know I must die, and my appointed time is set, but the Lord he knows it is that, if it be possible, no more innocent blood may be shed, which undoubtedly cannot be avoided in the way and course you go in. By my own innocency, I know you are in the wrong. . . . I would humbly beg of you that your honors would be pleased to examine these afflicted persons strictly, and keep them apart some time, and likewise to try some of these confessing witches, I being confident there is several of them has belied themselves and others, as will appear, if not in this world, I am sure in the world to come whither I am now agoing. Sarah Cloyse, who was convicted and sentenced at the same time, was never executed. No record or tradition re- mains to tell us why she was saved from the slaughter. Hutchinson says, speak- ing generally of the seven persons sen- tenced at this time, but not executed: Those who were condemned and not executed, I suppose all confessed their guilt. I have seen the confessions of several of them. Mary Easty was hung on Thursday, September 22. When she took her last farewell of her husband, children, and friends, she was, says Calef, as is reported by them present, as serious, religious, distinct, and affec- tionate as could well be expressed, draw- ing tears from the eyes of all present. Of Alice Parker, Mary Parker, Wilmot Reed, Margaret Scott, Ann Pudeator and Sarah Wildes not much that is new can be said. The documents which have come down to us in their cases are less voluminous than those in many others. What record we have indicates that theirs was the old, old story. Their accusers were the same as in other cases. The testimony was substantially the same. The conduct of the accusers and the treatment of the prisoners by the court and the officers of the law differed only in detail from that in the cases already so fully explained in the preceding pages. Wilmot Reed was wife of Samuel Reed, a Marblehead fisherman. Mammy Red, as the Marbleheaders used to call her, had long been counted a witch, but her performances never troubled her neighbors in the least. They did not think of complaining of her. It re- mained for the girls of Salem Village to do that. This woman, so runs the tradi- tion, used to wish that bloody cleavers might be found on the cradles of certain children, and whenever the wish was ut- tered, of course, the cleaver was found there and the child sickened and died. She would cause milk to curdle as soon as it left the cow, which might indicate witchcraft powers or a very sour disposi- tion. Newly-churned butter turned to wool when it came in contact with Mammy Red. As we have already seen, Martha Car- rier and Mary Parker were of Andover. So, too, was Samuel Wardwell. Andover was particularly unfortunate during the rage of the witchcraft delusion. It suf- fered more than any place save Salem Village. The outbreak there, although closely connected with that in the Vil- lage, was yet somewhat independent of it. The wife of Joseph Ballard of the town had been ill some time, and the local physician could not help her. In the spring of 1692 Ballard, hearing of the cases of torment at the Village, sent down there to have Ann Putnam come up and see if she could discover any witchcraft about his wifes case. She came, accompanied by one of her com- panions. They were received with much pomp and solemnity, almost with super- stition befitting a tribe of barbarians. The people gathered in the meeting- house, where the Rev. Mr. Barnard of- fered prayer. The girls then proceeded to the home of Mrs. Ballard and at once named certain persons who, they alleged, were tormenting Mrs. Ballard. Those per- sons were forthwith arrested and sent to jail. STORIES OF SALEM WITCHCRAFT. 223 Before the excitement ceased, nearly fifty persons had been arrested. Among them were Mary Osgood, wife of a deacon of the church; Abigail Faulkner and Eliza- beth Johnson, daughters of Rev. Francis Dane, the senior pastor of the church; two of Mrs. Faulkners daughters, and one of Mrs. Johnsons; Mrs. Deliverance Dane, daughter-in-law of the minister; Samuel Wardwell and Ann Foster, besides Carrier and Mary Parker. Intimations were made that Mr. Dane himself and Justice Dudley Bradstreet, Mrs. Brad- street, his wife, and his brother John, were not free from suspicion. John was charged with bewitching a dog, and the animal was executed, as was another in the same town said to be bewitched. The Bradstreets fled the colony. Ann Foster died in prison. Abigail Faulkner was tried, convicted and sentenced, but subsequently reprieved. Samuel Ward- well was found guilty and executed. Sarah, his wife, Elizabeth Johnson and Mary Lacy were tried the following January and convicted. They were sentenced to be hanged, but the proc- lamation of Governor Phips set them free. Wardwells wife and daughter appeared to testify against him, probably to save their own necks, which they succeeded in doing. He, however, repented of the false confession he had made and re- tracted. The retraction cost him his life. At some subsequent time the daugh- ter retracted her 5nfession against her father and mother. Probably it was after Wardwell had been hung. This case of Wardwells is the only instance, so far as we know, where a husband or wife ac- cused each other. Cases of children accusing parents and parents accusing children were, as we have seen, quite common. Wardwell was hanged with that group of eight which suffered on Thursday, September 22. When he stood on the gallows and was speaking to the people, a puff of tobacco smoke blew in his face and caused him to cough, where- c~d~f says because she was pregnant. (Fowlers ed., 260) Upham says she made a partial confession, and that Sir William ordered a reprieve, and after she had been thirteen weeks in prison, he directed her tn be discharged on the ground of insufficient evidence. lIe adds that this is the only instance nf a special pardon granted during the proceedings. (Salem Witchcraft, II., 332.) upon the accusers said the devil hindered him with smoke. XIII. ACCUSED AND TRIED BUT NOT EXE- cUTED. I PURPOSE in this chapter, briefly to sketch some of the more peculiar and interesting features connected with a few trials of persons accused of witchcraft in 1692, but not executed, and in several cases not convicted. The case of Mary Perkins Bradbury of Salisbury, is one of them. Mrs. Bradbury was the wife of Thomas Bradbury, and was seventy-five years of age. Some of those living near her had spoken of her as a witch long previous to 1692. In July of that year she was examined and committed to jail. Her trial took place at the early Septem- ber session of the court. Two indict- ments against her have come down to us. To these indictments Mary Bradbury answered: I do plead not guilty. I am wholly innocent of any such wicked- ness. Here is a piece of testimony that illus- trates the condition of mind of the peo- ple in 1692. It shows how everyday occurrences, as we should call them, were attributed to supernatural agencies. We may not wonder that a rough sailor should sometimes believe in other than human agencies as the cause of unusual events; but not only did the rough sailor believe in them, but the judges and the highest officials in the province believed in them enough to admit the evidence to convict, and to pass sentence of death on the strength of that evidence. The testimony to which I refer is that of Samuel Endicott, thirty-one years of age. She was convicted. He testified: About eleven years ago, being bound upon a voyage to sea with Capt. Samuel Smith, late of Boston, deceased; just before we sailed, Mrs. Bradbury of Salisbury, the prisoner now at the bar, came to Boston with some firkins of butter, of which Captain Smith bought two. One of them proved half-way butter, and after we had been at sea three weeks, our men were not able to eat it, it stunk so, and run with maggots, which made the men very much disturbed about it, and would often say that they heard Mrs. Bradbury was a witch, and that they verily believed she was so, or else she would not have served the captain so as to sell him such butter. And further, this deponent testifleth, that in four days after they set sail, they met with such a storm that we lost 224 STORIES OF SALEM WITCHCRAFT. our main mast and rigging, and lost fifteen horses, and that ahout a fortnight after, we set our Jersey mast, and that very night there came up a ship by our side and carried away two of the mizzen shrouds, and one of the leaches of the main sail. And this deponent further sayeth that after they arrived at Barhadoes and went to Saltitudos and had laden their vessel, the next morning she sprang aleak in the hold, which wasted several tons of salt, insomuch that we were forced to un- lade our vessel again wholly to stop our leak. There was then four feet of water in the hold. After we had taken in our lading again, we had a good passage home, hut when we came near the land, the captain sent this deponent forward to look out for land, in a bright moonshining night, and as he was sitting upon the windlass, he heard a rumbling noise under him. With that he, the said deponent, testifieth that he looked on the side of the windlass and saw the legs of some person, being no ways frighted, and that presently he was shook and looked over his shoulder and saw the appearance of a woman from the middle upwards, having a white cap and white neck cloth on her, which then aifrighted him very much, and as he was turning of the windlass he saw the aforesaid two legs. The story of the arrest and examination of Phillip English and his wife Mary, if we had all the documents in the case, would, no doubt, be exceedingly inter- esting. The papers have not come down to us save in the most meagre form. Phillip English was a wealthy merchant of Salem, and, in 1692, lived on Essex street, between what are now Webb and English streets. He occupied one of the finest mansions of the town, and perhaps of the colony. English owned fourteen buildings in Salem, a wharf and twenty- one vessels. How charges of witchcraft came to be made against him and his wife has always been a mystery. Dr. Bently intimates that his controversies and lawsuits with the town, and the superior style in which the family lived, may have had something to do with lead- ing the accusing children to name them. We are indebted to the same authority for our information about the arrest of Mrs. English. She was in bed when the sheriff came for her. The servants ad- mitted him to her chamber, where he read the warrant. Guards were then placed around the house until morning, when she was taken away for examination. It is related that the pious mother attended to family devotions as usual that morning, kissed her children good-by, and calmly discussed their future in case she never returned to them. She then told the officer she was ready to die. Mrs. Eng- lish was examined on April 22 d, and committed to jail. The warrant against her husband was issued on April 3oth. It was returned May 2d, with the in- dorsement by the sheriff; Mr. Phillip English not to be found. His arrest was not effected until May 3oth. He was then examined and committed to jail along with his wife. They soon es- caped from jail and went to New York, where they lived until the storm had passed. They then returned to Salem and resumed their customary life. The record of the prosecution of the Hobbs family constitutes an interesting chapter of witchcraft history. Abigail, the daughter, was the first to be arrested. The warrant against her was issued on April i8. She was taken into custody and examined the following day, at In- gersolls house in Salem Village. Upham says she was a reckless, vagabond crea- ture, wandering through the woods at night like a half-deranged person. The arrest of her father, William Hobbs, and her mother, Deliverance Hobbs, was ef- fected three days later, mainly on the strength of statement made by the daugh- ter. She charged that both of them were witches. Hobbs was about fifty years of age and lived on Topsfield ter- ritory. Abigail was examined in Salem prison on April 20. On May 12, she was again examined in prison. Did Mr. Burroughs bring you any of the pop- pets of his wives to stick pins into? I do not remember that he did. Have any vessels been cast away by you? I do not know. She testified that she stuck thorns into people whom she did not know, and one of them, Mary Lawrence, suggested to her mind by the court, died. Who brought the image to you? It was Mr. Burroughs. How did he bring it to you? In his own person, bodily. This is one of the most remarkable statements made in the whole history of the delusion. At the time Abigail Hobbs made it she was in jail, and had been since before the arrest of Burroughs. STORIES OF SALEM WITCHCRAFT. 225 IPrevious to her arrest he was in Maine, eighty miles distant. Yet, she declares that Burroughs came to her in his bodily person, bringing images of a half dozen girls for her to afflict by sticking thorns into them, and that when she pricked them thus the real girls cried out from pain and she heard them. That there might be no mistake about this, seem- ingly, the magistrate asked, speaking of another party, whom she said she had thus afflicted: Was he (Burroughs) there himself with you in bodily person? Her answer was: Yes, and so he was in ye tvoods alon she told me she was not afraid of anything for she told me she had sold herself hody and soule to ye old boy. In the Governors proclamation freeing all the accused, William Hobbs was in- cluded and went at liberty. Abigail Hobbs was convicted in the higher court and sentenced to be hanged, but the sen- tence was never executed. Deliverance Hobbs lay in jail a long time. ~I~i She does not appear ever to have been tried, and it is certain that she was not executed. when he appeared to tempt me to set my hand to the book; he then appeared in person and I felt his hand at the same time. This last statement is stronger than the first; it leaves no question as to what was meant by bodily person. Before concluding her testimony she de- clared that she had killed both boys and girls. Abigail was examined before the magistrates on April i~. At her trial in September, the following testimony was given: Lidia Nichols aged ahout 7 years testifieth and saith that ahout a yeare and a half agoe I asked ahigaile hobs how she durst lie out a nights Dorcas Hoar of Beverly, a widow, was arrested on a warrant issued April 30, and examined at Lieutenant Ingersolls on May 2. Not satisfied with charging her with pinching, etc., the accusers told her she killed her husband, and charged her with various other crimes. They said they saw the black man whispering in her ear. These calumnies were too much for her to endure in silence, and she cried back to them indignantly: Oh, you are liars, and God will stop the mouths of liars. You are not to speak after this manner in the court, chided Hathorne. I will speak the truth as Joan Putnam 3ds Place. j .--. 226 STORIES OF SALEM WITCHCRAFT. long as I live, was the brave and defiant reply. She was committed for trial, and subsequently convicted and sentenced. Notwithstanding her courageous words, Dorcas Hoar was brought to a confession. Judge Sewall, under date of September 21, says: A petition is sent to town in behalf of Dorcas Hoar who now con- fesses. Accordingly an order is sent to the sheriff to forbear her execution, not- withstanding her being in the warrant to die to-morrow. This is the first con- demned person who has confessed. During the trial of Dorcas, Abigail Wil- liams declared that she saw the appear- ance of this woman before ever she saw Tituba Indian or any one else. This, if true, would make Dorcas Hoar the first of the witches of 1692. She escaped from jail in the same mysterious manner that so many other of the accused did. These escapes were numerous during the witchcraft trials. Whether the jails were weakly constructed, or the jailers did not guard the prisoners closely at all times, it is not possible to say. It is possible that high officials sometimes connived at the escape of accused persons. Most of these escapes were from the Boston jail, which would naturally be as strong as any. 1 On the other hand, the Ips- 5 Phillip English and wife were allowed the freedom of the town under bonds, being required only to sleep in jail. Essex Inst. Hiss. col., I., s6s. wich jail was a very primitive structure, and es- cape from it must have been easy, yet no one, so far as is known, ever escaped from it. Mary Warren was, as I have mentioned in pre- ceding pages, one of the early and persistent ac- cusers. She was twenty years of age and a servant in the family of John Procter. She gave testimony against some of those first charg- ed, but afterwards became skeptical and began to talk about the deceptions of the afflicted, and said they did but dis- semble. The other accusing girls then cried out against her, and she spoke still more emphatically against the whole busi- ness. A warrant for her arrest was pro- cured on April i 8, and she was examined the following day. Parris kept the official record of that examination. He says, when she was coming towards the bar, the afflicted fell into fits. The magis- trates told her she was charged with witchcraft, and asked: Are you guilty or not? To this she replied : I am innocent. When the afflicted were asked if she had hurt them, some were dumb, and Hubbard testified against her. All the afflicted soon had fits. At her examination she fell into a fit, and some cried out that she was going to confess; but, continues the report, Goody Corey and Procter and his wife came in in their apparitions, and struck her down, and said she should tell no- thing. Then followed one of the most dramatic scenes in the whole witchcraft history. The official record of the ex- amination says: After continuing in a fit some time she said, I will speak. Oh I am sorry for it, I am sorry for it. Wringing her hands she fell into another fit. Then attempting a little later to speak her teeth were set. She fell into another fit, and shouted, Thomas Haines House. STORIES OF SALEM W[TCH GRAFT. o Lord help me. 0 good Lord, save me. And then afterwards cried again, I will tell, I will tell, and then fell into a violent fit again. And afterwards cried I will tell, I will tell, they did, they did, they did, and then fell into a violent fit again. After a little recovery, she cried, I will tell, I will tell. They brought me to it. And then fell into a fit again, which fits continuing, she was ordered to be led out, and the next to be brought in, viz., Bridget Bishop. She was called in again, but immedi- ately taken with fits. Have you signed the devils book? No. Then she fell into fits again, and was sent forth for air. After a considerable space of time she was brought in again, hut could not give account of things by reason of fits, and so sent forth. Mary Warren was called in afterwards in private before magistrates and ministers. She said I shall not speak a word, but I will, I will speak, Satan. She saith she will kill me. Oh, she saith she owes me a spite, and will claw me off. Avoid Satan, for the name of God, avoid. And then fell into fits again, and cried, Will ye? I will prevent ye, in the name of God. It will be understood that iViary War- ren, all this time, was struggling to con- fess and the devil sought to prevent her. At least, that is what she was pretending. Whether it was a piece of the most per- fecting acting, we do not know. Yet we do know now that there was no reality about the witchcraft business from begin- ning to end. Mr. Parris notes that not one of the sufferers was afflicted during her examination after she began to con- fess. Is it possible that the whole per- formance with Mary Warren was a part of the conspiracy between her and the other accusing girls, and the older pro- secutors. She made a second and circum- stantial confession, in which she turned Thomas Fufler Jr. s, Hous.. ddl& toe. states evidence, so to speak, and told all she had seen and heard. She was im- mediately released and returned to her former occupation of testifying against persons accused of witchcraft. The im- pression which her case made on the credulous people at Salem was to con- vince them that there was no fraud about the witchcraft accusations and prosecu- tions when members of the accusing cir- cle were cried out against by one of their companions, and that if she could tear herself from the devils snare, the others could do the same if so disposed. Jonathan Carey, whose wife was charged with witchcraft, has left a circumstantial account of her examination before the magistrates. It gives a clear idea of the mode of procedure, which did not differ in this case from that followed in others. Captain Carey was an old shipmaster, and a man whose word was not to be doubted. He says: May 24. I having heard some days, that my wife was accused of witchcraft; being much dis- turbed at it, by advice went to Salem Village, to see if the afflicted knew her. We arrived there on the 24th of May. It happened to be a day appointed for examination, accord- ingly, soon after our arrival, Mr. Hathorne and Mr. Corwin, & c., went to the meeting - house, which was the place appointed for that work. The minister began with prayer; and, having taken care to get a con- venient place, I observed that the afflicted were two girls of about ten years old, and about two or three others of about eighteen. One of the girls talked most, and could discern more than the rest. The prisoners were called in one by one, and, as they came in, were cried out 227 The Joseph Putnam House, Danvers. STORIES OF SALEM WITCHCRAFT. at, & c. The prisoners were placed about seven or eight feet from the justices, and the accusers were between the justices and them. The prisoners were ordered to stand right before the justices, with an officer appointed to hold each hand, lest they should therewith afflict them And the prisoners eyes must be constantly on the justices, for, if they looked on the afflicted, they would either fall into fits or cry out of being hurt by them. After an examination of the prisoners, who it was afflicted these girls, and c., they were put upon saying the Lords prayer, as a trial of their guilt. After the afflicted seemed to be out of their fits, they would look steadfastly on some one person, and frequently not speak, and then the justices said they were struck dumb, and after a little time would speak again. Then the jus- tices said to the accusers, Which of you will go and touch the pri- soner at the bar? Then the most courageous would adventure, but, before they made three steps, would ordinarily fall down as in a fit. The justices ordered that they should be taken up and carried to the prisoner, that she might touch them, and as soon as they were touched by the accused, the justices would say: They are well, before I could discern any alteration, by which I observeri that the justices understood the manner of it. Thus far I was only as a spectator. My wife also was there part of the time, but no notice was taken of her by the afflicted, except once or twice they came to her and asked her name. But I, having an opportunity to discourse Mr. Hale with whom I had formerly acquaintance, I took his advice what I had best do, and desired of him that I have an opportunitytospeak with her that accused my wife; which he promised should be, I acquainting him that I reposed my trust in him. Accordingly, he came to me after the examination was over, and told me I had now an opportunity to speak with the said accuser, Abigail Wil- liams, a girl eleven or 7 twelve years old, but that we could not he - in private at Mr. Par- ris s house, as he had promised me; we went, therefore, into the ale-house, where an Indian man attend- ed us, who, it seems, was one of the afflict- ed; to him we gave some cider; he showed several scars that seemed as if they had been long there, and showed them as done by witch- craft, and acquainted us that his wife, who also was a slave, was in prison for witchcraft. And now instead of one accuser, they all came in, and began to tumble down like swine; and then all three women were called in to attend them. We in the room were all at a stand to see who they would cry out of; but in a short time they cried out Carey; and immediately after a warrant was sent from the justices to bring my wife before them, who was sitting in a chamber near by, waiting for this. Being brought before the jus- tices her chief accusers were two girls. My wife declared to the justices that she never had any knowledge of them before that day. She was forced to stand with her arms stretched out. I benjamin Fullers House, Middleton. 228 The old Philip English House, huilt 1685, tahen down 1833. STORIES OF SALEM WYTOII CRAFT. 229 requested that I might hold one of her hands, but it was denied me. Then she desired me to wipe the tears from her eyes and the sweat from her face, which I did; then she desired she might lean herself on me, saying she should faint. Justice Hathorne replied she had strength enoogh to torment these persons, and she should have strength to stand. I speaking something against their cruel proceedings, they commanded me to be silent, or else I should be turned out of the room. The Indian before mentioned was also brought in to be one of her accusers, being come in, he now (when before the justices) fell down and tumbled about like a hog but said nothing. The justices asked the girls who afflicted the In- dian: they answered, she (meaning my wife), and that she now lay upon him. The justices ordered her to touch him, in order to his cure, but her head must be turned another way, lest, instead of curing, she should make him worse by her looking on him, her hand being guided to take hold of his, but the Indian took hold of her hand and pulled her down on the floor in a bar- barous manner; then his hand was taken off and her hand put on his, and the cure was quickly wrought. Captain Carey said he had difficulty to get a bed for his wife that night. She was committed to jail in Boston, and sub- sequently removed to Cambridge. Hav- ing been there one night, next night the jailer put irons on her legs; the weight was about eight pounds. These irons and other afflictions threw her into convul- sions, and he tried to have the irons taken off, but in vain. When the trials came on Carey went to Salem to see how they were conducted. Finding that spectral testimony and idle gossip were admitted as evidence, he told his wife she had nothing to hope for there. He procured her escape from jail and they went to New York, where Governor Fletcher be- friended them. In reviewing the story presented in the preceding pages I confess to a measure of doubt as to the moving causes in this terrible tragedy. It seems impossible to believe a tithe of the statements which were made at the trials. And yet it is equally difficult to say that nine out of every ten of the men, women and chil- dren, who testified upon their oaths, in- tentionally and wilfully falsified. Nor does it seem possible that they did, or could, invent all these marvellous tales fictions rivalling the imaginative genius of Haggard or Jules Verne. Neverthe less, we know that the greater portion of their depositions were without founda- tion in fact. Many of them we may attribute to the wild fancyings of minds disordered by the excited state of the community. Others cannot be thus ex- plained satisfactorily. In order to form a correct judgment of the acts and words of these people, we must first put our- selves in the place of the men and wo- men of 1692. They believed in witch- craft; that there was such a thing, no one doubted. As we have seen, the wisest jurists, as well as all the minis- ters, believed in the existence of witches. Books were written upon the subject as upon insanity and kindred topics. Peo- ple had been arrested and executed for the alleged crime in all Christian coun- tries. For nearly half a century previous to 1692, prosecutions were made for witchcraft in New England. Men like Governor Endicott, Governor Winthrop, and even the liberal-minded Bradstreet, had passed sentence upon its unfortu- nate victims. Shall we, then, wonder that the people of Salem Village attrib- uted to the demon witchcraft the strange performances of Abigail Williams, Eliza- beth Parris, Ann Putnam and their asso- ciates, in February, 1692. Rather shall we not record our admiration that there and then the belief in spectral evidence, and, necessarily, witchcraft, received its death blow? The refusal of the Essex jury to convict in January, 1693, was the beginning of the end, not only in Salem but in the world. The conclusion, there- fore, which seems most rational is that which attributes the unfortunate affair to a species of neighborhood insanity, a wholesale delusion. It was like a cyclone that sweeps over the land, or a confla- gration that wipes out of existence ~41ole sections of a city. We do not realize the awful drama which is being enacted around us. Only xvhen the storm has passed and we awake to a thorough com- prehension of the calamity, do we appre- ciate its force; then, the hour of its rag- ing seems like a dream. Such, I judge, was substantially the case with our ances- tors two centuries ago. They did not realize, during the summer of 1692, the awfulness of the tragedy they were en- 230 ROUGET J)E LISLE. acting. They believed that they were casting out devils, and that any measures, however severe, xvere justifiable. Their language after the storm was passed and a calm had settled over the land, implies as much, and more, that the full real- ization of what they had been doing, dawned on them only after all was over. The witchcraft tragedy must then have seemed to them like a horrid nightmare. We of the present generation shudder at the intolerant persecutions and supersti- tions of our ancestors. Let us do noth- ing in politics or religion that will cause our descendants to blush for us. It is well to review the unwise or unjust acts of our ancestors sometimes, as we would place a beacon on some shoal or reef where a ship had been wrecked, to warn others of the danger. ROUGET DE LISLE.1 By Wilbur Larremore. FOR Frances Epic writ in blood and steel When haughty hosts with glee embruted trod A swathe of. death through Europes fertile sod To crush mankind beneath one despots heel, There came, in few turns of the fickle wheel, Moscow and Waterloo for Ichabod, The pathos of a fallen demigod, A death-bed on the rocks. But thou, De Lisle, Out of thy longing for the light didst chant The passion-lyric of Mans liberty, After apostasy to kingly cant France hath returned to own thy song and thee; Nor France can bound thy fame, like adamant Endures thy monument, Democracy. The author of the Marsellaise Hymn. L

Wilbur Larremore Larremore, Wilbur Rouget De Lisle 230-231

230 ROUGET J)E LISLE. acting. They believed that they were casting out devils, and that any measures, however severe, xvere justifiable. Their language after the storm was passed and a calm had settled over the land, implies as much, and more, that the full real- ization of what they had been doing, dawned on them only after all was over. The witchcraft tragedy must then have seemed to them like a horrid nightmare. We of the present generation shudder at the intolerant persecutions and supersti- tions of our ancestors. Let us do noth- ing in politics or religion that will cause our descendants to blush for us. It is well to review the unwise or unjust acts of our ancestors sometimes, as we would place a beacon on some shoal or reef where a ship had been wrecked, to warn others of the danger. ROUGET DE LISLE.1 By Wilbur Larremore. FOR Frances Epic writ in blood and steel When haughty hosts with glee embruted trod A swathe of. death through Europes fertile sod To crush mankind beneath one despots heel, There came, in few turns of the fickle wheel, Moscow and Waterloo for Ichabod, The pathos of a fallen demigod, A death-bed on the rocks. But thou, De Lisle, Out of thy longing for the light didst chant The passion-lyric of Mans liberty, After apostasy to kingly cant France hath returned to own thy song and thee; Nor France can bound thy fame, like adamant Endures thy monument, Democracy. The author of the Marsellaise Hymn. L LENNETTE. By ElAci Davis. HE season will long be remembered that ended the four long years that my Len- nette and I had been separated. It had been a sacrifice for me to spend my time alone in my solitary home, half-way between two little villages, while my girl had been at Wellesley Col- lege; and when the trial ~vas over I found it hard to realize that the time was finished. During the early summer, for four weeks, the old fishermen along the shore had scanned the western sky without once feeling obliged to give the ashes in their clay pipes an ominous knock before placing them between their teeth. For four weeks they had turned to the south to look out across acres of sparkling water, that had hardly troubled itself to change its shade of green from the mo- ment that the sun had smoothed out the first, fretful reflection of his waking, until, tired with a day of play, he sank into the clouds in the west. The long, black wharf, that stretched out toxvard the blue from the sandy shore, had grown hotter and drier each succeeding day, and was reeking from the barrels of salted cod at its end. Under the wharf in its cooler shade, the little boys, even too idle for mischief, reposed at full length, digging their toes into the sand and glancing at the particles clinging to their brown legs. Against the shiny posts, that held the wharf above their heads, the seaweeds washed; but, so gentle was the current that bore them, that hardly a single thread had been loosened from its place during the restful month. Each day of the twenty-eight the fishermen had looked from sea to sky, and murmured, Thank God, the lads are having fine weather this voyage, if so be its there as here; and at night the women had gone to rest almost able to obey the command to take no thought for the morrow. Inland, only one short mile, the farm- ers had watched the sky with anxious eyes while the hay steamed; had noted that the tiny white clouds, sprinkled over the blue, had no look of threat in their dainty frivolity, and had leisurely piled the hay on to the wagons. But when the store was housed, the same eyes noted the shrivelled gardens, the parched fields, and the thirsty trees; and each night, as the men gathered on the piazza of the village store, they greeted their fellow-loungers with a shake of the head in reply to the query: Dyer see any prospec of the drought lettin up? and joined in the murmur, Its a hard year on the crops, and no mistake. The young folks, both of the farms and the shore, forgot, as usual, the cares. which the drought brought to the elders, forgot that bread must be grown for the winter and that ships must weather the storms in order to come into port. Between the two hamlets, the one with its thankfulness for the sunny weather, the other with its anxiety for change, stretched a long, yellow road. Along it were small white houses, each with its rambling ells. So trim, so tidy, so unim- aginative and thrifty, so clean-cut and narrow-minded did they seem, with their little front door-yards planted with old- fashioned flowers in geometrical beds, that one almost despaired of ever regain- ing sympathy with nature after resting the eyes upon them despaired until he passed them and found himself in front of some fresh cranberry swamp, with its clean, white sand checkered by bright, green vines, and bounded by low bushes that sometimes parted to show that the horizon was not on the edge of the land but on the edge of the sea. When I first turned back to it, after the years of absence, my home looked to me like all the others on this sandy road; but noxv I think of it as a little haven from all the storms of life. Why did I never learn to feel sheltered until that on

Ethel Davis Davis, Ethel Lennette. A Story 231-237

LENNETTE. By ElAci Davis. HE season will long be remembered that ended the four long years that my Len- nette and I had been separated. It had been a sacrifice for me to spend my time alone in my solitary home, half-way between two little villages, while my girl had been at Wellesley Col- lege; and when the trial ~vas over I found it hard to realize that the time was finished. During the early summer, for four weeks, the old fishermen along the shore had scanned the western sky without once feeling obliged to give the ashes in their clay pipes an ominous knock before placing them between their teeth. For four weeks they had turned to the south to look out across acres of sparkling water, that had hardly troubled itself to change its shade of green from the mo- ment that the sun had smoothed out the first, fretful reflection of his waking, until, tired with a day of play, he sank into the clouds in the west. The long, black wharf, that stretched out toxvard the blue from the sandy shore, had grown hotter and drier each succeeding day, and was reeking from the barrels of salted cod at its end. Under the wharf in its cooler shade, the little boys, even too idle for mischief, reposed at full length, digging their toes into the sand and glancing at the particles clinging to their brown legs. Against the shiny posts, that held the wharf above their heads, the seaweeds washed; but, so gentle was the current that bore them, that hardly a single thread had been loosened from its place during the restful month. Each day of the twenty-eight the fishermen had looked from sea to sky, and murmured, Thank God, the lads are having fine weather this voyage, if so be its there as here; and at night the women had gone to rest almost able to obey the command to take no thought for the morrow. Inland, only one short mile, the farm- ers had watched the sky with anxious eyes while the hay steamed; had noted that the tiny white clouds, sprinkled over the blue, had no look of threat in their dainty frivolity, and had leisurely piled the hay on to the wagons. But when the store was housed, the same eyes noted the shrivelled gardens, the parched fields, and the thirsty trees; and each night, as the men gathered on the piazza of the village store, they greeted their fellow-loungers with a shake of the head in reply to the query: Dyer see any prospec of the drought lettin up? and joined in the murmur, Its a hard year on the crops, and no mistake. The young folks, both of the farms and the shore, forgot, as usual, the cares. which the drought brought to the elders, forgot that bread must be grown for the winter and that ships must weather the storms in order to come into port. Between the two hamlets, the one with its thankfulness for the sunny weather, the other with its anxiety for change, stretched a long, yellow road. Along it were small white houses, each with its rambling ells. So trim, so tidy, so unim- aginative and thrifty, so clean-cut and narrow-minded did they seem, with their little front door-yards planted with old- fashioned flowers in geometrical beds, that one almost despaired of ever regain- ing sympathy with nature after resting the eyes upon them despaired until he passed them and found himself in front of some fresh cranberry swamp, with its clean, white sand checkered by bright, green vines, and bounded by low bushes that sometimes parted to show that the horizon was not on the edge of the land but on the edge of the sea. When I first turned back to it, after the years of absence, my home looked to me like all the others on this sandy road; but noxv I think of it as a little haven from all the storms of life. Why did I never learn to feel sheltered until that on 232 LENNETTE. which I leaned was taken from me? XVhen all the sadness and responsibility of life had become mine, my home broken up, and I turned back to the little house that had been my mothers, I found the great emotion that had swept over me had brought me to find peace. Now I have even learned to feel that the least of griefs that can come to wo- man is the sorrow of losing by death one who is loved. One day, in that time of heat and drought, I was sitting on the broad pi- azza I had had built about the old house, and thinking of Lennette, my little daugh- ter, little no longer, for this was the year that had closed her college course. How unlike me she was! All the ques- tionings that had striven in me, the end- less doubt and unrest, were as foreign to her nature as they had been inseparable from mine. But if speculation little exercised Len- nettes mind, she was not dull, and mem- ory did for her what thought does for others. She had graduated from Welles- ley, just one month before she finished her twenty-first year. Now that she was with me again I was already wondering what must be made of her life. To bury her here seemed out of the question; to let her go from me again I felt to be un- wise. Should we break up our little home and go to some great city where she might find a larger field to grow and to be useful? There xvas one other alternative. I could not hring myself to choose it for her. I could not yet tell whether she would choose it for herself. She might marry Alphonso Doane. She was off in the woods with him then, I knew; I knew that his square chin never looked more determined than when he was trying to win her consent to go on some such excursion with him; and I knew as well as if I had been with them, that his set purpose in life was to make her his wife. And why should I hesitate? I tried to say to myself that it was because I did not feel sure of Lennettes love for Phon- nie, so they always called him, yet I half knew that it was the force and obsti- nacy of his struggle to gain her, the feel- ing that it was her consent rather than her love he fought for, that repelled me. Lennette also was a determined little soul; but I recognized that besides his persistence, Phonnie had in his favor the fact that he was one of the only three college men in the village, and that in Lennettes mind wisdom came from schools and books. While I sat, hidden by the woodbine and honeysuckle that screened my porch, my eyes dreamily scanning the dusty road, I slowly became aware that I was watching a little party of girls coming toward the house. They were all bending toward the ground, closely scrutinizing the dusty road. Pres- ently there was a flurry among them, and I heard one say, in an excited voice, Here it is, girls! to be an- swered, No, it isnt Those are the new teachers. Dont you see the little cross ribs, and no star in the middle? See that one. It has a great, five-point star right in the ball. Besides, Lennette never would be coming up that path, and hed have no call to go that way and meet her. There was another moments search, and then an exultant exclama- tion: Here they are, star and all! I should think theyd be tired out, traipsing all over the country every afternoon! Phonnie cant tell how we know where to follow. Those rubber soles are too funny! I had hardly ceased smiling, when I saw Lennette coming up the walk from a wood-path, with Phonnie. She had a vine of wild clematis swung around her, making a h~iif frame for her head, and she held the two ends in her hand. How very pretty she was, surely; so fresh and rosy, with her round chin tilted up- ward, her dark hair brushed straight from her white forehead, and falling behind in two heavy plaits! She did not like to wear it so. She had told me that morn- ing that she was too old for that. But it seemed to me that that little head should not bear such a weight during this heat, and I had laughed at her and gathered the hair in my hands and plaited it. Neither she nor Phonnie noticed me as I sat there in the shade; they were absorbed in each other. I could not tell what had been said before; but as they LENNETTE. 233 reached the gate, I saw that both looked a little defiant, and Lennette stopped short and said decidedly, No! Phonnie paused a second, with a curious, baffled look. Then your hand, Lennette, he said. She hesitated, still defiant; then drop- ping the clematis ends held both hands out to him with a little smile. He clasped them in his and quickly kissed them. Both of them, she said. My lips are only for the niian I love, only for . She stopped. He dropped her hands and looked frowningly at her. For whom, Lennette? he asked; but she was apparently absorbed in selecting the prettiest spray from the clematis. She broke it off and raised her hand to put it in his buttonhole. He bent his head a little and said in a low, decided tone, You are going to marry me, some day, Lennette. She tossed the clematis impatiently away, and turning abruptly from him, without a word, came up to the house, and passed under the vines, starting when she saw me.. Phonnie had turned and was striding across the fields. 1 held my hand out to Lennette. I have something funny to tell you, dear, II said. She came to my side and sat down with her hand in mine. To tell her of Phcebes hunting party was to give her time to recover from her slight confusion, and me time to think what I wished to say in regard to Phonnie. I felt that the time had come for us to look into our future together. When I had finished the account, and before her little laugh had died away, I added, I had thought you might sug- gest to Phonnie to change his shoes, but you will not need to. I expected she would ask me why, but she exclaimed, Indeed, I shall ask him to do it, mamma. You heard him at the gate, and you thought it was the first time he had said that to me, but it isnt. I have told him a dozen times that I dont care for him; but I like to walk and talk with him because we have the same interests, and I suppose I shall have to tell him the same thing a dozen times more. I shant marry him, and he under- stands it, only he wont acknowledge it. My little girl, I began, after a mo- ments pause; but she interrupted me. Mamma, I am not a little girl any longer. Four years ago, before I had been anywhere or seen anybody but these stupid country people, I was a child; but no girl can be away from home among strangers, and constantly using her mind, without getting some self-reliance and some knowledge of the world. Why do you treat me like a child, and think you must take care of me like one? You are my child, Lennette; and to me you must always be my little girl. There are so many things for you to learn, that only years and hard experi- ence can teach you. You must let your mother teach you what you could never learn in college walls without the help of a woman more experienced and thought- ful than yourself, or without a different nature of your own. I shall begin now with a lesson to you about Phonnie Doane. You cannot keep such a man in the place you have planned for him, Lennette. He is one who cannot know any scruples or feel any delicacy in get- ting what he wants. You must choose, Lennette. With you it is to break all intimacy, to close to him all doors; or to be made, sooner or later, a part of his life. You think that you have a strong will and you have; but in comparison with his, it is only as iron to steel. Even if his were a different nature, I should still tell you that you could not keep your friendship on the footing it is now. Only when you have loved yourself will you understand how this is impossible. Yours is not a nature to learn without experi- ence. But I shall never let you hurt a man as your own nature would let you do as I would have done once. Now, dearest, go; to-morrow tell me whether it shall be a broken friendship, for that is what it will cost you now, or the cer- tainty that in the end you will be Phon- nie s wife. She slowly gathered her flowers in her hands, and with her blue eyes downcast, a little flush, half of anger, half of shame, on her cheeks, she went into the house. I sat on until the darkness was deep and 234 LENNETTE. the stars had taken their places in the heavens. The next morning I rose with the sense of something impending. All my heart had been in my talk with my girl; and behind my words had been the reso- lution to close our little home and leave the village if Lennette should tell me she was ready to break her intercourse with Phonnie Doane. I knew that temptation would surely prove too strong for her if I kept her here among so few congenial companions, and asked her to deny her- self the amusement of a friendship she found so entertaining. I was weak enough to feel glad that Lennette had so much of coquetry in her nature. For her to use her power meanly would have been a pain to me; but I could not have borne to see her with the morbid conscientiousness of the old-maid temperament. Even a little wickedness in her treatment of the men about her was, I fear, preferable to me to the feel- ing that she might not attract th~m if she chose. It was my vanity coming out in my thirst for admiration of my child, long after it had been conquered and despised for myself. But when Lennette told me, with a little set look about her mouth, that she had decided to risk her companionship with Phonnie, I heard it with a sickening dread. It was in vain I told myself it was a case where I had no right to inter- fere, not even as her mother; for without good reason what human being has a right to part two natures inclined to adapt themselves one to the other? I knew that Phonnie Doanes life had been clean, his character, though disagreeable to me, blameless; and at twenty-seven his busi- ness was firmly established. He was young to hold so responsible a position, being already cashier of the Port Bank, where the president was only a nominal officer, and the whole responsibility came on the cashier. In that neighborhood his modest salary was accounted wealth. Was there any other mother in the place who would not feel her daughter well started in life as Phonnies wife? But as the summer waned, Lennette herself seemed restless, not quite happy. The leaves had not all fallen, the cran berry pickers still worked on the swamps, turning the labor into holiday, and emp- tying the town of all but the aged while the picking lasted, when Lennette had promised Phonnie to be his wife. She did not love him, I was sure. I even thought that she had yet no dream of what love might be; but his persis- tence, his obstinate iteration, had worn her out. He told her he would make her love him, and from very fatigue I thought she had let herself believe that in time he could. When my mother had laid the orange wreath on my head, it was to give me to one almost as dear to her as if he had been her son; to one so strong and true, that to live by his side was to pledge ones self to grow into ones best and noblest; yet as those dear hands touched me here and there, as she saw some lov- ing help was needed, they trembled, and more than once she paused to take my face between them, and search my soul through my reluctant eyes. And when the last touch was made, and there was nothing to linger for, she took me in her arms, and said: Darling, it seems as though God means your life to be a happy one. But as I think of letting you go out from your home among strangers, even with the one for whom you leave us, you seem to me to be alone. Oh my little one, I trem- ble I tremble for you in this strange, new life If she feared for me when all was so enwrapped with love and trust, is it a wonder that the tears fell fast from my eyes as I plaited my darlings hair and wound it round her head? Is it strange that the paleness of her pretty face gave me a pang of fear, and that I dreaded almost beyond endurance to place her irrevocably in the power of a man I did not like, even though ever since she be- came engaged to him, he had seemed to worship her? But afterward, as time passed, I found her growing more and more happy and contented in their little home; absorbed in her husband and her housekeeping, studying and reading, filling each moment of her time. Yet, even then, one thing was lacking in her home. LENNE17E. 235 Phonnie had a superb conceit. He invested each of his personal belongings, his relatives, his friends, with a halo. He considered that he had given you sufficient guaranty of their perfections when he told you they were his. Not sharing this feeling, I often had in Lennettes home a feeling of want. It was not beauty xvhich I felt to be lacking; for, unlike the little home in which I had begun life so happily, it had been furnished throughout at once, not simply with those things that were neces- sary, but with furniture that Lennette and Phonnie had travelled eighty miles to select, and that was satisfying to the taste. A good beginning for a library had been made, too, and about the rooms were evidence of the fact that each week Lennette took the journey to Boston to take her lesson in German and hear the Symphony rehearsal. Nor was it a lack of love which I felt, for that was deepen- ing day by day between them, taking root in Lennettes nature as I had feared it never would. When a man or woman of fifty enters the life of two young people who have just laid the foundation of another home, there is a temptation to smile as one sees the confidence of the two that this little sanctuary can be kept free from all those taints they see in older homes. Their new love glorifies the whole of life to them. They are so sure that worldliness and false ambition and selfishness can he kept outside their doors; so strong in their disregard of criticism, if only they have the approbation of each other; so hopeful that they will not be like the rest of the prosaic, worldly world. But before the smile has really been born, the visitor finds it has died in a sigh, and starts to find there are tears in his eyes; and that he, too, is hoping that this little home, so fresh and sweet just now, will keep its beautiful illusions and its aspira- tions to the end. This intense longing for the ideal that I had seen in other homes often, alas! dying out and replaced by desires so much less worthy was what was lacking in my daughters life. There was none of that willingness to wait and endure for what they wished, meantime resolving so to ennoble the life with high purposes that empty spaces should be filled from the spirit. There was instead an unin- terrupted resolve to have. Whoever else must lack, whoever else must pay, at least they must be supplied; only toward the few they loved and felt to be a part of themselves did they feel called upon to exercise any self-denial. When, as it happened, a family moved into the neighborhood, I heard Lennette express a decision not to walk the half mile and call on them. This was quickly seconded by Phonnie, followed by an ex- pression of disgust that one of the children had come and asked to borrow a step-ladder, to help put some of their belongings into place. This simply seemed to give a fear to the young people lest the new-corners should be of the borrowing kind. There was no kindly feeling of sympathy and helpfulness to- ward them in their unsettled condition, perhaps homesick and lonely in their new, strange place. The beautiful hound that belonged to the new-comers was quickly tabooed by Phonnie. It had committed a crime. It had chased and frightened Lennettes Maltese cat. Phonnie was resolved to shoot it. That cat was her cat, and not to be treated as other cats. As I looked about at their pretty furni- ture, and realized that it was unpaid for; looked at their books, and realized that the spirit of their creators was not being taken home; as I thought of my own pleading that their start in life should not be burdened by debts,it seemed to me that a heavy shadow hung over the house which not all the sunshine that lighted the walls and the furniture and the polished floor, not all the breezes that pushed the muslin draperies could clear away. Only their love for each other was my comfort and my hope. I had been with them one afternoon, and Lennette had given me one sentence to remember, that was an echo of my own feeling. Phonnie had come into the room where we were sitting, his arms laden with papers, musty, ugly documents, over which his face looked, in contrast with their age, boyish and young, al- though it was in itself mature for his years. 236 LENNE/TE. Lennette, he said, can you spare me still another of those press drawers? You see what I am staggering under, and there is no place so convenient for them as our own room. She hesitated a moment, and then said Yes. Then come with me and clear the drawer. I know your mother will excuse you. I smiled my answer, and Lennette be- gan to pick up her work, while Phonnie perched himself on the edge of a table and watched her movements. She looked thoughtful and a little amused, then glanced at him and at me with a little smile, and said: I used to think it would be terrible to have everything in common, even to share my room. But now it is the joy of my life to have it so. I am never so glad as when we are in that little spot together, and all the rest of the world shut out. It is the only place where we seem quite alone. With that she slid her hand into his, and they left the room together. But if Lennette sometimes lightened my burden of foreboding, Phonnie con- stantly weighted it. I can see him as though he were before my eyes now: his square figure; his blue eyes, restless and observant; his short, square-fingered hands; above all, his heavy chin, He had a way of perching himself on the edge of a table, the arm of a chair, a window ledge, any projection, and, with one foot crossed over his knee, chatting or arguing by the hour. I remember one day he came in as I sat alone in his little sitting-room and dropped on to the arm of the sofa, looking at me rather search- ingly before he said, I have just cast my vote on the liquor question. This was a question that had been attracting the attention of all the thoughtful people in the town. In a large city the needs of the community can never be so ac- curately known as in a small village. In a little hamlet like ours, where every in- habitant directly knew every other, we could judge what was needed by the majority with tolerable exactness; and for some time great suffering had been caused by the free sale of liquors. It was xvith some anxiety, then, that I said to Phonnie: How did you vote? For free sale, he replied. I looked at him surprised. Why did you do it? He took a cigarette case from his pocket, lighted a cigarette, then turned to me, and said calmly, I am not afraid of becoming a drunkard, so I am not voting against myself when I vote that way. If any man is fool enough to vote for his own destruction, the sooner he gets it and clears the road for men of sense, the better. I am not responsible for the fools in the community, and I should lessen my income a hundred dollars a year, as my money is placed, if I let a prohi- bition vote carry the day. Thats why I did it, and thats reason enough, isnt it? He flipped the ashes from the end of his cigarette with his little finger, placed it in his mouth, and looked quietly at me. Phonnie, I said, how are you to learn the lesson of sympathy for other men? Does nothing teach you that in protecting others lies your only protec- tion for yourself? If you cannot learn the lesson from noble motives, can you not do it at least from love of yourself? I did not care to say more. He only smiled a slow, sarcastic smile, and an- swered, That may be very fine. The only thing I know is that Lennette is a gem and needs a good setting. We were not made to dwarf ourselves in ugly surround- ings. Beauty is necessary to growth; and so is contact with good minds. We get that by going ovice a week to Boston. It costs me two hundred and thirty-six dollars a winter; so I am not going to take one cent of my money to throw into the jaxvs of so-called philanthropy. The best philanthropy I understand is for a man to make the most of himself and his family. If he does that, he will do the best thing for the world, in my opinion It was not simply Phonnies opinion I was face to face with it was Phonnie himself the essence of the man, the wiwle of him. To get, to have, to hold, this was life to him. (To be continued.) By Rev. WY//lam H Savage. IN the summer of 1630, a company of immigrants, newly-arrived from Eng- land, ascended the Charles River, and selected a place for settlement. The leaders of this company were Sir Rich- ard Saltonstall, a noble gentleman from Yorkshire, and Rev. George Phillips, a graduate of Cambridge. Just how many people followed them is not definitely known. On the 7th of September, 1630, the Board of Assistants sitting at Charles- town, ordered that Trimountain be called Boston; Mattapan, Dorchester; and the town upon Charles River, Water- town. This may be regarded as an act of incorporation, by virtue of which Water- town holds its name and a fragment of its ancient domain. On the thirtieth day of July, about five weeks before the settlement had been legally named, a company of men were assembled (probably in the house of Sir Richard Saltonstall), for a day of fasting and prayer. They had come together upon the recommendation of the gov ernor, on account of the great sickness then prevailing among the people in Charlestown. But they had another rea- son for their assembly, for Mather says (Magnalia, Vol. I., p. 340) : They resolved that they would combine into a church fellowship as their first work. After the close of their religious exercises, Mather goes on to say: About forty men, whereof the first was that excellent knight, Sir Richard Salstonstall, then sub- scribed this covenant, in order unto their coalescence into a church estate. He then gives (p. 341 ) a copy of the covenant, because it was one of the first ecclesiastical transactions of this nature managed in this colony. This docu- ment is worthy of preservation, for a rea- son which will appear further on. It was as follows: July 30, 1630. We whose names are hereto subscribed, having through Gods mercy escaped out of the pollutions of the world, and been taken into the society of his People, with all thankfulness do hereby, both with heart and hand, acknowledge that his gra The old Parsonage. ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH.

Rev. William H. Savage Savage, William H., Rev. Annals of an Ancient Parish 237-256

By Rev. WY//lam H Savage. IN the summer of 1630, a company of immigrants, newly-arrived from Eng- land, ascended the Charles River, and selected a place for settlement. The leaders of this company were Sir Rich- ard Saltonstall, a noble gentleman from Yorkshire, and Rev. George Phillips, a graduate of Cambridge. Just how many people followed them is not definitely known. On the 7th of September, 1630, the Board of Assistants sitting at Charles- town, ordered that Trimountain be called Boston; Mattapan, Dorchester; and the town upon Charles River, Water- town. This may be regarded as an act of incorporation, by virtue of which Water- town holds its name and a fragment of its ancient domain. On the thirtieth day of July, about five weeks before the settlement had been legally named, a company of men were assembled (probably in the house of Sir Richard Saltonstall), for a day of fasting and prayer. They had come together upon the recommendation of the gov ernor, on account of the great sickness then prevailing among the people in Charlestown. But they had another rea- son for their assembly, for Mather says (Magnalia, Vol. I., p. 340) : They resolved that they would combine into a church fellowship as their first work. After the close of their religious exercises, Mather goes on to say: About forty men, whereof the first was that excellent knight, Sir Richard Salstonstall, then sub- scribed this covenant, in order unto their coalescence into a church estate. He then gives (p. 341 ) a copy of the covenant, because it was one of the first ecclesiastical transactions of this nature managed in this colony. This docu- ment is worthy of preservation, for a rea- son which will appear further on. It was as follows: July 30, 1630. We whose names are hereto subscribed, having through Gods mercy escaped out of the pollutions of the world, and been taken into the society of his People, with all thankfulness do hereby, both with heart and hand, acknowledge that his gra The old Parsonage. ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH. 238 ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH. cious goodness and fatherly care towards us; and for further and more full declaration thereof, to the present and future ages, have undertaken (for the promoting of his glory and the Churchs good, and the honor of our blessed Jesus, in our more full and free subjecting of ourselves and ours, under his gracious government, in the practice of and obedience unto all his holy ordinances and orders, which he hath pleased to prescribe and impose upon us) a long and hazardous voyage from East to West, from Old England in Europe, to New England in America; that we may walk before Him, and serve him without fear in holi- ness and righteousness all the days of our lives; and being safely arrived here, and thus far on- wards peaceably preserved by his special provi- dence, that we may bring forth our intentions into actions, and perfect our resolutions, in the begin- nings of some just and meet executions; we have separated the day above written from all other ser- vices, and dedicated it wholly to the Lord in divine employments, for a day of afflicting our souls, and humbling ourselves before the Lord, to seek him, and at his hands, a way to walk in by fast- ing and prayer, that we might know what was good in his sight; and the Lord was intreated of us. For in the end of that day, after the finishing of our publick duties, we do all, before we depart. solemnly and with all our hearts, personally, man by man for our selves and ours (charging them before Christ and his elect angels, even them that are not here with us this day, or are yet unborn, that they keep the promise unblameably and faithfully unto the coming of our Lord Jesus), promise, and enter into a sure covenant with the Lord our God, and before him with one another,, by oath and serious protestation made, to renounce all idolatry and superstition, will-worship, all human traditions and inventions whatsoever, in the worship of God; and forsaking all evil ways,. do give ourselves wholly unto the Lord Jesus, to do him faithful service, observing and keeping alt his statutes, commands, and ordinances, in all matters concerning our reformation; his worship,. administrations, ministry and government; and in the carriage of ourselves among, and one to- wards another, as he bath prescribed in his holy word. Further swearing to cleave unto that alone, and the true sense anrl meaning thereof, to the utmost of our power, as unto the most clear light and infallible rule, and all-sufficient canon, in all things that concern us in this our way. In witness of all, we do ex- animo, and, in the presence of God, hereto set our names or marks, in the day and year above written In the ears of to-day this long-drawn statement has a curious sound. At first hear- ing, its involved and cum- brous sentences seem to have little to do with the life that now is, and to aim at any other life in a very zigzag fashion. Why people who had not yet taken time to get a roof over their heads, should give a day to drawing up and signing such a document as that, with ceremonies so for- mal and solemn, is, at the first glance, by no means plain. To the very practi- cal man of the present time, who finds history tiresome,, and theology stupid, the whole business appears a piece of ponderous nonsense. But such an estimate of the work done on that 3oth of July, 1630, is far astray from the truth. Every word in that old document was then alive with tremendous. meaning. On that paper were traced the lines of a struggle that was then shaking all Europe. The Watertown Covenant was at once a Bill of Rights, and the troth-plight of its signers to stand by those rights and by one another in life and in death. Said Andrew Melville t@ him who was afterwards James I. of Eng Th Sir Richard Saltonstall. ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH 239 land: I tell you, sir, there are two that seemed lost beyond hope in every kings and two kingdoms in Scotland. realm in Europe. The son of James was There is Christ Jesus the King, and his to find that though he might harry Kingdom the kirk, whose subject James his Puritans, he could not make them VI. is, and of whose Kingdom not a king, conform. They were to show the world nor a lord, nor a head, but a memher. a new thing under the sun: And they whom Christ hath called to A church without a bishop, watch over his kirk and govern his spirit- And a state without a king. nal kingdom, have sufficient power and That authority so to do, both together and everally. Here is the very dialect of the old Watertown covenant; but what sounds to an uninstructed ear to be but the outburst of an angry theologian is, in truth, an assertion of the rights of the people against the traditions of despotism an assertion couched in language as lofty as king ever held towards his poorest vassal. When James had put on his English crown, he said of such as Melville, I will make them conform, or I will harry them out of the land! To this de- clared purpose of his father, Charles I. added the resolution to make the Eng- lish people conform to his notions of civil government. During the same week in March, 1629, in which he granted a charter to the Massachusetts Bay Coin- c~~ ~- pany, he had finally decided to make an end of parliamentary government, and nothing seemed left for those who meant to live freemen but to seek a refuge be- yond the Atlantic. In one year from that time, John Winthrop and Sir Richard Saltonstall and George Phillips were on shipboard, to found a home for the rights was the Old Meeting-Hosse in which she Provincial Congress held their 3d and 3d Sessions that July day was a thing as new as the land they had come to possess. It was not a church at all, as tradition and use had defined the word and shaped the First old Parsonage, 635. meaning of the old covenant kept for us on the yellow page of Cotton Mathers rambling record. What that excellent knight, Sir Richard Salton- stall and about forty other men set them- selves to found on 240 ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH. institution. It was a self- directing, religious democracy, having for its aim the practice of Christian behavior; and not a church for the adminis- tration of sacraments. Nothing is said in the organic instru- mend about believing dogmas. Every word has reference to conduct and a life brought into harmony with divine law. We now pass naturally from the act of organization to consider the date of that act. Several writers who have dealt with early New England history have, by their own carelessness and by the help of mis- leading authorities, involved this matter in much confusion. The origin of this confusion is found by Mr. James Savage in Johnsons Wonder Work- ing Providence ; and, ac- cording to the same writer, it has been made general by Holmes in his History of Cambridge, and by Judge Davis in an address on the anniversary of the landing at Plymouth. Mr. Savage says of Johnsons statement, that he is entitled to little regard. Of Holmes, he says, the six churches next after Salem, he assigns to 1631, when not one was gathered in that year. That the Salem church was the first that was organized on New England soil is agreed to by everybody. That the church in Watertown was organized on the thirtieth day of July, 1630, the date given by Mather, is also settled. It is, however, quite commonly supposed that the first church in Dorchester, was or- ganized in June, 1630, and that the first church in Boston was coeval with that in Watertown. In regard to Dorchester, the facts seem to be these: The first church was or ganized in Plymouth, England, in March, N 1630, and not on New England soil. In 1636, a large part of the membership and one at least of the ministers re- moved to Windsor, Connecticut. Bond says that, after this removal, the remnant of the church left in Dorchester, with Mr. Richard Mather and the company that came over with him, united and organized Harriet Hoamers Birthplace. Birthplace of Maria White. II ( 1k -y Theodore Parker. ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PAItISH. 241 another church, their covenant being dated August 23, 1636. It does not appear, therefore, that there is anything to show that Dorchester ranks next to Salem. No records are to be found to prove that the present is the origi- nal church; while Bonds statement places it more than six years later than Watertown. Mather appears to confirm Bonds account, for he says (Vol. I., p. 7~) that Dorchester was organized a//er Charles- town. The above-quoted statements of Bond and Mather are confirmed by Prof. Alexander Johnston in his recent volume on Con- necticut (in the American Commonwealths series). On pages 5~, 6o, Professor Johnston says the original church of Watertown is still in Massachusetts; the origi- nal churches of Cambridge (Newtown) and Dorchester are now in Hartford and Windsor. The facts regarding the first church in Boston seem to be as follows: It was organized Aug. 27, 1630, in Charlestown. It remained there less than three months, as the people composing it kept moving over to Boston. The part of the body which remained behind joined with others who came later to make up the first church in Charlestown. The process was exactly that which seems to have been followed in Dorchester. The Boston organization has always claimed to be the original, and its claim is everywhere conceded. But on another point its claim does not appear to be so well-founded. Several writers of note and weight have given currency to the statement that Boston and Watertown alike date from July 30, 1630. But Winthrop in his Journal makes no mention of the organization of a church on that date. Under date of August 27, he writes, We of the con- gregation kept a fast, and chose Mr. Wilson our teacher and Mr. Nowell an elder, and Mr. Gager and Mr. Aspinwall deacons. This date, Aug. 27, 1630, is that given by Mather (Vol. I., p. 72). Ellis, in his Puritan Age, mentions Mr. Wilson as one of the four men who signed a brief covenant in the Great House in Charlestown on the 3oth of July; but Winthrops statement makes it Harriet Hosmer. evident that there was no organization, for he says that Mr. Wilson was made teacher on the 27th of August. That August 27 was believed, by those who had the means for coming at the facts at first hand, to be the true date of the Boston church seems evident from the fol- lowing extract from the diary of the Rev. Joseph Sewall of Boston: 5730. August 27, I preached the Lecture from 2 Peter 3, 55, Account that the lunge suf- fering of our Lord is sa1v~, N. B. It is ys day 242 ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH Rev, John Ba~ey, one hundred years since the first church in this town was gathered in Charlestown. That is perfectly explicit, and is con- clusive as to Boston opinion when men had direct access to original and living authorities, and this opinion does not appear to be seriously impeached. The right of Watertown to rank next to Salem appears to be clear. The decision and the capacity for affairs displayed in the first steps of their community life by the men upon the Charles soon found other fields of action. In more than one way there appears to have been here a clearness of apprehen- sion and a breadth of view not to be found elsewhere in the bay colony. Some, at least, of those who settled here understood what the newly opening era of history was to record better than it was understood elsewhere, and they were better prepared to enter upon the new stage and rightly act their parts. They were to furnish the first practical exemplification on these shores of the princi- ples so haughtily proclaimed by Melville in his rebuke of the conceited Scottish king, in which he declared that the true church recognized no human lordship, and that the membership of such a church were competent to order its affairs in all mat- ters, great and small. Feel- ing themselves quite able to manage their own business without outside help, and being sure of their right to do it without asking any- bodys permission, they pro- ceeded, as often as opportu- nity offered, to reduce opinions to practice. So when, in 1639, they desired a colleague for Mr. Phillips, their first minister, they selected Mr. John Knowles and ordained him as a second pastor, without giv- ing the governor any notice of their intended action, without consultation with any other church, and with - out inviting any minister except their own. This was a very high-handed proceeding in more ways than one, and the people made themselves notorious by their action as people generally do when they turn their principles into conduct. The historian, however, looking backward discovers in Watertown the first congregational Church of Massachusetts Bay. Before they declared for free govern- ment in the church, they had won an un- comfortable notoriety by making them- selves the champions of free thong/it. Mr. Richard Browne, an elder of the congregation, startled and scandalized the entire colony before the end of his first year of office, by declaring that, in his opin- ion, the churches of Rome were true churches. I-fe probably meant that a Roman Catholic Church might do things pleasing to God and helpful to men, a notion that was then held in England, as well as in this country, to be a Satanic ANNALS OF AN ANGIENT PARISH. 243 delusion. It was one of the charges plantations came together and developed against Archbishop Laud that he held the as many minds as may be seen in a view that was confessed by the elder of town-meeting of their descendants. In the First Congregational Church. the following November the General And Richard Browne was not alone in Court had the matter up again. Mr. holding this doctrine of devils, for Phillips quietly told them that they might he was countenanced and sustained by come out and talk the business over if George Phillips himself, the minister of they desired to do so, but be in no way the church. Thereupon arose a great intimated that he and his people recog- tempest that raged up and down the nized in them any right to dictate to the Charles, and gave Boston its first great freemen in matters of opinion. And sensation. On the 21st of July, 1631, there is nothing to show that during the the Governor, the Deputy-Governor, and two years of controversy either Mr. Mr. Nowell came forth to see about the Phillips or Mr. Browne receded from the heresy. The people of the suspected stand they had taken. It is certain that Some old Watertown Tombotones. 244 ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARiSH. the freemen held to their rights and that Mr. Phillips and his elder retained their respect and confidence. The former was beloved and trusted by all until his death in 1644, and the latter was, more than twenty times, sent as representative to the General Court. In this behavior, the people had, so far as we can learn, the hearty sympathy of that excellent knight, Sir Richard Saltonstall. In this opinion we are sus- tained by Sir Richards letter to the min- isters of Boston, a document that Water- town may fairly claim as a part of its ancestral heritage. Read in the light of the history that was then in the making, the letter explains itself. Reverend & deare friends, whom I unfaynedly love & respect, It doth not a little grieve my spirit to heare what Sadd things are reported dayly of your ty ranny and persecution in New England, as That you fine, whip, & imprison men for their con- sciences; First, you compel such to come into your assemblys as you know will not Joyne with you in your worship, & when they show their dis- like thereof, or witness against it, Then you styrre up your magistrates to punish them for such (as you conceyve) their publicke affronts. Truly, friends, this your practice of compelling any in matters of worship to doe that whereof they are not fully persuaded, is to make them sin, for soe the Apostle (Rom. 14 & 23), tells us, & many are made hypocrites Thereby, con- forming in their outward man for feare of punishment. We who pray for you, & wish you prosper- itie every way, hoped the Lord would have given you so much light & love there, that you might have been eyes to Gods people here; and not to practice those courses in a wilderness which you come so farre to prevent. These rigid ways have layed you very lowe in the hearts of the saynts. I doe assure you I have heard them pray in the publique assem- blies That the Lord would. give you meke and humble spirits, not to strive so much for uniformity as to keepe the unity of the spirit in the hond of peace. When I was in Holland, about the heginning of the warres, I re- member some Christians there, that then had serious thoughts of plant- ing in New England, desired me to write to the governor thereof, to know if those that differ from you in opinion, yet houlding the same foundation in religion, as Anabaptists, Seekers, Antinomi- ans, & the like, might be permit- ted to live among you, to which I received this short answer from your then Governor Mr. Dudley God forbid, (said he) our love for the truth should be grown soe could That we should tolerate errours; & when (for satisfaction of myself & others) I desired to know yonr grounds, he referred me to the books written here, between the Presbyterians & Independents, which, if that had been sufficient, I needed not to have sent so farre to understand the reasons of your practice. I hope you do not assume to yourselves infal- lihilitie of judgment, when the most learned of the Apostles confesseth he knew hut in parts, & saw hut darkeley as through a glass, for God is light, & no further than he doth illumine us can we see, be our partes & learn- ing never so great. Oh that all those who are brethren, though yet they cannot thinke & speake the same things, might be of one accord in the Lord. Now the God of patience and consolation grant you to be thus mynded towards one another, after the example of Jesus Anne Whitney. ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH. Christ our blessed Savyor, in whose everlasting armes of protection hee leaves you who will never leave to be Your truly & much affectionate friend, in the nearest union, Ric: SALTONSTALL. For my reverend & worthyly much esteem- ed friends, Mr. Cotton & Mr. Wilson, preach- ers to the Church which is at Boston, in New England, give this If any one desires to know how widely the man whose name stood first below the covenant of the Water- town Church differed from those who were shaping affairs at Boston, he may find what he seeks in these lines from the pen of Dudley, to whom Saltonstall sent his letter from Holland, asking for toleration in the Colony. Let men of God in courts and churches watch Oer such as do a Toleration hatch, Lest that ill egg bring forth a cockatrice, To poison all with heresy and vice.~~ If any one desires further illustration, Fowle Houne, General Warrena Headquarters. let him read Winthrops Journal for 1638 and Savages notes to the same. Students of early New England history are aware that XVatertown sustains a unique relation to our form of represen- tative government, but the knowledge of this fact is confined to a very small circle. Early in 1631, a tax of sixty pounds was laid on the plantations by the Board of Assistants, to pay for the building of fortifications at Newe Towne (Cam- bridge.) Concerning what fol- lowed, John Fiske, in his book on The Beginnings of New England, says: This incident was, in itself of small dimensions, as incidents in newly founded states are apt to be. But in its historic import it may serve to connect the Eng- land of John Hampden with the New England of Samuel Adams. The inhabitants of Watertown at first declined to pay this tax, which was assessed by the Board of Assistants, on the ground that English freemen cannot be rightfully taxed save with their own consent. This protest led to a change in the constitution of the in- fant colony, and here, at once, we are introduced to the beginnings of Ameri- can constitutional history. 24~ Birthplace of Anne Whitney. (I 4/ ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH At first it was thought that public business could be transacted by a primary assembly of all the freemen in the colony meeting four times a year; but the number of freemen in- creased so fast that this was, in October, 1630, found to be impracticable. The right of choosing the governor and making the laws was then left to the Board of Assistants, and further, in May, 1631, it was decided that the Assistants need not be chosen afresh every year, but that they might keep their seats during good behavior or until ousted by special vote of the freemen. If the settlers of Massachusetts had been ancient Greeks or Romans, this would have been about as far as they could go in the matter; the choice would Public Library. have been between a primary assembly and an assembly of notables. It is curious to see Eng- lishmen passing from one of these alternatives to the other. But it was only for a moment. The protest of the Watertown men came just in time to check those proceedings, which began to have a decidedly oligarchical look. To settle the im- mediate question of the tax, two deputies were sent from each settlement to advise with the Board of Assistants; while the power of choosing each year the Governor and Assistants was resumed by the freemen. Two years later, in order to preserve to the freemen the power of making laws without interfering too much with the or- dinary bnsiness of life, the Colonists fell back upon the old English rural plan of electing deputies or representatives to a General Court. The words of our accomplished and fair - minded histo- rian do not exag- gerate the signifi- cance of the course taken by the Watertown men, and its influence upon the subsequent course of history upon this continent. It outlined and in- augurated the New England of Samuel Adams, it furnished 246 Paul Reveres House. ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH 247 precedent for the Boston Tea Party, and had its fulfilment in the constitution of the United States of America. How far George Phillips and Richard l3rowne, for here again they stood to- gether, were in advance of John Win- throp himself, in their understanding of what the action of the court involved, may be seen in the Governors Journal (Vol. I., p. 70). Hubbard sneers in his book at the men who refused to pay a tax of eight pounds; but the backward - looking historian sees in their refusal one of the turning points in the life of a nation. In another matter of no small interest the Water- town men seem to have taken decided action before any others in the Bay Colony. The first entry in the town records reads as folloxvs: Agreed by the consent of the Freemen, That there shal he Chosen three persons to he [ ] the ordering of the civill affairs in the Towne, one of them to serve as Towne Clark, and shall keep the Records and Acts of the Towne. The three chosen are WILLIAM JENNINGS, BRIAM PEMBLETON, JOHN Ennw. We seem to have in this the first recorded instance of the choosing of selectmen, in the modern sense of that word. Professor Johnston gives, as the date of this action, the year 1633. It was certainly not later than 1634, and the form of the entry indicates that the Free- men were doing nothing out of the or- dinary course of business. Palfrey says that Dorchester, in 1633, designated certain inhabitants, twelve in number, to meet weekly1 and consult and determine upon public affairs, without any au- thority, however, beyond other inhabitants who chose to come in and take part in their consultations and votes. Men act- ing in such a way, and under such limita- tions, were not selectmen, in the modern sense. The tenor of the Watertown records implies that the men selected to order the civill affairs in the Towne had powers corresponding to those of modern town officers. The first entry in the Town Records as they now stand, concludes as follows: Agreed that the charge for the Meeting I-louse shall he gathered by a Rate justly levied upon every man proportionally to his estate. Bond thinks that this original meeting- house stood somewhere east of Mount Auburn. In 1635, we find record of the charges of the new Meeting House. This was located on Meeting House Common, near the old ceme- tery, where the names of some of the worshippers may still be read on the weather-worn slabs of slate. It still stood and was used up to the time of John Bailey, r686 ~ i. We know that this church had a bell in 1648, for we 1\ iN~ First Parish Church. 248 ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH find this entry in the Town Records for that year: Due to Ould Knop for mending the stocks & the constables stand for a bell roo~e for mending the Meeting House doore, & for a locke for saied doore, & boards & Nails 00 o6s~o6d. This building must have been of respec- table proportions, as during the early years of the colony there were more people in Watertown than in Boston. It probably belonged to the type followed in all the colonies for many years. If so, John Weiss it was a square building, without paint, with a pyramidal roof crowned by a square belfry, from which the bell roope descended into the middle of the broad aisle, where the sexton stood while he gravely discharged his high office, ringing out his summons to the Lords house. We learn from John Baileys diary that the church had pues and that opposite the pulpit were two gallereys supported on posts. It is probable that the pues were the old- fashioned high boxes, ranged round the walls on three sides and so effectually bar- ricaded that the inmates, when seated, were invisible except from the high pul- pit and the gallereys. Before the pul- pit, facing the people, and raised two or three steps above the common crowd, were the deacon-seats, and still above these the seats for the elders. The choir was, as yet, unprovided with seats, for the excellent reason that the choir did not yet exist. In the days of which we are treating, everybody attended church, for sufficient, if not for good, rea- sons. In r635, the General Court de- creed that no dwelling should be placed more than half a mile away from the Meeting House, in order that no one should be able to excuse himself for absence. In the case of a certain man who failed to appear with the prescribed regularity, seven men were appointed to sell his farm for him and fix his residence within reach of Gospel privileges. The care of the church for the people in those days was a thing to be relied on with the utmost confidence. No- body was overlooked. The tithing- man was sure to call in the most out-of-the-way places, and he was discouraged by no lack of apprecia- tion on the part of those he visited. The minister was sure of his audience, with no postponement on account of the weather. In the church the people were seated in accordance with their social rank, their places being assigned by the town officers, or by a committee specially charged with that business. For a long time, the men sat on one side of the house and the women on the other. The poor wretches of boys had to sit on the pulpit stairs, where a man stood guard over them with a stick. In some cases the young men were permitted to build a gallery for themselves. This privilege was in rare cases granted to the young women. The free seats were, in the old churches, in the middle of the house, just where the wealth and fashion of the present love to present themselves before the Lord and their neighbors. How the wealth and fashion of an earlier day arrayed themselves for their ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH 249 Twilight on the Charles. Sunday worship may be gathered from to offer from the pulpit. The trouble the pictures that illustrate the times. culminated in 1669, when the Colony Everybody is familiar with the figure of passed this law: the Boston and Salem Puritan in his it is enacted that any person or persons that steeple-crowned hat, his cloth doublet, shall be found smoking tobacco on the Lords breeches and long stockings, ending in day, going to, or coming from the meetings, heavy shoes with broad toes and big within two miles of the meeting-house, shall pay buckles. John Aldens Priscilla may twelve pence for every such default. stand to show how the Puritans pretty Under this law, Richard Berry, Jedediah daughter looked as she walked demurely Lombard, Benjamin Lombard, and James by his side to the meeting. The PiC Maker, appear to have been the first vic- ture of Sir Richard Saltonstall shows that tims, they having been caught smoking the rich Puritan was at liberty to wear at the end of the Yarmouth Meeting just such a wide linen collar as used to House on the Lords Day. Whether be seen on wretched little boys, when things ever came to such a pass in the doing their Sunday penance in their Watertown Church we do not know; but best clothes; one of those fearful things in spite of the strict laws against it, the that came out over the shoulders and ran custom of taking tobacco made its up under the chin and ears in a fashion way into good society. John Bailey, the to make life a burden to the wearer. minister, charges himself in his diary The early settlers of the Plymouth with exceeding in tobacco. Colony were greatly addicted to smoking, When Captain John Underhill was and the practice finally became so com- explaining some obscure passages in hi~ mon that the weed was smoked in church personal history before the elders in during service. This pleasant way of Boston, he said that getting through with a bad quarter of an hour had its objectionable features, he had lain under a spirit of bondage and a le- for the clicking of flints and steels made gal way five years, and could get no assurance, till at length, as he was taking a pipe of tobacco, the it difficult to hear what the minister had spirit set home an absolute promise of free grace; 250 ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH. with such assurance & joy, as he never since in their assemblies. When the Pu- doubted his good estate, neither should he, though grims settled at Plymouth, they brought he should fall into sin. with them Ainsworths version of the Governor Winthrop appears to have Psalms. This was the only hymn-book had his doubts about Underhill, but the used in the colonies for many years. Up creature called tobacco stayed in Boston to 1690, it was the custom to have some after the redoubtable eight or ten psalm- captains enforced tunes, such as Oxford, departure, and in spite Litchfield, York, St. of sumptuary by-laws. Davids, and Martyrs, Puritan human na- written out in the ture was at bottom psalm - books, or in like other human na- the Bible, and these ture. and people soon tunes were used over found out how to and over. Many evade the laws against churches had not wearing good clothes, more than three or and how to enjoy four tunes that they their pipes sadly, as could use. The psalm if they were discharg- was commonly ing a religious duty. lined out by one At the time of which of the deacons, and we are treating, the people joined in, church music was en- singing in such fashion tirely congregational. as they were able. In their recoil from Most of the tunes what they regarded were common metre, as popish inventions, Dr. Convers Francis. and when they had a the Puritans made a long-metre hymn they clean sweep of the old rituals of worship. omitted one or more words so as to make No kind of instrument was tolerated the line fit the measure. Very naturally, Dr. Convers Franciss House. ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH 251 this style of singing failed to soothe the more sensitive ears, and the Bay Psalm Book was compiled by some of those who desired to mend matters. The ap- pearance of this book was the occasion of a great disturbance, and the move was quite generally regarded as a sinful in- novation. When John Cotton had an- About the time when John Bailey was minister in Watertown, things had come to such a pass that most churches could sing only four or five tunes, and these in a fashion hardly credible to the modern church-goer. The liberties taken in making versions of the psalms may be seen in the adapta- tion which Gould, in his History of Church Music, says was sung in the Watertown church, when the exiles from Boston resorted to the Meeting House on the Charles, dur- ing the British occu- pation of their city. It begins with a kind of recitative: swered the first objections that arose, there was a widespread discussion over such questions as these: Whether it was proper for one to sing, and all the rest join only in spirit and saying Amen, or for the whole congregation to sing? Whether women, as well as men, should sing, or men alone? Whether pagans (the unconverted) he permitted to sing with us, or church memhers alone? Also, whether it he lawful to sing psalms in metre devised hy man, and whether it he lawful to read the psalm to he sung, and whether proper to learn new tunes which were uninspired? The record does not show us what conclusions were reached by the Water- town people, but there is ample reason to believe that they held root-and-branch views on all the various points at issue. In the midst of the debates, the trou- bles over Roger Williams, and Ann Hutchinson, and the Quakers, and the Indians, and the witches came crowding in. It was a very inharmonious time, and psalm-singing became as discordant as the debates that raged everywhere. By the rivers of Watertown, we sat down and wept, when w~ rememher thee, 0 Boston! If I forget thee, 0 Boston, Then let my numhers cease to flow, Then he my muse unkind; Then let my tongue forget to move, And ever he confined. Let horrid jargon fill the air, And rive my nerves asunder; Let hateful discord grate my ear, As terrihle as thunder. A fair match for this is in these lines, from the Block-Island hymn-book: Ye mighty monsters of the deep, Your Makers praises spout; Ye little codlings on the heach, Waggle your tails ahout. Theodore Parkers Boarding Place. House in which Theodore Parker kept School. 252 ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH The New England minister of ye olden times was a man of mark in his own domain, and many of the local magnates were men who would have made their mark in any condition of life. As a rule, they represented the best scholar- ship of the English universities, and be- longed to the type of manhood that has made England great. Of such men Watertown had her full share. The first of them, George Phillips, has already been mentioned as one of the founders of the town. At the university he distin- guished himself as a scholar, and went out with a high reputation for ability. He was the trusted friend of Winthrop and Saltonstall, and in his office as the minister of (probably) the largest church in the Pay Colony he maintained his university reputation for scholarship. Cotton Mather speaks of him as the man whose clear-headed leadership marked out the way of the true Congrega- tionalism, and made the Watertown church the first example of that way.~~ With Richard Browne, his elder, and his church, at his back, he set the pattern of independence in thinking and acting that has characterized Watertown from his day to the present time. To him and to his dauntless elder, the men whose clear intelligence and resolute action led to the establishment of representative gov- ernment on the American continent, the American people owe a debt of gratitude. Massachusetts should honor herself by giving commissions to Water- towns distinguished sculptor-daughters, Miss Whitney and Miss Hosmer, to set up in some fitting place statues of these men whose lives made way for liberty. Another man of marked ability and in- fluence was John Sherman, whose minis- try lasted from 1647 to 1685. He was born to scholarship, if we can judge from his early behavior. Mather says that the only offence for which he was corrected in school was that he gave the /ieads ol sermons to his idle schoolmates when an account thereof was (lemanded of them, a sort of misdemeanor which few modern deacons could perpetrate. He was only twenty-one years old when he preached his first sermon in Watertown. It was on a Thanksgiving Day, and the service was held under a tree in the open air. The clergy who were in attendance wondered exceedingly to hear such words from a youth. All his life he re- mained a student. A skill in /ongues and ar/s, says Mather, adorned him. Old Coolidge Tavern where Washington once lodged. ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH 253 As a mathematician and an astronomer, he was xvithout a peer on this side of the ocean. For thirty years he gave fort- nightly lectures, and the students from Cambridge gladly thronged to hear him. As there were kings before Agamemnon, so there was an almanac-maker on our shores long before poor Richard. Mr. Shermans almanacs, though calculated for the meridian of Watertown, were packed with moral and religious sayings calculated to do good everywhere. In one respect, so far as the records show, he has remained without a peer in the American pulpit, he was the father of twenty-six children. His successor, John Bailey, was a preacher of wide reputation. In their journals, John Winthrop and Judge Sewall frequently speak of going to Watertown to hear him; and Bailey has left, in his reports of his own sermons, pen-pictures of his audience that show representatives of eight or ten different towns. He had been imprisoned in England for his re- fusal to conform, and was sent over seas because he refused to sell himself for a bishopric. His consuming zeal and his prison life sent him preniaturely to his grave. Henry Gibbs, who came after him, has two claims upon the gratitude and ad- miration of the present. He gave money to Harvard College, and he kept his head during the witchcraft craze. He went to Salem and watched the trials in May, 1692, and on his return he recorded his conclusions as follows: Wondered at what I saw, but how to judge and conclude I was at a loss; to affect my heart and induce me to more care and concernedness about myself and others is the use I should make of it. When we consider the very close rela- tions at that time existing between Water- town and Boston, we must agr~e that it is nothing less than remarkable that the contagion failed to spread hither. Prob- ably, we may find an explanation of this immunity in the fact that from the first the Watertown people had refused either to persecute or to be persecuted. In the period since the Revolution there have not been wanting names worthy to rank with those of the early days. Mr. Daniel Adams, one of the famous Quincy stock; Mr. Richard R. Eliot, a direct descendant of the famous Apostle; Dr. Convers Francis, a scholar of universal learning and sym- pathies; and John Weiss, a genius unalloyed by terrestrial considerations, a spirit-lamp always burning, were men who maintained to the full the ancient traditions of scholarship, and asserted and exercised the souls right to the last and the largest truth. It was something more than chance that brought Theodore Parker to XVater- town to teach school, and that gave him the freedom of Dr. Franciss library and the broad sunshine of his book-loving soul. And it was fit that, in the dark days that came, when the boy-school- master had become the best-hated heretic in America, he should find a v~icome in the pulpit from which George Phillips proclaimed the rights of man, and among the people who had never forgotten that they were free-born. Among such a people, if anywhere, the soul should dare to take its rights. Of the old Watertown stock was Sher- man, but lately the peerless leader of our armies, and Garfield, our second martyr- president. From George Phillips came Wendell Phillips and Phillips Brooks. From Watertown stock came Eli Whitney to make the cotton-gin and Annie Whitney to make the statue of Leif Ericson; and from the same source the Hoars, the Bigelows, the Curtises, the Warrens, the Stearnses, the Masons, and the Coolidges, derix~e the blood and the traditions that have kept and transmitted their ancient force. The old cemeteries keep on the time-worn slabs full many a name that is known and honored in all civilized lands. In the troubled times that saw the outbreak of the Revolution, Watertown was the scene of many interesting events. At the Boston Tea Party, the old town had three active representatives. At Lexington, a company of seventy men participated in the fray, to say nothing of boys like Nathaniel Bemis, who helped themselves to the first guns they could find, and went without the formality of being enrolled. Three days after the battle of Lexing 254 ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH ton, the Provincial Congress adjourned from Concord and reassembled in the Meeting House in XVatertown. Here, for more than a year and a half, both the Congress and the General Court con- tinued to hold their sessions. Here, in March, 1776, the customary service was held in commemoration of The Boston Massacre. From Watertown, where he was presiding over the Congress, General Warren went on the morning of the I7th of June, to die on Bunker Hill, where the Watertown men, under Captain Abner Craft, halted the British onset and covered the retreat of the retiring militia. In Watertown, on the river bank, near the Great Bridge, the fugitive Boston Gaze/fe established itself just before the battle of Bunker Hill, and for nearly a year and a half sent forth its defiance of the enemy entrenched in its aforetime home. Hither, on the 2d of July, 1776, came George Washington, on his way to take command of the continental forces about Boston, slept over night in the Coolidge tavern, and the next morning attended divine service in the Meeting House, where the meeting gave place to the Congress on whose behalf the Hon. James Warren, president, presented him with an address of welcome. Hither, in the following December, came Mrs. Washington, in high state in her own carriage and four, her colored postilions arrayed in gorgeous liveries, making Mount Auburn Street the scene Watertown Churches of To-day. ANNALS OF AN ANCIENT PARISH 255 of a right royal parade. At the Fowler House, Mrs. Warren received and enter- tained her for two hours, when she pro- ceeded to the Headquarters of the Army at Cambridge. Here Paul Revere made his home during the British occupation of Boston; and here, in a house still stand- ing, he engraved the plates for the first continental money. During the great struggle that followed, ending at last in the independence of the colonies, the Watertown men did their part manfully. In the May that preceded the great Declaration, the Watertown Town Meeting voted unanimously to maintain with their lives and their estates the independence of the thirteen colo- nies. By this act the people did but assert the legitimacy and purity of their lineage as descendants of those Water- town Men who, under George Phillips and Richard Browne, asserted their right and their resolve to direct their own affairs. The chief purpose of this article has been to set forth some facts of interest in the early history of one of the oldest towns in the colony of Massachusetts Bay; more especially, the little known services of old XVatertown to the cause of political and religious liberty. It would be most interesting to trace the influence of XVatertown in the colony of Connecticut (where a party of Watertown men made the first settlement in 1634,) and through Connecticut upon the American Union, the life principle of which may, according to Professor Johnston, be traced back to the primitive union of the three little settlements on the bank of the Connec- ticut River. But for this study there is no space here. There is barely room for a few words upon the Watertown of to-day. It is at present furnished with six churches. They are the First Parish, the Methodist, the Baptist, the Congrega- tional, the Roman Catholic and the Epis- copal, all of which are in a prosperous condition, and earnestly doing their parts in the work of the community. The public schools rank among the very best in the state. A large and valuable Public Library is finely housed in a substantial and beautiful building, and is largely used by the people. A fine reading-room oc- cupies one part of the building, and is furnished with the choicest magazines in the various lines required to serve the popular needs. Many branches of manufacturing settled themselves in Watertown in very early times, and these pioneers now find them- selves supplied with ample companionship of more recent growth. The population of the town has rapidly increased in the last few years; it has been bard to build houses fast enough to accommodate the people. Seekers for homes where health- fulness and beauty are combined, find what they need here on the banks of the Charles, in the beautiful suburb of Boston seated by the river, near the very spot, as some maintain, where Leif Ericson, in the year rooo, founded his far-famed city of Norumbega. RETROSPECT. By (liar/es Gordon Rogers. UST a plant or two Ive got, J Each within its little pot, Girded by the garden-plot; Some sweet perfumed things that grow Next each other in a row: More for heaven than for show; Vines that clamber, twine and run Up the fence to meet the sun, Ere its journey is begun; Morning glories, where the dew On their rims of purple hue Gleams like pearls of.Arippu; Pale forget-me-nots of blue Sweet, like violets, modest, too, Reticent of human view; Pansies yellow, white, and black, Not a color do they lack ; Like a rainbows earthly track; Garden daisies, round and small, Growing next the garden wall XVhere the coolest shadows fall; And a plant that in a year, If it live, will roses bear: Guard it, heaven, and make it fair! Last, a lilys queenly head, Like a benediction spread, Crowns the centre of the bed. That is all; but they will raise Memories of other days, Fraught with self-reproach not praise; Of a village, still and sweet, With its single grass-grown street, Type of perfect calm complete; Where the cottages were set In a bank of violet; And the antlered great elms met Of a face I used to see, Peeping through the vines at me: Laurels of her purity.

Charles Gordon Rogers Rogers, Charles Gordon Retrospect 256-257

RETROSPECT. By (liar/es Gordon Rogers. UST a plant or two Ive got, J Each within its little pot, Girded by the garden-plot; Some sweet perfumed things that grow Next each other in a row: More for heaven than for show; Vines that clamber, twine and run Up the fence to meet the sun, Ere its journey is begun; Morning glories, where the dew On their rims of purple hue Gleams like pearls of.Arippu; Pale forget-me-nots of blue Sweet, like violets, modest, too, Reticent of human view; Pansies yellow, white, and black, Not a color do they lack ; Like a rainbows earthly track; Garden daisies, round and small, Growing next the garden wall XVhere the coolest shadows fall; And a plant that in a year, If it live, will roses bear: Guard it, heaven, and make it fair! Last, a lilys queenly head, Like a benediction spread, Crowns the centre of the bed. That is all; but they will raise Memories of other days, Fraught with self-reproach not praise; Of a village, still and sweet, With its single grass-grown street, Type of perfect calm complete; Where the cottages were set In a bank of violet; And the antlered great elms met Of a face I used to see, Peeping through the vines at me: Laurels of her purity. A FAMILY TREE. 257 And these flowers bring at will Visions of a churchyard still, Neath the elms upon the hill; Of a stone grown old and gray In that churchyard far away; Teaching earth too must decay. And sad Conscience broods apart Oer a face that brings the smart Of a broken faith and heart! A FAMILY TREE. By Ma;y L. Adams. when she had tied on a shade hat, and encased her white hands in a pair of gloves, she went down into her garden. The outside of the house was as quaint as the inside, and retained its refinement and dignity regardless of the debasing influence of the apartment-houses tower- ing smartly on either side. Hollyhocks, descendants of those that had bloomed for years, leaned their graceful pink and crimson heads against the gray old house as their ancestors had done. A whole colony of vines climbed the high brick wall that separated them from the world. Around the base of the wall were broad beds overflowing with flowers that inter- mingled their sweets above the partitions of box. Mrs. Ludington moved about eagerly, snipping away dead leaves, and propping burdened plants with an absorbing care that was a relief to her suppressed na- ture. Her heart was full of love for all her favorites, but her thoughts and eyes often wandered from them to the outside wall; for it was beyond her heritage that her dearest possession stood. A beautiful horse-chestnut tree, straight, vigorous, and perfect, with a forest of leaves and fruit, was the object on which Mrs. Ludingtons lonely heart lavished its affection. Years ago it had been planted by her grandfathers own hand, in his front yard. When a city grew up, and the land was taken for a road and the HEN Mrs. Ludington unlocked her front door with the mas- sive key and entered her house, she step- ped backward fifty years, and into surroundings in perfect harmony with herself. She walked softly across the narrow hall into her parlor. The former impressiveness of this room, with its rich brocade curtains and choice ornaments, had been subdued by age. The once severe aspect of the mahogany sofa was softened by a comfortable hollow made in its lap by generations of children. The stern expression of the portraits on the wall gradually appeared more lenient as the years shadowed their countenances. The distinguished-looking old clock in the corner alone remained unchanged, tick- ing evenly on its xvay as irrevocably as time itself. Mrs. Ludington carefully removed her gray silk bonnet and thread-lace veil, and laid her delicate mittens inside the crown. Then she stood for a moment breathing the aroma of rose-leaves, sweet-lavender, and lemon-verbena, which to her was the essence of home. She glanced around in proud and loving greeting, and then she ascended the staircase which curved up- ward to the rooms above. She went into her chamber and exchanged her street costume for one of spotless print; and

Mary L. Adams Adams, Mary L. A Family Tree. A Story 257-265

A FAMILY TREE. 257 And these flowers bring at will Visions of a churchyard still, Neath the elms upon the hill; Of a stone grown old and gray In that churchyard far away; Teaching earth too must decay. And sad Conscience broods apart Oer a face that brings the smart Of a broken faith and heart! A FAMILY TREE. By Ma;y L. Adams. when she had tied on a shade hat, and encased her white hands in a pair of gloves, she went down into her garden. The outside of the house was as quaint as the inside, and retained its refinement and dignity regardless of the debasing influence of the apartment-houses tower- ing smartly on either side. Hollyhocks, descendants of those that had bloomed for years, leaned their graceful pink and crimson heads against the gray old house as their ancestors had done. A whole colony of vines climbed the high brick wall that separated them from the world. Around the base of the wall were broad beds overflowing with flowers that inter- mingled their sweets above the partitions of box. Mrs. Ludington moved about eagerly, snipping away dead leaves, and propping burdened plants with an absorbing care that was a relief to her suppressed na- ture. Her heart was full of love for all her favorites, but her thoughts and eyes often wandered from them to the outside wall; for it was beyond her heritage that her dearest possession stood. A beautiful horse-chestnut tree, straight, vigorous, and perfect, with a forest of leaves and fruit, was the object on which Mrs. Ludingtons lonely heart lavished its affection. Years ago it had been planted by her grandfathers own hand, in his front yard. When a city grew up, and the land was taken for a road and the HEN Mrs. Ludington unlocked her front door with the mas- sive key and entered her house, she step- ped backward fifty years, and into surroundings in perfect harmony with herself. She walked softly across the narrow hall into her parlor. The former impressiveness of this room, with its rich brocade curtains and choice ornaments, had been subdued by age. The once severe aspect of the mahogany sofa was softened by a comfortable hollow made in its lap by generations of children. The stern expression of the portraits on the wall gradually appeared more lenient as the years shadowed their countenances. The distinguished-looking old clock in the corner alone remained unchanged, tick- ing evenly on its xvay as irrevocably as time itself. Mrs. Ludington carefully removed her gray silk bonnet and thread-lace veil, and laid her delicate mittens inside the crown. Then she stood for a moment breathing the aroma of rose-leaves, sweet-lavender, and lemon-verbena, which to her was the essence of home. She glanced around in proud and loving greeting, and then she ascended the staircase which curved up- ward to the rooms above. She went into her chamber and exchanged her street costume for one of spotless print; and 258 A FAMILY TREE. family tree was left outside the gate, Mrs. LudingtOfl was for a time inconsolable. When she recovered from her indigna- tion, she was more than ever attached to the tree, and did her best to make it feel that it was still her own. The tree seemed to appreciate this de- votion; for year after year, as the once stately mansion grew old and gray, it stretched out its rugged branches and shielded it from wind and rain, and also from the derisive glances of the vulgar occupants of the surrounding houses. The dwellers in the flats looked down at Mrs. Ludington from their superior heights, and talked about her. They de- plored the fact that any one of apparently sound mind should scrape along in com- parative poverty, trying to keep up such an expensive place in the heart of the city; when, if she had raised her head above her flowers, she might have seen what could be done with the valuable land in her possession. To prefer her shackly old house, with its faded fur- nishings and uneven floors, a curiosity shop, without an electric bell, a bit of stained glass, or a pound of steam except what cams from the tea-kettle, without even a gas-jet, when she might have had all if she were inclined, was nothing short of insanity; at least, she might have sold a lot from her garden and spent the profit in rebuilding her house. These solicitous neighbors patched an addition on to one side of Mrs. Ludingtons dwell- ing, raised the roof, and inserted numerous stained-glass windows; they could almost hear the whirr of the electric bell and the hiss of steam, when they decided that it would be better to clear away the whole heap of rubbish, that was such a blot on the neat, new street, and begin anew. Why, said they, leaning out of their plate-glass windows to look down at the worn shingles of Mrs. Ludingtons roof; where the shadows of horse-chestnut leaves danced in the sunlight, why, she could build a six-flat apartment-house, as high and beautiful as any of these, with all modern conveniences! She could live on one floor and rent the others, and live in luxury to the end of her days! Mrs. Ludington went placidly on with her gardening, ignorant of the resent- ment and schemes of her neighbors, whose wise remarks passed over her head and were carried to the dwellers in the flats on the other side. She continued loving and cherishing her home and her tree, innocent of the plots that were harbored to wipe out the remnant of happiness left in her. As she stood at her pleasant work in the garden one morning, her old servant came out to her. Theres a man in the parlor wants to see you, maam, said she. Mrs. Ludington put out her hand. His card? Oh, he aint one of them kind. I was mistaking him for an agent, when I see he had nothing to sell. Mrs. Ludington went back to the house. She found a man in the parlor, with his hands in his pockets, breathing a tune to the accompaniment of jingling keys and silver as he looked curiously about; a cable watch-chain with a huge seal was well displayed on his ample waistcoat. He turned and surveyed Mrs. Ludington as she entered, his curiosity slightly mixed with awe. Good-day, madam, said he. I called ona little matter of business. Mrs. Ludington moved across the room. Will you not sit down? she asked courteously. He placed his stout person on the most fragile and precious chair in the room. Mrs. Ludington controlled her features, while he arranged himself com- fortably by tilting backwards before he began to speak. Ive been thinking, said he, that er well, you see, the people about here have all been talking about it; they think its a shame that an old lady like you should be living here like this, for the lack of a little well-meant advice. Scrapin along, I mean, from hand to mouth, when you might be living in lux- ury and the whole neighborhood the better for it. Mrs. Ludington looked coldly at him. I think I dont understand what you mean, she said. Why, responded the fellow glibly, just wipe out this whole business, house, garden, everything! He gave A FAAfJLY TREE. 259 Ij~I fiT~Tii C his arms a comprehensive swing as he said it. Clear this land off as clean as a whistle, and begin again. See? Mrs. Ludington did not see; but she was too astonished to say so. Her face grew pale with apprehension, but her visitor did not notice it. His round eyes were fixed on the top of the next apart- ment-house for inspiration. But he turned and leaned forward confidentially on his elbow. You see, he said, to speak the truth, this old house of yours is a blot on the street. It spoils the symmetry. Its way off the whole place is. It was all right when Newtown was country, but now when buildings a science, it aint in it He paused and glanced toward Mrs. Ludington for acquiescence; but her eyes were fixed on him uncomprehend- ingly he was speaking a foreign tongue. What Im driving at is this, he went on. Im willing to buy the place of you for a good round sum, cash down. Then Ill pull down the house, tear up the garden. and cut down that old chest- nut tree. Thats the worst thing about the place. Taint so bad to look at, but its a dirty thing, and full of those fight- ing sparrows. XVhen its once down and the roots dug up, we can have a decent sidewalk. When its all cleared and graded, he went on, with the look of one seeing visions, Ill put up the most stunning apartment house on the street. You can take the money and buy a brand-new Queen-Anne house, or live in one of the flats. Gad! You dont know what living is. All on one floor no up Mrs Ludngton went placidly on with her gardening. 260 A FAMILY TREE. and down. Everything goes, I tell you! Telephone, electric bells, steam heat, elevator, plate-glass windows! Then youd see what looking out was like. Youd see all the passing. You could do your own work. You ought to hear my wife talk. Nothing could hire her to go to living the other way. I tell you what to do you go over and see her, and shell tell you about it, and show you round. I tell you, youve no idea of it, living in this cot. You could sell off all your old stuff; too, and get new furniture. He paused at last for some response; but she made none. Her pale lips were tightly shut. She rose to her feet as he went on. Think, too, Mis Ludington, what a public benefactor youd be; while now well, you see for yourself that this place is well, its a nuisance. Ill take it all off your hands at a legitimate price, and cash down, remember. What do you say? Ill do my duty by you. What do you say? He stood up and shook his trousers into place. Mrs. Ludingtons white face stood out against her old brocade curtain like a has-relief. She opened and shut her lips once or twice; then her cheeks reddened. XVill I sell my home? Will I sell my life? My own flesh and blood? every every hallowed association? my house and tree? will I barter these for money, that an apartment-house may be built on the ashes? Sir, you insult me, in asking this, as I was never insulted before She pulled the bell-cord for old Maria to usher him out of the door, and vanished. Well, Ill be hanged, he muttered, looking back in some bewilderment as he turned down the street. I will be hanged! Buy her old associations! Buy her flesh and blood! I dont want em! Her flesh and blood! Gad, I guess shes right about the house being her flesh and blood shes as hard as nails. He swayed heavily forward and nearly fell down. He had stubbed his shiny boot against a root of the horse-chestnut tree. He looked up angrily. Ill have that tree down yet, he said aloud. Taint the first time its tripped me up but itll be the last. He adjusted his glossy beaver, and went on. Mrs. Ludington, from her chamber window, watched his departure with relief. She was shaken with excite- ment, and spasms of terror kept returning to her. When she felt calmer, she made a tour of inspection over the whole house. She examined her chambers, with their beautiful mahogany beds and dressing- tables. A horrible picture of a set bowl arose before her as she came to an ex- quisite toilet-set that had belonged to her mother. When she had been through all the rooms she felt better. He could never have proposed such a thing if he had known how beautiful this old house is. I suppose he is too ignorant to understand. Poor man! I dont suppose he knows what an associa- tion is. One cannot have associations in apartment-houses, I couldnt myself. She pulled the curtains to hide from her sight the upper stories of the next house, and sat down in a great courting chair, long since bereft of its lovers, to think. The old clock ticked on in un- disturbed serenity. A few days later she was sitting by the window sewing, drawing her fine needle daintily in and out, making tiny stitches. As she paused to turn a hem, she glanced out, as she often did, to look at her tree. She dropped her cambric now with a startled exclamation, and arose to see better what was going on outside the wall. Three or four burly Irishmen, with cords and pruning scissors and sharp saws, were standing in the shade of the tree looking up into its leafy depths and talking about it. Mrs. Ludin~ton could not hear what they said, but the sight of those saws made her knees tremble. She stepped over her sewing where it had fallen, and almost ran out into the street. The men turned as she came to them, and stared in good-natured wonder at the frail figure and the terror-stricken face. What are you going to do? she cried. Not trim it! They took off some limbs a few years ago, and it only injured it. Surely, it doesnt need any more trimming! She looked from one to another, her brown eyes searching their faces. A FAMILY TREE. 261 Shure, its trimmin it to the ground were after, said one with a rough laugh. Mrs. Ludington reached out her hands for support. She clung to the brass gate- knocker, and stared at them in a daze. Then, trying to lift her voice above the ringing in her ears, she said faintly, What what did you say? Were after takin the tree away. Youre going to cut she 7 / You can wait a little, surely. Dont touch a branch till I come. Ill run all the way. I wish to ask him to beg him to spare my dear tree. Come, come into my garden, she added fever- ishly. Do you like flowers? Pick all you want, and carry them home to your children and your wives. Theyre beauti- ful flowers. Sit down and rest while I go. My servant shall make you some l.~. He arranged himself comfortably by tilting backwards before he began. shivered and shrank at the word, fo cu/down my free? The men were startled as they looked at her face and heard her speak. Thims the orders, mum, explained one of the four. We has to do as were told. The trees a nuisance. Folks keeps complainin of stumblin over it. Mrs. Ludington straightened herself up. Who told you to? she cried. The boss, mum. Whos the boss? The city-forester. And tell me, tell me, who is the city-forester? Mr. Ingram, mum, 2 State Street. I will go to him! I will go at once. And you, you wait till I get back. lemonade or ginger water. Do you like ginger water and cookies? My boys used to like them, theyre dead now. And now my tree! Oh ! come in quickly and I will go. The men looked at one another in stolid amazement. Then they followed her through the gate and tramped heavily where her light feet led the way to the back door. Maria looked up horrified, but she was appeased by Mrs. Luding- tons words. Maria, will you give these men some refreshment? Theyve theyve been very forbearing and its a warm day. Ginger water or lemonade, and some some and Maria, bring some chairs for them and pick them some flowers. Let I 262 A FAMILY ThVJE. them have what they like. She looked at Marias cross-grained face appealingly. Be gentle to them, Maria, she con- cluded. Then she went away, leaving the men grinning. Be gintle wid us, Maria, said the head man, winking his eye at the thin, old woman. Mrs. Ludington went swiftly to her room. She was shocked to see her own white face, and she hid it in her big gray bonnet and veil. She snatched up her mittens and hurried away, covering her hands as she went, a breach of etiquette she was seldom guilty of. She half ran all the way to State Street, and at No. 2 she entered, with a knock. The city- forester was at his desk. The the city-forester? she fal- tered. Mr. Ingram? He looked up and nodded; and noticing the evident breeding of Mrs. Ludington, he rose and bowed. She threw back her veil. I I am very much agitated. Pray pardon me, she stammered. He offered her a chair, and she sank into it; but in a moment she was stand- ing again. I came to to she stopped and laughed sobbingly. It xvill seem strange what I have come for; but when I have told you all, perhaps you will un- derstand. I am Mrs. Ludington of King Street. This morning, four of your men came to my house to take away what is most precious to me. They came they came to cut down my family tree! Two tears rolled down Mrs. Ludingtons wan face and dropped unheeded on her bonnet strings. The city-forester stared. Family tree? Well, thats the first time I ever heard of that genealogical article growing right before ones house, he murmured. Dont joke! oh, dont joke! If you only knew, if youll let me tell. Ill only take a minute and its every- thing to me. When my grandfather was a young man and this city was a country town, he planted that tree with his own hand. It was on his betrothal day; and his bride watered it and watched it grow. It got big and beautiful, and all their children loved it, and gathered the nuts. My fathers children did, too. All of us grew up in it. Oh, its the most beauti- ful tree to play in! We swung on the branches, and played house in them. We made believe we were birds, and built nests there with the real birds. Then our family separated. My beauti- ful young sister died, and my father and mother both. Then I was married ; and my young husband and I loved that tree. Our children lived in it, and when they died or went away one after another and my husband was taken I felt as if the tree were the one living thing left that bound me to them; it had held us all in its arms. Mrs. Ludington paused. Presently she looked up, with wet eyes. I never told this before but I had to now. It seems as if it would kill me to have my tree taken. It may be silly, but its too late to change. When I began to recover from my sorrow, I used to sit out in the shade of the tree. It rested me some- how and gave me faith and hope. I could hear their voices in the leaves, and ever since it has helped me. Oh, sir, you whose business it is to study nature cant you understand what a tree can be? It shields me from the wind and rain, and it hides me from the eyes of the world. Did you ever see it, sir? Its such a beautiful tree ! From my upper windows its like a wood. I can see leaves and branches and nothing beyond. I look into them, and dream, and feel as if I were away with my dear ones in a great forest. The wind in the leaves sings me to sleep. I often get up at night to look out at the tree in the moonlight. The leaves are beautiful in the rain. It seems as if I saw miles and miles of dripping green. I I call it, sir, my sylvan view. When the sun comes out and shines on the glittering drops after the rain, nothing could be more beautiful. When its hot in the summer I open the windows and lean out into the boughs and breathe the sweet air. Surely, you know, sir, the delicious odor the leaves of a tree exhale. Indeed, I never feel the need of a change of air in summer. Theres the sound of the sea in the whispering leaves. I am away from the heat, and the dusty town, I do not feel it. In the spring the birds A FAMILY TREE. build and sing there. They wake me every morning at four oclock It is very beautiful! And when the horse- chestnuts are ripe, and the boys come to gather them, its like my childhood and the childhood of my boys over again. She became silent, almost starting to hear her own voice, and to realize how she was running on. The forester, amazed in the first place at so unusual a toffent of feeling, looked in her face as she finished with a really moved expression. Suddenly she started up again, with a look almost of terror. But to have it taken from me, can you understand what that would be? To be exposed to the whole world, to have it taken away, because one or two heedless people stumble over its roots Surely surely it need not be done. Is there no law to prevent it? Cant the people use the other side of the street? I thought my heart would break when it was left outside our tate, but my husband consoled me. Now I have no one, and it seems as if I could not bear it. I sup- pose I can; but I would rather not I would rather not. She bowed her head in dumb sorrow and turned from the foresters kind eyes. Madam, said he, when people complain as they do about your tree, we have to satisfy them. Perhaps we can in some other way. I will do my best. In the mean while, it shall not be touched, rest assured it shall not be touched; and if anything comes up again, Ill let you know, and we can talk it over! May I go home and tell your men to go away without taking off a leaf? Her face was fluThed with delight. Yes, if theyre still there Oh, they are! I told them to wait. My servant is giving them lemonade and flowers and cookies. I thought theyd like them. The forester smiled. I must go at once to tell them. I can never, never thank you enough, sir, for what you have done! When she reached home the men were lounging about the yard, glad of a respite from the heat of the day. Mrs. Ludington called to them the moment she was inside the yard. Oh, its all right ! Its all right He says you arent to touch it not a leaf. And Im so much obliged I cant tell you how much, for being so kind. I hope youve had some drink and the flowers. Why, you havent one! She hurried about the garden, and then thrust a bunch of her rarest blossoms into the grimy hand of each grinning Irishman. And wouldnt you like to come into the house and see how nice the tree makes even the inside? she asked. The men tramped after her, past the dis- dainful Maria, into the parlor where they looked about, ill at ease. She pointed out the advantages of the tree and showed them some of her treasures, while the shadows of the leaves danced tremulously on the polished floor. She was excitedly happy when she ushered them out of the front door and returned to her room alone. She scarcely felt any fatigue, but she showed it presently by fainting away. The next day she was still nervous, and kept jumping up to run and look at the tree. Once she heard the rasp of a saw, and the sound chilled her through. She flew down the stairs and out into the street. The butcher stood by his cart cutting the meat for her. Oh, please, please dont saw that bone. Give me something that hasnt a bone, she cried. It makes me shiver. I thought some one was cutting my tree. She returned to the house, and the butcher had to get his explanation from Maria. For a week Mrs. Ludington suffered from the shock she had expe- rienced. When she felt safe about her tree once more, she decided to go out of town for a few days. I will go to visit my niece, she said to Maria. She has been urging me to come and now I will. You can stay with your sister, and Ill get old John to look after the house and water the flow- ers. I feel all keyed up, and a week at the seashore will do me good. In a day or two her preparations were made, and she went away in a cab, her old-fashioned bonnet looking antique enough, as she leaned out of the window to say the last word to Maria. Her sweet face was like another flower as she bent over her bouquet. 264 A FAMILY TREE. Tell John to be very careful men are so careless! He must take great pains with the tree and water the gar- den, remember, after the sun gets away. Two days before her week was out, the women in the tall apartment-house might have seen her walking up the street to- ward home. Her face was excited and happy as she came nearer the house. I just couldnt stand it any longer. I wouldnt have believed I was so at- tached to the old place, she thought. I hope niece Anna understood. I felt I must get back, and before Maria too. Ill enjoy it all to myself. What a blessed thing getting home is ! If its selfish feeling so, I cant help it. Ill make a cup of tea, and have a good long evening. She turned a corner sharply. In another instant she would be in sight of the dear house and the family tree. That moment the color left her cheeks. But her pace did not lessen. She hur- ried on till she reached the gate. The family tree was gone I A numb feeling came over her. The poor old house, with its battered, shape- less roof and paintless sides, cowered pitifully in the sunlight, unshielded from the indifferent gaze of the neighbors. Its dignity was gone, and it shrank be- hind the wall, vainly trying to hide. Mrs. Ludington stretched out her arms toward it in an agony of sympathy. Then she drew herself up proudly and entered her home. They shall not see! they sThall not know what they have made me suffer! She locked the door behind her, and stumbled to her parlor. She steadied herself by a chair. Everything in the room stood out shabbily. The last rem- nant of elegance and grandeur had de- parted. As she turned back to the hall to go upstairs she saw a note that had been slipped under the outer door. It was from the city forester. She glanced at the signature and crushed the paper in her cold hand. When she felt the faintness coming on again she drank a swallow of the Madeira wine. I will not give in, she said between her teeth. They shall not triumph over me! But I cannot stay here now, not now not yet, she moaned. My tree, oh, my tree my beautiful tree ! I will go back to Anna; and when I come again,~ perhaps I can stand it. I will get away before Maria comes. I cannot see any one now. There needed few preparations for the return journey. At the last she pulled down all the window shades. They shall not see the bereavement of my poor, old house. When I return,. all will be as before except except the last of my family has gone. She wept uncontrollably for a few mo- ments. Then she veiled her face, shoul- dered the new burden, and went away. But at the corner of the street she turned and retraced her steps. Once more she entered the house and locked the door. This time she removed her bonnet and shawl. I cannot leave my home to bear other peoples scorn, that was what she thought. I must stand by. I must bear this sorrow at its very grave. It. would be weak to go. They would laugh. Oh, she cried, I can hear them When they know I stand firm, they may feel sorry. Nothing, not a leaf left and my robins homeless. Oh, how cruel people are who think they know better than you do what you need. I must stay. Perhaps the birds will need my care. I shall never go away again. So she took up her life again. She spent many hours training vines and flowers to grow over the windows. In time, shadows of leaves once more danced upon the floor. The apartment-house is still unbuilt. IN A SUMMER GONE BY. By Minna Irving. THERES a rusty old sword hanging up by the door, That a youth of the patriot army once wore; And a broken old spinning-wheel under it stands, That once whirled neath a patriot maidens fair hands. The sword has grown dull with the wear of the years, And a cobweb alone on the spindle appears; But the blade it was blue and the wheel it was spry, When Washington fought in a summer gone by. Sweet Betty sat turning the wheel in the sun, In a sad- colored gown, as demure as a nun, When Hiram came in at the white wicket-gate By the lavender-bed, to discover his fate. She looked at the sky and she blushed rosy red, And she stooped for a sprig from the lavender-bed; For she knew very well by the light in his eye, Young Hiram came wooing that summer gone by. He spoke of the cot in the woodlands embrace, Wfth windows that waited to frame her sweet face In a temple of roses, and where to the end Their lives and their pleasures would peacefully blend. But swiftly she turned with her cheeks in a flame: Why speak ye of peace or of pleasure, for shame! While others go forth for our country to die! Said the patriot maid in that summer gone by. There is bloodshed and famine abroad in the land; Go get you a sword and a troop to command. Tis a year since the Congress proclaimed we were free; Go fight for the rose-girdled cottage and me I He went, with a sob swelling up in his throat, And the lavender-sprig she had dropped in his coat And she watched him from sight with a smile and a sigh, Mid the roses and pinks of the summer gone by. No message, no letter, and deep lay the snow. It will come though, she said, when the crocuses blow. No letter, no message, and sunshine and rains Had summoned the roses to hedges and lanes. She sat at her wheel with the tears dropping down, And a lavender-sprig in the breast of her gown, When they told her how bravely a soldier could die, And brought her his sword, in a summer gone by. And laid her pale lips in a kiss to the blade: I gave thee my dearest, my country! she said, And I die for his sake! and she suddenly pressed The bloodthirsty blade to her beautiful breast. Green lieth her grave 011 the hillside afar; Above it each night hangs a luminous star; And the lavender grew in the garden-bed nigh, As it grew in the dew of a summer gone by.

Minna Irving Irving, Minna In a Summer Gone By 265-266

IN A SUMMER GONE BY. By Minna Irving. THERES a rusty old sword hanging up by the door, That a youth of the patriot army once wore; And a broken old spinning-wheel under it stands, That once whirled neath a patriot maidens fair hands. The sword has grown dull with the wear of the years, And a cobweb alone on the spindle appears; But the blade it was blue and the wheel it was spry, When Washington fought in a summer gone by. Sweet Betty sat turning the wheel in the sun, In a sad- colored gown, as demure as a nun, When Hiram came in at the white wicket-gate By the lavender-bed, to discover his fate. She looked at the sky and she blushed rosy red, And she stooped for a sprig from the lavender-bed; For she knew very well by the light in his eye, Young Hiram came wooing that summer gone by. He spoke of the cot in the woodlands embrace, Wfth windows that waited to frame her sweet face In a temple of roses, and where to the end Their lives and their pleasures would peacefully blend. But swiftly she turned with her cheeks in a flame: Why speak ye of peace or of pleasure, for shame! While others go forth for our country to die! Said the patriot maid in that summer gone by. There is bloodshed and famine abroad in the land; Go get you a sword and a troop to command. Tis a year since the Congress proclaimed we were free; Go fight for the rose-girdled cottage and me I He went, with a sob swelling up in his throat, And the lavender-sprig she had dropped in his coat And she watched him from sight with a smile and a sigh, Mid the roses and pinks of the summer gone by. No message, no letter, and deep lay the snow. It will come though, she said, when the crocuses blow. No letter, no message, and sunshine and rains Had summoned the roses to hedges and lanes. She sat at her wheel with the tears dropping down, And a lavender-sprig in the breast of her gown, When they told her how bravely a soldier could die, And brought her his sword, in a summer gone by. And laid her pale lips in a kiss to the blade: I gave thee my dearest, my country! she said, And I die for his sake! and she suddenly pressed The bloodthirsty blade to her beautiful breast. Green lieth her grave 011 the hillside afar; Above it each night hangs a luminous star; And the lavender grew in the garden-bed nigh, As it grew in the dew of a summer gone by. EDITORS TABLE. A ~3ooTz was published in London twenty years ago which, although recognized at once as a work of unusual interest and power, making its way quickly even to a place in the famous Tauch- nitz Collection, did not attract half the atten- tion, either in England or America, which it would seem to one taking it up and reading it in this year, 1892, it should have attracted. This book was called The True History of Joshua Davidson. It was published anonymously, hut it was soon known that its author was Mrs. Lynn Lin- ton. It was widely read, it was talked about not a little, it drew out many kindly and many harsh re- views, it passed within a year to a second edition and a third, and doubtless many editions have been called for since. And yet the book is unknown to the great masses of our people, almost un- known, we have found, to most of our thoughtful and reading people. The reason is that it was published twenty years too soon. The author was twenty years ahead of her time and of the reading public. To-day nothing commands so large a reading as that which in some human, fresh, or unusual way brings before the minds of people the man Jesus Christ. In how many book- cases in the prim parlors of country houses, or beside the wax flowers on the table, may still be found The Prince of the House of David, that staid and proper forerunner of a great class of books touching the life of Christ in a different dialect from that of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. How great has been the popularity of Farrars rhetorical Life of Christ, with its graphic pictures of the time and people and places ~vith which Christ had to do. What Farrars book has been among biographies, General Wallaces Ben Hur has been among novels. The phenome- nal success of this book is the most conspicuous illustration of the interest of which we speak. All sorts and conditions of men have itched or hungered for some closer, bolder, less conventional revelation of the man Jesus Christ, and have gladly yielded themselves to the romancer or the antiquarian while he did what he could. Some have patiently gone through the pages of Mrs. Wards Come Forth, with morbid interest, to find Christ there helping lovers out of bard scrapes by convenient miracles. Now The History of Joshua Davidson is a book as vastly more significant and important than Ben Hur as that is more important than Come Forth or than the last Sunday School lesson book. The books of which we have spoken, whatever the merits of any of them, are all burdened by what Emerson called, in speak- ing of Swedenborg the scurf of Hebrew an- tiquity. They are all concerned chiefly and most anxiously with externals, with accessories and antiquarianism, with studious and curious de- tail, and not with the demonstration of the spirit and of power. Jesus Christ as a historical figure is introduced, in more or less unreality; but of the real Christ spirit, which conquers the world, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever, inde pei~dent of all peculiarities and accidents of Thebes, Jerusalem, or Boston, there is almost no suspicion. There is no courage in such books, no call, no impulse, nothing heroic or prophetic, nothing to make New York and London Christ- like, which is the real Christly function. Reli- giously speaking, they are only superficially true. The Citizen Christ of the recent English essay is not in them much less the Christ the Spirit of the neglected American book. The History of Joshua Davidson is the exact antithesis of all these books. It asks noth- ing whatever about the historical, nothing about how Jdsus Christ looked and talked and acted beside the Lake of Galilee or in the city of Jeru- salem, nineteen hundred years ago. It asks how a man like Jesus Christ would look and talk and act if he were born into this nineteenth century and the social conditions of the life which we know and of which we are ourselves a part. The name Joshua Davidson is, as the reader will at once observe, simply the modern equiva- lent of Jesus, son of I)avid ; and the story simply traces the life of this son of a village car- penter from its beginnings in a little hamlet in Cornwall, through its strivings and sufferings by and by in the great world of London, to its trag- ical end in a popular tumult, when the young reformers sympathy and efforts for the poor andI downtrodden, and his (lenunciation of the scribes and Pharisees and lawyers of I870, with whom he had to deal, provoked antagonism and stirred up bad blood. Mrs. Lintons experiment was a bold one. There was danger of irreverence, and there was danger of bloodlessness and unreality, danger especially of a (lomineering programism keeping the writer self-conscious and cross-eyed everywhere and making her book a tiresome allegory. These dangers were avoided with rare discrimination. They were avoided because the writer was con- trolled by a purpose so strong and single and simple. An allegory her book is, an allegory looking backxvard, one of the most ingenious and consistent allegories in the world. But it is not a tiresome and obtrusive allegory. The parallel- isms and ulterior motives are kept so well below the surface, the whole story is so natural and modern and self-sufficient, that a hundred readers have never suspected anything paraholical in it, or that the name or the man, Joshua Davidson, had any secondary or ulterior significance. It is only when ~ve think of the spirit of that old life of the gospel and this new life of the story that we say: Here, in the Cornish village and in London, are Nazareth and Jerusalem; here is Christ with the doctors in the temple; here are the humble disciples it is Joshuas friend John who tells the story, here is Mary Magdalene, here are the puhlicaI~s and sinners, here are the scribes and Pharisees, here is Caiaphus, here is Calvary, here is a gospel getting born out of it all. The gospel is precisely that, we believe, which Jesus the son of David would speak to London

Edwin D. Mead Mead, Edwin D. Editor's Table Editor's Table 266-271

EDITORS TABLE. A ~3ooTz was published in London twenty years ago which, although recognized at once as a work of unusual interest and power, making its way quickly even to a place in the famous Tauch- nitz Collection, did not attract half the atten- tion, either in England or America, which it would seem to one taking it up and reading it in this year, 1892, it should have attracted. This book was called The True History of Joshua Davidson. It was published anonymously, hut it was soon known that its author was Mrs. Lynn Lin- ton. It was widely read, it was talked about not a little, it drew out many kindly and many harsh re- views, it passed within a year to a second edition and a third, and doubtless many editions have been called for since. And yet the book is unknown to the great masses of our people, almost un- known, we have found, to most of our thoughtful and reading people. The reason is that it was published twenty years too soon. The author was twenty years ahead of her time and of the reading public. To-day nothing commands so large a reading as that which in some human, fresh, or unusual way brings before the minds of people the man Jesus Christ. In how many book- cases in the prim parlors of country houses, or beside the wax flowers on the table, may still be found The Prince of the House of David, that staid and proper forerunner of a great class of books touching the life of Christ in a different dialect from that of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. How great has been the popularity of Farrars rhetorical Life of Christ, with its graphic pictures of the time and people and places ~vith which Christ had to do. What Farrars book has been among biographies, General Wallaces Ben Hur has been among novels. The phenome- nal success of this book is the most conspicuous illustration of the interest of which we speak. All sorts and conditions of men have itched or hungered for some closer, bolder, less conventional revelation of the man Jesus Christ, and have gladly yielded themselves to the romancer or the antiquarian while he did what he could. Some have patiently gone through the pages of Mrs. Wards Come Forth, with morbid interest, to find Christ there helping lovers out of bard scrapes by convenient miracles. Now The History of Joshua Davidson is a book as vastly more significant and important than Ben Hur as that is more important than Come Forth or than the last Sunday School lesson book. The books of which we have spoken, whatever the merits of any of them, are all burdened by what Emerson called, in speak- ing of Swedenborg the scurf of Hebrew an- tiquity. They are all concerned chiefly and most anxiously with externals, with accessories and antiquarianism, with studious and curious de- tail, and not with the demonstration of the spirit and of power. Jesus Christ as a historical figure is introduced, in more or less unreality; but of the real Christ spirit, which conquers the world, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever, inde pei~dent of all peculiarities and accidents of Thebes, Jerusalem, or Boston, there is almost no suspicion. There is no courage in such books, no call, no impulse, nothing heroic or prophetic, nothing to make New York and London Christ- like, which is the real Christly function. Reli- giously speaking, they are only superficially true. The Citizen Christ of the recent English essay is not in them much less the Christ the Spirit of the neglected American book. The History of Joshua Davidson is the exact antithesis of all these books. It asks noth- ing whatever about the historical, nothing about how Jdsus Christ looked and talked and acted beside the Lake of Galilee or in the city of Jeru- salem, nineteen hundred years ago. It asks how a man like Jesus Christ would look and talk and act if he were born into this nineteenth century and the social conditions of the life which we know and of which we are ourselves a part. The name Joshua Davidson is, as the reader will at once observe, simply the modern equiva- lent of Jesus, son of I)avid ; and the story simply traces the life of this son of a village car- penter from its beginnings in a little hamlet in Cornwall, through its strivings and sufferings by and by in the great world of London, to its trag- ical end in a popular tumult, when the young reformers sympathy and efforts for the poor andI downtrodden, and his (lenunciation of the scribes and Pharisees and lawyers of I870, with whom he had to deal, provoked antagonism and stirred up bad blood. Mrs. Lintons experiment was a bold one. There was danger of irreverence, and there was danger of bloodlessness and unreality, danger especially of a (lomineering programism keeping the writer self-conscious and cross-eyed everywhere and making her book a tiresome allegory. These dangers were avoided with rare discrimination. They were avoided because the writer was con- trolled by a purpose so strong and single and simple. An allegory her book is, an allegory looking backxvard, one of the most ingenious and consistent allegories in the world. But it is not a tiresome and obtrusive allegory. The parallel- isms and ulterior motives are kept so well below the surface, the whole story is so natural and modern and self-sufficient, that a hundred readers have never suspected anything paraholical in it, or that the name or the man, Joshua Davidson, had any secondary or ulterior significance. It is only when ~ve think of the spirit of that old life of the gospel and this new life of the story that we say: Here, in the Cornish village and in London, are Nazareth and Jerusalem; here is Christ with the doctors in the temple; here are the humble disciples it is Joshuas friend John who tells the story, here is Mary Magdalene, here are the puhlicaI~s and sinners, here are the scribes and Pharisees, here is Caiaphus, here is Calvary, here is a gospel getting born out of it all. The gospel is precisely that, we believe, which Jesus the son of David would speak to London EDITORS TABLE. and to Boston, (lid he come to them to-day, in- stea(l of to Capernaum and Jerusalem nineteen hundred years ago. lie would surely find him- self in the same conflict with the pietisms and polities and indulgence and inhumanity of this time in which he found himself with those of that. It may be doubted whether any bishop on earth would ordain him to preach the gospel; whether, even, he would be taken into any ortho- (lox church, as a member in good and regular standing. He would not dream of any genetic connection between what he might see and hear in a hundred Christian churches of a Sunday morning, and those talks of his to the multitudes or to the two or three on the Mount or by the river. He could not dream how it had come about that Christians understood him to mean by the Sabbath being made for man and not man for the Sabbath, that their great collections of books and pictures should be locked up from the poor on Sundays, that the great industrial exhibi- tion at Chicago in this coming year of grace should be locked up from the working people on that one free day. He could not understand David B. Hill of Albany, N. Y., and how his pro- ceedings there on Washingtons Birthday did not much trouble a great party casting half of the votes in this Christian republic, and sure to cast them for this man without much murmuring, but instead with much clashing of loud cymbals and with a joyful noise, if so decreed by a convention in some wigwam by and by, properly opened with prayer by some Christian clergyman. He would think strangely of the aristocracy of this same Christian republic, the best people, the people listed and tailored and fed and matched an(l married by the Ward MeAllisters of the me- tropolis and the little MeAllisters of the micropolis. He would think strangely of the prominence and parade and power of these people in the churches called by his meek and lowly name. lie would note how the rich grind the face of the poor, and build churches, and endow hospitals and public libraries and universities out of the lerofits, and win the name of Christian philanthropists. If he found Christian ministers rebuking all these things in too plain speech, he would find church- wardens and deacons conspiring to freeze them out of their pulpits. And finding all these things, who can (loubt that he would talk to United States Christians just as he talked to Jerusalem Jews, and that he would stir up antagonism and bad blood by it now, just as he did then? Mrs. Linton showed her true grasp of the situation by making the problem of poverty the great problem with which this young Eng- lish Jesus grappled, and in grappling with which he found his Calvary. For that problem, the problem of social inequality, of the tyranny of the rich and the slavery of the poor, is the problem of our time, the problem which we must somehow solve or be devoured. It is in (lealing with this problem that the Garrisons and Phillipses of this time must expect to meet their mob of gentlemen ; in connection with this that the Christ-men of this time must come against their Chief Priests and Pontius Pilates. We are coming to see that Jesus of Nazareth himself was far more a social reformer, far less cx- elusively a theological person, than it has been the fashion to view him. We also see that the Christ-men of the time in which we stand must be far more social and political reformers than the Christ-men of the past. It is Mrs. Lintons great merit that she saw this so clearly and con- ceived her hook so firmly on the lines of this insight. It is because these twenty years have been so busy in making this thing clear to all the world, that had her book al)peared first in the year 1892, it would have found a public twenty times as large as that which it. did find in 1872. The book was written immediately after the rise and fall of the Comm one in Paris, in 1871. Joshua Davidson, in the story, goes to Paris, and enters into relations with Deleseluze and other leading men of the Gomm one, sympathizing with their aims, however much he disapproved of their methods. This is one of the things brought against him on his return to England, and it helps on his ruin. \Vhatever ones opinion of the Com- mune, the incident at first certainly affects the reader unpleasantly, as something melodramatic and sensational, not of a piece with the simplicity which else rules throughout the work. It may still be doubted whether, on this wsthetic ground alone, the incident had not better have been omitted and its place supplied by the story of some strike at the London docks. But whatever may be said of the sthetics of the matter, the moral lesson of the chapter is one of great mo- ment. It is the lesson of internationalism, the lesson that the sympathies and efforts of the Sons of David in this riper time can know no barriers nor boundaries, no geography nor race. That lesson, Jesus at the beginning did not adequately teach. His spirit prophesied it and throbbed to- ward it, for his spirit was entirely excellent. But he did not deal with the problem intellectually as broadly as the better Stoics. The words put into his month by one of the evangelists, I am not sent but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel, are words which he may well have spoken. That he was more than a reformer of his own people, that the world was his parish, that his gospel was cosmopolite, was a thing which, if he emphasized at all, he emphasized so little that it made no impression upon his disciples; when presently Paul so interpreted and expanded the new gospel, it was to encounter their jealousy and plunge them into strife. Internationalism came only with the evolution of Christianity, of which we now hear; an(l the evolution is still very incomplete. Our tariff laws and, worse, our tariff speeches are quite enough to show, did not more important things show it more sadly, that we do not look on the Russian or Chinaman or Chilian or English- man as our brother. It is the poet, not the politician, who sees that In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have equal claim. Thi is the thing that somehow or other we have all got to see before we can hope for Kants Eternal Peace, or hope to see this world a Christian or a decent world. It is the thing peculiarly prescribed to our time to see. This problem of the brotherhood of nations and the problem of the poor man were the two great prob 267 EDITORS TABLE. lems of Mrs. Lintons Jesus Davidson. America surely has not lacked the gospel which his life en- forced in dealing with hoth problems. The State must consider that poor man, and all voices must speak for him, was the message to us through our own Emerson; and our own Lowell sang: Whereer a single slave doth pine, Whereer one man may help another, Thaok God for such a hirthright, hrother, That spot of earth is thine and mine! There is the true mans hirthplace grand, His is a world-wide fatherland! We could wish that the lessons might be en- forced anew for many American readers by this gospel according to Mrs. Linton, which was al- lowed too soon to get covered with dust in the libraries. It is important to have the life and words and purpose of Christ in the world shaken sometimes, rudely it may be, out of the unreality and inefficiency to which sleepy reverence and moral flabbiness have condemned them; and to ask ourselves plainly what they mean when translated into to-days vernacular and to-days life and duty. Paul Veronese, painting his New Testament pictures in Venice, set the mar- riage at Cana of Galilee and the other gos- pel festivities in Venetian palaces, with doges and magnificent Venetian dames in their fine trappings as the guests surrounding the simple Nazarene; and he defended the anachronism on the ground that Christs life was not simply for Cana and Jerusalem, but for all places and all times, and he would set it as best he could in his own time. Still more boldly has this English story set the Christ life in our midst. The man who does not like it because it cuts his sin too sharply may seek to nick its edge by petty criti- cism of details but it is not safe to do it. It is well for all of us to learn its lesson. It is well for all of us to take to heart that it is not chiefly by looking behind us, but by looking around us and before us, that we shall find the Christ of God. * ** WHEN Cardinal Manning lay dead in England, the young prince, the Duke of Clarence, lay dead there also. Those two deaths and tbose two fune- rals of the young prince and the old car- dinal coming together thus, suggested many impressive comparisons, and many such were made. One of our own newspaper correspon- dents was present both at the funeral at Wind- sor on Wednesday and the funeral in London on Thursday; and we have read few more touching words than those which picture the sorrow of the London poor as the old cardinal was borne through their midst to his grave. The picture is a fitting accompaniment to the memorial lines on a preceding page. After painting the solemnities at Windsor, the writer says: Pot the simplicity of the whole proceeding was its most impressive feature, considering that royalty was the mourner. In the father, mother, hrother, sisters, and sweetheart, the spectators were the most interested that day. It was something to have seen this royal group bow- ing hefore the Conqueror who has no more respect for mon- archs than for ordinary folk. It was a purely human sorrnw that we gazed noon. Thursdays spectacle, he continues. was altogether different, not only hecause it was vastly more impressive, hut hecause it was the expression of a deeper feeling. rhe young prince was mourned for hy his family and his sweet- heart. The nation felt no sense of loss; hut it did feel keen sympathy for those who mourned. The old cardinals death meant a real loss to the nation. He proceeds to describe the impressive cere- mony, in the Oratory at South Kensington, the largest Roman Catholic Church in London, with the hundreds of priests and the thousands of kneeling people. But the really memorable scene was that which followed: The supreme moment came when the great procession of priests, led hy the priestly choir, and each man hearitug a lighted taper, marched slowly down the long aisle, while at the end the cardinal in his coffin was home aloft past the kneeling people. Into the street went this solemn pageant, and there, in the open day, now slowly clearing, was a spectacle no less remarkahie than the one that had pre- ceeded it within the Oratory. It seemed as if all London had turned out to see the honored remains of the great Englishman taken to the grave. The streets were packed with people. The very houses overflowed with them. Out of every window they hung. They stood on the roofs, on the porches of doors, on omnihuses, on cahs, on carts, on fences and walls, on anything tInt would give a vantage point. Huge rihhons of humanity stretched along the pavements from the Oratory to the cemetery, a good four miles. But more remarkahle than the size of this assem- hlage was its character and its silence. It was not a holi- day crowd that had come for curiositys sake. Its manner was too serious for curiosity. And in the streets it was a poor mans crowd; not only, poor men, hut rough-looking men. The East End seemed to have turned into the West en masse. Folk of finer manner and attire stood hack or filled the windows and the doorways. When the open hearse passed, with the coffin in full view, the East End hats were the first to he doffed, and I think no man in all that throng had ever seen them doffed hefore. Ihat was what touched one most the loyalty of the poor, the un- fortunate, the rough. You cannot understand the look or material of a London crowd like that until you have seen it. It is not prepossessing to look upon. As a rule, one prefers to get away from it, for reasons which a stranger soon learns. lint on Thursday that vast crowd turned out to do honor to the memory of the man who had made the cause of the poor his own. It was not the Roman prelate that they particularly cared for the majority of those among them who could claim any religion at all were not Catholics the great majority of the crowd had prob- ahly no religious hias of any kind. Yet, whatever their leanings, Catholic, Protestant, Jew, or Atheist, there was otte feeling among them all honor for the great dead, sorrow for his departure from earth. They felt they had lost a friend. If ever I saw a reverent crowd, a crowd that really felt a sense of sorrow, a sense of loss that to each man meant something, though he might he unahle to ex- plain it clearly, it was the crowd that followed Cardinal Manning to the grave. * ** MR. ANDREW LANG, who manages sooner or later to write something worth reading about almost everything, has just now been writing upon How to Fail in Literature, in a strain xvhich is at least interesting to the guild of editors, to which guild, by virtue of his long connection with the London News, Mr. Lang may be said to belong. He has not only been writing about it he has been lecturing about it; and this ap- pearance upon the platform an unusual thing, we opine, for Mr. Andrew Lang is made the occasion of a letter from the London correspon- dent of one of our newspapers, from which we glean a few of the entertaining passages of the lecture. If you wish to fail in literature, is the first principle laid down by Mr. Lang in his lecture, you must begin early and neglect your educa- tion. You must not read; you must not observe life nor ch~nracter. When you come to write, he continues, you must write illegibly: this is a help to failure that is often overlooked. Few need to 268 be warned against having their manuscripts type- written; this, however, descending to matters of homely detail, must be scrupulously avoided hy any one who has set his heart upon failure. No knowledge comes amiss to the man of letters; therefore, the would-be failure should sedulously abstain from reading Shakespeare, Bacon, Hooker, Gibbon, and other English and foreign classics. To every eighty words he should apply some sixty-five adjectives; he should be reckless as to grammar, and he should place his adverbs be- tween the to and the verb of the infinitive He should be careful always to use such as a pronoun. He cannot be too obscure, too un- natural, too involved, or too commonplace. He cannot know too little of his subject. Having talked of style, Mr. Lang turns to matter. He says that the man who would fail must have nothing in the world to say. He must not carry a note-book about with him, or notice the peculiarities of the persons he meets. To do this would be to obtain ideas, and ideas are not wanted. He who would fail in literature should begin by ~vriting verses of a character suited to his purpose. Mr. Lang gives a few specimens~~ of verse which the young poet bent on failure will produce. He exhibits first the consumptive manner: ONLy. Only a spark of the emher, Only a leaf on the tree, Only the days we rememher, Only the days without thee. Only the flowers that thou worest, Only the hook that we read, Only that night in the forest, Only a dream of the dead. Only the troth that was broken, Only the heart that was lonely, Only the sign and the token The sigh on the saying of only. It is difficult, says Mr. Lang, to place the following little poem in any category, therefore I have entitled it No Name. In the slumher of the winter, in the secret of the snow, What is the voice that is crying out of the long ago? When the accents of the children are hushed upon the stairs, When the poor forgets his troubles and the rich forgets his cares. Or, if you wish to be satirical, he says, you may say: and the rich forgets his shares. What is the silent whisper that echoes in the room When the days are full of darkness and the night is hushed in gloom? Tis the voice of the departed who will never come again, Who have left the weary tumult and the struggle and the pain. Or you may write: and the agony of men. And my heart makes heavy answer to the voice that comes no more, In the whisper that is welling from a far-off golden shore. Then there is the Grosvenor Gallery style: When the summer night is dim, hushed the loud chrysan- themum Sister sleep. etc., etc. Having discharged his duty to the poets, Mr. 269 Lang turns his attention to the writers of fiction. He is sure that the hashing up of old inci- dents, characters, and situations affords an easy way to failure. We all know the lively, large family, says he, all very untidy, slipshod, and humorous; all poor; all wearing each others boots and each others gloves, and making their dresses out of bedroom curtains, and marrying rich men, and sitting on walls with their legs hanging over. Believe me, these things rush down the easy descent of failure. An author wishing to fail may, according to Mr. Lang, choose Monte Carlo or Italy or the Riviera for his scene of action. He should send his first rough manuscript to a publisher in order to disgust the publishers reader, who will un- dopbtedlv throw it into the waste-paper basket. Then the failure will he complete. Introductions to publishers will help on a fail- ure with wonderful speed. This is the sort of letter of introduction that a well-known author should indite in behalf of some pleading candi- date for failure: DEAR BROWN: A wretched creature who knows my great aunt asks me to recommend his ruhhish to you. I send it to you hy to-days post, and wish you joy of it. Any one bent on securing an unfavorable re- view can easily accomplish his object by writing to the reviewer. There is a cal)ital way, too, for avoiding the cultivation of good business feel- ing you have only to write your book on the proof-sheets, a very convenient and inexpensive method of composition. To insure the rejection of a Christmas story you have only to send in the manuscript about the 1st of December. In all cases you should insist on seeing the editor. No author who deserves to fail will be content with stating his business in a letter. Mr. Lang, as an editor, strongly recommends all who dislike suc- cess to insist on bearding the editors in their dens. All this is very entertaining, and in its province it is very sensible and true and good. Like all things of the sort which have been written about the relations of writers and editors and the theme is an easy and popular one it is to be taken cuin grano so/is, as none knows better than Mr. Lang. The salt is that editorsso at least we have found them are not bears, but very human creatures, who like to see men and women as well as to read letters, who like to keep in warm touch with life, and who welcome to their busy studies everybody who has real business with them, every good and salient body who sim- ply wants to rub elbows with them, much more warmly than they resent the incursions of the sentimentalists and busybodies who waste their time. And still another grain of salt is this: that the young writer whose heart is really true, and who knows it, must not be too much daunted by the failure of his dear poem on The Spark of the Ember or of his story with its setting of the Riviera or the Arno, which he knows nothing about, instead of the Connecticut or Boston Common, which he knows something about. The best usually pass through some em- ber and Arno period, which they are glad to transcend and to forget, by and by, perhaps, to come to another ember and Arno period of a very genuine sort. EDITORS TABLE. EDITORS TABLE But when the salt has been sprinkled in, we think most editors taste such brews as this of Mr. Andrew Lang with a rather grateful relish, and with a wish that it might be sipped by great classes of writers with whom most of them have to do. Every editor, no doubt, reading such bits of pleasantry and satire, thinks of the special classes whom he would like to commend for homiletic privileges. We have met one editor who nominates for such treatment the classes of those who, when their articles are declined, write or come to know specifically why, and those who want to know whether the editor will not suggest subjects for them to write about. This last, of course, is what no God-fearing and humane editor can do. In this appallingly over-writing and over- written time, when so much writing and reading is as idle as whittling and not a little is cou~in- german to sin, it is a question whether one of the chief functions of the editor is not precisely to discourage writing. The warm word for every son and daughter of Adam whose molecules are fatally ranged towards writing he must always speak, encouraging such through much halting expression of what the mind teems with; and from this man or that he must now and again in- vite the word on the subject of which the man is master and known to have something to say. But for this other great multitude, looking to writ- ing simply perhaps as one way of getting a living, as a means to some career or other, as a means to something less considerable than that, his office is to say what we all alike have to say to the man who is thinking about getting married or thinking about preaching the gospel: Dont do it if you can help it dont do it without an express and unmistakable call. The best that the editor can do for the man who wants him to suggest subjects the only thing that he can do if he has a true sense of communal respon- sibility is, if he have the right to suggest any- thing, to suggest other vocations. The cudgelling of the brain for something to write about, as if writing abo ut something were per se a virtue and not a vice, is not commendable, not to be en- couraged, but to be discouraged. In commending homilies for the writer who de- mands to know specifically why his article is de- clined, one thing must surely be properly remem- bered. Every editor of a magazine of any importance, if we may confine our thought to magazines, would doubtless say that, with the amount of fairly good material which is constantly placed at his disposal, it would he easier for him to make half a dozen magazines than to make one. No editor, we think, is more impressed by the great amount of weak and ridiculous matter sent him than by the very great number of really good and thoughtful articles of every sort articles which, with the bare hundred and thirty or forty pages at his command each month, and with the proper unity and variety of his pages both to be maintained, it is quite impossible for him to use; yet many of which he returns with sincere regret and with a sincere wish that he might tell the hundred faithful writers how good he finds them. He often does tell them this for, as we have said, editors are very human creatures; and he certainly never resents any natural inquiry as to how such articles might perhaps be better adapted to their purpose or find some proper place. This is not a class consigned to homilies. The people turned over to Mr. Andrew Lang and his fellow- preachers are the other people who will have specific reasons why their articles are declined, the incompetents whose vanity ~vill not let them divine that it is because the articles are good for nothing. This is a very large class and when the demand for specifications is made not by let- ter but in person, it is one of the most debilitating with which the editor has to deal, sometimes driving him into corners where, if he be engaged in any course of moral self-culture and have any troublesome standards of truth, his standing is very ticklish and infirm. The worst form of the attack is from the writer who assumes that the ground of rejection is the editors fear to demand of his readers attention to anything so fine and lofty and severe, and labors to make it a matter of con- science with him whether he should not bravely do it as a part of his duty not simply to cater to the popular taste, but to elevate and purify it. Whatever other classes should he turned over to Mr. Andrew Lang, the editor whom we met was urgent that this class should not be passed by and cannot we at least understand his feeling? * ** THE statement in the article on St. Louis, in our January number, that Christ Church Cathedral in that city is destined to an early removal, was erroneous. The cathedral is to he maintained permanently in its present place, with the build- ing improved and its tower completed. An en- dowment fund of $6o,ooo has already been secured, and $15,000 toward a Mission House adjoining. As there has been much misunderstanding on this point in St. Louis, the authorities desire this correction. 270 THE OMNIBUS. A HEART OF STONE. HER heart is stone, you say? Ah, then, Her hearts the heart for me; For if my names once graven there, There evermore twill be. P. MeArthur. * ** THE MODISH MAID. (Rondeau.) WITH form divine and face so fair, With that soft look and modest air, What man hut needs must how the knee, And render homage unto thee, Since thou art quite heyond compare! But ah, fond lover, have a care; That look may mask a deadly snare, Love not too seriously The modish maid. Thy love shell never learn to share; No soul informs her beauty rare; A taste for chiffons, probably, May stir her soft frivolity, But never passion; so, beware The modish maid. Basil Tempest. OLD AND NEW. (Being the correction of a popular fallacy.) By sage and monitor we oft are told (Judge, reader, whether their advice be true) That it is well to be off with the Old Love, ere youre on (so say they) wit/i the Aiw. Take not the wisdom of their words for granted, But weigh them, in connection with the myth (Unto the bard revealed in dreams enchanted) Of Edward Algernon Augustus Smyth. A youth of noble mien and means but slender His fortune was his face and paper collars; To turn his tender looks to legal tender He charmed a heart whose love meant land and dollars. They were betrothed. A wealthier lady came; He was beloved too well the signs he knew. He parted from the Old and laid his name And person at the footstool of the New. She was a flirt; she laughed and said she couldnt. He was in tears; she voted him a bore. He tried the Old again, indeed she wouldnt-- Dismissed him, and distinctly slammed the door. Be not by musty adages controlled, Lest unto thee a fate like his ensue; And never, never break off with the Old Till you are on for certain with the iVew? Francis Dana. FROM TILE PAST. To Saint Hilaire a bishop came, A beggar sat beside the door; Give me, oh give in Gods great name A half-penny I ask no more! But turning not his stately head, He passed the crying beggar by; Bless then my sinners soul instead, My weary body soon must die! And looking back the bishop raised His hand to bless the man of need, And all the murmuring people praised So gracious, such a holy deed. Only he laughed whod gained his quest: A bishops blessing now Ive got; What treasure! Were it worth at best A half-penny Id had it not! AL A. de Wolfe Howe, 7r. * ** A DIET OF WORMS. THE caterpillars met one day, And in a very solemn way Discussed a point of great import To all the caterpillar sort. Why, as it is, one speaker said, Upstretching high a hoary head, So common is this new caprice The wise call Metamorphosis, This change of safe, old-fashioned ground For silly flights on ways unsound, That we must take wise measures soon, Or all our race will be undone. Another spoke: Id like to know That what one is, hes settled so. This crawling one day, winged the next, \Vhat prudent worm is not perplexed? With all these moody changes, who Will know what form to fashion to? So after many long d~bates The wise assembly formulates Its judgment thus: Whereas, the good Old ground whereon our fathers stood Some upstarts are inclined to change, For loftier views and wider range, Producing dangerous schism thus, And constantly confusing us, Be it Resolved, that henceforth we Who now do covenant and agree, Maintain ourselves inviolate In good old caterpillar estate, And hold as knavish, outcast things Those rascal heretics with wings. This signed they all with pens that burned, And then - and then they all adjourned For I)INNER! Amos R. Wells.

Omnibus 271-274

THE OMNIBUS. A HEART OF STONE. HER heart is stone, you say? Ah, then, Her hearts the heart for me; For if my names once graven there, There evermore twill be. P. MeArthur. * ** THE MODISH MAID. (Rondeau.) WITH form divine and face so fair, With that soft look and modest air, What man hut needs must how the knee, And render homage unto thee, Since thou art quite heyond compare! But ah, fond lover, have a care; That look may mask a deadly snare, Love not too seriously The modish maid. Thy love shell never learn to share; No soul informs her beauty rare; A taste for chiffons, probably, May stir her soft frivolity, But never passion; so, beware The modish maid. Basil Tempest. OLD AND NEW. (Being the correction of a popular fallacy.) By sage and monitor we oft are told (Judge, reader, whether their advice be true) That it is well to be off with the Old Love, ere youre on (so say they) wit/i the Aiw. Take not the wisdom of their words for granted, But weigh them, in connection with the myth (Unto the bard revealed in dreams enchanted) Of Edward Algernon Augustus Smyth. A youth of noble mien and means but slender His fortune was his face and paper collars; To turn his tender looks to legal tender He charmed a heart whose love meant land and dollars. They were betrothed. A wealthier lady came; He was beloved too well the signs he knew. He parted from the Old and laid his name And person at the footstool of the New. She was a flirt; she laughed and said she couldnt. He was in tears; she voted him a bore. He tried the Old again, indeed she wouldnt-- Dismissed him, and distinctly slammed the door. Be not by musty adages controlled, Lest unto thee a fate like his ensue; And never, never break off with the Old Till you are on for certain with the iVew? Francis Dana. FROM TILE PAST. To Saint Hilaire a bishop came, A beggar sat beside the door; Give me, oh give in Gods great name A half-penny I ask no more! But turning not his stately head, He passed the crying beggar by; Bless then my sinners soul instead, My weary body soon must die! And looking back the bishop raised His hand to bless the man of need, And all the murmuring people praised So gracious, such a holy deed. Only he laughed whod gained his quest: A bishops blessing now Ive got; What treasure! Were it worth at best A half-penny Id had it not! AL A. de Wolfe Howe, 7r. * ** A DIET OF WORMS. THE caterpillars met one day, And in a very solemn way Discussed a point of great import To all the caterpillar sort. Why, as it is, one speaker said, Upstretching high a hoary head, So common is this new caprice The wise call Metamorphosis, This change of safe, old-fashioned ground For silly flights on ways unsound, That we must take wise measures soon, Or all our race will be undone. Another spoke: Id like to know That what one is, hes settled so. This crawling one day, winged the next, \Vhat prudent worm is not perplexed? With all these moody changes, who Will know what form to fashion to? So after many long d~bates The wise assembly formulates Its judgment thus: Whereas, the good Old ground whereon our fathers stood Some upstarts are inclined to change, For loftier views and wider range, Producing dangerous schism thus, And constantly confusing us, Be it Resolved, that henceforth we Who now do covenant and agree, Maintain ourselves inviolate In good old caterpillar estate, And hold as knavish, outcast things Those rascal heretics with wings. This signed they all with pens that burned, And then - and then they all adjourned For I)INNER! Amos R. Wells. lYLE OMNIBUS. GENLMAN Joa. HE warnt never like the rest o us, Us rough an rollickin boys; He never peared to take no stock In the barrack jokes an~ noise. He war a quiet sort o chap, With a solumn kind o smile; Though he warut nowise sullen like; Jist of a pensive style. We allers called him Genlman Joe, He was so kinder proud; An spoke as soft an smooth as silk, An never quick an loud. An we wuz orful proud o him, Bekase he war so fine, An knowed sich mighty heaps o things That warnt in our line. He jined down thar to Ballards Mills, Jist arter that thar night We hed thet little scrimmage thar; Ye mind thet rattlin fight When Capn Jenks wuz mustered out, An half the compny, too, An things in ginral round about Wuz most exceedin blue? ~ We warnt noways particler like Bout size an strength jist then; We wuz a takin all whut come, Pervidin they wuz men. An brave? Thar warnt no cooler man Whut ever faced the foe, Than thet same slender, quiet chap What we called Genlman Joe. He took a mighty shine to Jack; Perhaps ye member him; He war a powrful hansome man, An tall an strong o limb. An he war gay an merry like, An ready with a joke; His big black eyes a sparklin bright With sunshine when he spoke. An when we all wuz settin round The camp-fire, blazin bright, An Jack wuz tellin funny tales, An all wuz gay an light, Then Genlman Joe wuz sureto be A settin next to Jack, A lookin up with shinin eyes, So big an soft an black. An then hed take his fiddle when The stories wuz all done, An play so slow an soft an sweet, An we would evry one Set silent lookin in the fire So dreamy like an still, As ef wed beam a angels voice A floatin down the hill. An never yit wuz Home, Sweet Home, So techin like to hear, Ez twuz them nights when Genlman Joe Set playin soft an clear, Where flickrin light from the flamin fire Fell on his quiet face, An us a watchin of his hands A muovin with sich grace. An when Jack kivered up his eyes I knowed it wuz to hide The tears thet would come swellin up A thinkin of his bride What he h.d married on the day He marched away to war, An when he beam of Home, sweet home, His thoughts went roamin far. An twent on so till by and by We had a scrimmage tough, An though we got the best of it, Still it wuz hot enough. An I had not seen Genlman Joe Sence early in the fight; An likewise Jack bed disappeared, It seemed, from human sight. An by and by I seed Jack come, A walkin mighty slow, An carryin somethin in his arms What looked like Genlman Joe. He brought him in an laid him down All keerful like an still, An I seed his hans a shakin like A mans what had a chill. Then Genlman Joe he raised his arms All feeble like an slow, An put it gently round Jacks neck, An whispered soft an low. An Jack dropped down like hed been shot An clasped his hans an cried, An kissed the lips of Genlman Joe, An sobbed: My Jo! My bride! An, boys, I knowed then how it wuz, About Jacks gentle pal; He never warnt no man at all, But jist Jacks leetle gal, Hed married way up to the North, Afore he went to war; An she hed follered after him, An lay a dyin thar. An so she died. We buried her The sun wuz sinkin low, When we fired the partin volley oer The grave o Genlman Joe. An in a fight soon arter thet Poor Jack fell by my side With a rebel bullet in his heart, An without a sound he died. We kerried him back to thet lone spot Whar lay his faithful bride An thar with tears we left old Jack A sledpin by her side. But, boys, thar warat no braver man What ever faced the foe, Then thet same gentle quiet chap What we called Genlman Joe. M. E. Torrence. 272 A BIT OF OLD ENGLAND.

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The New England magazine. / Volume 12, Issue 3 New England magazine and Bay State monthly New England magazine and Bay State monthly Era magazine New England Magazine Co. Boston May 1892 0012 003
Reuben Gold Thwaites Thwaites, Reuben Gold Village Life in Old England 275-290

THE NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE. MAY, 1892. VOL. VI. No. 3. VILLAGE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND. By Reul~en Gold T/zreai/es. WE are frequently assured by trav- ellers, who do their England in a fortnight, seeing rural life from the windows of railway carriages, and acquainting themselves only with such types of British character as boots and waiters at tourist hotels, designing cabmen and loquacious cathedral vergers that England is no longer the England of Dickens and Thackeray and Irving; that it has been modernized out of recognition. But go with me across country, along sweet-smelling hedgerows, through flowery lanes, and over the white footpaths which wind through the broad meadows up to the woodland hamlet on the hillside yonder, where the square Norman tower of the parish church lifts its hoary head above the tree tops, and you shall find that rural England, if not altogether Merry England, is at heart Old England still. As we mount through the fields, we have a comprehensive panorama at our feet. Widestretching meadows, vividly green, on which horses and cattle are peacefully grazing, as well as great flocks of sheep as yet unshorn and bearing upon their burly backs rude stripes of red ochre, the brand of their owner; gracefully outlined, sombre-wooded hills, divided by vales deep down in whose peaceful depths course feeders to the ocean-bound stream which sluggishly glistens upon the horizon of the lower level. Hedges everywhere abound great, solid, interminable banks of green, which cut the country up into a sort of gigantic checker-board with the various enclosures of all imaginable shapes, from round to square. Every field, large or small, has its particular name, and has doubtless borne that name and been of that particular shape for hundreds of years some of them since Doomsday Book. As we walk along, startled thrushes flutter from the hedges, and skylarks, rising in quick succession from the mea- dows, lose themselves in the azure and pour down upon us floods of bewitching melody. We pass men breaking flints on NEW SERIES. Great flocks of sheep as yet usohors, 276 VILLA GE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND. the roadway, with wire goggles to protect their eyes from the flying bits; shepherds resting on gates, with dogs at their side? idly watching their grazing flocks; car- ters in white blouses, walking beside tan- dem teams of heavy red and black shire horses, and gazing at us with dull cnn- osity; children with books and slate slung at their back playing by the road- side, laggards from school; farm laborers, bearing billhooks for hedge trimming, or hoes heavy enough to serve as adzes, shuffling along, none too eager to reach their appointed tasks. Mayhap the par- son and his rosy-cheeked women folk trundle past in their modest dog-cart, from a days shopping in the county town; or the squire, fresh down on the train from London, where he was nobody, to here where as lord of the manor he is everybody, drives by in silent state, with a brace of livened retainers on the box seat. The squires big house is just over there, its lawns and woodlands improved by centuries of landscape gardening, all carefully bounded and hidden by high stone walls, which are resplendent in ivy,. moss and lichens; one view alone is vouchsafed the groundlings, and that is through the open bars of those massive iron gates,. a rose - embow- ered lodge in the i~U foreground, a broad and winding gravel- led driveway, and a tempting vista over stretches of green- sward beneath sturdy oaks and sweeping elms, the bewindowed man- sion filling up the background, rec- tangular, gray, austere as the old squire himself. The village has grown up as a conse- quence of the presence of the big house. Its nucleus a few centuries back was the squires out servants, his farm laborers and those of his agricultural tenants. Hence its one long, irregular street is conveniently nestled at the foot of the squires homestead grounds, with his. park walls for a background and his en- trance gate vying as a work of art with the old market cross and the spick-span Victoria Jubilee fountain. There are a few square, plain two-story brick and stone buildings around the The parish church lifta its hoary head above the tree tops Over the white tootpatha which wind through the broad weadows. VJLLA GE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND. 277 broad market-place, in which live the squires stexvard, the surgeon and the doctor, with may1~ap a shopkeeper or two, and a military pensioner; but as a rule the villagers are domiciled in cottages. These are low story-and-a-half cabins, each closely crowding its neighbor; the walls of stone or brick often scrupulously whitened with lime-wash, and the well- dormered roof either of red-brick tile or of straw thatch. Sometimes the cottage abuts directly upon the street, often with- out allowance for a footpath; more often, perhaps, there is in front a rod or less of dower garden, bounded from the street by a low stone wall and a wicket, while flowering vines are trained over door and windows. Here and there is a long solid block of dreary looking cottages for the farm laborers, each householder being allowed a front door and a window or two, with a gay flower-patch carefully screened from his next-door neighbor; for the Englishman, high or low, is mar- vellously exclusive, and nothing about America amazes him more than to hear that in many of our towns a partition fence is something of a rarity. The American in England is at once attracted by the neat appearance of the cottages of the poor. The yards are scrupulously kept free from litter; the wealth of vegetation, in this moist climate, soon hides from view whatever needs be hidden. In place of our crude fences and huildings of wood that, neglected, soon tumble into unsightly ruin, the Eng- lish use brick and stone, which endure for centuries and grow more beautiful with the passing years. Our old village is a most charming study in red and green: red brick, red chimney pots, red tiles, red lichens carpeting the light-gray stone, and everywhere these masses of glowing red embowered in greenery, moss on the roofs and ivy on the walls. One of the interesting features of Eng- lish rural life is the number of small retail shops. In this rustic village of a thou- sand inhabitants, probably one-fifth of the cottages display something for sale. The man of the house is perhaps a me- chanic or a farm laborer, and his wife and children strive to eke out the meagre family income by selling candies, cake, bread, vegetables, and knick-knacks. rTow and then the shop blossoms out into a small grocery, but in the majority of Farm Laborer at Work. 278 VILLA GE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND. cases, five dollars would be a large esti- mate of the value of the stock in trade; while frequently one sees a feeble attempt to attract childrens pennies by a display of sweets in a roadside cottage window that surely could be bought out at retail for fifty cents. From the fact that prac- tically the shopkeepers, big and little, in all but the largest English towns, live back of or above their shops, and often indeed in them, and that the women and children of the household are the clerks, if not the sole managers, arises this enormous competition in retail trade. Expenses are light, indeed scarcely more than they would be if the family were not in trade, and it costs but little to make a modest mercantile venture. An American at once notices the vil- lage signboards, which bear a phrase- ology strange to him. Smiths work in general, is the legend adopted by the blacksmith, who occasionally calls him- self a forge master. The carpenter informs you that he is a practical undertaker and general joiner. The dairyman is a cowkeeper, and some- times he makes bold to invite you in, in letters a foot high, to see customers jugs filled direct from the cow. The word store in England is principally used where in America we would employ the term depot in a mercantile sense, and not as a synonym for railway station. There is the inevitable co- operative store, or the stores, as~ this establishment is frequently called; then there are the potato store, the cheese and butter store, the game store, etc. Everything else is a shop, except the barber-shop, which is glorified into a hairdressing saloon, and the tobacco-shop, which is a smokers bazaar; at the candy shops, you may ask for candies in vain, for everything of the sort is sweets, and lemon drops are disguised as acidulated pastiles. What in America we should style a boarding stable, is in England the only sort of livery stable known; where there are also horses for hire, it becomes a posting es- tablishment or post- house, and the keeper, an important village character, is a post- master, just as his ancestor was in the long ago, before the modern postmaster, as a dispen- ser of mail matter, was heard of. Our village has its full quota of mechanics. Those whose work per- mits them to do so, usually keep to their shops, which are either in or contiguous to their homes. One may see the village joiner, who is at the same time the parish undertaker, working at his bench any day of the week, from eight and often six in the morning till five in the afternoon, his buxom wife busy hard by with her wash- ing or ironing, and their children merrily making dolls houses of the coffins. In a country where buildings are of bricks and stone, and even the pigsty and the garden wall must endure for cen- turies, naturally, the mason is the artisan most in demand, and our village has several of this trade. Their work at the farms and on the great estates of the Shire often leads them many miles from home, and they have a tramping reputa- tion akin to that of the American printer. Groups of craftsmen masons, carpen Sometimes the cottages abut directly upon the street withoot allowance for a footpath. VILLAGE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND. 279 ters, and plumbers - may be met any day on the highway or on the trains, bound to or from their work, carrying their tools in rude baskets slung over their shoulders. A cheap style of bicycle is rapidly coming into use both among these and the farm laborers, as a means of rapid transit to and from their homes. It would be a decided gain if the wheel, in getting them over the ground quickly, might have the effect to lessen their demands on the wayside taprooms. The English jour- neyman has an un- attractive life. Starting out to his work, perhaps miles away, at six oclock in the summer morning, with a heavy basket of tools and food over his shoulder, he often works until eight absolutely breakfast- less; then half an hour is allowed him for his cheerless meal of cold tea and bread and fat bacon; at noon he has an hour or less, for what dinner he has brought with him; and at five oclock ends his days task, he sometimes taking a light lunch in the middle of the after- noon. As with the farm laborer, rheu- matism early seeks him for a victim, and at sixty he is quite apt to be a useless old man with a crick in his back, a burden 3ut as a rule the villagers are domiciled in small cottages. to himself and his relatives, else an inmate of either the union as the public workhouse is now called, or a privately endowed almshouse. Earning at his best, and in the height of a busy season, not to exceed one dollar and twenty-five cents per day, with long stretches of either sickness or no work, invariably a large family on his hands, possibly a drink habit which makes every spare penny burn in his pocket, and the cost of provisions not on the whole below that prevalent in America for the same quality of supplies, he neither accumulates savings nor apparently wishes to. Let him endeavor to rise above his fellows or furnish more comfortably his little cot- tage which the landlords agent keeps so neatly without, but whose interior is apt to be cheerless enough he would in many commu- nities be scoffed at and shunned at the alehouse, as a man too proud for that state of life unto which it hath pleased God to call him. Then, again, the union will receive him when at last his working days are over, and he looks forward with complacency, or shall we say with sullen indifference, to ending his days as a pauper. The picture is gloomy ii The old Market cross. Lea~AW~ 280 VILLA GE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND. the slack season from two dollars and a half to three dol- lars and a half per week, and in the busy season four dollars, if he be a good man; but in addition he receives perquisites which vary according to the custom of the locality or the gen- erosity of his master. T h e s e sometimes include free cot- tage-rent equiva- lent to two dollars or two dollars and a half per month, occasional faggots from the copse, a few vegetables, and a gratuity at Michaelmas. All told, these gratuities amount under favorable condi- tions to perhaps fifty dollars, making his total income somewhere about three dollars and a half or four dollars and a half per week. But it should be mentioned that in some districts the Michaelmas money, of say twenty-five or thirty dol- lars is considered by the laborer as his especial perquisite, free from wife and child, and too often is squandered at the public house in a general roystering. With such wages for the laborer, of course, it becomes necessary for every member of the household not an infant to be earning something. As education is compulsory, certain hours must be spent by the children in school until they are ten or twelve years of age; but their spare hours and holidays are often spent with their parents in the fields, helping earn their sustenance. A bright boy of fifteen, who can accomplish nearly as much as a man, is worth a dollar and a half per week. By the day, boys and girls are supposed to be worth to the farmer from twenty-five to thirty cents, and women forty cents; while the price of piece- work in the fields and gardens is such that a capable man can earn sixty to eighty cents, which is considered a good wage. It must be remembered, however, that the English farmer employs his men The American in England ia at once attracted by the neat appearance of the cottagen of the poor. enough, but Merry England is filled with such, if you care to look for them. To be sure, individuals and neighborhoods differ. I know communities where there are artisans living in their own neat cot- tages, on either leased land or freehold, and in a few cases owning and letting tenements to others, but this is quite exceptional. The average condition is as I have stated. At the substratum of village life is the farm laborer. Commencing in the barns or in the fields at six in the morning, with three intervals in the day for re- freshment, he is generally released at five in the afternoon, although often working much later. Nominally, his wages are in A Bit of the Barnyard. VILLAGE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND. 281 the year round, winter or summer, work Or no work, giving them piecework when possible, and at other times paying monthly wages. Clad in rough clothing, corduroy being a familiar material, a leathern strap en- circling each leg above the calf to keep his trousers comfortably baggy at the knee, slouchy and dirty, smelling loudly of vile tobacco, uncouth in speech and manner, the ordinary farm laborer, while a useful, is not an attractive creature. The brightest of the peasant boys, after graduating from the local board school, float off to the large towns to become porters or to go into railway employ; or mayhap to sxvell the ever-increasing army of the citys unemployed. And so one finds, as a rule, only the dullards and the old men remaining on the farms, thus lowering the quality of the class. A conversation I had with a large Hampshire farmer was sig- nificant. He appeared to have more people in his employ, old and young, than he had any legitimate use for, and countenanced a degree of shirking on their part that quite surprised me. His defence was, that these people must be supported somehow. If he discharged them, they would come on the parish for support, and he, being one of the chief poor-rate payers, would be obliged to help sustain the burden. He thought it better, for them and for him, to keep them to at least the semblance of labor, and not allow them to drift into chronic pauperism. I found a similar state of affairs in other parishes and counties where I had an opportunity to make in- quiry, and must say that this condition of affairs seemed to me pitiful indeed. An American, accustomed to our spread-out methods with individual pro- prietorship and every cottage set in its own patch of ground, at first finds it difficult to believe the census returns of compact European communities. Even in our little village, with woods and fields spreading out for miles in every direc- tion, humanity is packed away almost as closely as it is in the heart of London. The cottages have scarcely more land than one sees in the front flower garden. For the most part house abuts house, front and rear. Peer into the alley-ways or court-yards, and you will find houses emptying out into them as thick as they can stand. In the little story-and-a-half thatched cottage, two or three families are occupying space which in an Ameri- can village would be thought too con- tracted for one. They are crowded like wasps in a nest, with a promiscuity not altogether pleasant. At first sight, you would say this village possessed two or three hundred souls, but find that it can count up a thousand. It is a land of rent-paying and heavy taxes, and the business of huddling into as small and cheap a holding as possible has in all these centuries of experience been re- duced to a science. Now and then the shop blossoms into a small grocery. Uncouth in speech and manner, the ordinary farm laborer is not an attractive creature. 282 VILLA GE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND. Having no vegetable garden at home, the artisans and laborers have had set aside for them allotments in one of the squires fields contiguous to the hamlet. The stranger, approaching the allotment field for the first time, would suppose it to be the holding of a professional mar- ket gardener, being carefully divided into equal-sized, rectangular strips with nar- row paths between. These strips are the plots of the several villagers, each paying to the squires agent a fixed annual rental for his two or three square rods, equivalent to a rate of about ten dollars an acre. It is a busy and rather a merry scene, in the long summer twilight, to see the villagers out in the allotments, getting the cool evening air, and gossiping over the affairs of the parish; the men lei- surely plying their hoes, the children on their knees plucking weeds, and the wom- en either similarly engaged or sitting in groups hard by doing the family mend- ing. The squires chief tenant is the farmer. An agricultural gentleman the county paper styles him; and he most certainly is a gentleman in agriculture. The aver- age American farmer gets up before sun- rise to milk his cows, and, drudging all day in the barn and field with an earn- estness he could not instil into his ser- vants, drags his weary bones to bed soon after supper. He is an old man when he ought to be in his prime. The English agriculturist, on the other hand, leaves this sort of thing to his laborers; and, issuing his mandates to the foreman at his several farmsteads, acts merely the part of general manager. You visit him at his home, and you will find that his household is conducted on much the same lines as that of a manufacturer; indeed, he looks upon his business as simply a business and not manual drudg- ery such a business as any gentleman might conduct who had the requisite scientific skill, executive tact, and capital. Farming methods are expensive in England. This sort of management causes more waste than where the farmer is his own laborer; then, again, the Eng- lish farmer is, as well, a sportsman, and foxes and rabbits, which it were a sin to exterminate, often create widespread damage. In the treatment of many crops, old and cumbersome tools and methods are used, because Englishmen abhor change; the soil has in many districts utterly lost its native strength from cen Breakfast time) 283 VILLA GE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND. tunes of over~croppiflg, and is now no better than a medium for the transmuta- tion of fertilizers into vegetable matter; and we have already seen that the farmer, in his capacity of poor-rate payer, has a patriarchal duty to perform, and cannot control his own labor account. When you add to these hampering conditions the fact that the competition of American beef and wheat, French and Spanish vegetables and fruit, and Australian mut- ton, has seriously lowered the prices of native products, it will be wondered how the English agriculturist can longer exist, and still pay an annual rental averaging five dollars per acre. Certainly, hundreds of the class have been crowded to the wall in the past dozen years. Nevertheless, in every community there are old-fashioned farm- ers still apparently as flourishing as ever. The chief farmer of our village is just such a man as Punch loves to picture: six feet high, broad of chest, still broader at the belt; a jolly face, a double chin, and enormous jowls; a severity of coun- tenance that is often lightened by the heartiest of smiles; his leathern riding- gaiters always buttoned on, as if just off for a tour of inspection of his several farms, or for a visit to the market town. He loves his ale, but insists in his husky, jovial way, on your taking wine. He is a conservative of the conservatives, wants an embargo placed on that wretched stuff from America they call beef over there, and takes the chair at his party meeting in the old town hail. He reads the London Times or the Standard every morning before breakfast; and being a devout churchman, after break- fast has family prayers, to which the housemaids, in their cleanest aprons and daintiest caps, are summoned by the mistresss bell. The children are away at boarding- schools, in far-away towns, and are gathered in at the family board only at holiday-time. The mistress herself, though guiltless of a knowledge of butter-making or of other laborious accomplishments of American farmers wives, is a comely matron of affairs, a most exemplary mother, a model wife and housekeeper. She is, with the parson5 wife, interested in the practical charities of the parish; a woman with a serious mission at her door, and ability and heart modestly to exe- cute it. Perhaps the most picturesque character we shall meet in the village is the rector of the Established Church, the par 284 VILLA GE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND. son, in the homely vernacular of the district. Now and then we may enter a parish where the living is in the hands of the bishop; again, it may be in the gift of the ecclesiastical commission, a power- ful committee of clericals and laymen who have in charge the vast temporal affairs of the Establishment; but in~ this case, the living is in the gift of a person in the north counties, who never saw our The littie saws-hall has stood for cesturies. village, and possibly could not with any degree of certainty point it out on the map. So, a score or so of years ago, our friend the parson settled down among these people as their spiritual adviser, without so much as saying by your leave, and has been here ever since. It is not always that such settlements produce happy results. It is one of the all-too numerous evils of the Establish- ment that, presumably as a punishment for some of its unknown sins, a parish is saddled for a generation with one in a gown who has, if popular opinion goes for anything, little respect for God or man. Eut in this case the parson chances to have been well chosen. An Oxford man, modestly learned, his soul is as be- nevolent as his smile, and his presence in this far-away hamlet of rustics is to all a living blessing. Familiar with the an- tiquities of the old gray sanctuary, an earnest student of nature as well as of man, he teaches many a practical lesson of duty to his stolid flock, from the legends of the venerable brasses and the secrets of the hedgerows, lifting for a time the dark curtain of their lives and casting a halo of love around the gloomy pile, which wheels its daily shadows over their fathers bones. The parsons principal parishioner is the squire, who, of course, is at the core of things, though the social gulf which separates him from the com- mon folk is great. ~ The principal sub scriber hereabout to the county hounds, he entertains his I city friends with I handsoi~e dignity ~ during hunt week, and at the meet is the wonder and ad- miration of the yokels. He has had his turn of Par- liament, for his boroughs vote is in his pocket; but tired of an arena so large that he was lost in it, he pre- fers now to serve his country as presi- dent of the conservative club. His tastes are more akin to those of a farmer than to those of a statesman; next to his wife and children, his stables and the subscription kennels are his chiefest pride. He thinks the country is going to the dogs with all this free education rattletrap, stuffing the heads of peasants sons with nonsense which spoils them for the plough, and makes farm-laborers scarce while it overpopulates the cities; causing the working class to be dissatisfied with their lot, and yet not giving them a better. The villagers take off their hats to him as he rides or drives by with gentle Lady Maud, his meeker and sweeter half these thirty years, but still as bright of eye and lithe of form as at fifty only an English rural gentlewoman can be. When they VILLA GE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND. 285 pass up the main aisle of the church, on Sunday morning, the congregation rises in respect, a custom in vogue now only in a few such isolated parishes as I here describe, from the old laborers in their white smocks who have free seats be- neath the gallery, and nervously twirl their hats in their hands, to our dignified and portly friend the farmer, in the senior churchwardens pew beneath the pulpit stairs. When Sir Gerald and Lady Maud at last go the way of earth, they will join their ancestors beneath the stone slabs of the chancel floor, their effigies in cor- rect marble, clasping hands, and their saintly praises writ in words of brass above the communion-table. In the life of our village, next to the church, the most notable institution is the inn. A solidly - built old structure is the Chequers Inn. Its chief entrance is through the great doorway which leads to the inner court, on either side of which are the bar and the coffee - room, with the stables at the far end. Minus the galleries, which are now enclosed corridors, it is pretty much the same inn yard as when used by strolling players in the long ago. The barmaid comes out to greet you with a courtesy, and turning you over to Boots and the chambermaid, you are led up strange old oaken stairways and through dark passages into the bright- est and cheeriest of rooms. The old four-posted bed, with its heavy hangings and its mountain of feathers, invites to delicious sleep; over the dainty white sash curtains you look out through the latticed window upon a peaceful street, and in front hangs the painted effigy of a white sxvan sus- pended in a fantastic frame of sixteenth-century ironwork. You have a grate fire at your command, antique chairs, an old tall clock in the corner, xvriting materials spread for your use on the mahogany table; and you can have your meals, which are always specially prepared for you and at the hour of your selection, either served in your apartment or in the public coffee-room, where, however, you will in nine cases out of ten find yourself the only guest, all the domestic machinery being set in motion for your individual welfare. The waiter is your attendant spirit, Boots your willing slave, the chambermaid promptly responsive to your bell. Of course, this means tips, when at last A oolidly-built otructure io the old Chequ~ro Inn. Set off in donkey carts to see the neighboring attractions. 286 the waiter brings your bill, Boots emerges from the scullery to carry your bags to the station, and the chambermaid, acci- dentally passing through the court, stops to smile a sweet farewell; but one be- comes reconciled to tipping, when it brings such service as this, so different from that met with at the average American village tavern. This is exactly the same old coaching inn that we have read about in Dickens and Thackeray and Irving. The express coaches do not stop there, as they did in the olden time, because there are no longer any express coaches; but the cyclists and the four-in-hand parties do, on their eternal round of touring through England, and they are doubtless fully as profitable customers. The inn is con- ducted almost wholly by the landlords womenfolk. He himself has in charge the posting establishment, without which appendage no inn is complete. His myrmidon is the ostler, who may be seen any hour of the day great, careless, raw- boned fellow, in his jockey cap and sport- ing leggings sponging off the harnesses and traps, or chaffing the cook through the kitchen window. The traveller who is a teetotaller may be in the Chequers Inn for a week together and never see the landlady. Her domain is the bar-parlor, and this the bureau of administration. The tap- room, for the pedestrian who just drops in~ for his glass of toddy, or the me- chanic and the farm-laborer, opens direct from the street, and is severely plain, with its high-backed settles and deal tables; the counter at the far end, pre- sided over by the barmaid, is formidable with massive brass pumps which bring ale up from the great casks in the cellar. The privileged few are admitted through the inner court into the bar-parlor, to the rear of the tap, and here we may find the buxom, smiling, bowing, deferential mistress of the Chequers Inn. Here is a cheerful grate fire; highly colored litho- graphs of fox-hunting and cricketing scenes adorn the walls, in company with The Mothers Kiss and Feeding the Robins; there is an ample table with writing materials, and the morning London /Ymes, or Slandard or News is convenient at hand; easy chairs are set against the wall and a bit of Brussels is on the floor; while in an old cabinet that may have seen duty in a baronial castle are some specially choice liquors. Warm- VILLA GE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND. The last load of hay. VILLA GE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND. ing his legs before the fire, the squires steward discusses politics with the solicitors clerk; or Farmer George, stirring the sugar in his glass, talks with the estate agent about the condition of the wool - clip; while now and then the landlady, bus- tling about with her manifold duties and her directions to the maids who come for orders, gets in a pleas- then than now. But our villagers must ant word or two with her more distinguished have sport, for they are no less Englishmen patrons and charms everybody. There than their ancestors of the bull-baiting is such genuine honesty about it all, such days. You may see them of a summer delightful frankness and simplicity, that it evening, when not in the allotments, play- tends to reconcile one for the time to ing cricket or football on the green. There some of the habits of the country. But is a half-holiday every week, for all save this scene in the bar-parlor of the Che- the agricultural laborers, who seldom have quers Inn is the bright side; the dark such a luxury vouchsafed them; and then side is in the taproom, and in the cheap the Arries and Arriets set off on public-houses which exist only as liquor foot or crowded into donkey carts to see shops, farther down the street. This the neighboring attraction, be it park, cliff little village of a thousand people sup- or castle, where with their irreverent ports a dozen such; and the humani- speech, their beer bottles and their sand- tarians in their conventions annually ask wiches, they make life unbearable for the each other what can be done to improve sentimental tourist. the condition of the agricultural laborer! Out there in the centre of the market place the little town hall has stood for cen- turies. Perched up on stone pillars a dozen feet from the ground, it is entered by an outer staircase of time- stained oak. The dark closet beneath these stairs was until forty years ago used as the village lock-up, and in the open space between the pillars, now enclosed by an iron railing, stand the ancient village The village postman. stocks silent witnesses, along with the rusty bull-ring yonder, The recreation ground, under the of how much merrier Old England was management of a club, is a feature of 287 Haymakera at the big house. 288 VILLA GE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND. the village. Here cricket and football matches with the teams of the neigbor- ing hamlet are quite the social events of the season; and here summer charity f& es are given, the exercises of speak- ing, singing, and band-playing being sometimes concluded with a fireworks exhibition which is described in the county papers as a most brilliant and fitting finale to an occasion of rare en- joyment. In the town hall, they have for the benefit of the church, flower-shows and bazars, under the gracious patronage of Lady Maud; for nearly every public entertainment in England must be, as a matter of good form, under somebodys patronage, from the queen down to the squires wife. And then there are the annual agricultural-products show, the monthly cattle, sheep and horse fairs, and the weekly market-day. It is at the fairs that the English rustic shines. There are sure to be athletic sports, with prizes given by the squire and Farmer George; sack and wheelbarrow races, contests in jumping, throwing, and wres- tling, greased pigs to be caught, and a greased pole to be climbed for tempting prizes hung at the top. On market days, the great hall of the inn, built for the county harvest balls, is set with long tables white with rare linen and burdened with eatables, with a chair of honor for the master of the market. This is the day of days with mine hostess of the Chequers Inn, and the chance traveller will have on this bustling occasion to take pot luck, with neither waiter, Boots, nor chambermaid at his beck and call. The English village workmans political arena is not broad. Now and then he has a chance to vote for a member of parliament, and oftener to attend a po- litical meeting; for the member is fond of addressing he calls it counselling with his constituents when a crisis is on in the Commons. It is the manner he has of speaking to the country. The middle and the upper classes do the political thinking and manage the clubs and the meetings, so that the rustic has little else to do than follow their lead. In elections for the new county councils, the workman is a trifle more indepen- dent, the issues being more easily com / J Farmer Georges. VILLAGE LIFE IN OLD ENGLAND. 289 prehended; while the selection of poor- law guardians and parish officers is still nearer to his mind. Although he is rapidly improving in this respect, the average rustics compre- hension, as yet, gets little higher than the affairs of the union. This is the un- ion or combination of several contiguous parishes for the management in common of roads and workhouses. The officers of the combination having in charge the former are the highway board. They choose as surveyor a professional road- maker, in whose hands the business is practically placed, with the result that English highways are among the best in the world. The poor-law guardians have charge of the union workhouse or the union, as it is familiarly called ; and it is for the support of this institution and its accompanying system of out-door relief, that the bulk of taxes is paid. Pauperism is Englands skeleton in the closet. There are two state-supported schools in the village, the Board School and the National. The National is given over to the charge of the Church establishment, and the parsons curate is the head- master; the Board School is so called because under the direction of the Lon- don School Board, and it is strictly un- sectarian. The bulk of the people would doubtless prefer the Board School, but the National is stubbornly upheld by the squire, the farmer, and the parson. It will probably have to go ~n time, how- ever, as the tide seems setting that way. The Free Education Act is now in force, and the laborers child can no longer be expelled for non-paymei~t of the old fee of four or six cents per week. Perhaps it means two glasses more of beer for the laborer himself. The English state schools are only for the working classes; no man of the mid- dle or upper stations of life, whatever his financial condition, would think of send- ing his child to a common school. The scene so familiar in every American school, of rich and poor children, high and low, and, in the North, black and white, freely commingling in demo- cratic simplicity, can nowhere be dupli- cated in England, and the mere thought of it would seem scandalous, even to the lower classes themselves. The farmer and the squire, upholding the National School because parochial, look with jeal- ousy on the Board School on account of its secular and business-like character, and honestly believe that it is over-edu- cating the children of the laboring class, causing them to be discontented with their lot and to migrate from the villages to the cities, in the hope of finding a broader field for intelligent effort. One need not go far to meet with this sort of sentiment regarding our own schools, among a certain class of American citi- zens. Will the farm laborer ever develop into anything better than the stolid, beer- drinking drudge of to-day? Will the cause of conservative temperance reform ever be backed by the stout favor of public opinion, as it certainly is in Amer- ica? Will England ever be freed from the shackles of church establishment? Will the rigidity of caste spirit be always as great as now? In a word, what is to be the future of our village? Such are the questions which crowd upon us, as we commune with these rustic folk. Seeing how deep-rooted are the cus- toms of the English, how tenacious they are of their opinions, how prejudiced against fresh ideas, one is disposed to con- clude that rural England will ever be Old England, the dream of the poets and the despair of reformers. In the light of history, we know that the change must eventually come; perhaps imperceptibly come, in a long period of years, or pos- sibly come with a bound, as great parlia- mentary reforms are apt to come. But though we could easily suggest re- forms, sadly needful, what American would wish at heart to have the England we love so well Americanized? With ruins lev- elled to make room for villas, her forests, her moors, and her great ducal parks, redeemed into farms, our little village the seat of a manufacturing boom, the bar-parlor closed, the peasantry devel- oped out of existence, the squire, the farm- er and the parson no longer supreme in the social scale, all romantic color faded out, who so poor among us here as longer to do reverence to Merry England? ON THE TRACK OF COLUMBUS. * By Horatio j Perry. FORTNIGHT out at sea! We are upon the track of Christopher Colum - bus. Only three cen / tunes and a half ago the ~ keels of his carabels ploughed for the first time these very waters, bearing the great- est heart and wisest head of his time, and one of the grandest figures in all history. To conceive Columbus at his true value requires some effort in our age, when the earth has been girdled and measured, when the sun has been weighed and the planets brought into the relation of neighbors over the way, into whose windows we are constantly peeping in spite of the social gulf which keeps us from visiting either Mars or Venus. It is not easy to put ourselves back into the fifteenth century and limit ourselves as those men were limited. I found it an aid to my comprehension of Columbus, this chance which sent me sailing over the very route of his great voyage. It is not, even now, a frequented route. The bold Spanish and Portuguese navigators of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries are no longer found upon it. The trade of the Indies has passed into other hands, and this is not the road from England to the West Indies or to America. Thus you may still sail for weeks in these seas, without ever meeting a ship. Leaving Madeira or the Canaries, you may even reach those western lands he reached without having seen or felt any other sign or incident, except precisely such as were noted by him. * This paper is a chapter from a volume of Reminis- ceoces left in maouscript by the late Horatio J. Perry, whose remarkable career io Spain, for the thirty years or more preceding his death a few years ago, is koown to maoy readers of the NEW ENGLANO MAGAZINE. It was to his arduous efforts, while io charge of our embassy at Madrid in .i86ia, that the preveotion of the recognition of the Southern coofederacy by Spaio was chiefly due. The voyage which iospired the present chapter was a return voyage from Spain to New Orleans in the latter part of 2847. Some of its views aod certaio points of historical detail may be modified by study of the latest works upon columbus e. g., by Mr. Winsor and Mr. Fiske; but the authorship and spirit of the narrative give it rare interest. Editor. But these are not the familiar incidents of other seas. They are new to you, as they were to him and to his crews. To be sure, it is the simplest of all simple things done upon the ocean this run- ning down the trade-wind, which he did for the first time when he showed the world that a new world lay at the end of the voyage. Why was it not done earlier? An~~body who can trim a sail or read a sextant or even the old astro- labe he carried, can do it now. Here we are for ten days past, sweep- ing along under full sail, spread to a strong but constant wind which bears us over an unvexed sea, going at the full speed of our ship, and without touching a brace or starting a sheet by day or by night. Were it not for the foam of her speed, the gentle sway of her gait, and the long wake of swirling water she leaves behind her, you might almost fancy she was lying at anchor in a road- stead. Play chess with that auburn-headed Scotchman for an hour, play all day, for he is of the kind who do not know when they are beaten and you may never feel a movement to derange a piece upon the board. When you look up towards evening you see nothing from the ship different from what you saw in the morning, except that the sun is now on the starboard bow and shining in your face; whereas when you sat down he was on the port quarter, and warmed your back from the direction of Africa. He dips into the western sea over the same mark you took upon the bitts yes- terday, and he will rise out of the water to-morrow over the same spot upon the taffrail where you marked him to-day and the day before and six days ago. The ship has not varied her direction in the slightest for a week past; the sails are in the same position, the braces feel the same strain, the masts are bent to the same pressure, the fore-stays are just as slack, the shrouds are just as taut;

Horatio J. Perry Perry, Horatio J. On the Track of Columbus 290-301

ON THE TRACK OF COLUMBUS. * By Horatio j Perry. FORTNIGHT out at sea! We are upon the track of Christopher Colum - bus. Only three cen / tunes and a half ago the ~ keels of his carabels ploughed for the first time these very waters, bearing the great- est heart and wisest head of his time, and one of the grandest figures in all history. To conceive Columbus at his true value requires some effort in our age, when the earth has been girdled and measured, when the sun has been weighed and the planets brought into the relation of neighbors over the way, into whose windows we are constantly peeping in spite of the social gulf which keeps us from visiting either Mars or Venus. It is not easy to put ourselves back into the fifteenth century and limit ourselves as those men were limited. I found it an aid to my comprehension of Columbus, this chance which sent me sailing over the very route of his great voyage. It is not, even now, a frequented route. The bold Spanish and Portuguese navigators of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries are no longer found upon it. The trade of the Indies has passed into other hands, and this is not the road from England to the West Indies or to America. Thus you may still sail for weeks in these seas, without ever meeting a ship. Leaving Madeira or the Canaries, you may even reach those western lands he reached without having seen or felt any other sign or incident, except precisely such as were noted by him. * This paper is a chapter from a volume of Reminis- ceoces left in maouscript by the late Horatio J. Perry, whose remarkable career io Spain, for the thirty years or more preceding his death a few years ago, is koown to maoy readers of the NEW ENGLANO MAGAZINE. It was to his arduous efforts, while io charge of our embassy at Madrid in .i86ia, that the preveotion of the recognition of the Southern coofederacy by Spaio was chiefly due. The voyage which iospired the present chapter was a return voyage from Spain to New Orleans in the latter part of 2847. Some of its views aod certaio points of historical detail may be modified by study of the latest works upon columbus e. g., by Mr. Winsor and Mr. Fiske; but the authorship and spirit of the narrative give it rare interest. Editor. But these are not the familiar incidents of other seas. They are new to you, as they were to him and to his crews. To be sure, it is the simplest of all simple things done upon the ocean this run- ning down the trade-wind, which he did for the first time when he showed the world that a new world lay at the end of the voyage. Why was it not done earlier? An~~body who can trim a sail or read a sextant or even the old astro- labe he carried, can do it now. Here we are for ten days past, sweep- ing along under full sail, spread to a strong but constant wind which bears us over an unvexed sea, going at the full speed of our ship, and without touching a brace or starting a sheet by day or by night. Were it not for the foam of her speed, the gentle sway of her gait, and the long wake of swirling water she leaves behind her, you might almost fancy she was lying at anchor in a road- stead. Play chess with that auburn-headed Scotchman for an hour, play all day, for he is of the kind who do not know when they are beaten and you may never feel a movement to derange a piece upon the board. When you look up towards evening you see nothing from the ship different from what you saw in the morning, except that the sun is now on the starboard bow and shining in your face; whereas when you sat down he was on the port quarter, and warmed your back from the direction of Africa. He dips into the western sea over the same mark you took upon the bitts yes- terday, and he will rise out of the water to-morrow over the same spot upon the taffrail where you marked him to-day and the day before and six days ago. The ship has not varied her direction in the slightest for a week past; the sails are in the same position, the braces feel the same strain, the masts are bent to the same pressure, the fore-stays are just as slack, the shrouds are just as taut; ON THE TEA OK OF COLUMBUS. 291 she is going, and going fast perhaps she has never gone so fast before. This is a new experience upon the sea. What sea is this? What wind? XVilI it never calm? XVill it never veer? Could we even now make head against it, if we were to put down the helm and bring her up again upon the wind? Oh we have got a steam engine; and besides we know all about it. It is in every school-book. You have never felt it before, but you know that we are in the northern trade-wind, and you know its limits. You know too every child knows that the earth is a sphere. But did you know, or did you ever reflect, that it was precisely Columbus him- self who first practically assumed that demoralizing fact, and threw it into the last quarter of the fifteenth century, to upset all the theological and cosmical systems of the time? Do you remem- ber that it was still more than a century later when Galileo was forced to recant the pestilential theory that the earth moves, though he consoled himself with the reflection that the earth would still move on in spite of his recantation? What a gulf separates us to-day from that world of Columbus! Still let us try to look across it a little. The Scotch- man is long enough meditating his moves, and there is nothing better to occupy us. Yes, the earth moves, though Colum- bus did not know it. It turns upon its axis; and this motion at the poles of course is nothing but at the equator with a swing of four thousand miles radius the motion is something fearful. If you reckon it roughly, this particular water where we are now sailing is whirl- ing eastward, with all its little ships and our little selves and the atmosphere which covers us, at the rate of about fourteen miles a minute. So much we know, that Columbus did not know; and we know also that near the equator the suns heat rapidly and constantly rarifies the air and sends it rising from the ground upwards, whilst the swift turning motion also com- pensates here in part the force of gravi- tation, and tends to throw the air up and off from the spinning ball. To fill the partial void so created, the cooler air sets in, and it comes from the direction of the poles. That would give us in this lower atmosphere a constant current, say from north to south, from cold to hot. But first here in the zone where we are now sailing as this cooler air comes in upon the tropics it encounters the tre- mendous swing of the diurnal revolution. We have seen that at the point from which it started its own eastward turning motion was at a very much lower rate, and it has been put in movement south- wards; and, going southwards, it has already gathered its own dynamic force, so that it does not yield so readily to the augmented impulse which would drag it eastward. Partially it yields, and partial- ly the solid earth, going on at fourteen miles the minute, tends to leave behind, and actually does leave behind, this slower - going air drawing in from the north. Thus, to some extent, it is true that the planet here is slipping out from under its air envelope slipping out eastward, which, for our senses, is as if the atmosphere were going westward. Still, the real movement of this cooler current was southward, towards the equa- tor, so that the resultant apparent motion is a compromise between the two, and the northern trade-wind seems to be blowing from the northeast toward th southwest. There, we have worked that all out whilst the Scotch queens knight is going to her bishops third square. We play queens bishop to the kings knights fifth, and it will take our friend at least half an hour to see the bearing of it. Mean time, we were saying, it seems to blow. In reality this atmosphere is lagging be- hind the spinning ocean. In reality the trade-wind is no wind at all in the sense we use that word elsewhere. It is not a transitory disturbance in the air not the result of barometric changes of local perturbation, partial eddies, whirls, or currents; and it is no part of a storm, far or near, heavy or light. Columbus and his men were used to storms, used to the inconstant winds, and knew how to take advantage of their inconstancy. Those men were good sea- men; and say what we will, the art of sailing has advanced little since their day. The form of ships hulls is bet- 292 ON THE TRACK OF COL (1MB Us. tered, but the great courses of the cara- bels those Qid Phcnnician sails with which the men of Tyre carried tin from Cornwall to Corinth in the time of Homer are still the type of the most powerful sail we know of. There is no other which will push a craft so fast to wind- ward, or send her reaching off before the wind, with such speed and ease to the ship. Columbus could lay his course nearer to the wind than any Indiaman of Eng- land or any clipper ship of which we boast to-day. The three-masted American schooner of our time is in some sense a return and an approach toward the type of the old carabel, but always in exchange for certain advantages of handiness, with a decided inferiority in the power of the sails. And those ships were well found, and their size was all that was necessary or proper for the work. Columbus at first rejected the largest of them, the Gailega, re-christened the San/a Maria, as too large foi his purpose. For a voyage of discovery in unknown seas, and going as he hoped to go upon unknown coasts, a large ship was unfitted. He preferred light and handy vessels, and his carabels were about the size our most successful modern discoverers have selected for penetrating to the Arctic seas. Though the San/a Maria was too large, Columbus accepted her rather than delay his voy- age, and she was the only ship lost. S9me better idea of the size and capacity of his vessels may be inferred from Columbuss own statement, that the smallest of them, the Nina, to which he transferred his flag and part of the crew and stores of the San/a Maria after she stranded, together with a mass of objects, products, animals, and savage men that he was taking back from the new world, the Nina, with that cargo and fifty-six men aboard, he said, might still have car- ried a hundred more men with safety. So experienced a seaman could not have made that remark, if the little Nina had been anything less than two hundred tons burden. As a navigator, therefore, xve must acquit Columbus of foolhardiness; and, for all the winds that blow, those old sailors of the Spanish peninsula had already under their hands the best pro- pelling power that man has ever yet de- vised until the age of steam, and they knew how to handle it and how to work their ships. But only a few days out from the Cana- ries those experienced men found them- selves, as we are now, borne forward by a great cosmical phenomenon hitherto unknown, pushing them quietly and rapidly toward what? The whole body of the atmosphere seems to be sweeping silently away, to- ward the Dark Sea, toward the un- fathomed West. There, upon the fringe of the world, were spread out great fields of sea-grasses, whose limits no mart knew, enclosing and guarding unmeas- ured pools of black water, in which Leviathan dwelt; and ships might go into those fields and through them with- out much difficulty; but then the treacherous grasses closed in behind them knotted like a net, and they could never return, but only wait and waste themselves away till it pleased Leviathan himself to rise from his lair and swallow them up ships, masts, sails, and men in those horrid jaws which towered like living mountains on either side of the doomed ship, a moment only, till crack, they came together, and all was over. There, too, swooped from the air that great bird of all the medi~val history the invulnerable roc whose wings stretch more than a thousand cubits, darkening the sun, and in whose talons a ship with her crew went up like a lamb borne away by an eagle. The first day of the trade-wind it is thought to be a fair, strong breeze; the second and the third go well; the sixth the invariableness of the pressure upon the ships excites remark. From watch to watch old sailors whisper to each other, There is no change; men go to their work and go to their rest, and find no change; the same tacks in the same places, the sails always full, and the shrouds always straining. The middle watch and the morning watch com- municate, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, to tell. A fortnight gone, and this is appalling. ON TUE TRACK OF COL UMB US. 293 Oh, for a calm! Oh, for a gale! Oh, for the worst weather that ever blew on ocean! Holy Mary, Mother of God, save us! Turn, oh, turn the wind! Grant us at least a storm! Give us to see once more those vineclad slopes of thy own beloved land. We are thy children, mother we are from Spain! And the infection gains the stoutest hearts. Day by day augments it. No- body has ever seen the like before. The boldest pilots and the best masters of the little squadron begin to think the men are right. Vicente Yafiez, Ruy Fernandez, Sancho Ruiz, and even Alonso Nino are shaken. And that cold stranger upon the poop of the San/a Maria, pacing apart, does he really know where he is going! Well, it is not so much the going but how can we ever return? How many months would it take the swift Nina, even now, to beat up against this unchanging wind, and gain back the distance we have run down in a fortnight! The men are right. Gods winds are not like this, we know them well! Ruy, did you see those fishes leap out of the sea and go flying away before us like coveys of partridges? Is not that portentous? That one which flew aboard the Fin/a ugh! what mouths he made! Do you think that fish would be good for your supper? I saw him, and his wings were blue. Juan, it is your watch to-night. I do not care to sleep, and we will keep the watch together. What do you say to our sailing thus for two whole days through floating grass, and seeing nothing but the green of the grass-fields far as the eye can reach? What sea is this? Paco told me last night at sunset he saw spread out on the western horizon a pair of enormous wings, which followed on after the sun, and he watched them till they grexv dim in the distance and the night, and he could see them no more. Look over the side, man! Do you call that sea water? It is all afire ! Look where the keel opens it burning inside like sulphur! Oh, Juan, woe worth the day that brought us here. Will he not heed these things? Does he want it any plainer? Is it not all a most evident snare of the Devil, so smooth, so fair, and at the end perdi- tion? But we at least are Christians too old Christians to be so lured. By the sign of the Holy Cross ( + ) vade re/ro Sa/anas/let him turn back, I say! Let him turn whilst it be yet time! Let him turn in the name of Heaven! Perhaps no other man in that century or in the century which followed it could have held on his course and held down his crews in the circumstances this voy- age of ours is helping us to understand. The Devil indeed had very little hold upon Columbus. His intellect and his training had raised him to a higher plane. And yet, if we consider it, how many have been the men of his time or for three centuries after him, of whom that can be truly said? How many are there, even of those we have called great, whose conceptions have not been marred, and whose lives have not been more or less swayed, by that influence? Even when I was a child the Devil still wielded a terrible power in New England. The sons of the Puritans, the English, and especially the Scotch, the Catholics of Europe, the followers of Luther and those of Calvin all were more or less under his sway. Was there any man indeed a bare one hundred years ago altogether free from that monstrous incubus of the medireval Devil? Look at the portrait of Columbus, painted from the living man, and you will begin to comprehend why and how the momentous voyage held on. There is something in the face which reminds you of Francis Bacon, born more than a century later. The ample forehead and the pro- jecting brows are full of that perceptive power to which the phenomena of nature yield up their secrets. But he is Bacons superior. There is in the steady depth of those eyes something, even in the counterfeit, which shows the clear insight and the determination of that man in whose living presence no intelligent being could ever stand without acknowledging his ascendency. 294 ON THE TRACK OF COLUMBUS. No! Columbus did not know, any more than did his men, how to account for that constant set of the whole atmos- phere westward. But Columbus was a man of science the most advanced and with the best method of all the men of that age. He, and he only, was capable at that time of recognizing the fact that he had come into the presence of a great cosmical phenomenon, and of setting himself quietly to study it. Already he had studied, observed, noted, and reflected for more than thirty, years. He had first convinced himself of the sphericity of the earth, and then he had conferred with Torquanelli of Flor- ence, Girandelli of Rome, Marchene and Deza of Spain, and brought them to acknowledge this great fundamental fact of his whole system. He had fought the thesis out, adapting it as well as he could to the theology of the times, before the board of doctors at Salamanca; had nar- rowly escaped falling into the clutches of the nascent Inquisition, accused of heresy; had stood by it, nevertheless, and had seen his folly condemned by the wisdom of the age, and himself free of a dungeon only because that g~at prelate Mendoza was captivated with the man, and had intellect enought to admire him in spite of his doubtful tenets, and influence enough to save him. And he had again gone on earning his daily bread by drawing maps and mari- ners charts with his own hand, aided by his son; for he was then confessedly the first geographer in Europe, and the navigators of Portugal, and of Spain, and of Italy, liked to have charts drawn by the hand of Columbus, and paid him well for them; and there was then no lithography, no engraving, and no print- ting of such things. Come, step into Captain S.s cabin, and he will show us the almost perfect chart we are now sailing by, purchased at the British Admiralty for four shillings. How many shillings would you pay to-day for one of those old, imperfect charts of the fifteenth century, drawn by the hand of the geographer Columbus? Thus, he had stood firm to his own conceptions, had propagated and taught them through every discouragement, strengthening them every year with new discoveries and new data, till he had made them in some sense familiar, had gained converts and adherents, and had fairly conquered at last the right to stand once more face to face with the first Isabel, in spite of her deference to the church, and to explain to her in person the theories and the facts and reasons on which they were based, and the splendid projects to which they had given rise. The queen believed. She compre- hended not so much the scientific expo- sition as she did the man himself. With that fine instinct which belongs in its highest grades only to some women, she felt what was in the man who stood before her, simple and clean, deferential but un- abashed the poor man who dared to talk thus to the Highness of the two Castiles, talk of conferring on her, the queen, benefits and grandeur. For Columbus never was a suppliant. Let that forgery be nailed. He stood in presence of the royalty of the fifteenth century, and treated always power to power. There is much popular error rife about him. At the hour we are now looking at him, he had already seen his terms rejected by John of Portugal, who thought them exorbitant, though his own navigators and men of science and John himself were converts to the theory, and Lisbon then contained the best material for the expedition in Europe. He had already seen the Senate of his native Genoa, persuaded by his reasoning, con- vinced by his scientific demonstration~ recoil before the magnitude of his de- mands, as something which that thriving republic could hardly undertake. And he had gone back to his work of drawing charts, and collecting and verifying facts, and would not abate one tittle of what he had settled to be his due. So once more, after years of honorable struggle, after fighting his way slowly and painfully through the triple hedge of ignorance, envy, and pretension, which fenced about the throne of the Catholic kings, when at last he stood in presence of that great queen in the climax of her glory at Granada, he abated not a jot of the stipulations he proposed should be in- serted in the treaty he offered to make ON THE TRACK OF COL U/JIB US. 295 with the Spanish crown. Those Spanish capitulations are practically identical with the articles rejected ten years earlier by Portugal. And when even the admiring Isabel could not at first bring herself to accept ternis, which, coming from a man in his circumstances, must have appeared to her presumptious, he submitted to be allowed again to depart, and bowed and went his way. But Isabel herself could not rest. She knew, she felt, that she had had before her the longest head and the strongest will of that memorable time. In spite of the persuasions of her courtiers ; in spite of the jealousies and intrigues of her grandees, who had heard that this for- eigner demanded to be set higher than the highest, and first in dignity after the crown itself, Hereditary Lord High Admiral of the Seas called Ocean, Per- petual Viceroy ~nd Governor General of all Islands and Continents he might annex to the Spanish Crown, with right of royalty on all treasures found, right to levy taxes, collect tribute, commission officers, adminster justice, and execute the pain of death ; in spite of her own husband, the King of Aragon ; in spite of the fact that she was just then in the last pinch and strait of the penury result- ing from her long struggle against the Moor ; in spite of everybody and every- thing, when Isabel learned that Colum- bus had actually departed from her camp, riding away on a mule, and was already a half days journey from the Court whose dust he had shaken off from his feet when she had thereupon heard the re- proaches of his friend and convert, Luis de Santangel, whom she thanked for his bold remonstrances ; when Alonzo de Guintanilla had risked her favor and won her heart by upbraiding her ; when she had fallen at the foot of the crucifix and humbly confessed her sins, and taken ghostly counsel from that good priest, Juan Perez, then she rose up and sent off swift messengers to bring back the unbending man, and to tell him at once that all his terms were granted. Within twenty - four hours afterwards, Columbus stood again in presence of Isabel, and heard from her own lips that, as Aragon would not contribute, Castile alone assumed the burden of his outfit; and, as the treasury was very low, her own jewels would furnish the necessary funds, and she prayed the blessing of God upon his enterprise. And from that day forward the queen stood stanchly by him and supported him in all his trials. The man who could subdue that queen and bend her to his purpose, even if he had not found a new world, was great. The woman who could so feel the great- ness of that simple man, and find the resources to set on foot his undertaking, in spite of all the obstacles that hampered Isabel, was a great woman among the greatest. It is a brilliant page in human history. Prescott has felt it; but we have not all known how to give it its full sig- nificance. Lack of the true data, the growth of a half-legendary Columbus, tinged by the ignorance and incapacity of the story-tellers, have impeded our just conception of his genius and his character. Poor he was, for he was rigid; but a mendicant he never was. On the contrary, he maintained himself and maintained his studies, and taught his contemporaries, and .~upported his family, and educated his son better than the sons of other men were then educated, by the constant exercise of an honorable calling in which he excelled all others. And let us note another circumstance, notable, indeed, if we once grasp the nature of his surroundings: remember- ing that his means were precarious, that he shocked unpardoning prejudices, faced pride, and laid himself open to the bitter- est criticism of a brutal age calling to mind that in so doing he often walked alone and unsupported, let us note, I say, that it is not on record that anybody of any degree anywhere ever attempted to put upon Columbus any personal con- tumely; but, on the contrary, we do know that his person never failed to exact per- fect respect and involuntary homage, even from his enemies. Such was the man, th ~n, holding the queens commission and authority, who was pacing the poop of the Sazita Maria in September, 1492, here in this very sea, sailing where we are now sailing, and see- ing for the first time what we are now 296 ON TILE TRACK 011 COL (1MB Us. seeing, upon whom it fell to stay the rising tide of terror an(i superstition which swamped the men who were with him, brave men, for whom the usual perils of the sea were nothing, but who could not bear the gathering oppression of such a voyage as this, so utterly unlike every other. Something more than the nerve of a commander was needed aboard that Spanish squadron in 1492, something more and different, or that squadron never could have held on to complete its voyage. It would have returned, as John of Portugals expedition returned, which he sent out, under his bravest captain, to test the truth of Columbuss theories forced to recede before that huge dragon cloud of superstition which then brooded over and covered the Dark Sea, pre- venting all access to those regions of the West. The cool head, the critical penetration, the long education of an observer of natural phenomena, the reflection of a great brain trained to weigh the value and meaning of facts, the whole being, in short, of a man of science, capable and accustomed to live a higher life than that life of the fifteenth century, were neces- sary, that he himself should not also be carried away by the same influences which overwhelmed his crews. The discovery of America by Columbus was in some sense, indeed, a scientific demonstration. In some essential sense it may be compared to that later feat of the discovery of a new planet by mathe- matical calculation. Columbus had worked out his own conceptions of cosmography, and tested and verified their truth, till upon his own mind there was no doubt. He it was who really knew that the earth is a sphere; and, though he had as yet no sufficient data to measure her size and distances, he knew and he only at that time fully knew that if he sailed re- solutely westward, he would surely bring up in the East Indies, unless he should be arrested by meeting with some other and unknown land. That was his great thesis which he had worked out and verified and successfully taught, and which he was then practically demonstrating to the compre- hension of the world. It was in the course of this demonstra- tion that he encountered a new phenome- non, this excellent trade-wind, and could welcome it, study and observe it with satisfaction as an unexpected aid to his great enterprise. His scientific training, too, it was, which enabled him calmly to observe another new fact, startling enough in that age and upon such a voyage, when he saw, for the first time in history, that the needle of the mariners compass no longer pointed to the polar star. We must reflect that the compass was then the greatest conquest of humanity, the reliance of those ships, the steadfast guide in whose faith and security man had for the first time dared to sail away long distances from the land, confident that he could find it again by means of that little instrument. So Betencourt had refound the Canaries; Noli and Cadamosto had returned from the Cape Verds; Farco and Texeira had visited Madeira; and Cabral, the Azores, and had been able to keep their reckoning and navigate back to Europe. But Columbus was farther away than any of them when he discovered that the compass began to fail him; and, as the days passed and the distance grew, the evil grew with it. It is, indeed, a wonder- ful thing that he, at that time and in those circumstances, could have set him- self quietly to study the magnetic declina- tion, map it, and prepare for future navigators the requisite corrections. He did it; but the failure of the compass xvas a heavy blow upon the fortitude of all the rest of that venturesome band. For whilst we have been discussing the person of the admiral, the ferment among his crews had grown apace. Already he had exhausted, at frequent sittings with his captains and pilots, all the treasures of his persuasion. They had gone away from his presence convinced, only to fall back again in a few hours into the super- stitious credulity and terror which were the legitimate expression of their own mental condition. The captain of the Phi /a, Martin Alonzo Pinzon, brave, headstrong, and crochety, had been so saturated with the admirals reasoning that, on the ~8th of September, he took ON THE TRACK OF COL U/JIB US. 297 into his head that the land lay about fif- teen leagues away on the starboard beam, and asked permission to steer for it due north. His wishes were ardent, but they were not gratified; the admiral held on westward, and Pinzon grew sullen, and knew and said that the promised land had been already passed. And then seven days more west- ward. The mutterings had become general; the fear and the oppression, universal; conspiracy was in every thought, before any man whispered it. There was as yet no leader, no agitator; but all were agitated, each by the sinking of his own heart and by looking on the face of his neighbor. Nevertheless, it so happened that on the 25th of September, at nightfall, the same Martin Alonso Pinzon, who was, in fact, the best captain of the squadron, suddenly rushed up upon the poop of the Pin/a, shouting aloud, Land! Land! Oh, what a tension was then relieved! Officers and men all burst at once into voice, shouting and crying, Land! Land ! and the crew of the Niaa, all swarming into the tops and hanging by the shrouds, were gesticulating and shout- ing, Land During that whole night the efferves- cence lasted, but morning dispelled the illusion. There was no land, nothing but the limitless sea and the unfailing wind, and the admiral pushing west- ward. Then the reaction from that hour of hope was proportionate, the depression terrible; and still the Admiral held on. His influence over them was almost in- conceivable. Five days more it was too much! He must be checked. If he would not listen to reason; still, he must be checked. The experiment had gone on long enough. They were already twelve hundred miles west of the last westing ever gained by any man who had returned to tell the tale. The lives of a hundred and twenty brave Spaniards must not be sacrificed to the crazy obstinacy of a foreigner, how- ever smooth his tongue, or however much he might have been able to deceive the good queen whom God preserve. On the first of October, the navigating officer of the San/a 11/aria, with trembling voice and white lips announced 1,739 miles west of Ferro, the last of the Canary Islands the last land of the known world. But he was below the mark. By the true reckoning, which the admiral kept for himself, he knew that they were already 2,100 from Ferro, and he still held on. The remonstrances, the supplications of his best men and most devoted adher- ents cut him to the quick, and he exhausted every resource of a kind heart and fruit- ful brain to keep them up, not without some momentary success; but he would not swerve from his course, and not a man on board could comprehend such tenacity. Then came the next succeeding phase of a common despair; the conspiracy had found a leader. The captain of the Pin/a, backed by his brother, the captain of the Niiia, began to let the admiral understand by the haughtiness of their manners and the roughness of their speech that they knew they had the crews behind them, and that he was isolated. But he still held on West West! On October 7th, at daybreak, a gun from the Nii~a, in advance, and a flag to her mizzen again announced the land. All was once more hope joy but this time tempered with distrust; and that day wore on, and the illusion of the morning went with it. And now approached the last act of the drama upon whose issue that man had staked his own life and the subsequent history of mankind. We have been told that when this crisis came, Columbus bought off his rebel crews by promising them that if land were not reached within three days he would then turn back and steer for Spain; and that they accepted the transaction, and gave him the respite. It is a part of the legend which grew up in Europe within a century after the events; but it is not true. Such a transaction was not consonant with the character of Columbus, nor with the nature of the circumstances, nor with the temper of those crews. Those Spaniards, in their then temper, at the first sign of weakness in the foreigner who curbed them, must have swept over him like a prairie fire in a whirlwind. It was too late for half measures. Knowing some- 298 ON TITLE TRACK Q.J? COLUMBUS. thing of the Spanish temper, and know- ing the circumstances of that hour, we shall better approach the situation of that little squadron in the second week of October. The truth is, that the story-tellers, in an age of scant publicity and scant knowl- edge, filled with wonder at the event, and ignorant of these details, did not hesitate to invent such as they thought necessary to set off the marvels of the discovery, painting them according to the measure of their own capacity to con- ceive them, but not according to the facts. Thus they have almost universally sent Columbus to sea in ill-found, half- provisioned vessels, unfit to keep the seas, not reflecting that in so doing they deprived their hero of all serious claim to seamanship, and to that knowledge and prudence which prepare success, knowledge and prudence which were eminently his, and which were really dis- played by him in all the minutiae of that expedition on which the event of his life depended. When the true data are ex- amined, and we find that every branch and portion of the outfit were personally supervised by Columbus himself, as well as by the brothers Pinzon, who in this regard were thoroughly competent, that the vessels xvere stanch sea-going ships, well armed and equipped, and of the size best adapted for such a voyage of dis- covery, in the opinion of the admiral himself, concordant in this respect with the best practice of modern times; when we learn that every ship carried full provisions for one year, instead of the two months of the story-tellers, we begin to understand somewhat more justly the nature of the enterprise, and the nature of the man who had conceived it and was then executing it. But just here, at the point we have now reached, there is a trait of his char- acter which interposes to impede our full knowledge of the events. It is owing to himself that just here the field of the story-tellers has been least encumbered by authentic facts. His generosity, his ample and complete forgiveness of those who wronged him, his desire that in spite of their shortcomings all who were with him should reap the full measure of praise for his success, led him to suppress in his own journal and in all other places. the account of that open and armed revolt of his crews. He has written nothing except the bare mention that it occurred, nothing to inculpate anybody; and if the actors in the writing had not themselves afterwards told the story, we might have known to-day little or noth- ing about it. This, then, is their account,. not his, and it is a bald one; but there is enough to show that things did not pass as we have so often heard them in. the legend. In the first week in October the con- spiracy had been matured. The crew~ and the officers of the admirals own ship were in it. Even Diego de Arana, his wifes nephew, whether from fear of the rebels or from whatsoever other cause, had thrown in his lot with them. So too Diego Mendes, Francisco Ximenes Rol- dan, and Diego de Salcedo, his esquires. (or as we should say, his aides-de-camp) in his personal service, who had their cabins in the poop near the admirals. own quarters, had given in their acquies- cence, if not their active co6peration, and were prepared to let the rebels do their work. It had been determined to throw the admiral overboard and be rid of him once for all. The eldest Pinzon would then take command and navigate the squadron back to Spain, when a plausible tale of the loss of Columbus would shield the conspirators and furnish good motive for their return. On the ioth of October, after a splendid days run, during which the ships had made 177 miles S.W., just at nightfall, when according to standing orders the ships ought to approach the admiral and draw together for the night, the Pin/a and the Niiia, acting by previous concert,. suddenly laid themselves aboard the San/a Maria on either side, and Martin Alonso Pinzon, calling aloud to his two brothers, leaped upon the admirals deck, sword in hand, followed by the crew of the Pin/a in arms. Vicente Yafiez Pinzon, the captain of the Nii~a7 did the same upon the larboard side heading the crew of that vessel; and the San/a Marias own crew, instead of re- pelling the boarders joined them and ON THE TRA OK OF COLUMBUS. 299 ranged themselves under the lead of Alonso Nifio, and under the two cap- tains, who were already advancing upon Columbus. This man stood alone; even his esquires slunk away from his side. He was lost beyond remedy. Indeed it was then so evident he was lost, that this very circumstance gave a special and unmis- takable meaning to his bearing at that moment. XVhat was it in him which checked them at that critical instant, when the hated admiral was at last within their power? Not courage, though that was there undaunted; but they were a hundred armed men against one, and mere courage could not have saved him. XVhat it was, we can only conjecture; but something like it must have been to that expression which lingered in the memory of Isabel when Columbus, disappointed, had turned to leave her for the last time and which had finished by conquering Isabel; something perhaps of pity for those short-sighted men, whose lack of comprehension would thus impede the demonstration of what he so well knew; something certainly it was of such un- doubted superiority, so much above the plane of their own ideas that they sud- denly halted in its presence and looked blank. And then he spoke to them. The men who have told this tale have never known how to put that look and bearing which checked them into language, and they have only given us the baldest record of what he said but in his tone there was more of forgiveness than of resentment; and still he abated no tittle of his right to command. There was no transaction, not an instant of vacillation none of the men who saw and heard him ever said that there was. When they stopped they had summoned him to turn the prows of the squadron towards Castile. But he told them squarely, as they themselves testify, and as he himself wrote in his journal, that he had em- barked to go to the East Indies, and by the blessing of God he would go there, if the ships were not first stopped by some other land. Then he drew their attention to the extraordinary circum- stances of the voyage, the smooth seas, and unfailing wind which had been vouchsafed to them, and declared with- out hesitation that Gods blessing was indeed upon their enterprise. The nar- rative of the men is meagre; but he did not speak long, and then taking the tone of authority he ordered them roundly to go back every man to his duty, and they went. That was what really took place be- tween Columbus and his rebel crews, as they themselves related it and in the nature of things it could hardly be other- wise. The weak transaction which ha~ been invented for us is intrinsically in- credible. The story-tellers did not know these details, and did not know to what point the revolted crews had, already gone. When those Spanish mutineers leaped upon their admirals deck and advanced upon him sword in hand, every man of them was aware that according to all ordinary rules the safety of his own head depended on their going clean through and finishing their work. No compro- mise that should leave him alive could possibly have suited them then. Never- theless, at the bottom of it all the moving impulse of those men was terror. They were banded for that wo~k by a common fear and a common superstition, and it was only when they looked in the clear face of one wholly free from the influ- ences which enslaved themselves, when they felt in their marrow that supreme expression of Columbus at the point of a miserable death only then the revul- sion of confidence in him suddenly re- lieved their own terrors. It was instinc- tive. This man knows! He does not deceive us! We fools are compromising the safety of all by quenching this light. He alone can get us through this busi- ness, that was the human instinct which responded to the look and bearing of Columbus at the moment when he was wholly lost, and when his lifes work, his great voyage, almost accomplished, wa~ also to all appearance lost. The instinct was sure, the response was certain, from the instant that its motive was also there sure and certain; but no other man in that age could have provoked it, no other but Columbus could be thus sure of what he was then doing. ~3OO ON THE TRACK OF COL UMB US. The mutineers went back to their work, and the ships went on. For three days previous, the admiral, following some indications he had noted from the flight of birds, had steered southwest. Through that night of the ioth, and through the day of the i ith, he still kept that course; but just at evening of the ~ ~ th he ordered the helm again to be put due West. The squadron had made eighty-two miles that 4ay, and his practised senses now taught him that land was indeed near. Without any hesitation he called together his chief officers, and announced to them that the end of their voyage was at hand; and he ordered the ships to sail well to- gether, and to keep a sharp lookout through the night, as he expected land before the morning. Also they had strict orders to shorten sail at midnight, and not to advance beyond half speed. Then he promised a velvet doublet of his own as a present to the man who should first make out the land. These details are well-known, and they are authentic; and it is true also that these dispositions of the admiral spread life throughout the squadron. Nobody slept that night. It was only twenty -four hours since they were ready to throw him overboard; but they now believed in him and bitterly accused one another. We know also that it was the admiral himself who, a little after ten oclock that night, first saw upon the horizon the light of a distant fire, which he pointed out to Pedro Gutierrez, who also saw it and called Rodrigo Sanchez. That distant tiny light disappeared whilst they were watching it, and then after an interval reappeared, and again finally became in- visible. Gutierrez and Sanchez wondered what it could be; but Columbus went into his cabin, and fell down on his knees and thanked God, who had brought him thus in safety to the end of his voyage. At midnight the squadron shortened sail, as ordered, nobody had yet seen the land. But at about two oclock a flame burst fromthe side of the Pin/a in advance, and a gun rang out upon the night the tidings that the land was found. Juan Bermejo in the foretop had made it out; and when the morning broke there lay spread out before them the fair, low shores of Guanahani, clothed in all the beauty of a tropical vegetation; and the mutineers of thirty-six hours previous came and fell at the feet of Columbus and implored his pardon, lauding in tones almost of worship his genius and his con- stancy. We have thus been drawn into a con- templation of the voyage of Columbus, in which the impressions of our own navi- gation in the Ray have been supplemented to some extent by data subsequently ac- quired. So wide an excursion in time and history has spoiled the game of chess with our Scotch friend, to whom we will give it up this once; and meantime the Ta~ herself has crossed the track of the Spanish squadron and is steering for St. Thomas. But in taking leave of the three carabels that have kept us company so long, it is a memory to endure this voyage of ours, which has enabled us to see just what they saw, feel something of what they felt, and thus the better to understand that man upon the poop of the San/a A/arz~, pacing apart, to whom it fell to draw with his steady keels the dividing line between the middle age and modern history. THE GOVERNORS RECEPTION. By Frances AL. Abboif. ACOB ATKINSON and his eldest son were stooking corn out in the field be- yond the orchard. The sun was getting low, and glared sullenly through the haze at the yellow pumpkins strag- gling over the dusty earth. The men had nearly finished their work, and the shocks of corn looked like an encamp- ment of wigwams. Dont seem to be any signs of breakin the drouth, said the elder man. XVe had a dry moon las night an the roads jus like ashes. At that moment a cloud of dust ap- peared at the top of the hill, and an old gray horse and wagon rattled into view. Its Josi Chandler, said Jacob. Hes ben over to Colchester this aft- noon. Mr. Chandler evidently had some news that he xvas impatient to communicate. He called out as soon as he was within hailing distance, I say, Jake I H& s got it. Theyve gone n given it to Pete I You dont say so! gasped Mr. Atkinson. Wal, Ill be hanged! Yes, said Mr. Chandler, who was beaming with satisfaction at the sensation he had made, n I move that we pull off our coats n go in n help elect him. How come they to give it to Uncle Peter! said Tom, who had leaped the stone wall and was leaning against the bespattered wagon. No matter how long since there had been a rain, Mr. Chand- lers vehicles always bore traces of the last mud. Wal, you see there was a sort of split. Godwin n Drake both wanted it, n they fit n wouldnt neither of em give in. Then somebody said Giochook County hadnt hed a govner fer twenty years, n the convention whopped right over n gin Pete Atkerson the nomerna- tion. Tom, said his father, I guess we wont do no more work to-night. I aint took so much intrest in politics since I was lected seleckmen. Mr. Chandler always spoke in the plural when mention- ing himself in his official capacity. The news of the nomination spread rapidly, and in the evening the village store was full. The three prominent debaters were Josiah Chandler, who had the distinction of being the herald, and in some sense the author of the nights en- tertainment, Matthew Evans, the store- keeper, and Capn Ayer, who always promoted a flow of conversation by op- posing every expressed opinion. I tell you what, said Mr. Chandler, Ive allus ben an old-fashioned Whig, n sence the Whig partys ben gone, Ive acted with the Republicans; but Ill be blamed ef I dont go fur Pete Atker- son this year. When I hey a chance to vote fur a man thet was born n reared right here amongst us on the old home farm where his brother Jake lives now, I fur one aint a-goin to miss it. What offices he goin to give ye, Josi? inquired Capn Ayer, slowly puffing his pipe. Yere young n spry yet, mebbe yell get appinted kernel on his staff. Trim up Dolly a bit, n comb out her mane, n the old mars got a good deal of prance in her yet. There was an echo of applauding grunts. I never expec to take part in a lection procession excep to look on, but I aint beholden to no man, said Mr. Chandler sturdily, n I shall cast my vote for who I please. Wal, I hope hell get it, said Sam Roby, a little man in discouraged circum- stances, who pottered round and thankfully did odd jobs for the neigh- bors. What I like bout Squire Atker- son is, hes so social. He allus sees you

Frances M. Abbott Abbott, Frances M. The Governor's Reception. A Story 301-311

THE GOVERNORS RECEPTION. By Frances AL. Abboif. ACOB ATKINSON and his eldest son were stooking corn out in the field be- yond the orchard. The sun was getting low, and glared sullenly through the haze at the yellow pumpkins strag- gling over the dusty earth. The men had nearly finished their work, and the shocks of corn looked like an encamp- ment of wigwams. Dont seem to be any signs of breakin the drouth, said the elder man. XVe had a dry moon las night an the roads jus like ashes. At that moment a cloud of dust ap- peared at the top of the hill, and an old gray horse and wagon rattled into view. Its Josi Chandler, said Jacob. Hes ben over to Colchester this aft- noon. Mr. Chandler evidently had some news that he xvas impatient to communicate. He called out as soon as he was within hailing distance, I say, Jake I H& s got it. Theyve gone n given it to Pete I You dont say so! gasped Mr. Atkinson. Wal, Ill be hanged! Yes, said Mr. Chandler, who was beaming with satisfaction at the sensation he had made, n I move that we pull off our coats n go in n help elect him. How come they to give it to Uncle Peter! said Tom, who had leaped the stone wall and was leaning against the bespattered wagon. No matter how long since there had been a rain, Mr. Chand- lers vehicles always bore traces of the last mud. Wal, you see there was a sort of split. Godwin n Drake both wanted it, n they fit n wouldnt neither of em give in. Then somebody said Giochook County hadnt hed a govner fer twenty years, n the convention whopped right over n gin Pete Atkerson the nomerna- tion. Tom, said his father, I guess we wont do no more work to-night. I aint took so much intrest in politics since I was lected seleckmen. Mr. Chandler always spoke in the plural when mention- ing himself in his official capacity. The news of the nomination spread rapidly, and in the evening the village store was full. The three prominent debaters were Josiah Chandler, who had the distinction of being the herald, and in some sense the author of the nights en- tertainment, Matthew Evans, the store- keeper, and Capn Ayer, who always promoted a flow of conversation by op- posing every expressed opinion. I tell you what, said Mr. Chandler, Ive allus ben an old-fashioned Whig, n sence the Whig partys ben gone, Ive acted with the Republicans; but Ill be blamed ef I dont go fur Pete Atker- son this year. When I hey a chance to vote fur a man thet was born n reared right here amongst us on the old home farm where his brother Jake lives now, I fur one aint a-goin to miss it. What offices he goin to give ye, Josi? inquired Capn Ayer, slowly puffing his pipe. Yere young n spry yet, mebbe yell get appinted kernel on his staff. Trim up Dolly a bit, n comb out her mane, n the old mars got a good deal of prance in her yet. There was an echo of applauding grunts. I never expec to take part in a lection procession excep to look on, but I aint beholden to no man, said Mr. Chandler sturdily, n I shall cast my vote for who I please. Wal, I hope hell get it, said Sam Roby, a little man in discouraged circum- stances, who pottered round and thankfully did odd jobs for the neigh- bors. What I like bout Squire Atker- son is, hes so social. He allus sees you 302 JWE GO VERNORS RECEPTION when you go to town, n stops n asks after the folks n how the crops are gettin on at Pine Hills. There aint nothin stiff about him. Took him some time to get limbered out, observed Capn Ayer. He want much on the bowin n shakin hands business till he sot in the legislater. That was the time when he give the bell to our meetin house, n fitted up the town hall. Jes before he was lected, he was overfiowin with love to all man- kind, stretchin his neck out to every point of the compass, n grabbin every- body within reach of his long arms. Ive seen him with my own eyes a-takin off his hat to a man who was so fur out of sight thet only his coat tails was visible round the corner. You cant say, said the storekeeper, but what hes smart, and hes made it all himself. Land, I remember when he was the awkardest gawk that ever stood on two legs. But he was determined to get on in the world, an there aint much but what hes been into. As soons he could get a little eddication, he left the farm an taught school an worked in a store; an you all know how he went to Parson Barnard, an asked him which twould cos mos, to study for a lawyer or a minister, an the old parson who liked his joke told him that they could make a lawyer out of a good deal cheaper stuff than they could a minister. But Pete was in a hurry, an he found he could get to be a preacher quicker. I remember when he stood up in the old Methody meetin house over in Carthage. Great slab-sided feller I Oh, but he could beller well! But about that time he experienced a change. He married Marier Sedgeley an she had money, an her father thought Pete was too smart to be loafin round a little country parish, an workin only one day out of seven, so he got him a chance at law. There was where his fortunes riz, an his manners, too. They told him twas all well enough to carry round a solemn face an be stiff when he was preachin an had a parish to support him, but when he was workin for himself, hed got to be agreeable. Workin for himself n the devil I growled Capn Ayer. But I disagree about his gettin ahead by law. That made his reputation, I dont doubt, but he got his money through the railroad and Marier Sedgeley. Twant till after he got the Swiftwater River road across the medders this touched a sore point, for the farmers felt that their land had been injured without sufficient com- pensation did he get money enough to fling round on the town hall an buryin ground. But I aint denyin hes smart n foxy, too. Contrast enough to Jake. Jake is one of the best men thet ever lived, said Josiah Chandler, an ef he aint got along so fast in the world with his large family, and a naggin wife, though I wont say but shes smart n a dretful hard workin woman, sos Jake too, in his way, I for one aint goin to say nothin agin him nor Pete either, thet Ive knowed from boys up. This public opinion formed itself at the Pine Hills store, and thus on a larger scale and less .guided by personal knowl- edge it formed itself throughout the State. On the appointed day a majority of the voting population declared that Peter Atkinson should be governor for the en- suing year, and all Pine Hills shone in reflected glory. The following June an unusual event occurred. If you had seen the heads at the schoolhouse windows in Pine Hills, you would have thought a circus proces- sion was going by; but if you had noticed the good ladies peeping out at the side of the curtains in the fore- rooms of some of the farmhouses, you would have known that nothing less than a funeral could have caused them to show such an expression of respect. The blacksmith came to the door of his shop and Mr. Evans to the front of his store, and the men at work leaned on their hoes and stared at the phenomenon till it was out of sight. Its the governors carriage, said Capn Ayers man, who had looked on with mouth agape. I never was much of a man worship- per, said Capn Ayer testily; but even his upright neck bent when he received a bow and cordial wave of the hand from the big man who drove the horses. A THE GO VERNORS RECEPTION 303 stout, well-dressed woman and her daugh- ter were the other occupants of the car- riage. They must be goin up the hill to see Jake, said Mrs. Capn Ayer. Its the first time Ive seen the carriage an span over here this summer. The brothers aint very neighborly, considerin they dont live moren six miles apart. The present visit had not been achieved without a family conclave. Its no use, Miss Fanny had said, ~ to ask them over here. They havent anything to wear, and they dont know ~inybody, and they wouldnt enjoy it any more than we should. But, Fanny, said her mamma, it isnt a party; its a big reception. All the town will be here, and though our friends will be in full dress, there are plenty of members of the legislature who dont look nor appear any better than Uncle Jacob. But Governor Atkinson decided the matter. Im not going to give a recep- tion and have the invitation put in the paper, and not invite my only brother. Think of the talk it xvould make over to Pine Hills Well just drive over this afternoon, and ask him and any of the rest of the family that want to come. When Lucy Atkinson came home from school that night, she found the family in a high state of excitement. Your uncles been over here this af- ternoon, said her mother when Lucy entered the house. I know it. Lucy spoke in pleased anticipation. Hes invited us all to a big reception a week from Thursday night, said Mrs. Atkinson sourly. 0 mother! Cant I go? I told him we were much obliged, an there wouldnt a soul go out of this house. He must think were a set of gumps to go over there an make our- selves a latighin stock for all them city folks. What have we got to wear, I should like to know? And your fathers ills such a fool, he aint got no more sense than to think hed like to go. It was the fault of their similar tem- peraments that Lucy and her father always thought alike; and it was not the least of Mrs. Atkinsons discouragements that she had three other children grow- ing up just like Jake, whose shiftlessness she often declared was enough to wear the life out of her. But the matter of the reception did not drop here. Lucy and her father held several private con- ferences, and from time to time dropped a suggestion that was designed to weaken Mrs. Atkinsons resolution. Ive seen Josi Chandler, Jacob said, an he says hes a-goin. Pete giv him a special invitation. He dont want to go alone. His wifes got the rheu- matiz, an the housekeeper dont care nothin about it, n he says he can take Lucy n me along in the double wagon s wells not, n glad of the chance. So, Im not to be invited, eh? snapped Mrs. Atkinson. Youd look pretty, wouldnt you, goin off without me, an gallivantin round with Josi Chan- dler, whose wifes been a cripple this five year. However, I might as well be bed- ridden for all I ever get a chance to go anywhere, only I guess youd find a difference without me to do the work an keep you from goin to the poor-house. Why, Susan, said her husband mildly, I thought you didnt want to go. Theres plenty of room in the wagon. Of course, I never was fond of goin, not when you first knew me before I was married, an I used to sit in the singers seats. I had some duds to wear then, which is more than I can say since Ive lived in this house, an worked like a slave from mornin till night, an never had a privilege. Her talk continued in an angry patter; but it fell unheeded on Jacob, who was used to these domestic showers, and from long habit had wrapped himself in a complete waterproof of amiable non- resistance. But Lucys appealing eyes went to her mothers heart, and all the while Mrs. Atkinson was about her work her busy brain was devising ways and means to gratify her childs wish. That evening she said to her daughter, If you had anythin decent to wear, I dont know but what I might consent to let you go.,~ 0 mother! said Lucy rapturously, Ill wear my Sunday dress. 304 THE GO VERNORS RECEPTION Was that the one that I bought? said Jacob unluckily. With his usual inadvertence, Mr. Atkinson had pulled down about his ears an old grievance that after having been flung at him for the hundredth time had at last been laid upon the shelf among some of Mrs. Atkinsons remoter trials. I should think it was, said his wife. Lucy, you have to thank your fathers foolishness for that gown. if hed been at home tendin to his work, he wouldnt have been goin to the store an had that New York boarder ask him to get her seven yards of muslin. Wal, I told her she ought~er gin me a piece to match. I cant help it if New York folks talks different from us. You never come out an asked me, but pranced off an come back with a remnant of pink an green sprigged lawn; when Mis Schoonmaker saw it I thought shed died a-laughin; she held up some cotton cloth she was makin an said, This is what I meant, we always call it muslin at home. I couldnt hire you to take it back, an it lay a dead weight on my mind till I reclected that brown an white striped silk that I give up wearin fore Sam was born, an by dint of piecin I got out enough for the skirt an made the muslin up into a polonay, an Lucys worn it ever sence. I don see but what it come out well enough. Oh, father! said Lucy. Cousin Fannys dresses are all of a piece unless they match, and they always look so pretty. Youre enough sight better lookin than your cousin Fanny, said Mrs. Atkinson sharply, if you dont wear such good clothes; an if your father had been as smart to get along in the world as hers has, you might have had a pink satin by this time. Anybody else but me would a had some clothes to make over for you; after I wore out the things I had when I was married an come here, I aint seen nothin to replace em. If girls knew where they was goin I guess a good many more would stay single than does. With that Mrs. Atkinson flounced out of the room and snapped the door after her. Her husband and daughter with some surprise heard her toiling up the front stairs, and afterwards creaking around in the spare chamber. When she returned it was with something folded up in a sheet. There, she said, laying it down, if youre goin, thats what youre goin to wear. Your grandmother worked it with her own hands for her weddin gown. I was always too stout to wear it, an I thought of makin it into baby dresses, but it seemed a shame to cut it up, an though its pretty old an tender, I guess we cart make it go. She unfolded the sheet and drew out a white muslin robe. There was a plain skirt embroidered to the knee with elaborate raised work, and gathered on to the full waist which was adorned with a band of embroidery around the neck and sleeves. Lucy gave an exclamation of delight. Its real purty, her father said, but aint it kind o limp? I spose it can be starched, said Mrs. Atkinson severely. You go long to bed an Lucy can try it on. The days rolled by, and the June weather grew brighter and brighter till the fourteenth arrived, big with importance to the Atkinson family. A little after five oclock Mr. Josiah Chandler drove into his neighbors dooryard. He was dressed in his Sunday clothes. Dolly looked sprucer than usual, with her white ears adorned with a thicket of brakes and birch twigs. Mr. Chandlers wagon wore its everyday aspect. The two seats were covered with worn buffalo skins, the floor was sprinkled with hayseed (Mr. Chand- ler explained that the hens would roost overhead, and theyd scratched the hay- seed down through the barn floor), and the wheels and body bore their customary accumulation of mud, this time inter- laced with a few cobwebs. We had an early supper to-night, Mr. Chandler said, declining an invitation to come in. I thought Id be round in good season, cause the sun is blazin hot an I knew we had a long ride before us. He pulled out something from under the back seat. Heres a bunch of THE GO VERNORS RECEPTION. 3O~ flowers Mis Boyce pulled jus s I was comm away. She thought mebbe Lucy would like a bouquet. Here, Bijah, you take it to her. Lucy stood in the big kitchen, sur- rounded by an admiring circle. She was dressed in the muslin robe which had been biued and starched, and was now set out by a stiff petticoat, which Miss Mor- rill, her Sunday-school teacher, had lent her. Miss Morrill also furnished a big, white embroidered handkerchief which had belonged to her mother. This quite covered the waist of the dress; which was a relief to Lucy, for her mother said that the waist was not big enough and did not fit well, and she was afraid she might have to make a new polonay to go with the skirt. The handkerchief was fastened with her mothers pin which contained the hair of Mrs. Atkinsons three deceased children. Lucy wore her mothers gold beads about her neck. She had a wreath of flowers around her head and a bunch at her throat. Mr. Atkinson, who like his daughter had an eye for beauty, had brought home that noon a great mass of delicate pink flowers and glossy leaves. Heres some spoonhunch I found, up in the pastur. Its jes come into blow, n I thought it would be purty for you to wear. Lucy thought so, too, and when Bijah came in with both hands full of Mr. Chandlers mixed bunch of syringas, roses, mourning bride, double buttercups, purple columbines, forget-me-nots, and asparagus plumes, she was rather disconcerted. Never mind, said her mother, you can take it along in your hand an not hurt Mr. Chandlers feelins. Now you wrap yourself from head to foot in this double shawl, for youve got to ride seven miles through the dust, an put on your hat, an youre all ready. When Mr. Atkinsons dicky strings were tied and his stock was put on, his toilette was complete. Mr. Atkinson was the only one who had bought any new ,-~ .-- Dont seem to be any signs of breakin the drouth. 306 TilE & 0 VERNORS RE CEPTI 7/ON apparel for the occasion. He had been to town the day before, and purchased a linen duster for a dollar and a quarter. He told his wife, by way of justifying the outlay, that he got it for fifty cents off; because there was a spot of machine oil under one arm that wouldnt show when it was on. Mrs. Atkinson watched the old wagon out of sight. She forecast all possible When Mr. Atkinsons dickey strings were tied. accidents to Lucys dress; she worried lest the old horse might tumble down, going or coming; she thought what would they do if a sudden shower came up and they had never remembered to take an umbrella; but through all these speculations kept bubbling up the happy consciousness that Lucy looked pretty, and that she was going to a splendid party. As for the objects of her solicitations, they jogged along in serene unconscious- ness. Dolly manifested not the least im- patience; the two farmers discussed the crops as if they were going to market; and the little figure on the back seat was quite silent, though in a flutter of excite- ment. It seemed to Lucy as if the journey never would end, and when they came in sight of the Atkinson place, just as the stars were peeping out, she hardly knew whether she was glad or sorry. The house was brilliantly lighted, but the guests had not begun to arrive, for they could see a clear staircase through the open front door. Now, Lucy, said her father, you jus slip in n find your cousin Fanny, n J osi, an Ill go round an put up the horse. Lucy left her hat, shawl, and Mr. Chandlers bouquet in the wagon, sum- moned up all her courage, and glided into the house and upstairs. She met Fred in the hall, and he gave her a cor- dial welcome, for he was quite fond of his pretty cousin. A moment later Fanny rushed into her mothers room with a subdued shriek. Oh, goodness, theyve come, Lucy and Uncle Jake, and an old man with them! Lucy really doesnt look so bad, for shes all in white, all but her hands, theyre just like bricks. She cant go down without gloves on. Never mind; bring her in here. Lucy, who by this time had become considerably disconcerted by glimpses of the preparations for the evenings enter- tainment, gazed in an awestruck man- ner at her cousins pale blue crape, her aunts garnet satin and point lace, the maids neat cap and apron, and the dress- ing-case covered with a confusion of flow- ers, hairpins, lace cushions, scent bottles, powder boxes, and silver toilet articles. She felt that she looked, in her drooping white dress that clung straight around her, very much like an embarrassed tal- low candle in the light of a flashing chandelier. My dear child, said her aunt, I am delighted to see you. You look very pretty; but couldnt you wear a pair of my gloves? I dont know, said Lucy innocently; I never had on a pair of kid gloves. TUE GOVERNORS RECEPTION 307 Mother, I know she couldnt, said Fanny aside. Look at her hands. She would need sevens. And do make her take off that wreath and mourning-pin. Very well, said Mrs. Atkinson, I will leave her with you. I must go down now. That is beautiful pink laurel that you have, Lucy, said Fanny, but it isnt pinned on right. Will you let me fix it? She had made the necessary changes, when Fred spoke outside the door. I say, Fan, arent you ever coming? In a minute. I dont know what to do about the gloves, Lucy. You might carry a pair. If Ive got to have them, said Lucy, who was beginning to be really troubled as she glanced at her sunburned hands, I suppose father could go out and buy me a pair, if they dont cost too much, though Im fraid he left his wallet at home. Hold on, Lucy, said Fred, Ill do that. You wait for me up here. In the mean time Mr. Atkinson and Mr. Chandler had been wrestling with unexpected difficulties. They started to drive toward the stable, but were met by a man putting up Chinese lanterns, who told them, no carriages would be allowed in the grounds that night. But Im Mr. Atkinsons brother, said Jacob. Im sorry, said the man, but there is to be dancing on the lawn, and you must put your horse somewhere else. I dont call this very social, said Josiah, as he backed out with some diffi- culty, Wal, I spose we can hitch up to some of the neighbors posts. I swan, Im most afeered to go in, said Jacob after the horse was disposed of. It looks kind o crowded. Hacks were rolling up to the front door, and a collection of ragamuffins fringed the sidewalk. Dont back out now, Jake. They gained the front hall, where they were directed to the dressing-room. Well go right in, if you please, said Jacob. We aint a-goin to change our dress. They were prevailed upon to go upstairs. The room was filled with people, coming and going, none of whom, Lucy. of course, did they know. They backed up against the mantel, and surveyed the situation. If theres a back stairs to this house, whispered Josiah, derned if I dont slip down n wait outside till the shows over. At this moment an usher approached them. Gentlemen, will you let me escort you down and introduce you to the governor? Hes my brother, said Jacob. Ah, then Im sure hes anxious to see you. Come with me. When Fred came back with the gloves, he and Lucy began a series of sympa- thetic struggles. I hate the confounded things, said Fred. When they used 308 TIlE GOVERNORS RECEPTION to make me go to dancing-school the, gloves would always get stuck about half way on, and I used to go to the back of a chair and ram my fingers down against it. I split ever so many pairs that way. I took care to get these big enough. At length the gloves were satisfactorily adjusted, save that two buttons were burst off and the right-hand one was torn across the inside; but Fred told Lucy she could keep her fingers shut that was the way he always did. Theres going to be a jolly crowd here, said Fred. Father put the invi- tation in the newspapers, and youll see the mill hands and everybody else. The Legislature alone is a regular menagerie. I think wed better steer for the lawn as soon as we have seen the fun in the par- lors. The music is out there. Lucy saw her father but twice that evening. Once she found him and the member from Carthage backed up against an etagt~re, smiling blandly at the crowd surging around them. How long have you been here, father? Oh, bout half an hour. This is my friend, Cyrus Sanborn, that sits in the General Court. Mr. Sanborn grinned broadly, put out his horny hand, and said, I hope I see you well. Now, Lucy, you jus go long with the young folks, n enjoy yourself, an Mr. Sanborn an me are goin down to the kitchen to take a smoke. The other time that Lucy saw her father was late in the evening, when they were all out on the lawn. Lucy was happy. She could not dance, but she found she could promenade, though, as she told the young fellow with her, she had never tried it before. The young fellow was quite willing to give her in- struction, and they had been walking about the shrubbery and sitting outside Gentlemen, will you let me escort you down and introduce you to the governor? TITLE GO VERNONS RECEPTION 309 the rays of the Chinese lanterns for quite an hour. It was on one of these rambles that Lucy saw her father. He and the member from Carthage had been ejected from the kitchen and were wandering about rather forlorn, when they discovered the landlady with whom Mr. Sanborn boarded. She and her daughter and her two sons were partaking of refreshments. Mrs. Strout had a keen eye for the waiters and the dining-room table, and she gave her friends valuable points about secur- ing the good things. Lucy might not have noticed her father in this group, had she not heard a stentorian whisper as she passed, Lucys got a beau! Other people had noticed the young lady from Pine Hills. Who is that with Frank? inquired Miss Isabella Loring of her mamma. Her dress hangs like a mop, and her gloves too, only they are bright white. Possibly some shop girl only she isnt stylish enough for that. Frank was 4ways unaccountable in his tastes, and awfully susceptible. I think you ought to watch them, mamma. They have been together all the evening. When at last it was all done, and the supper had been demolished, and the Chinese lanterns that had not burned up had been taken down and put out, Lucy and her father prepared to go home; but Mr. Chandler was nowhere to be found. Josie cant hey took the wagon an druv home, an forgot us, said Mr. Atkin- son. Ill go look after the hoss. Dolly greeted him with a welcQming whinny, and in the wagon sat the grim. charioteer, her master. Ill be derned if I could stan it any longer, he said sleepily, so I got out as easy as I could. Ive ben settin here more n an hour. When they were well on their home- ward way, and Dolly was showing her best paces, Jacob turned to Lucy and said, Wal, dan, did you get paid for comm? I never had such a good time in my life, she answered rapturously. Who was that feller I see you with? said Mr. Chandler facetiously. That was Mr. Loring. I want ter know! Ilt bet a goose hes the son of Jedge Lorin, that the govner made me acquainted with. I kind o took to that man; hes real com- mon sense. But his wife shes a hard one. There aint much doubt whose capn in that house. I was stanin in the doorway, an she was marchin him roun, trampin over everybody, an bowin to all the nabobs, an he looked dretful tired, an at last I heard him mutter, Darn it all, ma, les go long! I declare, I felt for the man. Afterwards we had a good, comfortable chat, till she come along and grabbed him. You aint left or lost anything, hey you, Lucy, sot your motherll fret? Jacob inquired anxiously. I spilt a plate of ice-cream on my dress, I didnt know it was so slippery; and oh, dear ! Ive left mothers pin and my bunch of spoonhunch is gone. She blushed as she mentioned the, last loss. Darn it all, ma, les go long, said Mr. Chandler as he whipped up the horse. Thet took me moren anythin else I heard. Ill never forget how the jedge looked. And he laughed over it at least three times during the ride home. The governors reception was the talk of Pine Hills all that summer. Three of their own townspeople had actually as- sisted at the stupendous event. It seemed as if something must come from it to somebody. Something did come the first week in September. Are you aware, said Miss Isabella Loring to her mamma, that Frank and Fred Atkinson have been fishing together every week since the reception, and that Frank has called to see Freds cousin at least seven times? Mrs. Loring was beginning to think something must be done about it. The next afternoon being Saturday, and a damp, stifling day in town, she and her daughter arrayed themselves, and drove out to take the air at Pine Hills. There had been an unusually hard days work at the Atkinson farm, bak- ing and churning in the morning, and scalding over pickles, and getting an 310 THE GO VERNORS RECEPTION early dinner for the men who were pry- ing up the batn; and now Mrs. Atkinson and Zumetta had sat down, without chang- ing their dresses, to mend some overalls for the men folk. Lucy was mopping the kitchen floor. The three little chil- dren were playing in the yard. They scattered like a flock of chickens when the Loring phaeton drove up. Bijah ran a little way, and then came back, and stood staring at the ladies, the pic- ture of sturdy good nature. Hullo! he said affably. I can hitch yer horse for yer. Thank you very much, said Mrs. Loring. He is a clever fellow and will stand easily. Meanwhile there was scurrying around within the house. Zumett, said Mrs. Atkinson, you must go to the door, I aint fit, an take them into the fore room. Zuinetta did as she was bid, so far at least as to get them into the front entry, but it seemed as if no human agency could force the parlor door. The room had not been used for a month, and the door had become swollen in the damp weather, and stuck fast. Zumetta took hold of the latch and tugged as if she would burst the panels, till her face was crimson with labor and mortification. Pray dont disturb yourselfi, said Miss Isabella sweetly. Let us go right into theother room. There was no help for it, and so in they went. Mrs. Atkinson afterwards declared that she was never so took aback in her life, for the room looked like fury. Her guests, however, ignored her embarrassed apologies, and began conversing serenely. In a few minutes Bijah appeared. Ive bust the door open, he said. Mrs. Atkinson begged that they would withdraw to the other room,\and though Mrs. Loring declared that they were quite comfortable, Miss Isabella was not un- willing to see as much of the house as possible, and decided that they should move. The best room was the pride of Mrs. Atkinsons heart and the result of some hard-earned savings. The floor was covered with a scarlet and green carpet which in turn was protected by braided mats. There were four cane- seated chairs and a haircloth lounge. A painted light stand held the family Bible, some daguerreotypes, and a tin- type album. The mantel was adorned with two vases containing asparagus plumes and red berries, and a green and yellow plaster-of-Paris parrot. The walls were bare, save for an engrossed cer- tificate that Jacob Atkinson had won the first prize for hogs at an agricultural fair, and a colored lithograph of the Temple at Jerusalem framed in pine cones. There was one other piece of furniture in the room a seraphine. Sev- eral large flies, which Miss Loring thought must have died of starvation, lay on the windowsill, and some of their living comrades were buzzing over their remains. Presently Lucy came in, dressed in the sprigged lawn and brown silk. She asked Miss Isabella if she would not like to play on the seraphine. Miss Lorin~ feared that she would not understand the action, and she never played without her notes. Although the city ladies were ex- ceedingly voluble and gracious, the Atkin- sons were so overpowered that conversa- tion was extremely one-sided. At length Bijah put his head into the window. Ive got a mud turkle in the waterin trough. Ill show it to you if youll come. Miss Loring hailed with delight this means of escape. The elder ladies re- mained in the parlor. Once outdoors, Miss Isabella enjoyed herself very much. The children showed her their pigs and chickens, gave her early apples to eat, and insisted upon putting half a peck of fruit into the phaeton. Mrs. Loring made a long call, though she declined to take off her bonnet and stop to tea. As she was going out of the house, Mr. Atkinson and his eldest son drove by on a load of manure. It was another of Mrs. Atkinsons trials that J ake never would keep out of sight when he want dressed. When the little phaeton had passed the last house in Pine H ills, Mrs. Lorin~g confided to her daughter the result of their diplomacy. I am very glad that we made that visit. So am I, said Miss Loring. The THE PR OGRESS OF THE AMERICAN REPUBLICS. 311 vision of that best room will never fade from my memory. It is as I supposed, said Mrs. Lor- ing. The family is poor as poverty. Maud Muller is a sweet young thing, not very great on her book, her mother told me, but real smart to work. Her parents have done all they can for her, and she must now earn her own living. She is desirous of coming to town to work in a tailors shop. If she doe.s not do that, she will go to live out with a family in Carthage. Mrs. Atkinson grew very confiding, and asked me if I knew of any good place where Lucy could board in case ~she came to Colchester. I presented the disadvantages of the tailors shop in a strong light, and I think I have decided the balance in favor of Carthage. As for Frank, I must see that his father sends him out West. ]3oth of Mrs. Lorings plans were executed. The years went by, and the Atkinson family grew up and dispersed. Two of the children became their mothers pride. Zumetta taught school and married the ~storekeeper and post- master. Bijah went to college and was given an opportunity by his uncle, from whom he seemed to inherjt the art of getting on in the world. Lucy at the age of twenty became the wife of a young milkman, and lives on a farm at Carthage. Frank Loring, after a varied experience of many years, finally settled hL affections on Fanny Atkinson, and they became a prosperous and prosaic couple. But every summer Lucy takes her children over to the home farm, and they go up to the pasture and break oQ~ great branches of spoonhunch. She sometimes sends clusters of the pink blossoms over to Cousin Fanny. Frank Loring was never known to care for flowers, but one day he astonished his wife by bringing home a little painting of mountain laurel, for which he had paid forty dollars. One fourteenth of June, Lucy showed her eldest daughter the dress that she wore to the governor s reception twelve years before, and that same day Fanny Loring, who was packing for a summer trip, threw away a bunch of dried leaves and flowers that she could not imagine how she hap- pened to find in an old trunk belonging to her husband. THE PROGRESS OF THE AMERICAN REPUBLICS. By Wi//lam E/erov Cur/is. T is amazing how little we, as a people, know of the history and the affairs of our nearest neighbors. With the events of the Old World we are toler- ably familiar, from the time the serpent entered Eden to the latest eviction of an Irish tenant, or the latest scandal on the Riviera; but a cloud of ignorance has hung over the southern half of this hemisphere, and until recently we have known but little of the progress or the condition of fifty millions of people whose aspirations have been similar to our own, and whose advancement in civili zation and commercial prosperity have been their pride and their glory. A justice of the Supreme Court once asked me what language was spoken in Chile, and a United States senator in a public ad- dress alluded to Guatemala as a country of South America. Until recently the books used in our schools had not been corrected for more than a quarter of a century. The same wild horses that roamed, with flowing manes and foaming nostrils, over the pampas of the Argen- tine Republic when our fathers studied geography, still embellished the text- books, notwithstanding the fact that they disappeared long before the buffalo of Kansas; and the familiar pictures of

William Eleroy Curtis Curtis, William Eleroy The Progress of the American Republics 311-319

THE PR OGRESS OF THE AMERICAN REPUBLICS. 311 vision of that best room will never fade from my memory. It is as I supposed, said Mrs. Lor- ing. The family is poor as poverty. Maud Muller is a sweet young thing, not very great on her book, her mother told me, but real smart to work. Her parents have done all they can for her, and she must now earn her own living. She is desirous of coming to town to work in a tailors shop. If she doe.s not do that, she will go to live out with a family in Carthage. Mrs. Atkinson grew very confiding, and asked me if I knew of any good place where Lucy could board in case ~she came to Colchester. I presented the disadvantages of the tailors shop in a strong light, and I think I have decided the balance in favor of Carthage. As for Frank, I must see that his father sends him out West. ]3oth of Mrs. Lorings plans were executed. The years went by, and the Atkinson family grew up and dispersed. Two of the children became their mothers pride. Zumetta taught school and married the ~storekeeper and post- master. Bijah went to college and was given an opportunity by his uncle, from whom he seemed to inherjt the art of getting on in the world. Lucy at the age of twenty became the wife of a young milkman, and lives on a farm at Carthage. Frank Loring, after a varied experience of many years, finally settled hL affections on Fanny Atkinson, and they became a prosperous and prosaic couple. But every summer Lucy takes her children over to the home farm, and they go up to the pasture and break oQ~ great branches of spoonhunch. She sometimes sends clusters of the pink blossoms over to Cousin Fanny. Frank Loring was never known to care for flowers, but one day he astonished his wife by bringing home a little painting of mountain laurel, for which he had paid forty dollars. One fourteenth of June, Lucy showed her eldest daughter the dress that she wore to the governor s reception twelve years before, and that same day Fanny Loring, who was packing for a summer trip, threw away a bunch of dried leaves and flowers that she could not imagine how she hap- pened to find in an old trunk belonging to her husband. THE PROGRESS OF THE AMERICAN REPUBLICS. By Wi//lam E/erov Cur/is. T is amazing how little we, as a people, know of the history and the affairs of our nearest neighbors. With the events of the Old World we are toler- ably familiar, from the time the serpent entered Eden to the latest eviction of an Irish tenant, or the latest scandal on the Riviera; but a cloud of ignorance has hung over the southern half of this hemisphere, and until recently we have known but little of the progress or the condition of fifty millions of people whose aspirations have been similar to our own, and whose advancement in civili zation and commercial prosperity have been their pride and their glory. A justice of the Supreme Court once asked me what language was spoken in Chile, and a United States senator in a public ad- dress alluded to Guatemala as a country of South America. Until recently the books used in our schools had not been corrected for more than a quarter of a century. The same wild horses that roamed, with flowing manes and foaming nostrils, over the pampas of the Argen- tine Republic when our fathers studied geography, still embellished the text- books, notwithstanding the fact that they disappeared long before the buffalo of Kansas; and the familiar pictures of 312 lYlE PROGRESS OF TEE AMERICAN REPUBLICS. the belles of Lima that ornamented the picture books of the last generation still remained to misrepresent a people that receive their fashions from Paris quite as soon and quite as anxiously as the women of Boston or New York. The citizens of Central and South America have been properly sensitive to our ignorance and indifference, but they have treated us with a toleration and forbearance that ought to make us asham~zl; and now that our attention has been diverted in their direction by self-interest, they receive us with a cor- diality and hospitality that demand a grateful acknowledgment. The leader of independence in South America was an officer of Washingtons staff. When General Lafayette returned to Paris in I 778, to secure reinforcements, one of the first to volunteer was a wealthy young patrician from Venezuela, Francisco Miranda by name, and he fought to the end of the War of the Revolution. Then, with a party of adventurers who had served with him in the Revolutionary army, he sailed for his native land, to raise the standard of liberty there. Simon Bolivar, his companion in a later struggle to throw off the yoke of Spain, and his successor as leader of the revolution for independence in South America, got the inspiration of his life at the tomb of Washington at Mount Vernon; and, in frami