(~(/ cj r~c ~ac/7r SCRJBNERS MONTHLY. VOL. XXI. NOVEMBER, i88o. No. i. PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. I. [Copyright, si8o, by Eugene Schoyler. All rights reserved.] CHAPTER I. THE JOURNEY OF PETER TO WESTERN EUROPE. THE Tsars feeling was so strong with regard to what might be learnt about ship- building in foreign countries that, after he had sent off many of his subjects to study the trade, he resolved to go himself. With- out ascribing to this journey all the impOr- tance which Macaulay did when he said, His journey is an epoch in the history, not only of his own country, but of ours, and of the world, we must admit that it was a re- markable event, and one fraught with much consequence. Since the exiled Izyasl~v vis- ited the court of the Emperor Henry IV., at Mayence, in 1075, no Russian ruler had ever been out of his dominions. Peters journey marks the division between the old Russia, an exclusive, little known country, and the new Russia, an important factor in European politics. It was also one of the turning points in the development of his char- acter, and was the continuation of the edu- cation begun in the German suburb. In one way, it may be said that Peters appear- ance in the German suburb was really more startling, and of more importance, than his journey westward, for that journey was the natural consequence and culmination of his intercourse with foreigners at Moscow. This sudden and mysterious journey of the Tsar abroad exercised the minds of Peters contemporaries no less than it has those of moderns. Many were the reasons which were ascribed then, and have been given since, for this step. There was even VOL. XXI.i. a dispute among the students of the Uni- versity of Thorn as to the reasons which had induced the Tsar to travel. Pleyer, the secret Austrian agent, wrote to the Emperor Leopold that the whole embassy was merely a cloak for the freedom sought by the Tsar, to get out of his own country and divert himself a little. Another docu- ment in the archives at Vienna finds the cause of the journey in a vow made by Peter, when in danger on the White Sea, to make a pilgrimage to the tombs of the Apostles St. Peter and St. Paul, at Rome. According to Voltaire, He resolved to ab- sent himself for some years from his domin- ions, in order to learn how better to govern them. Napoleon said: He left his coun- try to deliver himself for a while from the crown, so as to learn ordinary life, and to remount by degrees to greatness. But every authentic source gives us but one reason, and the same. Peter went abroad, not to fulfill a vow, not to amuse himselg not to become more civilized, not to learn the art of government, but simply to become. a good shipwright. His mind was filled with the idea of creating a navy on the Black Sea for use against the Turks, and his tastes were still, as they had always been, purely mechanical. For this purpose, as he himself says, as his prolonged residence in Holland shows, he desired to have an opportunity of studying the art of ship- building in those places where it was carried to the highest perfection, that is, in Holland, England and Venice. In order to give the Tsar greater freedom of action, and to save him from too much formality and ceremony, which he exceed- [Copyright, sun, by Scrihner & co. All rights reserved.] ~39 ~ / j~y8~~ 2 PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. ingly disliked, an attempt was made to con- ceal the purpose of his journey, by means of a great embassy, which should visit the chief countries of Western Europe, to ex- plain the policy of Russia toward Turkey, and to make whatever treaties it was found possible, either for commercial purposes or for the war against the Turks. The embassy consisted of three extraordinary embassadors, at the head of whom was General Lefort. Besides the other rewards he had received for the campaigns against Azof, he had been given the honorary title of Governor-Gen- eral of N6vgorod. The other embassadors were the Governor-General of Siberia, Theodore Golovin, who had already dis- tinguished himself by the treaty of Nertch- fnsk with the Chinese; and the Governor of B6lkhog Prok6p Voznitsyn, a skillful and experienced diplomate. In the suite of the embassadors were twenty nobles and thirty- five others, called volunteers, who, like those previously sent, were going abroad for the study of ship-building. Among these was the Tsar himself. These volunteers were chiefly young men who had been comrades of Peter in his play regiments, in his boat- building, and in his campaigns against Azof. Among them may be particularly remarked Alexander Menshik6f and Alexis Galftsyn, two Golovins, Simeon Nar}5shkin, and the Prince Alexander Bagr~tion of Imeritia and Georgia. Including priests, interpreters, pages, singers, and servants of various kinds, the suite of the embassy num- bered as many as two hundred and fifty persons. The Tsar himself traveled under the strictest incognito. It was forbidden to give him the title of Majesty,ihe was always to be addressed simply as Mm Her Peter Mikhailof,and it was forbidden, under pain of death, to mention his presence with the embassy. During the absence of the Tsar, the government was intrusted to a regency of three personsLeo Narshkin, Prince Boris Galftsyn and Prince Peter Prozor6fsky, who were given supreme power. Prince Ramod- an6fsky was charged with maintaining order in Moscow, and he had verbal instructions to follow up, in the severest way, the slight- est movement of discontent or rebellion. The boy6x Sh6in, assisted by General Gordon, had charge of the defense of the southern frontier on the side of Azof while Prince Jacob Dolgoraky succeeded the boy6~r Sheremitief in charge of the defenses against the Tartars on the frontier of Little Russia, and was ordered to get galleys ready for the siege of Otchak6f in the spring of 1698. Sheremitief, who had already served two years in that country, obtained leave of absence and permission to travel abroad. Preparations were nearly finished for the GENERAL VIEW OF ZAANDAM. PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. 3 departure of the embassy, when an unex- pected delay occurred. Gordon expressed it thus in his diary: A merry night has been spoiled by an accident of discover- ing treason against his Majesty. The colonel of the Streltsi, Ivffn TsjKkler (spelled also Zickler), of foreign birth or extrac- tion, and two Russian nobles of high rank, Alexis Sokovnin and Theodore Pfishkin, were accused of plotting against the life of the Tsar. They were accused on the testimony of L6xion Yelisffrof, who was one of the denunciators of the alleged plot against Peters life in 1689, when he took refuge at Tr6itsa. In all probability, there was no plot whatever, but simply loose and unguarded talk between discontented men. Ts)$kler had always been well treated by the Princess Sophia and Privy-Councilor Shaklovity, but when he saw the prepon- derance was on the side of Peter, he went to Tr6itsa and made denunciations. He did not, however, receive the reward and favor which he expected, but, on the contrary, was looked upon askance, and had recently been sent to Azof. He was naturally irritated against the Tsar, and in unguarded moments probably expressed his feelings too strongly. Sokovnin was a virulent dis- senter, and the brother of two ladies well known for their opposition to the Patriarch Nikon, and their encouragement of dissent in the reign of AlexisTheodora Mor6zof and the Princess Avd6tia Urilsof. He was therefore opposed to many of Peters inno- vations; and his father-in-law, Matthew Ptishkin, who had~ been appointed Governor of Azof, had excited the anger of the Tsar because he had refused to send his children abroad. Theodore Piishkin was one of the sons, and had uttered vague threats of revenge in case the Tsar should have his father whipped to death for his refusal, for rumors to that effect were being industriously circulated. Torture produced confessions of various kinds, and among them repeti- tions by Ts~kler of the old accusations against the Princess Sophia. The prisoners were speedily condemned, and were be- headed on the Red Place, after having had their arms and legs chopped off. Their heads were exposed on stakes. The con- fessions of Ts~kler, and the renewed ac- cusations against his sister, excited Peters mind against the whole of the Milosl~vsky family, and in his rage he even went to the length of taking up the body of Jvffn Miloslftvsky,who had been dead fourteen years,of dragging the coffin by swine to the place of execution, and of placing it in such a position that the blood of the criminals spurted into the face of the corpse. Even at this time there was much popular discontent and hostile criticism of Peter. Not all of those who saw that reforms were absolutely necessary approved his measures and his conduct. A rumor was spread that the Tsar Ivfin had publicly proclaimed to all the people: My brother does not live according to the Church. He goes to the German suburb, and is acquainted with Ger- mans. There was talk, too, of the way in which Peter had abandoned his wife and fam- ily, and it was perhaps family affairs which caused the quarrel between Leo Nar}~shkin and the Lopdkhins, the relatives of Peters wife. What exactly happened is not known, PETER AT WORK IN HIS LODGINGS AT ZAANDAM. (FROM AN ETCHING BY BARON MICHEL ELOOT.) 4 PETER TILE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. but Peter Lopiikhin, the uncle of the Tsar- itsa, and the Minister of the Palace, was accused of bribery and extortion, and for this, or some other cause, was exiled, together with his brothers, one of them the father of the Tsaritsa. A report was circu- lated among the common people, and was widely believed, that Peter had assisted with his own hands in applying the torture to his wifes uncle. One man, the monk Abraham, dared to make himself the exponent of the popular feeling, and presented to Peter a petition in which he made mention of the abandonment of his wife, of the relations which he had formed in the German suburb. and of the bad feeling which had been ex- cited by the Tsar lowering himself to work at boats, and to appear on foot in the triumphal procession, instead of taking his proper place. As was natural, the petition gave rise to a trial, and Abraham was sent to a distant monastery, and three other men who were implicated were punished with the knout, and sent to Azof. When these trials were completed, the embassy set out, on the 20th of March, 1697. It was intended to go first to Vienna, then to Venice and Rome, then to Holland and PETER S HOUSE AT ZAANDAM. PETER THE GREAT AS R ULER AND REFORMER. 5 England, and to return by the way of K6- nigsberg. The trouble in Poland, consequent on the interregnum, made traveling through that country dangerous, and the only way in which Vienna could be reached was by a roundabout journey through Riga, Ki5nigsberg and Dresden. The first experience of the Tsar in a foreign country was an unfortunate one. The Governor of Pskov, who had been ordered to make the arrangements for Peters journey through Livonia, had neg- lected to say in his letter to Eric Dalberg, the Governor of Riga, of how many persons the embassy was composed. Dalberg replied, asking the number of the persons in the embassy, and saying that, while he would do his best, he hoped they would overlook some inconveniences, as a great famine was unfortunately reigning in the country Major Glazenap was sent to the frontier to escort the embassy, but Peter was so impatient, and traveled so fast, that the embassy arrived at the frontier before the proper arrangements had been made to receive them. They therefore found no conveyances, and were obliged to go on to Riga in the carriages brought from Pskov, and trust to their own provisions. A PETER THE GREAT AT ZAANDAM. (FROM AN ENGRAVING BY WAPPERS.) short distance from Riga, light carriages and an escort were waiting for them, and they were ceremoniously received in the town with a military parade, w le a guard of fifty men was placed near their lodgings. The next day the embassadors sent two of their nobles to thank the governor for his kindness, and a return visit was paid by one of his adjutants. Immediately afterward, Peter wrote to Vinius that they were received with great honor, and with a salute of twenty-four guns, when they entered and left the fortress. Unfortunately, the em- bassy was detained at Riga for a whole week by the breaking up of the ice on the Dilna, which made crossing impossible. Peter preserved his incognito, and went out to see the town. His military curiosity naturally led him to inspect the fortifica- tions and measure the width and depth of the ditches, when he was some ihat rudely ordered away by the sentinel. Dis- contented at this, a complaint was made, and the governor apologized, assuring Lefort that no discourtesy was intended. Lefort was satis ed, and said that the sentinel had merely done his duty. It must be remem- bered that Riga was a frontier town; that Livonia was an outlying province of Sweden, 6 PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. and that the embassy was not accredited to the Swedish court. Dalberg kept him- self within the bounds of strict propriety, but did not err on the side of politeness. He knew perfectly well that the Tsar was in the embassy, but he respected his incog- nito. As the embassadors did not pay him a visit in person, he did not pay a personal visit to the embassadors. Nothing was done in the way of amusement or diversion for the Tsar, besides the first reception. The embassadors were left to pay for their lodgings and their provisions, and to get on as best they might. They paid high prices for everything, but times were hard, and the people naturally tried to make the most they could out of the distinguished strangers. As there was nothing to be seen, either in a military or naval way, as there were no feasts nor amusements of any kind prepared for him, Peter became bored, especially as he was anxious to continue his journey. He left the rest, and ventured across the river in a small boat, and remained two days on the other side, waiting for the embassy. In a letter to Vinius, of the ~8th of April, he says: Here we lived in a slavish way, and were tired with the mere sight of things. Nevertheless, the embassy took its leave with all form and ceremony, and crossed the river on a vessel carrying the royal flag of Sweden, and with a salute. When it was necessary to find a pretext for a war with Sweden, the teception at Riga was made one of the reasons, and even in 1709, when the siege of Riga was under- taken, Peter, after throwing the first three bomb-shells into the town, wrote to Menshi- k6f: Thus the Lord God has enabled us to see the beginning of our revenge on this accursed place. We should add here that Peters feelings about his reception at Riga probably increased with time. In other countries where he went, there was a sover- eign with a court, and although, in a certain way, the Tsar was incognito, yet he was privately and familiarly received and enter- tained. It was unfortunate for him that his first venture was in an outlying province, the tenure of which was not too secure, and in a commercial rather than in an aristo- cratic town. Mitau is now a dull provincial town, and the Hebrew signs on the street corners show the great Jewish population. Its greatest object of interest to travelers is the old Ducal Castle, almost entirely rebuilt in the last century, with its reminiscences of the residence and sudden departure of the exiled Louis XVIII., and the mummified body of the Duke John Ernest Biren (the lover of the Empress Anne, and the ances ~t1AM PIUHI AT AMSTERDAM IN HONOR OF PETER. PEZER THE GREAT A S RULER AND REFORMER. 7 tor of the Sagan family), which lies in the coffin attired in velvet and ruffles, but by some malice lacking the tip of the nose. In 1697 Mitau was the capital of the little Duchy of Curland, which maintained a semi-inde- pendence by becoming a fief of the Polish crown. The reigning Duke, Frederic Casi- mir, was an old friend of Lefort. It was with him that Lefort had served in Holland. Al- though he was poor, he did everything that he could to make the time pass pleasantly for Peter and for the embassy. Here the Tsar consented to give up in part his incognito, made visits to the Duke, and received them in return. A week was quickly passed in amusement and pleasure, but even with this Peter found time to exercise himself in a car- penters shop. From Mitau Peter proceeded to Libau, where he was detained by bad weather for a week, when he finally took passage on a small ship going to Pillau, the port of Kdnigsberg. During his stay at Libau, he passed for the skipper of a Russian privateer, though he was able to give no satisfactory explanation to an acquaintance who fre- quently met and drank with him in a small beer-shop as to why it was a privateer, and not a merchant vessel, that he commanded. Besides the beer-house, Peter often visited an apothecarys shop, and wrote to Vinius that he had seen there a wonder which was ordinarily considered untrue, a real salamander preserved in spirits in a bottle, which he had taken out and held in his hand. The embassy proceeded by land. The Tsar went by sea, to avoid passing through Polish territory. Blomberg, whom I have already cited about the election of Patriarch, met the embassy in Curland, and says of their en- tertainment: Open tables were kept everywhere, with trumpets and music, at- tended with feasting and excessive drinking all along, as if his Tsarish Majesty had been another Bacchus. I have not seen such hard drinkers; it is not possible to express it, and they boast of it as a mighty qualifica- tion. Of Leforts drinking he remarks: It never overcomes him, but he always continues master of his reason. Leibnitz, writing from private information received from K6nigsberg, says much the same thing: Lefort drinks like a hero; no one can rival him. It is feared that he will be the death of some of the Electors courtiers. Begin- ning in the evening, he does not leave his pipe and glass till three hours after sunrise, and yet he is a man of great parts. Frederick III., Elector of Brandenburg, then on the eve of transforming himself into the first King of Prussia, was greatly inter- ested to know whether the Tsar was really among the embassy, and beside sending a secret agent into Curland to find out, he gave directions about the treatment of the embassy, in case it were simply intending to pass through his dominions, or in case it were directed also to him. Peter was therefore met at Pillau by an officer who proffered the hospitality of the Elec- tor, but an answer was returned that there was no person of distinction on board, except the Prince of Imeritia, and that no visits could be received. A similar occur- rence took place at the mouth of the Pregel, and it was not until Peter arrived at Kdnigs- berg itself that he was willing to allow himself to be known to the Elector. After taking small lodgings in a street on the Kneiphof, he went out in a close carriage, late at night, and paid a visit to the Elector, entering the palace by a private staircase. The interview lasted for an hour and a half, and the sovereigns were mutually pleased. Although, in order to keep his incognito, Peter refused to receive a return visit, yet he saw the Elector several times again, and was entertained by him at his country house, witnessed a bear fight, and appeared at a hunting party. His curiosity and vivacity, his readiness to be pleased, and his appreciation of the manners and habits of the country, made a favorable impression. He astonished by his natural capacity and his dexterity, even in playing the trumpet and the drum. The embassy arrived eleven days after Peter, and was splendidly received. Great advantages were expected to Brandenburg from an intimacy with Russia, and the economical Elector, on this occasion, spared no money. Peters visit is said to have cost him 150,000 thalers. Under the skillful guidance of Lefort and Von Besser, all ceremonial observances were strictly com- plied with, and, for the first time in the history of Russian missions abroad, there was no unseemly wrangling over points of precedence and etiquette. The members of the embassy appeared officially in Russian costume, though they wore foreign dress in private. The Elector told the Tsar after- ward that he had hard work to keep from laughing, when, according to custom, he had to ask the embassadors how the Tsar was, and whether they had left him in good health. Peter had just before been stand- ing at the window to see the entry of the 8 PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORM~EA. embassy, and was well satisfied. At a sup- per given in honor of the embassy, great pleasure was caused by the fire-works, one of the pieces of which represented the Rus- sian arms, and another the victory at Azof. The two rulers were so well disposed to- ward each other, that a treaty of friendship was speedily concluded. The Elector was greatly desirous that there should be inserted an article of alliance for mutual defense and protection; but the Russians were too cau- tious for this, and although the treaty con- tained clauses giving additional privileges to merchants, especially as regarded the Persian trade, and for the surrender of criminals and deserters, yet the Elector had to be satisfied with a verbal agreement to assist each other against those enemies who should attack either country in the interest or to the advantage of the enemies of Christianity. This was a plain allusion to the French intrigues in Poland. On the 20th of June, after nearly a months stay, Peter went to Pillau, with the intention oftaking ship directly to Holland,for he found it more convenient to defer his visit to Vienna till b.is return. Before leaving, he sent a ruby of large size as a present to his host. At Pillau Peter was detained three weeks longer, by the necessity of watching affairs in Poland. The threatened h~terven- tion by the French, to support the Prince de Conti on the Polish throne, would have been greatly against the interest of Russia. The Tsar occupied his leisure with active and thorough studies in artillery, under the guidance of the chief engineer of the Prus- sian fortresses, Colonel Streitner Von Stern- feld, who gave him a certificate of remarka- ble progress and knowledge. THE ~ur~ J Uu. (FROM THE ORIGINAL BY A. VAN OSTADE IN THE MUSj~uM OF VIENNA PETER THE GREAT AS R ULER AND REFORMER. 9 An unfortunate incident, arising from Peters hasty temper, marked the conclusion of his stay. He had remained a day longer to celebrate his names-day, and had ex- pected the Elector to visit him. He had even made some fire-works for the occasion. Frederick had been obliged to go to Memel, to meet the Duke of Curland, and there- fore sent Count von Kreyzen to the Land- vogt von Schacken to present his compli- ments and his regrets. Peter was childishly vexed, and in his disappointment at not being able to show his fire-works, vented his rage on the envoys. He took it amiss that they had left the room after dinner to refresh themselves after their journey, and had them brought back. Looking sourly at Count von Kreyzen, he remarked in Dutch to Lefort, that The Elector was very good, but his counsellors were the devil. Then, imagining he saw a smile steal over the face of Kreyzen, who was about to retire, he rushed at him, cried, Go! go! and twice pushed him backward. His anger did not cool until he had written to his dearest friend, the Elector, a letter, half of complaint and half of apology. Instead of going by sea from Pillau to Holland, Peter went no further than Colberg, as he was fearful of falling in with the French squadron, which was said to be escorting the Prince de Conti to Poland. From that place he traveled by land as speedily as possible, stopping only to look at the famous iron-works near Ilsenburg, and to ascend the Brocken for the view. The journey of the Tsar produced as much commotion and excitement in the minds of curious people of that time as did those of the Sultan and the Shah in our own day. Among those most anxious to form a personal acquaintance with the Tsar were the philosopher Leibnitz, who had long been interested in Russia, chiefly for philological reasons, and his friends, Sophia, the widowed Electress of Hanover, grand- daughter of James I. of England, and her daughter Sophia Charlotte, wife of the Elector of Brandenburg. Sophia Charlotte was on a visit to her mother, and had there- fore missed the visit of Peter to Kidnigsberg, though she bad had full accounts of it from a constant correspondent. Leibnitz was unable at this time to see the Tsar, but the TARTARS BURNING THE STEPPE IN ADVANCE OF THE RUSSIAN ARMY. (DRAWN BY VIERGE.) PETER TILE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. two Electresses, attended by several young princes and members of their court, made a hasty journey from Hanover to Coppen- brugge, through which they found Peter was to pass. They invited him to sup with them, but it took a discussion of an hour to persuade him to accept, and he did so only on the assurance that he would be received in the simplest way. He finally succeeded in avoiding the curious eyes of the attend- ants, and in getting into the supper-room by the back staircase. After supper there was a dance, and the party did not separate until four in the morning. Perhaps the princesses can tell their own story best. Sophia Charlotte says, in a letter: My mother and I began to pay him oi ments, but be made Mr. Lefort reply for h seemed shy, hid his face in his bands, -- Ick kan;z nicht sjreclzen. But we tamed him a little, and then he sat down at the table between my mother and myself, and each of us talked to him in turn, and it was a strife who should bave it. Some- times he replied with tbe same promptitude, at others he made two interpreters talk, and assuredly he said nothing that was not to the point on all subjects that were suggested, for the vivacity of my mother put to him many questions, to which he replied with the same readiness, and I was astonished that he was not tired with the conversation, for I have been told that it is not much the habit in his country. As to his grimaces, I imagined them worse than I found them, and some are not in his power to correct. One can see also that he has not had any one to teach him how to eat properly, hut he has a natural, un- constrained air which pleases me. NICHOLAS WIT5EN, BURGOMASTER OF AM5TEROAM. PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. II Her mother wrote, a few days afterward: Lefort and his nephew dressed in French style, and had much wit. We did not speak to the other The Tsar is very tall, his features are fine, and embassadors. We regretted that we could not stay his figure very noble. He has great vivacity of mind, longer, so that we could see him again, for his a~ d a ready and just repartee. But, with all the society gave us much pleasure. He is a very extra- advantages with which nature has endowed him, it ordinary man. It is impossible to describe him, or could he wished that his manners were a little less even to give an idea of him, unless you have seen rustic. We immediately sat down to table. Herr him. He has a very good heart~ and remarkably Koppenstein, who did the duty of marshal, presented noble sentiments. I must tell you, also, that he did the napkin to his Majesty, who was greatly emhar- not get drunk in our presence, hut we had hardly rassed, for instead of a table-napkin at Brandenhurg left when the people of his suite made ample they had given him n ewer and hasin after the meal. amends. He was very gay, very talkative, and we established a great friendship for each other, and he exchanged snuff-boxes with my daughter. We staid, in truth, a very long time at table, but we would gladly have remained there longer still without feeling a moment of ennui, for the Tsar was in very good humor, and never ceased talking to us. My daughter had her Italians sing. Their song pleased him, although he confessed to us that he did not care much for music. I asked him if he liked hunting. He replied that his father had been very fond of it, but that he him- self, from his earliest youth, had had a real passion for navigation and for fire-works. He told us that he worked himself in building ships, showed us his hands, and made us touch the callous places that had been caused by work. He brought his musicians, and they played Russian dances, which we liked better than Polish ones. In another letter, she says: I could embellish the tale of the journey of the illustrious Tsar, if I should tell you. that he is sensible to the charms of beauty, but, to come to the bare fact, I found in him no disposition to gallantry. If we had not taken so many steps to see him, I believe that he would never have thought of us. In his country it is the custom for all women to paint, and rouge forms an essential part of their marriage presents. That is why the Countess Platen singularly pleased the Muscovites; but in dancing, they took the whalebones of our corsets for our bones, and the Tsar showed his astonishment by saying that the German ladies had devilish hard hones. They have four dwarfs. Two of them are very well proportioned, and perfectly well-bred; some- times he kissed, and sometimes he pinched the ear of his favorite dwarf. He took the head of our little Princess (Sophia Dorothea, ten years old), and OFFICIAL BUILDINOS AT THE HAGUE. 12 PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. MEETING 0 PETER AND WILLIAM IlL OF ENGLAND. (DRAWN BY VICTOR NRHLIG.) kissed her twice. The ribbons of her hair suffered mills, which surround the towr~ like guardian in consequence. He also kissed her brother (after- towers. At the end of the seventeenth cen- ward George II. of England, then sixteen yems old). He is a prince at once very good andvery tury, Zaandam, with the neighboring vil- michant. He has quite the manners of his country. lages, was the center of a great ship-building If he had received a better education, he would be an business. There were not less than fifty accomplished man, for be has many good qualities ate wharves and an infinite amount of natural wit. priv in Zaandam, at which mer- chant vessels were constructed, and so great was the crowd of workmen, and so rapid the execution, that a vessel was often ready to CHAPTER ii. go to sea in five weeks from the time the keel was laid. The wind-mills then, as PETER IN HOLLAND. now, supplied the motive power for saw- ing the necessary timber. At Vor6nezh, A SHORT sail from Amsterdam, up the at Archangel, and elsewhere, Peter had gulf of the Y, brings the traveler to the pict- met shipwrights from Zaandam, who had uresque little town of Zaandam, extending praised so much their native town, that he along the banks of the river Zaan. From was convinced that only there could he the windows of the coffee-house, built on learn the art of ship-building in its perfec- the dam or dyke which connects the two tion. His journey from Coppenbrugge and parts of the town, one can see on one side down the Rhine had been rapid, and pass- the placid pool of the Binnenzaan, with ing through Amsterdam without halting,. gardens sloping to the shore, and cottages the Tsar reached Zaandam early on the painted blue, green and pink, half concealed morning of the ~8th of August, having with in the verdure, and on the other the port him only six volunteers, including the with its wharves and ship-yards, the many Prince of Imeritia and the two brothers sails on the Y, and the multitudinous wind- Menshik6f. On the way, he saw an old PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. 3 with people, and although he was in a workmans dress, with a tarpaulin hat, yet the Russian dress of his comrades Moscow acquaintance, the smith Gerrit excited the curiosity of the crowd. The Kist, fishing in the river. He hailed him, next day, he entered himself as a ship-car- and told him for what purpose he had penter at the wharf of Lynst Rogge, on the come to Zaandam. Binding him to abso- Buitenzaan. lute secrecy, the Tsar insisted on taking up Peters stay in Zaandam lasted a week his quarters in his house; but it was neces- only, and as, during this time, he visited sary first to persuade the woman who nearly all the mills and factories in the already lodged in this small wooden hut to neighborhood, at one of which he made a vacate ~tb and then to prepare it a little sheet of paper with his own hands, and as - for the illustrious guest. Peter therefore the next day after his arrival he bought a took refuge in the Otter Inn, for it row-boat, and passed much of his time on was Sunday, and the streets were thronged the water, supped, dined, and talked famil 14 PETER THE UREA? AS RULER AND REFORMER. iarly with the families and relations of men whom he had known in Russia, he could not have done much work. The popular curi- osity proved too annoying for him. There were rumors that the Tsar was in the place. These rumors brought large and inquisitive crowds from Amsterdam. Finally, one day when Peter had bought a hatful of plums, and was eating them as he walked along the street, he met a crowd of boys, with some of whom he shared his fruit. Those to whom he had refused to give first began Tsar was with it, and would in all proba- bility visit Zaandam. The Tsar, it was said, could easily be recognized by his great height,nearly seven feet,by the twitching of his face, by his gesturing with his right hand, and by a small mole on the right cheek. This letter wa~ seen by the barber Pomp. When, soon after, the Muscovites came into his shop, he immediately recog- nized Peter as ansxvering to this description, and at once circulated the news. When Peter sailed on the Zaan in the new yacht to follow him, and, when he laughed at them, to throw mud and stones. The Tsar was obliged to take refuge in the Three Swans inn, and send for the Burgomaster. He had to make some sort of explanation to the Burgomaster, and an edict was imme- diately issued, forbidding insults to dis- tinguished personages who wisbed to remain unknown. One man, too, had received a letter from his son in Moscow, speaking of the great embassy, and saying that the I. PETER IN THE MUSEUM OF JACOB DE WILDE AT AMSTERDAM. 2. PETERS LODGING AT LEYDEN. which he had bought, and to which he had himself fitted a bowsprit, he was followed by crowds of curious people. This put him out of patience, and leapin~ ashore, he gave one of them a cuff on the cheek, to the de- light of all the spectators, who called out: Bravo! Marsje, you are made a knight. The angry Tsar shut himself up in an inn, and could only return late at ni~ht. The next day, Saturday, had begn appointed for drawing a large ship built by Cornelius PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. ~I 5 Calf across the dyke, from the Binnenzaan to the Vorzaan, by means of rollers and capstans, an interesting and critical opera- tion. Peter, who was greatly interested, had promised to come, and a place had been set apart for him. The news of his expected presence having spread, the crowd was so enormous that the guards were driven back, the palisade broken down, and the reserved place encroached upon. Seeing the crowd, Peter refused to leave his house, and al- though the Schout, the Burgomasters, and the other authorities came in person to him, they got nothing more than Straks, straks (immediately), and finally, when he had stuck his head out of the door and seen the crowd, a blunt refusal: Te veel yolks, te veel yolks (too many people). Sunday, it seemed as if all Amsterdam had come for a sight of him, and Peter, as a last resource, managed to get to his yacht, and although a severe storm was blowing, and every one advised him not torisk it, he sailed off, and three hours later arrived at Amsterdam, where his embassadors were to have a formal reception the next day. With some difficulty he made his way to the Oude z~/ds Heeren logement, where they were living. After the embassadors had been received, Peter, in company with them, visited the town hall (now the Royal Palace), consid- ered by all good burghers of Amsterdam as a ehef-d euvre of architecture, inspected the docks and the admiralty, went to a special representation of a comedy and ballet, took part in a great dinner, and saw a splendid display of fire-works on the Arnstel, and, what interested him most of all, witnessed a grand naval sham-fight on the Y, which lasted for a whole day, under the direction of the Vice-Admiral Giles Scheij. The house in which Peter lived at Zaan- dam has been a place of pilgrimage for a century, beginning with a royal party, which included Joseph II., Emperor of Germany, Gustavus III., Adolphus, King of ~Sweden, and the Grand Duke of Russia (afterward the Emperor Paul), then traveling as the Comte du Nord. Even Napoleon went there. Bought in i8i8 by a Russian prin- cess, at that time Queen of Holland, it is now preserved with greatest care inside a new building. In itself it is no more worth visiting than any other house where Peter may have been forced to spend a week. It is only of interest as being the spot where the ruler of a great country sought to gain knowledge of an art which he thought would be beneficial to his people. His real life as a workman was all in Amsterdam. During the ~tes, Peter asked the Burgo- master Witsen, whose personal acquaintance he had at last made, whether it would not be possible for him to work at the docks of the East India Company, where he could be free from the public curiosity which so troubled him at Zaandam. The next day, at a meeting of the directors of the East India Company, it was resolved to allow a high personage, present here incognito, to work at the wharf, to assign him a house in which he could live undisturbed within the precincts, and that, as a mark of their respect, they would proceed to the construc- tion of a frigate, in order that he might see the building of a ship from the beginning. This frigate was to be one hundred or one hundred and thirty feet long, according to the wish of the Tsar, though the Company preferred the length of one hundred feet. The Tsar was at the dinner of state given to the embassy by the city of Amsterdam, when he received a copy of this resolution. He wished to set to work immediately, and was with difficulty persuaded to wait for the fire-works and the triumphal arch prepared in his honor; but as soon as the last fires had burnt out, in spite of all entreaties, he set out on his yacht for Zaandam to fetch his tools. He returned early, the next morn- ing, the 3oth of August, to Amsterdam, and went straight to the wharf of the East India Company, at Oostenburg. For more than four months, with occa- sional absences, he worked here at ship-build- ing, under the direction of the Baas Gerrit Claes Pool. Ten of the Russian volun- teers set to work at the wharf with him. The rest were sent to other establishments to learn the construction of masts, boats, sails and blocks, while Prince Alexander of Imeritia went to the Hague to study ar- tillery, and a certain number of others were entered as sailors before the mast. The first three weeks were taken up with the prepara- tions of materials. The ~9th of September, Peter laid the keel of the new frigate, one hundred feet in length, to be called The Apostles Peter and Paul, and on the next day wrote to the Patriarch at Moscow, as follows: We are in the Netherlands, in the town of Amsterdam, and by the mercy of God, and by your prayers, are alive and in good health, and, following the divine command given to our forefather Adam, we are hard at work. What we do is not from any need, but for the sake of learning navigation, so that, having PETER TILE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. mastered it thoroughly, we can, when we return, be victors over the enemies of Jesus Christ, and libera- tors of the Christians who live under them, which I shall not cease to wish for till niy latest breath. Peter allowed no difference to be made between himself and the other workmen, and it is said that, when the Duke of Marl- borough and the Earl of Portland came expressly from the kings chateau at Loo to have ~ sight of him, the overseer, in order to point him out, said: Carpenter Peter of Zaandam, why dont you help your con~ rades? and Peter, without a word, placed his shoulder under the timber which several men were carrying, and helped to raise it to its place. In the moments of rest, the Tsar, sitting down on a log, with his hatchet between his knees, was willing to talk to any one who addressed him simply as carpenter Peter, or Baas Peter, but turned away and did not answer those who called him Sire or Your Majesty. He never liked long conversations. When Peter came home from the wharf, A RUSSIAN NUN. (FROM A PAINTINO BY TH. TCHOUMAKOFF.) PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. 7 he devoted much of his time to learning the theory of ship-building, for which he had to make additional studies in geometry. His note-books, which have been carefully pre- served, show the thoroughness with which he worked. But, besides that, he had many letters to answer, and now that he was away from home ~he took more interest in at least the foreign policy of his Government. Every post from Moscow brought him a package of letters, some asking questions and favors, for, in spite of the Supreme Regency, many matters were still referred to him, some giving him news, and others containing nothing but good wishes or friendly talk about social matters. To all of these Peter endeavored to reply by each Fridays post, but, as he wrote once to Vinius, some- times from weariness, sometimes from absence, and sometimes from Khmelnztzky,* one cannot accomplish it. He was the first to communicate to Moscow news and congratulations on the battle of the Zenta, where Prince Eugene of Savoy defeated the Turks commanded by the Grand Vizier, for which he ordered Te Deums and festivities at home, and had a banquet given by his embassy in Holland. The defeat of the Tartars near Azof, and the splendid defense of TavAn against the Turks, made an occasion for another feast. Until the Prince de Conti ignominiously returned by post from Danzig, after he had gone there with a French squadron, the Tsar was much troubled with Polish affairs. He had also to thank Charles XII. of Sweden for his timely gift of three hundred cannon to arm his infant fleet, while, at the same time, Lefort was asking the Chancellor Oxen- stjerna for explanations about the attitude of Sweden in regard to Poland. He was in constant communication with the great em- bassy, and used his best efforts to persuade William III. to join in the league against the Turks. Partly for this purpose, together with Lefort and Witsen, he went to Utrecht, where he had an interview with the King in the Toelast Hotel. Although the details of this interview have never been known, it was thought worthy of a commemorative medal. The Government of the Nether- lands, fearing for its Smyrna and Eastern trade, was unwilling to enter into any such alliance, and made no offer of money nor of a loan, which, indeed, the Russians had not asked, and it was with some difficulty even * Ivdshka Khmelnztzky, from Khmel, hops, is the Russian substitute for Bacchus. VOL. XXI.2. that men could be found to enter the Rus- sian service as officials, engineers, or crafts- men. Those who went, did so without the recommendation ofthe Government, and on their own responsibility. The Tsar was also greatly interested in the conferences at Ryswyk, which at last resulted in a treaty. He understood well that if the Emperor of Austria were freed from the war in the West, he could so much the more readily devote himself to operations against the Turks. Nevertheless, he had little con- fidence in the duration of the treaty, even before it was signed. Not understanding how necessary it was for England and the Netherlands, he believed it to be simply a maneuver on the part of France for gaining time, and expected a new war soon. We know the history of the negotiations at Ryswyk, the struggles for precedence, and the interminable disputes on etiquette. Now that Russia had made up her mind to enter upon regular diplomatic intercourse with other nations, it was important that she should make her d~~bu/ properly. No better stage could be found than the Hague, where the most skilled diplomates of all European countries were then assembled. On the whole, Russia did well. The embassy was splendidly received at the Hague, and lodged in the Oude Doelen Hotel, for the palace of Prince Maurice, the usual embas- sadorial lodging, was already full. The embassadors were men of good presence, Lefort had wit and good breeding, the liv- eries were new and gorgeous, the entertain- ments were sumptuous, the presence of the Tsar (for he had gone on to the Hague for a few days, to witness the ceremonies) added to the ec/czt. Visits were made to all the foreign embassadors except to the French. The feeling created by Prince Dolgor(ikys report of his mission, in 1687, was still so strong, added to the irritation of Peter against the French intrigues in Poland and at Constantinople, that he would not permit his embassadors to call on the French. In this he was unwise, for it was in conse- quence of this that certain persons continu- ally tried to cause difficulties in his negotia- tions, and that untrue and malicious reports with regard to the embassy, and to the Tsar in particular, had circulation then, and have since found credence. In his hours of recreation, Peters curi- osity was insatiable. He visited factories, work-shops, anatomical museums, cabinets of coins, botanical gardens, theaters and hospitals, inquired about everything he saw, i8 PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. and was soon recognized by his oft-repeated phrases: What is that for? How does that work? That will I see. He jour- neyed to Texel, and went again to Zaandam to see the Greenland whaling fleet. In Leyden he made the acquaintance of the great Boerhave, and visited the celebrated botanical garden under his guidance, and in Delft he studied the microscope under the naturalist Leeuwenhoek. He made the inti- mate acquaintance of the Dutch military engineer Baron Van Coehorn, and of Admi- ral Van Scheij. He talked of architecture with Simon Schynvoet, visited the museum of Jacob de Wilde, and learned to etch under the direction of Schonebeck. An impression of a plate he engravedfor he had some knowledge of drawingof Chris- tianity victorious over Islam, is still extant. He often visited the dissecting and lecture room of Professor Ruysch, entered into cor- respondence with him, and finally bought his cabinet of anatomical preparations.~ He made himself acquainted with Dutch home and family life, and frequented the society of the merchants engaged in the Russian trade. He became especially intimate with the Thessing family, and granted to one of the brothers the right to print Russian books at Amsterdam, and to introduce them into Rus- sia. Every market day he went to the Botermarkt, mingled with the people, stud- ied their trades, and followed their life. He took lessons from a traveling dentist, and experimented on his servants and suite; he mended his own clothes, and learned cob- bling enough to make himself a pair of slip- pers. He visited the Protestant churches, and of an evening he did not forget the beer- houses, which we know so well through the pencils of Teniers, Brouwer and Van Ostade. The frigate on which Peter~ worked so long was at last launched, and proved a good and useful ship for many years, in the East India Companys service. But Peter, in spite of the knowledge he had acquired, as is shown by the certificate of his master Baas Pool, was not satisfied with the empir- ical manner in which the Dutch built ships. He had labored in vain to acquire a theory in ship-building which, with a given length, or the length and the width, would show him the necessary best proportions. For this he had written to Witsen, from Arch- angel, in 1694, and had then been told that every ship-builder made the proportions according to his experience and discretion. Peters dissatisfaction was evident in two waysby his sending an order to Vor6nezh, that all the Dutch ship-carpenters there should no longer be allowed to build as they pleased, but be put under the supervision of Danes or Englishmen, and by resolving to go to England for several months, to see what he could learn in English ship-yards. He had, indeed, been recently delighted by receiving a truly royal present from King William. This was the Kings best yacht, the Transj5orf Royal; which had just been constructed on a new plan, was light, of beautiful proportions, and armed with twenty brass cannon. In answer to the letter of Lord Caermarthen, which spoke of it as the best and quickest vessel in Eng- land, Peter sent to London Major Adam Weyde, who had just come back from a special mission to Vienna, and from taking part in the battle of the Zenta. Weyde was also instructed to obtain the Kings consent to the visit of the Tsar, with a request that his in- cognito should be as far as possible preserved. Together with a favorable answer, came Eng- lish vessels for himself and the great embassy, and on the 17th of January, 1698, Peter, leaving his embassy in Holland, set out for England. CHAPTER III. ~I5JT OF THE TSAR TO ENGLAND. THE weather was stormy, ~nd the ships of Admiral Mitchell could carry but half THE EVENING PIPE. (FROM AN ENGRAVING IN THE POSSESSION OF SENATOR RAVENSEI.) * It now forms part of the museum of the Acad- emy of Sciences at St. Petersburg. PETER THE GREAT AS R ULER AND REFORMER. 9 their canvas, but the wind was in the right brought with them, at first impeded his direction, and early in the morning of Jan- movements. For greater convenience, and uary 3oth they were coasting along Suffolk, to get rid of the crowds who watched and the Tsar was saluted by the guns of the for his appearance, he removed to Dept- fort at Orford. Leaving its convoy at the ford, where he occupied Sayes Court, the mouth of the Thames, the yacht anchored house of John Evelyn, which was new at St. Katherines, and Peter was rowed in a furnished for him by the King. For forty- barge past the Tower and London Bridge, five years, the accomplished author of and landed at a house in Norfolk street, Sylva had been making the plantations Strand, which had a few years before been and laying out the gardens, and it grieved the refuge of William Penn, when under him to the heart to have such bad tenants accusation of treason and conspiracy.* The as the Muscovites evidently were. While Tsar was immediately waited upon by a the Tsar was still there, Evelyns servant chamberlain, with the congratulations of the wrote to him: There is a house full of King, who, at his request, appointed Admi- people, and right nasty. The Tsar lies next ral Mitchell to be in constant attendance your library, and dines in the parlor next upon him. Three days later, the King came in person to see him. Peter was without his coat, made no ceremony, and received him in his shirt sleeves. He slept in one small room, together with the Prince of Imeritia and three or four others. When the King entered, the air was so bad that, notwithstanding the very cold weather, it was necessary to open a window. This visit the Tsar returned a few days afterward, when he made the acquaintance of the Princess Anne, the heiress to the throne, and her husband, Prince George of Den- mark. The Princess Anne apparently made a deep impression, for four years after, when she had come to the throne, Peter remarked, in a letter to Apr~txin, that she was a veri- table daughter of our church. The first days of Peters stay were occu- pied in seeing the sights of London, and making acquaintances. He visited the Royal Society, the Tower, the Mint, the Observatory, was much in the society of the eccentric Lord Caermarthen, with whom he used to sup at a tavern near the Tower, now the Czar of Muscovy, visited Caer- marthens father, the Duke of Leeds, and frequently went to the theater. One of the favorite actresses of the day, Miss Cross, pleased him so much that his relations with her became very intimate, and continued so ~v. during his stay in England. More than all, CHRISTIANITY VICTORIOUS OVER ISLAM. (FROM AR he was attracted by the docks and the ETCHINO RY PETER THE GREAT.) naval establishments, although the exceed- your study. He dines at ten oclock and six ing sharp and cold season, which the at night, is very seldom at home a whole Londoners jestingly said the Russians had day, very often in the Kings Yard, or by water, dressed in several dresses. The King ~ Tradition says that at this time the door was is expected there this day; the best parlor is never opened without the servant first reconnoitering pretty clean for him to be entertained in. through a loop-hole to see whether the visitor looked The King pays for all he has. The great like a constahie or a dun. The house is now No 2! Norfolk street, and is Converted into a lodging- holly hedge, the pride of the neighbor- house and private hotel, in which, hy chance, the hood, was ruined by the Tsar driving a present writer spent his first days in London. wheelbarrow through it. The King had 20 PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. already remarked, after receiving Peters first visit, that he was indifferent to fine buildings and beautiful gardens, and cared only for ships. After Peter had gone, Evelyn writes in his diary: I went to Deptford to see how miserably the Tsar had lett my house after three months making it his court. I got Sir Christopher Wren, the Kings surveyor, and Mr. London, his gar- dener, to go and estimate the repairs, for which they allowed ~7i ~o in their report to the Lords of the Treasury.* With the exception of a week spent in going to Portsmouth, where he was gratified by a review of the English fleet off Spithead, and in visiting Windsor and Hampton Court, and a couple of days at Oxford, where he received the degree of Doctor of Laws, Peter remained very steadily at work at Deptford until the beginning of May. He had come to England expecting to stay but a short time, but he found so much to interest and attract him, both at the ship- building establishments at Deptford and at the Royal Arsenal at Woolwich, which he frequently visited, that, in spite of the rumors which reached him of troubles at Moscow, he constantly put off his departure, and only went when he had satisfied himself that he had acquired all the special knowledge which he could obtain in England. He evidently formed a high opinion of English ship- builders, for he subsequently said to Perry that had it not been for his journey to England, he always would have remained a bungler. One thing, however, he could not learn there, and that was the construction of galleys and galliots, such as were used in the Mediterranean, and would be service- able in the Bosphorus, and on the coast of the Crimea. For this he desired to go to Venice. Peter, who prided himself on being a good judge of men, spent much of his time in England in looking for suitaNe persons to employ in Russia, and in examining their qualifications. The night after his return from Portsmouth, together with Golovfn, who had come over from Holland for the purpose, he signed contracts with about sixty men, many of whom had been recommended by Lord Caermarthen. The chief of these were Major Leonard van der Stamm, a specialist in ship-designing, Captain John Perry, an hydraulic engineer, whom he appointed to In 1701, Sayes Court was let to Peters friend, Lord Caermarthen, who had a similar taste for things maritime. construct a canal between the Volga and the Don (for Colonel Breckell, a German engineer who had already begun this work, had run away), and Professor Andrew Fergharson, from the University of Aber- deen, who was engaged to found a school of navigation at Moscow. For officers in the fleet, he seems to have preferred Dutch- men to Englishmen, and succeeded in persuading Captain Cornelius Cruys, a dis- tinguished Dutch officer, a Norwegian by birth, to enter his service. Cruys brought with him three other captains, and officers, surgeons and sailors to the number of five hundred and seventy. The officers were chiefly Dutchmen, the sailors Swedes and Danes. Among the surgeons, who had been recommended by the anatomist Ruysch, were some Frenchmen. More than a hundred other officers, including Greeks, Venetians and Italians, who promised to find sailors acquainted with the navigation of the Black Sea, were also taken into the Russian service at this time. With mining engineers, however, Peter found it difficult to enter into any arrangements, as they demanded what he considered exorbitant salaries. He had at first endeavored to find such men through Witsen, but Witsen had always deferred giving advice from day to day, and nothing was done. Finally, the Tsar decided to find some, if possible, in Saxony. He was the more anxious for this, as during his absence Vinius had written to him that magnetic iron ore of the very best quality had been discovered in the Ural mountains, and was begging in every letter that mining engineers be sent as soon as possible. The mere hand-money which had to be paid to the foreigners entering the Russian service was a great expense, and the treas- ury of the embassy became so reduced that it was necessary to draw on Moscow for very large sums. One method was found by Peter for obtaining a supply of ready money, and that was by a privilege which he gave to Lord Caermarthen for the monopoly of the tobacco trade in Russia. Smoking tobacco or using it in any form had been forbidden by the Tsar Michael in 1634, under pain of death, and religious and old-fashioned Russians had the greatest prejudices against this narcotic herb. Never- theless, the use of tobacco spread so fast, in spite of pains and penalties, that before his departure for abroad, Peter made a decree authorizing its use, and even then entered into temporary arrangements for its sale, as 21 PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. he expected by the duties to reMize a large sum for the treasury. A Russian merchant, o rienka, had offered i 5,000 rubles for the monopoly, and even General Gordon had offered 3,000 rubles in 1695, but the Marquis of Caermarthen was willing to give more than three times as much as Orlenka, viz., /28,000, or 48,000 rubles, and to pay the whole in advance. For this, he was to be allowed to import into Russia a million and a half pounds of tobacco every year, and Peter agreed to permit the free use of tobacco to all his subjects, notwithstanding all previous laws and regulations. Lord Caermarthen acted here as the representa- tive of a group of capitalists. The monopoly had previously been offered by the Tsar to the Russia Company, and had been declined. The personal relations of the Tsar and King William had become very cordial. Peter had always admired William, and a close personal intercourse caused the King to speak in much higher terms of Peter toward the end of his visit than he had at first. As a souvenir of the visit of the Tsar, the King persuaded him to have his portrait painted, and the remarkable likeness of him by Sir Godfrey Kneller, then in the height of his celebrity, still hangs in the Palace of Hampton Court. The Austrian embassador, Count Auer- sperg, in a letter to the Emperor Leopold, says: As concerns the person of the Tsar, the Court here is well contented with him, for he now is not so afraid of people as he was at first. They accuse him only of a certain stinginess, for he has been in no way lavish. All the time here he went about in sailors clothing. We shall see in what dress he presents himself to Your Imperial Majesty. He saw the King very rarely, as he did not wish to change his manner of life, dining at eleven oclock in the morn- ing, supper at seven in the evening, going to bed early, and getting up at four oclock, which very much astonished those Englishmen who kept company with him. Peter and Golovin took their leave of the King at Kensington Palace, on the 28th of April. We are told that, as a slight token of his friendship and his gratitude, not only for the kind reception he had had, but for the splendid yacht which had been presented to him, Peter took out of his pocket a small twisted bit of brown paper and handed it to the King, who opened it with some curi- osity, and found a magnificent uncut dia- mond of large size. This may not be true, but it is thoroughly characteristic. The last days of Peters stay he had again consecra- ted to sight-seeing. He was present at a meeting of Parliament, when the King gave his assent to a bill for raising money by a land tax, but he was so unwilling to have his presence known that he looked at it through a hole in the ceiling. This gave rise to a bon mof which circulated in London society. Some one remarked that he had seen the rarest thing in the world, a king on the throne, and an emperor on the roof. Hoffmann wrote to the Austrian Court that Peter expressed himself unfa- vorably to the limitation of royal power by a parliament; but according to a Russian account he said: It is pleasant to hear how the sons of the fatherland tell the truth plainly to the King; we must learn that from the English. A spirit of proselytism, a desire to propa- gate ones own religious, social and political views, is implanted in the Anglo-Saxon breast at least, if indeed it be not common to the human race. A young monarch who was liberal or curious enough to visit Qua- ker meetings and Protestant cathedrals, became the natural prey of philanthropists and reformers,, who saw a way opened by Providence for the introduction of their peculiar notions into remote Muscovy. Such an enthusiast was the pious and learned Francis Lee, M. D., who gave proposals SAVES cOURr, DEPTFORO. 22 PETER IHE GREA 7 AS RULER AND REFORMER. to Peter the Great, etc., at his own request, for the right framing of his Government.* That Peter should visit the churches of different denominations in Holland, made many simple-minded or fanatical Dutch believe that he was inclined to Protestant- ism, and that the object of his journey was to unite the Russian and Protestant churches. It was reported that he had al- ready taken the communion with the Elector of Brandenburg, and that he was inviting doctors of all sciences to establish colleges and academies in his dominions. In like way, in Vienna, it was widely believed that Sherem6tief had already become a Catholic, and that the Tsar was inclined to become one. When Peter was in Vienna, the nuncio reported to Rome that the Tsar had shown a special respect for the Emperor Leopold, as the head of Christianity, that he had dined with the Jesuits, and wished to be taken into the bosom of the true church. From Poland the Jesuit Votta wrote to Cardinal Spada, with great satisfaction, of the reveren- tial demeanor of Peter during the Catholic service, and of the humility with which he accepted his blessing. Churchmen in England were led into similar beliefs, and entertained hopes of a union of the two churches. It was prob- ably not simple politeness that led the Arch- bishop of Canterbury and other English prelates to visit Peter. Among them was Gilbert Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, who, in his History of his Own Time, gives the following opinion of the Tsar: seems designed by nature rather to be a ship-car- penter than a great prince. This was his chief study and exercise while he stayed here; he wrought much with his own hands, and made all about him work at the models of ships; he told me he designed a great fleet at Azuph, and with it to attack the Turkish empire; but he did not seem capable of conducting so great a design, though his conduct in his wars since this has discovered a greater genius in him than appeared at that time. He was desirous to understand our doctrine, but be did not seem disposed to mend matters in Muscovy; he was, indeed, resolved to encourage learning and to polish his people by sending some of them to travel in other countries, and to draw strangers to come and live among them. He seemed apprehensive still of his sis- ters intrigues. There is a mixture both of passion and severity in his temper. He is resolute, but under- stands little of war, and seemed not at all inquisitive that way. After I had seen him often, and had conversed much with him, I could not but adore the depth of the providence of God, that had raised up such a furious man to so absolute an authority over so great a part of the world. The phrase he did not seem disposed to mend matters in Muscovy, evidently referred to the religious question, and Burnet, as well as others, was much surprised that this apparent free-thinker and liberal should hold so firmly to the orthodox faith. It has been the fashion, either from too little knowledge or from too great patriotism, sharply to criticise Burnets opinion of Peters character; but considering what Burnet knew of Peter, and even what we know of Peter, is it, after all, so far out of the way? Peters tastes led him to navigation and to ship-building, and he sincerely believed that it was through having a fleet on the Black Sea that he would be able to conquer Turkey, the idea at that time uppermost in his mind. But he did not show the same dis- position to master the art of war as he did that of navigation. Many a wide-awake boy of fifteen will nowadays equal and sur- pass Peter in special accomplishments and general knowledge. Many a young man, xvith a farbettereducation than Peter, has the same mechanical and scientific turn, carried even further. At this time only one idea possessed Peters mindnavigation. His own studies, the fact that men of the best Russian families were sent abroad to become common sailors, and nothing else, are proof enough. Hoffmann writes to Vienna: They say that he intends to civilize his subjects in the manner of other nations. But from his acts here, one cannot find any other intention than to make them sailors: he has had intercourse almost exclusively with sailors, and has gone away as shy as he came. I waited often on him, and was ordered, both by the King and the archbishop and bishops, to attend upon him, and to offer him such information of our religion and constitution as he was willing to receive; I had good interpreters, so I had much free discourse with him; he is a man of a very hot temper, soon inflamed, and very brutal in his passion; he raises his natural heat by drinking much brandy, which he rectifles himself with great application; he is sub- ject to convulsive motions all over his body, and his head seems to be affected with these; he wants not capacity, and has a larger measure of knowledge than might be expected from his education, which was very indifferent; a want of judgment, with an instability of temper, appear in him too often and too evidently. He is mechanically turned, and * These proposals related to the institution of seven committees or colleges: x. For the advance- ment of learning. 2. For the improvement of nature. 3. For the encouragement of arts. 4. For the increase of merchandise. 5. For reformation of manners. 6. For compilation of laws. 7. For the propagation of the Christian religion. They were printed in i 752 in a rare book entitled, Awoi-et- lrojseva, or dissertations, etc., on the Book of Gene- sis. It is hardly possible to take Lees phrase, at During his journey abroad he saw some- his own request, in its most literal interpretation, thing of the effects of a greater civilization; 23 PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. he saw comforts and conveniences which he thought it would be well to introduce among his people, but he paid little or no attention to anything concerning the art of govern- ment, or to real civil and administrative reforms. The stay of Peter in Holland and in England gave rise to numberless anecdotes. The stories of Dutch carpenters who had assisted him in Russia, the tales told by the English captain of his familiarity at Arch- angel, of his bathing with them in public, and of his drinking bouts and familiar con- versation, had, in a measure, prepared the public mind, and the spectacle of the ruler of a great country who went about in sailors clothing, and devoted himself to learning ship-building, rendered it possible and easy to invent. Many of these anec- dotes are, in all probability, untrue. They are of the same class of stories as are told now of any remarkable individualthe Shah, the Sultan, the Khediveon his trav- els. Sometimes there may be a basis of truth, but it has been distorted in the telling. After the interview with King William, Peter delayed still three days, which were chiefly taken up with visiting the Mint, for he had been struck with the excellence of the English coinage, and had already ideas of recoining the Russian money. On the 2d of May, he left Deptford in the yacht, the Transport Royal, given to him by King William, but even then could not resist run- ning up to Chatham to see the docks there, and arrived at Amsterdam on the I9th.* Twice the embassy at Amsterdam had been in great distress about Peter, for after his departure for London the storms were so great and the colds so intense, that it was three weeks before any news was received from him. Again, from the ~8th of February to the 2 ist of March, no letters arrived in Amsterdam. People in Moscow were still more troubled, and Vinius showed his con- sternation by writing to Lefort, instead of to The Transport Royal was sent to Archangel under the command of Captain Ripley, and took a part of the collections of curiosities and military stores which Peter had collected in Holland. By the Tsars order, Franz Timmermann met it there, to take it to Vol6gda, and thence partly overland to Yarosl6~v. It was intended afterward to convey it to the Sea of Azof, as soon as the canal between the Volga and the Don should be finished, but as the yacht drew nearly eight feet of water, Timmermann could not get it further than Holmog6ry, and it went back to Archangel, where it remained ever after. Peter, to ask what the matter was. Peter replied on the 23d of May, blaming his friend very severely for being so troubled by a miscarriage of the post, and adding fuel to the flame at Moscow when he ought to have been more courageous and not to have doubted. Lefort had written sometimes several letters by every post, taken up with longing for his return, with inquiries about his health, with talk of the necessity of going to Vienna, and of his personal desire to visit Geneva, and begging him to send something fit to drink. On arriving at Amsterdam, Peter found several relatives of Lefort who had come from Geneva for the purpose of seeing him. They had already been sumptuously enter- tained by the embassy, and now had the pleasure of being presented to the Tsar, and being amicably received by him. The ac- counts which they give in their letters home of the position of their uncle, and the cere- mony which everywhere attended him, show the rank which he held above the other embassadors, as being the friend and favorite of Peter. With regard to the Tsar himself, Jacob Lefort writes: You know that he is a prince of very great stat- ure, but there is one circumstance which is unpleas- ant,he has convulsions, sometimes in his eyes, sometimes in his arms, and sometimes in his whole body. He at times turns his eyes so that one can see nothing but the whites. I do not know whence it arises, but we must believe that it is a lack of good-breeding. Then he has also movements in the legs, so that he can scarcely keep in one place. He is very well made, and goes about dressed as a sailor, in the highest degree simple, and wishing nothing else than to be on the water. There was every reason now to hasten Peters departure. Troubles at Moscow with some Streltsi who had run away from the army, troubles in Poland, where the Polish magnates were not as well disposed toward Russia as was the King himself~ troubles at Vienna,for it was reported to him that the Austrians were intending to make a peace with the Turks, without the slightest regard for the interests of either Poland or Russia,all rendered him uneasy. In addition to this, he was both surprised and astonished to learn that King William had accepted a proposition made to him to act as mediator between Austria and Turkey, and that the States-General of Holland was to take part with him. The troubles at Moscow he believed to be over at all events, they seemed no more serious than the troubles which arose in Moscow on the eve of his departure, but he felt it necessary 24 PETER IHE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. to get soon to Vienna, in order that he might have a personal interview with the Emperor Leopold, and ascertain the views of the Austrian court, and, if possible, make them fall in with his own. Beside that, he wished to go on to Venice, to complete his studies in naval architecture. CHAPTER Iv. THE JOURNEY HOME. IN spite of his haste, it took Peter a n~nth to reach Vienna, where he arrived on the 26th of June, and yet he trav- eled every day, with the excep- tion of one day at Leipsic and two at Dresden. He also visited the linen facto- ries at Bielefeld, surveyed the fortifications of K6nigstein, and walked through the beautiful park at Cleves, where he carved his name on a birch-tree. In Dresden he was delighted with the curiosities of the green vaults, where he went immediately aft- er his arrival, and stayed all night. He also carefully examined the ar- senal, and aston- ished his enter- tainers by dis- playing the knowledge he had acquired at Kbnigsberg and Woolwich, and pointing out and explaining the defects in the ar- tillery. He paid a visit to the mother of the Elector, for Au- gustus himself was then in Poland, and twice supped with Prince von Ffirstenburg. At the Tsars special request, ladies were invited, and among others the famou~ Countess Aurora von K6nigsmark, the mother of Maurice de Saxe, then a child in arms. Peter had met her accidentally on his way to the arsenal, and had doubt- less been informed of her intimacy with Augustus. At these suppers, he was in such good humor that in the presence of the ladies he took up a drum, and played with a perfection that far surpassed the drummers. Peter had a strange shy- ness which seemed to grow upon him. He hated to be stared at as a curiosity, and the more he met people of refinement, versed in social arts, the more he felt his own defi- ciencies. Nothing but the excitement of a supper seemed to render general society possible to him. His visits of ceremony were brief and formal. It was very hard at Dresden to keep people out of his way, and allow him to go about unobserved. After the Tsar had gone, Fiirstenburg wrote to the King: I thank God that all has gone off so well, for I feared that I could not fully please this fastidious gentleman. And General Jordan reported that the Tsar was well content with his visit, but that he himself was glad to be rid of such a costly guest. Strangely enough, in spite of Peters desire to find mining engineers, he did not stop at Freiburg, where quarters had been got ready for him. WEST FRONT OF ST. STEFANS CATHEDRAL, VIENNA. SPINE OF ST. STEFANS CATNEDRAL 25 PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. In Vienna, all the difficulties of ceremonial and etiquette were renewed. The Holy Roman Empire, as the only empire in the world, and as the lineal descendant of the old Empire of Rome, claimed for its sover- eign a superior rank to other monarchs, and insisted greatly on punctilio. The authori- ties at Vienna were unwilling to grant to the Russian embassy the same honors which had been given to it in other coun- tries, or to do anything which might seem to place the Tsar on the same level with the Emperor. For that reason, it took four days before the details of the entry into Vienna could be arranged, and even then, through a general coming from exercise on dorf~for Peter had particularly requested that his quarters should be in the suburbs, and not in the middle of the town. The Russians were little pleased at the manner of their reception, and even the Papal II ~ t1UI~! ~ ~ 3W ~ r. - ~ ~ - COLUMN OF THE VIROIN, VIENNA. TRINITY COLUMN, VIENNA. the Prater insisting on marching all his troops across the route selected, it was night before the embassadors could tak& up their lodging in the villa of Count Kdnigsacker, on the bank of the river Vienna at Humpen nuncio spoke of the slight pomp displayed. After this more than a month elapsed before the embassadors had their solemn reception by the Emperor, and it was only then on account of Peters great desire to take Lefort and Golovin with him to Venice that he waived certain points of ceremonial which had up to that time been insisted upon. If the Congress of Vienna in i8i 5 did no other good, it at least accomplished much in put- ting all states on the same rank, abolishing national precedence, and simplifying court ceremonial as respects embassadors and ministers. In the meantime, however, Peter had been privately received by the Emperor, the Empress, and their eldest son, Joseph, the King of Rome, in the imperial villa of Fav- oriten, where, with truly Austrian ideas of maintaining his incognito, he was not allowed to go in at the principal entrance, but was taken through a small door in the garden, and was led up a small spiral staircase into the audience-hall. Leopold also paid a per- sonal visit to Peter, and, toward the end of his stay, entertained him at a great masquer- ade, called a Wirthsc/iaft, in which all the society of Vienna, and many foreign princes sojourning there, took part, dressed in the costumes of different countries. Peter appeared as a Frisian peasant, and his part- ner, who was assigned to him by lot, and was dressed in the same costume, was the 26 PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. Erliulein Johanna von Thurn, of the family now called Thurn und Taxis. The festivities were kept up until morning, and the Tsar was most merry, and danced senza fine e misura. At the supper-table, where there was no precedence, the Emperor and Em- press sitting at the foot of the table, Leopold arose, and, filling his glass, drank to Peters health. This was immediately responded to, and the same ceremony was performed with the King of Rome. The cup used for this purposewhich was of rock crystal, the work of di Rocca, and valued at 2000 guldens was sent the next day to the Tsar, as a souvenir. This was the first great festivity given at court since the beginning of the war with Turkey. Economy had been the order of the day. Peter Lefort wrote to Geneva: I must admit that I was greatly disappointed on my arrival here, for I had expected to see a brilliant court; it is quite the contrary. There are neither the splendid equipages nor the fine liveries we saw at the court of Brandenburg. There are many great lords here, but they are all very modest in their dress. ~ On St. Peters Day the embassy gave a great ball, with music and fire-works, which lasted all night, and at which a thousand guests were present.* It is worth notice that, at the state dinner which followed the solemn audience of the embassadors, the healths of the Empress and of the Tsarstsa were omitted, although it had been agreed beforehand to drink them. There were rea- sons for thinking it might be disagreeable to the Tsar. During the dinner, there being much talk about Hungarian wine, Baron Kdnigsacker sent Lefort a salver, with six kinds as specimens. After tasting them, Lefort begged permission to pass them to his friend, who stood behind his chair. This was the Tsar himself, who had come in this way to witness the feast. It has been already said that the Papal court was greatly excited at the possibility of converting Russia to Catholicism, and the dispatches of the nuncio and of the Span- ish embassador show with what care every movement of the Tsar was watched. The deductions of these prelates seem to us now to be based on very narrow premises. They evidently believed what they wished to be- lieve, and reported what they knew would * Notwithstanding the statements in the dispatches of the nuncio as to the small amount of money given by the Austrian Government for the support.of the embassy, we know, from Russian official documents, that the whole expense of the feast was paid by the Emperors treasury. please. The Cardinal Kollonitz, Primate of Hungary, gives, among other things, an account of the person and character of Peter: The Tsar is a youth of from twenty-eight to thirty years of age, is tall, of an olive complexion, rather stout than thin, in aspect between proud and grave, and with a lively countenance. His left eye, as well as his left arm and leg, was injured by the poison given him during the life of his brother; but there remain now only a fixed and fascinated look in his eye and a constant movement of his arm and leg, to hide which he accompanies this forced motion with continual movements of his entire body, which, by many people, in the countries which he has visited, has been attributed to natural causes, but really it is artificial. His wit is lively and ready; his manners rather civil than barbarous, the journey he has made having improved him, and the difference from the beginning of his travels and the present time being visible, although his native roughness may still be seen in him; but it is chiefly visible in his followers, whom he holds in check with great severity. He has a knowledge of geography and history, and what is most to be noticedhe desires to know these subjects better; but his strongest inclination is for maritime affairs, at which he himself works mechan- ically, as he did in Holland; and this work, accord- ing to many people who have to do with him, is indispensable to divert the effects of the poison, which still very much troubThs him. In person and in aspect, as well as in his manners, there is nothing which would distinguish him or declare him to be a prince. ~ Inquiries were made by the Tsar as to the intentions of the Emperor to conclude a peace with Turkey, to which the Emperor frankly replied that the Sultan had himself proposed a peace through the intervention of Lord Paget, the English embassador at Constantinople, and had requested that the King of England should be a mediator, to which he had assented. At the same time, he showed the Tsar the original letters. Peter then had an interview with Count Kinsky, in which he tried to convince him that it would be better for the Austrians to continue the war, that it was scarcely fair to the allies to make peace without consulting their interests, and that if peace were made, a war would be begun with France about the Spanish succession, and the Turks would take this occasion again to attack them. Kinsky explained that peace was not yet made; that nothing more had been agreed upon than to hold a congress; that it was expected that Russian and Polish represent- atives would be present at this congress, and would explain their demands; that the only condition which the Emperor had made for the conclusion of peace was that it should be on the basis of keeping what each one had possession of at the date of the treaty. Peter was so far convinced that PETER THE GREAT AS RULER AND REFORMER. 27 he agreed to present his demands in writ- ing, which were simply that, in addition to the places he already occupied, there should be ceded to him the fortress of Kertch, in order that he might have a port on the Black Sea, and thus keep the Tartars in order; that if this condition were not agreed to, the Emperor should not make peace, but continue the war until a more advantageous treaty, or until 1701, by which time he hoped to have gained great advantages over the Turks. The reply which Leopold sent to Peter was that, while he found the demand for the cession of Kertch to be a just one, he saw a great difficulty in the way, for the Turks are not accustomed to give up their fortresses without a fight, and even what has been extorted from them by arms, they tried in every way to get back. He therefore urged Peter to use his efforts to get possession of Kertch before the treaty should be made, and to send a representa- tive to the congress, and promised again that he would sign no peace without his consent. Peter was so satisfied with this that he was on the point of starting for Venice, and even had ideas of continuing his journey into Italy, and perhaps visiting France before his return. Passports were obtained, and part of his small suite had already started for Venice, where great preparations were made for his reception, when suddenly a letter was re- ceived from Ramodan6fsky, announcing that the Streltsi regiments on the frontier had revolted and had marched on Moscow, but that Sh6in and Gordon had been sent to put them down. Nothing was said of the cause of the revolt, or of the intentions of the Streltsi. The letter had been on its way for a whole month, and the Tsar was still in ignorance as to whether the revolt had been put down, or whether the rioters were in possession of Moscow, and his sister Sophia ruling in his place. Nevertheless, he decided to start at once, and, to the astonishment of the Austrians, who knew nothing of this news, his post-horses took the road for Moscow, and not for Venice. Before he went, he wrote to Ramodan6fsky: I have received your letter of the 27th of June, in which your grace writes that the seed of Iv~in Mikhailovitch (Miloslfivsky) is sprouting. I beg you to be severe; in no other way is it possible to put out this flame. Although we are very sorry to give up our present profitable business, yet, for the sake of this, we will be with you sooner than you think. Peter traveled day and night, and refused even to stop in Cracow, where a banquet had been prepared for him. Immediately afterward, he received quieting intelligence that the insurrection had been put down, and the ringleaders punished. He was therefore able to travel more leisurely, looked carefully at the great salt-mines of Wieliczka and at Bochnia, and inspected the Polish army which was encamped there. At Rava, a small village of Galicia, he met King Augustus on the 9th of August, and was his guest for four days. Peter had expected to pass by the way of Warsaw, and it was with great surprise that the King received a courier announcing the Tsars visit for the same day. Arrange- ments were at once made, and the King waited in vain for him all night, for he did not arrive until the next morning at dinner time. As he desired, he was conducted to his lodging without formality or ceremony, and shortly after was visited by the King. The tenderness and mutual embraces, the kisses, and the expressions of love and es- teem which they gave each other, are scarcely credible. The Tsar, knowing well the esteem of the King, was carried away by sympathy, and immediately struck up with him a more than fraternal friendship, never ceasing to embrace and kiss him, and telling him that he had come almost alone, with very few followers, to put him- self into his hands, and confide his life to him, being ready, however, to serve him in need with a hundred thousand men or more. Augustus and Peter dined and supped together, and the two following days were taken up with amusements, with re- views of troops, and sham fights, which greatly pleased the Tsar, and with political talk. The Jesuit Votta, who was introduced to the Tsar by the King himself, argued in favor of maintaining the Polish alliance, and continuing the war against Turkey. Peter, after saying that he thought the Russians, Poles and Saxons were sufficient, and that once Otchak6f were taken, Constantinople would be in the death struggle, applied the old fable that it was useless to divide the skin before the bear was killed. The impression produced on Peter by Augustus was strong and lasting: Peter had supported the candidacy of Augustus, and had sent an army to the frontier on political grounds, but the sympathy produced by personal contact had an important influence. It was greatly owing to this that Peter two years later was induced to enter the Northern League, and to declare war against Sweden. The day after the Tsars arrival at Moscow, 28 BORDENTO WN AND JANE BONARARTES. in speaking of the foreign sovereigns he had visited, he made honorable mention of the King of Poland. I prize him more than the whole of you together, he said, address- ing his boy~rs and magnates that were pres- ent, and that not because of his royal pre-eminence over you, but merely because I like him. He still proudly wore the Kings arms, which he had exchanged with that monarch for his own, in order to pro- claim that their bond of friendship was more solid than the Gordian knot and never to be severed with the sword. After leaving the King, Peter went on to Moscow through Zamosc, where he was entertained by the widow of the castellan. He met there the Papal nuncio, who begged permission for missionaries to pass through Russia on their way to China, and was much struck with the amiability of the Tsar, especially as Lefort had put him off with polite excuses. In thanking the Tsar for his promise, he asked him to give him a written document. Peter, replying that when he arrived at Moscow he would im mediately send him a diploma, said: My word is better than ten thousand writings. At Brest-Lit6fsky there was an unfortunate adventure with the Metropolitan of the Uniates, who, in talking to the Tsar, had the bad taste, to say the least, to use the word schismatic, in regard to the members of the Russian church. The Tsar replied that he could not stand such impertinences of language, and people as indiscreet as he in Moscow would have been whipped or hanged. Not content with this, Peter asked the Governor to send away the Metropoli- tan, saying that he was nQt sure that he would be master of his own hands if he met him again. Notwithstanding these delays, Peter rived at Moscow much sooner than he was expectedon the 4th of September, at six o clock in the evening. He did not stop at the Kr6mlin, nor see his wife, but accompa- nied Lefort and Golovfn to their houses, then called to inquire for General Gordon, who *as away on his estate, and went that night to Preobrazh6nsky. BORDENTOWN AND THE BONAPARTES. THERE they come! Dont you see them? Look, look ! These words are caught up and loudly re-echoed, and, glancing in the direction indicated by a dozen shouting boys, we see the first of a line of dust-en- veloped stages emerging from a hollow in the road. For a moment, the four horses are outlined against the foliage that borders the highway on either side, then, with eyes flashing and nostrils stretched, they rush for- ward at full speed. The driver cracks his whip and tightens his grasp on the reins, and with loud clattering of hoofs and rumbling of wheels, the heavily laden vehicle turns the corner before us, burying the yellow brick house opposite beneath a dusty cloud. Another follows, then another; and the children, who have been clinging to their mothers skirts while the great wooden things rattle by, run out into the street to see the last of the line disappear down the cut which ____________________________ __________ leads to the rivers edge. There the passen- * A comprehensive history of the village was gers, who left the New York boat at Amboy recently published as a serial in the Bordentown this morning, will re-embark and, let us hope, Mon~ by Major E. M. Woodward, of Ellisdale, mouth county. A part of this work has since be safely landed at Philadelphia before the appeared in a slender volume bearing the title: fall of night. Bonapartes Park and the Murats. The scene is one of half a century ago. As yet the first railroad from New York to Philadelphia is unlaid, and we are stand- ing, not in the garish sunlight of some new- grown business town, but at the shaded corner of Main street and the Trenton road, in the romantic old village of Borden- town, New Jersey.* Though the arrival of the line is an event of daily occurrence, the excitement attending it has never lost its charm for old or young; and, the weather fair, one-half the children of the village school may be seen daily at this corner during their noon recess. To-day, as it hap- pens, the gathering is dignified by the pres- ence of some older citizens, whose names, for one reason or another, are familiar far beyond the limits of their town. For instance, in the face of that elderly man in the center of the group you have already

28 BORDENTO WN AND JANE BONARARTES. in speaking of the foreign sovereigns he had visited, he made honorable mention of the King of Poland. I prize him more than the whole of you together, he said, address- ing his boy~rs and magnates that were pres- ent, and that not because of his royal pre-eminence over you, but merely because I like him. He still proudly wore the Kings arms, which he had exchanged with that monarch for his own, in order to pro- claim that their bond of friendship was more solid than the Gordian knot and never to be severed with the sword. After leaving the King, Peter went on to Moscow through Zamosc, where he was entertained by the widow of the castellan. He met there the Papal nuncio, who begged permission for missionaries to pass through Russia on their way to China, and was much struck with the amiability of the Tsar, especially as Lefort had put him off with polite excuses. In thanking the Tsar for his promise, he asked him to give him a written document. Peter, replying that when he arrived at Moscow he would im mediately send him a diploma, said: My word is better than ten thousand writings. At Brest-Lit6fsky there was an unfortunate adventure with the Metropolitan of the Uniates, who, in talking to the Tsar, had the bad taste, to say the least, to use the word schismatic, in regard to the members of the Russian church. The Tsar replied that he could not stand such impertinences of language, and people as indiscreet as he in Moscow would have been whipped or hanged. Not content with this, Peter asked the Governor to send away the Metropoli- tan, saying that he was nQt sure that he would be master of his own hands if he met him again. Notwithstanding these delays, Peter rived at Moscow much sooner than he was expectedon the 4th of September, at six o clock in the evening. He did not stop at the Kr6mlin, nor see his wife, but accompa- nied Lefort and Golovfn to their houses, then called to inquire for General Gordon, who *as away on his estate, and went that night to Preobrazh6nsky. BORDENTOWN AND THE BONAPARTES. THERE they come! Dont you see them? Look, look ! These words are caught up and loudly re-echoed, and, glancing in the direction indicated by a dozen shouting boys, we see the first of a line of dust-en- veloped stages emerging from a hollow in the road. For a moment, the four horses are outlined against the foliage that borders the highway on either side, then, with eyes flashing and nostrils stretched, they rush for- ward at full speed. The driver cracks his whip and tightens his grasp on the reins, and with loud clattering of hoofs and rumbling of wheels, the heavily laden vehicle turns the corner before us, burying the yellow brick house opposite beneath a dusty cloud. Another follows, then another; and the children, who have been clinging to their mothers skirts while the great wooden things rattle by, run out into the street to see the last of the line disappear down the cut which ____________________________ __________ leads to the rivers edge. There the passen- * A comprehensive history of the village was gers, who left the New York boat at Amboy recently published as a serial in the Bordentown this morning, will re-embark and, let us hope, Mon~ by Major E. M. Woodward, of Ellisdale, mouth county. A part of this work has since be safely landed at Philadelphia before the appeared in a slender volume bearing the title: fall of night. Bonapartes Park and the Murats. The scene is one of half a century ago. As yet the first railroad from New York to Philadelphia is unlaid, and we are stand- ing, not in the garish sunlight of some new- grown business town, but at the shaded corner of Main street and the Trenton road, in the romantic old village of Borden- town, New Jersey.* Though the arrival of the line is an event of daily occurrence, the excitement attending it has never lost its charm for old or young; and, the weather fair, one-half the children of the village school may be seen daily at this corner during their noon recess. To-day, as it hap- pens, the gathering is dignified by the pres- ence of some older citizens, whose names, for one reason or another, are familiar far beyond the limits of their town. For instance, in the face of that elderly man in the center of the group you have already BORDENTOWN AND THE BONAPARTES. ~& ~e~4~ FAG-SIMILE OF A STANZA FROM HAIL COLUMBIA, BY JOSEPH HOPEINSON. caught a resemblance to Napoleon I.; nor is the likeness to be wondered at, for (as you have guessed) this is none other than the emperors elder brother, sometime King of Naples and of Spain. Near him stands another aged man, whose face is smooth- shaven, and whose hair falls between his shoulders in a ribbon-bound queue. This peculiar head-dress sufficiently identifies its wearer as Judge Joseph Hopkinson, author of Hail Columbia, and a friend of many of Americas first great men. Less distin- guished in appearance than either of his companions, though far more famous for his heroic qualities, is Commodore Charles Stewart, the third and last figure in our little group. Soon, however, the trio is joined by a dashing youth, whose words and bear- ing recall the memory of his unhappy fa- ther, the gallant Marshal Joachim Murat. And now, at the invitation of Judge Hop- kinson, the new-coiner and his friends dis- appear through the door-way of the yellow house. Leaving them within, in the en- joyment of their hosts good cheer, let us overleap the years that separate us from the present day, and glance about us at a place made interesting by association with his- toric names. The village of Bordentown (pronounced Burden/own by the old inhabitants of the place) stan.ds on the eastern bank of the Delaware, a few miles below Trenton, at a point where the river bends sharply to the south-west on its course to Philadel- phia and Delaware Bay. At one other place only between the cities named are the shores broken by rising ground. Long rows of trees bordering well-cultivated fields; smooth-shaven lawns and dark green groves surrounding old-fashioned houses; the wharves and steeples of low-lying vil- lages on either sidethese, elsewhere, relieve the monotony of the fertile plain. But here the bank rises abruptly to a height of sixty or seventy feet from a water front hardly as many yards in width. The approach by rail or water is not unpict- uresque, and the scene from the village bluff is one of quiet beauty. Across the Dela- ware lies a wide expanse of Pennsylvania farm land, the waters edge shaded by shrubbery and overhanging trees. As far as the eye can reach, the lands~ape is dotted with birch and willow trees, rising singly or in groups from the green fields, and often throwing their protecting arms over some old, substantial farm-house. Midway in the stream, and threatening at some future day to destroy its present channel, lie two long, low islands of sand, sparsely covered with shrubs and river-grass. The Pennsylvania Railroad, encircling the base of the plateau on which the village stands, winds on its way from Trenton along the edge of a canal, which is skirted with willow trees. At this point, too, a beautiful creek flows under the railroad bridge, luring the eye along its grassy banks and dark, deep border of foliage. And all these charms are increased a thousand-fold by the gorgeous sunsets over the Pennsylvania shore. Probably the first white man who sur- veyed this pleasant scene was Thomas Farns- worth, an English Quaker, once imprisoned in the mother country for his faith. Arriv- ing, in the year 1677, at the mouth of the then recently discovered Delaware, he and his fellow-voyagers built their cabins where Burlington now stands. His wife, Susan- nah, a preacher in the Society of Friends, followed him to the new world in the win- ter of 1678. Three years later, taking with them their children and their servants, they pushed a few miles further up the stream, and made the clearing which has 29 BORDENTO WN AND ]HE BONAPARTES. 30 grown into an historic town. A quarter of a century after the pioneers death, his rough log cabin, and many acres of land surrounding it, fell into the hands of Joseph Borden, of Shrewsbury, N. J., and thereafter Farnsworths Landing was known as the Bordentown Ferry. But the name Bor- dentown was first written in the township records in 1739, when, we are told, ye said meeting gave Bordings town people lye to buld a pare of stocks, provide ye people of Bordings Town bulds them at there own charge. So me years earlier (in 1729), though the fact was not deemed worthy of official notice, the settlement afforded a nights lodging to a printers apprentice, who, in search of employment, was making his way to Philadelphia from New York. The youthful journeyman was Benjamin Franklin, who afterward described his host in the following paragraph, which appears in his autobiography: The next day, however, I continued my journey, and arrived in the evening at an inn, eight or ten route were the crooked billet wharf, in the Quaker City, and the Whitehall slip, near the Half-Moon tavern, in New York. By this line, Mr. Borden assured his patrons, they might pass the quickest thirty or forty hours between the two cities, which are now but an hour and a half apart. The founder of the village died at a ripe old age, leaving an only son and namesake to enjoy his ample means. Colonel Joseph Borden took an active part in the Revolu- tion. The infernal machines for the famous Battle of the Kegs were made in his cooper-shop, and towed down the Dela- ware over night by a plucky villager. Though the British shipping at Philadel- phia, which they were designed to destroy, had just been removed from its exposed position in the river, the killing of four men by the explosion of one of the kegs is said to have struck terror into the hearts of the invaders. Francis Hopkinsons harmo- nious ditty, describing the scene which ensued, made his name popular throughout ~I - ___ ~6~j~2~ FAC-SIMILE OF A STANZA FROM THE BATTLE OF THE KEGS, BY FRANCIS HOPEINSON. miles from Burlington, that was kept by one Dr. Brown. This man entered into conversation with me while I took some refreshment, and perceiving that I had read a little, he expressed toward me con- siderable interest and friendship. Our acquaintance continued during the remainder of his life. I believe him to have been what is called an itinerant doctor; for there was no town in England, or indeed in Europe, of which he could not give a particular account. He was deficient neither in understanding nor in literature; but was a sad infidel, and, some years after, wickedly undertook to travesty the Bible, sn burlesque verse, as Cotton had travestied Virgil. He exhibited, by this means, many facts from a very ludicrous point of view, which would have given umbrage to weak minds had his work been pub- lished, which it never was. I spent the night at his house and reached Burlington the next morning. Joseph Borden occupied the Farnsworth homestead till the year 1750, when the brick dwelling previously mentioned was erected where Main street crossed the Trenton road, and when its builder established a line of boats and stages between New York and Philadelphia. The termini of the new the land. It was not his first success in versification. Years before, he had scrib- bled amorous verses to Delia, pride of Bordens Hill ; and, when the war broke out, he was living with her and her gallant father at Bordentown. There were few more zealous patriots than he. His pen was never idle in the cause of freedom, and his satirical verses did much to aggravate the popular feeling against Great Britain. Franciss father, an Englishman (born in London and educated at Oxford), came to America while young; and at Christ church, Philadelphia, one hundred and forty-four years ago, married Miss Mary Johnson, a niece of the Bishop of Worcester. Franklin, in a note to one of his letters on electricity, makes an interesting confession. The power of points to throw off electrical fire, he says, was first communicated to me by my ingenious friend, Mr. Thomas Hopkinson, since deceased, whose virtue and integrity BORDENTO WN AND THE BONAPARTES. 3 in every station of his life, public and private, will ever make his memory dear to those who knew him, and knew how to value him. Francis was the first student entered at the College of Philadelphia, now the University of the State of Pennsylvania, from which he was graduated with honor before his admit- tance to the bar. Early in the year 1766 he visited England, spending much of his time at Hartlebury Castle, the seat of his grand- uncle, the bishop, and returning to America toward the close of 1767. In the arts of music and painting, to which he devoted his leisure moments, Francis attained to a credit- able degree of proficiency. Writing from Philadelphia in i776, John Adams expresses a hope that he shall see a portrait of Miss Keys, a famous New Jersey beauty, which was made by Mr. Hopkinsons own hand. * * * I have a curiosity, he adds, to pry a little deeper into the bosom of this curious gentleman. Francis * died suddenly in May, 1791, having survived his father-in-law, Colonel Borden, but a few weeks. The year after the fiasco of the kegs, a British force was sent from Philadelphia to White Hill, just below Bordentown, to capture a number of vessels which, in viola- tion of Washingtons orders, had not been sunk. When the flat-boats arrived, with six or eight hundred red-coats aboard, it was found that the shipping had been fired. An attack was then made on Bordentown, several shots from the river warning the villagers that resistance would be unwise. None was attempted, and the troops debarked. Colonel Bordens property, diagonally opposite his fathers house, is said to have been pointed out by Polly Rich6, t a beautiful girl, whose tory proclivities had estranged her from the patriots of the place. Not only the colonels residence and another dwelling nearer the bluW but all the other buildings on the place, including stables and carriage-houses, were burned to the ground. While old * He was at one time Collector of the Port of Philadelphia, his appointment coming from Lord North, his mothers cousin; and he was the chief delegate from New Jersey to the Provisional Con- gress which adopted the Declaration of Independ- ence, though his name has long since faded from that immortal instrument. In after years, he pre- pared the great seal of the State of New Jersey. t Miss Polly is said to have been the belle of the British Meschianza, in Philadelphia, which Major Andr6 pronounced the most splendid entertainment ever given by an army to its general. She was particularly admired by that steadfast patriot, Ben- edict Arnold. Mrs. Borden sat in the middle of the street, watching the destruction of her home, an English officer stepped up, and with appar- ent sympathy said: Madam, I have a mother, and can feel for you. I thank you, sir, she replied; but this is the happiest day of my life: I know you have given up all hope of reconquering my country, or you would not thus wantonly devastate it. The British officers paid Mr. Hopkinson the compliment of dining at his house. But that worthy citizen, with other notorious whigs, had fled at the enemys approach, and returned not till the danger was past. Mean- while, the patriots of the outlying country, roused by the fire on the blufg had begun to assemble in force, and the arrival of Colonel Baylor with his light-horse troop was the signal for a hasty departure of the foe. That night the British troops slept on their boats; and, rising betimes the next morning, they prepared for an attack upon Trenton. General Dickinson met them half-way, however, and their plans were changed. Remembering the part Colonel Joseph Kirkbride had played in the Battle of the Kegs, the retreating soldiers landed at Belle- vue, the family seat, situated in Penns Manor, Pennsylvania, and destroyed six valuable out-houses and two dwellings. Crossing over to Bordentown, on the loss of his old home, the colonel built a huge brick house, which now forms a part of the Bordentown Female College. Here he was often visited by his friend, Tom Paine, who conceived a singular affection for the place, and said, I had rather see my horse Button eating the grass of Bordentown or Morn- sania, than see all the pomp and show of Europe. It was here that Paine con- structed the model of that iron bridge which had taken so strong a hold of his imagination; JOSEPH KIREBRIDE. 32 BORDENFO WN AND THE ]3ONAPARTES. and here, too, he received the following catch the New York stage. At the latter kindly note: place, strange as it may seem, he was sub- ROcKY HILL, Sept. io, 1783. jected to the grossest indignities; nor did I have learned, since I have been at this place, h that you are at Bordentown. Whether for the sake e escape without personal injury from the of retirement or economy, I know not. Be it for violence of the mob. And this, not for any either, for both, or whatever it may, if you will come infidelity to the cause of freedom, but sim- to this place and partake with me, I shall be exceed- ply because he had carried into theological ingly happy to see you. Your presence may remind Congress of your discussions that liberty of thought and in- past services o this country; and, if it is in my power trepidity of speech which, in times past, had to impress them, command my best exertions with made him widely popular. Colonel Kirk- freedom, as they will be rendered cheerfully by one bridewhose popularity had been much who entertains a lively sense of the importance of diminished by his adherence to the author your works, and who, with much pleasure, subscribes himself, your sincere friend, G. WASHINGTON. of Common-sense and the Age of Reason was buried during the year follow- Paine finally made the purchase of a snug ing this episode. Near the marble slab which little house in Main street, and occupied it, covers his remains has stood, for sixty years, with few intermissions, during a period of the tombstone of Harriet Luttrell, daugh- ter of Henry Lawes Luttrell, Earl of Car- hampton, and not far beyond sleeps the grandson of the founder of the town. Cap- tain Joseph Borden, the colonels only son, had two sisters, Nancy and Maria, who, their prime, were famous for their beauty. ~ ~ ~ ~ S~~ Nancy, as we have seen, married Judge f ~ Francis Hopkinson. Maria, whose hand ~ ~4~w no less eagerly sought, made an equally ~ appy choice. Few civilians won more dis ~ f~ t~z~ tinguished honors during the Revolutionary aA/~eI~ ~ ~war than fell to the share of her husband, ~ ~ ~ Judge McKean. He was not only one of the signers of the Declaration of Independ- ence, and, at one time, President of Con ~ ~9Jz~3 C4~( ~ ,j~ I~ gress, but he held for twenty years the high office of Chief-Justice of Pennsylvania1 an a ~ d, for short time, that of Governor of ~edtk~ife/A~ ~ ~ the State; while Delaware, in emulation, 9~~ ~ ~made him her President. The judges ~ ~ daughter was given in marriage, some ~Ak-~r aa A4*~- ~Y~ seventy years ago, to the Marquis of Casa ~ -~ef in~9o64ejar1~ ~ ~ Irujo, a Spanish grandee, who represented 7L h~s nation at Washington. Joseph Hopkinson inherited the Borden- town homestead when he came of age. This was in 1791. It was some years there- after that his wife sang, for the first time, to ~ the accompaniment of the harpsichord, the ~ ~ patriotic lines of Hail Columbia, and still later that the poet Moore addressed to her A PAGE FROM THE TOWNSHIP REcORos. his Lines written on leaving Philadelphia. several years. His favorite resort was the Ten years before he became a man, he bar-room of the Washington House; and might have stood at his fathers door and visitors to that ancient hostelry are told that watched a military procession moving briskly nothing but brandy and atheism ever passed down the Trenton road to Main street. his lips. On his return from Washington, There a crowd had gathered, and cheers in 1802, the disheartened patriot stopped filled the air as Washington and Rocham- for a few hours at Bordentown, and by his beau, attended by their respective suites, steadfast friend, who happened then to be swept by. The commander-in-chief was the Republican candidate for Governor, he hurrying to Yorktown, where, as he well was driven thence to Trenton in time to knew, the decisive movement of the i~ar BORDENTO WN AND THE BONAPARTES. 33 was to be made. So, as there is nothing to prove that Washington slept even a single night in Bordentown, the villagers have ever affected a profdund contempt for Wash- ingtonian head-quarters and minor relics of the great chieftain, and base their claim to distinction almost solely on the fact that here an exiled king spent many of his hap- piest years. Napoleon was once heard to s~ y that, if he were ever forced to abandon France, lie would make his home in America, some- where between New York and Philadelphia, VOL. XXI.3. where news from either port would reach him quickly. Two weeks after the battle of Waterloo, he and his elder brother met, for the last time, on the Isle of Aix, and Joseph, n vain, proposed to take the emper- ors place. Confident of meeting again in this country, the brothers parted. Napoleon, finding the coast infested with British cruis- ers, surrendered to the captain of the Be?- lerof/w~ but Joseph, under the assumed name of M. Bouchard, boarded the brig Gommerce at Royau, 25th July, 1815, and, though the vessel was thrice searched by AN ARRiVAL iN THE OLDEN TIME. 34 BORDENTO WN AND THE BONAPARTES. English officers, came safely, on the 28th of August, to New York, where he was waited upon by the mayor, who believed him to be General Carnot. Having traveled throughout the country, and lived for a while at Lansdowne, in Fairmount Park, Philadelphia, King Joseph, who had taken the title of Comte de Survilliers, began the purchase of Point Breeze,* at Bordentown. Nowhere in the State could a more charm- ing site have been found. For nearly a mile, the Crosswicks Creek winds along the north- ern boundary of the park, fifty feet below the level of the promontory from which, more than a century ago, the grounds received their name. On this promontory Joseph built his house, commanding a fine view of the Delaware, and, in its leafy setting, con- spicuous to all who journeyed up and down the stream. Months were spent in clearing the woods of underbrush, rolling the lawn, bridging ravines, building summer-houses and rustic seats, and laying out walks and drives. A strip of marshy ground sepa * iChis had long been the home of Stephen Sayre, an American, who went to England long before the Revolution and married a lady of rank. He became a banker, was Under Sheriff of London with William Lee, and enjoyed the friendship of the Earl of Chat- ham. Yet in October, 1775, he was thrown into the Tower, having been accused of high treason by a fellow-countryman, who was an officer of the Guards. On his release, utterly impoverished, be left the country. Franklin employed him on several missions, and he did yeoman service for the Ameri- can cause abroad. Some years after peace was declared, he settled at Point Breeze, and was popularly known thereabouts as the handsome Englishman. rated the point from the wood-crowned height at the west- ern extremity of the park. Through this the creek ebbed and flowed as far as the Trenton road, where it was fed by a shallow, wind- ing brook. Joseph threw a bridge across the bed of the brook, filled up the hollow in the highway, and trans- formed the marsh into a pretty lake. By the water-side, where the grassy bank was lowest, stood a large white house, with grass- green shutters,the residence of Prince Charles and his wife Z~naide. Else- where, save only on the willow-shaded cause- way between the lake and creek, the ground rose abruptly to the level of the park. There were scattered abofit other dwellings and out-houses, and beyond was an inclosure well stocked with graceful deer. All around rose thousands of forest trees, arching over the drives and bridle-paths, filling the ravines with dark, dense foliage, and sheltering the hill-side down to the border of the creek.. There nature was left untouched, for art could add nothing to her charms. Much as he loved this country home, the exile passed a part of each year at his house in Philadelphia. But, from the first hard frost in winter till the first warm day in spring, the lake which he had made was the center of village sport and activity. Trim little pleasure-boats no longer darted from shore to shore, nor lay at rest near the broad stone steps that led to the waters edge, and the swans and wild aquatic fowl had sought more comfortable quarters; but, ENTEANCE TO TUNNEL THE WASH-HOUSE. BORDENTOWN AND THE BONAPARTES. 35 in their stead, the frozen surface reflected a thousand graceful forms and ruddy faces, and swayed and groaned beneath the whirl- ing crowd of revelers. On a little island, in the center of the lake, stands an old, gray-haired and kindly man, his back warmed by a blazing fire, and his face turned approvingly on the merry scene around. What a lark it would be to join the skaters in their mad scramble for the fruit rolled out by his direction! But as this may not be, the lord of the manor finds his account in presiding over the sports in which he may not mingle. One winter morning, some three years after the house on the bluff was built, a visitor locked the door of his bedroom, put the key in his pocket, and sL rted off to Philadelphia, leaving a wood fire blazing on the hearth. Soon a dense cloud of smoke rose above the surrounding trees; half the population of the village poured through the main entrance to the park; farmers and farmers lads flocked in from miles aronnd, and Joseph, who heard the news at Trenton on his return from a visit to New York, came dashing up the avenue to find his home in flames. Without engines of even the poorest sort, nothing could be done to save the burning walls; and village maids and matrons who, in the excitement of the moment, had formed in line and passed the leathern buckets from hand to hand, were forced, t last, to retire from the scene. Nothing of value was rescued from the upper floors but a few choice paintings, and the house itself was leveled with the ground. From the cellar to the face of the bluff ran a subterranean p~ ssage, through which the butler rolled his casks of wine. Some burst in falling, and reddened the waters of the creek. A spacious belvedere, untouched by the flames, stood on the hill-top for many years. A new dwelling was immediately built much ne~ rer the Trenton ro~ d, the Counts FRANCIS HOPRINSON. 36 BORDENTO WN AND THE BONAPARTES. stables being remodeled so as to form the body of the house. An underground pas- sage to the eastern border of the lake came out at a point where the bluff rose but a few feet above the water-level. There the end wall, overhung by a broad stone arch, was pierced with three entrances, one lead- ing to the first floor of the house, another to ance from the weather. It was also intended as a shelter for boating parties caught out in summer showers. That the subterranean passage itselfwas designed for the same prac- tical purpose needed no better proof than the classic line inscribed above its entrance: Non z~gwara mall, miseris succurrere disco. * Yet the gossips of the village whispered, PORTRAIT ARD AUTOGRAPH OF JOSEPH BONAPARTE, COMTR DR SURVILLIERS. the cellar, a third to an adjoining ice-house. From the mouth of the tunnel a covered walk, faced with lattice-work, ran along the side of the bluff, and thence to the door of the lake-house. Through this Prince Charles and Z6naide Bonaparte made their daily trips to the dining-hall without annoy- and their words found ready credence, that the exiled king lived in constant fear of ab- duction by British or Spanish spies, and had contrived a system of labyrinthine passages Not ignorant of misfortune, I learn to succor the unfortunate. BORDENTO WN AND THE BONAPARTES. 37 for concealment in the hour of danger. Many of the croxvn jewels of Spain were still in his possession, and, they reasoned, it was not unlikely some effort would be made to regain them. The jewels, which had been saved with so much pains, were guarded with jealous care. Few visitors were ad- mitted to the room where they lay concealed, but one who had that mark of favor shown her wrote as follows: Several clusters looked like jeweled handles of swords others, like portions of crowns, rudely broken off; others still, like lids of small boxes; many were ornaments entire. He [Joseph] showed us the crown and ring he wore when King of Spain; also the crown, robe and jewels in which Napoleon was crowned. When our eyes had been sufficiently dazzled with the display of diamonds and emeralds, he touched another concealed spring, which gave to view another set of drawers, and displayed to us many of Napoleons valuable papers. His treaties and letters were carefully bound round with ribbons, and fastened with jeweled clasps. Then the Count admitted them, through a secret door, into his summer sleeping apartment. The curtains, canopy and furniture were of light blue satin, trimmed with silver. Every room con- tained a mirror, reaching from the ceiling to the floor. ~I * * The walls were covered with oil paintings, principally of young females. * The Count next conducted us to his winter suite of apartments. They were much in the style of his summer ones, except that the furniture was in crimson and gold. Summer and winter, the gates of the park were left unlatched, and no respectable per- son was refused dmittance even to the house. The interior of that long, low, rough- cast building realized, to the country people roundabout, all that they had beard of kingly palaces. Richly carved folding-doors, opened by livened servants, gave entrance to the main hall, with ample stairway leading to the floor above. On one side was the draw- ing-room; on the other, the dining-hall, each adorned with ornaments and bits of furniture from the Luxembourg. The library and MRS. FRANCIS HOPRINSON. 38 BORDENTO WN AND THE BONAPARTES. gallery contained the finest collection of paintings in America. Some were by Rubens; some by the famous Snyders. Raphael Mengs Nativity, stolen from the altar of a Spanish cathedral, and after- ward exhibited in Philadelphia and New York, hung there for years; and so did many landscapes and marine paintings by Joseph Vernet, now owned by the Pennsyl- vania Academy of Fine Arts. Rembrandt, Teniers the elder, Simon Denis, and one of the Caracci brothers were also repre- sented. All these works of art were sold (for their full value) when Joseph left the country; but others, choicer still, went back most eminent Americans of the day; and many foreigners of note, while passing through the States, were hospitably enter- tained at the park. Lafayette, and Morean, and General Bernardone of Napoleons aides at Waterloo, and afterward head of the corps of American military engineerswere there; and so were Webster, Adams and Clay, Commodore Stewart, General Scott and Commodore Richard Stockton. The other members of the Counts household were his daughter Ztinaide, and Prince Charles (the ornithologist), her husband, who lived in the house by the lake; his youn0er daughter Charlotte,* who returned to with him to Europe. In the collection of statuary were busts, by Canova and Bartolini, of Napoleon and other members of thefamily. Many of these stood at intervals along a low marble wall inclosing a paved square before the house. Then there were statues, includ- ing Canovas Venus Victrix, and bronzes, no less beautiful; besides two marble man- tels, of exquisite workmanship, carved in Italy and presented to the Count by his uncle, Cardinal Fesch. Nor were these treasures lost to the world when Joseph settled at Bordentown, for, during his long exile, he was visited by the * From Mine. Patterson-Bonapartes letters, re- cently published in SCRIBNER, it seems that, instead of King Louis, the Princess Charlotte came near to having plain Mr. Bonaparte, of Baltimore, for a husband. The Princess Borghese, her aunt and her grandmother, Mine. Mare, both favored the match, having taken a great fancy to Bo; and it is also said to have been desired by Joseph, who wrote it to the princess. As for the young man himself, said his match-making mother: He feels the propriety of doing what I please on the subject of the marriage, and has no foolish ideas of disposing of himself in the way young people do in America. A SKATING PARTY. Europe in a few years and married her cousin, Napoleon Louis, brother of Napoleon BORDENTO WN AND THE BONAPARTES. 39 III., and, for a little while, King of Holland; France Lacoste, afterward French Consul-General in New York; his wife, and son Leo; William Thibaud, subsequently curator of the French gal- lery in Rome, and his daughter, now mar- ried and living in Paris; and Louis Mail- hard, and his son Adolphe. Ill health prevented Queen Marie from joining her PRINCE LUCIRN MURAT. husband. But there was no such obstacle in the way of his nephew, Prince Lucien Murat, who lived for some time at the neighborin g village of Columbus, and then settled on a farm near the park. Seldom has a wilder blade been thrown upon the hands of a rich, good-natured relative. Again and again did Joseph furnish his sisters son with money and ad- vice; and again and again did that giddy youth squander the one and throw the other to the winds. Then came reproaches and retorts till time and the promise of reform softened the heart and loosened the purse- strings of the uncle. One day, a close carriage dashed past the park on its way to Trenton. Its occupants were Napoleon Fran- ~ois Lucien Charles Murat and Caroline Georgina Fraser, daugh- ter of a Scotch officer in the British army, who, having served in America during the Revolu- tion, settled here and married a young Virginian. Before long, the carriage drove quietly back, the number of its occupants re- duced (by an exchange of vows and the blessing of the church) to one. But the blessing of the Count did not follow. He had not only oppose(l the match, but declared that whoever married ~~AV -~iONE OF PRESERVE uKowN. BORDENTO WN AND THE BONAPARTES. 40 his nephew would have to support him. And so it proved. The young man soon disposed of his wifes scanty fortune, and of her sisters; and their quiet home in Park street was metamorphosed into a boarding-school. From all parts of the country, men and women sent their daugh- ters to learn music and manners of the beautiful Mine. Murat. The sisters, Jane and Eliza, assisted in the class-room; and Lucien presided at the dinner-table, treating the more bashful girls with easy courtesy. His bearing then, as, indeed, whenever he chose that it should so appear, was that of a polished gentleman. Generally, however, he I)referred the society and rougher man- ners of the bar-room and the course. Much of his time was spent in boating and shoot- ing, and at the White Horse tavern, out on the Trenton road. There, it is said, he would play ten-pins for drinks with any one who chanced along, and sometimes, if he had the misfortune to lose, would persuade the landlord to make a memorandum of the account. He was always ready for a game of cards, no matter with whom; and, accord- ing to village report, would borrow a shilling from a negro, or toss a half-eagle to the boy who held his horse, with equal indifference. On one occasion, he got the better of a balky horse by lighting a bundle of straw between its legs. One night, he and a party of young men were playing billiards in the American House, when a violent storm arose. They continued the game till long after midnight, and then wondered how they should get home without a drenching. At last Murat took off his clothes, tied them in a bundle, and started on a dead run down the street. All followed his example, and, the night being dark, they reached home without detection. But soon the story was heard in every house. In 1839, and again in 44, Louis Philippe allowed Murat to visit France; and, four years after the latter date, he hastened thither with his family, never to return. Friends in the village had to pay their traveling expenses, and his two little boys were dressed in garments made from a coachmans livery, with the buttons still at- tached. After the coup detat, Murat was ap- pointed a senator and made a prince of the empire by his cousin, Napoleon III. Nor did he neglect, in the hour of prosperity, to send money to Bordentown to reimburse his heaviest creditor, though, oddly enough, the others were all forgotten. When the repub THE TOWN-MEETING. BORJ9ENTO WN AND THE BONAPARTES. 4 lic was restored, he crossed to England, where, in April, 1878, at the age of seventy- five, he died. Mine. Murat survived him less than a year. Their first four children, born in or near Bordentown, are Caroline, Baroness de Chassiron; Anna, Duchess de Mouchy; Achille, husband of the Princess Dadiani de Mingreli, and Joseph, a colonel of the Guards. A younger son, Louis Napoleon, has recently been graduated from the French Naval Academy. Achille Murat, an elder brother of the prince, married a Virginian lady, and lived in the south for many years. He and his wife are buried at allahassee. In spite of Josephs usual good temper, a spark of truly Napoleonic egotism some- times betrayed itself when his anger was roused. The gamekeeper, once, when taken to task for having permitted poaching, pro- tested in vain that he had warned the sportsman to stop firing, but that the culprit was one of the Counts folks, and claimed to have permission. I have no folks! exclaimed Joseph, I am everybody. Here- after, let no one but Mr. Mailliard shoot on these premises. An exception was again made in favor of his nephew, Louis Napo- leon, the late emperor, who, during a sojourn in America, in the early summer of 1837, made, according to the testimony of the townspeople, a brief visit to the park. It is said by some that his depleted purse was replenished with a check for $20,000; others declare that he was coldly received: However that may be, long confinement in France, followed by tedious voyage from Europe to South America, and from thence to the United States, had prepared him for the full enjoyment of country life and liberty. He and Adolphe Mailliard were both keen sportsmen, and, followed by a well-trained dog, they tramped the woods and meadows round in search of game. Once, when other sport was scarce, he is said to have bagged a luckless villager who rose between him JUDGE JOSEPH HOPEINSON, AUTHOR OF HAIL COLUMBIA. 42 BORDENZO WN AND THE BONAPARpEs. and the only bird he had seen that day. On leaving Bordentown, he presented Mail- hard with vari- ous mementos of their new-formed friendship, includ- ing, among other trifles, a number of water- color sketches. When Lafayette made his triumphal prog- ress through the States in 1824, he was received by the Count with open arms, not- withstanding the fact that he had been denounced as a traitor in Napoleons will. The Marquis had been paying a visit to General Moreau at Trenton, and was escorted to Bordentown by a troop of Pennsylvania cavalry. His son, the Gov- ernor of Pennsylvania, and another gen- tleman sat with him in an open ha- rouche, drawn by four white horses. While the military escort made merry at the park, Joseph and his guest drove through the village streets, followed by a cheering crowd. In person, the Count more closely resem- bled his imperial brother than did any other member of the Bonaparte family, except, perhaps, his nephew Jerome, of Baltimore. But in character he was Napoleons oppo- site. When waited upon at Bordentown by a deputation of Mexicans, who wished him to become their emperor, he remarked that he had worn two crowns, and would not lift his finger to secure a third. During his exile, he seldom or never alluded to his own career, but spoke often, and not without emotion, of Napoleons fate. Philip Bellem~renow an old man of more than seventyserved as a barber in the Counts household between fifty and sixty years ago. Sitting in front of his toy and candy shop in Main street, of a summer afternoon, he will tell you he has shaved more distinguished men than any other barber in the land. Beards and mustaches were less fashionable in the days of our forefathers than now, and the post of barber to a man who kept open house was any- thing but a sinecure. So Bellem~re put away his razors, and found other and more profitable employment. He declares, how- ever, that his old master was a man to be esteemedgenerous, just, good-humored, devoted to his family, affable with strangers, dignified with his inferiors, and but little given to joking. He rose early the year round, taking toast and coffee in his room. Breakfast was served at half-past nine oclock; luncheon at two; dinnerfor which meal the family always dressedbe- tween seven and eight; and supper from ten to eleven. The cooking was excellent and the wine-cellar unsurpassed, though the Count ate sparingly and drank neither wine nor liquor. In dress, he was plain though not careless. Sometimes, of an afternoon, he drove out with the Princess Charlotte in a handsome barouche; but when alone, or Despite his long residence in America, he continued to speak English with an imperfect accent. Nearly. all his friends (and all his servants, with the exception of a Hungarian valet) were French, and spoke their own language at the park. BORDENTO WN AND THE BONAPARTES. 43 with Mailliard, he preferred a light wagon. His own hand planted many of the trees in the park,including a vast number of Nor- way pines,and he found much amusement in rambling among them, lopping away superfluous boughs, and destroying traps set in the shrubbery by village boys. He never fished and seldom shot, although Mailliard kept a kennel of thoroughbreds. Joseph took a lively interest in everything affecting France and the fortunes of his family. It was Napoleons particular wish that he should publish in America the Em- peror s correspondence with the allied sov- ereigns. But this he failed to do. During the period of his exile he corresponded with General Bernard, by whom he had been informed of Napoleons death; with Lafayette, whom he acquitted of treason to the Emperor; with his nephew, Napoleon II.; his sister-in-law, Maria Louisa; her father, the Emp~rcr of Austria; and the famous diDLamate, Prince Metternich. But his arguments and exhortations had but little effect. On the i8th of September, 1830, a long letter was forwarded from New York to the Chamber of Deputies. It declared Napoleon II. Emperor of France, and pledged his exiled uncle to any effort to compel his restoration by Austria to the wishes of the French. But before this appeal was written, Louis Philippe had ascended the throne. Partial amnesty was soon afterward extended to the exiles of the Napoleon dynasty; and on the 22d of July, 1832,the day of the Duc de Reichstadts death,Joseph sailed for England. Every one followed him to the outskirts of the village and there waved what many thought a last farewell. His presence was felt to ave been a public blessing. It had increased the prosperity of the town, and carried its name wherever that of St. Helena had been heard. With- out its royal benefactor, the village seemed deserted. Great, therefore, were the rejoic MRS. JOSEPH HOPRINSON. 44 BORDENTO WN AND THE BONAPARTES. ings when, five years later,an old man, in his seventieth year,Joseph suddenly re-ap- peared. But his stay was briefs, and having traveled for some time and settled his affairs, he again sailed for Europe, never to return. This was in 1839. Before the year closed, a paralytic stroke, in London, well-nigh disabled him. His family were then in Italy, where, at Genoa, in 1841, he joined them. The closing years of a long and not uneventful life were passed at Florence. Nearly forty years before Josephs death, which. occurren July 27, 1844, his character had received a high tribute from Bernardin de St. Pierre, in the preface to Paul and Virginia. He~ is there spoken of as one who uijited in himself everything which distinguishes a son, a brother, a husband, a father and a friend to humanity; * * a philosopher, worthy of a throne, were any throne worthy of him. Victor Hugo, addressing him in 1833, s~id: The day in which I shall be permitted to press your hand in mine will be one of the most glori- ous of my life. Napoleon said of his elder brother, possibly with a touch of irony: Joseph is an excellent manhe is much better educated than I am. Mr. Mailliard had been with him for thirty-six long years, and toward the close he vied, with Madame Bonaparte in devo- tion to the invalid. The esteem in which he was held is shown by the Counts will, of which he and Judge Hopkinson (who, as it hap- pened, died before the testator) were ap- pointed joint executors. No man, says Joseph, has more right to my confi- dence, to my esteem. He would fain show his attachment by a greater legacy, but leaves him only the Groveville farm, near Bordentown, and a bagatelle of $6,ooo, besides a life annuity of $400 knowing that his modesty equals his fidelity, and that such a bequest will more than gratify his wishes. To Mail- hards son, Adolphe, he also left $6,ooo; and a similar sum to Mr. Thibaud and Josephine. A check for 10,000 francs bore witness that the door-keeper at the park was not forgotten. Besides these various legacies, the Count left some tokens of a more personal character among his intimate friends. Louis Mailliard was left in charge of the park till Josephs grandchild,Z%naides son, should be twenty-five years of age. Prince Joseph, who inherited all the Counts real estate in this country, with the exception of the Groveville farm, stayed for a short time at Point Breeze. He was more reserved than his grandfather, and lived i~ comparative seclusion. After the revolu- tion of 48, he visited France, and, two years later, barely escaped assassination in Rome, where he died in x86~, at the ag~. of forty-one. From Prince Josephs hands the park passed into the possession of Thomas Rich- ards, a Philadelphian. Mr. Richards bought the place at auction in 1847, and sold it three years later to Henry Beckett, Esq., son of Sir John 7Beckett, of Lincoinshire, England, and sometime British Consul at Philadelphia. Mr. Beckett, finding the Counts house in poor repair, had it destroyed and built, a larger one, nearer the bluff. The marble mantels, which had been among the chief ornaments of the old building, were placed in the new, the walls of which were adorned with rare books and paintings inherited by Mr. Becket~s first I wife, a descendant of old Governor Hamil- ton, of Pennsylvania. Their son, Hamilton Beckett (who married the daughter of Broughams rival, Lord Chancellor Lynd- hurst), now lives in England. The place at Bordentown was left by will to Mr. Beck- etts grandchildren, and has been offered for sale at a nominal price. The gardener s house and the cooks remain, while the lake- house (the lake itself no longer exists) has been converted into a summer boarding- MADAME LUCIEN MURAT. BORDENTOWN AND THE BONAPARTES. 45 house. Many of the trees have been cut down, the lawn is unkept, and there are few traces of the former beauty of the place. A few weeks since, it was used as a camp- ing-ground by the New Jersey Division of the Grand Army of the Republic, and the many thousands who were attracted thither by the encampment itself, or the bombard- ment that marked its close, found the old place most wofully disfigured. It is not imprOl)able that the G. A. R., aided by the railroad company, will purchase all that remains of the once extensive park, and make it the scene of similar reunions in the future. No sketch of Bordentown would be com- plete without some account of Old Iron- sides, the officer to whom, with Commodore Bainbridge, America owes it that our navy went to sea in the war of 1812, and that the Constitution won her famous victory over the Cyane and Levant. It was this aged pat- riot who, when Fort Sumter was fired upon, pleaded in vain to be assigned to active service, exclaiming: I am as young as ever to fight for my country! The storm- worn veteran, whose declining years were spent in partial retirement on the Delaware, sailed thence, in November, 1869, to the un- known port, having reached the ripe old age of ninety-one. Though commissioned as rear-admiral in 1862, Stewart always clung to the title of commodore. In stature he was small; his features were regular and strong; his eyes large, bright and blue, and his expression singularly animated. With much good-humor and affability, he was never undignified. Many good anecdotes of his adventures are in vogue, and no one enjoyed them more or told them better than himself. The commodores home, Montpellier, stands on the high bluff just below Borden- town,a fine old country mansion, over- looking the river and Pennsylvania shore, and hemmed in by lofty silver pines. ,Before Stewart purchased it, in i8i6, the place belonged to Franois Frederici, General of Surinam, who settled there some eighty years ago. Old Ironsides is remembered by the villagers as a little old man, with smooth-shaven face and snow-white hair, fond of flowers, birds and children, and enthusiastic in the cultivation of his farm. During the greater part of his stay at Mont- pellier, he occupied a weather-beaten little house not far from the main building, and gradually converted it into something more like a granary than a human habitation. The commodores death was marked by a touch- ing incident. He had suffered acutely for many weeks, and, as the end drew nigh, was unable even to give utterance to his wants. It had stormed throughout the, day, but toward night the clouds were driven from the sky. The setting sun threw a flood of golden light on house and lawn and river, and as the windows were thrown open to admit the warm, fresh air, a little bird flew in, hopped to the bedstead of the dying man, and, perching near his head, filled the room with its melodious song. Bordentown did reverence to the departed hero, watching, with tearful eyes, the vessel which bore his body to its resting-place by the Schuylkill River. The homestead on the Delaware is now owned by the com- modores daughter, whose son, Charles Stew- art Parnell, is the leader of the Irish Home Rule party in the British Parliament. His sisters and their widowed mother divide their time between Bordentown and New York. Among the other notabilities of the past whose names are in any way connected with that of Bordentown is the Mexican emperor, Iturhide, who was shot in 1824, while at- tempting to regain the throne which he had abdicated. The empress, having landed in Mexico with the imperial robes and scepter, was seized, but afterward released and pen- sioned by the Government, on condition of spending the rest of her life in South Amer- ica or the United States. A son and two daughters of the emperor passed one or two summers in the village, over thirty years ago. COMMODORE STEWART. 46 0 SILVER RIVER ELO WING ff0 THE SEA. During the time of Prince Murats resi- dence in Park street, the house afterward occupied by Adoiphe Mailliard was for two years the home of Don Pedro Alcantara Argaiz, Spanish Minister to the United States. Having invited a distinguished foreigner to dine with him one day, Murat besought Sefior and Seiiora Argaiz to bring their dinner and servants across the way. They did so, and the prince presided in happy forgetfulness of his own empty larder. It yet remains to say a few words of Dr. John Isaac Hawkins,civil engineer, in- ventor, poet, preacher, phrenologist and mentor-general to mankind,who visited the village toward the close of the last cent- ury, married and lived there for many years; then disappeared, and, after a long absence, returned a gray old man, with a wife barely out of her teens. This isnt the wife you took away, doctor, some one ventured to remark. No, the blushing girl replied, and hes buried one between us. The poor fellow had hard work to gain a liveli- hood. For a time, the ladies paid him to lecture to them in their parlors. But when he brought a bag of skulls, and the heart and ~vindpip~ of his son, preserved in spirits, they would have nothing more to do with him. As a last resort, he started the Journal of Human Nature and Human Progress, his wife setting up for the press her husbands contributions in prose and rhyme. But the journal died after a brief and inglorious career. Hawkins claimed to have made the first survey for a tunnel under the Thames, and he invented the ever- pointed pencil, the iridium-pointed gold pen, and a method of condensing coffee. He also constructed a little stove, with a handle, which he carried into the kitchen to cook his meals, or into the reception-room when visitors called, and at night into his bedroom. He invented, also, a new religion, whose altar was erected in his own small parlor, where Dr. John Isaac Hawkins, priest, held forth to Mrs. John Isaac Hawkins, peo- ple. But a shadow stretched along the poor mans path from the loss of his only son, a companion in all of his philosophi- cal researches,who died and was dis- sected at the early age of seven; Thereafter the old man wandered, as lonely as a cloud, sometimes in England, sometimes in Amer- ica, but attended patiently and faithfully by his first wife, then by a second, and finally by a third, who clung to him with the devotion of Little Nell to her doting grandfather. 0 SILVER RIVER FLOWING TO THE SEA. O SILVER river flowing to the sea, Strong, calm and solemn as thy mountains be! Poets have sung thy ever-living power, Thy wintry day, and summer sunset hour; Have told how rich thou art, how broad, how deep; What commerce thine, how many myriads reap The harvest of thy waters. They have sung Thy moony nights, when every shadow flung From cliff or pine is peopled with dim ghosts Of settlers, old-world fairies, or the hosts Of Indian warriors that once plowed thy waves Now hurrying to the dance from hidden graves. Thou pathway of the empire of the North, Thy praises through the earth have traveled forth! I hear thee praised as one who hears the shout That follows when a hero from the rout Of battle issues, Lo, how brave is he, How noble, proud and beautiftil! But she Who knows him best How tender! So thou art The river of love to me! Heart of my heart, Dear love and brideis it not so indeed! Among your treasures keep this new-plucked reed.

46 0 SILVER RIVER ELO WING ff0 THE SEA. During the time of Prince Murats resi- dence in Park street, the house afterward occupied by Adoiphe Mailliard was for two years the home of Don Pedro Alcantara Argaiz, Spanish Minister to the United States. Having invited a distinguished foreigner to dine with him one day, Murat besought Sefior and Seiiora Argaiz to bring their dinner and servants across the way. They did so, and the prince presided in happy forgetfulness of his own empty larder. It yet remains to say a few words of Dr. John Isaac Hawkins,civil engineer, in- ventor, poet, preacher, phrenologist and mentor-general to mankind,who visited the village toward the close of the last cent- ury, married and lived there for many years; then disappeared, and, after a long absence, returned a gray old man, with a wife barely out of her teens. This isnt the wife you took away, doctor, some one ventured to remark. No, the blushing girl replied, and hes buried one between us. The poor fellow had hard work to gain a liveli- hood. For a time, the ladies paid him to lecture to them in their parlors. But when he brought a bag of skulls, and the heart and ~vindpip~ of his son, preserved in spirits, they would have nothing more to do with him. As a last resort, he started the Journal of Human Nature and Human Progress, his wife setting up for the press her husbands contributions in prose and rhyme. But the journal died after a brief and inglorious career. Hawkins claimed to have made the first survey for a tunnel under the Thames, and he invented the ever- pointed pencil, the iridium-pointed gold pen, and a method of condensing coffee. He also constructed a little stove, with a handle, which he carried into the kitchen to cook his meals, or into the reception-room when visitors called, and at night into his bedroom. He invented, also, a new religion, whose altar was erected in his own small parlor, where Dr. John Isaac Hawkins, priest, held forth to Mrs. John Isaac Hawkins, peo- ple. But a shadow stretched along the poor mans path from the loss of his only son, a companion in all of his philosophi- cal researches,who died and was dis- sected at the early age of seven; Thereafter the old man wandered, as lonely as a cloud, sometimes in England, sometimes in Amer- ica, but attended patiently and faithfully by his first wife, then by a second, and finally by a third, who clung to him with the devotion of Little Nell to her doting grandfather. 0 SILVER RIVER FLOWING TO THE SEA. O SILVER river flowing to the sea, Strong, calm and solemn as thy mountains be! Poets have sung thy ever-living power, Thy wintry day, and summer sunset hour; Have told how rich thou art, how broad, how deep; What commerce thine, how many myriads reap The harvest of thy waters. They have sung Thy moony nights, when every shadow flung From cliff or pine is peopled with dim ghosts Of settlers, old-world fairies, or the hosts Of Indian warriors that once plowed thy waves Now hurrying to the dance from hidden graves. Thou pathway of the empire of the North, Thy praises through the earth have traveled forth! I hear thee praised as one who hears the shout That follows when a hero from the rout Of battle issues, Lo, how brave is he, How noble, proud and beautiftil! But she Who knows him best How tender! So thou art The river of love to me! Heart of my heart, Dear love and brideis it not so indeed! Among your treasures keep this new-plucked reed. WALT WHITMAN 47 WALT WHITMAN. Are not all real works of art themselves paradoxical? And is not the world itself so? * * * As I understand him, the truest honor you can pay him is to try his own rules. WIzi/rnan, on Emerson. IN things counted dear to a minstrels heart, and which can make him patiently endure the common ills of life, Mr. Whitman is fortunate among modern poets. No one more conspicuously shines by difference. Others are more widely read, but who else has been so widely talked of, and who has held even a few readers with so absolute a sway? Whatever we may think of his chantings, the time has gone by when it was possible to ignore him; whatever his ground may be, he has set his feet squarely and auda- ciously upon it, and is no light weight. Endeavor, then, to judge him on his merits, for he will and must be judged. He stands in the roadway, with his Salut au Monde.~ Toward all I raise high the perpendicular hand,I make the signal, To remain after me in sight forever, For all the haunts and homes of men. There are not wanting those who return his salutation. He is in very good society, and has been so this long while. At the outset he was favored with the hand of Emerson, and, once acknowledged at court, allies quickly flocked around him. Let us be candid: no writer holds, in some re- spects, a more enviable place than burly Walt Whitman. As for public opinion of the professional kind, no American poet, save Longfellow, has attracted so much notice as he in England, France, Germany, and I know not what other lands. Here and abroad there has been more printed concerning him than concerning any other, living or dead, Poe only excepted. Personal items of his doings, sayings and appearance constantly have found their way to the public. In a collection of sketches, articles, debates, which have appeared during the last ten years, relating to American poets, the Whitman and Poe packages are each much larger than all the rest combined. Curiously enough, three-fourths of the arti- cles upon Mr. Whitman assert that he is totally neglected by the press. Not only in that publicity which is akin to fame, and stimulating to the poet, has he been thus fortunate; but also in the faculty of exciting and sustaining a discussion in which he has been forced to take little part himself; in an aptitude for making disciples of men able to gain the general ear, and vying with one another to stay up his hands; in his unen- cumbered, easy way of life; finally, in a bodily and mental equipment, and a tact or artistit instinct to make the most of it, that have established a vigorous ideal of himself as a bard and seer. These incidental suc- cesses, which of course do not confirm nor conflict with an estimate of his genius, are brought to mind as the features of a singular career. Such a poet must find a place in any review of the course of American song. Otherwise, however observant of his work from the beginning, I well might hesitate to write of him; not only distrusting my own judgment of thoughts and modes which, like questions in philology or medicine, seem to provoke contention in which men act very much like children, but also dreading to become a party to such contention, little to the advantage of all concerned. Doubt- less I shall make errors, and write things subject to alteration. For these errors, not of the will but of the judgment, I might ask pardon in advance, were I not aware of the uselessness of such a prayer to either of two classes to which it should be addressed, and between which it is hardly possible that a criticism could be written upon Mr. Whit- man, and the writer not be accused of both favoritism and injustice, or of trimming/ The disputants who arise when an innovator comes along never were divided more sharply,not even in that classico-romantic conflict which would have made the fortune of a lesser poet than the author of Her- nani. Perhaps it would be found, upon examination, that the class which declines to regard Whitman as a hero and poet has been content with saying very little about him. If his disciples are in a minority, it is theywho chiefly have written the contents of the package mentioned, who never lose a point, who have filled the air with his name. Our acceptance of their estimate almost has seemed the condition,not, I trust, of their good-will, since among them are several of my long-time friends,but of their intellectual respect. At times we are

WALT WHITMAN 47 WALT WHITMAN. Are not all real works of art themselves paradoxical? And is not the world itself so? * * * As I understand him, the truest honor you can pay him is to try his own rules. WIzi/rnan, on Emerson. IN things counted dear to a minstrels heart, and which can make him patiently endure the common ills of life, Mr. Whitman is fortunate among modern poets. No one more conspicuously shines by difference. Others are more widely read, but who else has been so widely talked of, and who has held even a few readers with so absolute a sway? Whatever we may think of his chantings, the time has gone by when it was possible to ignore him; whatever his ground may be, he has set his feet squarely and auda- ciously upon it, and is no light weight. Endeavor, then, to judge him on his merits, for he will and must be judged. He stands in the roadway, with his Salut au Monde.~ Toward all I raise high the perpendicular hand,I make the signal, To remain after me in sight forever, For all the haunts and homes of men. There are not wanting those who return his salutation. He is in very good society, and has been so this long while. At the outset he was favored with the hand of Emerson, and, once acknowledged at court, allies quickly flocked around him. Let us be candid: no writer holds, in some re- spects, a more enviable place than burly Walt Whitman. As for public opinion of the professional kind, no American poet, save Longfellow, has attracted so much notice as he in England, France, Germany, and I know not what other lands. Here and abroad there has been more printed concerning him than concerning any other, living or dead, Poe only excepted. Personal items of his doings, sayings and appearance constantly have found their way to the public. In a collection of sketches, articles, debates, which have appeared during the last ten years, relating to American poets, the Whitman and Poe packages are each much larger than all the rest combined. Curiously enough, three-fourths of the arti- cles upon Mr. Whitman assert that he is totally neglected by the press. Not only in that publicity which is akin to fame, and stimulating to the poet, has he been thus fortunate; but also in the faculty of exciting and sustaining a discussion in which he has been forced to take little part himself; in an aptitude for making disciples of men able to gain the general ear, and vying with one another to stay up his hands; in his unen- cumbered, easy way of life; finally, in a bodily and mental equipment, and a tact or artistit instinct to make the most of it, that have established a vigorous ideal of himself as a bard and seer. These incidental suc- cesses, which of course do not confirm nor conflict with an estimate of his genius, are brought to mind as the features of a singular career. Such a poet must find a place in any review of the course of American song. Otherwise, however observant of his work from the beginning, I well might hesitate to write of him; not only distrusting my own judgment of thoughts and modes which, like questions in philology or medicine, seem to provoke contention in which men act very much like children, but also dreading to become a party to such contention, little to the advantage of all concerned. Doubt- less I shall make errors, and write things subject to alteration. For these errors, not of the will but of the judgment, I might ask pardon in advance, were I not aware of the uselessness of such a prayer to either of two classes to which it should be addressed, and between which it is hardly possible that a criticism could be written upon Mr. Whit- man, and the writer not be accused of both favoritism and injustice, or of trimming/ The disputants who arise when an innovator comes along never were divided more sharply,not even in that classico-romantic conflict which would have made the fortune of a lesser poet than the author of Her- nani. Perhaps it would be found, upon examination, that the class which declines to regard Whitman as a hero and poet has been content with saying very little about him. If his disciples are in a minority, it is theywho chiefly have written the contents of the package mentioned, who never lose a point, who have filled the air with his name. Our acceptance of their estimate almost has seemed the condition,not, I trust, of their good-will, since among them are several of my long-time friends,but of their intellectual respect. At times we are 48 WALT WHITMAN constrained to infer that this poet is to be eulogized, not criticised,that he, they and others may say to Emerson, Lowell, Tenny- son, Thou ailest here, and here; but woe unto them that lay hands on the Ark of the Covenant. More than one offender has been punished in an effective, if not in a just and generous way. I mention this onlywith a feel- ing that honest criticism should not be re- stricted by those who deprecate restriction. Two points belong to my own mode of inquiry: How far does the effort of a workman relate to what is fine and enduring? and, how far does he succeed in his effort? Nor can I pay Mr. Whitman any worthier tribute than to examine fairly his credentials, and to test his work by the canons, so far as we dis- cover them, that underlie the best results of every progressive art. If his poetry is founded in the simplicity and universality which are claimed for it, and which distin- guish great works, the average man, who reads Shakspere and the English Bible, ought to catch glimpses of its scope and meaning, and therefore I am guilty of no strange temerity, in my forming some opin- ion of these matters. On the other hand, if there be any so im- patient of his assumptions, or so tired of the manifestoes of his friends, as to refuse him the consideration they would extend to any man alive, against such also I would protest, and deem them neither just nor wise. Their course would give weight to the charge that in America Whitman has been subjected to a kind of outlawry. And those most doubt- ful of his methods, beliefs, inspiration, should understand that here is an uncommon and WALT WHITMAN. WALT WHITMAN 49 somewhat heroic figure, which they will do well to observe; one whose words have taken hold in various quarters, and whose works should be studied as a whole before they are condemned. Not only a poet, but a personage, of a bearing conformed to his ideal. Whether this bearing comes by nature only, or through skillful intent, its possessor certainly carries it bravely, and, as the phrase is, fills the bill,a task in which some who have tried to emulate him have disastrously failed. Not only a poet and personage, but one whose views and declar- ations are also worth attention. True, our main business is not so much to test the soundness of his theories as to ask how poetically he has announced them. We are examining the poets, not the sages and heroes, except in so far as wisdom and heroism must belong to poetry, and as the philosopher and poet fulfill Wordsworths prediction and have become one. But Whitman is the most subjective poet on record, and it would be folly to review him wholly in the mood of those whose watch- word is Art for Arts sake. The many who look upon art solely as a means of expres- sion justly will not be content unless the man is included in the problem. I; who believe that he who uses song as his means of expression is on one side an artist, wish to consider him both as an artist and a man. What I desire to say, also, must be taken as a whole. Questions involving the nature of verse, of expression, of the poetic life, could not be adequately discussed in a single chapter; but a paragraph, at least, may be devoted to each point, and should be given its full weight of meaning. / It is the fashion for many who reject Mr. Whitmans canti- des to say: His poetry is good for nothing; but we like him as a man, etc. To me, it seems that his song is more noteworthy than his life, in spite of his services in the hos- pitals during our civil war. His life, so noble at its best periods, was an emblem of the nobleness of a multitude of his country- men and country-women; at other times, doubtless, and as his poem of Brooklyn Ferry fearlessly permits us to surmise, it has been no more self-forgetting than the lives of countless obscure toilers who do their best from day to day. If, then, I do not think his heroism so important as his art, nor admire him chiefly as an annuncia- tor, but as an imaginative poet, it is because I know more than one village where each workman is a philosopher in his way, and something of a priest, and because poets VOL XXL.4. are rarer among us than preachers and heroes,and I wish to take him at his rarest. If this essay should pay just honor to his prophetic gift of song, those who minister to him should feel that I have given him, without reserve, such p p or laurels as a mere reviewer can bestow. /That there may be no doubt, from page to page (amid the seeming inconsistencies that must char- acterize a study of Whitman), as to my conclusion on this point, I may as well say now that both instinct and judgment, with our Greek choruses in mind, and Pindar, and the Hebrew bards, long since led me to count him, as a lyric and idyllic poet, and when at his best, among the first of his time. If any fail to perceive what I mean by this, let him take a single poem, composed in his finer mood, Out of the Cradle End- lessly Rocking,and read it with some care. Had he not sung like this, the exor- bitant world would hear little of his philosophy and consecration, and care for them still less. Ii. THE first edition of Leaves of Grass, now so valued by collectors, is a long, thin volume, curious to behold, with wide pages that give the authors peculiar lines their full eflect. Here was a man with measure- less bounce and ambition, but with a co- equal range of demands for his country, and professedly for all mankind. At that time (1855) the sale of most books of poetry or abstract thought was small enough; critical authorities were few, and of little weight. / Putnams Magazine certainly ~ had influence, and was the periodical to which our favorite writers contributed some of their choicest work. Its reviewer gave the strange book the best reception possible, by filling three columns with extracts from its pages. He could not have selected any passages more original than those beginning with the lines, I play not a march for victors only, and A child said, What is the grass ? than the death-scene of the mashed fireman, for whose sake is the per- vading hush among the kneeling crowd, the ringing story of the old-fashioned frigate and the little captain who won by the light of the moon an(l stars,the proud humility, the righteous irony and wrath of A Slave at Auction and A Woman at Auction, the Hebraic picture of the Quakeress with face clearer and more beautiful than the sky, the justified mother of men. These, 50 WALT WHZTAJAJV and a few masterly bits of description and apostrophe, were given in a manner just to the poet, while rude and coarser parts, that might displease even a progressive reader, were kindly overlooked. The study of Emerson and Carlyle had bred a tolerance of whatever was true to nature and opposed to sham. Leaves of Grass was alegiti- mate offspring of the new movement. How- soever differing from the latter, or going beyond it, the book would not have found life had not the Concord school already made for it an atmosphere. Whitmana man of the peopleapplied the down-east philosophy to the daily walks of life, and sang the blare and brawn that he found in the streets about him. In his opening lines: I celebrate myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease * * * observing a spear of summer grass, he simply took Alcott and Emerson at their word.f His radical demonstration, extended in later years even to rebuke of their own failure to go farther, has brought them, per- chance, like Frankenstein, to regard with little complacence the strides of their prod- igy. The difference between Emerson and Whitman illustrated that between certain modes of advanced thought in Massachu- setts and New York. If the philosophy of the former professed to include the people, in its genesis and application it often was somewhat provincial and aristocratic; the other also was theoretically broad, professing to include the scholarly and refined, but in spirit was no less provincial,suspicious of all save the masses. A true universalism yet may come from them both. It was in no unfriendly humor, but with perfect jus- tice, that the Putnam critic declared the new poems to be a mixture of Yankee transcendentalism and New York rowdy- ism, which here were seen to combine in harmony. For their author prophesied in New York with a selfhood that observed but kept aloof froiri the West side; insensibly the East-sider was set above the man of training or affairs whose teams he drove, whose fires he subdued, whose boats he piloted, and whose manhood perchance was as sturdy and virile as his own. Hence, there was a just reason in the pleasantry of the reviewer, who, after acknowledging that the poet was one of the roughs, said: That he is a kosmos is a piece of news we were hardly prepared for. Precisely what a kosmos is, we trust Mr. Whitman will take an early occasion to inform the Impatient world. Nothing worse than this sally befell our poet in the leading maga- zine, and it was added that there were to be found an original perception of nature, a manly brawn, and an epic directness in the new poet, which belong to no other adept of the transcendental school. Here, at all events, the book was not treated after any Philistine mode. Doubtless many young readers of those quotations felt as if they came with a fresh breeze from old Paumanok and the outer bay. 1 remember my own impression that here, whether his forms were old or new, was a real poet, one who stirred my pulses; and of whomin spite of his conceit, familiarity, assumption that few could un- derstand him and that all needed his minis- trationsI wished to know more. I would not surrehder that first impression of his genius for any later critical feeling. Nor since that time, having closely read him, have I found reason to disavow it. And I could fully sympathize with him, now that his old age really is nigh at hand, in the serene approval o~ his own work, read twenty years afterward under some auspicious conjunction of Saturn and Mars: After an interval, reading, here in the midnight, With the great stars looking onall the stars of Orion looking, And the silent Pleiadesand the duo looking of Saturn and ruddy Mars; Pondering, reading my own songs, after a long interval (sorrow and death familiar now), Ere closing the book, what pride! what joy! to find them Standing so well the test of death and night, And the duo of Saturn and Mars! The picture of Whitman in trowsers and open shirt, with slouched hat, hand in pocket, and a defiant cast of manner, reso- lute as it was, had an air not wholly of one who protests against authority, but rather of him who opposes the gonfalon of a rough conventionalism to the conven- tionalism of culture. Not that of the man too proud to care from whence he came, but of one very l)roud of whence he came and what he wore. Seeing him now, with his gracious and silvery beard, it is hardly possible that the sensual and unpromising mouth of the early portrait was at any time his own. But the picture has become his- torical, and properly is included with others in his recent collective edition. WALT WHJTAfAN 5 The Leaves of Grass contained the gist of his opinions, and some of its episodes equal in beauty anything he has ever written. He was in his thirty-sixth year,close upon the age at which more than one famous poet has ended his mission. His book was eminently one with a purpose, or purposes, to which he has been consistent. First, and c~iet1y, to assert the Religion of Hu- mamty,the mystery and development of man, of woman; the sufficiency of the general plan; the inherent and equal no- bility of our organs, instincts, desires; the absolute equality of men, irrespective of birth and training. Secondly, to predict a superb illustration of this development in These States, the great republic of the present, the pure democracy of the future. Thirdly, to portray an archetypal microcosm, a man embracing in his passionate and ideal sympathy all the joys, sorrows, appe- tites, virtues, sins, of all men, women and chil- dren,himself being, doing and suffering with them,and that man Walt Whitman. Finally, and to lay the groundwork for a new era in literature (in his view the most essential stimulant of progress), the Leaves were written in contempt of established measures, fqrma 1 rhymes, stock imagery and diction,-.--and in a most irregular kind pf dithyramb, Which left the hack reviewer sorely in doubt whether it was verse broken off at hap-hazard, or prose run mad. What- ever motives led to these results, we must admire the courage of a poet who thus burned his ships behind him, and plunged into a wilderness thenceforth all his own. Various passages of the book were resolutely coarse in their naturalism, and were thought by some, who perhaps knew little of the author, to reveal his tendencies. It seemed as if certain passions appeared to him more natural, certain sins more venial, than others, and that these were those which he felt to be most obstreperous in his own system,that his creed was ad- justed to his personal aptitudes. But many also found in him strength, color, love and knowledge of nature, and a capacity for lyrical outbursts,the utterance of a genu- ine poet. Such was the Leaves of Grass, although the book is hard to formulate in few and scientific terms; such, at least, it was, so far as I understand its higher mean- ing. This analysis is made with due hu- mility, as by one in doubt lest he also may be subject to the scornful objurgation: What to such as you, anyhow, such a poet as I? therefore leave my works, And go lull yourself with what you can understand and with piano-tunes; For I lull nobody,and you will never understand me. If the successive editions of Leaves of Grass had the quiet sale accorded to books of verse, it did not lack admirers among radicals on the lookout for something new. Emerson, with one of his cheery impulses, wrote a glowing welcome, which soon was given to the public, and directed all eyes to the rising bard. No poet, as a person, ever came more speedily within range of view. His age, origin and habits were made known; he himself, in fastidiously whole- some and picturesque costume, was to be observed strolling up Broadway, crossing the ferries, mountingthe omnibuses, wherever he could see and be seen, make studies and be studied. It was learned that he had been by turns printer, school-master, builder, ed- itor; had written articles and poems of a harmless, customary nature, until, finding that he could not express himself to any purpose in that wise, he underwent convic- tion, experienced a change of thought and style, and professed a new departure in verse, dress, and way of life. Hencefor- ward he occupied himself with loafing, thinking, writing, and making disciples and camerados. Among the young wits and writers who enjoyed his fellowship, his slow, large mold and rathe-grizzled hair pro- cured for him the hearty title of Old Walt. In the second year of the war his blood grew warm, and he went to Washing- ton, whither all roads then led. His heart yearned toward the soldiery, and in the hos- pitals and camps he became the tenderest of nurses and the almoner of funds supplied to him by generous hands. After three years of this service, and after a sickness brought on by its exertions, he was given a place in the Interior Department. Then came that senseless act of a benighted offi- cial, who dismissed him for the immorality of the Leaves of Grass. To Whitman it was a piece of good luck. It brought to a climax the discussion of his merits and de- merits. It called out from the fervent and learned pen of OConnor a surging, charac- teristic vindication, The Good Gray Poet, in which the offending Secretary was con- signed to ignominy, and by which the poets talents, services and appearance were so fastened upon public attention that he took his place as a hoar and reverend minstrel. He then, with Lowell, Parsons, Holland, Brownell, and Mrs. Howe, had reached the 52 WALT WHITMAN patriarchal age of forty-six. Another Cab- met officer, a man of taste and feeling, gave him a new positionwhich he held for nine years, and until somewhat disabled by a paralytic affliction. Meanwhile, influential writers, on both sides of the ocean, skillful in polemic criticism, had avowed allegiance to himself and his works. In England, W. M. Rossetti edited a selection of his poems, and Swinburne, Dowden, Clifford, Symonds, Buchar~an, Clive, have joined in recognizing them. In America,besides OConnor, Linton, Conway, Sanborn, the Swintons, Benton, Marvin, the sure-eyed and poetic Burroughs, and others, in turn have guarded his rights or ministered to him, some of them with a loyalty unprecedented in our literary annals. I Like Fourier, he may be said to have his propagandists in many lands.* Making allowance for the tendency to invest with our own attributes some ob- ject of hero-worship, a man must be of unusual stuff to breed this enthusiasm in such men; and under any privations the life is a success which has created and sus- tained such an ideal. The appearance of Whitmans Centen- nial edition, and his needs at the time, gave occasion for an outcry concerning American neglect and persecution of the poet, and for a debate in which both London and New York took part. After some dili- gence, I find little evidence of unfriendliness to him among the magazine-editors, to whom our writers offer their wares. Several of them aver that they would rather accept than decline his contributions, and have declined them only when unsuited to their necessities. What magazine-writer has a smoother experience? In a democracy the right most freely allotted is that of every man to secure his own income. Nor am I aware that, with two exceptions, any American has been able to derive a sub- stantial revenue from poetry alone. A man ahead of his time, or different from his time, usually gathers little of this worlds goods. Whitmans fellow-countrymen regard him kindly and with pride. An English poet has declared that it is not America, but the literary class in America, that persecutes him. Who constitute such a class I know * Dr. R. M. Bucke, superintendent of the lunatic asylum in London, Ontario, whom Whitman visited last summer, is preparing a book upon the poets life and works. In his printed circular, requesting in- formation, he says: I am myself fully satisfied that Walt Whitman is one of the greatest men, if not the very greatest man, that the world has so far produced. not: the present writer is not one of them, nor has he ever been. For the moment, I am what he himself would call his diag- noser,nor with the intellect only, but with the heart as well as the head. What , opposition the poet really has incurred( has done him no harm. The outcry led to plain-speaking, and the press gave the~ fullest hearing to Whitmans friends. I hope it was of benefit, in showing that our writ- ers were misunderstood, in stimulating his friends to new offices in his behalf, and especially in promoting the sale of the unique centennial or authors edition of his col- lected poems. Never was a collection more aptly named. The two volumes bear the material as well as the spiritual impress of their author. Of the many portraits for which he has sat, they give, besides the earliest, a bold photograph of his present sell; and the striking wood-cut by his friend Lintonthat master of the engravers craft. Here and there are interpolated recent poems, printed on slips, and pasted in by the poets own hand. The edition has an indescribable air; one who owns it feels that he has a portion of the authors self. It is Whitman, His Book, and should he print nothing more, his work is well rounded.* The collection embraces the revised series of Leaves of Grass, preceded by Inscriptions, and divided by a group of poems, Children of Adam, on the sexual conditions of life; by another group, Calamus, on the love of comrades, and by certain pieces, of which Crossing Brooklyn Ferry is a good specimen, in which the aspect and occupations of the people at large, the glory of the American race, and of the dwellers in Mannahatta, are specifically chanted by this bard of New York. Then follow the Drum-Taps, so full of lyrical fervor that Whitman may be called the chief singer of that great conflict to which the burning songs of other poets had been an overture. There also are Marches Now the War is Over, with a few pieces that celebrate the Republican uprisings in Europe, and the first volume closes with Songs of Parting. The second, after a general preface, opens with Two Rivulets, parallel streams of prose * Mr. Whitmans address is Camden, New Jersey. The two volumes are sold by him for ten dollars. If book-collectors understood the quality of this limited edition, and how valuable it must become, the poets heart would be cheered with so many orders that not a copy would be left on his shelves. WALT WHITMAN 53 and verse, followed by a prose essay of a Carlylese type, possibly suggested by Car- lyles strictures on America. Much of all this portion, prose and verse, is the least satisfactory of Whitmans writings, although greatly in earnest and of most import to the author. The Centennial Songs (1876) and the poems of 1872 (including that fine burst, The Mystic Trumpeter) come next. Re- verting to his prose Rivulet and the Democratic Vistas, I do not find in these contradictory views of the present, notices of weak joints in our armor, and dreams of the future, much that doubtless has not been considered by many who have helped to guide our republic thus far, much that has not occurred to the poets fellow-thinkers, or is not, at least, within their power to understand and amend. Neither are they expressed in that terse and sufficient lan- guage common to rare minds,nor in a way at all comparable to the writers surer way of expressing himself in his chosen verse. Well-written articles like his recan- tation of Emerson lead one to suspect that his every-day prose is distorted intentionally, otherwise I should say that, if he is a poet of high rank, he is an exception to the con- ceit that the truest poets write also the most genuine and noble prose; for certainly his usual style is no nearer that of healthy, self- sustained English, than his verse is to ordi- nary rhythm. A poets genius may reconcile us to that which Cosmo Monkhouse terms poetry in solution, but prose in dissolution is undesirable. A continuous passage of good prose, not broken up with dashes and parentheses, and other elements of weakness, nor marred by incoherent and spasmodic expressions, is hard to find in his Rivulets and Vistas. Both his prose and verse have one fault in common, that he virtually underrates the intelligence of readers. This is visible in constant repetition of his thoughts, often in forms that grow weaker, and in his intimation that we are even unwilling to comprehend ideas which are familiar to all radical thinkers in modern times. More impressive in their vivid realism, and as evidence not to be gainsaid of Mr. Whit- mans personal qualities, are the Memoranda during the War, homely and fragmentary records of his labors among the soldiers. Three years and more were covered by these acts of self-offering, and it is well they should be commemorated. Their records constitute a picture of his life at its high- est moment; they are heroic interludes between his poems of life and those upon death. The latter, under the title, Passage to India, express the maturest yearning of his soul. Chastened by illness and wise through experience, the singer whose pulses have beaten with lifes full tide now muses upon Death,the universal blessing. With lofty faith and imagining he confronts the unknown. To one so watchful of his own individuality, any creed that involves a merger of it is monstrous and impossible. He bids his soul voyage through deaths portals, sure to find The untold want, by life and land neer granted. He is at the farthest remove from our modish Buddhism, nor can any nirvana satisfy his demands. In this section his song is on a high key, and less reduced than elsewhere by untimely commonplace. Here are the pieces inspired by the tragic death of Lincoln. The burial hymn, When Lilacs last, etc., is entitled to the repute in which it is affectionately held. The theme is handled in an indirect, melo- dious, pathetic manner, and I think this poem and Lowells Commemoration Ode; each in its own way, the most notable ele- gies resulting from the war and its episodes. Whitmans is exquisitely idyllic, Lowells the more heroic and intellectual. Even the Genius of These States might stoop for an instant to hear the Cambridge scholar, and I can yield the Burial Hymn no truer homage than to associate it with his Ode. A Poem of Joys makes an artistic con- trast with these death-carols, and a group of Sea-shore Memories, with their types and music of the infinite, add to the climac- teric effect of this division. Unable here to cite passages from Whitman, I can at least direct the reader how to get at his real capabilities. For his original mood, and something of his color, imagination, hold upon nature, lyric power, turn then to the broad harmonies of the Sea-shore Memo- ries,; to Lincolns Burial Hymn, and the shorter poems beyond it; to The Mystic Trumpeter, and The Wound-Dresser; and then, after reading the sixth section of the poem, Walt Whitman, A child said, What is the grass? find the two hundred and sixth paragraph, I understand the large hearts of heroes, and read to the end of the frigate-fight. These passages are a fair introduction to the 54 WALT WHITMAN poet, and you will go with him farther, until checked by some repulsive exhibition, or wearied by pages cheap in wisdom and in- vective orintolerably dull. Often where he utters truths, it is with an effort to give offense, or with expressions of contempt for their recipient that well might make even the truth offensive. A man does not care to be driven with blows and hard names, even to a feast, nor to have the host brag too much of the entertainment. III. HERE we may as well consider a trait of Mr. Whitmans early work that most of all has brought it under censure. I refer to the blunt and open manner in which the con- summate processes of nature, the acts of procreation and reproduction, with all that appertain to them, are made the theme or illustration of various poems, notably of those with the title Children of Adam. Landor says of a poet that, on the remark of a learned man that irregularity is no indication of genius, he began to lose ground rapidly, when on a sudden he cried out in the Hay- market, There is no God. It was then rumored more generally and more gravely that he had something in him. * * * Say what ~ will, once whispered a friend of mine, there are things in him strong as poison, and original as sin. But those who looked upon Whitmans sexuality as a shrewd advertisement, justly might be advised to let him reap the full benefit of it, since, if he had no more sincere basis, it would receive the earlier judgmentand ere long be outlawed of art. This has not been its fate, and therefore it must have had something of conviction to sustain it. Nevertheless, it made the public distrustful of this poet, and did much to confine his volumes to the libraries of the select few. Prurient modesty often is a sign that people are conscious of personal defects; but Whit- mans physical excursions are of a kind which even Thoreau, refreshed as he was by the new poet, found it hard to keep pace with. The fault was not that he discussed matters which others timidly evade, but that he did not do it in a clean way,that he was too anatomical and malodorous withal; furthermore, that in this department he showed excessive interest, and applied its imagery to other departments, as if with a special purpose to lug it in. His pictures sometimes were so realistic, his speech so free, as to excite the hue and cry of indecent exposure; the display of things natural, indeed, but which we think it unnatural to exhibit on the highway, or in the sitting- room, or anywhere except their wonted places of consignment. On the poets side it is urged that the ground of this exposure was, that thus only could his reform be consistent; that it was necessary to celebrate the body with special unction, since, with respect to the physical basis of life, our social weakness and hypoc- risy are most extreme. Not only should the generative functions be proclaimed, but, also, to show that there is in nature nothing mean or base,the side of our life which is hidden, because it is of the earth, earthy, should be plainly recognized in these poems; and thus, out of rankness and coarseness, a new virility be bred, an impotent and squeamish race at last be made whole. Entering upon this field of dispute, what I have to sayin declaring that Whitman mistakes the aim of the radical artist or poetis perhaps different from the criticism to which he has been subjected. Let us test him solely by his own rules. Doing this, we presuppose his honesty of purpose, otherwise his objectionable phrases and imagery would be outlawed, not only of art but of criticism. Assume, then, first, that they were composed as a fearless avowal of the instincts and conditions which pertain to him in common with the race which he typifies; secondly, that he deems such a presentation essential to his revolt against the artifice of current life and sentiment, and makes it in loyal reliance zq5on the excellence, the truth of nature. To judge him in conformity with these ideas lessens our estimate of his genius. Genius is greatly consistent when most audacious. Its in- stinct will not violate natures logic, even by chance, and it is something like obtuseness that does so upon a theory. In Mr. Whitmans sight, that alone is to be condemned which is against nature, yet, in his mode of allegiance, he violates her canons. For, if there is nothing in her which is mean or base, there is much that is ugly and disagreeable. If not so in itself (and on the question of absolute beauty I accept his own ruling, that whatever tastes sweet to the most perfect person, that is finally right), if not ugly in itself, it seems so to the conscious spirit of our intelligence. Even Mother Earth takes note of this, and resolves, or disguises and beautifies, what is rel)ulsive upon her surface. It is well said that an artist shows inferiority by placing WALT WHITMAN. 55 the true, the beautiful, or the good above its associates. Nature is strong and rank, but not externally so. She, too, has her sweet and sacred sophistries, and the delight of Art is to heighten her beguilement, and, far from making her ranker than she is, to portray what she might be in ideal combina- tions. Nature, I say, covers her slime, her muck, her ruins, with garments that to us are beautiful. She conceals the skeleton, the frame-work, the intestinal thick of life, and makes fair the outside of things. Her servitors swiftly hide or transform the fer- menting, the excrementitious, and the higher animals possess her instinct. Whitman fails to perceive that she respects certain decen- cies, that what we call decency is grounded in her law. An artist should not elect to paint the part of her to which Churchill rashly avowed that Hogarths pencil was devoted. There is a book LAffaire Cl6menceau ~~in which a Frenchmans re- gard for the lamp of beauty, and his indif- ference to that of goodness, are curiously illustrated. But Dumas points out, in the rebuke given by a sculptor to a pupil who mistakenly elevates the arm of his first model, a beautiful girl, that the Underside of things should be avoided in art,since Nature, not meaning it to be shown, often deprives it of beauty. Finally, Mr. Whit- man sins against his mistress in questioning the instinct we derive from her, one which of all is most elevating to poetry, and which is the basis of sensations that lead childhood on, that fill youth with rapture, impress with longing all human kind, and make up, im- palpable as they are, half the preciousness of life. He draws away the final veil. It is not squeamishness that leaves something to the imagination, that hints at guerdons still unknown. The law of suggestion, of half- concealment, determines the choicest effects, and is the surest road to truth. Grecian as Mr. Whitman may be, the Greeks better understood this matter, as scores of illus- trations, like that of the attitude of the Hermaphroditus in the Louvre, show. A poet violates natures charm of feeling in robbing love, and even intrigue, of their esoteric quality. No human appetites need be pruriently ignored, but coarsely analyzed they fall below humanity. He even takes away the sweetness and pleasantness of stolen waters and secret bread. Fur/a cunctcz magis belia. Recalling the term over-soul, the reader insensibly accuses our poet of an over-bodiness. The mock-modesty and effeminacy of our falser tendencies in art should be chastised, but he misses the true corrective. Delicacy is not impotence, nor rankness the sure mark of virility. The model workman is both fine and strong. Where Mr. Whitman sees nothing but the law of procreation, poetry dwells upon the union of souls, devotion unto death, joys greater for their privacy, things of more worth because whispered between the twi- lights. It is absolutely true that the design of sexuality is the propagation of species. But the delight of lovers who now inherit the earth is no less a natural right, and those children often are the finest that were begot without thought of offspring. There are other lights in which a dear one may be regarded than as the future mother of men, and thesewith their present hour of joy are unjustly subordinated in the Leaves of Grass. Marked as the failure of this pseudo-naturalism has been hitherto, even thus will it continue,so long as savages have instincts of modesty,so long as we draw and dream of the forms and faces, not the internal substance and mechanism, of those we hold most dear,so long as the ivy trails over the ruin, the southern jessa- mine covers the blasted pine, the moss hides the festering swamp,so long as our spirits seek the spirit of all things; and thus long shall art and poesy, while calling every truth of science to their aid, rely on something else than the processes of science for the attainment of their exquisite results. From the tenor of Mr. Whitmans later works, I sometimes have thought him half- inclined to see in what respect his effort toward a perfect naturalism was misdirected. In any case, there would be no inconsistency in a further modification of his early pieces, in the rejection of certain pasAges and words, which, by the law of strangeness, are more conspicuous than ten times their amount of common phraseology, and grow upon the reader until they seem to pervade the whole volume. The examples of Lucre- tius, Rabelais, and other masters, who wrote in other ages and conditions, and for their own purposes, have little analogy. It well may be that our poet has more claim to a wide reading in England than here, since his English editor, without asking consent, omitted entirely every poem which could with tolerable fairness be (leemed offensive. Without going so far, and with no falseness to himself, Mr. Whitman might re-edit his home-editions in such wise that they would not be counted wholly among those books which are meat for strong men, but would 56 WALT WHITMAN have a chance among those greater books that are the treasures of the simj)le and the learned, the young and the old. Iv. THE entire body of his work has a sign- metrical by which it is recognizeda pecul- iar and uncompromising style, conveyed in a still more peculiar unrhymed verse, irreg- ular, yet capable of impressive rhythmical and lyrical effects. The faults of his method, glaring enough in ruder passages, are quite his own; its merits often are original, but in his chosen form there is little original and new. It is an old fashion, always selected for dithy~ rambic oracular outpourings, that of the Hebrew lyrists and prophets, and their insl)ired English translators,of the Gaelic minstrels,of various Oriental and Shemitic peoples,of many barbarous dark-skinned tribes,and in recent times put to use by Blake, in the Prophetic Visions, and by other and weaker men. There are symp- toms in Whitmans earlier poems, and definite proof in the later, that his studies have included Blake,between whose traits and his own there is a superficial, not a genuine, likeness. Not as an invention, then, but as a striking and persistent renais- sance, the form that has become his trade- mark, and his extreme claims for it, should have fair consideration. An honest effort to enlarge the poets equipment, too long unaided, by something rich and strange, deserves praise, even though a failure; for there are failures worthier than triumphs. Our chanter can bear with dignity the pro- vincial laughter of those to whom all is distasteful that is uncommon, and regard it as no unfavorable omen. From us the very strangeness of his chant shall gain for it a welcome, and the chance to benefit us as it may. Thereby we may escape the error pointed out by Mr. Benjamin, who says that people in approaching a work, instead of learning from it, try to estimate it from their preconceived notions. Hence, original artists at first endure neglect, because they express their own discoveries in nature of what others have not yet seen,a truth well to bear in mind whenever a singer arrives with a new method. Probably the method under review has had a candid hearing in more quarters than the author himself is aware of. If some men of independent thought and feeling have failed to accept his claims and his estimate of the claims of others, it possibly has not been through exclusiveness or malice, but upon their own impression of what has value in song. Mr. Whitman never has swerved from his primal indictment of the wonted forms, rhymed and unrhymed, dependent upon accentual, balanced and stanzaic effects of sound and shape,and until recently has expressed his disdain not only of our poets who care for them, but of form itself. So far as this cry was raised against the tech- nique of poetry, I not merely think it absurd, but that when he first made it he had not clearly thought out his own problem. Technique, of some kind, is an essential,~ though it is equally true that it cannot atone1 for poverty of thought and imagination. I hope to show that he never was more mis- taken than when he supposed he was throwing off form and technique. But first it may be said that no form ever has sprung to life, and been handed from poet to poet, that was not engendered by instinct and natural law, and each will be accel)ted in a sound generalization. Whitman avers that the time has come to break down the bar- riers between prose and verse, and that only thus can the American bard utter anything commensurate with the liberty and splendor of his themes. Now, the mark of a poet is that he is at ease everywhere,that nothing can hamper his gifts, his exultant freedom. He is a master of expression. There are certain pointsnote thiswhere expression takes on rhythm, and certain other points where it ceases to be rhythmical,places where prose becomes poetical, and where verse grows prosaic; and throughout Whit- mans productions these points are more fre- quent and unmistakable than in the work of any other writer of our time. However bald or formal a poets own method, it is useless for him to decry forms that recognize the pulses of time and accent, and the linked sweetness of harmonic sound. Some may be tinkling, others majestic, but each is suited to its purpose, and has a spell to charm alike the philosopher and the child that knows not why. The human sense acknowledges them; they are the earliest utterance of divers peoples, and in their later excellence still hold their sway. Goethe discussed all this with Eckermann, and rightly said there were great and mysterious agencies in the various l)oetic forms. He even added that if a sort of poetic prose should be introduced, it would only show WALT WHITMAN 57 that the distinction between prose and poetry had been lost sight of completely. Rhyme, the most conventional feature of ballad verse, has its due place, and will keep it ; it is an artifice, but a natural arti- fice, and pleases accordingly. Milton gave reasons for discarding it when he perfected an unrhymed measure for the stateliest English poem; but what an instrument rhyme was in his hands that made the son- nets and minor poems! How it has sus- tained the whole carnival of our heroic and lyric song, from the sweet pipings of Lodge and Chapman an& Shakspere, to the under- tones of Swinburne and Poe. There are en(11e55 combinations yet in the gamut. The report is that Mr. Whitmans prejudice is specially strong against our noblest unrhymed form, blank-verse. Its variety and freedom, within a range of accents, breaks, c~sural effects,its rolling organ- harmonies,he appreciates not at all. Rhythmical as his own verse often can be, our future poets scarcely will discard blank- verse in its behalfnot if they shall re- call The Tempest, Hail, Holy Light, Tintern Abbey, Hyperion, the Hel- lenics, Ulysses, and Thanatopsis. Mr. Parke Godwin, in a recent, private letter, terms it the grandest and most flexi- ble of English nXeasures, and adds, with quick enthusiasm : Oh, what a glory there is in it, when we think of what Shaks- pere, Milton, Wordsworth and Landor made of it, to say nothing of Tennyson and Bryant! I doubt not that new hand- lings of this measure will produce new results, unsurpassed in any tongue. It is quite as fit as Mr. Whitmans own, if he knows the use of it, for the expression of American democracy and manhood. Seeing how dull and prolix he often becomes, it may be that even for him his measure has been too facile, and that the curb of a more regular unrhymed form would have spared us many tedious curvet- ings and grewsome downfalls. Strenuous as he may be in his belief that the old methods will be useless to poets of the future, I am sure that he has learned the value of technique through his long pra~ctice. He well knows that whatever claims to be the poetry of the future speedily will be forgotten in the past, unless conso- nant with the laws of expression in the language to which it belongs; that verse composed upon ~ theory, if too artificial in its contempt of art, may be taken up for a while, but, as a false fashion, anon will pass away. Not that his verse is of this class; but it justly has been declared that, in writ- ing with a purpose to introduce a new mode or revolutionize thought, and not be- cause an irresistible impulse seizes him, a poet is so much the less a poet. Our ques- tion, then, involves the spontaneity of his work, and the results attained by him. His present theory, like most theories which have reason, seems to be derived from experience: he has learned to discern the good and bad in his work, and has arrived at a rationale of it. He sees that he has been feeling after the irregular, various har- monies of nature, the anthem of the winds, the roll of the surges, the countless laughter of the ocean waves. He tries to catch this under-melody and rhythm. Here is an artistic motive, distinguishing his chainless dithyrambs from ordinary verse, somewhat as the new German music is distinguished from folk-melody, and from the products of an early, especially the Italian, school. Here is not only reason, but a theoretical ad- vance to a grade of art demanding extreme resources, because it affords the widest range of combination and effect. But this comprehension of his own aim is an after-thought, the result of long groping. The genesis of the early Leaves~~ was in motives less artistic and penetrating. Find- ing that he could not think and work to advantage in the current mode, he concluded that the mode itself was at fault; especially, that the poet of a young, gigantic nation, the prophet of a new era, should have a new vehicle of song. Without looking farther, he spewed out the old forms, and avowed his contempt for American poets who use them.. His off-hand course does not bring us to the conclusion of the whole matter. So far as the crudeness of the /uzentus mundi is as- sumed by him, it must be temporal and passing, like the work of some painters, who, for the sake of startling effects, use ephemeral pigments. A poet (loes not, per- force, restore the lost foundations of his art by copying the manner natural to an aboriginal time and people. He is merely exchanging masters, and certainly is not founding a new school. Only as he dis- covers the inherent tendencies of song does he belong to the future. Still, it is plain that Whitman found a style suited to his purposes, and, was fortunate both as a poet and a diplomatist. He was sure to attract notice, and to seem original, by so pro- nounced a method. Quoth the monk to Gargantua, A mass, a matin, or vesper, 58 WALT WHITMAN well rung, is half said. It was suited to him as a poet, because he has that somewhat wandering sense of form, and of melody, which often makes ones conceptions seem the more glorious to himself; as if invested with a halo or blended with concurrent sound, and prevents him from lessening or enlarging them by the decisive master-hand, or at once perfecting them by sure control. A man who finds that his gloves cripple him does right in drawing them off. At first, Whitman certainly meant to escape all tech- nique. But genius, in spite of itself; makes works that stand the test of scientific laws. And thus he now sees that he was groping toward ~ broader technique. Unrhymed verse, the easiest to write, is the hardest to excel in, and no measure for a bardling. And Mr. Whitman never more nearly dis- played the feeling of a true artist than when he expressed a doubt as to his present hand- ling of his own verse, but hoped that, in breaking loose from ultramarine forms, he had sounded, at least, the key for a new p~an. I have referred to his gradual advances in the finish of his song. Whether he has revived a form which others will carry to a still higher excellence, is doubt- ful. Blank-verse, limitless in its capacities, forces a poet to stand without disguise, and reveals all his defects. Whitmans verse, it is true, does not subject him to so severe a test. He can so twist and turn himself; and run and jump, that we are puzzled to inspect him at all, or make out his contour. Yet the few who have ventured to follow him have produced little that has not seemed like parody, or unpleasantly grotesque. It ~may be that his mode is suited to himself alone, and not to the future poets of These States,that. the next original genius will have to sing as Martin Luther sang, and the glorious army of poetic worthies. I suspect that the old forms, in endless com- binations, will return as long as new poets arise with the old abiding sense of time and sound. The greatest poet is many-sided, and will hold himself slavishly to no one thing for the sake of difference. He is a poet, too, in spite of measure and material, while, as to manner, the style is the man. Genius does not need a special language; it newly uses whatever tongue it finds. Thought, fire, passion, will overtop everything,will show, like the limbs of Teverino, through the clothes of a prince or a beggar. A cheap and common instrument, odious in foolish*hands, becomes the slave of music under the touch of a master. I attach less importance, there- fore, to Mr. Whitmans experiment in verse than he and his critics have, and inquire of his mannerism simply how far it represents the man. To show how little there is in itself; we only have to think of Tupper; to see how rich it may be, when the utterance of genius, listen to Whitmans teacher, Will- iam Blake. It does not prove much, but still is interesting, to note that the pieces whosequality never fails with any class of hearersof which My Captain is an exampleare those in which our poet has approached most nearly, and in a lyrical, melodious manner, to the ordinary forms. He is far more original in his style proper than in his metrical inventions. His dic- tion, on its good behavior, is copious and strong, full of surprises, utilizing the brave, homely words of the people, and assigning new duties to common verbs and nouns.! He has a use of his own for Spanish and French catch-words, picked up, it may be, on his trip to Louisiana or in Mexican war times. Among all this is much slang that now has lived its life, and is not understood by a new generation with a slang of its own. This does not offend so much as the mouth- ing verbiage, the ostent evanescent phrases, wherein he seems profoundest to himself; and really is at his worst. The titles of his books and poems are varied and sonorous. Those of the latter often are taken from the opening lines, and are key-notes. What can be fresher than Leaves of Grass and Calamus? What richer than The Mystic Trumpeter, 0 Star of France! Proud Music of the Storm, or simpler than Drum-Taps, The Wound-Dresser, The Ox-Tamer? or more characteristic than Give me the Splendid Silent Sun, Mannahatta, As a Strong Bird on Pinions Free, Joy, Ship- mate, Joy? Some are obscure and grand- iose Eidolons, Chanting the Square Deific, but usually his titles arrest the eye and haunt the ear; it is an artist that invents them, and the best pieces have the finest names. He has the art of saying things ; his epithets, also, are racier than those of other poets; there is something of the Greek in Whitman, and his lovers call him Homeric, but to me he shall be our old American Hesiod, teaching us works and days. v. His surest hold, then, is as an American poet, gifted with language, feeling, imagina WALT WHITMAN 59 tion, and inspired by a determined purpose. Some estimate, as I have said, may be made of his excellence and short-comings, without waiting for that national absorption which he himself declares to be the test. As an assimilating poet of nature he has positive genius, and seems to me to present his strongest claims. Who else, in fact, has so true a hand or eye for the details, the sweep and color, of American landscape? Like others, he confronts those superb physi- cal aspects of the New World which have controlled our poetry and painting, and deferred the growth of a figure-school, but in this conflict with nature he is not over- come; if not the master, he is the joyous brother-in-arms. He has heard the message of the pushing, wind-swept sea, along Pau- manoks shore; he knows the yellow, waning moon and the rising stars,the sunset, with its cloud-bar of gold above the horizon, the birds that sing by night or day, bush and brier, and every shining or swooning flower, the peaks, the prairie, the mighty, conscious river, the dear common grass that children fetch with full hands. Little escapes him, not even the mossy scabs of the worm fence, and heapd stones, mullen and poke-weed; but his details are massed, blended,the wind saturates and the light of the American skies transfigures them. Not that to me, recalling the penetrative glance of Emerson, the wood and way-side craft that Lowell carried lightly as a sprig of fir, and recalling other things of others, does Whitman seem our only poet of nature; but that here he is on his own ground, and with no man his leader. Furthermore, his intimacy with nature is always subjective,she furnishes the back- ground for his self-portraiture and his images of men. None so apt as he to observe the panorama of life, to see the human figure, the hay-maker, wagoner, boatman, soldier, woman and babe and maiden, and brown, lusty boy,to hear not only the bravuras of birds, bustle of grow- ing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, but also the sound I love, the sound Qf the human voice. His town and country scenes, in peace or in war, are idyllic. Above the ge;zre, for utter want of sympathy, he can only name and designatehe does not depict. A single sketch, done in some original way, often makes a poem; such is that reminiscence (in rhyme) of the old Southern negress, Ethiopia Saluting the Colors, and such the touching conceit of Old Irelandno fair and green-robed Hibernia of the harp, but an ancient, sorrowful mother, white-haired, lean and tattered, seated on the ground, mourning for her children. He tells her that they are not dead, but risen again, with rosy and new blood, in another coun- try. This is admirable, I say, and the true way to escape tradition; this is imaginative, and there is imagination, too, in his apostrophe to The Man-of-War-Bird (car- ried beyond discretion by this highest mood, he finds it hard to avoid blank-verse): Thou who hast slept all night upon the storm, Waking renewed on thy prodigious pinions! * * * * * * Thou, born to match the gale (thou art all wings)! To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurri- cane; Thou ship of air that never furlst thy sails, Days, even weeks, untried and onward, through spacesrealms gyrating. At dark that lookst on Senegal, at morn, America; That sportst amid the lightning-flash and thunder- cloud! In thesein thy experienceshadst thou my soul, What joys! What joys were thine! Imagination is the essential thing; without it poetry is as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal. Whitman shows it in his sudden and novel imagery, and in the subjective rapture of verse like this, but quite as often his vision is crowded and inconsistent. The editor of a New York magazine writes to me. In so far as imagination is thinking through types (eidullieU, Whitman has no equal, adding that he does not use the term as if applied to Coleridge, but as limited to the use of types, and that in this sense it is really more applicable to a master of science than to a poet. In the poet the type is lodged in his own heart, and when the occasion comes * * * he is mastered by it, and he must sing. In Whit- man the type is not so much in his heart as in his thought. * * * While he is moved by thought, often grand and ele- mentary, he does not give the intellectual satisfaction warranted by the thought, but a moving panorama of objects. He not only puts aside his singing robes, but his think- ing-cap, and resorts to the stereopticon. How acute, how true! There is, however, a peculiar quality in these long catalogues of types,such as those in the Song of the Broad-Axe and Salut au Monde, or, more poetically treated, in Longings for Home. The poet appeals to our syn- thetic vision. Look through a window; you see not only the framed landscape, but each tree and stone and living thing. His 6o WALT WHITMA1V page must be seized with the eye, as a journalist reads a column at a glance, until successive ~ types and pages blend in the mind like the diverse colors of a swift-turn- ing wheel. Whitmans most inartistic fault is that he overdoes this method, as if usually unable to compose in any other way. The tenderness of a strong and robust nature is a winning feature of his song. There is no love-making, no yearning for some idol of the heart. In the lack of so re- fining a contrast to his realism, we have gentle thoughts of children, images of grand old men, and of women clothed with sanctity and years. This tenderness, a kind of natu- ral piety, marks also his poems relating to the oppressed, the suffering, the wounded and dying soldiers. It is the soul of the pathetic, melodious threne for Lincoln, and of the epilogue My Captain! These pieces remind us that he has gained some command of his own music, and in the mat- ter of tone has displayed strength from the first. In revising his early poems he has improved their effect as a whole. It must be owned that his wheat often is more wel- come for the chaff in which it is scattered; there is none of the persistent luxury which compels much of Swinburnes unstin ted wealth to go unreckoned. Finally, let us note that Whitman, long ago, was not unread in the fe~v great books of the world, nor inapt to digest their wisdom. He was among the first to perceive the grandeur of the scientific truths which are to give im- pulse to a new and loftier poetic imagina- tion. Those are significant passages in the poem Walt Whitman, written by one who had read the xxxviiith chapter of Job, and beginning, Long I was huggd close long and long. The Leaves of Grass, in thought and method, avowedly are a protest against a hackney breed of singers, singing the same old song. More poets than one are born in each generation, yet Whitman has derided his compeers, scouted the sincerity of their passion, and has borne on his mouth Heines sneer at the eunuchs singing of love. In two things he fairly did take the initiative, and might, like a wise advocate, rest his case upon them. He essayed, with- out reserve or sophistry, the full presentment of the natural man. He devoted his song to the future of his own country, accepting and outvying the loudest peak-and-prairie brag, and pledging These States to work out a perfect democracy and the salvation of the world. Striking words and venture- some deeds, for which he must have full credit. But in our studies of the ideal and its votaries, the failings of the latter cannot be lightly passed over. There is an incon- sistency, despite the gloss, between his fear- ful arraignment, going be)ond Carlyles, of the outgrowth of our democracy, thus far, and his promise for the future. In his prose, he sees neither physical nor m~oral health among us: all is disease,~ impotency, fraud, decline. In his verse, the average American is lauded as no type ever was before. These matters renew questions which, to say the least, are still open. Are the lines of caste less- sharply divided every year, or are the high growing higher, and the low lower, under our democracy? Is not the social law of more import than the form of govern- ment, and has not the quality of race much to do with both? Does Americanism in speech and literature depend upon the form and letter, or upon the spirit? Can the spirit of literature do much more than express the national spirit as far as it has gone, and has it not, in fact, varied with the atmos- phere? Is a nation changed by literature, or the latter by the former, in times when journalism so swiftly represents the thought and fashion of each day? As to distinctions in form and spirit between the Old-World literature and our own, I have always looked for this to enlarge with time. But with the recent increase of travel and communication, each side of the Atlantic now more than ever seems to affect the other. Our native flavor still is distinct in proportion to the youth of a section, and inversely to the development. It is an intellectual narrow- ness that fails to meditate upon these things. Thus we come to a defect in Mr. Whit- mans theories, reasoning and general atti- tude. He professes universality, absolute sympathy, breadth in morals, thought, work- manship,ex& mption from prejudice and formalism. Under all the high poetic excel- lences which I carefully have pointed out, I half suspect that his faults lie in the region where, to use his own word, he is most com- placent: in brief, that a certain narrowness holds him within well-defined bounds. In many ways he (hoes not conform to his creed. Others have faith in the future of America, with her arts and letters, yet hesi- tate to lay down rules for her adoption. These must come of themselves, or not at all. Again, in this poets specification of the objects of his sympathy, the members of every class, the lofty and the lowly, are duly named; yet there always is an implica WALT WHITMAN 6i tion that the employer is inferior to the employed,that the man of training, the civilizee, is less manly than the rough, the pioneer. lie suspects those who, by chance or ability, rise above the crowd. What attention he does pay them is felt to be in the nature of patronage, and insufferable. Other things being equal, a scholar is as good as an ignoramus, a rich man as a poor man, a civilizee as a boor. Great cham- pions of democracypoets like Byron, Shel- ley, Landor, Swinburne, Hugooften have come from the ranks of long descent. It would be easy to cite verses from Whitman that apparently refute this statement of his feeling, but the spirit of his whole work con- firms it. ~44eanwhile, though various edi- tions of his poems have found a sale, he is little read by our common people, who know him so well, and of ~vhose democracy he is the self-avowed herald. In numberless homes of working-menand all Americans are workersthe books of other poets are treasured. Some mental grip and culture are required, of course, to get hold of the poetry of the future. But Whittier, in this land, is a truer type of the peoples poet, the word people here meaning a vast body of freemen, having a common-school education, homes, an honest living, and a general comprehension far above that of the masses in Europe. These folk have an instinct that Whittier, for example, has seized his day with as much alertness and self- devotion as this other bard of Quaker lin- eage, and has sung songs fit for the New World as he found it. Whitman is more truly the voice and product of the culture of which he bids us beware. At least, he utters the cry of culture for escape from over-culture, from the weariness, the finical precision, of its own satiety. His warmest admirers are of several classes: those who have can:jed the art of verse to super-refined limits, and seeing nothing farther in that direction, break up the mold for a change; those radical enthusiasts who, like myself, are interested in whatever hopes to bring us more speedily to the golden year; lastly, those who, radically inclined, do not think closely, and make no distinction between his strength and weakness. Thus he is, in a sense, the poet of the over-refined and ~he doctrinaires. Such men, too, as Thoreau and Burroughs have a welcome that scarcely would have beeiX given them iP an earlier time. From the discord and artifice of our social life we go with them to the woods, learn to name the birds, note the beauty of form and flower, and love these healthy comrades who know each spring that bubbles beneath the lichened crag and trailing heni- lock. Theocritus learns his notes upon the mountain, but sings in courts of Alexandria and Syracuse. Whitman, through propa- gandists who care for his teachings from metaphysical and personal causes, and com- pose their own ideals of the man, may yet reach the people, in spite of the fact that lasting works usually have pleased all classes in their own time. Reflecting upon his metrical theory, we also find narrowness instead of breadth. I have shown that the bent of a liberal artist may lead him to adopt a special form, but not to reject all others; he will see the uses of each, demanding only that it shall be good in its kind. Swinburne, with his cordial liking for Whitman, is too acute to overlook his formalism. Some of his eulogists, those whom I greatly respect, fail in their special analysis. One of them rightly says that Shakspere s sonnets are artificial, and that three lines which he selects from Measure for Measure are of a higher grade of verse. But these are the reverse of unmeasured lines,they are in Shaksperes free and artistic, yet most measured, vein. Here comes in the distinction between art and artifice; the blank-verse is conceived in the broad spirit of the former, the finish and pedantry of the sonnet make it an artificial form. A master enjoys the task of making its artifice artistic, but does not employ it exclusively. Whitmans irregular, manner- istic chant is at the other extreme of artifici- ality, and equally monotonous. A poet can use it with feeling and majesty; but to use it invariably, to laud it as the one mode of future expression, to decry all others, is formalism of a pronounced kind. I have intimated that Whitman has carefully studied and improved it. Even Mr. Burroughs does him injustice in admitting that he is not a poet and artist in the current acceptation of those terms, and another writer simply is just in declaring that when he undertakes to give us poetry he can do it. True, the long prose sentences thrown within his ruder pieces resemble nothing so much as the comic recitativos in the buffo-songs of the concert- cellars. This is not art, nor wisdom, but sensationalism. There is narrowness in his failure to recast and modify these and other depressing portions of various poems, and it is sheer Philistinism for one to coddle all the weaknesses of his experimental period, be- cause they have been a product of himself. 62 WALT WHITMAN. One effect of the constant reading of his poetry is that, like the use of certain refec- tions, it mars our taste for the proper enjoy- ment of other kinds. Not, of course, because it is wholly superior, since the subtlest landscape by Corot or Rousseau might be utterly put to nought by a melo- dramatic neighbor, full of positive color and extravagance. Nor is it always, either, to our bards advantage that he should be read with other poets. Consider Wordsworths exquisite lyric upon the education which Nature gives the child whom to herself she takes,. and of whom she declares: The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place, Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face. It happens that Whitman has a poem on the same theme, describing the process of growth by sympathy and absorption, which thus begins and ends: There was a child went forth every day; And the first object he lookd upon, that object he became; And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years. * * * * * * * The horizons edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt-marsh and shore-mud; These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day. Plainly there are some comparative ad- vantages in Wordsworths treatment of this idea. It would be just as easy to reverse this showing by quoting other passages from each poet: the purpose of my digression is to declare that by means of comparative criticism any poet may be judged unfairly, and without regard to his general claims. So far as Mr. Whitmans formalism is natural to him, no matter how eccentric, we must bear with it; whenever it par- takes of affectation, it is not to be desired. The charge of a so often brought against his writings and personal career, may be the result of a popular impression that the border-line is indistinct between his self- assertion as a type of Man, and the ordinary self-esteem and self-advancement displayed by men of common mold. Pretensions have this advantage, that they challenge analysis, and make a vast noise even as we are forced to examine them. In the early preface to the Leaves there is a passage modeled, in my opinion, upon the style of Emerson, concerning simplicity,with which I heartily agree, having constantly insisted upon the test of simplicity in my discussion of the English poets. Yet this quality is the last to be discerned in many portions of the Leaves of Grass. In its stead we often find boldness, and the pride that apes humility,until the reader is tempted to quote from the Poet of Feudal- ism those words of Cornwall upon the roughness which brought good Kent to the stocks. Our bards self-assertion, when the expression of his real manhood, is bracing, is an element of poetic strength. When it even seems to be posing, it is a weakness, or a shrewdness, and tis a weakness in a poet to be unduly shrewd. Of course a dis- tinction must be carefully made between the fine extravagance of genius, the joy in its own conceptions, and self-conscious vanity or affectation,between, also, occasional weaknesses of the great, of men like Brown- ing, and like the greatest of living masters, Hugo, and the afflatus of small men, who only thus far succeed in copying them. And it would be unjust to reckon Whitman among the latter class. Doubtless his intolerant strictures upon the poets of his own land and time have made them hesitate to venture upon the first advances in brotherhood, or to intrude on him with their recognition of his birth- right. As late as his latest edition, his opin ion of their uselessness has been expressed in withering terms. It may be that this is merely consistent, an absolute corollary of his new propositions. There is no consist- ency, however, in a complaint of the silence in which they have submitted to his judg- ments. They listen to epithets which Heine spared Platen and his clique, and surely Heine would have disdained to permit a cry to go up in his behalf concerning a want of recognition and encouragement from the luckless victims of his irony. There is ground enough for his scorn of the time-serving, un- substantial quality of much of our literature. But I should not be writing this series of papers, did I not well know that there are other poets than himself who hear the roll of the ages, who look before and after, above and below. The culture which he deprecates may have done them an ill turn in lessening their worldly tact. I am aware that Mr. Whitmans poems are the drama of his own life and pas~sions. His sub- jectivity is so great that he not only absorbs all others into himself but insists upon being absorbed by whomsoever he ad- WALT WHITMAN. 63 dresses. In his conception of the worlds equality, the singer himself appears as the one Messianic personage, the answerer and sustainer, the universal solvent,in all these respects holding even Him that was crucified to be not one whit his superior. It is his kiss, his consolation, that all must receive,whoever you are, these are given especially to you. But men are egotists, and not all tolerant of one mans selfhood; they do not always deem the affinities elect- ive. Whitmans personality is too strong and individual to be universal, and even to him it is not given to be all things to all men. VI. BUT there is that in venerableness which compels veneration, and it is an instinct of human nature to seek the blessing and revere the wisdom of the poet or peasant transfig- ured by hoary hairs: Old age superbly rising! 0 welcome, ineffable grace of dying days! A year or more ago I was one of a small but sympathetic audience gathered in New York to hear Mr. Whitman, at the cordial request of many authors, journalists and art- ists, deliver a lecture upon Abraham Lincoln. As he entered, haltingly, and took the seat placed for him, his appearance satisfied the eye. His manly figure, clothed in a drab suit that loosely and well became him, his head crowned with flowing silvery hair, his bearded, ruddy and wholesome face, upon which sat a look of friendliness, the wise benignity that comes with ripened years, all these gave him the aspect of a poet and sage. His reminiscences of the martyr President were slight, but he had read the heros heart, had sung his dirge, and no theme could have been dearer to him or more fitly chosen. The lecture was written in panoramic, somewhat disjointed, prose, but its brokenness was the counterpart of his vocal manner, with its frequent pauses, interphrases, illustrations. His delivery was persuasive, natural, by turns tender and strong, and he held us with him from the outset. Something of Lincoln himself seemed to pass into this man who had loved and studied him. A patriot of the honest school spoke to us, yet with a new voice a man who took the future into his patriot- ism, and the world no less than his own land. I wished that the youths of America could hear him, and that he might go through the land reading, as he did that night, from town to town. I saw that he was, by nature, a rhapsodist, like them of old, and should be, more than other poets, a reciter of the verse that so aptly reflects himself. He had the round forehead and head which often mark the orator, rather than the logician. He surely feels with Ben Jonson, as to a language, that the writing of it is but an accident, and this is a good thing to feel and know. His view of the dramatic value of Lincolns death to the future artist and poet was significant. It was the culminating act of the civil war, he said: Ring down the curtain, with its muses of History and Tragedy on either side. Elsewhere his claim to be an Amer- ican of the Americans was strengthened by a peculiarly national mistake, that of con- founding quantity with quality, of setting mere size and vastness above dramatic essence. When the brief discourse was ended, he was induced to read the shorter dirge, 0 Captain! My Captain! ~ It is, of his poems, among those nearest to a wonted lyrical form, as if the genuine sor- row of his theme had given him new pinions. He read it simply and well, and as I listened to its strange, pathetic melodies, my eyes filled with tears, and I felt that here, in- deed, was a minstrel of whom it would be said, if he could reach the ears of the mul- titude and stand in their presence, that not only the cultured, but the common peo- ple heard him gladly. Although no order of talent or tempera- ment, in this age, can wholly defy classifica- tion, there nevertheless is a limbo of poets artists, thinkers, men of genius, some of * we reprint, from the centennial Edition, the text of this favorite poemEn. ScRIBNER. 0 CAPTAIN! Mv CAPTAIN! O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weatherd every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But 0 heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise upfor you the flag is flungfor you the bugle trills; For you bouquets and ribbond wreathsfor you the shores a-crowding; 64 WALT WHITMA AT. whose creations are so expressive, and others so feeble and ill-conceived, that any discus- sion of their quality must consist alternately of praise and adverse criticism. Reviewing what has been written, I see that the career and output of the poet under notice are pro- vocative of each in some extreme, and unite to render him a striking figure in that dis- puted estate. Walt Whitman, then, has seemed to me a man who should think well of Nature, since he has received much at her hands; and well of Fortune, since his birth, training, localities, have individualized the character of his natural gifts; and well of Humanity, for his good works to men have come back to him in the devotion of the most loyal and efficient band of adherents that ever buoyed the purpose and advanced the in- terests of a reformer or poet./ He has lived his life, and warmed both hands before its lire, and in middle-age honored it with widely praised and not ignoble deeds. Ex- perience and years have brought his virile, too lusty nature to a wiser harmony and repose. He has combined a sincere enthu- siasm with the tact of a man of the world, and, with undoubted love for his kind, never has lost sight of his own aim and reputation. No follower, no critic, could measure him with a higher estimate than that which from the first he has set upon himself. As a poet, a word-builder, he is equipped with touch, voice, vision, zest,all trained and fresh- ened, in boyhood and manhood, by genuine intercourse with Nature in her broadest and minutest forms. From her, indeed, he is true-born,no bastard child nor impostor. He is at home with certain classes of men; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain dear father! This arm beneath your head; It is some dream that on the deck Youve fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will The ship is anchord safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip the victor ship, comes in with object won: Exult, 0 shores, and ring, 0 bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. but here his limitations begin, for he is not great enough, unconscious enough, to do more than assume to include all classes in his sympathy and brotherhood. The merits of his works are lyrical passion and frequent originality,a col)ious, native, surprising range of diction,strong feeling, softened by consummate tenderness and pity,a method lowered by hoarseness, coarseness, and much that is very pointless and dull, yet at its best charged with melody and mean- ing, or so near perfection that we are irked to have him miss the one touch needful,a skill that often is art but very seldom mas- tery. As a man of convictions, he has reflected upon the idea of a true democracy, and sought to represent it by a true Ameri- canism; yet, in searching for it and for the archetypal manhood, chiefly in his own per- sonality, it is not strange that he has fre- quently gratified his self-consciousness, while failing to present to others a satisfactory and well-proportioned type of either. His dis- position and manner of growth always have led him to overrate the significance of his views, and inclined him to narrow theories of art, life and song. He utters a sensible protest against the imitativeness and com- placency that are the bane of literature, yet is more formal than others in his non-con- formity, and haughtier ip his plainness than many in their pride. /Finally, and in no invidious sense, it is true that he is the poet of a refined period, impossible in any other, and appeals most to those who long for a reaction, a new beginning; not a poet of the people, but eminently one who might be, could he in these days avail himself of their hearing as of their sight. Is he, there- fore, not to be read in the future? Of our living poets, I should think him most sure of an intermittent remembrance hereafter, if not of a general reading. Of all, he is the one most surewaiving the question of his popular fameto be now and then examined; for, in any event, his verse will be revived from time to time by dilettants on the. hunt for curious treasures in the literature of the past, by men who will reprint and elucidate him, to join their names with his, or to do for this distinctive singer what their prototypes in our day have done for Fran9ois Villon, for the author of Joseph and his Brethren, and for William Blake. THE SECRET OF SECOND-SIGHT 65 THE SECRET OF SECOND-SIGHT. BY AN EX-CONJURER. SOME years ago, when New York was more of an old-fashioned city than now, there stood on Broadway, between Walker and Canal streets, a hall known as the Minerva Rooms. It was a cozy old place, used principally for those mild forms of amusement known as family entertain- ments, and occasionally as a ball-room. It was here that the Original Swiss Bell Ringers made their first appearance in New York, and here, about the year 1845, I saw for the first time in n~iy life a conjurer, or magician. He was a dapper little man, whose name, Herr Alexandre, was suggest- ive of a German-French origin, but whose unmistakably cockney accent proclaimed him an Englishman. His tricks were well done, his audience was pleased. As for myself; I sat from first to last in a delight- ful dream. Dream, do I say? Nothing of the sort; I was wide awake, but living in fairy-land, and such an impression did that performance make on me, that I believe I could, even now, repeat the entire pro- gramme. That nights performance shaped my life, for I mentally resolved that at some future day I too would become a magician, astonish the gaping crowd, and reap wealth. And I did; that, is, I entered the profession, and have done my share at mystifying the public, but the wealth ! Among the many wonders of that night, one impressed me more than any, in fact than all the others. It was modestly set down on the bills as an illustration of Mlle. Berthas clairvoyant power while un- der mesmeric influence, and consisted of a minute description of such articles as the audience chose to offer, by a young girl who sat blindfolded and at a distance on the stage. The trick made a hit, and Alexandre was on the road to success, when Bertha, who was his daughter, died quite suddenly. This closed the entertainments, and the heart-broken conjurer returned to England. After him came Macallister, the Scotch conjurer, with his wife, and then Anderson, the soi-disa;zt Wizard of the North. They both advertised heavily for those days, but as a performer neither equaled Alexandre, nor did they do the clairvoyant trick. That was the problem I was trying to work out, and when, in the fall of 1852, John Hall Wilton, a well-known theatrical agent, brought Robert Heller to this country, I was naturally anxious to see what he had to show. Poor Heller! clever conjurer and prince of good fellows! How well I remember his first poster: Shakspere wrote well, Dickens wrote Weller; Anderson was But the greatest is Heller. His first bow to a New York audience was made just before Christmas, 1852, in the basement of the Chinese Assembly Rooms. It was an invitation affair, and the company was made up, almost exclusively, of journal- ists and actors. Heller had been led to suppose that a Frenchman would draw better than an Englishman; accordingly, he appeared in a black wig, with his mustache colored to match, and began his performance with a short address in French. Then he continued in broken English, did a few simple tricks, and finally reached the crown- ing feat of the evening,one which event- ually made his fortune, Second-sight. His assistant was a young man whose answers were precision itself, and the trick was received with an enthusiasm for which Heller was altogether unprepared. The audience was of the character of a family gathering; all were acquainted, and many were the loud and outspoken sugges- tions as to how second-sight was done. Finally, a well-known newspaper man started from his seat, and called the Pro- fessor to him. Let your man tell what that is, he said, handing Heller a card. That is a ticketa ball ticket, came the answer. Right so far, my boy; but tell me the name of the ball, insisted the journalist. The assistant hesitated for a moment, and said The Thistle Ball. Ventriloquism, by ! shouted the excited journalist, and this explanation was very generally accepted by the audience, who soon dispersed, pleased with the per- formance, and still more with the conscious- ness of having solved a clever trick. Since that day, more than one explanation of the trick has been offered, the favorite one

THE SECRET OF SECOND-SIGHT 65 THE SECRET OF SECOND-SIGHT. BY AN EX-CONJURER. SOME years ago, when New York was more of an old-fashioned city than now, there stood on Broadway, between Walker and Canal streets, a hall known as the Minerva Rooms. It was a cozy old place, used principally for those mild forms of amusement known as family entertain- ments, and occasionally as a ball-room. It was here that the Original Swiss Bell Ringers made their first appearance in New York, and here, about the year 1845, I saw for the first time in n~iy life a conjurer, or magician. He was a dapper little man, whose name, Herr Alexandre, was suggest- ive of a German-French origin, but whose unmistakably cockney accent proclaimed him an Englishman. His tricks were well done, his audience was pleased. As for myself; I sat from first to last in a delight- ful dream. Dream, do I say? Nothing of the sort; I was wide awake, but living in fairy-land, and such an impression did that performance make on me, that I believe I could, even now, repeat the entire pro- gramme. That nights performance shaped my life, for I mentally resolved that at some future day I too would become a magician, astonish the gaping crowd, and reap wealth. And I did; that, is, I entered the profession, and have done my share at mystifying the public, but the wealth ! Among the many wonders of that night, one impressed me more than any, in fact than all the others. It was modestly set down on the bills as an illustration of Mlle. Berthas clairvoyant power while un- der mesmeric influence, and consisted of a minute description of such articles as the audience chose to offer, by a young girl who sat blindfolded and at a distance on the stage. The trick made a hit, and Alexandre was on the road to success, when Bertha, who was his daughter, died quite suddenly. This closed the entertainments, and the heart-broken conjurer returned to England. After him came Macallister, the Scotch conjurer, with his wife, and then Anderson, the soi-disa;zt Wizard of the North. They both advertised heavily for those days, but as a performer neither equaled Alexandre, nor did they do the clairvoyant trick. That was the problem I was trying to work out, and when, in the fall of 1852, John Hall Wilton, a well-known theatrical agent, brought Robert Heller to this country, I was naturally anxious to see what he had to show. Poor Heller! clever conjurer and prince of good fellows! How well I remember his first poster: Shakspere wrote well, Dickens wrote Weller; Anderson was But the greatest is Heller. His first bow to a New York audience was made just before Christmas, 1852, in the basement of the Chinese Assembly Rooms. It was an invitation affair, and the company was made up, almost exclusively, of journal- ists and actors. Heller had been led to suppose that a Frenchman would draw better than an Englishman; accordingly, he appeared in a black wig, with his mustache colored to match, and began his performance with a short address in French. Then he continued in broken English, did a few simple tricks, and finally reached the crown- ing feat of the evening,one which event- ually made his fortune, Second-sight. His assistant was a young man whose answers were precision itself, and the trick was received with an enthusiasm for which Heller was altogether unprepared. The audience was of the character of a family gathering; all were acquainted, and many were the loud and outspoken sugges- tions as to how second-sight was done. Finally, a well-known newspaper man started from his seat, and called the Pro- fessor to him. Let your man tell what that is, he said, handing Heller a card. That is a ticketa ball ticket, came the answer. Right so far, my boy; but tell me the name of the ball, insisted the journalist. The assistant hesitated for a moment, and said The Thistle Ball. Ventriloquism, by ! shouted the excited journalist, and this explanation was very generally accepted by the audience, who soon dispersed, pleased with the per- formance, and still more with the conscious- ness of having solved a clever trick. Since that day, more than one explanation of the trick has been offered, the favorite one 66 THE SECRET OF SECOND-SIGHT being that it is a system of arbitrary ques- tions and answers. This theory is easily disposed of, if we will only stop to consider how impossible it would be to have a set question for any and every article which might be offered. Such a system would be very limited, while by the proper method, as will be seen, anything can be described, even curious names, long numbers, etq. Another so-called explanation is that, be- fore mentioned, of ventriloquism, and to this theory a weekly journal once devoted nearly three columns. As a theory it is goodI may say, first-rate; but let any one attempt to .tractice it, and its absurdity will be apparent. My readers may be astonished when I state that there is no such thing as ventrilo- quism, at least in the generally accepted idea of it. That which passes for it is merely mimicry, aided by certain modulations of the voice, and rendered successful by the imagination of the audience. This talk of throwing the voice is nonsense. No ventril- oquist ever lived who, standing on a stage, could throw his voice toward or beyond his audience. It is invariably in the opposite direction. It follows, then, that Second-sight can- not be done by ventriloquism. By far the most reasonable explanation is that of electric-telegraphy, put forward by a popular scientist. Speaking of the trick, he says: Proceeding from the stage might be two wires which pass underneath the carpets in the aisles to all parts of the house. These wires are cotinected with the tacks which hold down the carpets, and in this case these tacks do actually have large, bright heads. Wire No. i being connected with one pole, and wire No. 2 with the other, each alternate tack is connected with a different wire. If, therefore, any two adjoin- ing tacks be connected, the circuit will be complete. To make use of this arrangement, the operator might have shoes or slippers with soles of wire gauze, or very thickly sewed with wire, or pegged with fine metal nails, and to these soles might be connected a wire which would pass up one leg of his trowsers and down the other. Therefore, whenever the operator stood so that his feet rested on the heads of two consecutive tacks, the circuit would be complete. A small circuit-breaker could, of course, be easily placed in one shoe, so as to be operated by the toes, and in this way telegraphic communication could be established with the stage, or the circuit- breaker might be carried on some other part of the person. The receiving instrument on the stage might he merely a vibrating armature, the movement of which would be felt by the foot of the person on the stage, and several of these might be placed on differ- ent parts of the stage, so as to allow a considerable range of movement to the person who acts as seer.~~ None are right, however, and it has been reserved for SCRIBNER to give the first and only correct explanation of this wonderful trick. It is now more than twenty years since I learned second-sight from the man who taught it to Heller. He was an illiterate fellow, a Polish Jew, and I always doubted his statement that he invented it. Max, I once said to him, tell me the truth, if you can. Where did you get second-sight? I know you didnt invent it, for its too deep for you. Vell, me tear poy, he answered, as I hobe to liff, Itrea;nd Id. Whether he treamd id or not, I think all who read the following details will admit that it is a highly ingenious trick. Second-sight is a combination of five different methods, which accounts for the fact that it has baffled the most astute investigators. The first step toward acquiring the trick is to learn the position or number of each letter in the alphabet so perfectly that the moment a letter presents itself to the mind, its number is at once associated with it. For instance, if I is thought of, 9 will in- stantly be suggested; if M, z~ T, 20; and so throughout. Having thoroughly mastered this, which can be done in half an hour, the next step is to memorize certain arbitrary words or cues, which represent the letters of the alphabet and their corresponding numbers. A long experience proves that the following are the best words for the purpose: Come represents A and .r Look B 2 Hurry up or Tell me C Make haste or Tell us D Well E Please F 6 Say C Answer, Call or Called H 8 Now I 9 Let me know J JO Can you see K ii Try L .Right away M 13 Do you know N Goon 0 Let us hear P z6 At once Q 17 See It .r8 Look sharp S i9 Letuskn T 20 Quick U 25 Will you look V 22 Do you see W 23 Be smart X 2~t Id like to know Y 25 What is it Z 26 There 0 I want to kn icc THE SECRET OF SECOND-SIGHT 67 With this short vocabulary properly com- mitted to memory, any two aspiring ama- teurs could easily astonish their friends, for there is nothing which they could not describe. For instance, let us suppose that a watch is handed to the performer. He would ask a question something like this: Do you see (W) what this is? Come (A), let us know (T). Then a short pause, followed by an impatient Hurry up (C), answer (H). The assistant catches the cues,the other words, added merely for effect, he pays no attention to,and answers, A watch. N~w (~) tell us (~) the time. Well (5) 7 It is a quarter of ten. Tell me (C) what this is. Go on (0), now (I). Do you know (N) 7 That is a piece of money. Come (i), what is it worth 7 One dollar. Had the question been What is its value 7 the answer would be One cent, the words value and worth representing respectively cents and dollars. In this way, as will be seen, anything can be spelled out, and for amateur entertain- ments, where no great time can be devoted to study, this will be found to answer every purpose. For professional conjurers, however, some- thing more is necessary. With us it is bus- iness, which means hard work and continual study. We use the spelling system occasion- ally; but for general use it is too long, and so we employ a second method. This consists of a list of such articles as are com- monly offered by an audience. This list is alphabetically arranged, and divided into triplets, each triplet having a distinguishing number. Now, were I to ask one of my readers to make out such a list, the result, in all probability, would be one containing about a third of what is necessary. It is wonderful how many things are brought out; but, that my readers may judge for them- selves, let them read the following, compiled from actual experience: i. Accordion, Album, Almanac. 2. Anchor, Apple, Apron. 3. Awl, Badge, Bag. 4. Ball, Banana, Beads. 5. Bean, Bell, Belt. 6. Bill of Exchange, Bodkin, Bonnet. 7. Book, Memorandum-book, Boot. 8. Bouquet, Bouquet-holder, Bottle. 9. Smelling-bottle, Box, Cap-box. io. Dredging-box, Match-box, Music-box. I i. Snuff-box, Tobacco-box, Bracelet. 12. Bread, Brooch, Brush. 13. Nail-brush, Tooth-brush, Buckle. 14. Bullet, Bullet-mold, Burner. 15. Button, Button-hook, Sleeve-button. i6. Cable-charm, Cake, Calipers. 17. Candle, Candy, Cane. iS. Cap, Card, Card-case. 19. Piece of Carpet, Cartridge, Caustic. 20. Certificate, Chain, Chalk. 21. Charm, Check, Baggage-check. 22. Saloon-check, Checker, Chessmen. 23. Chisel, Chocolate, Cigarette. 24. Cigarette-holder, Circular, Clam. 25. Clarionet, Cloth, Coal. 26. Colander, Collar, Comb. 27. Compass, Contract, Cork. 28. Corkscrew, Counter, Coupon. 29. Cracker, Crayon, Crayon Drawing. 30. Cross, Cuff, Dagger. 31. Diary, Die, Domino. 32. Draft, Ear-pick, Ear-ring. 33. Emblem, Envelope, Epaulet. 34. Fan, Feather, File. 35. Fish-hook, Flag, Flint. 36. Flower, Flute, Fork. 37. Tuning-fork, Fruit of some kind, Gauge. 38. Gimlet, Eye-glass, Looking-glass. 39. Magnifying-glass, Opera-glass, Opera-glass case. 40. Glove, Gouge, Grain. 41. Grapes, Graver, Guide. 42. Railway Guide, Steam-boat Guide, Gum. 43. Gum-drop, Gun, Gunpowder. ~ Hair, Hair-dye, Hair-net. 45. Hammer, Handbill, Handkerchief. 46. Hat, Head, Animals Head. 47. Dogs Head, Human Head, Heart. 48. Hinge, Hook, Ice. 49. Ice-cream, India-ink, India-rubber. 50. Inkstand, Jelly, Jews-harp. 51. Key, Bunch of Keys, Door-key. 52. Night-key, Safe-key, Watch-key. 53. Knife, Knife with blade, Knife with 2 blades. 54. Knife with 3 blades, Knife with 4 blades, Bowie-knife. 55. Knob, Lace, Lancet. ~6. Lease, Legal document, Lemon. 57. Letter, Likeness, Licorice. ~8. Locket, Lozenge, Magnet. 59. Mallet, Map, Marble. 6o. Match, Medal, Meerschaum. 6i. Piece of Metal, Microscope, Mineral. 62. Mitten, Mouth-harmonicon, Muff. 63. Sheet-music, Monogram, Nut-pick. 64. Nail, Nail-trimmer, Necklace. 6~. Necktie, Needle, Needle-case. 66. Knitting-needle, Note, Nut. 67. Nut-cracker, Oil-silk, Ointment. 68. Orange, Oyster, Ornament. 69. Paint, Paper, Blotting-paper. 70. Newspaper, Sand-paper, Passport. 71. Parasol, Peach, Pear. 72. Pen, Pen-holder, Pencil. 73. Pencil-case, Pencil-cover, Pencil-sharpener. 74. Slate-pencil, Perfume, Photograph. 75. Pickle, Pill, Pin. 76. Pin-cushion, Hair-pin, Safety-pin. 77. Scarf-pin, Shawl-pin, Pipe. 78. Pistol, Plaster, Pliers. 79. Pocket-book, Pop-corn, Portfolio. 8o. Postal-card, Powder, Powder-horn. 8i. Prescription, Programme, Punch. 82. Purse, Picture, Quill. 83. Rattan, Receipt, Reticule. 84. Reward of Merit, Ribbon, Ring. 8~. Snake-ring, Seal-ring, Rivet. 68 THE SECRET OF SECOND-SIGHT 86. Rubber Band, Rule, Printers Rule. 87. Sand, Sash, Sausage. 88. Saw-set, Scarf, Scissors. 89. Screw, Screw-driver, Seal. 90. Sealing-wax, Cigar, Cigar-case. 91. Cigar-holder, Cigar-lighter, Sewing-silk. 92. Shawl, Shell, Shoe. 93. Shoe-peg, Shoe-string, Shot. 94. Slate, Slung-shot, Snuff. 95. Soap, Spectacles, Spectacle-case. 96. Sponge, Spool of Cotton, Spoon. 97. Spring, Stamp, Postage-stamp. 98. Revenue-stamp, Stick, Stone. 99. Strap, String, Stud. 100. Sugar, Surgical Instrument, Swive?. xoi. Sword, Syringe, Tablet. 102. Tack, Tag, Tape. 103. Tape-measure, Tassel, Thermometer. 104. Thimble, Thread, Ticket. 105. Ball-ticket, Bath-ticket, Excursion-ticket. io6. Ferry-ticket, Lottery-ticket, Pawn-ticket. 107. Pool-ticket, Railway-ticket, Tinder. io8. Tin-foil, Tobacco, Tobacco-pouch. 1o9. Tippet, Tool of some kind, Toothpick. 110. Toy, Trimming, Trowsers. iii. Tumbler, Tweezers, Type. 112. Umbrella, Umbrella-cover, Veil. 113. Vest, Violin, Violin-bow. I 14. Violin-string, Vegetable, Wafer. 15. Watch-guard, Water-color Sketch, Wax. i6. Whalebone, Whip, Whistle. 117. Window-catch, Wire, Wrench. If the first article in any triplet is offered by the audience, the performer merely gives the cue corresponding to the distinguishing number of the triplet, affixing some such sentence as What is this? to make the question natural. If it be the second article of the triplet, he adds the word here; and if the third article, he substitutes or uses that. To give an example: Suppose a glove is offered. This is the first article of the fortieth trzjplet. The question would be: Tell us (~) what this is, there (o). Should the second article in the fifteenth tr~~5 let be offered, the question would be either, Ifere, whats this ? Go on (r5), or Co;ne (i), whats this here? lYell(5) 9 and the answer in either case A button-hook. It sometimes happens that two articles of the same kind are offered either in imme- diate succession or in the same performance, for the purpose of detecting whether the question is identical in each instance. But we are prepared for this, and avoid the snare. If, for example, two fans should be offered, one immediately after the other, for the first we would give the number cue, and for the second use merely This? which is known as a repeating question. If the second fan should not be offered until later on, it may be politely declined on the ground that we had that same article but a little while ago; or, if t4~e owner be per- sistent, the word can be spelled out. It may be urged by those who have never exercised their memory to any extent, that it would be almost impossible to memorize such a list as the one given. But that prac- tice makes the memory wonderfully acute, we have plenty of proof. Many actors have such a quick study that they can learn the longest part in two days, and the late J. W. Wallack, Jr., on one occasion appeared in a character, the lines of which he had neither heard nor read until the afternoon of the day on which the play was produced. In our own day we see many cases of excellent memories, notably that of Mr. Burbank, the elocutionist. who recites the entire play of Rip Van Winkle without once referring to a book. For my own part, my memory has so improved by constant practice in Second-sight, that, after three readings, I can repeat any hun- dred words, selected at random by an audience, not only from first to last and vice versa, but also give the numbers of the order in which particular words are placed, as the tenth, twentieth, etc. Most wonderful of all is the work of the assorters at the New York Post-office, each of whom remem- bers about 20,000 names, can tell at a glance what letters belong to box-holders o give the number of any business , r can firms box. In exhibiting Second-sight, a very wonderful effect is reached by combining the two systems of the triplets and of spell- ing. Suppose a necklace, bearing the name Jane, is offered; this is the way in which the question would be asked: (Remember that necklace is the third in order of the sixty-fourth tr~t5 let.) What is that,please (6)9 Afake haste (~} That is a locket. Yes, thats good! It is a goldlocket, and has a name on it. The yes and good, which sound merely ejaculatory, being respectively the cues for gold and name. Let me know (J) the name. Come (A), do you know (N) it? Well (E)9 These questions may look strange on paper, but when asked in an abrupt, dis- jointed way, sound perfectly natural. So much for spelling and the triplets. Of course, there are many other cues which are not here given; as those for a torn or broken article, colors, dates, countries and initials; these are simply matters of pre-arrange- ment. In order to still further mystify the audi- ence, the performer picks up a call-bell, with the remark: As many imagine that my TWO SINGERS. 69 questions convey the name of what is offered to me, I shall dispose of that theory. Picking up some article, he taps the bell, and the answer comes as readily as if a question had been asked. This is continued six or seven times, and then even the bell is put aside. The assistant on the stage turns his back to the audience, and the performer merely points at or picks up the articles. And yet they are described. For the first of these methods, it is merely necessary to memorize six or seven ordinary articles, such as are found in every audience, as a hat, fan, handkerchief, etc. These are taken up in a pre-arranged order, and con- stitute the bell-questions. In a mixed audi- ence so many things are offered that a choice is very easy. For the dumb business, a third person is brought in. This person is in some position where he can see whatever is offered to the performer,generally at a peep-hole under the stage,and, by means of a speaking-tube leading to the assistant on the stage, communicates the names of the articles. The fifth and last methodthe one with which the trick is generally concludedis what is technically known as the hat-fake, fake being showmans slang for trick. Although introduced at the end, this part of the trick is begun when the performer first comes on the stage, and before the assistant appears. A soft felt hat is borrowed, and the performer requests the loan of a few articles. Considerable fuss is made in collecting these, and they are gathered from various parts of the house. As a rule, not more than three or four things are taken; but with them are placed four or five odd articles belonging to the performer, such as a curious coin, a pin- cushion with a certain number of pins in it. Finally, the hat is placed where all can see it, and the performer goes off for the assistant. As he passes behind the wings, he whispers to his assistant the names of the three bor- rowed articles. The trick is now introduced; it proceeds through its various phases of spelling, triplets, bell-questions and dumb business, until at length the hat is reached. As a final and conclusive test, says the performer, let us go back to the hat, which has never once left your sight. Will some lady or gentleman ask the questions ? The articles are handed out singly; of the borrowed ones, merely the name is given; but of those belonging to the performer, of course, the minutest details are furnished. The trick is done. The assistant retires, and the performer comes down to the foot- lights for his concluding speech. Now, how is this done? he asks. Well, I dont mind telling you, with the express under- standing that it goes no further. It is neither mesmerism, spiritism, ventriloquism, rheuma- tism, or any other ism. It is brought about by the action of arcane-dynamics, subject- ively submitted to the action of the passive agent, and the result, as you have seen, is a stentorophonic reproduction of the original idea! Im afraid its not yet quite clear to some of you. Well, then, in other words, its a system of mental telephony. When an article is offered to me, I seize it; and then my assistant, he sees it~ Ah! you smileyou understand it; but, remember, not a word outside as to how its done. The performer bows, the curtain falls, and the audience retire as much in the dark as ever, except those who have read this explanation of the secret. TWO SINGERS. SOMETIMES, dear Love, you murmur, 0, could I But snare with words the thoughts that flutter through The thickets of my heart!. Could I, like you, Bind with sweet speech the moods of earth and sky; Or turn to song a smile, a tear, a sigh! Alas! My springs of thought but serve to do The mill-streams common work. I may but view Afar, the heights of song to which you fly. For me, I shape from all my hearts best gold These skill-less cups of verse. They have, I know, No grace save this,unto your lips they hold Loves dearest draught. I hear your praise, but lo! One smile of yours, one kiss all-eloquent, Shames my poor songs to silence. Be content /

TWO SINGERS. 69 questions convey the name of what is offered to me, I shall dispose of that theory. Picking up some article, he taps the bell, and the answer comes as readily as if a question had been asked. This is continued six or seven times, and then even the bell is put aside. The assistant on the stage turns his back to the audience, and the performer merely points at or picks up the articles. And yet they are described. For the first of these methods, it is merely necessary to memorize six or seven ordinary articles, such as are found in every audience, as a hat, fan, handkerchief, etc. These are taken up in a pre-arranged order, and con- stitute the bell-questions. In a mixed audi- ence so many things are offered that a choice is very easy. For the dumb business, a third person is brought in. This person is in some position where he can see whatever is offered to the performer,generally at a peep-hole under the stage,and, by means of a speaking-tube leading to the assistant on the stage, communicates the names of the articles. The fifth and last methodthe one with which the trick is generally concludedis what is technically known as the hat-fake, fake being showmans slang for trick. Although introduced at the end, this part of the trick is begun when the performer first comes on the stage, and before the assistant appears. A soft felt hat is borrowed, and the performer requests the loan of a few articles. Considerable fuss is made in collecting these, and they are gathered from various parts of the house. As a rule, not more than three or four things are taken; but with them are placed four or five odd articles belonging to the performer, such as a curious coin, a pin- cushion with a certain number of pins in it. Finally, the hat is placed where all can see it, and the performer goes off for the assistant. As he passes behind the wings, he whispers to his assistant the names of the three bor- rowed articles. The trick is now introduced; it proceeds through its various phases of spelling, triplets, bell-questions and dumb business, until at length the hat is reached. As a final and conclusive test, says the performer, let us go back to the hat, which has never once left your sight. Will some lady or gentleman ask the questions ? The articles are handed out singly; of the borrowed ones, merely the name is given; but of those belonging to the performer, of course, the minutest details are furnished. The trick is done. The assistant retires, and the performer comes down to the foot- lights for his concluding speech. Now, how is this done? he asks. Well, I dont mind telling you, with the express under- standing that it goes no further. It is neither mesmerism, spiritism, ventriloquism, rheuma- tism, or any other ism. It is brought about by the action of arcane-dynamics, subject- ively submitted to the action of the passive agent, and the result, as you have seen, is a stentorophonic reproduction of the original idea! Im afraid its not yet quite clear to some of you. Well, then, in other words, its a system of mental telephony. When an article is offered to me, I seize it; and then my assistant, he sees it~ Ah! you smileyou understand it; but, remember, not a word outside as to how its done. The performer bows, the curtain falls, and the audience retire as much in the dark as ever, except those who have read this explanation of the secret. TWO SINGERS. SOMETIMES, dear Love, you murmur, 0, could I But snare with words the thoughts that flutter through The thickets of my heart!. Could I, like you, Bind with sweet speech the moods of earth and sky; Or turn to song a smile, a tear, a sigh! Alas! My springs of thought but serve to do The mill-streams common work. I may but view Afar, the heights of song to which you fly. For me, I shape from all my hearts best gold These skill-less cups of verse. They have, I know, No grace save this,unto your lips they hold Loves dearest draught. I hear your praise, but lo! One smile of yours, one kiss all-eloquent, Shames my poor songs to silence. Be content / 70 TIGER-LILY TIGER-LILY. IN THREE PARTS: PART I. THE shrill treble of a girls voice, raised to its highest pitch in anger and remonstrance, broke in upon the scholarly meditations of the teacher of the Ridgemont grammar school. He raised his head from his book to listen. It came again, mingled with boyish cries and jeers, and the sound of blows and scuffling. rhe teacher, a small, fagged-looking man of middle age, rose hastily, and went out of the school-house. Both grammar and high school had just been dismissed, and the bare-trodden play- ground was filled with the departing schol- ars. In the center a group of boys had collected, and from this group the discordant sounds still proceeded. What is the meaning of this disturb- ance? the master asked, coming near. At the sound of his voice the group fell apart, disclosing,, as a central point, the figure of a girl of thirteen or fourteen years. She was thin and straight, and her face, now ablaze with anger and excitement, was a singular one, full of contradictions, yet not inharmonious as a whole. It was fair, but not as blondes are fair, and its creamy sur- face was flecked upon the cheeks with dark, velvety freckles. Her features were sym- metrical, yet a trifle heavy, particularly the lips, and certain dusky tints were noticeable about the large gray eyes and delicate temples, as well as a peculiar crisp ripple in the mass of vivid red hair which fell from under her torn straw hat. Clinging to her scant skirts was a small hunchbacked boy, crying dismally, and making the most of his tears by rubbing them into his sickly face with a pair of grimy fists. The teacher looked about him with dis- approval in his glance. The group con- tained, no doubt, its fair proportion of future legislators and presidents, but the raw ma- terial was neither encouraging nor pleasant to look upon. The culprits returned his wavering gaze, some looking a little con- science-sniitten, others boldly impertinent, others still (and those the worst in the lot) with. a charming air of innocence and candor. What is it? the master repeated. What is the matter? They were plaguing Bobby, here, the girl broke in, breathlessly, taking his mar- bles away and making him crythe mean, cruel things! Hush! said the teacher, with a feeble gesture of authority. Is that so, boys? The boys grinned at each other furtively, but made no answer. Boys, he remarked, solemnly, IIm ashamed of you! The delinquents not appearing crushed by this announcement, he turned again to the girl. Girls should not quarrel and fight, my dear. It isnt proper, you know. A mocking smile sprang to the girls lips, and a sharp glance shot from under her black, up-curling lashes, but she did not speak. Shes allers a-fightin, ventured one of the urchins, emboldened by the teachers reproof; at which the girl turned upon him so fiercely that he shrank hastily out of sight behind his nearest companion. You are not one of my scholars? the master asked, keeping his mild eyes upon the scornful face and defiant little figure. No! the girl answered, shortly. I go to the high school! You are small to be in the high school, he said, smiling upon her kindly. It dont go by sizes! said the child, promptly. No; certainly not, certainly not, said the teacher, a little staggered. What is your name, child? Lilly, sir; Lilly OConnell, she an- swered, indifferently. Lilly! the teacher repeated, abstract- edly, looking into the dusky face, with its flashing eyes and fallen ruddy tresses,. Lilly ! It ought to have been flg-cr-Lily! said a pert voice. It would suit her, Im sure, more ways than one! and the speaker, a pretty, handsomely dressed blonde girl of about her own age, laughed, and looked about for appreciation of her cleverness. So it would! cried a boyish voice. Her red hair and freckles and temper! Tiger-Lily! Thats a good one! A shout of laughter, and loud cries of

70 TIGER-LILY TIGER-LILY. IN THREE PARTS: PART I. THE shrill treble of a girls voice, raised to its highest pitch in anger and remonstrance, broke in upon the scholarly meditations of the teacher of the Ridgemont grammar school. He raised his head from his book to listen. It came again, mingled with boyish cries and jeers, and the sound of blows and scuffling. rhe teacher, a small, fagged-looking man of middle age, rose hastily, and went out of the school-house. Both grammar and high school had just been dismissed, and the bare-trodden play- ground was filled with the departing schol- ars. In the center a group of boys had collected, and from this group the discordant sounds still proceeded. What is the meaning of this disturb- ance? the master asked, coming near. At the sound of his voice the group fell apart, disclosing,, as a central point, the figure of a girl of thirteen or fourteen years. She was thin and straight, and her face, now ablaze with anger and excitement, was a singular one, full of contradictions, yet not inharmonious as a whole. It was fair, but not as blondes are fair, and its creamy sur- face was flecked upon the cheeks with dark, velvety freckles. Her features were sym- metrical, yet a trifle heavy, particularly the lips, and certain dusky tints were noticeable about the large gray eyes and delicate temples, as well as a peculiar crisp ripple in the mass of vivid red hair which fell from under her torn straw hat. Clinging to her scant skirts was a small hunchbacked boy, crying dismally, and making the most of his tears by rubbing them into his sickly face with a pair of grimy fists. The teacher looked about him with dis- approval in his glance. The group con- tained, no doubt, its fair proportion of future legislators and presidents, but the raw ma- terial was neither encouraging nor pleasant to look upon. The culprits returned his wavering gaze, some looking a little con- science-sniitten, others boldly impertinent, others still (and those the worst in the lot) with. a charming air of innocence and candor. What is it? the master repeated. What is the matter? They were plaguing Bobby, here, the girl broke in, breathlessly, taking his mar- bles away and making him crythe mean, cruel things! Hush! said the teacher, with a feeble gesture of authority. Is that so, boys? The boys grinned at each other furtively, but made no answer. Boys, he remarked, solemnly, IIm ashamed of you! The delinquents not appearing crushed by this announcement, he turned again to the girl. Girls should not quarrel and fight, my dear. It isnt proper, you know. A mocking smile sprang to the girls lips, and a sharp glance shot from under her black, up-curling lashes, but she did not speak. Shes allers a-fightin, ventured one of the urchins, emboldened by the teachers reproof; at which the girl turned upon him so fiercely that he shrank hastily out of sight behind his nearest companion. You are not one of my scholars? the master asked, keeping his mild eyes upon the scornful face and defiant little figure. No! the girl answered, shortly. I go to the high school! You are small to be in the high school, he said, smiling upon her kindly. It dont go by sizes! said the child, promptly. No; certainly not, certainly not, said the teacher, a little staggered. What is your name, child? Lilly, sir; Lilly OConnell, she an- swered, indifferently. Lilly! the teacher repeated, abstract- edly, looking into the dusky face, with its flashing eyes and fallen ruddy tresses,. Lilly ! It ought to have been flg-cr-Lily! said a pert voice. It would suit her, Im sure, more ways than one! and the speaker, a pretty, handsomely dressed blonde girl of about her own age, laughed, and looked about for appreciation of her cleverness. So it would! cried a boyish voice. Her red hair and freckles and temper! Tiger-Lily! Thats a good one! A shout of laughter, and loud cries of TJGER-LIL Y 7 Tiger-Lily! immediately arose, mingled with another epithet more galling still, in the midst of which the masters deprecating words were utterly lost. A dark red surged into the girls face. She turned one eloquent look of wrath upon her tormentors, another, intensified, upon the pretty child who had spoken, and walked away from the place, leading the cripple by the hand. Oh, come now, Flossie, said a hand- some boy, who stood near the blonde girl, I wouldnt tease her. She cant help it, you know. Pity she couldnt know who is taking up for her! she retorted, tossing the yellow braid which hung below her waist, and sauntering away homeward. Oh, pshaw! the boy said, coloring to the roots of his hair; thats the way with you girls. You know what I mean. She cant help it that her mother was aa mu- latto, or something, and her hair red. Its mean to tease her. She can help quarreling and fighting with the boys, though, said Miss Flossie, looking unutterable scorn. She wouldnt do it, I guess, if theyd let her alone, the young fellow answered, stoutly. Its enough to make anybody feel savage to be badgered and called names and laughed at all the time. It makes me mad to see it. Besides, it isnt always for herself she quarrels. Its often enough for some little fellow like Bobby, that the big fellows are abusing. She is good-hearted, anyhow. They had reached by this time the gate opening upon the lawn which surrounded the residence of Flossies mother, the widow Fairfield. It was a small but ornate dwell- ing, expressive at every point of gentility and modern improvements. The lawn itself was well kept, and adorned with flower-beds and a tiny fountain. Mrs. Fairfield, a youth- ful matron in rich mourning of the second stage, sat in a wicker chair upon the veranda, reading and fanning herself with an air of elegant leisure. Miss Flossie paused. She did not want to quarrel with her boyish admirer, and, with the true instinct of coquetry, instantly appeared to have forgotten her previous irritation. Wont you come in, Roger? she said, sweetly. Our strawberries are ripe. The boy smiled at the tempting sugges- tion, but shook his head. Cant, he answered, briefly. Ive got a lot of Latin to do. Good-bye. He nodded pleasantly and went his way. It lay through the village and along the fields and gardens beyond. Just as he came in sight of his home,a square, elm-shaded mansion of red brick, standing on a gentle rise a little farther on, he paused at a place where a shallow brook came creeping through the lush grass of the meadow which bounded his fathers possessions. He listened a mo- ment to its low gurgling, so full of sugges- tions of wood rambles and speckled trout, then tossed his strap of books into the meadow, leaped after it, and followed the brooks course for a little distance, stooping and peering with his keen brown eyes into each dusky pool. All at once, as he looked and listened, another sound than the brooks plashing came to his ears, and he started up and turned his head. A stump fence, black and bristling, divided the meadow from the ad- joining field, its uncouth projections draped in tender, clinging vines, and he stepped softly toward it and looked across. It was a rocky field, where a thin crop of grass was trying to hold its own against a vast growth of weeds, and was getting the worst of it,a barren, shiftless field, fitly match- ing the big shiftless barn and small shiftless house to which it appertained. Lying prone among the daisies was Lilly OConnell, her face buried in her apron, the red rippling mane falling about her, her slender form shaking with deep and unre- strained sobs. Roger looked on a moment and then leaped the fence. The girl rose instantly to a sitting position, and glared defiance at him from a pair of tear-stained eyes. What are you crying about? he asked, with awkward kindness. Her face softened, and a fresh sob shook her. Oh, come! said Roger; dont mind what a lot of sneaks say. The girl looked.up quickly into the honest dark eyes. It was Florence Fairfield that said it, she returned, speaking very rapidly. Roger laughed uneasily. Oh! you mean that about the Tiger- Lily? Yes, she answered, and its true. Its true as can be. See! And for the first time the boy noticed that her gingham apron was filled with the fiery blossoms of the tiger-lily. See ! she said again, with an unchildish laugh, holding the flowers against her face. 72 TIGER-LIL Y Roger was not an imaginative boy, but he could not help feeling the subtle likeness between the fervid blossoms, strange, trop- ical outgrowth of arid New England soil, and this passionate child of mingled races, with her wealth of vivid hair, and glowing eyes and lips. For a moment he did not know what to say, but at last, in his simple, boyish way, he said: Well, what of it? I think theyre splendid. The girl looked up incredulously. I wouldnt mind thethe hair! he stammered. Ive got a cousin up to Boston, and shes a great bellea beauty, you know. All the artists are crazy to paint her picture, and her hair is just the color of yours. Lilly laid the flowers down. Her eyes fell. You dont understand, she said, slowly. Other girls have red hair. It isnt that. Rogers eyes faltered in their friendly gaze. II wouldnt mindthe other thing, either, if I were you, he stammered, rather faintly. You dont know what youd do if you were me! the girl cried, passionately. What would you do if you were hated, and despised, and laughed at, every day of your life? How would you like the feeling that it could never be any different, no matter where you went, or how hard you tried to be good, or how much you learned? Never, never any different! Ah, it makes me hate myself, and everybody! I could tear them to pieces, like this, and this! She had risen, and was tearing the scarlet petals of the lilies into pieces, her white teeth set, her eyes flashing. Look at them! she cried, wildly. How like me they are, all red blood like yours, except those few black drops which never can be wasked out! Never! Never! And again the child threw herself upon the ground, face downward, and broke into wild, convulsive sobbing. Young Roger was in an agony of pity. He found his position as consoler a trying one. An older person might well have quailed before this outburst of unchild-like passion. He knew that what she said was trueterribly, bitterly true, and this kept him dumb. He only stood and looked down upon the quivering little figure in embarrassed silence. Suddenly the girl raised her head, with a flash of her eyes. What does God mean, she cried, fiercely, by making such a difference in people? Rogers face became graver still. I cant tell you that, Lilly, he answered, soberly. Youll have to ask the minister. But Ive often thought of it myself. I sup- pose there is a reason, if we only knew. I guess all we can do is to begin where God has put us, and do what we can. Lilly slowly gathered her disordered hair into one hand and pushed it behind her shoulders, her tear-stained eyes fixed sadly on the boys confused, troubled face. The tea-bell, sounding from the distance, brought a welcome interruption, and Roger turned to go. He looked back when half across the meadow, and saw the little figure standing in relief upon a rocky hillock, the sun kindling her red locks into gold. A few years previously, OConnell had made his appearance in Ridgemont with wife and child, and had procured a lease of the run-down farm and buildings which had been their home ever since. It was understood that they had come from one of the Middle States, but beyond this noth- ing of their history was known. The wife, a beautiful quadroon, sank be- neath the severity of the climate, and lived but a short time. After her death, OCon- nell, always a surly, hot-headed fellow, grew surlier still, and fell into evil ways. The child, with a curious sort of dignity and independence, took upon her small shoul- ders the burden her mother had laid aside, and carried on the forlorn household in her own way, without assistance or interference. That she was not like other children, that she was set apart from them by some strange circumstance, she had early learned to feel. In time she began to comprehend in what the difference lay, and the knowledge roused within her a burning sense of wrong, a fierce spirit of resistance. With the creamy skin, the full, soft feat- ures, the mellow voice and impassioned nature of her quadroon mother, Lilly had inherited the fiery Celtic hair, gray-green eyes and quick intelligence of her father. She contrived to go to school, where her cleverness placed her ahead of other girls of her age, but did not raise her above the unreasoning aversion of her school-mates; and the consciousness of this rankled iP the childs soul, giving to her face a pathetic, IIZGER-LIL 1K 73 hunted look, and to her tongue a sharpness which few cared to encounter. Those who knew her best, her teachers, and a few who would not let their inborn and unconquerable prejudice of race stand in the way of their judgment, knew that, with all her faults of temper, the girl was brave and truthful and warm-hearted. They pitied the child, born under a shadow which could never be lifted, and gave her freely the kind words for which her heart secretly longed. There was little else they could do, for every attempt at other kindness was repelled with a proud indifference which forbade further overtures. So she had gone her way, walking in the shadow which darkened and deepened as she grew older, until at last she stood upon the threshold of womanhood. It was at this period of her life that the incidents we have related occurred. Small as they were, they proved a crisis in the girls life. Too much a child to be capable of forming a definite resolve, or rather, per- haps, of putting it into form and deliber- ately setting about its fulfillment, still the sensitive nature had received an impression which became a most puissant influence in shaping her life. A change came over her, so great as to have escaped no interested eyes; but inter- ested eyes were few. Her teachers, more than any others, marked the change. There was more care of her person and dress, and the raillery of her school-mates was met by an indifference which, however hard its assumption may have been, at once disarmed and puzzled them. Now and then the low and unprovoked taiuints of her boyish tormentors roused her to an outburst of the old spirit, but for the most part they were met only with a flash of the steel-gray eyes, and a curl of the full red lips. One Sunday, too, to the amazement of pupils and the embarrassment of teachers, Lilly OConnell, neatly attired and quite self-possessed, walked into the Sunday- school, from which she had angrily departed, stung by some childish slight, two years before. The minister went to her, welcomed her pleasantly, and gave her a seat in a class of girls of her own age, who, awed by the mingled dignity and determination of his manner, swallowed their indignation and moved alonga trifle more than was necessaryto give her room. The little tremor of excitement soon sub- sided, and Lillys quickness and attentiveness won for her an outward show, at least, of consideration and kindness, which extended outside of school limits, and gradually, under the influence of good example, and the effect of her own personality, all demon- strations of an unpleasant nature ceased. When she was about sixteen her father died. This event, which left her a homeless orphan, was turned by the practical kindness of Parson Townsendthe good old minis- ter who had stood between her and a thou- sand annoyances and wrongsinto the most fortunate event of her life. He, not without some previous domestic controversy, took the girl into his own family, and there, under kind and Christian influences, she lived for a number of years. At eighteen, her school-life terminated, and, by the advice of Parson Townsend, she applied for a position as teacher of the primary school. The spirit with which her application was met was a revelation and a shock. The outward kindness and tolerance which of late years had been manifested toward her had led her into a fictitious state of content and confidence. I was foolish enough, she said to her- self, with bitterness, to think that, because the boys do not hoot after me in the street, people had forgotten, or did not care. She withdrew more and more into her- self, turned her hands to such work as she could find to do, and went her way again, stifling as best she might the anguished cry which sometimes would rise to her lips: What does God mean by it? Few saw the beauty of those deep, clear eyes and pathetic lips, or the splendor of her burnished hair, or the fine curves of her tall, upright figure. She was only odd, and queer lookingonly Lilly OConnell; very pleasant of speech, and quick at her needle, and useful at picnics and church fairs, and in case of sickness or emergencies of any kind,but Lilly OConnell still,or Tiger-Lily, for the old name had never been altogether laid aside. Ten years passed by. The good people of Ridgemont were fond of alluding to the re- markable progress and development made by their picturesque little town during the past decade, but in reality the change was not so great. A few new dwellings, built in the modern efflorescent style, had sprung up, to the discomfiture of the prim, square houses, with dingy white paint and dingier green 74 TIGER-LIL Y blinds, which belonged to another epoch; a brick block, of almost metropolitan splendor, cast its shadow across the crooked village street, and a soldiers monument, an object of special pride and reverence, adorned the center of the small common, opposite the Hide and Leather Bank and the post- office. Beside these, a circulating library, a teacher of china-painting and a colored barber were casually mentioned to strangers as proofs of the slightness of difference in the importance of Ridgemont and some other towns of much more pretension. Over the old Horton homestead hardly a shadow of change had passed. It presented the same appearance of prosperous middle age. The great elms about it looked not a day older; the hydrangeas on the door-step flowered as exuberantly; the old-fashioned roses bloomed as red and white and yellow against the mossy brick walls; the flower- plots were as trim, and the rustic baskets of moneywort flourished as green, as in the days when Mrs. Horton walked among them, and tended them with her own thin white hands. She had lain with her busy hands folded these five years, in the shadow of the Horton monument, between the grave of Doctor Jared Horton and a row of lessen- ing mounds which had been filled many, many yearsthe graves of the children who were bornand had diedbefore Rogers birth. A great quiet had hung about the place for several years. The blinds upon the front side had seldom been seen to open, except for weekly airings or semi-annual cleanings. But one daya fair, midsummer day the parlor windows are seen wide open, the front door swung back, and several trunks, covered with labels of all colors, and in many languages,. are standing in the large hall. An unwonted stir about the kitchen and stable, a lively rattling of silver and china in the dining-room, attest to some unusual cause for excitement. The cause is at once manifest as the door at the end of the hall opens, and Roger Horton appears, against a background composed of mahogany side- board and the erect and vigilant figure of Nancy Swift, the faithful old housekeeper of his mothers time. The handsome, manly lad had fulfilled the promise of his boyhood. He was tall and full-chested; a trifle thin, perhaps, and his fine face, now bronzed with travel, grave and thoughtful for his years, but full of a winning sweetness, and capable of breaking into a smile like a sudden transition in music. He looked more than thoughtful at this moment. He had hardly tasted the food prepared by Nancy with a keen eye to his youthful predilections, and in the firm con- viction that he must have suffered terrible deprivations during his foreign travels. Truly, this coming home was not like the comings-home of other days, when two dear faces, one gray-bearded and genial, the other pale and gentle-eyed, had smiled upon him across the comfortable board. The sense of loss was almost more than he could bear; the sound of his own footsteps in the cool, empty hall smote heavily upon his heart. The door of the parlor stood ajar, and he pushed it open and stepped into the room. Everything was as it had always been ever since he could rememberfurniture, carpets, curtains, everything. Just opposite the door hung the portraits of his parents, in- vested by the dim half-light with a life-like air which the unknown artist had vainly tried to impart. Roger had not entered the room since his mothers funeral, which followed close upon that of his father, and just before the close of his collegiate course. Something in the room brought those scenes of bitter grief too vividly before him. It might have been the closeness of the air, or, more probably, the odor rising from a basket of flowers which stood upon the center-table. He remembered now that Nancy had mentioned its arrival while he was going through the ceremony of taking tea, and he went up to the table and bent over it. Upon a snowy oval of choicest flowers, surrounded by a scarlet border, the word Welcome was wrought in purple violets. The youngman smiled as he read the name upon the card attached. He took up one of the white carnations and began fastening it to the lappel of his coat, but put it back at length, coloring deeply, and with a glance at the painted faces, whose eyes seemed following his every motion, he took his hat and went out of the house and through the town. His progress was slow, for it was just after the early tea of village life, and many of the citizens were on the street. Nearly every one he met was an old acquaintance or friend. It warmed his heart, and took away /ZGER-LIL YJ 75 the sting of loneliness which he had felt before, to see how cordial were the greetings. Strong, manly grips, kind, womanly hand- pressures, and shy, blushing greetings from full-fledged village beauties, whom he vaguely remembered as lank, sunburned little girls, met him at every step. He noticed, and was duly impressed by, the ornate new dwellings, the stately busi- ness block, and the soldiers monument. He observed with considerable interest the manipulations of Professor Commeraw, who was deftly shaving a callow youth in full sight of all the world. Next to this, in a small, tumble-down frame structure, was the post-office, carried on in connection with the sale of petrified candy, withered oranges, fly-specked litera- ture, and ginger-pop. The postmaster be- ing a genial old reprobate, very liberal as to treats, and very non-committal as to poli- tics, had remained unmolested through sev- eral changes of administration. His leisure hours, which comprised most of the twenty- four, were spent in fishing, and in sitting in front of his establishment upon a well- balanced chair, relating his war experiences in a manner creditable to his imagination. Meanwhile, his official duties were being discharged within by a sallow daughter of uncertain age. He was sitting there now, bland and genial as ever, and rose hastily to bestow upon Horton a greeting worthy of the occasion. Deacon Whites sorrel mare was hitched before the leading grocery-store in precisely the same spot, and blinking dejectedly at precisely the same post, he could have taken his oath, where she had stood and blinked as he was on his way to the station four years ago. And, a little further on, Fud (short for Alfred) Hanniford, the village cob- bler, vocalist and wit, sat pegging away in the door of his shop, making the welkin ring with the inspiring strains of The Sword of Bunker Hill, just as in the old days. True, the brilliancy of his tones was somewhat marred by the presence of an ounce or so of shoe-pegs in his left cheek, but this fact had no dampening effect upon the enthusiasm of a select, peanut-consuming audience of small boys on the steps. He, too, suspended work and song to nod familiarly to his somewhat foreignized young townsman, and watched him turn the corner, fixing cunous and jealous eyes upon the receding feet. Who made your boots? he remarked so/to voce, as their firm rap upon the plank sidewalk grew indistinct, which profound sarcasm having extracted the expected meed of laughter from his juvenile audi- ence, Mr. Hanniford resumed his hammer, and burst forth with a high G of astounding volume. As young Horton came in sight of Mrs. Fairfields residence, he involuntarily quick- ened his steps. As a matter of course, he had met in his wanderings many pretty and agreeable girls, and, being an attractive young man, it is safe to say that eyes of every hue had looked upon him with more or less favor. It would be imprudent to venture the asser- tion that the young man had remained quite indifferent to all this, but Hortons nature was more tender than passionate; early associations held him very closely, and his boyish fancy for the widows pretty daugh- ter had never quite faded. A rather fitful correspondence had been kept up, and pho- tographs exchanged, and he felt himself justified in believing that the welcome the purple violets had spoken would speak to him still more eloquently from a pair of violet eyes. He scanned the pretty lawn with a warm light in his pleasant brown eyes. Flowers were massed in red, white and purple against the vivid green; the fountain was scattering its spray; hammocks were slung in tempting nooks, and fanciful wicker chairs, interwoven with blue and scarlet ribbons, stood about the vine-draped piazza. He half-expected a girlish figure to run down the walk to meet him, in the old childish way, and as a fold of white muslin swept out of the open window his heart leaped; but it was only the curtain after all, and just as he saw this with a little pang pf disappointment, a girls figure did appear, and came down the walk toward him. It was a tall figure, in a sim- ple dark dress which let all its fine curves appear. As she came nearer, he saw a colorless, oval face, with downcast eyes, and a mass of ruddy hair, burnished like gold, gathered in a coil under the small black hat. There was something proud, yet shrinking, in the face and in the carriage of the whole figure. As the latch fell from his hand the girl looked up, and encoun- tered his eyes, pleased, friendly and a trifle astonished, fixed full upon her. She stopped, and a beautiful color swept into her cheeks, a sudden upleaping flame filled the luminous eyes, and her lips parted. Why, it is Lilly OConnell! the young man said, cordially, extending his hand. 76 TIGER-LILY The girls hand was half-extended to meet his, but with a quick glance toward the house she drew it back into the folds of her black dress, bowing instead. Horton let his hand fall, a little flush showing itself upon his forehead. Are you not going to speak to me, Miss OConnell? he said, in his frank, pleasant way. Are you not going to say you are glad to see me back, like all the rest? The color had all faded from the girls cheeks and neck. She returned his smiling glance with an earnest, almost appealing look, hesitating before she spoke. I am very glad, Mr. Horton, she said, at last, and, passing him, went swiftly out of sight. The young man stood a moment with his hand upon the gate, looking after her; then turned and went up the walk to the door, and rang the bell. A smiling maid admit- ted him, and showed him into a very pretty drawing-room. He had not waited long when Florence, preceded by her mother, came in. She had been a pretty school-girl, but he was hardly prepared to see so beautiful a young woman, or one so self-possessed, and so free from provincialism in dress and manner. She was a blonde beauty, of the delicate, por- celain-tinted type, small, but so well-made and welhdressed as to appear much taller than she really was. She was lovely to-night in a filmy white dress, so richly trimmed with lace as to leave the delicate flesh-tints of shoulders and arms visible through the fine meshes. She had always cared for Roger, and, being full of delight at his return and his distinguished appearance, let her delight appear undisguisedly. Although a good deal of a coquette, with Roger coquetry seemed out of place. His own simple, sin- cere manners were contagious, and Florence had never been more charming. Tell us all about the pictures and artists and singers you have seen and heard, she said, in the course of their lively interchange of experiences. I am afraid I can talk better about hospitals and surgeons, said Horton. You know I am not a bit aesthetic, and I have been studying very closely. You are determined, then, to practice medicine? Mrs. Fairfield said, with rather more anxiety in her tones than the occasion seemed to demand. I think I am better fitted for that pro- fession than any other, Horton answered. Y-yes, assented Mrs. Fairfield, doubt- fully, looking at her daughter. I should never choose it, if I were a man, said Florence, decidedly. It seems to have chosen me, Horton said. I have not the slightest bent in any other direction. It is such a hard life, said Florence. A doctor must be a hero. You used to be enthusiastic over heroes,~~ said Horton, smiling. I am now, said Florence, but Not the kind who ride in buggies and wield lancets instead of lances, laughed Horton, looking into the slightly vexed but lovely face opposite, with a great deal of expression in his tender dark eyes. Of course you would not think of set- tling in Ridgemont, remarked Mrs. Fair- field, blandly, after all you have studied. I dont see why not, he answered. But for an ambitious young man, began Mrs. Fairfield. Jm afraid I am not an ambitious young man, said Horton, shaking his head. There is a good opening here, and the old home is very dear to me. Florence was silently studying the toe of one small sandaled foot. Well, to be sure, said Mrs. Fairfield, who always endeavored to fill up pauses in conversation, to be sure, Ridgemont is improving. Dont you find it changed a good deal? Why, not very much, Horton answered. Places dont change so much in a few years as people. I met Lilly OConnell as I came into your grounds. Shehas changed wonderfully. Y-yes, said Mrs. Fairfield, rather stiffly. She has improved. Since her father died, she has lived in Parsoh Townsends family. She is a very respectable girl, and an excellent seamstress. Florence had gone to the window, and was looking out. She was very good at her books, I re- member, he went on. I used to think she would make something more than a seamstress. I only remember her dreadful temper,~~ said Florence, in a tone meant to sound careless. We called her Tiger-Lily, you know.~~ I never wondered at her temper, said Horton. She had a great deal to vex her, poor girl. I suppose it is not much better now. Oh, she is treated well enough, said THE THOUGHT OF ASTYANAX BESIDE DULUS. 77 Mrs. Fairfield. The best families in the place employ her. I dont know what more she can expect, considering that she isa~~ Off color, suggested Horton. No. She cannot expect much more. But it is terribleisnt it ?that stigma for no fault of hers. It must be hard for a girl like her like what she seems to have become. Oh, as to that, said Florence, going to the piano and drumming lightly, without sitting down, she is very independent. She asserts herself quite enough. Why yes, broke in her mother, hastily. She actually had the impudence to apply for a position as teacher of the primary school, and Parson Townsend, and Hickson of the School Board, were determined she should have it. The Gazette took it up, and for a while Lilly was the heroine of the day. But of course she did not succeed. It would have ruined the school. A colored teacher! Dreadful ! Dreadful, indeed, said Horton. He rose and joined Florence at the piano, and a moment later Mrs. Fairfield was con- tentedly drumming upon the table, in the worst possible time, to her daughters per- formance of a brilliant waltz. The evening terminated pleasantly. After Horton had gone, mother and daughter had a long, confidential talk upon the piazza, which it is needless to repeat. But at its close, as Mrs. Fairfield was closing the doors for the night, she might have been heard to say: You could spend your winters in Boston, you know.~~ To which Florence returned a dreamy Yes. (To be continued.) THE THOUGHT OF ASTYANAX BESIDE DULUS. AFTER READING VIRGILS STORY OF ANDROMACHE IN EXILE. YES, all the doves begin to moan, But it is not the doves alone. Some trouble, that you never heard In any tree from breath of bird, That reaches back to Eden, lies Between your wind-flower and my eyes. I fear it was not well, indeed, Upon so sad a day to read So sad a story. But the day Is full of blossoms, do you say, And how the sun does shine? I know. These things do make it sadder, though. Youd cry, if you were not a boy, About this mournful tale of Troy? Then do not laugh at me, if I Who am too old, you know, to cry Just hide my face awhile from you, Down here among these drops of dew. * * * Must I for sorrow look so far? This baby headed like a star, Afraid of Hectors horse-hair plume (His one sweet child, whose bitter doom So piteous seems)oh, tears and tears Has he been dust three thousand years? Yet when I see his mother fold The pretty cloak she stitched with gold Around another boy, and say: He would be just your age to-day, With just your hands, your eyes, your hair Her grief is more than I can bear.

THE THOUGHT OF ASTYANAX BESIDE DULUS. 77 Mrs. Fairfield. The best families in the place employ her. I dont know what more she can expect, considering that she isa~~ Off color, suggested Horton. No. She cannot expect much more. But it is terribleisnt it ?that stigma for no fault of hers. It must be hard for a girl like her like what she seems to have become. Oh, as to that, said Florence, going to the piano and drumming lightly, without sitting down, she is very independent. She asserts herself quite enough. Why yes, broke in her mother, hastily. She actually had the impudence to apply for a position as teacher of the primary school, and Parson Townsend, and Hickson of the School Board, were determined she should have it. The Gazette took it up, and for a while Lilly was the heroine of the day. But of course she did not succeed. It would have ruined the school. A colored teacher! Dreadful ! Dreadful, indeed, said Horton. He rose and joined Florence at the piano, and a moment later Mrs. Fairfield was con- tentedly drumming upon the table, in the worst possible time, to her daughters per- formance of a brilliant waltz. The evening terminated pleasantly. After Horton had gone, mother and daughter had a long, confidential talk upon the piazza, which it is needless to repeat. But at its close, as Mrs. Fairfield was closing the doors for the night, she might have been heard to say: You could spend your winters in Boston, you know.~~ To which Florence returned a dreamy Yes. (To be continued.) THE THOUGHT OF ASTYANAX BESIDE DULUS. AFTER READING VIRGILS STORY OF ANDROMACHE IN EXILE. YES, all the doves begin to moan, But it is not the doves alone. Some trouble, that you never heard In any tree from breath of bird, That reaches back to Eden, lies Between your wind-flower and my eyes. I fear it was not well, indeed, Upon so sad a day to read So sad a story. But the day Is full of blossoms, do you say, And how the sun does shine? I know. These things do make it sadder, though. Youd cry, if you were not a boy, About this mournful tale of Troy? Then do not laugh at me, if I Who am too old, you know, to cry Just hide my face awhile from you, Down here among these drops of dew. * * * Must I for sorrow look so far? This baby headed like a star, Afraid of Hectors horse-hair plume (His one sweet child, whose bitter doom So piteous seems)oh, tears and tears Has he been dust three thousand years? Yet when I see his mother fold The pretty cloak she stitched with gold Around another boy, and say: He would be just your age to-day, With just your hands, your eyes, your hair Her grief is more than I can bear. 78 ZER VIA If HOPE. ZERVIAH HOPE. PRELUDE. IN the month of August, in the year 1878, the steamer Mercy, of the New York and Savannah line, cast anchor down the channel, off a little town in South Carolina which bore the name of Calhoun. It was not a regular part of her run for the Mercy to make a landing at this place. She had departed from her course by spe- cial permit to leave three passengers, two men and one woman, who had business of a grave nature in Calhoun. A man, himself a passenger for Savannah, came upon deck as the steamship hove to, to inquire the reason of the delay. He was a short man, thin, with a nervous hand and neck. His eyes were black, his hair was black, and closely cut. He had an inscru- table mouth, and a forehead well-plowed rather by experience than years. He was not an old man. He was cleanly dressed in new, cheap clothes. He had been commented upon as a reticent passenger. He had no friends on board the Mercy. This was the first time upon the voyage that he had been observed to speak. He came forward and stood among the others, and abruptly said: Whats this for? He addressed the mate, who answered with a sidelong look, and none too cordially: We land passengers by the Companys order. Those three? Yes, the men and the lady. Who are they? Physicians from New York. Ah-h! said the man, slowly, making a sighing noise between his teeth. That meansthat means Volunteers to the fever district, said the mate, shortly, as you might have known before now. Youre not of a soci- able cast, I see. I have made no acquaintances, said the short passenger. I know nothing of the news of the ship. Is the lady a nurse? Shes a she-doctor. Doctors, the whole of em. There aint a nurse aboard. Plenty to be found, I suppose, in this place you speak of? How should I know? replied the mate, with another sidelong look. One of the physicians, it seemed, over- heard this last question and reply. It was the woman. She stepped forward without hesitation, and, regarding the short pas- senger closely, said: There are not nurses. This place is perishing. Savannah and the larger towns have been looked after firstas is natural and right, added the physician, in a busi- ness-like tone. She had a quick and clear- cut, but not ungentle voice. The man nodded at her curtly, as he would to another man; he made no answer; then with a slight flush his eye returned to her dress and figure; he lifted his hat and stood uncovered till she had passed and turned from him. His face, under the influ- ence of this fluctuation of color, changed exceedingly, and improved in proportion as it changed. Who is that glum fellow, Doctor? One of the men physicians followed and asked the lady; he spoke to her with an air of camaraderie, at once frank and defer- ential; they had been class-mates at college for a course of lectures; he had theories averse to the medical education of women in general, but this woman in particular, having outranked him at graduation, he had made up his mind to her as a marked exception to a wise rule, entitled to a candid fellows respect. Besides, despite her diplo- ma, Marian Dare was a ladyhe knew the family. Is he glum, Dr. Frank? replied Dr. Dare. But the other young man stood silent. He never consulted with doctresses. Dr. Dare went below for her luggage. A lonely dory; black of complexion and skittish of gait, had wandered out and hung in the shadow of the steamer, awaiting the passengers. The dory was manned by one negro, who sat with his oars crossed, per- fectly silent. There is a kind of terror for which we find that animals, as well as men, instinct- ively refrain from seeking expression. The face and figure of the negro boatman pre- sented a dull form of this species of fear. Dr. Dare wondered if all the people in Calhoun would have that look. The negro regarded the Mercy and her passengers apathetically.

78 ZER VIA If HOPE. ZERVIAH HOPE. PRELUDE. IN the month of August, in the year 1878, the steamer Mercy, of the New York and Savannah line, cast anchor down the channel, off a little town in South Carolina which bore the name of Calhoun. It was not a regular part of her run for the Mercy to make a landing at this place. She had departed from her course by spe- cial permit to leave three passengers, two men and one woman, who had business of a grave nature in Calhoun. A man, himself a passenger for Savannah, came upon deck as the steamship hove to, to inquire the reason of the delay. He was a short man, thin, with a nervous hand and neck. His eyes were black, his hair was black, and closely cut. He had an inscru- table mouth, and a forehead well-plowed rather by experience than years. He was not an old man. He was cleanly dressed in new, cheap clothes. He had been commented upon as a reticent passenger. He had no friends on board the Mercy. This was the first time upon the voyage that he had been observed to speak. He came forward and stood among the others, and abruptly said: Whats this for? He addressed the mate, who answered with a sidelong look, and none too cordially: We land passengers by the Companys order. Those three? Yes, the men and the lady. Who are they? Physicians from New York. Ah-h! said the man, slowly, making a sighing noise between his teeth. That meansthat means Volunteers to the fever district, said the mate, shortly, as you might have known before now. Youre not of a soci- able cast, I see. I have made no acquaintances, said the short passenger. I know nothing of the news of the ship. Is the lady a nurse? Shes a she-doctor. Doctors, the whole of em. There aint a nurse aboard. Plenty to be found, I suppose, in this place you speak of? How should I know? replied the mate, with another sidelong look. One of the physicians, it seemed, over- heard this last question and reply. It was the woman. She stepped forward without hesitation, and, regarding the short pas- senger closely, said: There are not nurses. This place is perishing. Savannah and the larger towns have been looked after firstas is natural and right, added the physician, in a busi- ness-like tone. She had a quick and clear- cut, but not ungentle voice. The man nodded at her curtly, as he would to another man; he made no answer; then with a slight flush his eye returned to her dress and figure; he lifted his hat and stood uncovered till she had passed and turned from him. His face, under the influ- ence of this fluctuation of color, changed exceedingly, and improved in proportion as it changed. Who is that glum fellow, Doctor? One of the men physicians followed and asked the lady; he spoke to her with an air of camaraderie, at once frank and defer- ential; they had been class-mates at college for a course of lectures; he had theories averse to the medical education of women in general, but this woman in particular, having outranked him at graduation, he had made up his mind to her as a marked exception to a wise rule, entitled to a candid fellows respect. Besides, despite her diplo- ma, Marian Dare was a ladyhe knew the family. Is he glum, Dr. Frank? replied Dr. Dare. But the other young man stood silent. He never consulted with doctresses. Dr. Dare went below for her luggage. A lonely dory; black of complexion and skittish of gait, had wandered out and hung in the shadow of the steamer, awaiting the passengers. The dory was manned by one negro, who sat with his oars crossed, per- fectly silent. There is a kind of terror for which we find that animals, as well as men, instinct- ively refrain from seeking expression. The face and figure of the negro boatman pre- sented a dull form of this species of fear. Dr. Dare wondered if all the people in Calhoun would have that look. The negro regarded the Mercy and her passengers apathetically. ZER VIAH HOPE. 79 It was a hot day, and the water seemed to be blistering about the dory. So, too, the stretching sand of the shore, as one raised the eyes painfully against the direct noon-light, was as if it smoked. The low, gray palmetto leaves were curled and faint. Scanty spots of shade beneath sickly trees seemed to gasp upon the hot ground, like creatures that had thrown themselves down to get cool. The outlines of the town beyond had a certain horrible dis- tinctness, as if of a sight that should but could not be veiled. Overhead, and clean to the flat horizon, flashed a sky of blue and blazing fire. Passengers for Calhoun! The three physicians descended into the dory. The other passengerswhat there were of themgathered to see the little group depart. Dr. Frank offered Dr. Dare a hand, which she accepted, like a lady, not needing it in the least. She was a climber, with firm, lithe ankles. No one spoke, as these people got in with the negro, and prepared to drift down with the scorch- ing tide. The woman looked from the steamer to the shore, once, and back again, northwards. The men did not look at all. There was an oppression in the scene which no one was ready to run the risk of increas- ing by the wrong word. Land me here, too, said a low voice, suddenly. It was the glum passenger. No one noticed him, except, perhaps, the mate (looking on with the air of a man who would feel an individual grievance in any- thing this person would be likely to do) and the lady. There is room for you, said Dr. Dare. The man let himself into the boat at a light bound, and the negro rowed them away. The Mercy, heading outwards, seemed to shrug her shoulders, as if she had thrown them off. The strip of burning water l)etween them and the town narrowed rap- idly, and the group set their faces firmly landwards. Once, upon the little voyage, Dr. Frank took up an idle pair of oars, with some vaguely humane intent of help- ing the negrohe looked so. I wouldnt, Frank, said the other gen- tleman. Now, Remanewhy, for instance? I wouldnt begin by getting overheated. No other word was spoken. They landed in silence. In silence, and somewhat weakly, the negro pulled the dory high upon the beach. The four passengers stood for a moment upon the hot, white sands, moved toward one another, before they separated, by a blind sense of human fellowship. Even Remane found himself touching his hat. Dr. Frank asked Dr. Dare if he could serve her in any way; but she thanked him, and, holding out her firm, white hand, said, Good-bye. This was, perhaps, the first moment when the consciousness of her sex had made itself oppressive to her since she ventured upon this undertaking. She would have minded presenting herself to the Relief Com- mittee of Calhoun, accompanied by gentle- men upon whom she had no claim. She walked on alone, in her gray dress and white straw hat, with her luggage in her own sufficient hand. The reticent passenger had fallen behind with the negro boatman, with whom he walked slowly, closing the line. After a few moments, he advanced and hesitatingly joined the lady, beginning to say: May I ask you Ah, interrupted Dr. Dare, cordially, it is you. Will you tell me, madam, the best way of going to work to offer myself as a fever nurse in this place? I want the besi way. I want real work. Yes, yes, she said, nodding; I knew you would do it. I came from the North for this pur- pose, but I meant to go on to Savannah. Yes, I know. This is better; they need every/king in this place. She looked toward the gasping little town through the relentless noon. Her merciful blue eyes filled, but the mans look followed with a dry, exultant light. There is no porter, he said, abruptly, glancing at her heavy bag and shawl-strap. Would you permit me to help you? Oh, thank you! replied Dr. Dare, heartily, relinquishing her burden. Plainly, this poor fellow was not a gentle- man. The lady could afford to be kind to him. I know nothing how we shall find it, she chatted, affably, but I go to work to- night. I presume I shall need nurses before morning. Ill have your address. She took from her gray sacque pocket a physicians note-book, and stood, pencil in hand. My name, he said, is HopeZerviah Hope. She wrote without comment, walking as she wrote; he made no other attempt to 8o ZER VIAH HOPE. converse with her. The two physicians fol- lowed, exchanging now and then a subdued word. The negro dragged himself wearily over the scorching sand, and thus the little procession of pity entered the town of Calhoun. My story does not deal with love, or ladies. I have to relate no tender passages between the fever-physicians, volunteers from New York, for the afflicted region of Calhoun. Dr. Marian Dare came South to do a brave work, and I have no doubt she did it bravely, as a woman should. She came in pursuit of science, and I have no doubt she found it, as a woman will. Our chief interest in her at this time lies in the fact that certain missing fragments in the history of the person known as Zerviah Hope we owe to her. She hovers over the tale with a distant and beautiful influence, pervading as womanly compassion and alert as a womans eye. I have nothing further to say about the story before I tell it, except that it is true. That night, after the physicians had gone about their business, Zerviah Hope wan- dered, a little forlornly, through the wretched town. Scip, the negro boatman, found him a corner to spend the night. It was a pass- able piac~e, but Hope could not sleep; he had already seen too much. His soul was parched with the thirst of sympathy. He walked his hot attic till the dawn came. As it grew brighter he grew calmer; and, when the unkindly sun burst burning upon the land, he knelt by his window and looked over the doomed town, and watched the dead-carts slinking away toward the ever- glades in the splendid color of the sky and pair, and thought his own thoughts in his own way about this which he had come to do. We should not suppose that they were remarkable thoughts; he had not the look of a remarkable man. Yet, as he knelt there,a sleepless, haggard figure blotted against the sunrise, with folded hands and moving lips,an artist, with a high type of imagination and capable of spiritual dis- cernment, would have found in him a de- sign for a lofty subject, to which perhaps he would have given the name of Conse- cration rather than of Renunciation, or of Exultance rather than of Dread. A common observer would have simply said: I should not have taken him for a praying man. He was still upon his knees when Dr. Dares order came, Nurse wanted for a bad case! and he went from his prayer to his first patient. The day was already deep, and a reflection, not of the sunrise, moved with him as light moves. Doctor Dare, in her gray dress, herself a little pale. met him with keen eyes. She said: It is a ve~y bad case. An old man much neglected. No one will go. Are you willing? The nurse answered: I am glad. She watched him as he walked awaya plain, clean, common man, with unheroic carriage. The physicians fine eyes fired. To Doctor Frank, who had happened in, she said: He will do the work of ten. His strength was as the strength of ten, Because his heart was pure,~~ quoted the young man, laughing lightly. I dont know that I should have thought it, in this case. Youve taken a fancy to the fellow. I always respect an unmixed motive when I see it, she replied, shortly. But Ive been in practice too long to take sud- den fancies. There is no profession like ours, Doctor, for putting the sympathies under double picket guard. She stiffened a little in her manner. She did not like to be thought an over-enthu- siastic womanwomanish, unused to the world. The weather, soon after the arrival of the Mercy, took a terrible mood, and a pro- longed drought settled upon Calhoun. The days dawned lurid and long. The nights fell dewless and deadly. Fatal and beautiful colors lurked in the swamps, and in the sifting dust, fine and hard, blown by siroccos across the glare of noon, like sands on the shores of the Lake of Fire. The pestilence walked in darkness, and the de- struction wasted at midday. Men died, in that little town of a few thousand souls, at the rate of a score a dayblack and white, poor and rich, clean and foul, saint and sinner. The quarantine laws tightened. Vessels fled by the harbor mouth under full sail, and melted like helpless compassion upon the fiery horizon. Trains upon the Shore Line shot through and thundered past the station; they crowded on steam; the fireman and his stoker averted their faces as they whirled by. The world turned her back upon Calhoun, and the dying town was shut in with her dead. Only, at long intervals, the Mercy, ZER VIAH HOPE. casting anchor far down the channel, sent up by Scip, the weak, black boatman, the signs of human fellowshipfood, physician, purse, medicinethat spoke from the heart of the North to the heart of the South, and up- held her in those well-remembered days. Zerviah Hope, volunteer nurse, became quickly enough a marked man in Calhoun. He more than verified Doctor Dares prog- nosis. Where the deadliest work was to be done, this man, it was observed, asked to be sent. Where no one else would go, he went. What no one else would do, he did. He sought the neglected, and the negroes. He braved the unclean, and the unburied. With the readiness of all incisive character acting on emergencies, he stamped himself upon the place and time. He went to his task as the soldier goes to the front under rak- ing fire, with gleaming eyes and iron mus- cles. The fever of the fight was on him. He seemed to wrestle with diseasefor his patients, and to trample death beneath his feet. He glowed over his cures with a positive physi- cal dilation, and writhed over his dead as if he had killed them. He seemed built of endurance more than mortal. It was not known when he slept, scarcely if he ate. His weariness sat upon him like a halo. He grew thin, refined, radiant. In short, he presented an example of that rare spectacle which never fails to command spectatorsa common man possessed by an uncommon enthusiasm. What passed with him at this time in that undiscovered sea which we call a mans inner life, it would not be easy to assert. So far as we can judge, all the cur- rents of his nature had swelled into the great, pulsing tide of self-surrender, which swept him along. Weakness, wrong, mem- ory, regret, fear, grief, pleasure, hope,all the little channels of personal life,ran dry. He was that most blessed of human creat- ures, a man without a past and without a future, and living in a present nobler than the one could have been or the other could become. He continued to be a silent man, speaking little, excepting to his patients, and now and then, very gently, to the lady, Dr. Dare. He was always pliable to the influ- ence of a womans voice or to womanly manner. He had, in the presence of women, the quick responsiveness and sud- den change of color and sensitiveness of intonation which bespeak the man whose highest graces and lowest faults are likely to be owing to feminine power. This was a quality which gave him re- VOL XXI.6. markable successes as a nurse. He was found to be infinitely tender, and of fine, brave patience. It was found that he shrank from no task because it was too small, as he had shrunk from no danger because it was too great. He became a favorite with the sick and with physicians. The convalescent clung to him, the dying heard of him and sent for him, the Relief Committee leaned upon him, as in such crises the leader leans upon the led. By degrees, he became greatly trusted in Cal- houn; this is to say, that he became greatly loved. I have been told that, to this day, many people personally unknown to him, whose fate it was to be imprisoned in that be- leaguered town at that time, and who were familiar with the nervous figure and plain, intense countenance of the Northern nurse, as he passed, terrible day after terrible day, to his post, cannot hear of him, even now, without that suffusion of look by which we hold back tears; and that, when his name took on, as it did, a more than local reputa- tion, they were unable to speak it because of choking voices. I have often wished that he knew this. It was the custom in Calhoun to pay the nurses at short, stated intervals,T think once a week, on Saturday nights. The first time that Hope was summoned to receive his wages, he evinced marked emotion, too genuine not to be one of surprise and repugnance. I had not thought, he began, and stood, coloring violently. You earn your five dollars a day, if any- body in Calhoun does, urged the official, with kindly brusqueness. It is not right; I do not wish to take the money, said the nurse, with agitation. I do not wish to be paid forsaving human life. I did not come to the fever district to make money; I came to save lifeto save /~fe I he added, in a quick whisper. He had not slept for four nights, and seemed, they noticed, more than usually nervous in his manner. The money is yours, insisted the treasurer. Very well, said Hope, after a long silence; and no more was said about it. He took his wages and walked away up the street, absorbed in thought. One morning, he went to his lodgings to seek a little rest. It was about six oclock, and people were already moving in the hot, 82 ZER VZAH HOPE. thirsty streets. The apothecaries doors were open, and their clerks were astir. The phy- sicians drove or walked hastily, with the haggard look of men whose days and nights are too short for their work, and whose hope, and heart as well, have grown almost too small. Zerviah noticed those young Northern fellows among them, Frank and Remane, and saw how they had aged since they came South,brave boys, both of them, and had done a mans brave deed. Through her office window, as he walked past, he caught a glimpse of Dr. Dares gray dress and blonde, womanly head of abundant hair. She was mixing medicines, and patients stood waiting. She looked up and nodded as he went by; she was too busy to smile. At the door of the Relief Committee, gaunt groups hung, clamoring. At the telegraph office, knots of men and women gathered, dully inspiring the heroic young operator,.a slight girl,who had not left her post for now many days and nights. Her chief had the fever last week, was taken at the wires,lived to get home. She was the only person alive in the town who knew how to communicate with the outer world. She had begun to teach a little brother of hers the Morse alphabet, That somebody may know, Bobby, if Icant come some day. She, too, knew Zerviah Hope, and looked up; but her pretty face was clouded with the awful shadow of her own responsibility. We all have about as much as we can bear, thought Zerviah, as he went by. His own burden was lightened a little that morn- ing, and he was going home to get a real rest. He had just saved his last patient the doctor gave him up. It was a young man, the father of five very little children, and their mother had died the week before. The nurse had looked at the orphans, and said: Hes got to live. This man had blessed him this morning, and called the love of heaven on his head and its tender mercy on his whole long life. Zerviah walked with quick step. He lifted his head, with its short, black, coarse hair. His eyes, staring for sleep, flashed, fed with a food the body knows not of. He felt almost happy, as he turned to climb the stairs that led to the attic shelter where he had knelt and watched the dawn come on that first day, and given himself to God and to the dying of Calhoun. He had always kept that attic, partly because he had made that prayer there. He thought it helped him to make others since. He had not always been a man who prayed. The habit was new, and required culture. He had guarded it rigidly since he came South, as he had his diet and regimen of bathing, air, and other physical needs. On this morning that I speak of, standing with his almost happy face and lifted head, with his foot upon the stairs, he turned, for no reason that he could have given, and looked over his shoulder. A man behind him, stepping softly, stopped, changed color, and crossed the street. I am followed, said the nurse. He spoke aloud, but there was no one to hear him. A visible change came over his face. He stood uncertain for a moment; then shut the door and crawled upstairs. At intervals he stopped on the stairs to rest, and sat with his head in his hands, thinking. By and by he reached his room, and threw himself heavily upon his bed. All the radi- ance had departed from his tired face, as if a fog had crept over it. He hid it in his long, thin, humane hands, and lay there for a little while. He was perplexednot sur- prised. He was not shockedonly disap- pointed. Dully he wished that he could get five minutes nap; but he could not sleep. Not knowingwhat else to do, he got upon his knees presently, in that place by the window he liked to pray in, and said aloud: Lord, I didnt expect it; I wasnt ready. I should like to sleep long enough to decide what to do. After this, he went back to bed and lay still again, and in a little while he truly slept. Not long; but to those who perish for rest, a moment of unconsciousness may do the work of a cup of water to one perishing of thirst. He started, strengthened, with lines of decision forming about his mouth and chin; and, having bathed and cleanly dressed, went out. He went out beyond the town to the hut where Scip the boatman lived. Scip was at home. He lived quite alone. His father, his mother and four brothers had died of the plague since June. He started when he saw Hope, and his habitual look of fear deepened to a craven terror; he would rather have had the yellow fever than to have seen the Northern nurse just then. But Zerviah sat down by him on the hot sand, beside a rather ghastly palmetto that grew there, and spoke to him very gently. Hesaid: The Mercy came in last night, Scip,I know. And you rowed down for the supplies. You heard something about me on board the Mercy. Tell me, Scip. ZER VIAN HOPE. 83 Hes a durn fool, said Scip, with a dull show of passion. Who is a durn fool? That dem mate. So it was the mate? Yes. What did he say, Scip? I never done believe it, urged Scip, with an air of suddenly recollected virtue. But you told of it, Scip. I never told nobody but Jupiter, the durn fool! persisted Scip. Who is Jupiter? Doctor Remanes Jupiter, him that holds his hoss, that he brung up from the fever. He said he wouldnt tell. I never done believe it, never I It seems to me, Scip, said Zerviah, in a low, kind voice, that I wouldnt have told if Id been you. But never mind. I never done mean to hurt you! cried Scip, following him into the road. Jupiter the durn, he said hed never tell. I never tpld nobody else. You have told the whole town, said Zerviah Hope, patiently. Im sorry, but never mind. He stood for a moment looking across the stark palmetto, over the dusty stretch of road, across the glare, to the town. His eyes blinded and filled. It woLlldnt have been a great while, he said. I wish you hadnt, Scip, but never mind! He shook the negro gently oW as if he had been a child. There was nothing more to say. He would go hack to his work. As he walked along, he suddenly said to himself: She did not smile this morning! Nor the lady at the telegraph office, either. Nora good many other folks. I remem- ber now. * * * Lord! he added aloud, thought breaking into one of his half-un- conscious prayers, which had the more pathos because it began with the rude abruptness of an apparent oath, Lord! what in the name of heaven am I going to do about it? Now, as he was coming into the little city, with bowed head and broken face, he met Doctor Dare. She was riding on her rounds upon a patient, Southern tackey, and she was riding fast. But she reined up and confronted him. Mr. Hope! There is a hateful rumor brought from New York about you. I am going to tell you immediately. It is said Wait a minute! he pleaded, holding out both hands. Now. Go on. It is said that you are an escaped con- vict, continued the lady, distinctly. it is false! cried the nurse, in a ring- ing voice. The doctor regarded him for a moment. I may be wrong. Perhaps it was not so bad. I was in a cruel hurry, and so was Doctor Frank. Perhaps they said a dis- charged convict. What else? asked Zerviah, lifting his eyes to hers. They said you were just out of a seven years imprisonment for manslaughter. They said you killed a manfor jealousy, I be- lieve; something about a woman. What else? repeated the nurse, steadily. I told them I did not believe one word of it! cried Marian Dare. Thank you, madam, said Zerviah Hope, after a scarcely perceptible pause; but it is true. He drew one fierce breath. She was beautiful, he said. I loved her; he ruined her; I stabbed him! He had grown painfully pale. He wanted to go on speaking to this woman, not to defend or excuse himself, not to say any- thing weak or wrong, only to make her understand that he did not want to excuse himself; in some way, just because she was a woman, to make her feel that he was man enough to bear the burden of his deed. He wanted to cry out to her, You are a woman! Oh, be gentle, and understand how sorry a man can be for a deadly sin! but his lips were parched. He moved them dryly; he could not talk. She was silent at first. She was a pru- dent woman; she thought before she spoke. Poor fellow! she said, suddenly. Her clear blue eyes overflowed. She held out her hand, lifted his, wrung it, dropped it, and softly added, Well, never mind! much as if he had been a child or a patient, much as he himself had said, Never mind! to Scip. Then Zerviah Hope broke down. I havent got a murderers heart! he cried. It has been taken away from me. I aint so badnow. I meant to beI wanted to do Hush! she said. You have, and you shall. God is fair. Yes, said the penitent convict, in a dull voice, God is fair, and so he let em tell of me. Ive got no fault to find with Him. So nigh as I can understand Al- mighty God, He means well. * * * I guess Hell pull me through some way. * * * 84 ZER VIAH HOPE. But I wish Scip hadnt told just now. I cant hei:P being sorry. It wasnt that I wanted to cheat, but he choked the sick f#lks used to like me. Now, do you think Id ought to go on nursing, Doctor? Do you think Id ought to stop? You are already an hour late, replied the woman of science, in her usual business- like voice. Your substitute will be sleepy and restless; that affects the patient. Go back to your work as fast as you can. Ask me no more foolish questions. She drew her veil; there was unprofes- sional moisture on her long, feminine lashes. She held out her hearty hand-grasp to him, touched the tackey, and galloped away. She is a good woman, said Zerviab, half aloud, looking down at his cold fingers. She touched me, and she knew! Lord, I should like to have you bless her! He looked after her. She sat her horse finely; her gray veil drifted in the hot wind. His sensitive color came. He watched her as if he had known that he should never see her again on earth. A ruined character may be as callous as a paralyzed limb. A ruined and repentant one is in itself an independent system of sensitive and tortured nerves. Zerviah Hope returned to his work, shrinking under the foreknowledge of his fate. He felt as if he knew what kind of people would remind him that they had become acquainted with his history, and what ways they would select to do it. He was not taken by surprise when men who had lifted their hats to the popular nurse last week, passed him on the street to-day with a cold nod or curious stare. When women who had reverenced the self- sacrifice and gentleness of his life as only women do or can reverence the quality of tenderness in a man, shrank from him as if he were something infectious, like the plague,he knew it was just, though he felt it hard. His patients heard of what had happened, sometimes, and indicated a feeling of recoil. That was the worst. One said: I am sorry to hear you are not the man we thought you, and died in his arms that night. Zerviah remembered that these things must be. He reasoned with himself. He went into his attic, and prayed it all over. He said: Lord, I cant expect to be treated as if Id never been in prison. Im sorry I mind it so. Perhaps Id ought not to. Ill try not to care too much. More than once he was sure of being fol- lowed again, suspiciously or curiously. It occurred to him at last that this was most likely to happen on pay-days. That puzzled him. But when he turned, it was usually some idler, and the fellow shrank and took to his heels, as if the nurse had the fever. In point of fact, even in that death-strick- en town, to be alive was to be as able to gossip as well people, and rumor, wearied of the monotonous fever symptom, found a diverting zest in this shattered reputation. Zerviah Hope was very much talked about in Calhoun; so much, that the Relief Committee heard, questioned, and experi- enced official anxiety. It seemed a mistake to lose so valuable a man. it seemed a severity to disturb so noble a career. Yet who knew what sinister countenance the murderer might be capable of shielding beneath his mask of pity? The official mind was perplexed. Was it humane to trust the lives of our perishing citizens to the ministrations of a felon who had so skill- fully deceived the most intelligent guard- ians of the public weal? There was, in particular, a chairman of a sub-committee (on the water supply) who was burdened with uneasiness. Its clear enough what brought him to Calhoun, said this man. What do you suppose the fellow does with his five dollars a day? The Committee on the Water Supply promptly divided into a Sub-Vigilance, and to the Sub-Vigilance Committee Zerviah Hopes case was referred. The result was, that he was followed on pay-day. One Saturday night, just as the red-hot sun was going down, the sub-committee returned to the Relief Office in a state of high official excitement, and reported to the chief as follows: Weve done it. Weve got him. Weve found out what the fellow does with his money. He puts it Well? for the sub-committee hesi- tated. Into the relief contribution-boxes on the corners of the street. What! Every dollar. We stood and watched him count it outhis weeks wages. Every mortal cent that Yankees turned over to the fund for the sufferers. He never kept back a red. He poured it all in. Follow him next week. Report again. ZER VIAH ROPE. 85 They followed, and reported still again. They consulted, and accepted the astound- ing truth. The murderer, the convict, the miseral)le, the mystery, Zerviali Hope,vol- unteer nurse, poor, friendless, discharged from Sing Sing, was proved to have surren- dered to the public charities of Calhoun, every dollar which he had earned in the service of her sick and dying. The Committee on the Water Supply, and the Sub-Vigilance Committee stood, much depressed, before their superior officer. He, being a just man, flushed red with a noble rage. Where is he? Where is Zerviah Hope? The man should be sent for. He should receive the thanks of the committee. He should receive the acknowledgments of the city. And weve set on him like detectives! hunted him down! Zounds! The city is disgraced. Find him for me! We have already done our best, replied the sub-committee, sadly. We have searched for the man. He cannot be found. Where is the woman-doctor? per- sisted the excited chief. She recom- mended the fellow. Shed be apt to know. Cant some of you find her? At this moment, young Dr. Frank looked haggardly into the Relief Office. I am taking her cases, he said. She is down with the fever. It was the morning after his last pay-day Sunday morning, the first in October; a dry, deadly, glittering day. Zerviah had been to his attic to rest and bathe; he had been there some hours since sunrise, in the old place by the window, and watched the red sun kindle, and watched the dead-carts slink away into the color, and kneeled and prayed for frost. Now, being strengthened in mind and spirit, he was descending to his Sabbaths work, when a message met him at the door. The messenger was a negro boy, who thrust a slip of paper into his hand, and, seeming to be seized with super- stitious fright, ran rapidly up the street and disappeared. The message was a triumphal result of the education of the freedmens evening school, and succinctly said: ive Gut IT. Nobuddy Wunt Nuss me. Norr no Docter nEther. P. s. Joopiter the Durn bee sed hed kerry This I dont Serpose youd kum. Scip. The sun went down that night as red as it had risen. There were no clouds. There was no wind. There was no frost. The hot dust curdled in the shadow that coiled beneath the stark palmetto. That palmetto always looked like a corpse, though there was life in it yet. Zerviah came to the door of Scips hovel for air, and looked at the thing. It seemed like something that ought to be buried. There were no other trees. The everglades were miles away. The sand and the scant, starved grass stretched all around. Scips hut stood quite by itself. No one passed by. Often no one passed for a week, or even more. Zerviah looked from the door of the hut to the little city. The red light lay between him and it, like a great pool. He felt less lonely to see the town, and the smoke now and then from chimneys. He thought how many people loved and cared for one another in the suffering place. He thought how much love and care suffering gave birth to, in human hearts. He began to think a little of his own suffering; then Scip called him, sobbing wretchedly. Scip was very sick. Hope had sent for Dr. Dare. She had not come. Scip was too sick to be left. The nurse found his duty with the negro. Scip was growing worse. By and by, when the patient could be left for a moment again, Zerviah came to the air once more. He drew in great breaths of the now cooler night. The red pool was gone. All the world was filled with the fatal beauty of the purple colors that he had learned to know so well. The swamps seemed to be asleep, and to exhale in the slow, regular pulsations of sleep. In the town, lamps were lighted. From a hun- dred windows, fair, fine sparks shone like stars as the nurse looked over. There, a hundred watchers tended their sick or dead, or their healing, dearly loved, and guarded ones. Dying eyes looked their last at eyes that would have (lied to save them; strength- ening hands clasped hands that had girded them with the iron of loves tenderness, through the valley of the shadow, and up the heights of life and light. Over there, in some happy home, tremulous lips that the plague had parted met to-night in their first kiss of thanksgiving. Zerviah thought of these things. He had never felt so lonely before. It seemed a hard l)lace for a man to die in. Poor Scip! Zcrviah clasped his thin hands and looked up at the purple sky. Lori, he said, it is my duty. I came South to do my duty. Because he told of 86 ZER VZAH HOPE. me, had I ought to turn against him? It is a lonesome place; hes got it bard, but Ill stand by him. * * * Lord his worn face became suddenly suffused, and flashed, transfigured, as he lifted it Lord God Almighty! You stood by me! I couldnt have been a pleasant fellow to look after. You stood by me in my scrape! I hadnt treated You any too well. * * * * You neednt be afraid Ill leave the creetur. He went back into the hut. Scip called, and he hurried in. The nurse and the plague, like two living combatants, met in the miserable place and battled for the negro. The white Southern stars blazed out. How clean they looked! Zerviah could see them through the window, where the wooden shutter had flapped back. They looked well and wholesomeholy, he thought. He remembered to have heard some one say, at a Sunday meeting he happened into once, years ago, that the word holiness meant health. He wondered what it would be like, to be holy. He wondered what kinds of people would be holy people, say, after a man was dead. Women, he thought, good women, and honest men who had never done a deadly deed. He occupied his thoughts in this way. He looked often from the cold stars to the warm lights throbbing in the town. They were both company to him. He began to feel less alone. There was a special service called somewhere in the city that night, to read the prayers for the sick and dying. The wind rose feebly, and bore the sound of the church-bells to the hut. There was a great deal of company, too, in the bells. He remembered that it was Sunday night. it; Scip put up his feeble hand; Zerviah took Scip spoke no more. The nurse held the negros hand a long time; the lamp went out; they sat on in the dark. Through the flapping wooden shutter the stars looked in. Suddenly, Zerviah perceived that Scips hand was quite cold. He carried him out by starlight, and buried him under the palmetto. It was hard work digging alone. He could not make a very deep grave, and he had no coffin. When the earth was stamped down, he felt extremely weary and weak. He fell down beside his shovel and pick to rest, and lay there in the night till he felt stronger. Jt was damp and dark. Shadows like clouds hung over the distant outline of the swamp. The Sunday bells in the town had ceased. There were no sounds but the cries of a few lonely birds and wild creatures of the night, whose names he did not know. This little fact added to his sense of solitude. He thought at first he would get up and walk back to the city in the dark. An intense and passionate longing seized him to be among living men. He took a few steps down the road. The unwholesome dust blew up through the dark against his face. He found himself so tired that he concluded to go back to the hut. He would sleep, and start in the morning with the break of the dawn. He should be glad to see the faces of his kind again, even though the stir of welcome and the light of trust were gone out of them for him. They lived, they breathed, they spoke. He was tired of death and solitude. He groped back into the hut. The oil was low, and he could not relight the lamp. He threw himself in the dark upon his bed. He slept until late in the morning, heavily. When he waked, the birds were shrill in the hot air, and the sun glared in. I will go now, he said, aloud. I am glad I can go, and crept to his feet. He took two stepsstaggeredand fell back. He lay for some moments, stricken more with astonishment than alarm. His first words were: Lord God! After allafter all Ive gone throughLord God Almighty, if Youll believe itIve got i/I This was on Wednesday morning. Night fell, but no one came. Thursdaybut out- side the hut no step stirred the parched, white dust. FridaySaturday-....no voice but his own moaning broke upon the sick It was Monday, but no one came. It was Tuesday, but the nurse and the plague still battled alone together over the negro. Zer- viahs stock of remedies was as ample as his skill. He had thought he should save Scip. He worked without sleep, and the food was not clean. He lavished himself like a lover over this bkick boatman; he leaned like a mother over this man who had betrayed him. But on Tuesday night, a little before mid- night, Scip rose, struggling on his wretched bed, and held up his hands and cried out: Mr. Hope! Mr. Hope! I never done mean to harm ye! You have not harmed me, said Zer- viab, solemnly. Nobody ever harmed me but myself. Dont mind me, Scip. mans straining ear. ZER VZAH HOPE. 87 His professional experience gave him an excruciating foresight of his symptoms, and their result presented itself to him with hor- rible distinctness. As one by one he passed through the familiar conditions whose phases he had watched in other men a hundred times, he would have given his life for a temporary ignorance. His trained imagination had little mercy on him. He weighed his chances, and watched his fate with the sad exactness of knowledge. As the days passed, and no one came to him, he was aware of not being able to reason with himself clearly about his soli- tude. Growing weak, he remembered the averted faces of the people for whom he had labored, and whom he had loved. In the stress of his pain their estranged eyes gazed at him. He felt that he was deserted because he was distrusted. Patient as he was, this seemed hard. They did not care enough for me to miss me, he said, aloud, gently. I suppose I was not worth it. I had been in prison. I was a wicked man. I must not blame them. And again: They would have come if they had known. . They would not have let me die alone. I dont think she would have done that. I wonder where she is? Nobody has missed methat is all. I must not mind. Growing weaker, he thought less and prayed more. He prayed, at last, almost all his time. When he did not pray, he slept. When he could not sleep, he prayed. He addressed God with that sublime famil- iarity of his, which fell from his lips with no more irreverence than the kiss of a child falling upon its mothers hand or neck. The murderer, the felon, the outcast, talked with the Almighty Holiness, as a man talketh with his friends. The deserted, distrusted, dying creature believed himself to be trusted by the Being who had be- stowed on him the awful gift of life. Lord, he said, softly, I guess I can bear it. Id like to see somebodybut Ill make out to get along. * * * Lord! Im pretty weak. I know all about these spasms. You get delirious next thing, you know. Then you either get better or you never do. Itll be decided by Sunday night. Lord! Dear Lord! he added, with a tender pause, dont You forget me! I hope Youll miss me enough to hunt me ~ It grew dark early on Saturday night. The sun sank under a thin, deceptive web of cloud. The shadow beneath the palmetto grew long over Scips fresh grave. The stars were dim and few. The wind rose, and the lights in the city, where watchers wept their sick, trembled on the frail breeze, and seemed to be multiplied, like objects seen through tears. Through the wooden shutter, Zerviah could see the lights, and the lonely palmetto, and the grave. He could see those few cold stars. He thought, while his thoughts remained his own, most tenderly and longingly of those for whom he had given his life. He remembered how many keen cares of their own they had to carry, how many ghastly deeds and sights to do and bear. It was not strange that he should not be missed. Who was he ?a disgraced, unfamiliar man, among their kin and neighborhood. Why should they think of him? he said. Yet he was glad that he could remember them. He wished his living or his dying could help them any. Things that his pa- tients had said to him, looks that healing eyes had turned on him, little signs of human love and leaning, came back to him as he lay there, and stood around his bed, like people, in the dark hut. They loved me, he said; Lord, as true as Im alive, they did! Im glad I lived long enough to save life, to save ife / Im much obliged to You for that! I wish there was something else I could do for them. * * * Lord! Id be willing to die if it would help them any. If I thought I could do anything that way, toward sending them a frost No, he added, that aint reasonable. A frost and a human life aint convertible coin. He dont do unreasonable things. May be Ive lost my head already. But Id be glad to. Thats all. I suppose I can ask You for a frost. Thats reason. Lord God of earth and heaven! that made the South and North, the pestilence and destruction, the sick and well, the living and the dead, have mercy on us miserable sinners! Have mercy on the folks that pray to You, and on the folks that dont! Re- member the old graves, and the new ones, and the graves that are to be opened if this hellish heat goes on, and send us a blessed frost, 0 Lord, as an act of humanity / And if that aint the way to speak to You, remem- ber I havent been a praying man long enough to learn the language very well, and that Im pretty sick,but that I would be glad to dieto give thema great, white, holy frost. Lord, a frost! Lord, a cool, white, clean frost, for these poor devils that have borne so much! At midnight of that Saturday he dozed 88 ZER VZAH HOPE. and dreamed. He dreamed of what he had thought while Scip was sick: of what it was like, to be holy; and, sadly waking, thought of holy peoplegood women and honest men, who had never done a deadly deed. I cannot be holy, thought Zerviah Hope; but I can pray for frost. So he tried to pray for frost. But by that time he had grown confused, and his will wandered pitifully, and he saw strange sights in the little hut. It was as if he were not alone. Yet no one had come in. She could not come at midnight. Strangehow strange! Who was that who walked about the hut? Who stood and looked at him? Who leaned to him? Who brooded over him? Who put arms beneath him? Who looked at him, as those look who love the sick too much to shrink from them? I dont know You, said Zerviah, in a distinct voice. Presently he smiled. Yes, I guess I do. I see now. Im not used to You. I never saw You before. You are Him Ive heered aboutGods Son! Gods Son, Youve taken a great deal of trouble to come here after me. Nobody else came. Youre the only one that has remembered me. Youre very good to me. * * * Yes, I remember. They made a prisoner of You. Why, yes! They deserted You. They let You die by Yourself. What did You do it for? I dont know much about theology. I am not an educated man. I never prayed till I come South. * * * I forget What did You do i/for? A profound and solemn silence replied. Well, said the sick man, breaking it in a satisfied tone, as if he had been answered, I wasnt worth it * * * but Im glad You came. I wish they had a frost, poor things! You wont go away? Well, Im glad. Poor things! Poor things! Ill take Your hand, if Youve no objections. After a little time, he added, in a tone of unutterable tenderness and content: Dear Lord! and said no more. it was a quiet night. The stars rode on as if there were no task but the tasks of stars in all the universe, and no sorrow keener than their sorrow, and no care other than their motion and their shining. The web of cloud floated like exhaling breath be- tween them and the earth. It grew cooler before the dawn. The leaves of the l)al- metto over Scips grave seemed to uncurl, and grow lax, and soften. The dust still flew heavily, but the wind rose. The Sunday-bells rang peacefully. The sick heard them, and the convalescent and the well. The dying listened to them before they left. On the faces of the dead, too, there came the look of those who hear. The bells tolled, too, that Sunday. They tolled almost all the afternoon. The young Northerner, Dr. Remane, was gone,a reti- cent, l)rave young man,and the heroic tel- egraph operator. Saturday night they buried her. Sunday, Bobby took her place at the wires, and spelled out, with shaking fingers, the cries of Calhoun to the wide, well world. By sunset, all the bells had done ringing and done tolling. There was a clear sky, with cool colors. It seemed almost cold about Scips hut. The palmetto lifted its faint head. The dust slept. It was not yet dark when a little party from the city rode up, searching for the dreary place. They had rid- den fast. Dr. Frank was withthem, and the lady, Marian Dare. She rode at their head. She hurried nervously on. She was pale, and still weak. The chairman of the Relief Committee was with her, and the sub-com- mittee and others. Dr. Dare l)ushed on through the swing- ing door of the hut. She entered alone. They saw the backward motion of her gray-sleeved wrist, and came no farther, but removed their hats and stood. She knelt beside the bed, and put her hand upon his eyes. God is good, after all. Let us hope that they knew her before they closed. She caine out, and tried to tell about it, but broke down, and sobbed before them all. It is a martyrs death, said the chief; and added solemnly, Let us pray. He knelt, and the others with him, between the buried negro and the unburied nurse, and thanked God for the knowledge and the recol- lection of the holy life which this man had lived among them in their hour of need. They buried him, as they must, and hurried homeward to their living, comforting one another for his memory as they could. As for him, he rested, after her hand had fallen on his eyes. He who had known so deeply the starvation of sleeplessness, slept well that night. In the morning, when they all woke, these of the sorrowing city here, and those of the happy city yonder; when they took up life again with its returning sunrise,the sick and the well, the free and the fettered, the living and the dead,the frost lay, cool, white, blessed, on his grave. THE LOST HELLAS. 89 THE LOST HELLAS. O FOR a breath of myrtle and of bay, And glints of sunny skies through dark leaves flashing, And dimpling seas beneath a golden day, Against the strand with soft susurrus plashing! And fair nude youths, with shouts and laughter dashing Along the shining beach in martial play! And rearing gainst the sky their snowy portals, The temples of the glorious Immortals! Thus oft thou risest, Hellas, from my soul A vision of the happy vernal ages, When men first strove to read lifes mystic scroll, But with the torch of joy lit up its pages; When with untroubled front the cheerful sages Serenely wandered toward their shadowy goal, And praised the gods in dance of stately measure, And stooped to pluck the harmless bud of pleasure. Out of the darkness of the primal night, Like as a dewy Delos from the ocean, Thy glory rosea birthplace for the bright Sun-god of thought. And freedom, high devotion, And song, sprung from the fount of pure emotion, Bloomed in the footsteps of the God of light. And Night shrank back before the joyous p~an, And flushed with morning rolled the blue ~gean. Then on Olympus reigned a beauteous throng: The heavens wide arch by wrathful Zeus was shaken; Fair Phcebus sped his radiant path along, The darkling earth from happy sleep to waken; And wept when by the timorous nymph forsaken, His passion breathing in complaining song; And kindled in the bard the sacred fire, And lured sweet music from the silent lyre. Then teemed the earth with creatures glad and fair; A calm, benignant god dwelt in each river, And through the rippling stream a naiads bare White limbs would upward faintly flash and quiver; Through prisoning bark the dryads sigh would shiver, Expiring softly on the languorous air; And strange low notes, that scarce the blunt sense seizes, Were zephyr voices whispering in the breezes. Chaste Arteinis, who guides the lunar car, The pale nocturnal vigils ever keeping, Sped through the silent space from star to star; And, blushing, stooped to kiss Endymion sleeping. And Psyche, on the lonely mountain weeping, Was clasped to Eros heart and wandered far To brave dread Cerberus and the Stygian water, With that sweet, dauntless trust her love had taught her. On Natures ample, warmly throbbing breast, Both God and man and beast reposed securely;

THE LOST HELLAS. 89 THE LOST HELLAS. O FOR a breath of myrtle and of bay, And glints of sunny skies through dark leaves flashing, And dimpling seas beneath a golden day, Against the strand with soft susurrus plashing! And fair nude youths, with shouts and laughter dashing Along the shining beach in martial play! And rearing gainst the sky their snowy portals, The temples of the glorious Immortals! Thus oft thou risest, Hellas, from my soul A vision of the happy vernal ages, When men first strove to read lifes mystic scroll, But with the torch of joy lit up its pages; When with untroubled front the cheerful sages Serenely wandered toward their shadowy goal, And praised the gods in dance of stately measure, And stooped to pluck the harmless bud of pleasure. Out of the darkness of the primal night, Like as a dewy Delos from the ocean, Thy glory rosea birthplace for the bright Sun-god of thought. And freedom, high devotion, And song, sprung from the fount of pure emotion, Bloomed in the footsteps of the God of light. And Night shrank back before the joyous p~an, And flushed with morning rolled the blue ~gean. Then on Olympus reigned a beauteous throng: The heavens wide arch by wrathful Zeus was shaken; Fair Phcebus sped his radiant path along, The darkling earth from happy sleep to waken; And wept when by the timorous nymph forsaken, His passion breathing in complaining song; And kindled in the bard the sacred fire, And lured sweet music from the silent lyre. Then teemed the earth with creatures glad and fair; A calm, benignant god dwelt in each river, And through the rippling stream a naiads bare White limbs would upward faintly flash and quiver; Through prisoning bark the dryads sigh would shiver, Expiring softly on the languorous air; And strange low notes, that scarce the blunt sense seizes, Were zephyr voices whispering in the breezes. Chaste Arteinis, who guides the lunar car, The pale nocturnal vigils ever keeping, Sped through the silent space from star to star; And, blushing, stooped to kiss Endymion sleeping. And Psyche, on the lonely mountain weeping, Was clasped to Eros heart and wandered far To brave dread Cerberus and the Stygian water, With that sweet, dauntless trust her love had taught her. On Natures ample, warmly throbbing breast, Both God and man and beast reposed securely; 90 THE LOST HELLAS. And in one large embrace she closely pressed The sum of being, myriad-shaped but surely The self-same life; she saw the soul rise purely Forever upward in its groping quest For nobler forms; and knew in all creation The same divinely passionate pulsation. Thus rose the legends fair, which faintly light The misty centuries with their pallid glimmer, Of fauns who roam on Mount Cithairons height, Where through the leaves their sunburnt faces shimmer; And in cool copses, where the day is dimmer, You hear the trampling of their herded flight; And see the tree-tops wave their progress after, And hear their shouts of wild, immortal laughter. The vast and foaming life, the fierce desire Which pulses hotly through the veins of Nature Creative rapture and the breath of fire Which in exalting blight and slay the creature; The forces seething neath each placid feature Of Natures visage which our awe inspire All glow and throb with fervid hope and gladness In Dionysus and his sacred madness. Each year the lovely god with vine-wreathed brow In dreamy transport roves the young earth over; The faun that gayly swings the thyrsus bough, The nymph chased hotly by her satyr lover, The roguish Cupids mid the flowers that hover, All join his clamorous train, and upward now Sweep storms of voices through the heavens sonorous With gusts of song and dithyrambic chorus. But where great Nature guards her secret soul, Where viewless fountains hum in sylvan closes, There, leaned against a rugged oak-trees bole, Amid the rustling sedges, Pan reposes. And round about the slumberous sunshine dozes, While from his pastoral pipe rise sounds of dole; And through the stillness in the forest reigning, One hears afar the shrill, sad notes complaining. Thus, in the olden time, while yet the world A vale of joy was, and a lovely wonder, Men plucked the bud within its calyx curled, Revered the still, sweet life that slept thereunder; They did not tear the delicate thing asunder To see its beauty wantonly unfurled, They sat at Natures feet with awed emotion, Like children listening to the mighty ocean. And thus they nobly grew to perfect bloom, With gaze unclouded, in serene endeavor. No fever-vision from beyond the tomb Broke oer their bright and sunlit pathway ever. For gently as a kiss came Death to sever From spirit flesh, and to the realm of gloom The pallid shades with fearless brow descended To Hades, by the winged god attended. A CHAPTER ON TABLEAUX. 9 Why sorrow, then,with vain petitions seek The lofty gods in their abodes eternal? To live is pleasant, and to be a Greek: To see the earth in garments fresh and vernal; To watch the fair youths in their sports diurnal, To feel against your own a maids warm cheek, To see from sculptured shrines the smoke ascending, And with the clouds and ether vaguely blending. And sweet it is to hear the noble tongue, Pure Attic Greek with soft precision spoken! And ah! to hear its liquid music flung, In rocking chords and melodies unbroken, From Homers stormy harpthe deathless token That Hellas Titan soul is strong and young Young as the spring thats past, whose name assuages The gloom and sorrow of the sunless ages. Her fanes are shattered and her bards are dead, But, like a flame from ruins, leaps her glory Up from her sacred dust, its rays to shed On alien skies of art and song and story. Her spirit, rising from her temples hoary, Through barren climes dispersed, has northward fled; As, though the flower be dead, its breath may hover, A homeless fragrance sweet, the meadows over. A CHAPTER ON TABLEAUX. TABLEAUXall have seen them, and very few have seen them good. Many have taken part in them, but few intelligently. It is very difficult to give a receipt for tableaux as if one gave it for a pudding, but many suggestions may be made. To begin with, it is suggested that art and not personal display be the first object. It is not even necessary that people shall be beautiful to look so in a tableau, for it is wonderful how beautiful nature, properly posed and lighted,in fact, seen under the greatest advantages,always is. Intelligence, energy, gauze and lights, an eye quick to see types and use them advantageously,these are the materials for the stage manager who has undertaken tableaux. They need not be expensive; they do not demand real jewels or much rich material, or a troupe of Venuses and Ado- nises. In choosing a person to assume a character in your picture, ignore age, and look for type. Mademoiselle Mars, at fifty, played the Ing6nue to delighted audi- ences. Some of Peg Wofllngtons greatest successes in youth were in elderly parts. Your work is a work of fiction, of repre- sentation, of suggestion. I have seen a beautiful girl of an English type in the part of Miriam, dancing, with her timbrel held aloft with plump, white arms. I have seen an aristocratic Marguerite in white satin, and a Rebecca with an Anglo-Saxon pro- file, chosen for her black hair. I have seen a young, blooming woman, decidedly in- clined to embonpoint, take the part of Psyche, chosen for her pretty face! 1here were women of forty in the audience who could have looked the part better, with the aid of a little paint or powder, and a good deal of gauze between them and the audience. There are faces that are capable of taking on more than one typethat is, of bringing into relief, by one arrangement or another of hair, or costume, or light, one of the several types that they are composed of. Some actors have had such faces, and we find them among our acquaintance sometimes in slight degree what was true in great degree of the face of Shakspere, as we found by studying what there is reason to

A CHAPTER ON TABLEAUX. 9 Why sorrow, then,with vain petitions seek The lofty gods in their abodes eternal? To live is pleasant, and to be a Greek: To see the earth in garments fresh and vernal; To watch the fair youths in their sports diurnal, To feel against your own a maids warm cheek, To see from sculptured shrines the smoke ascending, And with the clouds and ether vaguely blending. And sweet it is to hear the noble tongue, Pure Attic Greek with soft precision spoken! And ah! to hear its liquid music flung, In rocking chords and melodies unbroken, From Homers stormy harpthe deathless token That Hellas Titan soul is strong and young Young as the spring thats past, whose name assuages The gloom and sorrow of the sunless ages. Her fanes are shattered and her bards are dead, But, like a flame from ruins, leaps her glory Up from her sacred dust, its rays to shed On alien skies of art and song and story. Her spirit, rising from her temples hoary, Through barren climes dispersed, has northward fled; As, though the flower be dead, its breath may hover, A homeless fragrance sweet, the meadows over. A CHAPTER ON TABLEAUX. TABLEAUXall have seen them, and very few have seen them good. Many have taken part in them, but few intelligently. It is very difficult to give a receipt for tableaux as if one gave it for a pudding, but many suggestions may be made. To begin with, it is suggested that art and not personal display be the first object. It is not even necessary that people shall be beautiful to look so in a tableau, for it is wonderful how beautiful nature, properly posed and lighted,in fact, seen under the greatest advantages,always is. Intelligence, energy, gauze and lights, an eye quick to see types and use them advantageously,these are the materials for the stage manager who has undertaken tableaux. They need not be expensive; they do not demand real jewels or much rich material, or a troupe of Venuses and Ado- nises. In choosing a person to assume a character in your picture, ignore age, and look for type. Mademoiselle Mars, at fifty, played the Ing6nue to delighted audi- ences. Some of Peg Wofllngtons greatest successes in youth were in elderly parts. Your work is a work of fiction, of repre- sentation, of suggestion. I have seen a beautiful girl of an English type in the part of Miriam, dancing, with her timbrel held aloft with plump, white arms. I have seen an aristocratic Marguerite in white satin, and a Rebecca with an Anglo-Saxon pro- file, chosen for her black hair. I have seen a young, blooming woman, decidedly in- clined to embonpoint, take the part of Psyche, chosen for her pretty face! 1here were women of forty in the audience who could have looked the part better, with the aid of a little paint or powder, and a good deal of gauze between them and the audience. There are faces that are capable of taking on more than one typethat is, of bringing into relief, by one arrangement or another of hair, or costume, or light, one of the several types that they are composed of. Some actors have had such faces, and we find them among our acquaintance sometimes in slight degree what was true in great degree of the face of Shakspere, as we found by studying what there is reason to 92 A CHAPTER ON TABLEA UX. I!. ~. Ut~ V~ ~ ~A LYD ..WP Vh~ r6~ V~ VA Il FIG I SUGGESTIONS FOR GREEK BORDERS. Work solidly with silk or gold thread, or lay on with braid or outline in chain-stitch. believe is his death mask.* In one view it was French, in another German, in another Greek; there were even African traits. One is often deceived by color. Some very dark l)eople have less relation in type of form to the Eastern and Southern races than some fair people, and color is a more manageable quality than form in tableaux, though what may be done to apparently change form, you may see by experiments with a cal)dle on a bust of plaster or marble. You may shorten the nose by so casting the light as to throw the lower cartilage into shadow; you may seem to double the size of the eyes by jtldicious shadows; a touch of paint beneath the nose may lengthen it by throwing the cartilage into relief. All this is mere truism to the artist, but there are many clever peol)le not artists who never thought of these little things. A dress of black unrelieved will make some faces appear * See ScRIBNER for July, 1874, and September, 1875. very thin, while the same face in a white dress, on account of the reflected lights, which eat up the shadows, will appear plump. It is to be observed, also, that there is great difference in the modeling and finish of different faces of the same type. Some are carried much further, as the painters say, than others. We see often, among races where there has been ease and cultivation for generations, ugly types refined upon almost to the point of making them beauti- ful, while frequently among peasants we see very beautiful types, as among the Irish and the Italian (probably the two handsomest races in the world), where there is no subtlety of modeling, and close analysis makes the face uninteresting. To give full- est effect to a face where the type is fine and the finish imperfect, the strong colors should be usedblack, dark red and blue colors, that absorb and do not reflect light; while to give the greatest effect to faces where the finish is finer than the type, the pale tones (provided the tint of skin can 2@ZZQKkTh9G& c A CHAPTER ON TABLEA UX. 93 bear them)the glint of satin, the soft re- flection of transparent white, the surrounding of lacegive the face the very opposite quality of severe line.* The stage should be not less than fifteen feet in depth (with as much space behind it as possible) and ten feet in width. It should be laid with planks or joists, three by ten inches. Ask any carpenter for three- by-ten joists, and he will easily supply you. They should be laid on the narrow side, and endwise to the audience, and a plank nailed across the front to keep them firm, and a plank laid flat on the top at the other end, and nailed. Now on this lay another plank on its narrow side across the whole, and upon that lay planks that shall form your stage like an inclined plane, with ten inches eleva- tion. To represent banks or other elevation, there must be movable benches or plat- forms. Have a post like those used for clothes-lines, set on a stand not necessarily wider than two feet, and placed on castors. Let some plain frames of pine, two inches thick, and as large as the stage, be hinged upon this post. Let each frame have a castor on the end furthest from the post. It would be well to have as many as six, or even eight or ten, of these frames, and not fewer than four. Upon these you may stretch the gauze for backgrounds. For greater care in changing the gauze, you may have holes made in the frame, through which the gauze may be thrust with a wooden pin like an easel-pin, or thumb- tacks can be used. A light placed upon the top of the post, with a reflector, will cast rays in a very effective way through the gauze. All the frames shut tightly to- gether, and, running across the stage, will form a solid, dark, yet atmospheric back- ground, different from that composed of thicker material; while two of them to- gether crossing the stage, the third at an angle, like a half-open door, the fourth at an acuter angle, the fifth at one still more acute, etc., will give an exquisite grading of color hardly to be otherwise attained. A large barn is more favorable for tableaux than the usual country parlor, while in the city there are many parlors quite adequate, especially where two or more rooms are connected by folding doors; * When we speak of color in relation to tableaux, we mean, of course, as it may appear by gas-light. Some purples are brown, some pinks yellow, some blues green by gas-light; and when we say blue, we mean a color that appears blue by gas-light, and so on. a whole room may be taken for the stage, and the audience seated in the adjoining one. Each row of seats should be three inches higher than the one before it. The usual difficulty at private performances is that only those who sit in front see anything at all. Imagine that your stage is in a room, con- necting with the room that serves as audi- torium by folding doors. Let the entire space of the folding doors be stretched with black gauze, and your foot and top lights placed behind the gauze to avoid the sheen cast by lights placed before it. In this way, the gauze becomes only an atmos- phere. If the gauze be tulle, it should be at least double; if it be tarletan, perhaps one thickness would suffice. For some effects it may be good to have the gauze as thick as large-meshed grenadine, but not for all. Upon this black gauze, more than upon what is put behind it, depends the atmos- pheric effect of the pictures. This is to be taken for granted with each tableau; we need not mention it again. It is to be used in all cases. It is no more to be dispensed with than the stage. The stage must of course be raised above the audience; a good deal above them is better for tableaux. One prefers a picture hung on the wall on the eye line, as we say, rather than set on the floor. First, then, the black gauze; secondly, the raised stage; thirdly, and this is very im- c FIG. 2.SCREENS FOR THE STAGE. A, post; B, stand; C, lamp; D, reflector; E, E, E, gauze. covered screens. portant, a frame to include the picture. Since all the tableaux cannot be of the same size, more than one frame is needed. Some might be hired; a simple one, of molding by the foot, can be made with very little ex- pense. The frame should be surrounded with baize or cambric, or cloth of a subdued tone of red or green (see Fig. 3, B). - If you must use the folding doors as curtains, 94 A CHAPTER ON TABLEA UX. then in each frame the black gauze must be stretched. You may arrange the surround- ing red or green as curtains easily adjust- able to the size of the frame, either on rollers, or if with wings (as in Fig. 3, A), then from a firm rod it may be drawn in flutes and give a very good effect. In any case, since the curtain cannot drop behind your frame, but only above and be- low and at the sides, it would be best to form the curtain of four partsone to fall upon the right-hand side of the frame; one to fall upon the left-hand side; a third one above the frame, with the sides covered by the right and left hand curtain; a fourth one below the frame, running upon a rod with rings like the upper curtain, but having the rod covered by the edge of the frame, and the sides by the right and left hand curtains. There must be in the folding door, or whatever acts as proscenium, foot-lights and top-lights, either of gas or lamps, and not too strong, but adjustable so that they mod- ify without interfering with the lights cast from the sides upon the pictures; but, as we have said before, the lights must be be- hind the black gauzenever before it, as that gives a glaze upon the surface. We give a few illustrations, that we present less as effective pictures than as suggestions, for often we have sacrificed the more subdued effects that we should recommend in the tableauxthe mystery of shadow, etc.to clearness of drawing, which shall leave no pose nor arrangement ambiguous. It must be remembered that often a very small part of satin or velvet will suffice to represent a whole dress, when but a small portion is to be seen. If flowers are needed, arrange them in pots beneath the carpet in the hollow plat- form, and let them come up through a slit in the carpet. The parabolic reflector is such as is used by every locomotive, to cast a light before it at night; the light is concentrated brill- iantly upon one point. The hemispherical reflector is a section of a globe, though it may be of so large a globe as to appear almost flat. This reflector, of tin or quick- silver, can be easily procured at any gas- fitters. It casts a diffused lightmore or less diffused according to the distance or closeness of the flame to the reflector. If the light is made to fall upon the tab- leau through colored glass, the effect of a softening glaze is produced. But only one kind of glass can be safely used rolled cathedral. A small piece suffices. The ordinary pot-metal glass is only super- ficially colored, and casts spots of color instead of a glow. To give the effect of sky, hang a gauze cur- tain on rings from a string or rod, letting it hang full, and reaching only half way down toward the stage, and six feet behind the gauze screen described above; a few feet behind the first curtain another of the same AjI?777777. c FIG. 4.SILVER PAPER ARMOR. A, armor made of silver paper stiffened with thin pasteboard cut in scallops and sewed upon a woven undershirt; B, belt of pasteboard covered with silver paper; c, shoulder-strap of armor made of silver paper on pasteboard. gauze, but half the depth of the first. The light must shine through without any flame being visible. Once let the lights, the stage, the gauze be all that is to be desired, and the main difficulty is over. The intelligent stage manager sees a thousand possibilities in the silent actors of his troupe. One caution let me speak in time: do not be deceived FIG. 3.CURTAIN AND FRAME. A, cloth fluted and hung with rings on a rod; B, cloth hanging straight about frame. A CHAPTER ON TABLEA UX. 95 by prettiness. Many a pretty person is quite ineffective in a tableau, and many a one that you have called plain may make a charming picture. Grace will go further than any other quality to suggest beauty, proportion will go further than detail, the type of form further than color, which in some degree you will be able to supply. Keep always in mind that your work is a matter of art. You will not find even your actors ready made; you must bring art to the assistance and explanation of nature. We all know that, setting aside grace, nothing in every-day life will make a woman appear so beautiful as a fine complexion. Across the room it blooms like a flower; but many a handsome woman is hidden beneath an ugly complexion. Do not let beauty escape you for an accident like this. Powder and paint, so hideous in real life, may, used with discretion and softened by FIG. 5.FLORENTINE FASHION OF HAIR. Hair cr~p~d if it does not curl naturally. Fillet about hair to fall loose over bow at side of face, hair flowing down over shoulders. gauze, give value to a fine form of feature. But use them cautiously. In many cases a skin of fine, even tone, though it be thick like the beautiful skin the French call ma/fe, is more brilliant by night than ~the transparent, roseate, thin complexions, and always those complexions inclining to the yellow tone are more effective by gas-light than any other. It should also be remembered that size is a very relative matter. To represent height or weight, let judicious contrasts serve you. We have seen a woman less than five feet in height so perfectly proportioned that she did not look small till she stood by other women, but, by the queenly carriage of her head, seemed tall. Isolated in a frame, dressed with ruffs and jewels, she might well have passed for a stately, commanding personage. The Greeks sometimes exaggerated the FIG. 6.GREEK FASHION OF HAIR. A, Greek fashion with broad fillet and curls. Bind only upper portIon of hair as in B, and then dress in curls. Bring up lower portion and twist, fastening it invisibly with hair-pins. smallness of their statues heads to give grace and elegance, particularly to the women; but to give force and dignity, the head should not be ~rery small. Jupiter should have a large head, Mercury a small one. One-eighth the length of the entire body is the perfect proportion for the head. The most famous Greek statues measure thus, but some of their small studies and some statues measure even ten heads. This is always and only used where grace, lightness, and elegance are of paramount importance. People look taller on the stage than in a room, partly because they are seen on a A, a Greek fashion of hair dressed on top of head with bow and curls. B, profile view of same. Bind as in C, with ribbon in one mass at top of head. Divide in two parts (D and E). Ribbon F. Make bow of upper lock E. Subdivide lower lock D and curl, bringing curls forward and in middle of bow, as in A and B. higher level and appear larger as figures do seen against the sky, on the brow of a hill, or on a house-top. But in bulk they seem less, because of the sharper lights and shadows. Thus a slender leg, very hand- some in reality, may appear thin, while one a trifle too heavy may seem gracefully slender. A black silk stocking on the stage should be worn over a white one, as next to the skin it makes the leg appear very small. An exaggeration in fact is more effective than over-refinement, unless an excessive spirituality is the effect aimed at. Jewels on the stage should be larger than would be worn in real life. For this reason, paste FIG. 7.GREEK FASHION OF HAIR. 96 A CHAPTER ON TABLEA UX. jewels are often more telling on the stage than jewels of the finest quality. I will first describe two tableaux for which a frame six feet by four can be used Undine and Ophelia at the Brook. For the Ophelia we present an illustration. For both of these, especially for the first, to give an unreal, misty effect, a double thickness of black gauze should be used. Place a mirror at an inclination which you can determine by experiment. Cover it with one thickness of black gauze, surround it with water-plants, vines, ivy,anything to make it appear a natural piece of water; let there be tall flowers at the back, like lilies and iris, and low trees of picturesque form to represent bushes. These you can get of any florist, in pots, and the pots can easily be hidden behind the mirror in the hollow platform. A bough of pine nearer the foreground can be easily introduced by nailing it to a screen. The background should be gauze of a subdued green, and lilies on the surface of the mirror, pinned to the black gauze stretched upon it, will cast soft reflections. Have real flowers if in season, artificial ones if not. The Undine should be slender and fair; her dress of diaphanous white; her hair long and wet, and dripping. From her hands drops of water falling may be represented by drops of crystal strung upon a hair or fine silk thread. Let a mild, suffused light shine dimly through the background, and let the cast light be placed at the left front corner of the picture, with a hemispherical reflector, and shining through a green glass. The reflection of the Undine in the mirror seems to make a movement with her own body like a fountain. For the Ophelia, it would be well to alter the character of the surroundings a little to give it a wilder expression. Notice very carefully the direction of lines in the draw- ing, the gauzy-white drapery of the over- skirt pulled to the right out of the picture 2 3 r 4 / as if it had caught on a briar. Let the hair of the Ophelia be very dark, and her face very pale, and her figure tall, slender, graceful; her eyes must look at nothing, and the action of her hand seem automatic as she drops the flower at which she does not look. Here a hair or invisible silk must be used to hold the flower; fasten the hair or silk to the root of the middle finger, that the action of the finger-tips may be unen- cumbered. For this character you must choose a woman with some dramatic talent. Let there be no color in the picture but a dull green, and perhaps a little purple among the flowers; let the rest be white, and let the light in the background be extremely faint, and the cast light at the right- hand upper corner in front be very brilliant, and cast directly upon the upper portion of Ophelias face and body, and let a para- bolic reflector be used and no glass, but the light pure and simple. Memory rests her hand upon a sun- dial and gazes in the mirror of imagination. The tone of this picture should be pale green and gold. The background of yel- lowish green gauze softly lighted with a diffused light on the right-hand corner; the branches of an orange tree, introduced as nearly as possible in the composition given in the drawing. The column of the sun-dial a yellowish tone like weather-stained marble; the hand of the sun-dial gilded. Let the hair of the woman be golden or golden brown, and the fillets in the hair green or gold, and the dress of very pale green cr?j5e, with a border of green and gold, and the glass in her hand set in ivory or in gold. Cast the light from the upper left-hand corner at the front, use the hem- ispherical reflector, and let the light shine through a green glass. A frame about four feet six inches square varying a little with the size of the actor will be large enough for the next two pict- ures. The first is a Monk in his Cell by ~,o. 8VARIOUS KINDS OF SANDALS. A CHAPTER ON TABLEA C/X. 97 moonlight, meditating upon a skull. The window used in this should be a latticed frame containing no glass, and there should be neither top nor foot lights used here. Every light should be extinguished but one to the right of the picture, which shines through the window; a parabolic reflector should be used~ the rays cast directly upon the white- hued cowl of the monk, and making ashadow on the wall. The light must shine through glass of a cold shade of green cathedral rolled. The wall of the cell can be per- fectly represented by a screen papered with that coarse, heavy, gray paper, rough in surface, used sometimes without wadding beneath carpets,a very thick paper, very cheap, and of a stone-gray. The actor can easily find at a wig-shop a wig to represent a shaven head with the monkish fringe of hair; the dress can be made of black and VOL. XXI.7. white flannel or serge; the table of un- painted pine, made at any carpenters, oiled down into a dull tone or made of weather- stained plank; there should be a rough seat of the same. A skull can be procured at any medical college, or of almost any physi- cian. This is one of the simplest of all the tableaux, and one of the most effective, if the light be well arranged and the air of mystery be given to the shadows. In the drawing, we have made the effect a little lighter than desirable, in order to make the pose and general mechanism clearly defined. A charming contrast to this somber pict- ure is Pandora opening the box the gods confided to her care. The woman chosen to take this part should be capable of looking very young, and should be of a youthful type, small features, delicate round arms, and a slender figure. Let the hair OPHELIA AT THE BROOK. 98 A CHAPTER ON EABLEA UX. be, or be made, golden, with a flush of ex- gold painta border manufactured in th~ citement on the cheek. The dress should same waywould make the effect very be of cre~pe, cream-colored, a ribbon of the handsome. Let this tableau be lighted from same color used for the fillets of the hair; a point not yet tried with the others, viz.: the the sandals and sandal-thongs of gold. Let front at the top, slightly to the right; use the floor be gray or dun color, the curtain the hemispherical reflector, and cast the amber, the plain curtain nearest the front of light through a rose-colored glass. a brighter, richer tone of the same. The A Nun at her Devotions is one of the screen set back of the curtain should repre- simplest of all. It hardly needs description. sent distance, not a wall, and therefore should A background of dark brown gauze, very be of gauze, dark amber or rich brown, and faintly lighted at the upper right-hand very faintly lighted, not to give light, but only corner; a dress of black serge or stuW with transparency. You will be a little limited, black veil and white coif; a crucifix and probably, in the choice of a box. If you have rosary,these are the very simple materials no very handsome carved one, an ordinary needed. Let the light fall from the left-hand wooden box, lined with yellow, and covered upper corner in front, and use the parabolic at the end toward the audience by some reflector. Choose your nun for the beauty bass-relief, easily got at any plasterers, of a of her eyes, the regularity and refinement classic design, and gilded with Bessemers of feature, and the elegance of her hands. MEMORY. A CHAPTER ON TABLEAUX. 99 This tableau was performed many years ago, in a series of tableaux managed by an artist of great reputation. The young girl who took the part of the nun was very beautiful, and the audience were so enthusi- astic that they would not allow the curtain to be dropped. The light shining full in the upturned eyes of the maiden for so pro- longed a period made the tears gather, and a great, shining drop, catching the light, rolled down her cheek, while the bright tears glistened, brimming over the lower lids. The effect was electrical. The tableau was encored and encored, and long-contin- ued applause followed its last appearance. A frame, approximately twenty-nine by thirty-four inches, should include this pict- ure, and also the following one. This is called The Maskers. The costume is Florentine, of the Petrarch period, very simple to make. The man should be dark, and wear a full wig of half- long black hair; a cap of dark green velvet set on the back of the head; a cloak of brown, or dark amber, almost brown, a sleeve of dark green, with a yellow satin facing. He should hold a little rose-colored mask, which he has just plucked from the face of the woman, whose hair must be blonde and dressed in the Florentine fashion, with a fillet, as in the working drawing (Fig. 5). The small portion of dress that shows should be of deep red, with a high collar lined with a rose-color paler than the mask. Her cloak should be of blue, or golden brown. Let the background be of a rich tone of yel- low. Cast the light from the front upper left- hand corner, using the parabolic reflector and a yellow glass. The Harvesters is capable of very ex- quisite effect, if given with artistic sense and a judicious selection of actors. It is by no means difficult, and of a most trifling cost. The frame is seven feet by five, or a little less. The stage should he at a slightly sharper inclination than the ten inches we have heretofore set down, and in depth not less than the whole fifteen feet, at which point two of the frames of the screen, covered with gray-blue gauze, should stretch across the entire stage. At least four feet behind that, hang a full curtain of gauze A MONK IN HIS CELL BY MOONLIGHT. 100 A CHAPTER ON TABLEA (IX. across, falling from the top to within three cotton, the skirt of blue woolen or cotton, feet of the stage. Two or three feet behind and a little woolen bodice of brown, laced this, hang a curtain of cambric or thick cloth, in front; the cotton chemise is best of the coming within four feet of the stage. Several yellowish tone called unbleached; a broad feet behind this, have an absolutely opaque ribbon of black may be tied on the screen,vf con venient, wood, otherwise top of the head, in a flaring bow. She paper,which shall leave an open space holds beneath her left arm a sheaf of wheat, of three or four feet above the stage across and winds the right arm around the waist of its whole length, and let the space behind it her taller neighbor, who may be dressed in a be very brilliantly lighted with lights shining deeper shade of blue, with a still deeper through yellow glass. This will give you blue bodice, a handkerchief on her head of the effect of a sunset sky. plaid cotton, in which the chief color shall On your stage at the back, set a busha be yellow. Let the stockings be gray, wild bush, like a small thorn-tree, or furze- and the feet in sabots, or bare. The third bush. Cover your stage with cloth, flannel or peasant should wear a brown dress with velvet, of a dull old gold, or golden brown, a blue cotton apron, in which she carries to represent a reaped field. Let a sheaf a few blades of wheat. The handker- of wheat be set here and there, at judicious chief on the head should be pink, and that distances, and your scene will be complete. over her shoulders plaid, with pink intro- For actors, choose those capable of look- duced, and some purple tones, if practicable. ing the part of French peasants,not too Let the stockings be of a yellow-brown. slender in figure, rather muscular; let the You may vary the group by placing behind complexion be, or be painted, dark, with the group of women a dark, muscular youth color in the cheek. Let the actress on the carrying a sheaf of wheat on his left shoulder, right appear the youngest and be the slen- bare-headed and with black hair. His shirt, derest, the feet bare or dressed in sabots. if white, should be of a yellowish, dirty tone, (How many ladies import gloves or dresses! or it should be gray, open at the throat. It would be easy to import sabots; your The whole group must have the action of dress-maker could import them for you.) moving forward and singing as they go. The stockings should be blue woolen or Let the light be cast from the left upper A CHAPTER ON TABLEA UX. I0I A NUN AT HER DEVOTIONS. corner in front, through a yellow glass, and with the use of a hemispherical reflector the light will be diffused gently over the whole. The main light should be from the back, as if from the sunset. A very interesting study is to copy in your tableaux vivauts some famous picture. Choose the actors for the resemblance they are capable of bearing to the subject. You will be surprised to see how the dress of the hair, the lines of the dress, change the appearance, bringing into relief character- istics not easily seen in the habitual costume. How easily one could give in tableaux the Madonna della Seggiola, by Raphael. Remember that the picture was painted on the top of a barrel, and that the circular frame is as important as the pose of the Madonna. All the lines of the picture are composed upon that circle, and, as coin- position of line, it is one of the finest things in the world. Arrange the picture with a photograph of the original by your side. Be careful with every fold of drapery, every line of the pose; not one is unimportant. Every finger must be in its right position. It would be safer, of course, if some one of the company had seen the oriiginal, and remembered vividly the tone of green of the mantle and the red of the sleeve. To make the halo around the head of the St. John, use brass wire. The flame about the head of the infant Christ is less easy to represent, though experiments might be tried with tinsel; but the wire might be substituted, if all else fails. The flow of unsupported drapery, as in Raphaels Dresden Madonna, in mantle and skirt, can be arranged by means of buckram or wire pinched into the right line; but a person quite unused to the artistic had best not attempt this, though one with a little knowledge may learn much by experiment- ing in this way. Canton flannel, thick, un- bleached cotton, and many cheap materials not too thin, may be made to look like much richer ones if well draped. There is no end to the charming classic subjects one might give in tableaux, such as Greek girls laying garlands on the shrine of Cupid, Penelope at her web, Arcadian lovers with doves. Let the dresses be care- T02 A CHAPTER ON ]ABLEA (IX. fully copied from some plates of Greek cos- done if your stage were in the loft of a tume, Flaxmans Outlines, any good barn. Another way would be to have figures mythology with plates, or any of the several reflected in a mirror, so placed as to reflect works on Greek costume to be found in a again into the mirror of the Lady of Shalott. large library. The material used may be Another conception of this subject would Canton flannel, unbleached cotton, or mer- be effective if a very dramatic person would mo, or cr?pe, with gold borders worked in assume the character of the Lady of Shalott. patterns. For the shrine of Cupid, have a Let the mirror be placed with its back to bower of shrubs and a little altar xvith a burn- the audience. The lady, jumping up from ing lamp. Let the statue of Cupid be a boy her loom, drags with ber the woven web, or youth, dressed in white tights and rubbed making confusion; with one hand pressed with flour, the hair floured or powdered, or a wig floured. Of course, the hair must curl. Romantic subjects, like The Lady of Shalott at her mirror with her loom, might suggest a host in the same line, or several treatments of the same,in order to see, not the face of the lady, but her reflection in the mirror, and also the dimmer reflection of what she sees. The last can be done by means of a trap-door in the stage, and figures below that are reflected in the mirror, which must be tipped forward. This can only be easily to her heart she eagerly looks in the mirror, and her face must reflect the joy of what she sees, and the coming tragedy. Many other subjects suggest themselves, such as two lovers getting their fortune told by an old hag in a gypsy camp; or a young cavalier listening to a beautiful gypsy girl, who holds cards in her hand; an old Italian woman, lifting a child to lay flowers on the Virgins shrine,alI the light coming from the lamp that burns above the shrine. A hundred sub- THE MASQUERS. A CHAPTER ON L7ABLEA UX. 103 jects from Faust could be charmingly given: Marguerite at her spinning-wheel, Faust and Marguerite in the garden in sun- light, she pulling the leaves from the daisy, he watching her, while on the wall behind them, crossing their shadows, is cast the shadow of Mephistopheles, with his three cocks-plumes, he not otherwise appearing in the picture. We are well aware that we may, in the course of these pages, have suggested many questions that we have left unanswered, but we hope that the explanations which have been given will prove clear and practical. At least, we may trust that some of our thoughts may set intelligent people, who have not given themselves an artistic train- ing, thinking in the right direction. It is not instruction but provocation, Emerson says, that one mind may receive from another. THE HARVESTERS. 104 JEANFRANgOIS AULLETPEASANYP AND PAINTER. JEAN-FRANyoIs MILLETPEASANT AND PAINTER. III. WHILE studying with patience the action of his reapers, Millet produced a figure which had long occupied his thoughts. We know what a serious affair the sowing is to an agricultural people. Plowing, manur- ing and harrowing are done with compara- tive indifference, at any rate without heroic passion; hut when a man puts on the white grain-bag, rolls it around his left arm, fills it with seed, the hope of the coming year, that man exercises a sort of sacred ministry. He says nothing, looks straight before hun, measures the furrow, and, with a movement cadenced like the rhythm of a mysterious song, throws the grain, which falls to the earth and will soon he covered by the har- row. The rhythmic walk of the sower and his action are superb. The importance of the deed is real, and he feels his responsi- bility. If he is a good laborer, he will know how much seed to throw with every fling of his hand, adjusting the amount sown to the nature of the soil. I have seen sowers who, before they put foot upon the field, would toss a handful of grain into the air in the sign of a cross; then, stepping upon the - 7~ 7 / THE REAPER.

104 JEANFRANgOIS AULLETPEASANYP AND PAINTER. JEAN-FRANyoIs MILLETPEASANT AND PAINTER. III. WHILE studying with patience the action of his reapers, Millet produced a figure which had long occupied his thoughts. We know what a serious affair the sowing is to an agricultural people. Plowing, manur- ing and harrowing are done with compara- tive indifference, at any rate without heroic passion; hut when a man puts on the white grain-bag, rolls it around his left arm, fills it with seed, the hope of the coming year, that man exercises a sort of sacred ministry. He says nothing, looks straight before hun, measures the furrow, and, with a movement cadenced like the rhythm of a mysterious song, throws the grain, which falls to the earth and will soon he covered by the har- row. The rhythmic walk of the sower and his action are superb. The importance of the deed is real, and he feels his responsi- bility. If he is a good laborer, he will know how much seed to throw with every fling of his hand, adjusting the amount sown to the nature of the soil. I have seen sowers who, before they put foot upon the field, would toss a handful of grain into the air in the sign of a cross; then, stepping upon the - 7~ 7 / THE REAPER. JEANFRAN~7OIS MILLETPEASANT AND PAINTER. 105 THE DIGGERS. field, they would pronounce, in a low voice, portrait of the countrythe old tower and some indistinct words which sounded like a plain of Chailly. prayer. The first Sower * (1850) was executed Millet had the idea of the sower in his with fury, but having reached the end of heart without knowing how to define it. his work, Millet found, like Michael Angelo Barbizon formulated the work for him, but with his statues, that the stuff was insuf- the scene is laid at Gruchy. Although The ficient, the canvas was too short. He Sower was conceived and executed at Bar- traced the lines of his figure exactly and bizon, it was entirely with the remembrance produced the twin brother, which appeared of Normandy. In point of fact, the first in the exhibition which opened at the end of Sower by Millet was a young fellow of a the year r8~o. The Salon was then at the wild aspect, dressed in a red shirt and blue Palais Royal. With The Sower Millet breeches, his legs wrapped in wisps of sent The Sheaf-Binders. The Sower straw, and his hat torn by the weather. It made some noise, the young school talked is not at all a man of Barbizonit is a young about it, copied it, reproduced it in litho- fellow of Gr~ville, who, with a proud and graphy, and it has remained in the memory serious step, finishes his task on the steep of artists as Millets c/tefdceuvre. Th6- fields, in the midst of a flock of crows, ophile Gautier was touched by it. In the which fly down upon the grain. It is him- following quotation we see the impression self, Millet, who remembers his early life, made by this virile work: and finds himself once more upon his The Sower, by M. J. -F. Millet, impresses us native soil. Later, he made several draw- as the first pages of the Mare au Diable of George ings and pastels of a Sower, all having Sand, which are about labor and rustic works. the look of the people at Barbizon. The The night is coming, spreading its gray wings over action is less dignified, the man is more the earth; the sower marches with a rhythmic step, weighed down, like the people about Paris; The first Sower is owned by Mr. Quincy and in order that there should be no mis- A. Shaw, of Boston, who owns also a number of take, Millet made as a frame about him the other works by Millet. xo6 JEAN-ERA N9~OIS MILLETPEASANT AND PAINTER. flinging the grain in the furrow; he is followed by a cloud of pecking hirds; he is covered with dark rags, his head by a curious cap. He is bony, swart and meager, under this livery of poverty; yet it is life which his large hand sheds, and, with a superb gesture, he who has nothing pours upon the earth the bread of the future. On the other side of the slope, a last ray of the sun shows a pair of oxen at the end of their furrow, strong and gentle companions of man, whose recompense will one day be the slaughter-house. This is the only light of the picture, bathed in shadow; and presenting to the eye, under a cloudy sky, noth- ing but newly plowed earth. Of all the peasants sent to the Salon this year, we greatly prefer The Sower. There is something great and of the grand style in this figure, with its violent gesture, its proud raggedness, which seems to be painted with the very earth that the sower is planting. It was at this time that Millet confided to me his divorce from mythology and naked female figures. He wrote from Barbizon: I received yesterday colors, oil, canvas and the sketch. These are the names of the pictures for the sale in question: i. Woman pounding hemp. 2. Peasant man and woman going to work in the field. 3. Pickers of wood in the forest. I dont know whether pickers can be printed. Peasant man and woman gathering wood, or any- thing you choose. * But, to tell the truth, the peasant subjects suit my temperament best; for I must confess, even if you think me a socialist, that the human side of art is what touches me niost, and if I could only do what I like,or, at least, attempt it,I should do nothing that was not an impression from nature, either in landscape or figures. The gay side never shows itself to me. I dont know where it is. I have never seen it. The gayest thing I know is the calm, the silence, which is so delicious, either in the forest or in the cultivated landwhether the land be good for culture or not. You will admit that it is always very dreamy, and a sad dream, though often very delicious. You are sitting under a tree, enjoying all the com- fort and quiet of which you are capable; you see come from a narrow path a poor creature loaded with fagots. The unexpected and always surprising way in which this figure strikes you, instantly reminds you of the common and melancholy lot of humanity weariness. It is always like the impression of La Fontaines Wood-cutter, in the fable: What pleasure has he had since the day of his hirth? Who so poor as he on the whole wide earth? Sometimes, in places where the land is sterile you see figures hoeing and digging. From time to time one raises himself and straightens his back, as they call it, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Thou shalt eat thy bread in the sweat of thy brow. Is this the gay, jovial work some people would have us believe in? But, nevertheless, to me it is true humanity and great poetry! But I stop, lest I should end by tiring you. For- give me; I am all alone, with no one to whom I can speak of my impressions, and I let myself go without thinking. I will not do so again. Oh, now I think of it, send me from time to time some fine letters with the Ministers seal,a red seal and all the prettiness possible: If you could only see the respect with which the postman gives them to me, hat in hand (a thing quite out of the common), saying with the greatest unctuousness, From the Minister! It gives me a position, it increases my credit, for to them a letter with the Ministers seal is,,of course, from the Minister. ~ ~ Is there any chance of an order? Is that one of Jacques getting on at all? I shake your hand. J. -F. MILLET. Do Rousseaus pictures make a good effect? Are they a success? This precious letter shows at once the programme and the character of Millet. His rustic art is at last proclaimed, as well as all his philosophy, or rather his ~sthetic theories. It is a corner of his heart which he opens; he shows us what he loves,and a gay, even comic note ends his letter; for he does not want to be thought a com- plainer, and, like all dreamy and impres- slonable spirits, soon quits the melancholy tone to laugh a little at the foibles of humanity. In the beginning of 1857, his grand- mother died without having embraced her Benjamin, her Fran9ois who had grown up under her wing, and whom shethought of until her last breath. Millet was over- come with grief. He did not speak for days, and it was pitiful to see his mute pain. Ah, if I could have seen her once more, were the only words he could say. The existence of the mother of Millet was now painful enough. Loneliness crept upon her,her daughters were married, and her sons had left the village. My dear child, she wrote, you say you are very anxious to come to see us and stay a little while with us. I am very anxious, too, but it seems you have not much means. How do you manage to live? My poor child, when I begin to think of this I am very uncomfortable. Ah, I hope you will come and surprise us some time when we expect it the least. For myself, I can neither live nor die, I am so anxious to see you. * I have neglected writing to you, because I thought to see you during the summer, but now ftms ~mast and indeed we are very anxious to see you. I have nothing now left me but to suffer and die. My poor child, if you could only come before the winter! I have such a great desire to see you one single time more. I think of you oftener than you imagine. I am tired of suffering in body and soul. When I wonder how you will get on in the future without money, I can neither rest nor sleep. ~ * 55 * 55 Tell us how you do, whether you have work and make money, and sell your pictures. It is surprising that you dont speak of the revolutions in Paris. Is it true that there are any? Tell us something about them. I am so afraid that you will get caught in all this business. Will you come soon? ~ ~ Ah, if I had wings to fly to you! As soon as you get this letter, write again. I end by kissing you with all my heart, and I am with all possible love your mother, WIDOW MILLET. JRA N-ERA N~7OIS MILLETPEASANT AND PAINTER. 107 It is not surprising that one son combined the religious ardor of the grandmother with the tenderness of the mother. She did not last much longer. A suffo- cating asthma made her as weak as an octogenarian. Life remained in her only in the thought of her children,the hope of seeing her Franois, who had always given her respect and affection. She waited like the mothers in the old legends,listening for his footfall, hoping vainly for a surprise which never came. Poor Fran9ois, too, waited; poverty, the fatal companion of his life, did not give him a moments grace. She waited two years, until 1853, and died in prayer and hope. Her son, a hundred leagues off, traced on paper the sorrows of his mother. He thought of Tobit and his wife, who also waited, and he realized the story there, where the old people hope for the return of their child. He found the plastic expression of their suffering, and sketched a scene where two old people look toward the sky, and try to find a human form amid the glories of the setting sun. The Waiting, a picture ex- hibited some years later, was here begun. Is art a natural language which all can understand? Is a particular education and aptitude necessary to appreciate its beauties? The common man, and even very poetic intelligences, do they rebel against the thoughts of painters and sculptors? We leave to others the work of answering these questions. Certainly our modern geniuses have not shown an understanding of plastic art, and, among the shepherds of men, many seem to us blind in this matter. The state, the natural protector of art, long xvent astray, both in its public manifestations, and in the choice of its acquisitions or orders. And yet, said Millet, it seems to me that the Pharaohs did not let the genius of ancient Egypt die, and that Pericles was lucky in the choice of a builder of the Par- thenon; Alexander did not make humilia- ting demands upon Praxiteles; the Antonines allowed art, in their day, to attain to the greatest beauty. But in our day it is nothing but an accessory, a pleasing talent; whereas, of old, and in the Middle Ages, it was a pillar of society, its conscience, and the ex- pression of its religious sentiment. What have the great men of our day done for the arts? Less than nothing. Lamartine (I saw him choose his favorite picture in the Salon of 1848) cared only for a subject which related to his political or literary preoccupations. He would never have found a place in his house for a picture by Rembrandt. Victor Hugo puts Louis Boulanger and Delacroix on the same line. George Sand has a womans prudence, and gets out of the difficulty by beautiful words. Alexandre Dumas is in the hands of Dela- croix, but he cannot think freely outside of the painter of Shakspere and Goethe. I have never discovered, a single well-felt page in Balzac, Eug~ne Sue, Frederic Souli6, Bar- bier, Mary, etc.,one page which could guide us or show a real comprehension of art; and that is the reason I was cold in meeting Prudhon when he came to see Diaz. In 1850, or sm, Millet had been in a dark corner of Diazs studio, when Prudhon came in. Millet turned a moment to look at the new-corner, and immediately began to work again at his picture. In the Salon of 1853, Millet painted Ruth and Boaz, The Sheep-shearer and The Shepherd, all highly praised by Gau- tier, Paul de Saint Victor and Pelloquet. Millet received a second-class medal. His Ruth and Boaz was bought by an Ameri- can, and his two otherpictures were purchased by Mr. William Morris Hunt. The latter had lived for several years in Paris. A pupil of Couture, he had become seriously enam- ored of Millets works, and, to study quietly the man and the painter, made himself a comfortable home in Barbizon, and led the gay life of every American who lives in the good land of France. Other strangers, such as Mr. Hearn, painter, and Mr. Babcock, to whom Millet had given some lessons in 1848, came to visit Mr. Hunt. There was thus formed a sort of colony of artists, fer- vent disciples of Millet, who, by their pur- chases, lightened his poverty. But these windfalls could scarcely fill the holes made by a life which had always been hard. Like Rousseau, Millet had around him a group of tradesmen, anxious and almost fierce, whom he had to appease. A baker, the only one in the place, threatened with oaths to withdraw the daily bread. A grocer had become his bailiff. A country tailorthe antipodes of the patient Parisian tradesman sent the sheriffs officer to sell the furni- ture in his studio, and he would not allow the artist a days, or even an hours, grace. Such scenes were repeated over and over during many years. When I re-read the letters of Millet, written in these unfortunate times, I find them always a dignified, calm statement of his sufferings. He hides nothing, com io8 JEAN-ERA N~O IS MILLETPEASANT AND PAINTER. plains of nothing, merely tells the bald fact, and the sad truth is all the more touching. All these cruel confidences end by these words: Try, my dear Sensier, to coin some money with my pictures; sell them at any price, but send me one hundred francs, fifty, or even thirty, for the time approaches Then I trotted all over Paris, offering dealers and amateurs the paintings of my friend. Some grinned, or sent me off as a madman; others, more rarely, bought, but at laughable prices. I went to my comrades. I told them they could buy with confidence, and that I would take the picture back if, later, they came to the con- clusion that they had made a bad bargain. In this way, I made some sales, and, after a month or two, back would come the painting, with a Decidedly, I dont care for this artist; I like anything else better a new embarrassment for me. I honored my promises, but only by superhuman ef- forts, loans, combinations,all the series of youthful difficulties. Thus I acquired many pictures of Millet, in spite of myself as it were, and by the mere force of circum- stances. Later, some of these stubborn amateurs came to me for the same pictures, but I refused, saying: It is too late; your pictures are in my harem, and I will just let you see them, like Candaules and Gyges. But the mold is not broken. Go to Mil- let; he will serve you. That was a time of trials, struggles and humiliating, picturesque inventions to get us out of difficulties. I see it all through a mist, which changes sometimes into splendid rainbows: for I was as convinced as of a mathematical fact that Millet was a great painter. I do not speak of the man. 1 was at- tached to Millet as to an elder brother, who revealed to me all the beauties and at- tractions of life,a sage whose temper was ever even, whose welcome was always kind, and who taught me to rid myself of super- fluities, and showed me the true paths of life. These times are gone. Millet is dead, glorious, but killed before his time by the endless battles in which his strength could not but fail. In art, he used to say, you have to give your skin. In spite of everything, Millet did not despair. He felt that he had a great career, if be only could get bread enough to hold out. Rousseau at this time was scarcely more favored. Their intimacy was very slow to form. Millet, more straitened than he, only let him know, in a joking way, part of his troubles. Rousseau, defiant, always on his guard, only later opened his heart to Millet; but at last they began to believe in each other, and they then commenced an exchange of impressions and ideas which had a great influence on Rousseau. Toward 1852, the latter used to consult his friend on the subject of his pictures and his projects. Millet sometimes dared to tell him point- blank his opinions,a difficult thing for Rousseau to accept. They even had some notions about working together. In 1853 Millet lost his mother, and it was absolutely necessary for him to go home and attend to the division of the inheritance. Happily, he was fortunate enough to sell some canvases, and left Barbizon the first days of May. Meeting at Gruchy, the eight children of Jean Louis Nicholas Millet divided his inheritance. Fran9ois only asked for the books that bad belonged to his great-uncle, and the great wardrobe of oak, which from father to son had come down uninjured. He left his part of the house and the land to be enjoyed by one of his brothers, who lived at Gruchy. And so, the family wealth being reduced to the smallest fractions, Millet started again for Barbizon, impatient to rejoin his wife and children. Times became a trifle better. Some ama- teurs liked his drawings, and were never tired of increasing their collection. These drawings had not yet reached the beauty of those of a later date retouched with pastel, nor of those other admirable compositions which were seen after his death; but the artist then, as always, saw the fundamental characteristic of all country scenes, and ren- dered them in a style of his own and with a striking individuality. Most of these draw- ings are on gray or blue paper, with the lights touched in with Chinese white, with the shadows in stump, and are swiftly done, as by a man master of his subject. They are almost all the first thought of a compo- sition, and if later they became pastel or painting, the disposition and effect were not changed. The image was instantly fixed in the mental vision of Millet, for he did nothing that was not deliberate, thought- ful, sought out, and when the picture came, it was complete and definite in a few strokes. But it distressed Millet to be reduced to work which fatigued his brain by constant invention. At this moment good luck ar- rived in the shape of a buyer, who was welcomed as a savior. Perhaps it may seem that I unveil too much of the secret corner of Millets JEAN-FJiAN9~OIS MILLETPEASANT AND PAINTER. 109 life,of his poverty. But of such a man of his childhood were under the grass of everything is of value, and to see him the cemetery. The first days were sad always dignified and serene amid the storms enough, but the fields, the active life of the of life, meeting his fate by work, calm love house, and the pure air from the cliffs, of his art and such persistent self-abnegation, restored his tone. He wanted to paint, it will be admitted that his poverty ought to and he drew, with a sons affection, every- raise him in our esteem. thing which the family had owned: the The new buyer was not a casual passer- house, the garden, the cider-mill, the sta- by. Rousseau had discovered him, and, bles, the orchard, the hedges, the pastures according to his discreet fashion, had sent and covered ways of the ancestral house. him to Millet. M. Letr6ne did not stop; These sketches and notes, taken in all the he ordered two more pictures, among oth- neighborhood, served him later for his corn- ers the beautiful composition of the woman positions. feeding chickens, whose price was the enor- One evening he was returning to Gruchy, mous one of 2000 francs. Millet worth the Angelus was just ringing, and he 2000 francs! and how would he use this found himself at the door of the little church treasure? To make his house comfortable of Eulleville. He went in; at the altar an and enjoy his wealth? Not at all. He old man was praying. He waited, and when thinks of home, and goes off, in June, 1854. the old priest rose, he struck him gently with all his children, to La Hague. He on the shoulder, and said: Franois. went for one month and staid four. It was the Abb6 Jean Lebrisseux, his first At Gr6viflc, he found neither his father teacher. nor his two mothers. Only his eldest sister ~Ah, is it you, dear child, little Fran9ois? and one of his brothers remained in the and they embraced, weeping. villagea new generation. The old friends And the Bible, Fran9ois, have you for- THE ANGELUS. 110 0 TELL AlE NOT OF HEAVENLY HALLS. gotten it? and the Psalms, do you ever read them ? They are my breviary, said Millet. I get from there all that I do. These are rare words to hear nowa- days, but you will be rewarded. You used to love Virgil. I love him still. It is well. I am content. Where I sowed, good grain has grown, and you will reap the harvest, my son. At night-fall they separated. Millet start- ed again for Paris, where new work and new disappointments awaited him, but his stay at Gruchy was profitable to his future. He never exhausted the stock of character- istic subjects which he brought back with him. His name began to grow. The new rustic art of Millet had made the young men think ; at once literal and imaginative, it roused in some minds a whole world of political and social problems. Some called him the brother of Pierre Dupont, the singer of peasants, eloquent ally of Lachambeau- die, the novelist of the sorrows of the people. The Sower cursed the rich, they said, because he flung his grain with anger toward the sky. Every one talked of the artists work, and tried to make it a weapon. But Millet did not consider himself so important or so revolutionary. No subversive idea troubled his brain. Socialistic doctrines he would not listen to; the little that came to his ears, he said, was not clear. He often ~~aid: My programme is work. Thou shalt gain thy bread in the sweat of thy brow, was written centuries ago. Immutable destiny, which none may change! What every one ought to do is to find progress in his profession, to try ever to do better, to be strong and clever in his trade, and be greater than his neighbor in talent and conscien- tiousness in his work. That for me is the only path. The rest is dream or calculation. (To be continued.) 0 TELL ME NOT OF HEAVENLY HALLS. O TELL me not of heavenly halls, Of streets of pearl and gates of gold, Where angel unto angel calls Mid splendors of the sky untold: My homesick heart would backward turn To find this dear, familiar earth, To watch its sacred hearth-fires burn, To catch its songs of care or mirth. Id lean from out the heavenly choir To hear once more the red cock crow, What time the mornings rosy fire Oer hill and field began to glow. To hear the ripple of the rain, The summer waves at oceans brim, To hear the sparrow sing again Id quit the wide-eyed cherubim! I care not what heavens glories are! Content am I. More joy it brings To watch the dandelions star Than mystic Saturns golden rings. And yet, and yet,O dearest one, My comfort from lifes earliest breath, To follow thee where thou art gone, Through those dim, awful gates of Death, To find thee,feel thy smile again, To have Eternitys long day To tell my grateful love,why, then, Both heaven and earth might pass away!

110 0 TELL AlE NOT OF HEAVENLY HALLS. gotten it? and the Psalms, do you ever read them ? They are my breviary, said Millet. I get from there all that I do. These are rare words to hear nowa- days, but you will be rewarded. You used to love Virgil. I love him still. It is well. I am content. Where I sowed, good grain has grown, and you will reap the harvest, my son. At night-fall they separated. Millet start- ed again for Paris, where new work and new disappointments awaited him, but his stay at Gruchy was profitable to his future. He never exhausted the stock of character- istic subjects which he brought back with him. His name began to grow. The new rustic art of Millet had made the young men think ; at once literal and imaginative, it roused in some minds a whole world of political and social problems. Some called him the brother of Pierre Dupont, the singer of peasants, eloquent ally of Lachambeau- die, the novelist of the sorrows of the people. The Sower cursed the rich, they said, because he flung his grain with anger toward the sky. Every one talked of the artists work, and tried to make it a weapon. But Millet did not consider himself so important or so revolutionary. No subversive idea troubled his brain. Socialistic doctrines he would not listen to; the little that came to his ears, he said, was not clear. He often ~~aid: My programme is work. Thou shalt gain thy bread in the sweat of thy brow, was written centuries ago. Immutable destiny, which none may change! What every one ought to do is to find progress in his profession, to try ever to do better, to be strong and clever in his trade, and be greater than his neighbor in talent and conscien- tiousness in his work. That for me is the only path. The rest is dream or calculation. (To be continued.) 0 TELL ME NOT OF HEAVENLY HALLS. O TELL me not of heavenly halls, Of streets of pearl and gates of gold, Where angel unto angel calls Mid splendors of the sky untold: My homesick heart would backward turn To find this dear, familiar earth, To watch its sacred hearth-fires burn, To catch its songs of care or mirth. Id lean from out the heavenly choir To hear once more the red cock crow, What time the mornings rosy fire Oer hill and field began to glow. To hear the ripple of the rain, The summer waves at oceans brim, To hear the sparrow sing again Id quit the wide-eyed cherubim! I care not what heavens glories are! Content am I. More joy it brings To watch the dandelions star Than mystic Saturns golden rings. And yet, and yet,O dearest one, My comfort from lifes earliest breath, To follow thee where thou art gone, Through those dim, awful gates of Death, To find thee,feel thy smile again, To have Eternitys long day To tell my grateful love,why, then, Both heaven and earth might pass away! ELIHU VEDDER. III ELJHU VEDDER. WERE it possible to collect together, in a single gallery, all the pictures of an artist who has worked industriously at his profes- sion for twenty years, it would be hard if a certain number were not admirable on one account or another. Suppose him a man of most ordinary make; still, there will be one or two paintings out of the common, one or two which contain enough thought, enough expression of personal identity, enough in- dividuality, to warrant a second examination. But suppose him specially endowed with a creative imagination, sportive every now and then, willful, ready, it may be, to overshoot the mark, and, at times, to disappoint his friends by crudities: comparison of all the pictures of such a painter will be sure to make a deep impression, all the more pro- found, perhaps, should it be felt that along with his extraordinary natural gifts run defects which hinder the full expansion of his genius. His brilliant qualities will shine the more for the contrast they make with the darker side. For have you not observed that symmetry, to be tolerable, has to belong to the very greatest of things and of men? Seldom, nowadays, painters are found with the imaginations, grotesque but powerful, of the workmen on the Gothic cathedrals of France and Germany. Imagine one of those old sculptors of gargoyles in the thir- teenth century come to life again, and sub- mitted to the depressing influences of the haste and waste of the present day, which characterize life in the United States more completely, perhaps, than elsewhere in the world. The painter whose genius I shall try to appreciate, and whose development trace, in the following pages, sometimes appears to me such a master-workman, born in a time not quite suited to his talents, and struggling to express himself in ays that are less easy to his natural temperament than might have been of old. He is one whose pictures stand out in strong relief from those of others, the longer one passes in review the artists of his own land and of Europe. Moreover, at the present day, does it not look as if he would stand a better chance of success in Europe, where work of the old iniaginative school has had its epoch, and still possesses its hereditary honors and emoluments, rather than in the United States, where of Gothic art next to nothing exists, save the wild absurdities of local architects? It might look so. And yet Mr. Elihu Vedder, whose peculiar genius I would like to compare to those which accomplished the grandeurs and extrava- gances of Gothic art, was born in the United States, of people long settled there, and was there mainly brought up and educated in art. It is he who has painted scenes which are quite original and unexampled, whatever may be the objections to be made to them on other grounds. This holds good of his

ELIHU VEDDER. III ELJHU VEDDER. WERE it possible to collect together, in a single gallery, all the pictures of an artist who has worked industriously at his profes- sion for twenty years, it would be hard if a certain number were not admirable on one account or another. Suppose him a man of most ordinary make; still, there will be one or two paintings out of the common, one or two which contain enough thought, enough expression of personal identity, enough in- dividuality, to warrant a second examination. But suppose him specially endowed with a creative imagination, sportive every now and then, willful, ready, it may be, to overshoot the mark, and, at times, to disappoint his friends by crudities: comparison of all the pictures of such a painter will be sure to make a deep impression, all the more pro- found, perhaps, should it be felt that along with his extraordinary natural gifts run defects which hinder the full expansion of his genius. His brilliant qualities will shine the more for the contrast they make with the darker side. For have you not observed that symmetry, to be tolerable, has to belong to the very greatest of things and of men? Seldom, nowadays, painters are found with the imaginations, grotesque but powerful, of the workmen on the Gothic cathedrals of France and Germany. Imagine one of those old sculptors of gargoyles in the thir- teenth century come to life again, and sub- mitted to the depressing influences of the haste and waste of the present day, which characterize life in the United States more completely, perhaps, than elsewhere in the world. The painter whose genius I shall try to appreciate, and whose development trace, in the following pages, sometimes appears to me such a master-workman, born in a time not quite suited to his talents, and struggling to express himself in ays that are less easy to his natural temperament than might have been of old. He is one whose pictures stand out in strong relief from those of others, the longer one passes in review the artists of his own land and of Europe. Moreover, at the present day, does it not look as if he would stand a better chance of success in Europe, where work of the old iniaginative school has had its epoch, and still possesses its hereditary honors and emoluments, rather than in the United States, where of Gothic art next to nothing exists, save the wild absurdities of local architects? It might look so. And yet Mr. Elihu Vedder, whose peculiar genius I would like to compare to those which accomplished the grandeurs and extrava- gances of Gothic art, was born in the United States, of people long settled there, and was there mainly brought up and educated in art. It is he who has painted scenes which are quite original and unexampled, whatever may be the objections to be made to them on other grounds. This holds good of his ELIHU VEDDER. 112 a second-rate Dusseldorf p~ainter! A third inspection carries one back a little way toward the first stand-point, and establishes a certain equilibrium between the too favor- able and too adverse opinions. How is this? What magic has the artist used to fool the critic into an enthusiasm of which he had to feel ashamed? Rome attracts the artist as naturally as a flower lures a bee. Her museums are full of statues belonging to the golden age of Hellenic art, or of copies of them hardly inferior tQ the originals; her palaces contain some of the most glorious paintings finished during the intellectual epoch which reached work previous to 1870. And even in respect to later work, it may be said that although in Europe for many years, he has never ceased to be an American; he has even shown what may he termed extraor- dinary incapacity to assimilate the con- ventionalities of the art by which he has been surrounded. First impressions are not safe guides in anything out and out, but they often con- tain a germ of living truth. Coming sud- denly upon an array of paintings by Mr. Vedder, the first sight is overwhelming. There seems so much thought expended upon them, so many stories are told, such strange regions of heaven and earth, of the THE CUMJEAN SIBYL. waters above and waters below, have been its highest mark in the fifteenth century. explored for motives, that, used to the nfl- From her ruins an inkling of the grandeur eventful frames hanging on the walls in of classic architecture may be obtained; ordinary exhibitions, one is fairly taken off her churches show how the moderns have ones feet. But how with the second im- been able to equal the ancients in splendor, pression? The minds eye having got and in some respects even to surpass them. adjusted meantime to the manner of the It is true that the picturesqueness of the artist, the stories known, the strange regions street-life of Rome is on the wane. One become somewhat familiar,a singular case sees no more those birds of gay plumage, of self-deception is apprehended. For be- the cardinals; while the monkish habits, hold, half the glamour is fled! The very which used to afford one of the most pictures that delighted at first are suddenly piquant effects in the narrow ways and alleys grown strangely empty, ringing to the eyes of the old city, no longer strike ones eye. touch like hollow cymbals, hard and bare These streets, too, are undergoing changes, as the canvases against which critics of which may improve the health and add to academy work protest, rapid as the art of the comfort of the inhabitants, but do away ELIHU VEDL)EII. I 13 entirely with their former picturesqueness; in place of tortuous, dirty ways there are now boulevards lined with clean buildings of stucco, even in size, subdued as to tint, it is true, but grievously uniform and fatigu- ing to the sight. Yet these changes are only superficial. Rome remains what it wasa city which the artistic mind looks to as a paradise. Has not France a great palace on the Pincian for the special use of her students elect? Is not Germany repre- sented almost as well, and has not Spain a ~ne new chateau, on a commanding height, for the use and encouragement of her chosen artists? These picked men from three of the greatest nations of the world ought alone to form an atmosphere, a milieu, such as artists like to have about them. But in Rome there are Scandinavian artists; besides, there are English, Russian, Polish. The Italians are naturally plenty, and America sends her usual number of students and professors of the fine arts, perhaps more than her share. Add to all these advantages the presence of a royal VOL. XXI.8. THE QUESTIONER OF THE SPHINX. court, with its obligatory unifor , reviews and cavalcades; and of a papal court, shorn of its former splendor, indeed, but still forced on certain occasions to contribute something to the pageants of the year, and it is no wonder that, in the minds of all de- vout painters and sculptors, Rome should assume the proportions of an artistic Mecca. It is one thing to make a pilgrimage to Mecca; another to settle there. I do not know whether it has ever occurred to any one to contrast the Italian artist who plies his profession in other countries than his own, with the foreigner who works in Italy. The expatriated Italian supplies a demand in the nation where he resides; the foreign artist in Italy, however, sells his work in the main to his own countrymen, who are there on their travels. At first blush it may seem that, so long as an artist disposes of his work, it makes little difference to whom he sells it. Nothing, however, is more untrue. It makes all the difference in the world whether he sells to persons who reflect long before they buy, and then take a picture for the I 14 ELIHU VEDDER. love of it, or to persons who are on the move, have plenty of money in their pocket, and are taking a rose-colored view of every- thing. In the former case he has exacting buyers, who are not to be caught by chaff; in the latter he has undiscriminating pur- chasers, who, by large prices and frequent orders, encourage him to do undigested or slovenly work. This is the difficulty which besets the foreign artist, who, allured by the marvels of art in Rome, and delighted with the novelty, variety, and ease of life abroad, lingers on until he has ~become in some sort a fixture. If he have any native force, he is sure to be too individual, too national, to become a citizen of his adoptive land; he remains a foreigner while he loses his grasp on the current of thought at home. If he be a weak man, the results are fatal to his advance in art; he remains stationary, if he does not actually retrograde and lapse into a mechanical fabricator of pictures or statues on a few fixed types. In art, stagnation is tantamount to degeneracy. If Mr. Elihu Vedder were of this latter class, to speak of him at all would be use- less. But although he has been submitted to the influences mentioned, there has fort- unately been too much that is original in his composition to allow him to succumb entirely. During and shortly after the war of secession, Mr. Vedder showed his original turn of mind in a very unmistakable fashion. He was then in the early prime of life; his head was full of ideas; he had seen Europe and got what could be got on a short visit, namely, suggestions. His hand was ready up to a certain point, in fact too ready, as it turns out, for his own good in the long run. It was then that we hailed with pleasure the products of his teeming fancy, the imps and koholds, shadowy faces in clouds, original views of characters in the old mythologies. To this creative stage belong The Lair. of the Sea-serpent, defective only in~ the ab- sence of some object by which, approxi- mately, the size of the monster could be measured; Gulnare of the Sea, The Djinn of the Bottle, The Questioner of the Sphinx, a picture worthy of Emersons great poem on the same subject; The Rocs Egg, The King of the Salaman- ders, Memory, the exquisite little sketch called Twilight, and many more which the memory of the reader will supply. Here belong The Shadow of the Cypress, after- ward amplified into The Lost Mind, a most noble and expressive work, which may well rank among the first paintings by Americans during the present century. Here is to be also placed Old Mortality, a landscape expressive of melancholy on its noble side. It is not maintained that every one of these was strictly original, but even those like the charming sketch from the fabulous lore of the Middle Ages called The King of the Salamanders,which happens to be the same as the firm-mark of a Venetian publisher of the sixteenth century, and the picture of the Medusa, even those which are only novel applications of old ideas, bore the stamp of spontaneous- ness; they were like Nathaniel Hawthornes play with mythological subjectsnot, of course, new found, but newly arranged, newly spun. What similarity existed wa THE ROCS EGG. ELZHU VEDDER. I 15 plainly only the duplication of thought in- evitable in all art, but in nowise plagiarism. And the backgrounds which Mr. Vedder loves so much, the desolate wastes, the hard, sterile mountains, and long, stern lines of plain that vanish in the distance, struck a true chord in the popular heart. The ele- ment of grandeur in them was felt at once, and felt all the more widely because, as a general rule, the public neither cared to nor could examine critically the methods by which they were presented. And the ideas which the figures in the landscapes sug- gested were in keeping with the scene generally easy enough to understand, but, where outside the range of the fancy of most men, so odd, that the dullest could not fail to have his curiosity stimulated and his wits set to puzzling out what the painter could have meant. And yet the fecundity of Mr. Vedders fancy was almost too great; it interfered with a thorough grounding in the rudiments of his art, because what he did was so striking that even fellow-artists were ready to l)ut aside in his case their common fault- finding in regard to technique, and agree with laymen in admiration for the idea designed. It may have been, in part, consciousness of his want in this particular that urged Mr. Vedder abroad; certainly in i866 the severe discipline of foreign schools might well have seemed the very influence he needed most. Yet he was too firmly esgablished in his own profession, if not too old a man, to go to school again. The Atlantic and Cen- tral States had produced a large crop of landscape painters known, not entirely with- out a touch of malice, as the Hudson River School. Now art is like a butterfly which has crept out of its shell in the morning; it needs sun to warm itbut it must not have too much. If it is forced into activity by too great heat, the chances are that its life is not long. If it be warmed gradually into activity by a judicious amount of sun and shade, then, like a strong bird on pinions free, as Walt Whitman sings, it launches itself for a full and strong period of existence. One hears complaints from artists that their fello~v-citizens do not en- courage American work. It may be true that they do not encourage good work as they should, but it is denied that they have not been generous and even lavish in buy- ing American pictures, such as they were. At the time we speak of, Americans were ruining American art by over-encourage- ment. The inflation of revenues incident upon the civil war encouraged the making of landscapes as well as figure pictures generally crude in treatment and color. As a natural result, the large and indiscrim- inate demand brought with it superficiality. Mr. Vedder was not entirely exempt. He was too strong to be ruined by the patron- age of the ignorant rich. But no one can escape the influence of his neighbors entirely, nor of his, own countrymen, even though he expatriate himself. Even as Mr. Vedder had to suffer for the sins of his own land when he was in it, so when he is out of it he is forced to remain an American. The sturdy Hollandish race from which he springs has shown its power in tilling and enriching the great State of New York; he himself could not make anything but an American of himself, even if he tried. More- over, to this day, Mr. Vedder, in spite of his array of figure pictures, and of his preference for those which tell a human story directly, that is to say, for pictures which may not be- long to ge/ire, perhaps, but are certainly not in aim landscape, is most powerful, most un- conscious, most himself, in purely landscape work, or those pictures which have land- scape for a chief part of the composition. Examine, for instance, the landscape in The Lost Mind, and notice how much effect is produced by the background. With its severity and gloom the scene does more than assist the troubled face of the woman who is walking in the desolate spot. And so with Old Mortality, The Rocs Egg, The Cumiean Sibyl, The Siren; the landscape is fully as important relatively as the figures; in The Dead Abel it holds a larger place than the figure of the slain manwhich might be that of a sleeper as well as anything more tragic. The land- scape is as striking in all these pictures as the figure itself; in some cases it is more original and effective. And when we come to con- sider the newer development of Mr. Vedders work, we will see that it is again the land- scape which first attracts him. If his greatest strength is landscape, like the fellow-artists among whom he grew up, similarly his weakness was, if it be not still, drawing of the figure. It would be pleasant to think that Mr. Vedder felt this lack in his work, and went to Europe mainly for the purpose of studying the figure among men who make it their profession, and carry proficiency a great way. His powers in that direction have certainly improved, since the careful finish and good modeling found GREEK ACTORS DAUGHTER. i i6~ ELIHU VEDDER. ELIHU VEDDER. I 17 in some of his figure studies of recent years such, for instance, as the half-nude model of beautiful form who holds a cup in her hand and reflects her chin and shoulder in a glass, the easy, dignified pose and careful finish in The Greek Tragedians Daugh- ter, the careful modeling of the nude in The Spirit of the XVater-fall, in its larger and later editionwere certainly beyond his scope previous to his last stay in Europe. Compare these and similar pictures with his earlier imaginative work, and see how dry and imperfect his drawing used to be, compared with what it is now. Another trait of this artist should not be forgotten, out of gratitude. Because it is found to be both easier and more profitable, many painters repeat their pictures nearly, or after the same general type, until their canvases become a weariness to the flesh. The op- posite is true of this one: he has seldom repeated himself. The few cases where he has done so, apparently thinking to improve upon his first idea, prove to be variations which may possibly have some slight gain in grace, but are certainly weaker than the originals. Such are The Young Phor- kides and The Young Medusa. To understand Mr. Vedder better, let us look closer at his antecedents. What in- tellectual life the United States possessed before the civil war had for its chief center of activity New England. From her went out the great body of earlier sculptors and painters, although New York, her neighbor, had a fair share. The cold and formal philosophy of New England, which strove to humanize itself all the more strenuously for the very reason that it felt its own cold- ness, but strove in vain, produced a cold and formal blossom in art, exhibiting a special predilection for sculpture of an un- emotional and frigid kind. With these ante- cedents arose a school of painters, mainly of the landscape, in New York, who, find- ing no stimulus in the literature of New England, no criticism worth listening to, and little or no pabulum in the overwhelm- ingly commercial outgrowth of New York city, turned to nature with all of our na- tional energy, but without the artistic sur- roundings or traditions which belong to lands having old civilizations. In the full bloom of this school, nourished on nothing better outside itself than the arid paintings of Dusseldorf, and the example of English artists settled in New York, Mr. Vedder made his appearance. After a course of drawing and landscape in a forced and for- mal system, he traveled in Germany, France, and Italy, and was at once remarked for the quickness and originality of his imagination. He seemed to have more ideas than all his fellow-artists put together,ideas, that is to say, which were striking, original, unhack- neyed. It was a time of excitement and turmoil when he came back from Europe. There was more hurry in the United States than ever; more money, apparently, being made, more false progress in literature and art. A mania for spending seized the na- tion, and pictures brought high prices. Is it strange that a man who felt himself pos- sessed of unusual powers should be content with what he did, and, as long as he sold his pictures tolerably well, think little of the future? All this while, Mr. Vedder had fQrgot that he possessed only one side of art, and that one the most dangerous, because the untutored public was dazzled by it, craved it, paid for it gladly. He had extraordinary imagination, or call it merely fancy, if you will, but he was not fully an artist. Last year, a writer in LArt said harsh things about Mr. Vedders pictures at the Exposition, the attack being aggravated by the fact that permission to reproduce his work in that jotirnal had been asked as a favor, and that the engraver of the pict- ures was complimented at the foreign artists expense. One was the large painting of The Cuma~an Sibyl, a conception of that myth- ological figure quite at variance with the received notions, but eminently expressive of the character according to modern real- istic ideas. The sibyl is a strange, swarthy hag, striding along with a roll of script under her arm. Her clothes are blown for- ward by the wind that sweeps the desolate, harsh landscape, and curl in lines suggestive of the drapery seen on the old sarcophagi at Rome. Smoke from the books which she has burned is also seen blowing wildly, and the whole picture is stern and strange. Per~ haps nowhere else has Mr. Vedder subdued his natural leaning to the merely odd into something more restrained, but higher. He may be said to reach the grand, and come but little short of the sublime. The other was his Marsyas, also a large picture, and still more different from the preconceived idea of the piper whom Apollo flayed. I do not remember that Marsyas has ever been represented as a satyr, with full legs of a goat, except in a fresco, of doubtful par- entage, in the Borghese Palace at Rome. i ELZHU VEDDER. ones mind, if one is impatient of such things, and more concernedas most artists are. with the method rather than the story, one is led into sayingbut surely most unjustlythat even in imagination Mr. Vedder is crude. For it is most difficult to keep separate the various impressions pro- duced by the story, by the composition, the handling, the color. In Mr. Vedder, a painter is apt to feel the mechanism too much, and the critic, now that we have developed to so high a degree the merely J)ainters side of painting, notices an awk- wardness in his touch. Nature, manner, stylethese are the three grades of merit which Goethe has acutely drawn. Mr. Ved- der has a manner of his own, but he has still farther to go in long, patient, self-abnegating study of nature before he can consider him- self fully graduated from manner into style. Nevertheless, Mr. Vedder had a right to consider Marsyas under that guise, and cer- tainly made a very charming picture of the young satyr, distending his cheeks with his reed, while a half-score of rabbits, lured from their warren, gather around him in the snowy glade. It may be that exception should be taken to the length of leg which the satyr shows; if he stood upright he would certainly be a person built after the general lines of a kangaroo, rather than of a human being or a four-footed beast. But for ex- cessive length of satyrs, both ancient and medi~eval art may be searched for prece- dents not in vain. However this may be, these pictures exercised an irritating effect upon the French critic, an effect not to be understood on seeing the photograph of them, or their reproductions in LArt. His criticism seemed more than harsh; it was en- tirely unjust, viewed from the stand-point of the reader. But when one comes to look at To say this much about an artist and the pictures themselves, and examine their not say more, would be to leave a false im- style and color, then one understands the l)ression. If slow in altering his work to strictures which the French critic felt they suit the times, Mr. Vedder cannot be ac- deserved, but which he was too careless or cused of ignoring the difficulties under which too forgetful to define. Beautiful concep- he has labored. He is already a good way tions, beautifully composed, they are in one on the road to their conquest. As landscape sense rnfckames /oi/es. For, while they was his first care, so in the change of man- show the force of the imaginative element ner observable in much of his later work, in their author, they are also of an artistic landscape takes the lead. To any one who quality, merely as paintings, that is likely may be impatient with his earlier manner, enough to exasperate persons used to the I would point out certain open-air sketches, deep and truthful painting of realists of the wh ich not only show that the mere technical present day, who may possibly be far inferior handling of modern painters has not escaped to Mr. Vedder in inventiveness and origin- his notice, btit that he is looking to improve- ality. For they are thin and canvasyin ment in color as well. Perhaps readers touch, quite wanting in vigor of tones, and as may remember, in the collection shown in far as may be from really strong color. No New York and Boston, landscapes such as wonder the modern critic disapproved! And that with an end of ruin and spring-like yet they are fine pictures. And yet even tree, a view up the straggling street of an the element of grandeur is not lacking in Italian village, a pile of old dwellings with them, donkey and man, peasant girls with pitcher Before the war, the inventive power and and distaW views of grassy hill-sides, topped imagination of Mr. Vedder were not bound by trees. Most of these are not unsuccess- together and fused with the materials of ful trials of his strength on the unimagina- his profession. His figures did not live tive, mechanical side. Has he discovered under his brush; their textures did not the need of them himseW or has some one glow alive in paint; they had at best a undertaken the ungrateful task of telling quiet and serene, or a vague, demoniac him? A charming bit for refinement of existence, according as the subject was color and able treatment was a piece of more realistic or less. It was later that he still life, representing several ancient developed feeling for noble contours such books gnawed by a mouse, and the culprit as we see in his Greek girls and nude himself stretched out dead in front of them. figures from the life. But even yet the The picture is of the greater importance since, literary side outbalances the artistic. The contrary to the opinion sometimes expressed handiwork, the painters side, has not yet in print, I hold that Mr. Vedder xvas never reached the level of the other. And if one a colorist. Not that he lacked a sense of allows this fact to get the upper hand in color, but that his early associations had ELIHU VEDDER. I 19 been with painters who lacked the gift, and that he had not in his own nature enough power in that direction to break through the double difficulty. It is therefore very satisfactory to see recent work of his which is not wanting in able combinations of color, perhaps not equal to those which the young artists of the day learn at Munich, but quite possibly all the better and more real because slowly self-taught. Considering the length of time he has been abroad, it may seem strange that a man of so much original force should not have profited more by the example of Euro- pean workmen, and so left hardly a flaw to be picked by the most industrious critic. To account for such effects there may al- ways be personal reasons belonging to the private life of the individual; these the critic cannot be expected to know. There are others belonging to the profession which it is his duty to discover if he can. For the tardy use of his opportunities in regard to technique, and particularly for the slow devel- opment in color which Mr. Vedder shows, there is reason in abundance to be found elsewhere than in any personal matter. His residence in Rome is enough to explain them. Mecca is all very well as a place of pil- grimage, but the less you know of the residents of Mecca the better. And how much good does the reader suppose the resident artists of Rome get from the mu- seums and public works of art? A great deal at first, then less, then none. But put it this way How much ill does the resident artist get from the peculiar situation of Rome as a stopping-place for tourists of all nationalities, who have only one common trait, that of being able to spend some money? Little at first, then more, then a great deal. Thus, as the advantages of Rome in a prolonged sojourn decrease, the disadvantages increase as rapidly. This re- lates to one side of artistic life, the practi& al and commercial. Take another. Rome, although the Eternal City, the center of Catholism, and the capital of Italy, is not on the highway of development to-day. She sits apart on her seven hills, full of new youth, it is true, and admirably determined to struggle once more for the first rank in the arts and sciences. But long arrearages will have to be made up before she can compete, as a milieu for artists, with Paris, Munich, London, New York. She must always be visited, in order that the artist shall see masterpieces of classic art and architecture. But she is no longer in the current. Rome is therefore a poor place to make ones work in, and a poor place in which to sell it. Rome is also inferior as a place in which to learn the finishing touches of the profession; it is especially no place in which to study color. A born colorist will, of course, find, in the delicate hues of the Campagna and its encircling hills, in the somber walls, gray stretches of aqueduct and green-brown orchards of olive, the most sub- tile effects, and can extract from Italian scenery as much color as the eye can bear. But learners are not given trigonometry before they reach vulgar fractions, and the secrets of Italian coloring are too recondite for any but the greatest masters. It may be said to offer too many problems to the paint- er, rendering him confused at the choice presented, and, unless he has pushed the delicate mechanism of his art to its very farthest mark, at a loss what among so many fine shades and distinctions of hue to aban- don and what to keep. The Italian artists with whom foreigners are likely to come in contact are far from being colorists. I do not say that Italy nowadays produces no colorists. It would be hard to select any one thing in the fine arts and not find that branch represented in Italy by some one of very much more than respectable attainments. It is enough to visit the comparatively small National Exhi- bition at Turin to convince oneself that the charge of want of taste brought against the modern Italians is quite unfounded. On the contrary, it is just the high average of good taste which forms the distinctive beauty of the exhibition, rather than any vivid examples of genius. And among the painters are those disciples of the school called after Fortuny, who, living for the most part in Naples and Rome, fairly run riot in brilliant color. There may be differ- ence of opinion as to whether these carnival painters are true colorists or not; at any rate, they show that not all the Italian artists are lacking in the sense. But, for the most part, formality and sterility seem to have them still in their clutches, as is, indeed, likewise the case so largely with us, with the Germans, with the English, the French. Among painters of this kind it is only too easy for a foreigner of talent to feel at ease. He is riot molested in his own self-coin- placency by too evident traces of superiority in the native art, since such technical excel- lence as his Italian friends exhibit is more than outweighed by the coldness of their 120 ELIHU VEDDER. work and their want of novelty in design. So that, as regards the influence of Italian art in general upon the foreign workman, it may be said that, like the color of Italian cities and landscapes, in results it has little that is living and striking, little that insists upon being loved or copied. Like the bulk of modern French art, it has a monotony, a certain hardness. Perhaps both of these may be explained by a want of boldness. Italy does not present vivid contrasts of color, and her artists, with the exception of certain Neapolitans and their followers, seem to be afraid to paint even as vividly as the nature about them might war- rant. Moreover, what with the restraint they exercised in the use of color, and the subdu- ing effects of time, even the great masters are of use mainly as standards and sugges- tions to graduates in the art. Yet it is bet- ter to dogmatize as little as possible in art matters, especially in regard to the old mas- ters. Suffice it to give as an opinion that neither Italian landscape, modern art nor THE LOST MIND. ELIHU VEDDER. 121 teaching has the vital quality which brings out to the best advantage the genius or talent latent in painters or sculptors. This is not to say that the future may not have a quite different account to give. But of to- day it seems to me so true that it stands for one of the chief reasons why foreign artists, settled in Italy long, lose headway in their profession, and become fixed in manner instead of developing into style. Mr. Vedder also occasionally shows traces of the influence of the pre-Raphaelite move- ment, a movement by no means confined to England, but probably reaching America through British rather than German or Ital- ian channels. It has left a hint of con- sciousness in many of his figures, notably in that long panel with many figures called, if I remember rightly, A Florentine Festa, and the scene by the shore in which a num- ber of Greek girls are playing in a stately fashion, dancing, or looking out to sea. They have an air of posing like that which we see so often among the pre-Raphaelites, and if it be not the same as theirs in pitch, is still unfortunate where it occurs at all. It may seem to the reader that very little space is bestowed upon pointing out the beauty of this artists work compared to that employed in criticising it and accounting for its defects. But, in the first place, this paper is not meant for a eulogy. Notices of that kind are only calculated to please ~the artist and they please him only relatively and for a time. In the second place, Mr. Ved- der does not needas indeed what really fine artist does ?the aid of words to call attention to what he himself says in his pict- ures with far more intensity. But thirdly, Mr. Vedders temperament and the circum- stances surrounding his career are too inter- esting to be passed over with the usual string of empty compliments. His is not an iso- lated case. There are plenty of artists suf- fering the effects of just his circumstances, without, it is to be feared, his capacity to get the better of them. Artists are contin- ually mistaking the praise of uncritical friends for true gold, and evading the qualified ap- proval of those who know, because the latter does not warm them enough. It is better to let the able engravers and printers tell how fine a genius we have in Mr. Vedder by showing the pictures them- selves, so far as black and white can show them, and reserve the text for such examina- tion of their weak points as may be discov * Reprinted from ScRIBNER for JGne, 1879. THE YOUNG MARSYAS. (DRAWN BY MR. VEDDER AFTER HIS PAINTING IN [HG PARIS NAIDNI 122 ELIHU VEDDER. erable, trusting that the mere discussion of such questions, if the conclusions them- selves be ever so valueless, will prove sug- gestive to artists and amateurs. In the opinion of the writer, Mr. Ved- der needs to look to impressionism for the next step in his profession. This may seem strange advice to those who regard im- pressionists as artists who, too lazy to make serious study of their art, finish their ec- centric pictures suddenly by a mixture of bravura and trickery. There may be such men among them, but that the serious and thoughtful artists called impressionists are not of the number is quite certain. What Mr. Vedder would gain by impressionism is just that freedom from stiffness and cold- ness which forms the charm of the impres- sionist; he might possibly render delicate, and render mobile, the vehicles of his conceptions in the manner which we see in the work of Mr. Whistler. The latter, for instance, is a fine contrast to Mr. Ved- der, possessing, as he does, the artistic instinct to his very finger-tips, and yet ap- parently lacking entirely the creative, the solidly imaginative side, if I may be al- lowed the expression, which is the chief force of Mr. Vedder. What Mr. Vedder has already done is to turn more seriously than before to realism. All that is asked is that he shall go farther over into the domain of impressionism, and see if in that field there is not something which will break up what remains of that coldness, that stiffness of his, legitimately gained from unfortunate early associations. Instead of learning first to paint in the way in which painters now must, and then bring- ing in his ideas, he has poured out his ideas before learning to paint in the highest sense. Is this a crime? Is it even a misfortune? The man is bold who is ready to say that it is even to be deplored. For there is many an artist who starts with plenty of ideas in his head, but, by too narrow and too narrowing a devotion to technique, stultifies himself in some occult way. The longer one looks at art, the plainer it seems that dogmas as to art edu- cation are pitfalls. One man proceeds best from ideas to workmanship, from the gen- eral to the particular. Another would be wrecked by that passage, and finds that, for him, the only safe course is in working from paint to thought, from the particular to the general. It is evident that Mr. Vedder be- longs to the former category. What a grand conception is his Star of. Bethlehem! Over a landscape (in which the desert is represented with his usual truth), go the Magi. But the terrestrial scene is surpassed by the celestial. A shadowy circle of cloud figures are grouped about a brill- iant light in their center, from which a stream of fiery vapor descends straight down to the plain, to indicate the spot where Christ is born. What a fine sense of distance and desolation in The Last Sunworshiper, and what a combination of the horror of dgsert and sea-shore in the Siren! A small sketch of the Crucifixion contains a good idea. The dead, walking in the crowd of cloaked Jews, Arabs, and Romans, are just beginning to be noticed by the living. As they pass, wrapped in their long mantles, some of the multitude start, others are horror-struck, convinced that specters are beneath, but many are quite unconscious. In the distance are Calvary and the crosses. Mr. Vedder is also a humorist, once in a way, A LITTLE KNOWLEDGE IS A DANGEROUS THING. ELIHU VEDDER. 123 albeit not of the most delicate touch. A series of panel sketches in oil show very amusingly the vicissitudes of the famous man of old who took peoples advice too quickly in regard to his donkey, and ended by losing the beast outright. Perhaps Mr. Vedder means in this series to make one common portrait of all his critics and advis- ers in art. Another brace of panels show three medireval jesters having a musical picnic near a stream, and luring several plump naiads out of the water; their flirta- tions are rudely broken up by the sudden appearance of Triton astride of a dolphin, and winding his wreath~d horn in the faces of the terrified clowns. Good as the Cumrean Sibyl is, a sketch for another Sibyl is better in some regards. The latter sits on a rough spit of land surrounded by water, and lets the wind blow her un- heeded writings far away to sea. The drapery and mo